by Sam Burns
Wade slipped an arm around him and held out his handkerchief.
Conner looked up at them, eyes wide. “The German thing,” he whispered. He turned back to Annie and nodded. “Binding, then. I’m going to have to call my parents in the morning to let them know I’ll be staying in Rowan Harbor for the foreseeable future.”
Annie smiled at him. “At least Fletcher makes an excellent excuse. Any sensible parents would be pleased that their child is dating him.”
Conner gave her a shy look, face aimed at his own lap, looking up at her through his lashes. “I think they will be. I know I am.”
“Good.” Annie turned back into her usual no-nonsense self and raised an eyebrow at Fletcher. “Where’s that coffee, dear? And perhaps a shirt.”
8
A Beacon
Fletcher was trying hard not to throw up. Flying was hard. The feeling of nothing but air beneath him gave him a sense of vertigo that was hard to shake. It was like learning how to drive while upside down and nauseated.
He’d managed to turn into an owl again; it seemed like once he’d figured it out the first time, it wasn’t hard anymore. He still hadn’t managed to turn into anything else, but Oak assured him now that he’d gotten started, it would come quickly.
“That was much better, Fletcher Lane,” Oak told him, their voice solemn and serious, far kinder than his weak gliding deserved. “You did not hit my tree this time. You are improving.”
It was a good point. He’d rung his bell pretty hard the first few times he’d tried flying down from a branch. Dr. Jha didn’t want him doing anything too strenuous, since he’d been knocked unconscious less than a week earlier. There was no swelling or bleeding apparent, and he didn’t have any lasting concussion symptoms like Isla still did, but the doctor had pointed out that there was still danger. And didn’t he like his brain the way it was?
Maybe it was a good idea to quit while he was ahead. He made the shift back and walked on unsteady feet to where Oak was sitting in the small circle where they had learned to meditate. They handed him his pants, and he put them on slowly, so he wouldn’t fall down. He sat down next to them, closed his eyes, and just breathed for a moment.
“You should put the rest of your clothes on, Fletcher Lane. It is cold outside, and without feathers, you have no natural insulation.” They picked up his shirt and draped it over one of his shoulders, so he obligingly put it on. He only got his fingers tangled in the sleeve once.
“You guys have a good practice?” Conner asked from the riverside path as he and Isla approached.
“We did,” Oak told him. “Did you also have a productive session?”
Isla bumped Conner with her shoulder. “Well, one of us did anyway. Not fair, by the way.”
Conner gave her an apologetic look. “I don’t mean for it to happen. It’s like the magic already knows what shape to take.”
“Great. Magic muscle memory.” Isla sighed and looked a little defeated. “At least the town has gained one magically gifted ally, I guess.”
“You are gifted, Isla MacKenzie. You are simply not skilled yet.” Oak held out Fletcher’s socks next, then his shoes, and finally his coat. He looked up in time to see Isla elbow Conner and motion toward him with her head, in the universal sign of “Well? Tell him.”
Conner swallowed and cleared his throat. “So, um, the weather gets nice in the spring here, right?”
“Yes,” Fletcher said, suspicious. He looked at Isla, but she only smiled at him.
“I guess that, um,” Conner broke off and glared at Isla, then took a deep breath and said the rest in a rush. “Gary and Mom thought they’d visit in a couple of months when the weather clears, and he can get time away from the office.”
Fletcher’s mouth fell open. He was supposed to meet Conner’s parents? They’d only been dating a week. Conner had already met Dad, but that was different. Dad lived ten minutes’ walk from Fletcher’s apartment.
Isla coughed loudly. “Doesn’t that sound nice, Fletcher?”
“Um, yeah. Great. It sounds great.”
Conner rolled his eyes. “It’s okay. I’m still scared of your dad.”
“You guys are scared of all the wrong things,” Isla said, rolling her eyes at them. “You know who we should be scared of? The freaking Convocation. They came for Uncle Hector last night.”
Fletcher shivered. “Yeah? Was it awful?”
“Quiet, mostly. A couple of them stared at me like I was a lab specimen, which was creepy enough. But then one of the elders told me that she ‘looked forward to working with me,’ like I’m ever gonna join them.” She wrapped her arms around herself, and Conner put a hand on her shoulder. It was strange how easily they’d become friendly. Magic, Fletcher supposed. Having magic powers and not knowing what to do with them was a good unifier.
“So Hector is gone?” Conner asked. His tone said he was happy about that, but trying not to be obvious, since the man was Isla’s uncle.
She nodded. “Yeah. Not that I think he cared. Something about what happened out in the woods cracked his brain.”
Fletcher thought the man’s mind had cracked long before that, but he kept that opinion to himself, at least in front of Isla.
“He kept muttering that the thorn was in Rowan Harbor, and that it shined like a beacon. Then when they were trying to lead him out, he stopped and stared at me, and said death couldn’t save me from myself.”
“What?” Fletcher asked. He turned the phrase back and forth in his head, but he couldn’t find anything rational in it.
She shrugged, but still seemed uneasy about the whole thing. “I dunno. One of the Convocation witches told me it probably just meant I had to save myself, but it was still freaking creepy. I’m glad he’s gone.”
Conner and Fletcher stood on either side of her, each wrapped an arm around her, and after waving their goodbye to Oak, they headed back toward town.
“Who knows what it was about,” Conner said after a few silent moments of walking. “But we beat him. We beat them. We can handle whatever comes next too.”
Afterword
At the end of this book, Fletcher and Conner’s story isn’t over. Devon’s and Jesse’s stories aren’t finished, either. The Rowan Harbor Cycle is a trilogy of trilogies: nine total books. Each main character will have his own book in each trilogy. You’ll get a happy-for-now in the short term, and those happily-ever-afters are coming, I promise.
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Excerpt from Hawk in the Rowan
If you loved Fletcher and Conner, they’ll be back in book six of the Rowan Harbor Cycle, Adder and Willow.
From book four, Hawk in the Rowan:
Devon was sure that his incompetence had impressed Annie Anderson. Every time he started to think he was getting the hang of knitting, he managed to make a mess of something.
“I’m honestly not sure what you did here, honey. You’ve got the same number of stitches, but that cable just isn’t right.” She held it up toward the overhead light and peered at the half-made sock.
He could make a plain row with his eyes closed, but whenever he tried the cable pattern, it came out twisted and gnarled, all sharp edges and wrong angles instead of smooth intertwined curves.
She set it down on the counter and smiled at him. “I have an idea. Why don’t we just change the pattern? Play to your strengths, that’s what I always say.”
Salli, coming up behind her, snorted. “No, you always say face your fears and embrace the steek.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Devon told them, sighing and leaning on the counter. “Am I totally hopeless?”
Annie ruffled his hair. There weren’t a lot of people currently in town he would acc
ept that behavior from, but Annie Anderson was . . . well, she was about the only one. Maybe Madame Cormier, the venerable elder witch on the town council, but he doubted the serious, dignified lady would be interested in ruffling his hair.
“You’re fine,” Annie said, and rested her hand on his. “This is all new to you, but you’re learning fast. You’ll get there. It just takes time.”
The intense look she gave him implied she was talking about more than knitting, but Devon wasn’t sure he wanted to ask what she meant.
“It looks kind of cool, even if it’s wrong, like tree roots or vines or something.” Salli observed as she took a bite of the apple she was carrying and leaned across the counter toward Devon. “You’re not staying for knit-night, right?”
That made him frown. “Why not? You guys don’t want me here?”
He’d thought he was getting better at handling the shop’s busiest night of the week. There were always dozens of people, coffee and tea, snacks—heck, sometimes people even brought wine—and at first, it had been a little overwhelming. Running a shop packed with people was a little overwhelming, especially when they all wanted to ask questions about merchandise he was still learning about himself.
But he was getting the hang of it, or so he’d believed.
Annie and Salli were looking at him like he was the biggest idiot ever born.
“What?”
Annie sighed, shook her head, and looked over at Salli. “How much do you want to bet he hasn’t done anything?”
“How much of a sucker do you think I am?” Salli asked with a snort and took another bite of her apple.
“Devon, honey, do you know what day it is?” Annie asked.
“Um, Wednesday?”
Salli picked up his weirdly-cabled sock, inspecting the row of stitches. “Wednesday,” she agreed. “Wednesday, February . . .”
It took him a second of mental calculation to place the date. It wasn’t as though he had a schedule that forced him to pay close attention to it. So it was Wednesday, February—”Fourteenth,” he answered. Then he realized what they were getting at. “Oh, come on you guys. Valentine’s day? As much as I like chocolate, why would I be interested in a candy-industry holiday?”
The two women shared another look before Salli leaned in toward Annie. “Maybe you were wrong about him getting the hang of this.”
Annie shook her head, resolute. “Absolutely not. He just needs time.” She took the sock from Salli and stuffed it into the bag where Devon was keeping it, along with the cake of gray yarn. “And right now, he needs to go upstairs and put on nice clothes.”
“Do what?”
They both stared at him.
“But why? I mean, it’s not like Wade and I have anything planned.”
Neither woman said a word.
He sighed and turned to stomp off toward the stairs to his apartment. “Fine, I’ll put on different clothes. But if Wade shows up and asks why I’m all dressed up, I’m blaming you two.”
All the way up the stairs, he muttered to himself about interfering friends and small town gossip. His boyfriend wasn’t into hearts and flowers. Wade was a serious guy, and when he wasn’t being serious, he still wasn’t the romantic type. The lack of romance didn’t bother Devon. He was comfortable with Wade not being over-the-top romantic.
Sure, everyone wanted to know they were valued, but Wade was good at telling Devon that without words or chocolates. It was there in the way his face lit up when he saw Devon at the end of a long day, or his pleased sigh when they woke up spooned together. It was definitely there in the way Wade made them breakfast on Thursday mornings. Wade was enough without some day invented by capitalism to sell heart-themed merchandise.
But if it would please Salli and Annie, he would change clothes. He toed his shoes off as he passed the doorway, then tossed his t-shirt and jeans in the hamper as he passed it. Halfway into the walk-in closet, he turned and stripped off his plain white briefs, adding them to the dirty clothes. If he was going to the trouble of dressing up, he might as well put on nice underwear too.
Twenty minutes later, he was examining the results in the mirror. All black except for a dark red button-down, and he just might have found a pair of underwear to match the shirt. His auburn hair was still a mess, but nothing ever fixed that. People always seemed to think it was an intentional mess, so he didn’t worry about it.
Instead of slipping his sneakers back on, he went with a pair of black boots. They weren’t much nicer, but he didn’t own a truly fancy pair of shoes. He hadn’t had the money for that.
He glanced over to the window to check the sky, not even sure why he’d bothered. It was the same as it had been for almost two weeks: gray and threatening. It felt ominous to him, but he’d never spent a February in Rowan Harbor before, so maybe it was normal. No one else seemed bothered, so he was trying to keep his concern to himself.
He didn’t want to be the guy who went around asking, “Cold enough for you?”
When he got back down to the shop, Salli and Annie were still standing at the counter, and they turned to examine him. Annie twirled her finger to indicate that he should turn around. Confirming the fact that Annie was a creature of pure magic, Devon complied without complaint.
No, he didn’t think she’d magically forced him to turn around. He just hated the idea of disappointing her, so he did what she wanted.
“It’s passable,” Salli said, her tone grudging, as though she thought he could have done much better.
Annie walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “I think you look very nice, dear. I don’t know why your hair won’t lie flat, but I suppose that’s the way people like it.”
He shrugged but didn’t answer.
“Jeez, look like you’re headed for your own execution, why don’t you?” Salli asked. “It’s Valentine’s day. It’s not like he’s going to take you out for fried grasshoppers or something.”
Devon scrunched up his nose. “Do they serve that?”
Salli shrugged, but then nodded. “Somewhere, no doubt. I mean, it’s all protein, right? But nowhere in Rowan Harbor that I know of.”
“You’ll make the boy nervous, Salli,” Annie told her, waving her off. “I’m sure Wade knows his taste well enough to feed him. And if I remember correctly, Wade’s quite the decent cook.”
He looked between the two of them and shook his head. “I’d promise not to say I told you so, but I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself.” Sometimes it would be convenient to be able to lie, he thought. It was a recurring theme in his wishes, but there were also worse things than being known for telling the truth.
For some reason, the admission of impending rudeness was ignored, and the two of them fussed over his hair for a minute.
“That’s even worse,” Annie said with a sigh, stepping back.
Salli nodded. “Perfect.”
He was about to open his mouth to once again tell them that he thought they were crazy, but the electronic bell over the door jingled, and they all turned to look.
It was Wade, looking windblown and gorgeous. He was wearing date clothes too, a white button-down and pinstripe trousers. That wasn’t so shocking; Wade tended to dress up when he intended to go out for dinner.
But . . .
In one hand, Wade held a long-stemmed red rose. In the other was a picnic basket.
Part of Devon wanted to groan because Salli and Annie had been right. How did they know Wade better than him? Never mind the fact that they had spent decades around the man, and he hadn’t. Weren’t he and Wade supposed to be some sort of fated soul mates? How had he not seen this coming a mile off?
It wasn’t too hard to admit, if only to himself, that most of him thought it was adorable and endearing. Wade had made a picnic.
Wait.
“It’s February, Wade,” he said. “It’s going to snow.”
Everyone in earshot groaned, including a lady sitting halfway across the shop who had been engrossed in her knittin
g. She pushed her project into her bag and stood. “I guess I’d better get to the grocery store and pick up some essentials, in case it gets bad.”
Salli leaned back against the counter. “Should we cancel knit night?”
“Please,” Devon said with a roll of his eyes. “People would show up for knit night if there were an earthquake currently happening. Worst comes to worst and you can’t get home, you can sleep on the bordello sofa. It’s really comfy.”
Annie quirked an eyebrow. “Bordello sofa?”
Devon blushed. “It was what Mom called it. I’m sure it was never—”
Annie waved him off. “I get it. Now, since you shouldn’t be going out, you two should go sit on your bordello sofa and eat the lovely meal I’m sure Wade has made for you. Shoo, off you go.”
Wade gave him a shy smile and held up the basket. “A picnic in your apartment okay?”
Devon couldn’t say no. Not because he didn’t want to disappoint Wade—he couldn’t even lie to spare Wade’s feelings—but he found that surprisingly enough, he kind of wanted to eat a picnic in his apartment.
He was glad he’d changed clothes. Salli winked at him as they headed toward the stairs, and even though he knew she was going to give him hell later, he was grateful to have her as a friend.
“Everything okay?” Wade asked, his voice tinged with nervousness that Devon wasn’t used to hearing from him.
He looped his arm through Wade’s. “Yeah, I think so. Unexpected, maybe, but just fine.”
About the Author
Sam is an author of LGBTQIA+ fiction, mostly light-hearted romances. She would like to apologize that this particular book isn’t all that lighthearted. Most of her books include a little violence, a fair amount of swearing, and maybe a sex scene or two.
She is a full-time writer who lives in the Midwest with her husband and cat. Someday, she’d like to be a full-time writer who lives near the ocean with her husband and fox. Probably not one who’s also a shapeshifter. Maybe.
