Chapter 7
Lucian watched the familiar rise and fall of his father’s chest. Luke was slumped deep in the armchair, breathing heavily, the Claw Tremor treatments having utterly drained him.
The quiet of the house grated on Lucian’s nerves; he was here to ensure this rest, to take the burden of Duskbane Repairs off his father’s shaking hands until he was better. But he felt restless.
The shrill ring of Luke’s phone shattered the silence, causing Luke to stir.
Lucian leaned forward, picking it up before the ring could fully rouse the old man.
The name blazing across the screen made the air catch in his throat: Goldie.
Just seeing the name of the witch who had fractured his world was enough to make his ear twitch in immediate, furious protest. He was tired of her constant reliance on his father.
With a sigh, he slid his thumb across the screen and held the phone to his ear. “Hello,” he said, his voice flat, stripped of all warmth.
There was a pregnant pause on the other end, followed by a rush of rapid, breathless words.
“Lucian? Where’s Luke? I need to speak to Luke right now; it’s an emergency.
” Her voice—even distorted by the speaker—was still laced with the faint, intoxicating memory of honeyed tea and late-night conversations.
Lucian’s gaze drifted, his eyes scanning the familiar lines of his dad’s face again. “He is asleep,” Lucian said, his tone deliberately cold.
“Ooh,” Goldie groaned, the sound raw with frustration and a hint of desperation.
Lucian sat there, the phone a dead weight against his ear.
The silence stretched; he could almost feel the distress in her voice, didn’t want to see the anxiety on her face, and didn’t want to smell that familiar scent of her.
He just wanted her gone, a phantom fading from his doorstep, leaving him and his family alone.
Goldie stuttered, quickly trying to articulate the extent of the disaster. “I—I had a plumbing pipe break under the kitchen sink. Water is everywhere. I just… I just need Luke’s help to come fix it, Lucian… please.”
A major, immediate repair job. Precisely the kind Luke couldn’t handle.
Lucian felt the familiar protective anger for his father, which easily eclipsed his contempt for her.
If the job was taken, Luke couldn’t sneak out and do it himself if she called back.
Lucian allowed his voice to drop to a low, unforgiving rumble. “It’s me or no one.”
A long, painful silence stretched across the line. Lucian’s jaw was tight. He waited for the fight, the indignation, but instead, her voice returned, tiny and pleading.
“Can you please help me?”
He hated that she sounded so small, so vulnerable.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled, a reaction he didn’t want to analyze.
He had to protect his father, and taking the job was the quickest path, even if it meant seeing her.
I have to remember this is a small town and I will run into her while I’m here.
He sighed, the sound a ragged expulsion of resignation. “Fine.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He snorted before hanging up.
Lucian pulled his father’s old truck onto the road.
The engine coughed in protest, but the transmission shifted smoothly as he accelerated.
The drive was a blur of brilliant fall color; the maples and oaks lining the road were a vibrant, fiery palette of oranges and reds that streaked past the window.
He gripped the steering wheel, wishing he could blur his own thoughts as easily.
He found a parking spot on the street in front of Enchantresso and killed the engine.
The moment he stepped inside, the air was saturated with it: her.
The signature scent of Spiced Honey the visual connection a sudden, palpable weight in the air.
“Funny. I thought the desperate and stupid part was trying to use a love spell on me,” he retorted, the insult slicing through the awkward silence.
Her face went pale, and she flinched as if struck. “Just… just fix the pipe, please,” she whispered, her vibrant green eyes filling with raw hurt. She pivoted and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with the smell of water and her lingering scent.
He stared at the door, having prepared himself for a bigger fight, but instead of fighting, she had just acted defeated. What new game is this? He debated. Trying to figure out what her next move would be. Shaking the thoughts away, he went to work.
He opened his tool bag, pulled out his wrenches, and set them on the edge of the counter next to the sink for easy reach. He crawled under the sink; the narrow space instantly pressed in on him. Just as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, and he reached for the pipe, something whizzed past his head.
Clang!
One of the wrenches, which had been on the counter, hit the cabinet door before bouncing to the floor, barely missing his skull.
He swore, pulling his head out from under the sink just in time to see the culprit.
Nibbles, the tiny Grifflet, was perched on the counter above the sink, looking down at him with immense, innocent amber eyes.
“You flying little demon,” Lucian muttered, dropping back under the sink.
He tried to ignore the chaotic familiar, focusing on the leak.
He organized the rest of his tools—pliers, flux, solder, and spare pipe segments—on the floor beside him.
Then, a small, furry paw batted at the pliers, sending them skittering across the tile.
Lucian ignored it while retrieving the tool.
Next, his roll of solder was sent spinning away.
“Stop that, you feathered menace!” he hissed.
He was reaching deep into the cramped space to tighten a worn connection when he felt a sudden, sharp impact against his chest. A heavy, hard object—likely another tool—had been dropped from above, hitting him squarely.
“Ouch!” he yelped, scrambling out from under the sink, clutching his ribs and gasping for air. The pain was sharp, and the sight of Nibbles still perched on the counter opposite him, cleaning his talons with an air of complete nonchalance, did nothing to soothe his rage.
“Like witch, like familiar,” he growled.
The eyes that met him were no longer innocent, as if the grifflet knew exactly what buttons to push. He needs to go. She needs to take this little menace with her and get him out of the fucking kitchen so I can work.
He ducked back under the sink, trying to remind himself it’s just a small creature and to let it go. Then he heard the skittering of another tool being sent across the floor.
Lucian surged upright, his head smacking the underside of the sink cabinet with a loud thud.
Another tool hit him square in the shoulder, but the pain was instantly secondary to the fury bubbling inside him.
His sudden movement sent Nibbles launching into the air, a blur of grey and cream feathers banking sharply toward the ceiling.
"You little demon!” Lucian roared, scrambling to his feet.
As if in reply, Nibbles executed a graceful, infuriating maneuver, kicking a small, half-empty glass jar off the shelf before he soared out of range.
The jar spun end over end, a glittering projectile aimed directly at Lucian’s chest. Lucian twisted, his jackal reflexes kicking in just in time for the jar to shatter against the stainless steel counter with a sharp crack.
Shimmering, granulated sugar scattered everywhere.
"That's it!” Lucian yelled, pointing a trembling finger at the familiar. “I will personally throw you out of this kitchen and lock the window behind you.”
Nibbles chirped proudly.
“That wasn’t a compliment!”
His heart hammered against his ribs where the last tool had struck him.
He lunged across the messy floor, slipping slightly on the pooled water, and started the chase.
Nibbles, who was clearly enjoying the game, zipped high, circling the cramped kitchen.
Lucian was hot on his heels. He felt less like a professional handyman and more like a thwarted hunter pursuing the most frustrating, feathery prey imaginable.
"Get down here, you flying little brat! I am going to teach you manners, you little devil!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the tiled walls.
He reached, swiped, and cursed as the small grifflet darted out of his grasp with an irritating chirp of triumph, sending a cloud of flour dusting down from a nearby bag. His golden-brown eyes, blazing with pure, focused rage, tracked the familiar as it zipped past.