by Susan Sey
Because now Goose didn’t just suspect Yarrow was in love with Einar. Now she knew. And because a love that intense didn’t bloom without at least a little hope, she also knew Einar must have encouraged it on some level. She just didn’t know how. Or why. Or what, if anything, Yarrow had to do with the supernotes she suspected Einar was smuggling into the country in his cute little bumblebee plane.
Which meant Goose was about to take a good, hard run at Einar. No matter what Rush and Lila thought.
THE FOLLOWING night, Yarrow loaded up her tray with a couple bowls of soup and a few hunks of bread. She considered spitting in Agent Smiley Face’s barley bean. God knew the bitch deserved it after the crap she’d pulled yesterday. Poking around in her personal life like it was the Secret Service’s business who she was fucking. Jesus.
She debated the idea for a minute then decided against it. Lila would kill her. Yarrow didn’t know if she had hidden cameras or ESP or what, but the old lady was sharp. Way sharper than either of Yarrow’s parents. Or maybe she just paid attention. Which would’ve put her way out ahead of the folks, too, Yarrow thought bitterly.
But if Lila found out she’d defiled the sacred covenant of providing nourishment for a traveler—or whatever bullshit language she used—there would be hell to pay. So no spitting in the soup.
But she wanted to. Damn, she wanted to. If only because she’d happily sell her soul—whatever was left of it anyway—to be the one sitting across from Einar right now, basking in the glow of his eager attention. But she wasn’t, was she? She was the one wearing the apron and schlepping the lovebirds their dinner. Typical.
She wadded up her anger and her hurt like a used napkin and stuffed it down into the dank, black place inside her where she kept the rest of the pain and rage she didn’t know what to do with. She wiped her face clean of anything but cynical detachment, shouldered her tray and headed into the dining room to serve her beloved and her enemy.
GOOSE DIPPED her spoon into the rich, tomatoey broth and smiled up at Yarrow. “It’s delicious,” she said. “Do you and Lila make it?”
Yarrow snorted. “In the microwave.”
Einar shared a look with Goose that said kids. “Lila’s more a baker than a cook. She handles the pastries and breads in-house but has a contract with a fantastic little café in Grand Marais for the soups,” he told her. “I fly in a fresh supply for her every week.”
Yarrow made a noise that might’ve been confirmation, might’ve been scorn as she stomped off. Goose watched her go, her concern carefully concealed. She knew how Yarrow felt about Einar, but Einar’s feelings for—and uses for—Yarrow were as yet undetermined.
She considered him carefully, from the sunny tousle of his hair to the assured curve of his smile. Flattery, she decided. She’d start there and see where it took her.
“So, Einar,” she said, lifting a spoonful of soup to her mouth. “What’s kept you on Mishkwa all these years?”
He shot her that weapons-grade smile and said simply, “It’s home.”
“Well, sure. But with your brains, energy, ambition? Not to mention that pretty face?” She blasted him with a smile of her own. “You could go anywhere, do anything. Why limit yourself to—” She broke off, seeking a word that could sum up the jagged, claustrophobic beauty of Mishkwa. “. . . this?”
His smile died and he eyed her as if weighing something. “Can I show you something?” he finally asked.
She set her spoon aside and said, “Absolutely.”
“Back in a few, Yarrow,” he called toward the kitchen.
He held the door for her and in moments they were standing on the wooden pier that shot out from South Harbor into the sluggish, gunmetal waters of Lake Superior.
Like the water, the air was heavy and thick. A full moon curved ripe and fertile as a pregnant belly in the unseasonably warm sky, painting a hazy halo in the night around it. If the damp air didn’t steal her breath, Goose thought, surely the sight of that moon would have.
“That’s why I’m here,” Einar said. He tucked his fingers into the pockets of his jeans and nodded toward the sky. “Her.”
“Her?”
“Our Lady.”
“Our Lady? You mean the moon?” Goose blinked at him in honest surprise. When Rush had said Einar didn’t believe in magic, she’d just assumed . . . “You’re a witch? Or, what, a wizard?”
“Pagan,” he said, laughing. “Or Wiccan, if you like. I don’t think they have actual wizards outside of Oz or Harry Potter movies.”
“Huh,” she said.
“Uh-oh.” His eyes twinkled. “You didn’t know about the coven here?”
“Not till a few days ago,” she said.
“A pity but not a surprise.” He sighed. “Mishkwa Coven is one of the oldest blood-bonded covens in this part of the world, you know.”
“Blood-bonded?”
“It means the leadership is handed down along family lines. No actual bloodletting involved, though I understand why you’d be edgy about that sort of thing after what you and Rush stumbled onto at the Stone Altar.” He met her sharp look with an easy smile. “Lila mentioned it to me. Asked me to, you know, keep an eye out.”
Goose nodded.
“Point is, we’re an ancient coven with a rich tradition, a breathtaking location and a potential tourist attraction in the Stone Altar that rivals Ireland’s Newgrange.” He shook his head at the waste of it. “It’s a shame Lila keeps it so low profile.”
“Her call,” Goose said carefully. “Her being high priestess and all.”
“Her call,” he agreed. “At least until she retires.”
“And when she does? You’d run things differently?”
“I will run things differently.” He grinned, boyish and handsome in the moonlight. “We’re blood-bonded, remember? I’m next in line.”
“What about Rush?”
He shrugged. “Rush doesn’t do religion. Even if Lila begged him to take over the coven, even if it was her dying wish, he wouldn’t do it.”
“So it’ll be you, then.” Goose gave him a look she hoped was both speculative and flattering. “What’ll you do first?”
“Renovate the Stone Altar, of course. It’ll require significant structural enhancement before it’s ready for Paganpalooza.”
“Paganpalooza?”
He grinned at her. “Hey, the lunar standstill only happens five times a century. You think I’d let another one squeak by without a party? It’s a damn good thing I’ve got fourteen years to wait, though. It’ll probably take that long to get that old mine shaft up to code.”
He went on in that vein for a few more minutes, with Goose throwing in the occasional encouraging noise to keep him rolling. Lila had been right, she thought as she studied the avarice lighting up his pretty face. He’d turn Mishkwa into a theme park. Probably had plans drawn up and stashed in his desk drawer, just waiting for his aunt to kick the bucket.
Theme parks didn’t come cheap, though. Neither did power. And it might take significantly more power than Einar anticipated to ensure his inheritance. She thought about Rush, who, at that very moment, was tending to that list of complaints she’d accidentally gathered. Stopping at one house for a quick chat about the proper storage of trash barrels, probably sprinkling salt on the unshoveled walks himself. Maybe taking out a few unwelcome garden pests along the way. Einar could be in for some stiff competition if Rush felt like giving it to him.
Goose didn’t like the ugly, complicated picture starting to develop in her mind. So far she had Einar aiming to destroy the pristine, harsh beauty of this island, and financing the effort with money he’d earned funneling supernotes into the United States. And if that weren’t enough to keep her up nights, she still had to figure out where, if anywhere, Yarrow fit into this whole mess.
Because she did. Goose could feel that in her gut, knew it with an absolute certainty she couldn’t explain but believed with every cell in her body. Einar was doing something with—or to—Yarrow
, but Goose hadn’t the faintest idea what.
It was going to eat at her, too, the Yarrow question. She’d need to resolve it, one way or the other, before she left Mishkwa. It was outside the scope of her duties, but she couldn’t even think about leaving until she knew the girl was safe.
Then she’d have to think about it. About leaving.
A tiny spark of pain danced through her at the prospect, but she put it away. Focused. Called on the self-control and single-mindedness she’d honed with years of unstinting sweat to dredge up a doubtful nose-wrinkle for the man beside her.
“So you’re gambling your entire future—and I assume your life savings—on an event that happens once every twenty-ish years?”
“Yep.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned his face to the night sky.
“I don’t know, Einar. Building your life plan around moonlight seems a little risky.”
“Around your moon, sure. The one you can see from your window back in Minneapolis. But this isn’t that moon.”
Goose squinted upward. “I’m pretty sure it is, actually.”
He shook his head. “Does your moon look like this? Feel like this?” he asked as moonlight bathed his perfect face. “Can’t you sense it, Goose? How close She is here? How full, how ripe? How powerful?”
“And you want that?” Goose asked slowly, blinking at the naked hunger in his eyes as he gazed up at the moon. “Power?”
He shook his head ruefully, the hunger in his face taking on an unwelcome earthiness as he brought his attention back to her. “I want lots of things,” he said, his eyes dropping to her lips. Uh-oh. “Who doesn’t?”
Crap. She’d known it was dicey, letting him get her alone under a romantic moon. Even puppies had teeth, and she’d just gotten a look at the sort of bite Einar had to offer. It was decidedly more carnal than she’d anticipated. Most men who toyed with teenage girls didn’t have the balls to approach a woman their own age, but Einar didn’t appear to have any problem on that front. So did this mean he wasn’t preying on Yarrow’s feelings for him? Or that he just wasn’t your ordinary child molester? She stared at him, frozen by the debate raging in her head.
“Goose,” he said softly, and reached for her.
Then the night air was rent by the bellow of an enraged moose and the bright twinkle of breaking glass.
Chapter 15
GOOSE RACED down the street with Einar trailing behind at a leisurely amble. She’d never seen him move faster than a reluctant trot, now that she thought of it. Which was fine with her, considering the wicked intent she’d recognized in those Caribbean-blue eyes back on the dock. Lord knew she didn’t want the guy moving any faster than absolutely necessary.
She spotted a knot of people standing in the street between Lila’s place and Ben Barnes’s. Rush was there already, his shorn head and closed face looming over his aunt, and Goose jogged over to him. She slipped a hand into his elbow and tugged.
“Rush, hey.” She threw a wayward hank of hair away from her mouth while Rush angled himself to shield her from the wet slap of the wind. “What happened?”
“Sounds like our rogue moose was looking for love in all the wrong places again,” Rush said.
“It’s that damn garbage pile in your backyard,” Ben Barnes said to Lila. “How many times do I have to tell you? Compost only works if you maintain the pile. You can’t just throw your trash out the back door and expect not to attract wildlife.”
Lila tossed her head. “The wildlife was here first, Mr. Barnes. I don’t think my compost has anything to do with a rogue moose who’s confused about when mating season ended.”
“It seems,” Rush interrupted when it looked like Ben was about to go for Lila’s throat, “the moose was stomping around by Lila’s compost pile and caught his own reflection in Ben’s bay window across the yard. Pretty bright moon tonight, I guess. Took offense and charged himself.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got the shattered window to prove it,” Ben said bitterly. “You know what it costs to replace a window that size?” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and glared at Lila. “My insurance premiums are going to go through the roof.”
“Not necessarily,” Goose said. “Not if somebody else’s insurance processes the claim.”
Lila frowned at her. “You want my insurance to pay for his window?”
“Of course not.” Goose gave her arm a reassuring pat. “I was thinking more of the Park Service’s insurance.”
Rush frowned down at her. “The Park Service’s?”
“Sure. Isn’t it their job to manage the moose population on Mishkwa?”
Lila and Ben both bent a stern look on Rush.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “It is. That could actually work. I’ll make some calls.”
“In the morning, though, please,” Lila said. She checked her watch. “We have esbat in a few minutes, and we’ll want to get started right on time. There’s a spell casting tonight. Libby Lane’s fibromyalgia is acting up.” She glanced at Rush, hope in her eyes. “You are coming?”
Rush looked up from the notepad where he was scribbling something. “Ah . . .”
“Rush. You promised.”
“Okay, all right. I’ll just see Goose back to the Ranger Station,” he said. “Be back in half an hour. Forty-five, tops.”
Einar appeared at Goose’s side and she jumped. She’d forgotten he was even there. Whoops. “May I see you home, Goose?” he asked.
“But then you’d miss esbat.” She blinked innocently at him and hoped the subtext would sink in without further effort on her part. I’d rather you go to church than try to kiss me again, ’kay?
“They come once a month.” He smiled deep into her eyes. Seductively. Crap. “There’ll be another one.”
“Still.” Goose turned to Lila in near desperation. “I’m about to be unforgivably forward,” she said, “but do you think I could come? To esbat?”
Lila clapped her hands in delight and Ben heaved a disgusted sigh. “You seem like a decent enough girl,” he said to her. “Why would you want to get mixed up with a bunch of naked, aging hippies?”
“Why, Ben!” Lila laughed. “Have you been spying?”
He flushed. “Hard to miss a conga line of idiots chachaing through my backyard in the altogether, Lila.”
“And you all alone in that big house,” she said softly. “You must be dreadfully lonely.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Ben shook his head and fixed an eye on Goose. “There’s a nice Catholic church in Hornby Harbor if you’re feeling the need for services. Wednesday and Saturday nights, Sunday mornings.”
Goose put a hand on his arm, gave him a warm smile. “Thanks, Ben,” she said. “I’m more curious than faithful, though. I’ve never been to a pagan service.” She turned to Lila. “Do you mind if I sit in?”
“What a wonderful idea!” Lila gifted her with a warm smile and turned to Rush. “Rush, isn’t that a wonderful idea?”
“Yep.” He sounded distinctly less than thrilled. “Wonderful.”
Goose peered through the darkness at Rush while Lila disappeared into the house, presumably to gather equipment or robes or incense or, cripes, for all Goose knew, broomsticks and pointy hats. Einar followed her and Goose nearly sagged in relief. The reprieve was temporary, of course. She knew that. He’d try again. A guy like Einar always had a second act. But for tonight, anyway, she was in the clear.
“Come on, then,” Rush said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the footpath running between Ben’s and Lila’s front porches.
“Where are we going?”
“Esbat.”
She blinked as he led her deeper into the darkness between the two houses. “Wait, there’s not really a naked cha-cha during this thing, is there?”
Rush threw her an unreadable look over his shoulder. “A cha-cha? No. It’s been a while, but I’d remember that.”
“I should hope so,” Goose murmured. It didn’t escape her notice that he hadn’t
addressed the naked part of her question, and she took a moment to wonder what she’d gotten herself into. It was warm out for December, but not so warm that she was interested in taking off even her mittens, let alone her clothes. Then again, if Rush went first—
She nearly plowed into his back before she realized he’d stopped on the path ahead of her. She peered over his shoulder toward the people milling around Lila’s backyard.
“Aren’t we supposed to be out there?” she asked, nodding toward the minglers.
“In a minute.” He dropped his chin, leveled her a shrewd look. “Just as soon as you tell me what you’re up to.”
“Up to?” She gave him very big eyes. “I just want to observe the esbat.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He folded his arms, planted himself. “Why?”
“I like a good show?”
“It’s church. Not theater.”
“Oh, please. What church isn’t theater? I’ll bet Lila knows her way around a dramatic moment, too.”
He maintained a skeptical silence.
“And, all right, I’ve also got my eyes open for a power-mad counterfeiter with bloody fingers. Don’t pretend you aren’t looking, too.”
The silence grew. Goose rolled a shoulder.
“And it’s possible, I suppose, that I wanted out of Einar’s chivalrous offer to see me home.”
“I see. And why is that?”
“Sir Humpalot threw him off his moves earlier but he was ramping up for another pass, okay? I didn’t feel like making excuses.”
His brows came together. “Einar moved on you?”
“Not like it was a big surprise. I think he moves on every woman in a five-mile radius. It’s like a reflex or something.” She frowned. “Which isn’t very flattering, now that I think about it.”
“So you took evasive action? Why bother? He doesn’t hear ‘no’ very often, but he understands the basic concept.”
She hesitated. “It’s not that simple.”
His eyes went flat, cool. “No?” He stepped back. “I thought it was.”
She stepped forward. “Rush, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
