Conall
The alley behind Shipton's Shop reeks of garbage and wet cardboard from a pile of broken-down boxes. Amy's been in the store with Ivy all day and I want to know if she's learned anything important.
A lanky-looking brownie with a long nose and a tuft of brown hair climbs out of one of the metal trash cans with half a moldy sandwich clamped between its jaws.
I let the hound within slip, growling deep.
The brownie’s eyes go wide before it loses its balance, windmills its arms, and falls back into the barrel.
The swinging door opens with a squeal of hinges that sets my teeth on edge.
Amy comes stomping out, white-blonde hair whipping about in the wind, and her eyes instantly melting from the green she obviously put on for the niece to their natural purple.
Shapeshifters always have naturally purple eyes, no matter how distant their shapeshifter ancestry.
In Amy's case, very distant. She can change her eyes, nails, and hair for very short periods of time, unlike full shapeshifters who can disguise themselves as anyone for days at a time.
“A year,” she whispers fiercely so no one else will hear.
I push off the wall I was leaning on.
“What?” I have no clue what she's talking about.
“Ursula. She put a clause in the will. Her niece, Ivy, can't sell for a year.”
I still.
“That woman has absolutely no intention of leaving this island for a year. And does that mean that's how long it's going to take to fix this? A year?" Amy screech-whispers.
“That's not going to work. Do you know how many creatures I've had to scare from her vicinity already?” I ask through gritted teeth. “She’s clearly been affected by the spell that old witch cast, and if everything doesn’t get fixed, something’s going to kill her violently.”
I run a hand over my face and through my hair.
Footfalls pull our focus up the alley. Laz walks toward us in one of his plaid shirts and jeans, sipping a coffee from the Cozy Charm Café.
“I think your magic's slipping, Laz,” I tell him as he approaches, pointing to the brownie trying to escape the can again.
Laz sighs, pierces the edge of his finger with a pocket knife, and whispers a few words. The brownie becomes a squirrel the same color as the tuft of hair on its head. The poor creature looks confused before scampering off.
“A year—” Amy begins again, but Laz holds up his hand.
“I heard you the first time,” he says, tapping his ears, which he probably magically enhanced. “We knew we needed her to figure out Lady Shipton's spell anyway. That we'd need her niece—”
“Ivy,” I say automatically. My hound has been growling the name in my subconscious ever since I learned it.
Laz and Amy both cut me curious glances, but I keep my expression hard.
“Ivy,” Laz corrects, “is likely the key to undoing whatever it is Shipton did.”
“So, what? Tell her?” Amy asks, and my stomach drops to my shoes.
Every moment spent with Ivy solidifies the bond the Shipton witch thrust upon me, to protect her last living kin.
Bitter acid coats my insides. I should have been free, goddamn it.
That was the deal my family made with hers.
I was supposed to have my own life on the island now, not trailing after some human trespasser.
“I think it's the only way,” Laz confirms.
“Or we just take a vial of her blood while she’s sleeping or whatever, and you undo this whole mess. It is blood magic. That's the only reason we even need her,” I growl.
“It’s not,” Laz roughs out, crossing his arms and glaring.
“We've had this conversation already, Conall. I don't know how to undo the spell yet, so a vial of her blood may not do a thing. As the chosen descendant, Ivy may be able to sense Shipton’s magic and help us suss out exactly what spell was used, which will give me the key to undo it.”
“Either way, having her in the dark doesn't seem to be accomplishing anything. It’s only through sheer, stubborn, human will that she hasn’t figured us out yet,” Amy insists.
I catch movement through the crack in the door. Shoulder-length curly brown hair and a spattering of freckles.
My hound is a constant presence at my center, and the sight of her sends him into a growling, snapping fit every time. It’s hard to keep control, and for the first time since I was a pup, I’m concerned I’m going to lose it and shift.
I'm not like Amy's species. I'm not a shapeshifter who can become anything. Almost every monster on this island has their humanoid form, and their true form. Thanks to Laz's protection spells, we can snap between the two whenever we want.
Not for the first time, I wonder if this reaction from my hound is a side effect of the way Shipton's spell went wrong. Is it interfering with my ability to hold a human form?
“You really think that’s the best idea?” I ask, still tracking her movement through the crack. She’s taking inventory of a shelf of books, her brow furrowed. "You wanna just march in there and tell her everything she believes is wrong?"
Laz follows my gaze and studies her. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and I want to snap my teeth at him.
Fucking God, get it together. He's just looking at her. What the hell do I care?
“No,” he decides. “No, I still have a few leads to follow in my spell book. If they don't pan out we'll tell her, but let's give it another day or two.”
I sigh. Continuing to protect a frail, ignorant, human on an island full of dangers doesn't sound ideal to me.
Because that's my job. To protect her.
It was the witch's one last magical decree before she died. My contract passed to a slip of a human who has no idea anything is going on at all.