Chapter Four #2
Her words are like a white-hot blade to the skin. I remember Meredith’s last moments, her fierce determination as she faced down Noah. The way she looked at me, at all of us, with such love and certainty. My throat tightens, and I have to look away, blinking back the sudden sting of tears.
“I loved Meredith as much as anyone in this coven. She was family,” I say, my voice rough. “And Lawrence may be an asshole, but he’s right. How do we protect you out in the open?”
“It’s not like we’re defenseless,” Alice says, a spark of her old fire returning. “We are witches. And Oliver doesn’t know about all of us.”
Her optimism is almost painful to hear. I want to shake her, to make her understand the danger. But I can’t bring myself to crush that spark of hope in her eyes.
“Even so, I’ll spread my people around to each of your booths. And I’m sure the pack will be present as well,” Lawrence says, looking directly at Aiden. An agreement, for now.
Aiden nods, his face set in grim determination. “We’ll be there in force. Dave will be there also. His whole family and most of the Gallagher pack are staying at the inn in town because of the fire up on his mountain.”
The discussion continues, drifting toward logistics.
Who’s watching over whom. What time everyone is showing up in the morning.
It feels wrong, somehow, to be thinking about costumes and sword fights when Meredith’s pyre has barely cooled.
But the Faire was her favorite time of year.
The witches are right. She would want us to celebrate.
That was the kind of person she was—loving life, loving the people around her.
No regrets. The memory of her laugh, bright and infectious, echoes in my mind.
I see her twirling in an elaborate Renaissance gown, her eyes sparkling as she regaled us with tales of past Faires.
The ache in my chest intensifies, a physical pain I can’t shake.
A gentle touch on my arm pulls me from my thoughts. Alice stands beside me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You’re with me tomorrow, right?” she asks, her voice soft and breathy. “To run the dueling booth with Willow and Astor?”
For a moment, I consider refusing. It seems frivolous, pointless in the face of everything that’s happened.
But then I see the desperation in her eyes, the need for something normal to cling to.
I force a smile, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
“Absolutely. You know I wouldn’t have it any other way. ”
Her answering grin is like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Good. Don’t forget your Jack Sparrow costume. The ladies will be expecting it.”
“Not a chance,” I say, the smile easier this time.
Despite everything, I like the thought of donning that ridiculous costume, of seeing the flirty gazes from every woman my age and older.
The kids loved it too, but not because it was the Jack Sparrow costume.
They just liked fighting a pirate. It was always fun and it’s what Meredith would have wanted.
Jackson too. He loved the theatrics and sword fighting.
Alice takes her giant notebook and disappears into the back of the cottage.
“So that’s that then.” I glance at Aiden and then Liam and Gen.
Aiden nods, his alpha presence a helpful steadying force for my wolf. “You’re with Alice, obviously. I’ll have a couple others with you too, since there will be a group and you’ll have kids from town. You guys can figure out the schedule in the morning.”
“Good. Sounds good.” I run my hands through my hair and sigh, suddenly feeling bone-weary. The events of the day—the fighting match, my brother’s disappointment, the funeral, the missing magick, the plans for tomorrow—all swirl in my mind, a chaotic mess of grief and worry and determination.
“I’ll see you all in the morning, then.”
I give my brother and his wife a hug, holding on perhaps a moment longer than necessary. As I pull away, I catch a glimpse of concern in Liam’s eyes. I know he wants to say something, to offer comfort or advice, but I can’t bear to hear it right now.
Right now, I’d give anything for another fight out in MacMurray’s barn, but those only happen twice a month.
I slip out into the night, the cool court air a welcome relief after the close confines of the cottage. The fake stars stretch out overhead, countless pinpricks of light in the velvet darkness. Beautiful, but technically artificial. Like everything in the Court.
I walk to the exit ring, the stone circle down the path from the village. My fingers trace the runes carved into the ancient stones as I cross out of the Court, whispering the spell that opens the barrier. The magic tingles against my skin, recognizing me, allowing me passage.
The real darkness is darker, deeper. The smell of the pine and the earth is even stronger, filling my lungs.
The call of the moon tugs at my soul, urging me to shift, to run, to lose myself in the simple joy of being wolf.
I glance up at the crescent and breathe deeply, letting the real world wash over me.
As much as I love the Court and the witches, there’s nothing like real mountain air. Nothing like the promise of wilderness stretching out before me. For a moment, I’m tempted to give in. To shift and run until my legs give out, until I can’t think or feel or remember.
But I can’t. Not tonight. Tomorrow looms, with all its dangers and responsibilities. I have people counting on me. No disappearing allowed.