by Sarah Beth
The women sat in silence for a moment before Claire stood, grabbing both mugs. “How about I boil some more water and I can try to answer more of your questions?”
Claire and Abby sat facing each other on the couch, steaming mugs of tea between their hands. “The Faye are creatures of legend, inasmuch as werewolves and witches.” Claire began, “Any story you’ve ever heard of fairies or the Faye hold some truth into what they’re like. They’re powerful immortal beings. They can be killed, but it’s near impossible and people are usually smart enough to not attempt it. They tend to be tricksters, changing whatever you say to them to suit their whim.” Claire paused and shrugged, “They’re both dangerous and a necessary part of our lives. Because the only way you become a witch, a real one with any amount of true power, is because your father was a Faye.”
Abby’s brows grew together, “Alex told me some of that last night, but why do you say my father must have been Faye? Why not my mother?”
The gypsy nodded, “Because, female Faye can’t give birth. Or at least, I’ve never heard of one carrying a child to term. I don’t even know if it’s possible, actually.”
Well, that was interesting. Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, Abby wished she could speak to the woman that she couldn’t remember. Her brows still drawn tight, Abby shook her head a bit. “Okay, but Alex had said something about you not having a lot of Faye-blood. Does that mean you’re not half-Faye?”
Nodding, Claire set her tea down on the table. “He’s right, I’m not a first generation witch. It was my three-times great grandmother who was fathered by a Faye. I only have a small amount of that blood in my veins, so my powers are small. The farther down the family line that the Faye is, the less and less concentrated the magic becomes.”
So that was why Alex had said that witches with a lot of power were uncommon — because most of them weren’t half Faye. “Why don’t the Faye father more witches? I mean if they hold the key to creating new and powerful allies, why wouldn’t they?”
Claire offered her a pointed look, “You just answered your own question. It was outlawed by the Faye Council around the time of my great grandmother’s birth. Breeding armies of witches didn’t exactly speak to the Faye’s platform of peace to the other species.”
“So what you’re saying is that I was born illegally?”
Abby looked at Claire and found a sad smile gracing the usually bright face, “That’s what it would appear. Otherwise no one would hide you away like that, outside of your own world and away from your family.”
Growing up, Abby had always felt like she didn’t belong. Being tossed from foster home to foster home hadn’t made that feeling any better. She had decided that the construct of family was just something she wasn’t meant to have, that she didn’t need it. And then she’s tossed into a world where a pack of werewolves acted more like a family than her foster homes ever did and she found out that someone cared about her life enough to hide her away for 13 years. Because obviously they cared, right? Or were they just afraid of the consequences of having a half-Faye child? She was lost in her thoughts until Claire reached over and grasped her hand in her own. Slowly, Abby looked up into warm brown eyes.
“I can’t image how all of this must make you feel, you’ve had a crazy weekend. If you ever need anything, just give me a call. I’ll be happy to listen to you ramble on for hours if that’s what you need.” She squeezed Abby’s hand briefly before letting go. Abby’s heart clenched at the kindness of the stranger sitting beside her.
But that was the thing with Claire — she didn’t feel like a stranger even though Abby had only met her an hour before. In that moment, Abby knew that she would definitely be calling Claire to talk someday soon.
Clearing her throat, Abby looked up at Claire. “Okay, let me just make sure I’m understand some things correctly...Faye are basically un-killable supernatural beings. Followed by witches, as long as they’re either half-Faye or using dark magic. And werewolves are just super strong immortal dogs?”
Claire laughed, the sound bright and airy as it filled the room. “Basically, yes.” She wiped the corner of one of her eyes with her sleeve, her smile dazzling. “I would pay you to call Wesley a dog in front of him,” laughter started to bubble up in her chest again, “that would be hilarious.”
Abby chuckled herself, “Yeah, I’m sure it would be hilarious for you.”
It took a moment for them stop laughing. When their breathing had returned to normal, Claire nodded towards the kitchen. “How about you go out there and bring in that stubborn wolf?”
But she didn’t have to. Just as Claire spoke, Wesley walked into the living room, his eyes downcast and a sheepish look on his face. Abby was fairly certain she could see his lips fighting a smile.
He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, “I apologize for running out like that. I—.”
“It’s okay.” Abby smiled at him softly, and was rewarded with a tentative smile back.
He made his way around the table and back to his chair across from her. “I gave Alex a call, told him what Claire knew.” Oh, right. Abby thought, giving herself a good mental shake. They had been here about a poor missing girl who was likely being tortured by a dark witch. When she heard Wesley chuckle, she glared over at him, “Hey, sorry my brain is a little haphazard right now.”
Raising his hands in surrender, he didn’t stop chuckling when he said, “No, no it’s fine. I’m sure this is a lot to take in. You just look rather cute when you’re frustrated.”
Did he just...he did. She must have stared for a bit too long because his smile faltered, and she swore she could see a blush rising on his neck. Maybe he hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud. Abby’s own cheeks started to burn when Claire’s laughter filled the room again.
Sitting back down, Claire smiled sweetly as she regarded Abby. “Alex told me you’ve been seeing spirits?”
Coldness suddenly seeping into her bones. Not her favorite subject to talk about. But before her panic, or her voice, could catch up with her, Wesley swooped in. “It doesn’t appear to happen all the time, just happens out of the blue.”
She looked at him, hoping that her eyes spoke her gratitude better than her voice could at that moment. But Claire was looking at her expectantly, so she slowly nodded her head and cleared her throat. “He’s right. It just...happens sometimes.”
Claire nodded, her attention fully on Abby. “And is there anything telling about these spirits? Do they speak to you? Do they all seem similar in a way?”
Looking down at her hands in her lap, she thought back to all of the different spirits that she had seen in the last couple of weeks. None of them had spoken to her, but she was fairly certain it wasn’t because they didn’t try. She just couldn’t hear them, thankfully.
Until that girl in her dream. She thought hard for a moment, and then noticed a particular detail that was so obvious she felt silly for not realizing it sooner. She looked back up at Claire, “They all look like they’ve been murdered. They’re usually cut up or stabbed or bloody everywhere.” Abby paused and shrugged, “Well, except for these two kids that follow me through the park by my apartment. They look like they probably starved to death, but they aren’t covered in blood.”
Making a thoughtful noise, Claire ran a hand over her chin. “So you haven’t seen any spirit that looks healthy — as healthy as a spirit could look?” There was humor in her voice when she finished speaking but Abby understood.
Shaking her head, she glanced over at Wesley and back at Claire. “No. And I’ve never heard them speak, except for the girl in my dream who told me to find Buern. I think they try to speak to me, but it’s like I can’t hear them.”
“Well, that’s likely because you haven’t had any training. Seeing spirits is one thing, but communicating with them is another thing entirely.” said Claire, her thoughtfulness evident in the set of mouth and brows. “But now wait a moment, tell me about this girl in your dreams?”
Abby shrugged, clasping her hands in her lap. “I’d been seeing her in my dreams since my birthday back in August, always the same dream. She just stands there, staring at me.”
“And she never spoke to you? Until recently?”
She shook her head, remembering the night she woke from her dream when the girl had spoken to her. She didn’t think she’d ever been more freaked out in her life.
“It was Friday night, I fell asleep on the couch working on homework. It started like normal, she just stood there staring at me but I got irritated.” Abby could feel her irritation growing as she told the story, even though there was no reason to be getting annoyed. “I was sick of her just standing there, of being in my dreams. So I yelled at her.”
“Yelled at her?” Wesley was watching her with his brows drawn together, his lips set in a hard line.
Abby nodded, “I told her to either say something or go away.”
Wesley’s eyes crinkled at the edges, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Claire cleared her throat, grabbing Abby’s attention again. Her face was hard, no longer soft and sweet. “What did she say, Abby?”
The chill was back, running down her spine and making her sit up a bit straighter. She didn’t think, even in a few hundred years if she lived that long, that she would ever forget the voice of the girl. “She said three words. Over and over again.”
Only at that moment, sitting in the room with a witch and a werewolf, did the words start to make more sense. Abby looked over at Wesley, concern plain as day on his face. “Buern, Faye, and...Mate.”
Silence descended on the room, suffocating Abby as the dream rushed over her like it had just happened. How had she not put those words together, as soon as Alex had started talking about Faye? Or about mates? One look over at Wesley and she could see the same realization donning on him too. Had the ghost girl led Abby to her Mate?
“And this spirit didn’t appear familiar to you in any way?”
Abby looked back at Claire and shook her head, “No, I’d never seen her before the dreams started. She’s always wearing a long white dress, it’s covered in lace and cinched at the waist. And she’s small, looks like she’s maybe ten or something.”
Claire nodded, eyes intent on Abby, “And this girl, does she appear to have been murdered?”
Stunned silent for a moment, Abby slowly shook her head. How had she not realized that? “No…she looks fine…”
Claire sighed, looking off to her right towards her sun room, lost in thought.
It was Wesley who finally broke the silence, “What do you think, Claire?”
She made a sound in the back of her throat before turning her head back to Abby. “I’m not really sure. Speaking or seeing spirits is one thing, but having one seem to know where you needed to be and what you are when you had no ideas yourself — that’s something worth paying attention to.”
She shook her head then, laying a hand on Abby’s knee closest to her. A small smile came back to her face wiping away the hard lines. “We ideally need to find someone who can train you. I wish I could but due to the fact that I have no power compared to you, I’m not the right person. With some training, we may be able to figure out who that spirit is.” Claire looked over at Wesley with a raised brow, “You need a Faye to teach you. And I think I know someone who knows someone.”
Abby looked over at Wesley then, could see his face becoming grumpier by the second. With a sigh, “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“Why? What’s the matter if you know a Faye who can train me?” She looked between Wesley and Claire, trying to decipher why Claire looked like laughing and Wesley looked like he wanted to growl again. Annoyance started to bubble up in her chest — she was still so out of loop! Why hadn’t Alex, or Wesley, mention that they knew a Faye? That would’ve been useful information.
After another sigh escaped his lips, Wesley looked at Abby. “It’s a problem because the only Faye that I know, and the only one who might even be remotely interested in helping us, also happens to be the most infuriatingly stoic and selfish Faye I’ve ever met.”
With a one armed shrug, Abby smiled sweetly at him, “Well, then it’s a good thing you’re not the one in need of training.”
Claire laughed beside her, “Oh boy, I think you’ve got your hands full with this one.”
He ran a hand down his face, but when his eyes met hers, she saw anything but annoyance in them. Wariness, maybe, but there was more longing in those crystal pools than Abby had been prepared to see. She dropped her gaze to her lap, where her hands began to pick at her sweater.
“You know what,” Claire smiled at Abby when she lifted her gaze. “I bet Wesley had a few other errands he needed to run today.” She winked at Abby before looking across the room at Wesley, who raised a brow. “We girls have a lot to talk about. Why don’t you go run along and come back in a couple of hours to get her? Promise I won’t teach her to summon any demons.” Abby only knew she was joking because of the twinkle in her eyes and the quirk of her mouth.
Wesley looked at Claire for a moment before looking at Abby. “What do you think? I can always pick up some supplies the pack needs, if you want to stay here.”
Abby got the feeling that he wanted her to say no. Although she had the same feeling in her gut, she wanted to talk to Claire more without overly sensitive wolf ears in the room. She also felt that maybe a little space from him would be good, probably for both of them. “That sounds like a good idea. Claire and I can talk more about stuff that you wouldn’t find interesting and you can go shopping for whatever supplies. A win-win situation.”
She was fairly certain by the pull of his brows, that he didn’t think it was a win-win situation. But he nodded his head nonetheless and stood up. “Alright, well then I’ll leave you two ladies to chat. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. We’ll need to head back by three at the latest, I don’t like driving the mountain pass in the dark.” And with that, he walked out of the room and Abby heard him shut the front door behind him.
Looking over at Claire, she raised a brow. “Can’t werewolves see really well in the dark?” She figured they could, since wolves usually hunted in the dark. Werewolves wouldn’t be any different, right?
Laughter filled the room again, and Abby was beginning to think that Claire’s laugh may have been one of the most magical things she’d ever heard. “Girl, you and I are going to get along great.”
Chapter Twelve
❖
Wesley
Wesley pulled into the morgue parking lot and cut the engine. He still couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that he needed to turn the heck around and get back to Abby. The feeling hit the moment he drove away, leaving her in the very capable hands of Claire, and he hadn’t been able to get rid of it during the drive. He was losing it, that was clear. He had known this girl for all of two days. True Mate or not, he shouldn’t be feeling this attached already.
He growled low in his throat as he got out of the truck. He needed to focus. Get Abby out of his head for five minutes. He had been walking in the front door when he heard Claire mention her contact at the morgue. And since Wesley was trying not to rush back to the house, he added it to his list of errands.
Ephram Douglas was a nice guy, had been working at this morgue for ten years, and was one of the few solitary werewolves in the state. It wasn’t common for lone wolves to survive long without a pack — being alone wasn’t in their genes. But somehow Ephram didn’t seem to have any issues, no slip ups or mental breakdowns. Wesley had been wondering for years how he did it, but had never had the guts to ask. If Isaac, the head Alpha of the Washington state wolves, didn’t have a problem with Ephram, Wesley certainly wasn’t going to push any buttons.
Walking up to the side door, Wesley wracked his knuckles on the steel. A few moments later a curly mop of brown hair peeked outside, bright hazel eyes cautious before recognition filled them. “Wesley O’Bryne, it’s been awhil
e.”
Wesley smiled, extending a hand that Ephram grasped tightly. “It has. I would apologize but since I don’t like visiting you at work, I’ll refrain.”
Ephram chuckled as he opened the door wide so Wesley could enter, “Oh, once you’ve been here a few times the smell won’t even bother you.”
Wesley snorted. Yeah right. They entered the morgue, the smell of formaldehyde and decay filled Wesley’s nostrils. It took all of his self-control to not try and snort the stink out of his airway. He followed Ephram into his small office off to one side of the room.
“I’m assuming you're here about that murder back in April? I already told Claire everything I had.”
Wesley nodded, taking the offered seat across from where Ephram was busy trying to tidy his desk. “I know, but was hoping you wouldn’t mind going over the file with me? There’s another missing witch out there and we’re trying to find her before she ends up on one of your tables.”
Ephram stopped messing around with a stack of papers, his face grim. “Another one? Shit.” He sat down heavily, “I can go over my notes with you, but I’m not sure what it’s going to tell you. I already sent copies over to Isaac. I’m sure he’d send them to Alex if he asked.”
Filing away that information for later, it was still nice to know that the State Alpha had copies if they needed them. Leaning forward on his knees, Wesley shrugged, “I’ll pass on that info. But anything new would be helpful, Ephram. Really.”
Curls bounced on his head as he nodded. Reaching into a drawer in his desk, he rifled through folders for a moment, before pulling a manila folder out and laying it on the desk. “Alice Hoffman, tortured to death and found on April eighteenth at five AM by a student on the University of Seattle campus.”
