by Mary Hughes
But if not Gabriel, where else could she go? Who wanted her, needed her? Not her mother, certainly not Noah, the alpha who thought she’d betrayed him. Bruiser wanted her, but only as a chew toy. A Council Enforcer wanted her as his prisoner.
Her wolf’s tail drooped more with each thought.
Gabriel wanted her for herself.
Her wolf perked up and wagged.
He lied to me, she told it.
I don’t care. Wag, wag, wag.
Stupid wolf.
Well, wherever she was going, she’d try to collect her precious journal first. “The box I shipped home. What happened to it?”
“I told you. I sold all your junk. ” Her mother had the grace to blush. “Edge needed the money.”
“The clothes and books, I understand. But even Dad’s journal?” The only thing Emma had left of her father. “Please, Mom, tell me you kept that. It’s an antique.”
“Another name for junk.” Shalla sniffed. “I don’t know why you hung on to the ratty old thing anyway. The whole box only fetched ten dollars.”
Emma clenched her teeth against words of frustration. “Maybe it’s valueless outside the family, but that journal is a Singer treasure.”
Her mother stiffened. “I’m not a Singer.”
“But Edge is, right? It lists every Singer ever born, Edge’s whole lineage, plus it has Dad’s art.” Her father had painstakingly inked and hand-painted an oak tree linking the Singer names, so beautiful it made her weep. “His best work, magical, alive—”
“Like berserkers have any use for beauty,” Edge sneered.
Emma flinched. Her iota talent was ugly, shameful.
But that was another reason her father’s artistic talent was so important—it was proof that not all iotas were worthless.
It had been proof.
Finally she managed, “Who did you sell it to?”
“You can’t get it back.” Her brother scooped up the toothpick and stuck it between his teeth. “I already spent the cash. In fact, if you brought any more, I could use a couple hundred—”
“Just tell me who.” Emma’s vision was watery.
“I don’t remember.” Shalla wavered in her sight. “I had a rummage sale. It could have been anyone.”
“Maybe you can bring in cash…” A crafty light entered Edge’s eye as he gazed at Emma, “…another way.”
Uneasy, Emma backed toward the door. “I’ll find the journal on my own.”
Grinning around his toothpick, her brother pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “Search. Bruce Smith in Scottville, Michigan.”
Emma’s breath froze. Would her own brother sell her to Bruiser? She wouldn’t have believed cash meant more to Edge than family.
But maybe it always had.
“Edge, don’t.” Emma’s mother put a hand on his arm as if to stop him. It raised his sleeve slightly, revealing a flash of purple at his wrist.
He glared at her. “Mind your place, woman.”
“I-I…” She released him to nervously stroke her pendant. “I’m minding my place.”
“Here is the number,” the phone chirped brightly. “Bruce Smith in Scottville, Michigan.”
Emma fled the house.
Her gut churned as she flew west on Main. What was going on? Her mother’s behavior was strange. Although…well, Edge had always had an emotional hold over Shalla. Maybe his getting out of prison had exacerbated it.
But if he was calling Bruiser to sell her, she was out of options.
I have to get out of town. She slowed. The gas station, where the bus stopped, was east, behind her. She started to turn around.
Something twisted her, a tug west. Father’s journal. If she left town now, she’d leave without it. Maybe never find it again.
She stood on the sidewalk, exposed yet unable to decide.
How much time did she have? Probably not much. Even if Edge didn’t get hold of Bruiser immediately, there was always the possibility that her brother would simply truss her up then call the alpha to negotiate.
For a couple hundred dollars.
Get out of here. East, west, doesn’t matter. Just move.
She kicked back into motion, only realizing where her subconscious had directed her when she saw the sign—Uncommon Night Owl Bookstore. Not to look for her journal. That was where Gabriel was.
Deceived by her own hidden needs, but the promise of relief of his strong, comforting arms drew her, hurrying her toward the entrance.
The store’s front door slammed open.
She flinched back. Instinct ducked her into the narrow causeway between buildings.
Ryder stalked out, followed by his hopping bit of vermin.
Hunkering in the shadows, breathing fast, she gave thanks that neither cricket nor man had a shifter’s nose, because she was spurting frustration and fear like a skunk.
The Enforcer marched west along Main, disappearing around the corner onto First.
Anxiety nearly goosed her into running inside, into the safety of Gabriel’s arms.
But he’d want to whisk her away immediately. Not before I find Dad’s journal. She stayed where she was, gulping breaths.
Who might know who bought her box of stuff? One answer to that—the Misses Jamies.
In a small town where everyone gossiped for fun, the Misses were professionals. The two spinster sisters had been Matinsfield’s source of gossip seemingly forever, the greatest thing since sliced bread…or since that was invented in 1928 while Betty White was born in 1922, maybe even the greatest thing since Betty White.
Zig-zagging behind random stores and houses, Emma made her way to West Second and Main. As she hurried up the Jamies’ front walk, the door swung open.
Miss Almira peered out like a tall thin jackrabbit stretching to peep over the long grass, if jackrabbits had shoe-polish black hair.
“Emma. Good. It’s about time you came home to stay.”
“I’m not staying—”
“Of course you are.” Almira latched onto her arm and dragged her inside with the strength of a pro wrestler. “Your alpha pair needs you.”
“Unless that nice young wizard needs her more,” a voice chirped from inside.
Emma’s feet stuttered at the one-two punch. Mundanes didn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t know about shifters or witches.
Magic was a huge secret, because if mundanes discovered it, it’d be gone. Gabriel probably knew the theory of why, but her understanding was that the mundane world was Yes-No, while magic was Maybe. If enough mundanes knew magic was real, the whole of Maybe would condense into Yes-No, like crystals from sugar water, and magic would be gone forever. Witches somehow nudged individual Maybes into Yes or No without collapsing the whole.
“Close your mouth and come inside.” Almira tugged harder. “Gladys Louise, go get refreshments.”
Stumbling over the doorsill, Emma gaped at the woman as her brain finally framed a reply to the easiest of the stunners. “Um…how do you know about Noah and Sophia and…alpha pairs?”
“Please. We have a reputation to keep up. Would you be here for news if we didn’t know?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Now you will.” Almira raised her voice. “Gladys Louise! Where are those refreshments?”
“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Emma said. “I had some coffee and cake at my mother’s—”
“Nonsense, dear,” Miss Gladys Louise piped, bustling in with a tray. She always piped. Heavyset with short wavy blonde hair going gray, eyes small and bright, she set the tray loaded with cookies and a sweating pitcher on the coffee table. “It’s no trouble at all. Sit, dear, sit. We’re so glad Gabriel doesn’t have to handle the Enforcer problem all on his own.”
Emma felt her mouth fall open again. Witches and wolves, bad enough. Did the sisters know about the Council?
“You seem a bit off your feed today.” Almira’s appraising gaze scanned her. “You sick? Or is it that sack you’re w
earing like clothes?”
Gabriel had given her these clothes. Emma said staunchly, “They fit well enough.”
“Sure—if you’re an elephant.” Almira handed her a plate heaped with cookies wafting sugary steam.
Saliva glands suddenly pricking, Emma managed a watery, “I don’t really have time to eat—”
“Everyone has time for cookies, dear.” Gladys Louise sat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her.
“Sit. Multitask.” Almira practically pushed Emma onto the couch and pinned her there by plopping the plate of iced cookies in her lap. “Ask your questions while eating.”
Emma raised both hands, a combination WTF and I-give-up. “How do you know I have questions?”
“Why else would you be here?” Gladys Louise chirped reasonably, thrusting a cold glass into one of Emma’s uplifted hands.
The Jamies’ idea of hospitality was vodka-laced lemonade, so hard it was bullet-proof, and Emma took a cautious sip. She was pleasantly surprised by a fruity mingling of green tea, tart lemon, sweet sugar, and a hint of mint. “This is good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Almira said dryly. “Now. You’re in town to help Gabriel get his sister out of jail.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I tried. I only got him into more trouble. Or actually, he got himself in trouble, but I wasn’t any help—”
“You’ll help him dear, don’t worry.” Nibbling a cookie, Gladys Louise smiled kindly at her.
“Well, maybe, but I’m really here about a book.” Emma snatched up a cookie with red sprinkles and took an incautious bite. Flavors raced around on her taste buds, butter, chocolate chip, brown sugar…and oddly enough, maple. The frosting seemed to be maple buttercream. And the cinnamon sprinkles were strangely salty…
She barely resisted the urge to spit out her mouthful as her little soldier taste buds executed a flawless retreat. “Um…” she spoke around the mass in her mouth, “…what are these red jimmies?”
“My own innovation,” Gladys Louise said brightly. “Everyone loves ’em, and everyone loves cookies, so I thought, why not combine the two?”
“Loves what?” Emma said, although she had a horrific notion of what might be coming.
“Bacon crumbles. Aren’t they divine?”
“Ahhh.” Pretending her throat was a garbage disposal, Emma forced a swallow then put her plate carefully down on the coffee table. “I need to find my father’s journal. It’s an heirloom, but my mother sold it by mistake.”
“By mistake, of course,” Almira said darkly.
“She needed the money.” Emma believed her mother had good intentions. “Then you have the journal? Or you know who has?”
“No, dear,” Gladys Louise said. “We don’t have it, and we don’t know who does.”
“Oh.” Disappointment sapped the strength from Emma’s body.
But before her shoulders could slump, Gladys Louise added, “Why not try Linda Blue for a divination?”
Emma’s heart leaped, then thump-thumped harder. Linda owned the Uncommon bookstore—where Gabriel was.
Goose bumps raised the hair on Emma’s arms, both excitement and anxiety. She hadn’t worked through all the implications of his actually wanting her. But if she was to ever find her father’s legacy, it seemed she was going to have to face the wizard prince again.
Whether she was ready or not.
* * *
Gabriel paced his magical workout room, wondering what the hell was going on outside. He and Pan had made it into the pocket dimension before the Enforcer caught sight of them, but they were now cut off from reality. He had no idea if Linda had managed to send Ryder packing or get herself jailed instead. “Auntie and the Enforcer” sounded too much like a sitcom gone horribly wrong.
Five minutes into the ordeal he’d tried to iris open the wormhole, but his familiar stopped him. “You want to walk into Ryder’s cocked wand? C’mon, I’ll take your mind off things.”
Pan touched a couple talismans on the wall. Instantly both of them were barefoot and bare-chested in karate pants, their clothes neatly folded in a corner. A moment later the familiar came at him with a flurry of kicks and punches.
Defending himself kept Gabriel from worrying for maybe fifteen minutes. The panther familiar was too calm for Gabriel’s liking—and landed far too many punches.
“Are you sure that twit Ryder won’t do anything to Aunt Linda?” he said for the fuckteenth time, throwing a jab.
“Yes.” Pan blocked and threw an answering cross punch. “Unless he finds out she’s sleeping with her familiar.”
“What?” Gabriel’s hands fell completely away, leaving him wide open.
Pan buried a fist in Gabriel’s gut. “Unlikely, though.”
Gabriel managed to tighten his abdominals at the last moment, but his breath still came out in a whoosh.
Pan went on conversationally, “After all, she and Goodwin have kept it secret even from their nearest and dearest for nearly fifty years.”
“Goodwin?” Gabriel threw a front kick, landing forward because Pan had danced out of range.
“The familiar you so endearingly refer to as Mr. Kibbles? Not that I recommend any witch get involved with his or her familiar. The Council tends to look unfavorably on such things. And you and I—” Pan seared him with a glare, “—are a no-fucking-way-ever.”
“I never even considered…you and I aside, so what?” Gabriel came after Pan with a combination of kicks, front, roundhouse, land/pivot back kick, landing in a fully covered position. He noted at least one blow hit; Pan sported a red mark on his naked chest, which the familiar’s metabolism healed almost immediately. “Shifter/witch, that’s a problem because an insane dual would have powers to wipe out the world. But familiars aren’t magic like shifters, and they don’t manipulate magic like witches. What does the Council think could possibly happen with the child of a witch and her familiar?”
“Duals come in all forms, Gabriel. Shifter/witch is only the most obvious.” Pan came at him with his own combination of kicks.
Gabriel skipped back, barely avoiding the familiar’s strong, fast legs. “But without power—”
“Fuck power.” Pan leaped past Gabriel’s guard to plow a foot into his middle, folding him in two. “Imagine a witch with the wisdom of ages born in. Someone who, in the heat of rage, doesn’t have to consult with his familiar but knows exactly how to wipe out the world?”
“Ouch. Okay, I get it.” Bent over and panting from the bolts of pain radiating from that kick, Gabriel T-ed his hands, indicating a time-out. “Ryder must be gone by now. Can’t we leave?”
“It was exactly this impatience that got you in trouble in the first place,” Pan chided him. “And remind me—why did you need my charm to open your workout bubble? Where did you leave your belt of talismans again?”
“Fine.” With a humph, Gabriel tried to straighten. It was hard, not simply because the panther had gotten in a solid kick. Impatience churned in Gabriel’s gut, ate at it. He wanted to believe it was simple need to make sure Linda, the mother of his heart, was all right.
But honestly, that was only part of it. He knew Auntie would flit and flutter and generally behave like she hadn’t a brain in her head—and would shrewdly and perfectly assess Ryder and wrap him around her little finger like a thread to its spindle. She was, after all, an exceedingly accomplished textile witch.
No, what really ate his concentration was that he wanted to see Emma. Explain to her. Make things right. He didn’t like how they’d left it between them.
He compounded his problems by taking his frustration out on his familiar. He snarled at Pan, “So I’m impatient. A lot of time has elapsed. Can’t we leave now?”
“Bite me. You’re like a kid on vacation in the back of the van. Fine, fine.” Pan waved conciliatory hands when Gabriel’s fists came up for business. “Your aunt has probably whisked the troublemaker away. You want to shower first—?”
“Later.” Gabriel kne
w he looked and smelled like a freshly manured field, but Emma might have returned…he wasn’t about to wait. He clapped his hands and held them out in receiver position.
Pan extracted the silver talisman from a pocket in his folded clothes and tossed it.
Gabriel snatched the talisman out of the air and activated it with a pulse of power, the barest drop the ankle limiter allowed him. The doorway irised open.
Pan scowled as he scooped up the rest of their clothes. “You’ve got at most two more uses before you’ll need to recharge that.”
“After I get rid of this ball and chain.” Gabriel wiggled his weighted ankle as he stepped through—and stopped. Pan plowed into his back.
His naked back. Being half-dressed wouldn’t have been a problem if it had only been his aunt facing them. It might have even been fun if had it been Emma facing them. But instead…
Mrs. Santa Claus stared at them, slack-jawed, eyes like plates.
The Fudge Shoppe Lady, his dazed brain supplied. Not actually Mrs. Santa, but the sweet little grandmotherly woman, owner of the town’s candy store, played the role every year in the Matinsfield holiday parade.
“It’s magic,” she breathed.
He glanced back. As luck would have it, his familiar had originally triggered the portal right in front of Auntie’s freestanding Snow White mirror.
It looked like he and Pan were stepping out of a fairytale.
Gabriel cleared his throat. “I can explain—”
“The mirror! It really does grant wishes.” The Fudge Shoppe Lady waved a magazine labeled Menage Quarterly. She dropped her magazine—falling open to a centerfold that seemed to be a tangle of arms and legs and plunging gentlemen’s parts—and spread her arms. “Come to mama, boys.”
Chapter Fourteen
Emma took a deep breath and pushed open the door of the Uncommon Night Owl Bookstore.
Only to meet the Fudge Shoppe Lady being hustled out by a man with thick auburn hair frosted at the temples and green, oddly cat-like eyes. “Thank you for stopping by. Come again soon!”
