A Legacy Divided

by Holley Trent

  For so long, he’d wanted this—wanted some piece of Keith that was intimate and just his, and now he had it.

  And Keith was stiff as a rock beneath him. Not soft. Not holding him.

  Asher’s gut, which had been filled with butterflies and erotic tickles before, suddenly went sour.

  Warily, he lifted his head and looked at Keith.

  He furrowed his brow.

  Keith was staring straight up at the ceiling, icy eyes fixed on nothing, features taut with tension.

  “Keith?”

  No response.

  Asher shook him like he did so many times back in the rock. He hadn’t liked when Keith fell out of his head.

  Hadn’t liked being lonely.

  “Keith!” Another shake, and then Asher was shaken.

  Or at least, he thought so at first.

  He was pulled out of the here-and-now and into an unfamiliar dark place where there was terrifyingly bright lightning crashing continuously around him. He kneeled and tried to cover his head, but he wasn’t really there.

  And it was so loud. Thunder boomed with imperious persistence, shaking the ground and Asher along with it.

  And there was Keith sitting in the middle of all that chaos—inside a buffer of wind and hail—calmly observing everything swirling outside his cyclone.

  He extended a hand to Asher. “Come here.”

  Asher remained still. He didn’t understand.

  “I’m not…green,” Keith said obscurely. “Don’t think of me as green. Come here. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “What is this?”

  Keith looked around him at the dark, the wind, the flashes of light, the ice. “Magic held aside for me, Jody, and Tess. This is my portion. This is…what it looks like, I suppose.”

  “And you want me to walk into it?”

  “I want you to trust me. I’m not green.”

  Asher gave himself an orienting shake. “Green?”

  “You’re looking at me like I’m green. I’m not green.”

  “You can…see that?”

  Green was one of the few things Asher’s mother had given him. Weak fairies like him didn’t have flash-bang magic. They got scraps of this and that to defend themselves.

  Green was a defense. Green was the gods’ way of showing some mercy to a wretch like him.

  Green meant run.

  Keith wasn’t green.

  “I saw it earlier,” Keith called through the torrent. “I thought it was…one of my migraines or something. It’s yours, huh? I’m not green, Asher.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  “So come here. You need to be on the inside of this. You’re not Afótama. I can’t pull you in. You have to choose to be inside.”

  “You want me there?”

  “You know I do. Come on.”

  Asher edged tentatively toward the spinning wall of weather, waiting for a hole to form for him to pass through, but there wasn’t one. If anything, the particulate swirling in the cyclone got tighter, spun faster, tauntingly keeping him out.

  But he told me to come inside.

  Asher wanted to be inside. He wanted to be where he was invited.

  “What are you waiting for?” Keith asked with both arms outstretched. “It’s not going to hurt you. I can’t hurt you without hurting myself. That’s how the magic works. That’s how love works, too, isn’t it?”

  Love.

  Asher had been craving that love, and so he moved closer to snatch it up, but the hailstones were suddenly larger, the lightning striking near enough to leave white brands in his vision.

  “Why are you so tentative, Asher? Come get me.”

  “Your magic is…” Terrifying. It was strange and terrifying.

  If that was the kind of energy Queen Tess and Jody carried inside them, he’d been wise to give them a wide berth. They always tried to pass themselves off as being so bloody normal, but they simply weren’t.

  “It’s not going to hurt you,” Keith insisted. “I’m not going to hurt you. Meet me here. Claim your place.”

  “I have no place, Keith. I’m a refugee here. I have no say. No power.”

  “You have me.”

  Oh.

  Just close your eyes and walk through it, then, you cowardly fairy.

  Asher wouldn’t have to think so hard about things he couldn’t see.

  He put his eyelids down tight, took a deep breath, and powered through. He kept going. And going, waiting for the strikes of icy rocks against his flesh, waiting for lightning to ground through him and put him back in his place for daring to be so greedy.

  And going, until there was a tug on his hand and Keith’s rich, sonorous laugh. “Where are you going?”

  Asher opened one eye warily.

  He was inside. He’d been waiting to feel the punishing magic, but he’d been immune, just like Keith said. He was inside now.

  The dark site fell from around them and in its place was Keith’s room, his bed.

  Keith wasn’t unseeing, hard stone anymore. He was relaxed and pulling Asher to his side, nestling Asher’s face against the bend of his neck.

  “I’m not green,” Keith whispered. “See?”

  Asher couldn’t help but laugh. “How is that fair that you have all that magic and you get to tap into what little bit I have, too?”

  “I don’t know if it’s fair. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m just teasing you. I don’t care. Use it if you need to.”

  “You’ll have to tell me how to make sense of it. I don’t have fairy instincts.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it.” Asher twined his finger around a particularly stubborn snag in Keith’s poorly detangled hair. That pit in his stomach came back again when the little voice in the back of his mind said, “You’re forgetting something.”

  Not something. Someone.

  Mallory should have been there. He understood why she wasn’t, but he felt somehow incomplete. A guilt-inducing sensation for sure, so soon after having such a mind-blowing connection with Keith.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Asher,” Keith said.

  “Are you reading my thoughts, Viking?”

  “No. I don’t have to. It’s just obvious, huh?”

  Keith reached for the light remote and turned off the overhead lamp.

  “Just a couple of hours of recovery,” Asher conceded to himself. “Not sure if I can move around right now.”

  Keith grunted. “Normal for my kind after…this, I suppose. Just a couple of hours. Then we’ll get up and undo traitor things.”

  “I get a feeling the next few days are going to be dreadfully long.”

  Keith let out a long, ragged breath and then kissed the top of Asher’s head. “There’s no way in hell they won’t be.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Mallory

  As another surge of disconcerting warmth roiled through her and pooled in her chest, Mallory set down the glass bowl she’d been drying and pounded her chest. Her breathing had been labored all afternoon.

  She knew the malady wasn’t medical, though. She’d been in Norseton for too long to know magic when she felt it.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” Vann, tucking into his dinner at the kitchen table, asked.

  Mallory forced air into her lungs, barely managing to fill them before her breath back out.

  No room.

  Winded or not, she managed to turn from the sink with a smile on her face.

  Her children were at the ages where little white lies were as often to get met with jeering as they would with belief.

  They weren’t ready for the truth, though. She could only give them some words that had just enough of the whiff of truth about them.

  “Magical indigestion,” she told them. “No biggie.”

  They’d connected, apparently—Asher and Keith. They must have gotten over their various squabbles. The web was different around her. She didn’t remember there being such a change after she’d been with Asher, and yet ther
e Keith was—dominating her entire corner of it somehow like a heavy bird leaning precariously against delicate silken strands.

  It didn’t make sense.

  But it did make sense. They were meant to be three and not two, and no matter how she tried to avoid them, the magic was going to do what it wanted to. Perhaps she didn’t even need to touch Keith in that way. Perhaps the magic would bind her to them no matter what, and it was only a matter of time.

  Vann lifted an eyebrow before diving back into his stew. “If you say so.”

  “Heard a rumor,” her daughter Micah said airily.

  Mallory gulped and turned back to the drying rack. There were plenty of wet dishes on it for her to make herself busy with. “Oh? A good one, I hope.”

  “It was about you, so I’d say it was pretty good.”

  The dishtowel slipped through Mallory’s fingers and was on the floor before Mallory’s slow-cranking brain could fire up the right neutrons for her to swipe at the cloth. “You…shouldn’t pay any attention to rumors.” Keeping her back turned to the children, she bent for the cloth. There were so many things they could be hearing about her or, worse, about their estranged grandfather. She wasn’t sure she was in a mental state where she could properly explain the drama.

  Not yet, anyway.

  “Well, what was it?” she asked lightly. “Spit it out. I’ve got to go check on your uncle.”

  “He’s who we heard it from,” Micah said.

  That made Mallory turn. She could feel her eyes going round. “Elliott said something? And when’d you see him?”

  “Earlier when Aunt Erin took us to pick up work packets for school.”

  Mallory gritted her teeth. “She didn’t tell me.”

  Micah shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal. He’s a hugger, huh?”

  Mallory’s heart felt like it had collapsed in on itself. She didn’t want the children to think their uncle was pitiful. He was doing the best he could, but they were smart and observant and would know if something was off. “Yeah,” she said thickly. “He’s a comfort toucher like many Afótama.”

  “Looks like Vann a little,” Wendy said.

  Vann whipped around to face her. “He does?”

  Micah snorted. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

  “Those Petersen genes are strong,” Mama called out from the other room. “He does look like Vann a little, around the eyes and temples.”

  Mallory dragged a hand down her face. “And when did you have the opportunity to see him?”

  “About twenty minutes ago. You know how nosy I am.”

  “Mama.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t just sashay your way into these things and make introductions.”

  “Why not? I took him my special gumbo. Scrawny thing, I tell you.”

  “Because—” The words caught in Mallory’s throat. She actually didn’t have a good excuse. There was no reason her mother couldn’t meet who she wanted to. She wasn’t Afótama. No one could track her on the web. Mallory had simply assumed her mother wouldn’t want to meet one of her ex’s other mistress’s offspring. She should have known better. Her mother was rarely predictable.

  Emitting a quiet groan, Mallory turned back to Micah. “You were saying?”

  “Uncle Elliott said he thought Keith Dahl was trying to date you.”

  “You’d better be happy I don’t believe in corporal punishment, child, because that smirk on your face is making me feel a certain way.”

  Micah shrugged. “Is it true?”

  Mallory chose not to respond.

  “We don’t care, Mom,” Wendy said. “You can see whoever you want.”

  “Yes. I can,” she snapped.

  Wendy rolled her eyes and took a long slug of milk. “You know what I mean. We’re just saying that you don’t have to hold back for us. It’s okay if it’s true.”

  “The truth is a little more complicated than you think,” Mallory muttered.

  “So you’re dating him?”

  Mallory drummed her fingertips along the sides of her arms.

  Her mother chose that moment to poke her head into the room. “Lord, have mercy. That fairy can haul tail when he needs to. Funniest thing I’ve seen all day long.”

  “What fairy?”

  Certainly, she couldn’t have been talking about Asher. As far as Mallory knew, her mother didn’t know anything about Mallory’s recent dalliances. She wondered if confiding in her wouldn’t do her some good. Her mother may have been the most practical person in Norseton, and she wasn’t even a witch.

  “Lachlann. He’s the one who works at the mansion guarding Ótama, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s Lach. You just saw him?”

  “Yep.” Mama popped her fists onto her hips and gave her head an amused shake. “I was looking out the den window and cracked it open to hear what was happening. He was sprinting across the village square toward the gates, I think. Trying to find someone to give him a ride to the airstrip. Looks like Ótama got away from him.”

  Mallory cringed. That had been a naughty thing for Ótama to do. While she and Lachlann may have been equally inexperienced in the workings of modern society, Lachlann had a certain edge on her. They both had magic, but Lachlann had wisdom, cynicism, and dangerous fighting reflexes. He’d never let anything happen to Ótama.

  But perhaps that was what Ótama wanted—something to happen.

  “Oh, hell.” Mallory murmured.

  “Know anything about that?” her mother asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I was at the mansion this morning visiting—” At her children’s too-curious stares, Mallory pinched off the words and turned expressly to her mother. “Um. When I was there, I heard Jody was going to rustle up some representatives for that special Viking meeting thing. Maybe Ótama went along without saying anything to the big guy.”

  Mama’s brow creased deeply. “Anything we need to worry about?”

  Mallory knew exactly what her mother meant. She wasn’t talking about Hall-Dahl family shenanigans—those were never-ending. She was talking about the reason there needed to be a meeting in the first place.

  “Maybe?” She shrugged jerkily. “They’ve got him in a cell.”

  Mama’s lips tightened.

  “Are you talking about your father?” Micah asked.

  Mallory turned to her in a flash.

  She set down her spoon and sighed the sigh of the perpetually annoyed young teen. “We hear things, even if you don’t tell us, Mom.”

  “But you never say anything.”

  She shrugged yet again. “Figured it wasn’t important. This feels important, though.”

  “It’s complicated, sweetheart. Everything is complicated.”

  “Like you and Keith Dahl?”

  Mallory ground her teeth.

  “What is happening with you and Keith Dahl?” Mama asked.

  Mallory cut her a “not now” glare that the older woman seemed entirely unaffected by.

  Growling, she corralled her mother into the adjoining den and closed the door. She figured she might as well just spit it all out. In a rushed whisper, she said, “Keith isn’t my only problem right now, but I seem to also have a needy fairy on the hook, and neither of them seems to have a problem with sharing.”

  She waited for the matronly gasp—the rebuke, the scolding. Instead, what she got were a triumphant nod and a devious chuckle.

  “Mama?”

  “Get it, girl.”

  “What?”

  “I said get it.”

  “I don’t think you heard me.”

  “Heard you fine.” Mama fluffed her hair and pushed her glasses up. “Go on. Gives me something to brag about at my next Norseton bridge game.”

  All Mallory could do was blink at her.

  “Oh, spare me the fake modesty. And let me get my joy wherever I can. You’re a flighty widow with a brood of smart-mouthed kids and a father who isn’t worth a wad of soiled toilet paper, and yet you’ve still
hooked two of the biggest catches here.”

  Another blink. “Flighty widow, am I?”

  “Yep.”

  “You might want to think for a moment about what me being one of Dan’s daughters is going to look like when people find out everything he did.”

  “Not your problem. It’s Keith’s.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Makes plenty of sense. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’d give a damn about a little scandal.”

  He wasn’t. And apparently, her mother wasn’t the kind of woman who cared about scandal anymore, either, because there she was—strutting around Norseton with her kids and grandkids as though it wasn’t all strange and unusual…and most people didn’t seem to mind.

  She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Dan had.

  “I…don’t know, Mama.” Mallory sank onto the recliner and buried her head in her hands. “I’m not brave enough for this. I’ve got the kids to worry about, and—”

  “Kids aren’t going to give a damn, Mallory. You know they’re not. They’ve been going with the flow ever since you first told them about this place. Not once did they question your sanity or your judgment. Kids know when they’re where they belong, and they belong here. Just like you.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts. I didn’t raise a coward. I tried to raise my girls to stand tall in their righteousness, but I know I didn’t always set the best example. I let your father keep me waiting for way too many years for something that he was never going to give me, but it’s not going to be that way with you. If someone’s offering to show you to the world, you let them do it, and don’t you give one single damn about who you might offend.”

  Overcome, Mallory threw up her hands. She was so tired and emotionally mangled that didn’t know what else to do but relent. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Mama raised an eyebrow. “Okay what?”

  “Okay I’ll figure this out. I’ll…” Mallory shrugged jerkily. “I’ll get my head out of my ass. I’ll make it work.”

  Mama shuffled over and plopped her hands onto Mallory’s shoulders, smiling. “The beauty of it is you’re not putting in the work by yourself. Don’t you remember what that’s like, hmm?”