Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
CAL
The conversation shifted after that.
Less interrogation, more... information exchange. Theo walked Cal through the town’s political structure. Hux explained the delicate balance of human-supernatural relations. Wyatt produced a map showing Magnus’s known land acquisitions, his suspected allies, the gaps in their intelligence.
Beck kept the beer flowing and the mood from getting too heavy. He had a gift for it—deflecting tension with a well-timed joke, steering conversations away from conflict points. But Cal noticed the way his attention drifted sometimes. The way his easy humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Grief sat behind that grin. Cal recognized the signs. He’d seen them in his own mirror often enough.
“Your bear supplier,” Leo said, pulling Cal’s attention back. “The Torres family. Magnus has been pressuring them to cut off honey shipments to downtown businesses.”
“I heard.” Cal’s grandfather had mentioned it, among the hundred other crises facing the sleuth. “Economic warfare.”
“Exactly.” Leo’s expression suggested grudging respect for the tactic, if not for the man employing it. “Cut off supplies, strangle cash flow, force businesses to close or relocate. By the time the territorial dispute reaches formal channels, half the contested land is already abandoned.”
“The bakery uses that honey,” Cal said without thinking. His bear had made the leap before his conscious mind caught up.
Leo’s attention sharpened. “It does. Her charmed pastries require magical honey from the Ursa apiaries. Without it—”
“Without it, she’s just another bakery.” Cal’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “No magic. No edge. No reason for customers to choose her over the chain places in the next town.”
“You seem very concerned about a woman you met once for coffee.” Beck’s tone was light, but his gaze was shrewd. “Anything you want to share with the class?”
“No.”
“Liar.” Beck grinned. “Your bear just rumbled.”
Damn it. Cal forced his animal to be quiet. “The bakery is on disputed land. The baker is part of this community. Protecting her business is protecting the town. It’s not personal.”
“Sure, it’s not.” Beck didn’t sound remotely convinced.
Theo cut in before Cal could respond. “Personal or not, you’re right. Dahlia’s bakery is a test case. If Magnus can force her out, he proves his strategy works. Other businesses will cave rather than fight.”
“Then we don’t let him force her out.” Cal’s bear growled in agreement. Protect. Keep safe. Ours.
She’s not ours. Cal argued with his own animal. We met her once. She’s a stranger.
His bear disagreed. Emphatically.
“The Torres family is the key,” Wyatt said, pulling out another map—this one showing the mountain territory in detail. “If you can convince them to maintain supply to downtown businesses, you cut off Magnus’s economic leverage.”
“They’re scared.” Cal studied the map. “Margot said they’re considering selling the apiaries altogether.”
“Then give them a reason not to.” Leo’s voice carried the confidence of a man who’d rebuilt businesses from worse foundations. “Show them you can protect them. Give them a reason to believe the sleuth is worth staying loyal to.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Be visible.” Theo’s advice was blunt. “Stop hiding in your grandfather’s cabin reviewing spreadsheets. Meet your people. Let them see you’re here and committed.”
“I’ll talk to the Torres family tomorrow.” He heard himself making the commitment before he’d consciously decided. “And I’ll visit the other sleuth members. Let them know I’m staying. For now.”
“Good.” Hux stood, stretching with feline grace. “In the meantime, we’ll keep gathering intel on Magnus’s movements. Wyatt has contacts in the Regional Council. If those surveys are fraudulent—and I’d bet money they are—we’ll find proof.”
Cal filed that away. Fraudulent surveys. A paper trail to follow. Concrete evidence, ammunition he could use.
The meeting broke up slowly. Beck clapped Cal on the shoulder as he passed—“Welcome to the pack, loosely defined. Don’t worry, we’ve got a twelve-step program for corporate refugees”—and followed Theo toward the front of the brewery.
Hux departed with a politician’s handshake and a promise to “touch base” soon.
Wyatt lingered.
The panther hadn’t moved from his position by the window. His stillness was unnerving—the absolute motionlessness of a predator who’d learned that patience was its own weapon.
“Something you want to say?” Cal asked.
“I’ve been investigating. Quietly.” Wyatt finally turned, his gaze boring into Cal. “There’s an anomaly with your honey supply. I don’t have proof yet, but a pattern... it’s consistent with poisoning.”
Cal’s bear roared. He barely kept the shift from taking him right there in the brewery’s back room.
“You’re saying we are intentionally poisoning our honey?”
“No, I’m saying I have a hunch of something going on. But, like I said, I have no proof. Yet.” Wyatt was unmoved by Cal’s barely-leashed fury. “The honey the Ursa sleuth produces goes to downtown businesses. If it’s been tainted...”
Cal thought of Dahlia. Of her charmed pastries. Of the magical honey that made them special.
If she’s been using poisoned honey—
“Don’t panic yet.” Wyatt read his features with unsettling accuracy.
“The poisoning theory is preliminary. And if the honey is tainted, it would need to be consumed regularly over a long period to cause serious harm. Someone who bakes with it occasionally is not in danger. The curse requires accumulation.”
“But she uses it in everything.” Cal’s voice came out ragged. “Her charmed pastries. That’s her signature.”
Wyatt studied him for a long moment. “You might want to warn her. Quietly. Until we know more.”
“I will.”
The panther nodded once. Slipped past Cal toward the door. Paused with his hand on the frame.
“For what it’s worth,” he said without turning around, “your bear chose well. She’s one of the good ones.”
Then he was gone, disappearing into the brewery’s crowded taproom with the silent grace of his animal.
Cal stood alone in the back room, mind racing.
Magnus. Poisoned honey. Dahlia.
The pieces were connecting in ways he didn’t like. A siege, Theo had called it. But it was worse than that. It was a slow assassination dressed up as natural decline.
And Dahlia was caught in the crossfire.
His bear surged to the surface with protective fury.
Cal left the brewery through the front door, pushing through the crowd of laughing humans and supernaturals who had no idea what was brewing in their town. The night air hit him cold and sharp—woodsmoke, salt, the tang of low tide—
His bear perked with recognition. Her.
Cal closed his eyes. Drew a breath. Let the scent wash over him even though he knew it was dangerous, knew he was only making this harder on himself.
Three days in Haven Shores. Three days, and everything had already gotten impossibly complicated.
He had a sleuth to save. An enemy to fight. A baker whose very presence had cut through fifteen years of noise like it was nothing. Whose perceptive gaze stripped away every defense. Who carried a scent that made him think of safety, of belonging, of things he’d lost when he was eight years old.
She’s not ours, he told his animal again.
His bear didn’t bother arguing anymore. It held onto her scent, turning it over and over, waiting for Cal to stop lying to himself.
Tomorrow. He’d see her tomorrow. Warn her about the honey. Make sure she was safe.
And maybe, if he was lucky, figure out why a woman he’d met once had managed to wake up parts of him he’d thought were dead.
He walked to his truck. Got in. Sat in the dark parking lot, staring at the lights of Haven Shores.
Sitting here in the dark, breathing in the cold and the salt and the faint trace of honey the wind carried off the mountain, Cal wasn’t sure that his plan made sense anymore.