"Blueberries, lemon zest, and a touch of kitchen magic," Junie said matter-of-factly, pouring coffee into a mug that appeared to be handmade. "My welcome muffins always taste like what you need most. Looks like you've been carrying some homesickness around."
"I left Portland three days ago to drive cross-country to a town I've never been to, to fix up an inn I've never seen, left to me by a grandmother who didn't speak to me for eight years." Lyra took another bite, savoring the complex emotions the muffin somehow managed to convey. "Homesickness seems reasonable."
"Vera was a complicated woman," Junie said gently, settling into the chair across from Lyra. "Brilliant, powerful, and absolutely terrible at apologies. But she loved you, honey. She talked about you all the time."
"She had a funny way of showing it." Lyra's voice came out sharper than she intended. "She cut me off completely after I graduated college. No calls, no letters, nothing."
"She was protecting you." Junie's voice carried the certainty of someone who knew more than she was saying. "This town, this place—it has a way of claiming people. Vera wanted you to have a choice about whether to come back."
"And now?"
"Now you're here." Junie smiled, and for a moment her eyes seemed to gleam with an inner light. "Which means you're ready."
Ready for what, Lyra wanted to ask, but something in Junie's expression suggested she wouldn't get a straight answer. Instead, she finished her coffee and muffin, paid for both despite Junie's protests, and gathered her courage for the next stop.
The Mist & Mirth Inn sat at the end of Founder's Row like a dowager empress who'd seen better decades. The Victorian structure rose three stories against the backdrop of pine-covered mountains, its once-elegant gingerbread trim now chipped and faded. The wraparound porch sagged slightly on one side, and several shutters hung at drunken angles. Ivy had claimed most of the front facade, though whether it was regular ivy or something more supernatural was anyone's guess.
"Well," Lyra said to herself, climbing out of her car and stretching muscles cramped from hours of driving. "It's definitely got character."
The front door was painted a deep forest green that had faded to something closer to sage, and the brass nameplate read "Mist & Mirth Inn - Est. 1847" in elegant script. The same year the town was founded, Lyra noted. Vera's family had been here from the beginning.
The key turned easily in the lock, which was either a good sign or meant the door hadn't been properly secured in two years. The hinges creaked as Lyra pushed inside, and she was immediately hit with the smell of dust, old wood, andssomething deeper, something that called to her magic, making it stir restlessly in her chest.
The entry hall was grand in the way of old buildings, with a sweeping staircase that curved up toward the second floor and hardwood floors that probably looked magnificent under all the dust. A reception desk sat to one side, its surface covered with a sheet that had once been white. To her left, double doors opened into what was probably the main parlor. To her right, a hallway disappeared toward what she assumed was the kitchen.
Lyra set her purse on the reception desk and pulled out her phone to take pictures for the insurance company. The camera app opened, but instead of showing her the dusty entry hall, the screen displayed a view of the parlor—warm and welcoming, with a fire crackling in the hearth and fresh flowers on every surface. She blinked, and the image returned to normal.
"Probably just tired," she muttered, though her magic was humming with increasing interest. Old buildings with strong magical histories sometimes retained impressions of their glory days. It wasn't unusual for sensitive people to catch glimpses of the past.
She wandered through the ground floor, taking mental notes. The kitchen was surprisingly modern, probably updated within the last decade. The parlor had good bones despite the dust and cobwebs. A small library off the main hall made her heart skip—floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a reading nook by the window that would be perfect on rainy days.
The dining room could seat twenty easily, and glass doors opened onto a back patio that overlooked the garden. Or what had probably been a garden before two years of neglect turned it into a jungle. Through the overgrowth, she could see the glimmer of water—the falls the town was named for, most likely.
Lyra was examining the built-in china cabinet when she heard it: the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the floor above.
She froze, listening. The footsteps moved across the ceiling with purpose, as if someone was walking from the front of the building toward the back. They paused directly overhead, then started up again, this time moving toward what sounded like the staircase.
"Hello?" Lyra called out, her voice echoing in the empty room. "Is someone up there?"
The footsteps stopped.
Lyra waited, her heart beating faster than it should. She was alone in the building. She'd unlocked the front door herself, and there hadn't been any cars in the overgrown driveway. But the footsteps had been too steady, too purposeful to be settling wood or pipes.
"Margaret sent me," she called up the stairs, feeling slightly ridiculous but unwilling to investigate alone. "I'm Vera's granddaughter. Lyra."
Silence.
She pulled out her phone to call Margaret, but the screen showed no signal bars. Not unusual in the mountains, but the timing felt significant. Everything in Mistwhisper Falls felt significant, like the town itself was watching and waiting to see what she'd do next.
The footsteps started again, this time descending the stairs.
Lyra backed toward the front door, her magic sparking involuntarily around her fingers. Whatever was upstairs was coming down to meet her, and she had the distinct feeling that this particular welcome committee wasn't going to offer her a muffin.
2
CADE
Lyra woke the next morning with the kind of determination that usually preceded either great success or spectacular disaster. She'd spent the night at Mistwhisper Falls' only bed and breakfast—a charming place called The Moonbeam Lodge run by a cheerful vampire who'd insisted on making her breakfast despite the sun streaming through the windows.
