Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Bran!” Aisling shouted from outside. “Something came for you!”
Bran looked up from sweeping as Aisling barreled into the Shoppe, clutching a stack of mail in one hand and shopping bags in the other. He didn’t bother telling her to quiet down. Hearing her voice was the best thing these days, better than a quiet grief. “Hopefully, not more bills.”
“No. Looks official, though.”
The town’s tiny post office had held their mother’s mail, both for the home they hadn’t set foot into since returning from the Otherworld a week ago and for the Shoppe.
Bran hadn’t yet revoked the hold, and Aisling had offered to pick it up on the way back from her shopping trip.
Any other summer and she would have ridden her bike there, but after everything they’d experienced and survived, Bran wasn’t allowing her to go alone anywhere.
If Bran wasn’t with her, then Cillian was when he was off duty, or Niamh was when Cillian could convince the Fae lady to pry herself away from him.
Bran didn’t trust Niamh, and the feeling was mutual, but she’d do whatever Cillian wanted, and Bran trusted him. So, Aisling had a minder every hour of every day since they had returned. He’d figure out what to do when she started school up again, but until then, she was always in someone’s sight.
The Mórrígan had returned to Amherst, but not before asking Bran’s permission to place a glamour over Aisling to ensure her safety.
Aisling was still young and didn’t have control of her magic.
The last thing Bran wanted was for his sister to be revealed as a Fae child in the middle of class since school started that week.
As a witch, he should have said no, but he’d reluctantly let the Mórrígan help, hoping he wouldn’t regret it someday in the future.
Bran was keeping Aisling out of school for the first few days so she could recover.
They still needed to have a ceremony to lay their mother to rest, even though Juliana was already in her grave, courtesy of Mac’s care, while Ray’s body had been claimed by his family.
It didn’t matter that Juliana wasn’t related to Aisling by blood; their mother had still raised her, and it was past time she found peace.
Bran took the letter from Aisling, looking at Cillian as he entered the Shoppe. He wasn’t in his ranger uniform, Thursday being his day off this week, and he’d taken Aisling into Amherst to do some school shopping with cash from the safe. They must have stopped by the post office on the way home.
The windows and furniture in the Shoppe still needed to be replaced, and Bran had a call into the insurance company about that.
For now, the windows were boarded up, but he’d bought a new door from a hardware store in Amherst the day after the standoff.
Cillian had fitted it to the doorframe for him, and Bran had spent an afternoon carving witchmarks into it and hammering in iron nails at the corners.
The handmade sign was still turned to closed.
“I’m hungry,” Aisling said right before heading upstairs to the apartment.
“We’re going to Red’s for dinner,” Bran called after her.
“Okay!”
Her muffled shout didn’t hurt his ears, not like it had last week during the standoff against Cernunnos.
Aisling’s magic was visceral and haunting, something the entire town had heard that night if gossip was anything to go by.
It was powerful, and she was so young, and the Fae would only ever see her as a weapon to be used.
It was Bran’s job to keep her safe now. To love her, but that would never be a hardship.
Aisling was his little sister. Knowing she was Fae didn’t change that.
The letter in his hand told him he would be expected to hate her.
To kill her.
Bran frowned down at the letter, carefully leaning the broom against one of the remaining display tables.
The debris had all been piled up outside, ready to be hauled to the landfill tomorrow.
The Shoppe was closed for the foreseeable future, at least until he could figure out the inventory.
His mother’s lawyer and the one he’d hired for the guardianship papers had been haranguing him since he’d gotten back in touch with them.
Bran had lied about a cross-country road trip to get away from everything and had been unapologetic for the radio silence.
Things were moving forward again, though, and his legal, rightful claim to Aisling was winding its way through the court.
“You don’t look too happy about whatever that is,” Cillian said as he approached. He hooked a finger underneath Bran’s chin, tilting his head up for a kiss that Bran would never run away from again.
“It’s from the Council of Witches,” Bran said.
Cillian frowned down at the letter as well, brows knitting together.
Like Aisling, he looked human, thanks to the glamour hiding his Fae skin.
The otherworldly beauty of his ancestry was buried in human features, but even when it wasn’t, his blue-gray eyes were the same as they always were.
Cillian still looked at Bran with a depth of love and affection that made him feel unworthy after seven years of silence.
But that was the past, as Cillian liked to remind him, and they were living in the present.
The future would be what they’d make of it together.
“What does the Council want?”
They’d talked a lot in the days after making it home—all the secrets of their hidden lives laid bare between them. Bran had spoken of his coven and their history while Cillian had wondered about some other life he didn’t remember but which they both knew had been real once.
Was still real past the wyrding, far away in the Otherworld.
A place they both knew they would have to return to someday because neither Cillian nor Aisling could deny what they were, and they would have to face the truth of that. When they did, Bran would not let them face it alone.
Bran hooked his finger beneath the flap of the envelope, tearing it open.
The letter inside was written out on beige bond paper, done with a fountain pen rather than a computer.
The person’s penmanship was pristine, and Bran read through the words with a tight feeling in his gut. “They heard about my mother’s death.”
“How?”
He didn’t think it’d been Mac, even if the guardian was wary of Bran’s decisions when it came to the Fae who’d been with them in the woods.
Niamh had stayed, taking up a part-time waitressing gig at Red’s to learn how to act human, which had been surprising.
Seamus had—reluctantly—returned to the Otherworld as promised, having done his duty to stand with Cillian against Cernunnos and gone back to Verlin’s side and the leashes that held them both.
Bran’s collar and leash were hidden away in Cillian’s home, and its absence around his throat was something Bran tried not to think about too much.
He would never approve of the way Fae treated witches, but he could be truthful to himself and admit he’d liked wearing Cillian’s collar, liked the feeling of ownership when it was Cillian holding his leash.
Liked knowing he belonged to the other man.
“I don’t know,” Bran said slowly. “But they want to schedule a formal meeting sometime before Samhain.”
“What does that mean?”
Bran sighed and folded the letter up again, tucking it back into the envelope. “Something to worry about for another day. Are you ready for dinner?”
“We can take my truck.”
Bran headed for the stairs to the apartment and stuck his head through the doorway, calling for his sister. “Aisling! We’re leaving!”
She came downstairs half a minute later, all coltish limbs and long hair, a fleeting smile for Bran on her lips and shadows in her eyes.
She still grieved, still had nightmares, was still so quiet despite the magic in her voice.
Bran wasn’t pushing her to talk about any of it, only ever letting her know he was there for her. That he would always be there for her.
Just like their mother would have been.
They left the Shoppe, Bran locking up behind them.
Jupiter cawed a greeting from the top of Cillian’s truck—his personal one, not his work-issued ranger truck.
Aisling climbed into the back of the cab while he and Cillian took the front seats.
The drive into town was easy, Pelham in that late-summer slowdown where the tourists passing through were mostly gone and only the locals remained.
Niamh wasn’t local, but she smiled at them like she was when they pushed open the door to Red’s Diner.
They weren’t the only ones not wanting to cook tonight, judging by how full the place was.
It was early to eat, but everyone was still mostly abiding by the old curfew.
No one stayed out late these days, not wanting to be in the forest after dark.
“Sit wherever you like,” Niamh said, shoving some menus into Cillian’s hands. “I will bring you coffee.”
“Uh, it’s a little late for coffee. A beer would be better,” Cillian said as Aisling went to pick out a booth.
Niamh frowned, muttering something under her breath Bran couldn’t understand. “Fine. A beer. Go sit.”
She was still beautiful, and probably made a killing in tips, but Bran would always know what skin lived beneath her glamour. She stayed for Cillian because Verlin, Seamus, and Carrick couldn’t, but that didn’t mean Bran would ever trust her.
Cillian took his hand, and Bran followed him to the booth Aisling had picked out, a milkshake already poured and sitting in front of her, courtesy of Lottie.
The older woman must have seen them pull up and had it ready for Aisling.
Every time they’d come to Red’s Diner, Aisling had been given whatever milkshake or dessert she wanted for free.
It put a smile on her face, so Bran had bitten back his protest and settled for stuffing twenty-dollar bills into the tip jar on the way out.
Cillian handed Aisling a menu but shared his with Bran.
Niamh came back a few minutes later to take their order, better at it now than she had been on her first day earlier in the week.
They’d passed her off as a friend of Bran’s from Boston, looking to escape the city for a time.
She slept in Cillian’s extra bedroom while Cillian slept in Bran’s bed, and all anyone in town could say was “You boys make such a cute couple. It’s about time. ”
Lottie beamed at them as she set their beer on the table, her eyes on their clasped hands. Cillian smiled and chatted gamely with her for a minute while Aisling slurped at her milkshake.
“We got some fresh strawberry-and-rhubarb pie for dessert. Don’t let me forget to cut you some slices,” Lottie said before bustling off.
Dinner was a low-key affair, and everyone was kind enough to leave them alone.
Small-town manners won out against curiosity, and Bran was able to eat his hamburger and chili cheese fries in peace.
They lingered over pie after their meal, letting Aisling play some arcade games while they each finished their beer, Cillian’s thigh pressed up against Bran’s, his hand on Bran’s knee under the table, present in a way the ghosts in his memory never had been.
It was addicting.
He didn’t know how he had lived without this for seven years.
He’d label that stupid decision as temporary insanity.
But that was in the past, and when they left Red’s Diner, they went back to the Shoppe together. Aisling tumbled out of the truck, using her own key to open up the front door. Bran watched her go, a faint smile on his face, the ache of loss in his chest still new, but at least he still had her.
“Hey,” Cillian said as he came around the truck. “I promised Aisling on the way back into town we’d watch a movie together.”
“Can’t wait,” Bran said, closing the truck door. Then he paused, turning his head, staring into the woods across the road.
Cillian came up beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist, the line of his body a tense thing. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw something.” They stayed there, listening to the wind whistle through the trees, rustling countless leaves as the shadows grew ever longer. After a moment, Bran shook his head. “Must have been nothing. Come on. Let’s get inside.”
Cillian kissed him, soft and slow, the hands sliding beneath Bran’s T-shirt warm and possessive. “All right.”
They headed into the Shoppe, and if Bran looked back over his shoulder at the woods before closing the door, well, no one could blame him. He knew what the forest hid in its shadowy depths, but whatever he thought he’d seen, it wasn’t anything to worry about right then.
It was just a trick of the light.