Ian shook his head. “I’m not sure of anything about this, frankly. It’s used to help keep cubs in their human skin.” He blushed, fiddling with a towel. “At least, that’s how we describe it. For those cubs, they need it regularly. You’re obviously not a kid,” he gestured in case she had forgotten, apparently. “But since it helped last night, I think we should probably keep a steady stream of it going.”
Cleo’s mouth turned down. It was disgusting, but it had helped. She marveled a little at the idea. After all this time, something had helped.
“What’s in it,” she asked.
Ian grimaced. “Maybe we should just focus on its efficacy?”
“That bad?”
“Unfortunately so. I get it, though. You should know this.” He grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down a list of ingredients.
Cleo waited with admirable patience, she thought, when she snapped it out of his outstretched hand. She scanned it. Most were things she’d heard of. Some items, however, were more exotic.
“Ground bear claw,” she said flatly. “Ground shifter toe nails?”
Ian winced in response, but couldn’t hide his laugh. “It’s meant to work, not to taste good. Or be even palatable. It’s not an internet recipe you’re going to post for reviews.”
“You better hope not,” she muttered. “What about amounts?”
“Curtis has those. Dante too. Dante usually makes everything my family or the coven needs.”
“He good?”
“The best. He’s young, but incredibly smart like his dad. He’s more a hedge witch than his dad ever was.”
Cleo’s stomach clenched. Her Nan had been a hedgewitch. Her Nan had brewed potions, too, had a talent for them, if not an education to pair with that talent. It was hard to reconcile what Cleo had learned about Nan with her experience of being her granddaughter.
Cleo wound the piece of paper around her fingers thoughtfully. “Would you be able to get me the full recipe with amounts?”
Ian took a thoughtful sip of coffee, considering. “Maybe. Not sure. Depends on if Dante wrote it down. He has… a grimoire is what you’d call it, but I don’t think he keeps it in the library with the other ones. I’m pretty sure he keeps it on him, or in his room.”
He was rumpled from the shower, his hair still water-dark. His jeans slung low across his hips, and he wore yet another super soft looking t-shirt. Ian looked so comfortable in his own skin.
“What?” he asked. His eyes were on her mouth.
“Are we having the so-you’re-a-bear talk now?” Cleo asked.
His smile evaporated. He set his cup down and squared his shoulders. “Ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Whatever you want to say.”
Cleo paused. “I noticed that you’re a bear.”
Ian waited for more. She didn’t really have much else, not now. She was still wrapping her mind around it. The way was eased by the fact that she was a witch. Cleo had more conversations, of a sort, with plants than people daily. She’d worked magic with her coven. Why not have a hot bear neighbor? Her life was weird. This was just another flavor of weird.
“And you’re, what? Angry? Disgusted? Worried?”
Cleo hadn’t seen that coming. “I mean, it’s interesting.”
“Interesting.”
“Does it hurt? When you turn into a bear? It seemed like it hurt.”
Ian drew back slightly. “Your biggest concern is whether or not… the change hurt me.”
Cleo shrugged. “I’m also curious about if you retain, I don’t know how to describe it. People thoughts? Human thoughts? Or do you think differently as a bear?”
“You’re taking this very well,” Ian said suspiciously. He reached for the kettle, not quite turning his back to Cleo. He put water on for her disgusting but slightly miraculous tea.
“I’m a witch. I’m in no position to judge. We’ve discussed this.”
“True enough,” Ian smiled at her.
“Is everyone in your family,” she started to laugh. It was just so absurd to say. “A bear?”
His smile dimmed, and Cleo hadn’t meant to cause that to happen.
“Some of us. It’s not guaranteed. Dad was a witch. He was… not cool with shifters. Didn’t like it.” He shrugged, finished making her tea and passed her the reeking cup, exchanging it for her now-empty coffee mug. Cleo had kept her hands busy when she talked about uncomfortable things, too. She understood. Questions crowded in her mind, but she gave Ian space to tell his story. Deciding which landmines to step on when talking about family took time and concentration. Focus was required to avoid being blown to bits.
“My brother is five years younger than me, and he shifted really young. I was 14, a late bloomer, but he was six. That’s too young because it’s hard to control the change at that age. Hard to live through that pain when you’re little, too.”
“Did your mom help with that?”
He snorted. “My mom bailed pretty soon after Austin was born. I think now they’d say she had postpartum depression really bad.”
“Does knowing that help?”
“Not really,” he said quietly. “Maybe sometimes. I don’t know.”
They sat together, quiet for a moment. The radio hummed in the background. Cleo sipped her tea and for a moment, felt content in another person’s presence. No wonder people did this in books and television all the time.
“Tell me about the tea and your brother,” Cleo said. She hated to break the easy silence.
“Austin used it when he was a kid. It works great at first, but you can build up a tolerance to it. He did, anyway. I’m not sure about,” he waved a big hand in her direction, “curses and whatnot.”
“It’s the ‘whatnot’ that worries me,” Cleo said. “It works now, but for how long? And how long will the effect last? When I start building a tolerance, will I need gallons of this stuff? Or will it just cease to work? What’s with the necklace?” She fingered one sharp claw.
Ian’s face softened into something fond. “The necklace might be specific to shifters, but I was hedging my bets. You can probably take it off, if you’d like. I don’t have answers to the other
