This time, the story she told was very different – she spoke frankly about her drug problems, about her great love for Richard, about his disability and how his attack on Willow had been a horrible accident. She admitted that it was her own guilt for her part in her daughter's amputation that had fuelled her vengeful crusade.
“Do you still have feelings for him?” the interviewer asked.
“I do,” her answer read. “I know it’s too late for the two of us, after everything I’ve done. I’ve deprived him of knowing his daughter, who grew up to become a bright, beautiful, kind, and profoundly strong young lady. There’s no forgiving that. I only hope that in this new world his kind have created, he can find a new life for himself, and receive the peace and love that I have deprived him of.”
I read the passage again and again. I ken what I had to do. Even if there was no hope left for me, at least I could give it to someone else.
I raced back to the hotel. “Richard,” I cried, thrusting the paper in his face. “You’ve got tae see this!”
* * *
“This isn’t going to work.” Richard tugged on his tie. “It’s been eighteen years, and she’s spent all of those years running a werewolf hate campaign. She was probably just playing up that story for the press.”
“Nonsense.” I slapped his hand down. “Stop fiddling with that. Now, knock.”
I’d managed to get an appointment with Helen by pretending to be a reporter from the London Underground. It was some kind of blogging site about stuff happening in London. I only knew about it because the reporter who attacked Bianca worked there, so it seemed as good a lie as any. I just hoped Helen wouldn’t ask too many questions about blogging or London, but I figured that if what she said in her article was true, she’d be too preoccupied with Richard to care.
I hoped. Someone deserved some happiness from this mess.
“I can’t do this,” Richard moaned, his fist paused an inch in front of the wood.
“You can.” I rapped on the door. “There. Easy.”
The door opened. Richard yelped and leapt behind me. Great, so I was on my own then. Helen Winters stood on the doorstep, all made up and ready for an interview. I’d seen her picture in the paper a hundred times, but nothing prepared me for being in front of her in real life. If Richard had gifted Willow with his soulful eyes, then Helen’s gift had been her knockout body and flowing blonde waves. Damn, those were some good genes.
“Helen Winters?” I reached out my hand. “We’re, ah, here for the interview.”
“I know you.” Helen narrowed her eyes at me. “I recognise you from somewhere. You’re not a reporter, are you. You’re one of them. You’re one of the wolves who first transformed at that wedding.”
Gosh, and she was fast.
“Um, that might be true, but—”
“Hang on a sec.” She leaned against the doorframe and placed her hand on her temple. “I’m getting a psychic revelation … you’re the shifter my daughter was seeing. You’re her mate.”
“Um … that’s true enough.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“She doesn’t want to see you again,” she said.
“I ken, and I aim to respect that. Truthfully, I’m nae here to see Willow. I’m here to talk you. Or rather, someone else is.”
“Who?”
I stepped aside, leaving Richard trembling on the steps in his shabby secondhand suit.
“Helen,” he said, his face a picture of terror. “H-h-hello.”
“Richard!” Helen leapt back, her hand on her chest.
“Yeah, it’s me. I wanted to … that is … I wondered if we could talk …”
Helen backed up, her hands in front of her in a strange sign like she was fending off a demon. “Get that creature away from me!”
“He’s nae evil,” I said. “He made a terrible, horrible mistake. And he wants to try to make it right.”
She wavered, her eyes darting to Richard’s face again. “It’s … it’s really you?”
He dared a tentative step forward. “It’s really me. It’s been so many years, but you’re still as beautiful as ever.”
“You can’t come in my house.” She folded her arms, but she stopped backing away. I could see the corners of her mouth crinkling up. She’s pleased to see him.
I elbowed Richard in the ribs, urging him into the speech we practiced.
“Helen, I know it means nothing after all these years, but I’m so sorry for what happened to Willow. Words can’t express my grief and guilt over what happened, what I did. You were right – I was never going to be a good dad, because of my disability. I guess the good news is, now that shifters are no longer secret, they’re going to be working on some drugs to help regulate my shifting. I won’t be a risk to anyone else.” He gave her a wobbly smile. “I … I’ve missed you. I’d really like to talk some more. I wondered if you could show me some photos of Carol when she was a girl?”
Helen opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She tried a couple more times, and finally managed to get some sound out.
“C-c-come in.”
I hovered in the doorway of the kitchen while Richard sat at the table. Helen darted around, boiling the kettle and preparing the tea. Richard talked nervously, trying to fill the silence with apologies. Helen handed us our tea, then excused herself for a moment. I half expected her to come back with a gun, but instead, she was holding a photo album.
“Here.” She shoved it into his arms.
Richard laid out the album on the table, and flicked through the pages. The entire thing was filled with photographs of Willow – Willow sitting in hospital with a gap-toothed smile and a tiny prosthetic leg, Willow with bouncing blonde pigtails sitting with a porcelain doll, Willow eating a hot dog with all the mustard and sauce leaking out the end.
He turned another page. Willow as a gangly, awkward teenage, her eyes betraying her loneliness as she smiled over a miniature birthday cake. Willow at her college graduation, beaming as she accepted the cup for Dux of her school. Willow waving goodbye from the gate of the University College of London.
My heart ached for Willow. I longed to take her into my arms and kiss her pain away. I wanted to see that smile play across her lips again, a smile that was reserved for me. I wanted to make her scream with ecstasy and laugh until she couldn’t breathe.
I wanted her, but I couldn’t have her, because of what I’d done. I didn’t ken how long I could live with the pain of it.
So I didn’t break down in front of Helen, I focused on Richard. He was enraptured, with the album and with Helen. Helen pointed to photos and told the stories behind them, and with every story, his whole face brightened. By the time he reached the final page and closed the album, he and Helen were staring into each other’s eyes and talking in soft voices as though they were the only two people in the room.
I wanted to leave, before things took a turn for the primal. But we had one more matter to discuss first. “Richard,” I prodded. “Why don’t you tell Helen about the job we have for her?”
He jumped at my voice, as though he’d completely forgotten I was there. “The job? … Oh, yes!” He reached over and patted Helen’s hand. “Irvine and I talked to some of the new shifter representatives in Parliament about you. We think you’d be an excellent advocate for shifters. You already have the audience and the knowledge, and I think you’d just be wonderful at it.”
“Most importantly,” I added, “you have a story, and a connection to both the human and shifter worlds. You can help show people that by accepting shifters into society, we can work together to make the world a better place for everybody.”
“Me? I don’t want to do anything for shifters.” But her voice lacked her usual vehemence. She glanced at Richard.
“Like it or not,” I continued, “you’re going to have to deal with shifters in your everyday life from now on. You no longer have to fight for every scrap of information about them. You were right all along. You won. But wha
t are you going to do now?”
“I—I haven’t really thought about that—”
“Exactly. Shifter society has a lot of problems. High crime, low education, lack of representation in local and national government, poor resources, lack of study of shifter-specific diseases. You could help change these things, and be a real part of making sure an accident like Willow’s will never happen again.”
“Why would I want to help you?” She turned her gaze to me. “You hurt my daughter, and her name is Carol.”
“I ken,” I said. “And I curse myself every day for the decisions I’ve made. But Helen, Wi— I mean, Carol is all grown up now. I’ve come to ken her over the last few months, and she’s amazing. She’s a bright star in the night sky. But she has a lot of bitterness in her heart. Some of it was put there by me, but some of it …” I trailed off. Helen gave a tiny nod. She ken what I was saying.
“If she could see you forgiving, moving on, finding your own place in this new world, then she’ll be able to find her own place, too.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, her place with you?”
“I didnae mean—”
“I’m not a fool, young man. I know you’re still carrying a flame for her. I can read it all over your face.” She glanced over at Richard, and tentatively patted his hand. “I can read you both better than you can read yourselves.”
I blushed. “Yes, I still love her dearly, but there have been too many lies between us, too much that cannot be forgiven. She couldnae share my vision for the future, and I didnae understand why at first, but I do now. I won my freedom, and she believes she will lose hers. With all due respect and deference to your daughter, I think she’s wrong.”
“She doesn’t think so. And for Carol, she’s been unusually stubborn about it.” She dared a small smile at me. “Your influence, I presume.”
“Might be.”
Richard squeezed Helen’s hand. “Do you have any idea how you’re going to get my daughter back?” she asked.
I thought for a moment. Willow’s face floated in my mind – not the cold glare she gave me after the wedding, but the warmth and uncertainty of our early days together. I froze her memory at the first quiet smile she ever gave me – a gift that shone brighter than any diamond.
There must be a way to give her the freedom she earned, the anonymity she deserved. There must be a way to show her that there was a place for her in this new world.
It came to me in a flash, and I leapt forward, consumed by the sheer joy of it.
“Yes.” I threw my arms around Helen. “I do have a plan. It’s shocking and audacious, and it’s probably nae going to work. But Willow … that is, Carol … is worth any attempt. But we’re going to need your help.”
47
Willow
I tried to settle back into my old London life. As soon as word got around that I was back in the city, my phone started to ring with requests from past clients. Apparently, the shifter reveal has made many humans decide to seize the day and get married, and when people heard that Alex and Ryan’s wedding was one of mine, I suddenly became the most in-demand wedding planner in the city.
It was weird hearing people call me “Carol” again. It didn’t fit me anymore. But I didn’t correct them. Obviously, they knew me better than I knew myself. Willow Summers was a failure. I was where I was supposed to be.
I threw myself into the work, going to all the meetings, sorting the samples, calling the vendors, smoothing the ruffled feathers of society brides … but the job had lost all its magic. Every veil disaster made me angry that I’d never be able to wear one of my own. Every corny love song made me remember that I had something special and I’d thrown it away. And every time I left the house, the stories of shifters followed me, taunting me with Irvine’s success.
He was right about everything. And I screwed it all up.
I couldn’t escape shifters at home, either. I was still sleeping in my own bedroom at Mum’s house, which meant every day I had to deal with an onslaught of her mad friends. She had a long talk with me about why I ran away, and she’d done her best to keep me out of the press and to correct the story she had told about my amputation. Reporters still called me every day, but I found it easier to tell them that I wasn’t interested. And now that the story wasn’t as dramatic as it had once being, the calls were becoming less and less frequent.
It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. But without Irvine, it was a thousand times worse.
With her new appointment as the head of the shifter rights working committee, Mum’s website pageviews skyrocketed, and she’d even signed a book deal to tell the story of her and my father.
Speaking of my father, he was back in our lives. He and Mum had made up, and they were acting like two teenagers, canoodling on the couch and giggling to themselves. I’d had a couple of really good talks with Richard, and I was starting to warm to him. It helped that he had such kind eyes.
I knew I should be happy for them, but their constant displays of affection grated on my already frayed soul.
Mum’s new job kept her pretty busy with what she called “secret government stuff.” She spent a lot of time dashing out of the room whenever the phone rang and hiding her mobile phone screen from me while she tapped frantically.
One day, she came home, all harried, her phone clutched in her hand. “The shifters are at Westminster again, but this time it’s bad. A huge fight has broken out.”
I leapt up from the couch, a finger of fear stroking my heart. Irvine … “What happened? Who's involved? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, Carol, it’s terrible. Everything’s backfired. There are shifters dead everywhere.”
No, no, no. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening. “What can we do?”
“Richard’s outside. He’s put a couple of boxes of medical supplies in the car. We’re going to try to get as close as we can, and see if there’s anything we can do to help.”
I grabbed my coat. “Let’s go.”
I was bustled into a car, and shoved between two of Mum’s Werewolf Watch buddies who were now members of her working group. Richard was at the wheel. He drove erratically through the streets, swinging in a wide arc around Westminster. I expected to see traffic jams, people running from the scenes, and police and riot control trying to keep order. But everything looked perfectly normal.
We passed Portcullis House and turned off into a wide street. We were now heading away from Westminster. “Mum, where are you taking me?”
“My people have just texted me a safe location,” Mum called back, waving her phone in the air. “We’re heading there now.”
I sat back on my hands, trying to stop my heart from pounding. If only I could communicate telepathically, the way Irvine could with other wolves. I could just find him in my mind and see if he was okay.
Caleb … Luke … Ryan … if any of them were dead … I thought of Alex, how she’d glowed with happiness at the altar. I thought of all my friends back in Crookshollow and how kind they’d all been, how much fun I’d had with them at the pub. Please, let them all be okay.
But Irvine … if he had died, a light would have gone out in the world. How could I keep going, knowing that I hadn’t supported him when I should have? I’d been selfish because I was scared, and instead of drawing strength from his love, I pushed him away.
The “safe location” turned out to be a grand old Victorian home that I frequently booked for client weddings. Richard helped me out of the car, and I gazed up at the stately façade, confused. If this was the safe house, then why were there no lights on in the windows? Why did it look completely deserted?
Richard held the door open, and we all bustled into the grand entrance hall, our shoes clapping loudly against the marble floor. All the lights were off. I heard nothing that indicated this was being used as a field hospital. No voices, no crying. No shuffling of feet or beeping of medical equipment.
“Come quickly, quickly now!” My mother dragg
ed me down the darkened hall, stopping in front of the double doors leading to the main ballroom. She pushed one of the doors open, revealing only a sliver of even deeper darkness.
“Mum, this doesn’t make any sense—”
“Of course it doesn’t.” She shoved me toward the door. “Now get inside.”
Terrified of what I might find, I pushed the door open wider and stepped into the darkness.
48
Willow
“Surprise!”
The lights went up, momentarily blinding me. A wave of shouting and cheering rolled over me, like a great tsunami swallowing me up.
What the—
My vision adjusted. A hundred faces grinned back at me. They were all here – Ryan and Alex, Bianca and Robbie, Elinor and Eric … everyone I’d met in Crookshollow stood around the room, dressed in glittering dresses and handsome tuxedos. Past clients, vendors I’d worked with over the years, my mother’s crazy Werewolf Watch friends all grinned maniacally as they hooted and applauded. Even Ryan’s mother Clara was there, grinning like a cheshire cat and clapping like mad, her signature black hair swept into an elegant do. Behind them, several tables were set for an elegant meal, and beautiful arrangements of calla lilies cascaded from the ceiling, framing the space in tall, majestic floral arches.
“What is this?” I breathed.
“Isn’t it obvious?” a deep voice asked from behind me.
I whirled around. There stood Irvine, resplendent in his clan’s kilt and dress shirt, complete with his leather sporran and ceremonial sword hanging from his belt. Those ice blue eyes met mine, and he dared a smile. My heart fluttered.
“This is your wedding, Willow.” His deep voice coursed through me like hot chocolate in my veins. “I made it for you.”
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