A Light So Cruel (Pioneer Falls Book 3)

by Heather Davis

  Dad’s duty car from the sheriff’s department was parked in our driveway. The sound of a rock tune pulsed from our open garage door. I was surprised to see Dad and Morgan there, sitting inside in camping chairs, both with beers in their hands. A toolbox lay on the ground between them, along with something covered with a white sheet. Dad had on a flannel shirt and jeans, and his salt-and-pepper hair gleamed with water, like he’d freshly showered. He must’ve gotten off work early. Things had been quiet around town since the trouble on the last night of the Harvest Festival.

  Morgan’s amber eyes lit up as he saw me approaching. Butterflies in my stomach rallied for a quick flight. Seeing him always did that to me. I know maybe it was the euphoria thing that happens with new love, but whatever it was, I was drinking it in.

  “Hey!” he said, setting down his bottle and standing up to pull me into a hug. He was the perfect height—my face rested against his shoulder and his arms wrapped around my waist. His soft, longish dark bangs grazed my cheek as his lips found mine for a quick kiss.

  I pulled back, glancing nervously between Morgan and my dad. “So, um, what’s going on? You guys hanging out? It’s a little cold out here.”

  Morgan floated me a smile. “Maggie gave me something I wanted a professional opinion on. I brought it over.”

  “Well, I’m not a true professional,” Dad said, waving his hand. “I tinker.”

  I walked over and pulled off the sheet. Underneath rested a dusty motorcycle, splotched with rust, with one flat tire. “Looks like it might need some work.”

  “Not too much,” Dad said, adding a smile. “I think we could have it running with a few weekends of work.” He covered the motorcycle back up and then, catching the hint I was sending him with my eyes, headed into the house.

  When he was gone, I shared another kiss with Morgan, then took the seat next to him. “Won’t it be too wet and icy to ride motorcycles soon? Cascade foothills and all.”

  Morgan shrugged. “Perhaps, but it was free, lass,” he said, his mild brogue undulating through the words. I could listen to that accent for hours. He smiled at me. “Belonged to an old boyfriend, she said. Wanted it hauled away, though I reckon she wanted him hauled away, by the sound of it,” he said, with a little wink.

  “Ah, I see,” I replied, returning his wink. “And you thought my father might be a resource.”

  “Couldn’t hurt, aye?” Morgan said. “I still haven’t managed to win him over.”

  “You haven’t given up trying, at least,” I said, scooting my chair closer to his.

  He lowered his head, his lips covering mine. As the kiss deepened, his hand reached up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers slipping into my hair. That feeling of falling always hit me when Morgan kissed me, as if I could sink into him. Lately, as we became closer, it felt like I could—as if he were an extension of my own body, as if we were one being.

  I hadn’t felt like that before, but I was careful not to dwell on it. The thing about wolves is that you can’t go around with your intense feelings showing. More than once, Morgan had dipped into my mind, seeing the things I was visualizing, as many wolves apparently can do, but especially couples. There’s not much privacy when your brain’s an open book. I took care to guard against sharing too much with Morgan, because it felt dangerous to. Like I might overwhelm him, or myself.

  I broke from the kiss, breathing in the scent of him, and the touch of woodsmoke lacing the air. “So, a motorcycle…”

  “I need a vehicle anyway. Maggie drove me into the city to return the hired car this morning,” he said. “Motorbike might be a good option, if we can get her running.”

  I nodded and said carefully, “Cooper told me your parents—”

  “Are being unreasonable, as usual,” Morgan said. “I’m not worried, nor should you be.” His fingers smoothed a piece of my hair that’d escaped from my topknot.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Not something I’m proud of, love.” As if he could read my mind, Morgan touched me on the arm and said, “But not to worry––Maggie said she’s happy to keep me around as long as I care to be. And I’m the proud owner of a classic motorbike.” He kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll have things sorted soon.”

  “I know you’ve given up a lot. Things are just so…in flux.”

  “They’ll always be that way,” he said, getting up out of his chair. He set his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin near the garage door. “I know you’re worried about your family. It’s time, though, to think about what you want.”

  “And if I leave Pioneer Falls…”

  “When you leave Pioneer Falls, I want to be wherever you are.” He held his hand out to me, pulling me from my chair and into his arms. I lost myself in the crush of his mouth, the kiss pulling me deeper into the feeling that Morgan was all I needed. That everything would be all right. I was beginning to trust that feeling. Maybe a little too much.

  Chapter Two

  After I said good night to Morgan, I found my sisters, fraternal twins Rose and Fawn, in the kitchen of our two-story Victorian farmhouse. Two containers of ice cream waited on the counter with a can of whipped cream and a jar of maraschino cherries. Fawn had an apron over her cheerleading outfit. At her side, Rose rummaged through the cupboard.

  “Lower shelf,” Fawn said to Rose, looking up from stirring a chocolate sauce on the burner. “Almonds or pecans. There should be some left.” Her dark hair, nearly the same color as mine, was piled on top of her head in a messy knot, with a few wisps hanging down around her face and framing her green eyes. “No Morgan?”

  I shook my head. “He’s got an early job tomorrow. Something with Cooper.”

  Rose completed her search, a plastic sack in her hand. “Got ‘em. Almonds, anyway.” She set them on the counter next to the other sundae toppings, then came over to the table where her homework was laid out. Her navy sweatshirt over a buttoned-up denim shirt made the blue of her eyes pop. Layered over her black leggings, fuzzy socks on her feet were decorated with bright pink polka dots. Sleek as always, her blond hair was pulled neatly into a ponytail.

  Rose plunked into a chair and whispered, “You might want to fix your lip gloss. Kind of smeary for some reason.”

  I grabbed a paper napkin from the holder on the table and dabbed at my mouth. As I crumpled it in my hand, I noticed how crowded the tabletop was. At first I thought both sisters had been doing their homework on a Friday night, but then I realized half the hardbacks were cookbooks. One was open to a chocolate sauce recipe.

  Rose swooped out a hand and started gathering them up. “Space hog, sorry.”

  Dad smiled at me expectantly. “Did you know I had a bike like that, years ago? I spent a summer criss-crossing the country when I was young.”

  “Wait—are you trying to get Morgan to do that, to take off?”

  “Lily, duh,” Fawn growled. “Dad’s trying to bond with your man.”

  “My man,” I repeated, feeling like that sounded super weird. Especially coming from my sister’s mouth.

  Rose had taken the pile of books into the other room but now returned and said, “I think it’s cool, Dad.” That earned her a high-five, something Dad hadn’t done in a really long time, since we’d told him it was kind of embarrassing. Rose shook her head and settled into a chair.

  “Fawn, what about the football game?” I asked. “You quit the squad?”

  She frowned at me. “Right. You don’t know. The other team forfeited at half-time. Score was embarrassing,” Fawn said, shutting the heat off on her chocolate sauce and moving it to a back burner.

  Rose got some spoons from the drawer and set them near Fawn’s buffet line. Then, everyone gathered around the counter to create their desserts. It’s been the three of us since the twins were toddlers. One tradition we always observe is sundae buffets, partially because my dad is a huge ice cream fan. Back when he was doing all the cooking, it was one dessert he could manage. And even when times were tight fina
ncially, he’d kept a half-gallon of peanut-butter fudge ripple or rocky road in the freezer. Tonight we had classic vanilla, but Fawn’s homemade sauce was silky and rich, complementing it perfectly. As we took our seats around the kitchen table, where all of our important family conversations have happened, it seemed as good a time as any to follow Cooper’s advice and tell Dad about the vision.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked, swirling up a bite dripping with sauce.

  “Where’s that coming from?” He frowned but motioned for me to go on.

  “So this thing happened a couple weeks ago,” I said, then filled him in on the vision I’d had in the woods, including the creeper ravens.

  Dad was quiet when I finished, taking his time in scooping up the last bite of his sundae. He had that look on his face that comes from being in law enforcement for many years. Like, he’s trying to reserve judgment, but definitely wants to say something.

  Fawn grinned at me, her eyes wide. “I want to see a ghost.”

  “No way! Too spooky,” said Rose, getting up to put away the ice cream containers. “Especially the thing about the birds. I’ve been seeing them too, but I didn’t realize they were following you,” she added, putting the cartons back into the freezer.

  Dad swallowed his last bite. “Your teacher Ms. Wilson rented Millicent Cardew’s house, didn’t she?”

  “She rented a murder victim’s house?” Fawn said, wrinkling her nose.

  I plunked my spoon into my bowl. “Millicent wasn’t killed there. Besides, I don’t think there were many places for rent.”

  “Still, strange choice,” he murmured.

  “Wait—so can we go back to the part about if ghosts exist, Dad?” Rose said. “I mean, it’s logical that if we exist, so do they. Creatures and all.”

  “They aren’t like us. Spirits aren’t alive. We are alive.” Dad ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the gray at his temples. “Please don’t call us ‘creatures.’ We’re supernatural, that’s all.”

  Fawn pointed at me with her spoon. “Unfinished business—that’s the typical reason ghosts hang around, right? Don’t they need to go to the light? That’s what you always see on those ghost hunting shows. Man, I love those.”

  “I could ask Maggie. She knows about stuff like that,” I said.

  Dad sighed. “No, no. Guys, remember the idea is to blend. Not to call attention to ourselves. We’ve got other issues to contend with right now.”

  “Yeah, Ezra’s Laundromat’s opening in Still Creek next Monday,” Rose blurted out.

  Fawn cut her eyes at her twin. “We have a washer and dryer last time I checked.”

  “You checked? Do you ever use it?” I joked, since Fawn’s attire usually included clean clothes from my closet. Her infamous borrowing was taking place a little less than before lately, but it was never fun to find an empty hanger where my favorite sweater should be. Fawn rolled her eyes at me.

  “It’s not like it’s a secret. I saw a flyer posted in town.” Rose’s gaze dropped to her ice cream bowl.

  “A bowling alley and now the Laundromat? Ezra’s pack is trying to expand his empire. He’s not trying to blend,” I pointed out.

  “You don’t think— I mean, he’s not going to steal our lupine pendants?” Fawn said, putting a hand protectively to her necklace.

  “They can’t be taken. They have to be willingly given away if they’re around your neck,” Dad explained. “Just laying around in a box, they could be stolen, as we found out.”

  “I’m not planning on taking mine off,” Rose said, using a paper napkin to dab at a spot of chocolate on her sweatshirt. “I saw what happened to Fawn at our birthday party.”

  “And you shouldn’t remove them,” I said, giving Dad a hard look. “Not with hunters still hanging around.”

  Dad let out a sigh. “I’m doing all I can, Lily. I’ve had a few leads on the other hunters there the night Mr. Gray was killed. Nothing’s panned out yet.”

  “Well, one of those guys has to have the town records Cooper gave Bowman,” I said. “If he hadn’t been so messed up about his dad’s death, he never would’ve given them to him.”

  “Of course. I hope he doesn’t think we blame him for that.”

  “What’s the big deal about old books?” Fawn said, leaning back in her chair.

  Dad took his empty bowl to the sink. “The big deal is these documents are the 1870s originals that show the deaths as wolf attacks. The records were rewritten to show the cause of deaths as an influenza epidemic.”

  “The town was a lot smaller then,” I added. “So just imagine you know all the families in town. Over a hundred people died. Most families lost a member or two, but some were completely untouched.”

  “Right… Because they were the wolves!” Rose piped up, finishing my thought. “So someone could use that as a family tree, finding the old lines that didn’t lose a member. That’d help point them in the right direction.”

  Dad nodded. “Exactly.”

  “But we weren’t here then, obviously,” Fawn said. “There weren’t Turners.”

  “Not true.” Dad leaned against the counter, a look of resignation on his face. “My father was here. That’s why I brought us to this town in the first place.”

  My stomach dropped. “Dad, you lied to us? It wasn’t because you liked the mountains?”

  “I was going to tell you,” Dad said.

  “Hold it— Our grandfather was here in 1870?” Rose said. “That math doesn’t work.”

  “Werewolves age differently than humans. I’ve mentioned that before to you girls,” Dad replied patiently. “My father was here—Barnaby Turner. He and his cousin, Philomena. They fled town just after the epidemic of attacks hit.”

  “You never told us this,” Rose said, shaking her head.

  “How could I explain my father was alive before the turn of the century, Rose?” Dad leaving out some of the real story wasn’t a new thing. It was kind of a pattern with him.

  Dad had covered up our supernatural origins for years. I understood why. Mom had left the family when I was three and the girls were infants—she hadn’t been able to handle Dad’s curse…or the fact that we were doomed to the same fate. He’d been scared we’d freak out (which we did) and had thought he could handle it by protecting us from becoming werewolves (which he could not). But now that the truth was out, at least at our kitchen table, the policy was supposed to be telling the truth.

  “Our granddad and Philomena never came back to Pioneer Falls?” I pressed.

  He shook his head. “No, he stayed in Alaska for many years until he met a ship captain’s daughter turned by a local werewolf and brought her back to Seattle. They had me during the baby boom of the 1950s.”

  “You’re so old,” Fawn said, her eyes wide.

  Rose shook her head. “Not old, just born a long time ago.”

  He smiled. “And you’ll be too, someday. If we keep things quiet. But yes, the Turners are probably listed in the records as having no casualties or deaths. I’m sure the Smiths are there, too,” he pointed out, opening the dishwasher.

  “Yes, I’m sure I saw Ezra’s name in the records when Cooper first showed them to me.”

  “Gladys? Any Jenkinses in there?” Rose said as she started rinsing off the bowls and handed one to Dad.

  “She told me she’s from Montana. She’s not Ezra’s original mate,” I said.

  “Mr. Gray’s family…”

  “Probably in the book, I’m sure,” Dad said. “Maybe Archibald Gray, himself. He was ancient.”

  “But records don’t prove anything. Unless someone knew what they were looking for. I mean, who in town’s going to believe werewolves were living among them?” Fawn said with a shrug. “Rick Bowman, he was the only one hell-bent on flushing out werewolves. He’s gone, so…”

  I watched Rose’s expression at the sink—any mention of the Bowmans made her frown resurface. Rick’s death had been hard on her, because it meant the loss of Alex Bowma
n, her one-time crush. She still wasn’t over him, even as doomed as it’d been.

  Dad read the sadness too and cut Fawn a sharp look. “The small group backing Rick that night could’ve seen Mr. Gray morph back into his human form as he died. It’s a real possibility they saw the change. They don’t know who we are, but they know we exist. Rick’s mission to convince them was successful.”

  “So what do we do now? Unmask the hunters, keep Ezra in check, find the missing records?” I said, ticking off the to-do list.

  “None of that,” Dad said as he shut the dishwasher. “It’s not for you to handle. Low profile, Lily.”

  “And the ghost?” I asked, taking a seat back at the table. I could feel a lecture brewing behind Dad’s glare.

  “Stay out of it.”

  Fawn and Rose shared a look, as if they were about to say there was no way I would. They knew that it wasn’t in my nature. Dad did too, for that matter.

  “I am trying to stay out of it,” I said. “I’m not trying to attract this kind of stuff.”

  “Well, it seems to be attracting you,” Dad said, then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  Low profile was his response to everything, but he, of all people, should know that it wasn’t possible to do that, not with everything that was at stake. Besides, it wasn’t going to be easy to ignore a restless spirit. Not if the ravens had their way.

  ***

  The next morning, Maggie’s cousin Emily was taking the Saturday morning shift at the coffee shop, so I decided to keep Morgan company on a errand, dropping off a cake order over at the fire hall in the next town. He did odd jobs for Maggie while he was staying in the apartment above her garage. Deliveries, DIY projects, he was happy to do whatever she asked in exchange for rent. Even more important now that his money was tight.

  Still Creek is only about ten minutes down river from Pioneer Falls. It doesn’t have a charming Main Street like Pioneer Falls does. Instead, its businesses huddle along the highway. Local lore has it that some of the settlers of Pioneer Falls broke off and founded Still Creek after a land dispute. It never grew the way our town did, probably because our beautiful falls are such a draw. Still Creek will always be a place that people stop for directions or fill their gas tank.