by Andris Bear
All without being able to see a damn thing.
“I think it’s time we go,” Evangeline stated urgently.
He could barely make out her silhouette in the moonlight drifting in from the other room as she held her hands out in front of her like a mummy, shuffling toward the door.
Shane waited for her to move past him, then followed a few feet behind. The last thing his nose needed was for her to suddenly stop and him to walk right into her. He winced just thinking about it.
As they passed through the front door, he sent up thanks it hadn’t slammed shut and locked them in. Not that he believed the house had a mind of its own, but well… the house seemed to have a mind of its own.
Or he was nuts.
He pulled the door firmly shut behind him, letting out a relieved breath at the resulting click of the latch.
“Shouldn’t we lock it?” she asked, eyes on the knob he’d just released.
Yes, they should. Did he want to step back inside long enough to twist the lock? No, he did not. Still, leaving it unlocked wasn’t cool. Shane gripped the knob. Gave it a twist. It didn’t turn.
He lifted his gaze to hers. “It’s locked.”
“You must have locked it on the way out.”
“Maybe,” he muttered. Except he hadn’t. Since the door was open, he hadn’t touched that side of the knob.
Evangeline rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “This place is interesting.”
Interesting didn’t cover it. On a creep scale of one to ten, he’d give it a forty-seven.
Glancing behind him, he strained to see through the window. Nothing moved, not even the cat, wherever the hell it went. It probably escaped through an open window. Though, given how gleamingly clean the interior was, he had to agree with Evangeline that someone kept the place in order, so an open window was unlikely.
The entire situation had been strange since the moment he’d pulled up to the curb. Strange and fascinating. Mostly. It was the other part he couldn’t define that left him with a heavy feeling in the pit of his gut, prodding him to get moving.
Lacing his fingers with hers, he tugged her off the porch. “How about we plan our next breaking-and-entering gig over ice cream?”
“That’s gonna require a waffle cone. Otherwise, I’m out of the B&E business,” she said, still a little breathless.
He paused just outside the gate to regard her. “So, I have to bribe you. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yep.” It came with a toothy grin.
God help him, but he gave her a bucky snicker of his own. “Girl, I’ll get you two.” Then he planted his lips on hers.
Swiping sweat from his forehead, Shane replayed his date with Evangeline as his feet pounded out a steady rhythm on the pavement. He liked to jump start his days with a run because it forced him awake and cleared his mind.
Except today.
He was still as baffled by the house as he had been when he’d taken his girl back to the shop for her car.
His girl.
Yeah, he had it bad for the eccentric, awkward librarian. He couldn’t put his finger on it—sure, she was pretty, and her quick wit was a surprising delight. He definitely looked forward to another kiss and those sweet curves against him again.
But it was more than simple attraction, even more than all those details together. He felt drawn to her, as if fate had some big plan for the two of them.
A winded chuff flew from his mouth.
Try to keep the corny in check, bro.
Turning in his driveway, Shane kicked his jog up to a sprint. As was his habit, he ran his gaze over the shop, making sure all bays and doors were shut tight. Occasionally, someone would try to break in for the tools and equipment, but he’d reinforced the steel doors from the inside after the first time. So far, no one had gotten past them.
The pricks still tried, though.
The house he still shared with his uncle sat about a half a mile behind the shop on a long gravel path. After his parents died, Buff raised him here to give him a sense of normalcy in the chaos. It wasn’t big, but it was home.
With his head on his run, he didn’t notice the figure sitting on the rocking chair until she spoke.
“Still running, I see.”
His head jerked up at the familiar voice. He slowed, coming to a stop before the first step of the porch. Freya smiled as if it was only natural for her to be sitting there. Between his confusion and being worn out from his run, the best he could muster was a frown. Unlike her smile, at least it was genuine.
“What are you doing here?”
She stood, unfolding her hands to straighten her dress. “I don’t like how we left things last night.”
The hell? Did someone whack him with a bat? He wiped his brow before sweat could drip into his eye. “I’m confused. What are you talking about, Freya?”
Something flitted over her perfect porcelain features—contrition? Embarrassment?
“Last night, at the restaurant. Seeing you with… another woman. Well, it upset me.”
He stared. Blinked. Then he laughed, long and hard.
Her complexion went from pale to rouge in a flash. She glanced away before locking on him with a scowl that could beat back the devil. “I’m glad you find my hurt feelings amusing.”
As did he, because he didn’t believe she had feelings, much less hurt ones. There had been a time he’d have given anything to hear such sentiments from her. Now, they gave him a case of indigestion and indifference. Anything he’d once felt for her had died a slow death behind her cold shoulder.
Moving past her to the front door, he said, “Go home, Freya. There’s nothing here for you.”
“Shane.” Her hand flew out, snatched his arm. He paused, eyed her grip, and then lifted his gaze to hers. She released him. “Please. This is important. I don’t want you to… make the wrong choice.”
Had he slipped into an alternate reality? Where was this coming from? Shane had dated plenty since Freya had dumped him for some hotshot from New York, and she’d never given a hoot.
Angling toward her, he crossed his arms. “Your boyfriend dumps you, so you thought you’d hit up the old one? Not interested.”
“No, he’s in New York. And this isn’t about him. It’s about us.”
Shane opened the front door, stepped inside. When she moved to follow, he said, “There is no us.” Then he shut the door in her face and just stood there, staring at the wood a moment before turning with a shake of his head.
He nearly collided with Buff.
His uncle glowered. “Come into the kitchen. We need to talk.”
“I need a shower. I’ll be down in—”
“This is more important,” Buff replied gruffly, disappearing around the corner.
Shane sighed. Today was starting out like he wanted to go back to bed. The last thing he wanted was to drip-dry in his sweaty clothes, but Buff hadn’t used that “parental” tone since Shane was in middle school. More curious than anything, he followed his uncle into the kitchen and took a seat at one of the stools at the counter.
“I hear you went out with that Winther girl,” Buff mumbled, shuffling junk mail on the counter.
Shane couldn’t help his hackles rising at her being referred to as that Winther girl. “Evangeline? Yeah.”
“And now that Stone girl is sniffing at our door.”
Shane blew out a half-hearted laugh. “What is this?”
Buff shook his head like he didn’t want to say more. Then he said more. “I thought you were out of this mess. When that girl—” he pointed to the front door— “broke your heart, it was the best day of your life. Now you’re fawning all over that Winther girl.”
Shane held his hand up for silence. “First of all, her name is Evangeline, not That Winther Girl. Second, you don’t even know that she’s related to the Winthers. Third, who the hell cares?”
Pointing his finger at Shane, Buff commanded, “Don’t move,” as he disappeared into anothe
r room.
The world had gone mad, that was all there was to it. That, or he had. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he could get his shower and a pot of steaming coffee. Maybe after a few mugs, people would be sane again.
“Here.” Buff shoved a photo frame under his nose.
Left with little choice but to accept, Shane took it and studied the photo. There were six people—three men, three women. His uncle stood with his arm around a pretty blonde on the left. In the middle were his parents, smiling in each other’s arms. To the right of them was a tall gangly guy with… Evangeline?
Shane shook his head, frowned at the photo. No, not Evangeline, but the woman was a dead-ringer for her. “Who is this? When was it taken?” he demanded.
“This was taken in 1994, about six months before your parents were killed. Your girl looks just like Lily, doesn’t she?”
Swallowing, Shane scrutinized the woman in the photo. Lily. Her hair was wavier than Evangeline’s curls, leaning toward blonde, and she had more freckles, but he couldn’t deny they were mother and daughter. “So?” he asked, raising his gaze to Buff’s. “She’s one of them. Why is that a crime to you?”
Buff wiped a meaty hand down his face. With a sigh, he pulled out the stool next to Shane and situated himself on it. “She’s different than most people. She may not realize it yet, but it’s coming for her. Because it always comes. Do you understand me?”
Shane scoffed. “No. Is this supposed to be making sense? Please don’t tell me this is more crazy witch talk.”
“It’s not crazy.” Buff slammed his hand on the counter. Inhaling slowly, he seemed to gather himself. “That woman beside me is Paul’s sister, Jolie. I was her guardian, and I loved her like the earth loves the sun, but it made no difference.”
Buff’s confession deflated some of Shane’s ire. He regarded the woman in the photo with a new light. She was the antithesis of his uncle—small, delicate, refined. Judging by the wide smile, she also had a buoyant personality. “What happened to her?”
Buff took so long to answer that Shane lifted his gaze.
Shaking his head, Buff said, “I don’t know. She vanished without a trace. All the Winthers did, except Paul. He took Lily and ran before whatever happened to his family could get him, too.”
Shock kept Shane silent for several minutes as he tried to decipher the maze Buff had just dropped him into. After a bit, one question pushed to the front. “What is a guardian?”
Another sigh preceded his, “Us. We’re drawn to casters—most prefer being called casters over witches, by the way. It’s in our blood, just as whatever makes them magic is in theirs. We protect them.”
Leaning back, Shane considered his uncle. Buff met his gaze without flinching, no hint of a gotcha smile on his lips. “You’re telling me that the fairy tales about witches in this town are true, that Evangeline is one, and I’m attracted to her because I’m a guardian—whatever that is?”
“It’s a burden, and there is no in between, Shane. You must choose—probably die in a war that will never be won or walk away and never look back.”
Chapter Ten
Evangeline carried her toast and coffee—bless whatever force of nature had granted her a working coffee pot this morning—to the living room. After placing them on the end table, she snatched her laptop and settled into the old, comfy chair she’d brought from home.
It was once lime-ish green, but over the years, the garish color had faded to a hideous pea green that matched nothing. She wasn’t even sure there was a name for the color it was now. As ugly as it was, she loved it. Her mama had raised a brow when Evangeline asked to bring it with her, but the thing reminded her of home and evenings relaxing with her family.
Short of it falling apart or turning to dust, she would never get rid of it.
She booted the laptop, waiting for it to run through its startup routine as she sipped her coffee. Letting out a satisfied sigh, she set her mug down to grab her cell. She started to dial her sister, Alex, but realized any call before noon would earn Evangeline an earful. Alex was not a morning person.
With a mental note to call after lunch, Evangeline pulled up the internet browser. Her fingers hovered indecisively over the keys, partially because she didn’t know what to search for, but also, what if she found something?
The possibility her dad had a hidden past sat like an anvil in her gut—not that she thought it was sordid, but because it meant she knew nothing about her heritage, which was kind of like a hidden past as well.
It wasn’t as if her dad wasn’t entitled to keep any secret he wanted, but why hide who he was or where he came from? Especially once Evangeline told him she intended to move to Whisper Grove.
A memory of her parents’ reactions floated through her mind. Her mother had glanced worriedly at her father, as if she expected him to argue. But her dad chose silence, staring at her through a placid mask. He didn’t ask why Whisper Grove or try to suggest another, more suitable place. If she didn’t know him, she’d have thought he didn’t care one way or the other where she chose to live.
Clearing her mind of past things, she focused on current events—like figuring out if her parents were once residents of her town. She typed Paul Winther in Whisper Grove and waited, her heart pounding in her chest.
The search immediately came back with sites listing Paul Winther’s current address and telephone number—for a fee. She let out a grumble at the screen, clicking next page until whitepages.com, peoplelooker.com, truepeoplesearch.com, and at least a dozen others weren’t choking her feed.
After the third page, she found an article link in the Whisper Grove News Star that mentioned Paul Winther.
She hesitated only a second before clicking the link. It took less than that for a picture of her father, hand out to block the camera and her mother tucked at his side, to load. Behind them, the house loomed.
The same house she’d explored with Shane.
Her hand lifted, covering her sharp inhale. She studied the old, grainy photograph of her parents. They appeared—worried? Fearful? Frantic? Her mom was squeezed in close to her dad, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. But what were they afraid of—the photographer?
Something thudded loudly against her front door.
Evangeline jumped, nearly flinging her computer to the floor. Staring at the closed door, she counted out three seconds before hesitantly calling, “Hello?”
Movement sounded from the other side. As quietly as she could, she set her laptop on the table before tiptoeing across the room. She listened, holding perfectly still, but heard no other noise.
Clearly, she was being ridiculous. Her nerves were frayed, and every little sound—which was bound to happen in an apartment complex—was making her jumpy. Just as she turned, another thump sounded behind her.
She whirled, grabbed the knob, and yanked the door open. There was no one standing on the other side. Poking her head out, she looked up and down the walkway. As she was retreating to close the door, she happened to glance down—into a pair of vibrant feline eyes.
She froze.
The cat froze.
Meow.
The black tabby flopped on its side. Stretched out. The gold medallion around its neck clinked against the cement.
Evangeline stared at the shiny metal pendant, certain her mind was playing tricks on her. Chester wasn’t the only black cat in the world, and surely there was more than one gold trinket floating around, but one around a black cat that just appeared on her doorstep?
“Shut up,” she said, more to herself than the non-speaking cat.
Eow.
She might have offended him.
As if in slow-motion, Evangeline bent, gripped the medallion, then turned it over to read.
Chester.
“Oh. My. God.” Shooting to her feet faster than Chester ever would, she slammed the door in his furry face. Pressing her back against it, she searched for something to bean him with, which was admittedly not her fi
nest moment. What could a little kitty do to her?
While she attempted to reason with herself, someone knocked on the door, the pounds vibrating against her spine. She spun around, her mouth agape with amazed horror.
“Holy shit, the cat is knocking…”
“Evangeline?” Carrow’s voice cut through the metal—and the insane idea the cat had spoken her name. “You home?”
Laughing at her wild imagination, she opened the door and greeted her friend with a calm, dignified expression. It was crap. “Hey, what are you doing out this way?”
Chester took the opportunity to saunter past her feet, the plopped down in her living room with a mrow.
“You got a cat?” Carrow asked, pushing her way past Evangeline to join the feline interloper on the carpet. Her fingers went straight to scratching Chester’s ears, giving him the impression he was welcomed.
He was not.
“What’s the name?” Carrow stretched out next to the damn thing, cooing and telling him he was a pretty boy.
“Flea bag.”
Both Carrow and Chester lifted their heads to stare at her.
Evangeline snorted. It was that or run screaming from her own apartment. “Chester,” she admitted begrudgingly.
“Ah, Chester, a good name for a handsome boy.”
Crossing her arms, Evangeline stared at the lovestruck duo. “How do you know it’s a boy?” she asked. Granted, Chester didn’t lend itself to girls, but it wasn’t as if Carrow had lifted its tail for a gender check.
“He told me,” she murmured, smiling at the damn thing. “Also, he prefers wet cat food and a clean litter box.”
“Cut that out,” Evangeline demanded, feeling unreasonably put out by the two of them. “I don’t care if he likes takeout from Golden Dragon and a hot wax—all I’m offering is a forced neutering with a pair of rusty scissors.”
Chester hissed before bolting from the room.
Great. Now she’d have to play hide-and-seek with an offended fur ball that wasn’t even hers.
“I don’t want to make assumptions,” Carrow said, pushing up from the floor. “But I don’t think he liked your offer much.”
