Night Owl Bridge (A Story in the World of the Sea Wicche #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

Shifting Shadows

Gliding through the fog over the forest, I enjoyed the cool air sliding through my feathers. Up here, I was powerful, more my true self, than when I walked on two legs. In the air, there was no confusion or doubt. There was instinct and confidence. Down there was awkward pauses and uncertainty.

Flying low over the treetops, I saw the glow of my home, Night Owl New and Used Books, in the distance. At the top of a lonely hill, it stood like a candle in the dark. Wings stretched, head down, I arrowed through the early morning, looking forward to sleep.

Night Owl Books was for others, like myself, who were nocturnal.

Insomniacs needed to read too. I opened from eight at night until six in the morning.

Usually. Sometimes, like this morning, I closed early.

I’d finished a gorgeous book at three this morning, so I closed the shop, wanting to fly, my mind still firmly ensconced in the story.

The bookstore hours were, at best, a suggestion, so it didn’t matter. I only had a few customers a week, and that was fine with me. I much preferred solitude with an endless supply of books to visitors.

Flying through my bedroom window, I plopped onto my bed. A fire raced through me as I shifted from Eurasian eagle-owl to human. I wasn’t positive, but I thought I’d seen a pair of legs on my back porch as I flew by.

I checked my phone and found a text.

Nick: Orla, I’m out back. If you have time, I’d like to talk to you. If now isn’t good, I can come back later.

He knew I’d be going to sleep soon. Later would be quite a bit later.

Sighing, I stepped into the bathroom and checked my reflection.

My feet were dirty and I had some blood and small bits of fur around my mouth.

I hadn’t been looking for a meal, but I also hadn’t been about to turn down a rabbit presenting itself to me.

I stepped into the shower to clean off before going downstairs. It also allowed me to put off seeing Nick for a few more minutes. After our dinner together, I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see him again. To say it went poorly would be an understatement.

Unfortunately, as I had no beauty routine, I was done quickly. I put on my flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and then braided my long hair as I went downstairs to the first floor.

I lived in a renovated Victorian home. The first and second floors had been combined to create a high-ceilinged bookstore, filled with tall bookcases that were in turn crammed with my books.

Did I allow customers to buy my books? Sometimes.

If it was a book I intended to read soon, I’d lie and say I didn’t own it.

If it was one I’d already read, they could buy it.

That was why this was a new and used bookstore.

Mind you, I took excellent care of my books.

You couldn’t tell most had been read, but I still discounted them for future readers.

Future readers perhaps overstated the number of customers walking through my front door.

Being honest, what I had here was my own extensive library that I occasionally shared with others.

I was forcing myself to be more social, which was, at best, uncomfortable.

My parents had both died—quite badly—and as far as I could tell, I was the last of the Eurasian eagle-owl shifters, at least in this part of the world.

When I hermited for too long, I heard my mother’s voice in my head telling me to Get out and live a little.

Turning my library into a bookstore was my attempt to allow others in—for short periods of time and in a setting where discussing books was normal, even expected.

I walked around the bookcases toward the back door like I was approaching a firing squad.

I’d read about this practice called ghosting.

To me, this seemed like the perfect solution.

Nick needed to ghost me. A discussion seemed pointless.

He didn’t need to let me down easily. He could just walk away quietly and never talk to me again.

Instead, I was walking out the back door, dreading—wait. Refreshments. I needed to offer refreshments. I may not have been social, but I’d read enough books across multiple genres to know that when one had a visitor, one offered refreshments.

Spinning on my heel and relishing the reprieve, I went into my first-floor kitchen area to grab some baked goods. I paused at the back door, straightened my shoulders, and prepared for one of those difficult talks I’d read so much about.

Nick was in his police uniform and sitting on my porch, his legs stretched out, his back against the side of my house.

“Hello.”

He turned his head and looked up at me. He had the kindest warm brown eyes. “I love your porch. It’s so calm and peaceful here. I have a little time before I’m on shift, so I thought I’d wait and see if I caught you.”

I popped the cover off the container of baked goods and held it out for him.

“Wow. These look amazing. I didn’t realize you baked.” He took a muffin and bit into it. His eyes fluttered closed and he rumbled deep and slow. If bears purred, that would be the sound he made. Nick was a black bear shifter.

I went to my swinging chair and sat, my legs folded beneath me, the plastic container in my lap.

“I don’t,” I said, choosing a cookie. “Arwyn said if I helped her find her sorcerer cousin, she’d give me free baked goods for life.

” I took a bite and savored the brown sugar and vanilla.

“Do you think that was just an expression of gratitude or did she really mean she’d give me free food for life?

” I hated that people didn’t speak plainly.

He ate the rest of the muffin in one bite. “Arthur told me she was an amazing baker.” The early morning light made his brown skin glow. He was so beautiful, tall and broad-shouldered, with a short beard that couldn’t hide his dimples. I had a hard time not staring.

“I’m sure she meant it,” he added. “Arthur says he gets food whenever he sees her.”

Nick’s cousin Arthur was a police detective who was also the leader of a supernatural squad of crime fighters.

They couldn’t rely on human authorities to capture and punish supernatural criminals, so that was our job.

I’d only helped them once. It had been both exciting and terrifying.

I was looking forward to helping again someday.

Arwyn, the baker, was a member of the Corey coven of wicches and a local artist. She occasionally consulted on cases, as she was a psychic or a sensitive or something. I wasn’t entirely clear on the terminology.

“I’ve been stopping by once a week to fill this up,” I told him. “Does that seem reasonable or too often?”

He shrugged a beefy shoulder. “You don’t eat as much as I do. That would be a very costly promise if she’d made it to me.” He watched me a moment. “I think if you took seven things for the seven days until your next visit, that would be fair.”

I took a bite of cookie, considering. “Good. Seven. Thank you.” Arwyn’s offer had been very kind and generous. It had also been too vague for me. I needed specifics, and now I had them. I’d take seven items.

He nodded and we sat in silence. He was good at this. Most people became more and more agitated the longer the silence went on. Nick didn’t seem to be the least bit uncomfortable, which allowed me to relax.

Leaves crackled in the forest and both our heads turned. He lifted his nose in the air and said, “Squirrel.” Pointing to the railing around my porch, he added, “I’ve been looking at those little rocks and sticks, wondering what they mean.”

I followed his gaze. “Oh.” I stood and walked to the gifts, picking up each one and admiring it.

I took the handful back into the house, dropping them into a large glass jug I kept by the back door, and then went in the kitchen for some nuts and dried berries.

Back on the porch, I placed my gifts in the same spot, brushed off my hands, and resumed my seat.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Nick rumbled.

A moment later, a crow flew down and landed on the railing beside the nuts. He pecked the dried blueberry first, staring at us.

“Good morning, Tyrion,” I said from my swing. “Thank you for my gifts.”

Nick turned, smiling. “I know that one. That’s the guy from Game of Thrones.”

I swallowed a bite of chocolate chip cookie, my head cocked to the side. “You’ve read the books?”

He shook his head. “No, but I watched the show.”

Confused, I asked, “There’s a show?”

He grinned and nodded.

“But Martin hasn’t finished writing the series.” How odd that they’d film an incomplete series.

Nick shrugged one of his big shoulders. “That’s what my cousin said too. She’s a reader like you. I think she said the first few seasons were based on the books, but then the screenwriters just went off on their own. Anyway,” he said, waving his hand, “that’s not why I’m here.”

Ah, yes. It was time for the speech. I’d read this scene so many times, I wondered how he’d spin it.

It’s not you; it’s me, perhaps. Or maybe he valued my friendship too much to jeopardize it.

I supposed telling me he’d been drafted and was shipping out soon would be an interesting choice.

Personally, I would have opted for ghosting.

“First, are you okay?”

He was so handsome, it took me a moment to remember he’d asked a question. I put my cookie aside and gave him my full attention. I’d never been dumped before. I wanted to be fully in the moment.

I nodded.

“Good. I’ve texted you a few times since our dinner, but you haven’t responded.

I know your reception is bad around here, but it felt like maybe you were avoiding me—which is perfectly fine.

Did I screw up?” He rushed on, “I didn’t realize so many of my family would be there that night.

That was my fault.” He shook his head. “It’s a black bear-owned restaurant—my uncle Jordan.

I like it because the food is good and the portions are bear-sized.

I know all the cousins and aunties can be overwhelming, though, so I’m sorry. ”

Wait. Wasn’t he supposed to be letting me down easy? I glanced over at Tyrion, who was still on the railing, slowly snacking, his attention snapping back and forth between Nick and me.

Nick followed my gaze, his head tilted up to sniff the air. “I’m not getting shifter. Your friend is a natural crow, right?”

“As far as I know,” I told him. “I don’t like to pry.

” I stared down at my hands, fisted in my lap, and said, “Sorry. I did see your texts. I assumed you were trying to figure out how to get rid of the weird owl woman who just stared at your family, making everyone uncomfortable. You don’t seem to be telling me to leave you alone, though, so I’m confused. ”

He watched me with those kind, understanding eyes that melted my insides.

“I should have explained when I drove you home. I was busy worrying that my loud, growly family had scared you off. I like you, Orla. I like spending time with you. If you don’t feel the same about me, that’s fine.

I can take the L and walk away. If you do like me or you’re still deciding, I’d like to take you out again.

Someplace different this time. Someplace you choose. ”

I’d created a perfectly calm and relaxing life for myself. I was content. Spending time with Nick or investigating with his group made me feel nervous and out of control. It scared me, but it also made me feel like I was actually living my life instead of reading about the lives of others.

Blowing out a breath, I nodded. “I’d like to try again.”

Tyrion squawked, head tilted as he stared at me.

Nick grinned. “Good. Now, there’s one more thing I came to talk with you about.”