Chapter 2
Finn
Idon’t like being up at barely after dawn, but sometimes, when inspiration strikes, I can’t get it to shut the fuck up and let me sleep.
I’m not one of those artists who is all woo-hoo, at the whims of fate or the universe or whatever. I’m pretty methodical in my work. Plan something, make it happen. Mess up and try again. It’s worked out well for me so far.
But sometimes, I wake out of a dead sleep knowing how to fix a problem and my brain can’t take no for an answer.
Which means I’m walking out of my apartment that’s over my workshop, ready to go downstairs and fix this sculpture, when I see Davies and a man I haven’t seen in a long time knocking on the door at the next house over.
I frown, checking my watch to be sure, but it’s way too early for a social visit. Not that Hugh Saunders should ever be a person socializing with Cassidy Prylor.
The one single time I’ve seen Hugh since the end of high school was the funeral a decade ago, and I can’t imagine why he’d be back now.
He’d always been convinced he was too good for this place.
My mother, who knows everything about everyone because she refuses to conform to the gargoyle stereotype of stoic silence like my father and I have, probably knows what he’s been up to, but I definitely don’t.
I flare my wings, a nervous gesture I can never quite shake. Must be nice to pass well enough as human to be able to wander around their world.
But none of this gets me any closer to knowing why the hell he’s here to bother Cassidy this early in the morning.
I rarely leave my property, but even I know Georgia just left for school.
I saw Georgia and Cassidy shove a shocking number of boxes and bags into Cassidy’s tiny little car two nights ago, and the car was gone before I woke up yesterday morning.
Why the hell are they bothering Cassidy today of all days? Doesn’t she deserve a rest?
I divert directions and stop walking toward the front door of the workshop, plans forgotten, and use a tree as partial cover to keep watching the proceedings. I can’t hear their voices from this distance, but I’m not exactly inconspicuous, and any closer and they’ll certainly spot me.
Cassidy looks pissed, but she also looks tired.
I’m not close enough to make out fine details, but everything from her posture to her clothing says someone who’s in need of a long nap.
And really, who could blame her? The woman raised a kid from eight to eighteen, all on her own, and she was barely out of childhood herself when she started it.
She deserves the longest rest in human history.
Then she slams the door shut and the two left on her front step look around utterly lost for a minute. The sense of triumph I feel at that is both ridiculous and undeserved; it’s not like I did anything.
They eventually wander away, and something inside me eases when I see their backs. Whatever they want that pissed Cassidy off so badly, they’re not going to get it today.
I make my uneasy way back over to my workshop, determined to get something out of this morning. But, even though I keep reminding myself that what happened is none of my business, it won’t stop plaguing my mind.
I get some of my groove back as the morning wears on, and by the time noon rolls around I’m fully engrossed in work. This sculpture has already sold, sight unseen, which is pretty damn gratifying. I’m highly motivated to get it done and do my absolute best with it.
It’s interesting building a business when most customers can never see me.
It was easier when my father started carving here in town, because eventually, everyone needs gravestones.
He could build a whole business and never have to leave the supernatural community.
But when I’d developed a passion for carving sculptures instead of graves, I couldn’t stay constrained to this small town.
I’ve sold a few sculptures in our town borders or in other supernatural communities, but I’d never make a living that way.
So now I sell sculptures primarily to humans via the internet, and I’m damn lucky that they like my work enough to buy it.
Some of them even pay me obscene amounts of money for it.
I come to a natural stopping point some time around two, going back upstairs to my little apartment to try to put together a lunch.
And it’s only because my kitchen is a little light on lunch ingredients that I put my shoes on to go to the grocery store. No other reason. Certainly not because I know Cassidy will be there this afternoon, and not because I’m looking for answers.
I usually do my best to stay out of town gossip, despite my mother’s best efforts to drag me into it some days. I have no need to know who’s upset with who and what the romantic entanglements are, but I do want to know why Cassidy was pissed so early this morning.
Like everything in Hearthstone, the little market is close enough to fly to, so I take to the sky and land in front of the store within minutes.
I’m definitely not the only creature with wings in town, but my family are the only ones with a wingspan that can temporarily blot out the sun.
I’m big, and my wings are big to match. It means that, even in a town like Hearthstone supposedly meant to accommodate creatures like me, I still have to pull my wings in tight and duck my head to get inside the market.
At least it’s not too busy; it’s always worse when I have to dodge around people, although to be fair, only half of that is because of my size.
A lot of it is because I don’t want to talk to them.
Cassidy is on the register, biting her lip, her mind clearly a million miles away as she bags up Mrs. Duschane’s groceries.
What happened this morning? Or is she like this because Georgia left yesterday? I’ve definitely never raised a kid, but I can imagine having them there all the time and then them leaving would take a toll on you, no matter how proud you are of them.
I fill the basket that’s awkwardly small in my arms with a loaf of bread and packages of pre-sliced deli meats. I didn’t make a list before I left, and I should take a minute to look around so I don’t have to come back tomorrow, but something inside me is compelling me toward the register.
“Afternoon,” Cassidy mumbles absently, taking my bread and running it over the scanner.
“Afternoon,” I grunt. Small talk really, really isn’t my thing. Usually I’d let the conversation die here, content to get back to what I need to do, but today isn’t the day for that. “You alright?”
It’s not that weird to ask, I reason. Cassidy and I do talk sometimes; we live right next door, after all.
Her head snaps up to meet my eyes. She has to crane her neck and I fight the urge to crouch down. “Alright,” she agrees, voice sounding far away. “You know, I brought G to school yesterday, and—”
“Cassidy,” I interrupt as gently as I can. It still doesn’t work, because she jumps. “I saw your visitors this morning. It looked tense.”
“Oh. That.” It’s like she deflates, a sharp contrast to the woman who slammed a door in their faces this morning. “Turns out, town by-laws say I can’t live here anymore, now that G’s gone. So. I guess I might have to move.”
Davies is kicking her out? Literally making her leave town now that she’s no longer raising Georgia? What, we’ll take her hard work, take her twenties from her, watch her raise Georgia, and kick her out as soon as we don’t see her as useful anymore?
Cassidy isn’t only useful because she can take care of Georgia.
She’s a member of our community. She’s been my literal neighbor for a decade now, but she’s been all of our neighbors.
She’s a part of this town, and them kicking her to the curb is the biggest insult I can think of.
That’s not what Hearthstone is supposed to be.
Humans think we’re monsters. Well, they think we’re fiction, but in that fiction, we’re the monsters. Places like Hearthstone show different—or so I thought. But this is one of the more monstrous things I’ve ever seen.
She shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but I can see the pain etched into her face. “Hey, any chance you have any boxes?” she asks. “I’m going to grab some from here from the deliveries, but if they kick me out in a hurry, I’ll need more.”
Fuck that. No way is she giving in that easily. No way are we letting them get away with it. “Cassidy, that’s not—”
“Eh-hem.” I whirl around to give the person behind me a piece of my mind, but it’s Mrs. Parsons, who is about ninety now. She taught at the school most of her life. She’d been my math teacher my entire school career, and every bit of geometry I use every day is thanks to her.
She’s also a stickler for manners, and I’m sure she thinks hogging the only open checkout over my three items is rude.
I freeze, because it feels wrong to leave, but I don’t know what else to say. She doesn’t need to hear that Davies is an asshole—she needs an answer, and I don’t have one.
“Anyway,” she says meekly. “Keep an eye out for boxes for me, alright?”
Boxes? She actually thinks I’m throwing her out of this town like the rest of them?
Fuck no. None of that feels remotely right, and I do know that we owe her better. I don’t have a solution yet, but I’m damn sure going to find one. I take my single bag of groceries and stomp out of the store.