Chapter 2
The dust of the road felt like a physical weight on Lucian’s shoulders as he crossed the town line into Pumpkin Hollow.
He had spent ten years trying to outrun the ghost of a girl who didn’t exist—or at least, the girl he had thought she had been.
Now, the scent of pine and damp earth served only as a reminder of everything he’d tried to bury.
He wasn’t here for nostalgia; he was here because his father was sick and needed help.
He pulled up to the house he grew up in.
It was a humble two-story, painted a gentle, sun-faded cream with dark hunter-green shutters.
He parked the truck and stepped out, inhaling deeply.
A knot he hadn’t realized was there—knitted from ten years of distance—began to unravel in his chest. This was home.
The crisp autumn air was immediately overlaid with the intoxicating, familiar aroma of his mother’s kitchen: sizzling bacon and cinnamon-laced pancake batter.
He glanced toward the large, gnarled oak tree dominating the front yard, where a tire swing, worn smooth by years of use, hung suspended from a thick rope.
It was a picture of the simple life he had forfeited when he left.
I always thought I would be here forever, guess I was wrong.
He pushed open the creaky green front door and stepped in. The scent of his mother’s cooking was even stronger as he entered. He walked down the hall to the kitchen.
Before he could speak, his mother, Carrie, grabbed his face. Her soft hands held his cheeks. “I have missed my pup so much.”
“I missed you too, Mom,” Luke laughed, pulling her into a big hug. He inhaled deeply, smelling the sweet dianthus perfume his mother wore.
His eyes shifted over to his dad, Luke Duskbane.
Luke sat at the kitchen table, his right hand rattling against his coffee mug with an uncontrollable vibration.
It was Claw Tremor, a unique jackal shifter ailment that turned a warrior’s steady grip into a liability.
It was curable, but the recovery was a grueling, months-long process of rest—a concept Luke seemed fundamentally incapable of grasping—and medication.
Luke stood up and pulled him into a hug. “Boy, you’ve been gone too long.”
“You guys saw me last Christmas,” Lucian sighed. Lucian felt the tremor in his father’s hand as it rested, trembling, on his back.
“Christmas was six months ago.”
“Dad, that’s not that long.”
“For you, maybe.”
“You know you can visit whenever you want.”
“You know I hate going to the city,” Luke grumbled. “Too many people. Maybe if you weren’t so determined to live clear on the other side of the world, this wouldn’t be a problem.”
Lucian grabbed his father’s fork and ate a bite of pancake to keep the sarcastic comment from leaving his lips.
“Leave my pup alone, you old dog,” Carrie said, softly punching Luke’s arm.
Luke laughed and shook his head. “He’s a grown-up now, my love. I am sorry to do this to you, but I just got a call and need to go fix the espresso machine at Enchantresso. So, you and the pup can catch up.”
“You shouldn’t be taking calls, Pop,” Lucian muttered, reaching out to steady the older man’s hand. The tremor hummed through Lucian’s own palm, a reminder of the fragility the disease caused. “I can go help Lettie out while you rest.”
“Repairs don’t wait for a case of the shakes, boy,” Luke grumbled.
His face, etched with fatigue lines, tightened as he yanked his hand back, the clatter of his breakfast plate nearly echoing the jolt as it teetered on the edge of the table.
“I’ve got a job at the coffee shop. The espresso machine is giving her hell, and I will take the call. You just hang out with your mother.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “I’ll take it, Pop. You stay here. I’m sure Lettie will be happy to see me.” Even as the last word left his lips, he knew it was probably a lie. The woman whose niece had spelled his heart probably wanted nothing to do with him.
Luke stopped his fumbling to clean up brunch, his bushy brow furrowed. “You should just stay home instead, pup. I’ll grill us some steaks for dinner later. The machine is just being temperamental and just needs a swift kick.”
“How about I just go with you, and you can tell me what you need me to do.”
“It’s…” Luke paused. “It’s… It’s just easier if I do it.”
Lucian looked at his dad, realizing he was probably trying to keep him from restarting old drama with Lettie. “I’m coming with you anyway.” He didn’t trust his father’s shaking hands with a precision repair job, and he certainly didn’t trust him to stay home.
Luke sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to rattle through his chest. He grumbled something under his breath about the boy being an idiot, and maybe seeing something with his own eyes might make him realize what he missed.
“What was that, old man?” Lucian challenged, already grabbing a spare tool bag from the hall closet.
Luke snorted and left the kitchen. Luke hopped into the truck with Lucian following behind, hopping into the passenger side.
He watched his dad’s fumbling hands, the metal of the key scraping faintly as it struggled to find the ignition.
A flicker of concern, a cool unease, touched him as he wondered if he should take the wheel from his dad.
Thankfully, the engine rumbled to life, and his dad steered the car smoothly onto the road.
They drove with the windows down until they got to Enchantresso.
The engine rattled silently right outside the painted, soft-green cafe.
The moment they stepped out of the truck, the smell hit him, overriding the crisp air.
Lucian inhaled slowly, his jackal reeling back from the sensory assault.
Honey. Cinnamon. Tea leaves. Gods help me—she still smelled like home even after all these years.
He closed his eyes to brush the feeling away, to steady himself. But his jackal refused to listen. He needed to steady himself, to regain a semblance of control before he entered the cafe.
They walked in and there she was: Marigold, the person he swore he would never see again.
Her golden-red hair, streaked with green, was pulled back into a messy bun, silky strands dangling around her face.
She stood behind the counter, a professional, polished smile fixed on her face.
He saw her vibrant green eyes flick over to him, the quick, frantic movement of a trapped animal.
The smile dimmed, a nervous lip-biting tick briefly returning before she turned back to his father, a deliberate wall of dismissal.
She stood behind the counter, a steaming cup in her hand, and handed it to Luke. “This is Steady Tea,” she said, her voice sounding hollow. “This will calm your nerves. How are you feeling?”
His father took it and sipped, a soft sound of relief escaping him. “Wonderful, now that I got my morning fix. As always, Goldie, it tastes magical.”
Lucian felt the old anger rise, the suffocating choke of betrayal mixed with the fresh, agonizing throb of hurt.
He had thought she would have left town, like she always swore she would, and moved to the city to open up a fancy restaurant.
He had hoped she had moved on so he wouldn’t have to see her ever again.
She had the talent, the drive, and the acceptance to Moonrise University to do it.
He had thought she was long gone. The fact that she had stayed here, chained to this small town and this cozy cafe, felt like a deliberate mockery of the future they had planned—the future she fabricated with a spell.
His ear twitched furiously as he stood there, swallowing the scent of home that his treacherous body refused to reject.
Marigold turned, finally acknowledging him. A look that was polite, distant, and razor-sharp replaced her smile, which had been warm for his father. “Well, hello, Lucian. I almost didn’t see you standing there.”
His ear twitched again, a violent shudder that his shifter side couldn’t suppress. Almost didn’t see me. As if I hadn’t noticed that look, she gave me when I arrived.
“A 6‘3 male is pretty easy to miss,” he drawled, his voice low and laced with challenge. “I’m sure you have a lot on your mind, Goldie. Like your latest… spelled drink.”
His eyes darted to her throat, watching it as it bobbed. A small smirk spread across his face, knowing he had gotten to her.
“The weathers certainly turned colder than I expected today, hasn’t it?” she replied, smoothly pivoting the conversation.
He met her vibrant green eyes, a cold, hard retort already forming. “I find the cold easy to handle when you’ve been braced for it for ten years.”
She bit her lip—a flicker of the old tic that made him clench his jaw—and gestured toward the back counter. “Right. Well, you’re here to tackle the espresso machine? The bane of my existence is not working again.”
“The old beast is stubborn, I hear,” Lucian said, his eyes scanning her face, looking for any hidden tell. “Refuses to produce what people want. It needs a heavy hand to straighten it out.”
A short, dry laugh escaped her. “It’s always been temperamental. Sometimes it needs a subtle touch, and sometimes, no matter what you feed it, it just spits back steam.”
Subtle touch. That’s what she calls manipulative love magic, he thought, his blood heating. He leaned across the counter slightly. “I prefer things to be straightforward, Goldie. What you see is what you get. No hidden ingredients… or magic.”
She stood her ground. “We all know that’s never been your style, Lucian. You always see what you want to see and nothing more.”