Mal took Sallie’s hands in both of his and stared as though sizing her up. His eyes changed from deep, calm brown to a fiery orange-red as his power rose to a palpable level. “Sallie, I will do this for you. I will create a piece of jewelry uniquely yours. But first, I would like you to do something for yourself.” He cleared his throat and looked to James for support. James gave a wordless nod and added his hand atop Mal’s. “Go away this weekend with Harper, Leilani, and Thatcher. They are your friends, they are your chosen family. Go and see what you can discover about your magic and we will meet when you return.”
“Thank you,” Sallie said, her voice a whisper. She glanced at Rowan and Wes. “Can Jasper come this weekend, too? And Azura?”
The druid and the witch leaned in and came to a quick and unanimous decision. “Yes,” said Rowan, standing to pull Sallie into an embrace. “Jasper knows he’s your helper and guide and buddy for as long as you need.”
Wes directed a comment to Azura. “Would you care to share your magic with us?”
The young woman adjusted her dress’s skirt, dusted bits of grass off her hands, and patted the intricate braiding to either side of her head. Closing her eyes, she hummed. The tops of her ears elongated into the characteristic Fae shape. Her facial features changed slightly. I wasn’t well-versed enough yet to know if there were cues that distinguished one kind of Fae from the other. To me, her changes resembled Sallie’s, though I had only seen my niece’s Fae features when she was distressed. Even then, they shifted constantly and non-symmetrically.
Azura bent her arms at the elbows and cupped one hand over the other, slowly lifting the top hand about four inches away from the bottom. She made clockwise circles with both, mimicking the movements of someone rolling a ball of dough or clay. Bluish light lit up the space between her palms. Crystalline particles began to appear, thickening until the blue light lightened to white, then disappeared.
Azura compressed the crystals and produced a snowball. Opening her eyes, she spotted Thatcher, grinned, and beaned him in the forehead.
“Ice meets wood, baby,” she said, and laughed. “And that is the full extent of my magic. I can make snow, if I’m standing still, with my eyes closed, and there are no interruptions.” She shrugged and tucked her hands under her armpits. “I would really appreciate it if someone could show me how to do that without freezing my fingers.”
Once the remains of the picnic dinner were sorted and those not sleeping at the house had left, I closed my bedroom door and changed into a stretchy cotton nightgown.
House gave a contented sigh on the heels of my energetic exhale. I grinned and patted the aged tongue-and-groove paneling adorning the room’s walls. At some point—likely as my magic awoke—the house I grew up in had become a name-worthy animate object, sharing its memories and opinions with increasing frequency. All I could do was take it in stride.
I went to adjust the window. Sliding the curtains to the side, I pushed the bottom sash higher and inhaled the changing scent of the night’s air. My bedroom faced north, onto densely packed woods and fern-filled underbrush just starting to transition into autumn’s decay.
Taking in and letting out another breath, I became acutely aware of Bear’s absence. The sting radiating across my upper back and the crinkle of the bandage reminded me I had at least one token of her magnificent presence. Though I missed the sensation of fur and the comforting weight of her paws.
Suddenly, someone—or something—rounded the house to my right. Instinct whispered I should pull down the window sash and duck. The natural barrier of fir and arbutus trees hid my ex-husband’s property, and although I knew Doug was miles away in the psychiatric wing of a hospital for Magicals, his twin brother, Roger, was missing and unaccounted for.
I moved to the side of the window. I wouldn’t put it past Roger to reconnoiter my house on his own. No outdoor lighting on this side left the thin strip of yard draped in shadows. Whatever was out there paused, then turned. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck lowered to half-mast, House stayed mute, and I convinced myself the nighttime visitation was nothing to worry about. Thatcher’s raccoons could have been on a postprandial stroll, as could any number of wild things, including Jasper.
Not everything that moved in and out of the shadows was a threat.
But given the excitement of the summer, I was heeding all warnings, including the little bell set off by the scratching on the outside of my bedroom door. I tiptoed closer. The pebbled skin on my arms smoothed. I opened the door a crack, expecting Jasper the fur ball to let me know he wanted to go out, or that he was hungry.
Instead, I got a different kind of beast, with an altogether different kind of hunger.
Chapter 3
“Hey, Calli. May I come in?”
Tanner Marechal slipped into my room at my startled invitation. His dark-brown hair, unbound, long, and luxurious, fell over the collar of his jacket. He had nothing on his feet, snug jeans on the bottom half of his body, a navy T-shirt on the top half, and a ravenous look on his face. He pressed one elegant, deeply tanned finger to his lips, eased the door closed, and turned the lock. Not a creak from the floorboards or a squeak from
