“Even so, I’ll spread my people around to each of your booths. And I’m sure the pack will be present as well,” Lawrence says, looking directly at Aiden. An agreement, for now.
Aiden nods, his face set in grim determination. “We’ll be there in force. Dave will be there also. His whole family and most of the Gallagher pack are staying at the inn in town because of the fire up on his mountain.”
The discussion continues, drifting toward logistics. Who’s watching over whom. What time everyone is showing up in the morning. It feels wrong, somehow, to be thinking about costumes and sword fights when Meredith’s pyre has barely cooled. But the Faire was her favorite time of year. The witches are right. She would want us to celebrate.
That was the kind of person she was—loving life, loving the people around her. No regrets. The memory of her laugh, bright and infectious, echoes in my mind. I see her twirling in an elaborate Renaissance gown, her eyes sparkling as she regaled us with tales of past Faires. The ache in my chest intensifies, a physical pain I can’t shake.
A gentle touch on my arm pulls me from my thoughts. Alice stands beside me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You’re with me tomorrow, right?” she asks, her voice soft and breathy. “To run the dueling booth with Willow and Astor?”
For a moment, I consider refusing. It seems frivolous, pointless in the face of everything that’s happened. But then I see the desperation in her eyes, the need for something normal to cling to. I force a smile, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Absolutely. You know I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her answering grin is like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Good. Don’t forget your Jack Sparrow costume. The ladies will be expecting it.”
“Not a chance,” I say, the smile easier this time. Despite everything, I like the thought of donning that ridiculous costume, of seeing the flirty gazes from every woman my age and older. The kids loved it too, but not because it was the Jack Sparrow costume. They just liked fighting a pirate. It was always fun and it’s what Meredith would have wanted. Jackson too. He loved the theatrics and sword fighting.
Alice takes her giant notebook and disappears into the back of the cottage.
“So that’s that then.” I glance at Aiden and then Liam and Gen.
Aiden nods, his alpha presence a helpful steadying force for my wolf. “You’re with Alice, obviously. I’ll have a couple others with you too, since there will be a group and you’ll have kids from town. You guys can figure out the schedule in the morning.”
“Good. Sounds good.” I run my hands through my hair and sigh, suddenly feeling bone-weary. The events of the day—the fighting match, my brother’s disappointment, the funeral, the missing magick, the plans for tomorrow—all swirl in my mind, a chaotic mess of grief and worry and determination.
“I’ll see you all in the morning, then.”
I give my brother and his wife a hug, holding on perhaps a moment longer than necessary. As I pull away, I catch a glimpseof concern in Liam’s eyes. I know he wants to say something, to offer comfort or advice, but I can’t bear to hear it right now.
Right now, I’d give anything for another fight out in MacMurray’s barn, but those only happen twice a month.
I slip out into the night, the cool court air a welcome relief after the close confines of the cottage. The fake stars stretch out overhead, countless pinpricks of light in the velvet darkness. Beautiful, but technically artificial. Like everything in the Court.
I walk to the exit ring, the stone circle down the path from the village. My fingers trace the runes carved into the ancient stones as I cross out of the Court, whispering the spell that opens the barrier. The magic tingles against my skin, recognizing me, allowing me passage.
The real darkness is darker, deeper. The smell of the pine and the earth is even stronger, filling my lungs. The call of the moon tugs at my soul, urging me to shift, to run, to lose myself in the simple joy of being wolf. I glance up at the crescent and breathe deeply, letting the real world wash over me.
As much as I love the Court and the witches, there’s nothing likerealmountain air. Nothing like the promise of wilderness stretching out before me. For a moment, I’m tempted to give in. To shift and run until my legs give out, until I can’t think or feel or remember.
But I can’t. Not tonight. Tomorrow looms, with all its dangers and responsibilities. I have people counting on me. No disappearing allowed.
Chapter Five
Bast O’Connor
Nothing Quite Like a Good Cup of Tea
The predawn air bites at my skin, sharp and unforgiving. Crisp. Cold. My wolf stirs restlessly beneath the surface, hackles raised, still on edge from yesterday’s clusterfuck. I drive into White Fork, every sense on high alert, my body a coiled spring ready to snap.
Scents assault me, each one a vivid story. Dew-dampened grass, fresh and clean. Acrid smoke from waking chimneys, carrying hints of pine and last night’s dinner. The town’s stirring to life, a slow awakening that sets my teeth on edge. Too normal. Too fucking peaceful.
I park in the employee back lot and then walk over to Main Street. The Faire grounds are coming alive, a riot of color against the gray morning. The tents flap in the wind like restless birds. Wooden booths, sturdy and waiting. The air fills with a racket of sounds—hammering, swearing, laughter. Vendors rush to set up, their excitement a stark contrast to the hollow ache in my chest.
It’s too much. My enhanced senses pick up every goddamn detail. Fresh pastries from the bakery, sugar and butter andwarmth. The metallic clang of swords at the weaponsmith’s, each ring sending a jolt through my system. Earthy hay being spread for jousting, and underneath it all, the myriad scents of humans. Sweat, perfume, coffee breath. I’m drowning in it.
I clench my fists, nails digging deep into my palms. The sharp sting grounds me, pulls me back from the edge of sensory chaos. Focus on the pain. Let it anchor you to the here and now.
Meredith loved this. I can almost see her, eyes bright with excitement, fingers twitching with the urge to add magical touches to every booth. And Jackson…fuck, Jackson lived for the dueling arena. His enthusiasm was infectious, drawing in crowds with his showmanship and skill.
The memories slam into me, a barrage of images and sounds and scents. Jackson’s laughter. Meredith’s making sure this was the best Faire in the state. And now they’re gone. Both of them. In the blink of a fucking eye.
