Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Jupiter pecked the crouton out of the salad bowl before Bran could shoo her off. “No! That’s not for birds!”
His familiar cawed at him with a smug look in her starry eyes before swallowing the crouton.
He waved the metal tongs at her, causing Jupiter to hop off the table and onto the back of one chair before winging her way back to where Aisling sat on the couch, watching television.
Jupiter cawed at her, and Aisling lifted one arm without looking, letting the large raven snuggle close.
“Thief,” Bran grumbled.
Jupiter tossed her head back and cawed at the ceiling, the tone mocking even if no one else could parse it. His familiar had always been a brat and reveled in it. Bran loved her, though, and couldn’t imagine life without her.
The timer on the oven went off, and Bran returned to the small kitchen to pull out the lasagna someone in town had dropped off for them the other day. The refrigerator was packed with food, and Bran didn’t know how they’d eat all of it before the dishes went bad. “Aisling, dinner is ready.”
He missed the sound of her voice—viscerally and suddenly—right then.
Only hearing his own was lonely when she was right there with him.
Aisling still smiled at him as she approached the table, holding Jupiter in her arms. His familiar gently pecked her cheek in a facsimile of a kiss.
Bran set the lasagna pan on the trivet in the middle of the small table, then took off his oven mitts.
“Here, let me have her,” Bran said.
He raised his arm, elbow bent, bracing himself.
Aisling set Jupiter on the back of a chair, giving the raven somewhere to balance and stretch her wings before she flew across the table with an easy flap of her long wingspan to land on Bran’s tattooed forearm.
He grunted at her weight, giving her another crouton. “Been eating too many mice.”
She blinked and ruffled her feathers before cawing at him.
Bran snorted and carried her to the nearest window.
He undid the latch and pushed it open so he could extend his arm outside.
Unlike the other windows in the apartment, save the one with the air conditioner attached, this one didn’t have a screen.
Jupiter launched herself off his arm and into the darkening sky, winging off into the sunset.
She’d come back at some point and find a spot to sleep on the roof or one of the trees near the Shoppe.
Bran closed the window and locked it again, absently touching the witchmarks etched into the window frame.
The warmth of the magic layered into them over the years buzzed softly against his fingertips.
He joined Aisling at the table, serving them both pieces of lasagna and the salad he’d prepared.
He made sure to cut a slice from the middle for Aisling.
“I know you still don’t like the edges,” he said, sliding the center piece onto her plate.
She huffed out a laugh and nodded, the soft noise all she could make right now.
Bran sat beside her, watching as she filled half her plate with salad, spilling a few lettuce leaves because most of her attention was on her show.
He was content to eat dinner in silence, with only the sound of the television to fill the air.
Aisling would need her phone in order to text back answers, and he didn’t want her dinner to go cold.
It’d been a few months since he’d seen his little sister, and it was nice to sit beside her after everything that had happened.
Only toward the end of dinner did he speak, broaching a subject he hadn’t talked with her about yet. “I’m going to file for guardianship of you.”
Aisling’s head snapped around so she could look at him. She paused mid-chew, food making one cheek bulge like a chipmunk. She chewed furiously to swallow it, even as she reached for her phone to type out a question.
I won’t have to go somewhere else?
“You’re my sister. I’m not letting you go into foster care.”
Where will we live?
Bran hesitated, thinking of his job and apartment back in Boston, bits of a life he wouldn’t get to have anymore. “Here, in Pelham.”
Aisling frowned and angrily shook her head. Her next text wasn’t a surprise. Not at the house.
Bran touched her shoulder with a gentle hand. “I know. We can stay here until I sort out the title of the house. I was thinking we can rent it out or sell it. Renting might be better, but I’m not sure we’d find anyone local to move in after what happened.”
You think outsiders would be better?
“Easier to sell to. Maybe it could be someone’s summer home.”
In Pelham? Aisling rolled her eyes.
Bran managed a laugh. “Yeah, we aren’t the Hamptons.”
Aisling stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she tapped away at her phone. Could we stay here?
Bran glanced around the small apartment that had been the only home he’d ever known before his mother met Ray. “That’s what I was thinking. I’m going to need a place in order to take over legal guardianship for you. I’ll have to quit my job in Boston, but Mom left me the Shoppe. I can run it.”
The learning curve might be a little steep. There was a difference between helping out during the summers as a kid and teenager and actually running a business, but he’d figure it out. If it meant he kept Aisling, then he’d do anything.
Okay. I won’t have to change schools?
“No. That’s part of why we’re staying.”
Aisling blinked at him before dropping her gaze back to her phone. More typing ended with another question. Will you do what Mom did?
He didn’t say I took up the mantle. He didn’t say it’s what I was born to do. He didn’t say I don’t want to.
Witches weren’t given the option of walking away from the wyrding they stood guard against. If they tried, they were inevitably tracked down and their magic stolen from them by order of the Council.
It wasn’t fair to lose your sense of self like that, but letting the wyrding spread was far worse.
Bran didn’t want to ever know what it would be like to live without the heat of magic he could call up from the elements.
The iron beads on his bracelet felt heavy, but what they helped protect against made it easy to answer. “Yes.”
Aisling’s bottom lip trembled, and her next question had Bran getting up from his chair so he could hug her. Will you die like her?
“No one else is dying,” Bran said fiercely, holding her tight. “I won’t let it happen.”
Three people were dead already, and he’d named them all.
Bran vowed those would be the only names he’d have to speak for the ritual this summer.
Aisling sniffled a little but only scrubbed at her eyes rather than fall apart crying.
Both of them had experienced their fair share of crying jags over the last few days.
Bran tried to do his where she couldn’t see, but the apartment was small, and Aisling seemed not to want to leave his side, even here in their new home.
He rubbed at her back before straightening. “Come on. If you’re finished, let’s put everything away. I think there’s a berry pie someone brought that we can eat.”
Aisling nodded and put away her phone before helping him clean up.
The apartment didn’t have a dishwasher, so Bran hand-washed them, and Aisling dried.
Afterward, he pulled a whole pie from the fridge, its lattice-work top sprinkled liberally with sugar.
He didn’t bother with plates, carrying it and two forks back to the couch.
They sat and ate the pie from the middle out to the crust while watching a show he’d never seen before but which Aisling was invested in, and that was all that mattered.
Summer meant no school for her, and Bran didn’t need to work at the moment, so they both stayed up until almost midnight before he turned off the television.
Aisling went into his old room that was now hers to get ready for bed.
At some point, they’d need to redecorate it, but it could wait until he moved stuff from her room in the house to the Shoppe.
Bran went into the bedroom that had once been their mother’s.
He turned on the light and closed the door to get ready for bed.
Nothing about the room had been changed since their arrival, and all of it reminded him of his mother.
Gritting his teeth against the lump in his throat, Bran pulled off his jeans and got into bed in his boxers and T-shirt after turning off the light.
Light from the full moon shined through the top portion of the bedroom window, the air-conditioning unit humming along steadily.
Bran curled up on his side, staring at the wall and willing sleep to take him.
As stressed-out and tired as he was, sleep was difficult to come by.
At some point, though, he slipped into restless dreams, but even those weren’t enough to keep him under.
He jerked awake however long later, blinking blearily through the shadows of the room, surprised to see Aisling standing by his bed.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she put her hand over his mouth and frantically shook her head.
The moonlight had shifted over the hours, but it was still bright enough to see how big her eyes were, the way her bottom lip trembled, and how her shoulders and chest moved like a hummingbird’s wings as she breathed.
Terror had a look, and it was his little sister as she twisted to point at the window, stabbing her finger in that direction over and over again.
Bran pried her hand off his mouth and sat up, staring at the window.
Nothing had blocked the light coming through over the air-conditioning unit, and they were upstairs from the Shoppe, which didn’t have any security system because it didn’t need any when the entire building was covered in witchmarks.
But then he heard it—the heavy, harsh breathing of something outside their home.