Chapter 13
GUS
gus always has a lot to say.
it’s about time someone listens…
— gus
If the mysterious shooter thought that they’d frighten Roxy Kane into turning tail and hiding in her shop, they have another think coming.
Though Ash makes the suggestion that I should, he’s gotten to know me well enough to understand that when I tell him I’m going to open the fucking bakery for Honey, I’m opening the fucking bakery for Honey.
Luckily, being shot at was the most eventful thing that happened to us.
We get a couple of curious customers who want to know if we baked up any of those same brownies from the other day, but most of them don’t mind my first attempt at a financier or the batch of cinnamon cookies I made as a fallback.
I even get creative, using the tools in Honey’s kitchen to fill freshly baked cupcakes with strawberry frosting.
And, sure, the strawberry frosting came from a jar, but points in trying, right?
Ash wants to discuss the attempt on my life.
Since I’d rather not think of it that way, I decide that denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.
It was an accident. They weren’t shooting at us.
It was a firecracker that left a hole in Ash, not a bullet.
Either way, my ghostly mate has gotten to know me well enough over the last week plus that, when I change the subject, he doesn’t push that, either.
There was another reason why I insisted on staying for the full day at the bakery.
At some point, gossip would go around Moonburrow about the gunshots.
Even though I’ve got some pals—and I use the term loosely considering they’re more like contacts just as nosy as me and my raccoon—who are willing to trade information with me, one thing I learned is that, when you’re business actually invites guests inside, a lot of the time the gossip comes to you.
Everyone is talking about the gunshots that erupted through the early morning hours. Half the town is convinced we had humans sneak in. The other wonder if Riordan lost his mind and the chief deputy started firing a human-standard weapon. No one has any clue who did it—or who the target was.
I don’t think that’ll last. Eventually, it’ll come out that they were shooting at me, and I’d put dollars to donuts that most of the shifters in time will just shrug that off and say that Roxy Kane had it coming.
All the more reason to just drop the subject… especially since, right around the time we’re getting ready to close up, a new topic is all anyone can talk about.
Annmarie, one of the countless bunny shifters in Moonburrow, saw a new-to-town female in a shiny silver car park outside of the sheriff station.
According to the excited shifter, she smelled of cranberries and the ocean, plus the unforgettable twang that marks a witch.
She had oodles of red hair, and when Riordan Lobo came outside to greet her, the suave wolf tripped over his own two feet and nearly face-planted in front of her.
Now, that’s interesting, isn’t it? A whole lot more interesting than some whack-a-doo taking pot shots at me for no reason.
Riordan said he would be bringing the cursebreaking witch by once she was settled in at the coven house.
Now that we knew she was in town, the three of us—Ash and me and Gus—straightened up the bakery’s kitchen, closed down, and made it across town with enough time to eat an early dinner…
well, me and Gus ate, and I promised Ash I’d feed him as soon as Penelope fixed him.
Then, ignoring the way my stomach flip-flopped when Ash told me he looked forward to me feeding him, we chilled on the couch until Riordan called to let us know he was outside with the witch.
Gus flops onto the floor, leading the way.
I know we’ll be returning upstairs so that the witch can look at Ash’s real body, but if the opossum wants to greet Riordan, I’m not going to stop him.
I take a moment to look at Ash, to smile at him and show my certainty that this part is almost over, and take his hand.
I can’t help it. If the witch fixes him…
what happens next? Will he recognize me as his mate?
Will he decide that everything that’s past between us doesn’t count because he’s alive again and it was ghost Ash who let me play with him?
I don’t know, but I’d be one selfish raccoon if I stopped him from going downstairs just because I…
I’ve gotten comfortable with the way things are.
This isn’t real life, I tell myself. I don’t own a bakery.
I don’t have a mate; at least, not yet. I’ve been playing house, almost like I am Honey Lobo, toting around her sidekick and bonding with her cousin while baking in her kitchen.
In less than a week, she’ll be back, and I’ll have to return to the dumpster.
I can hope that Ash will be by my side—and not tossed inside of one—when I do… but if that’s not how it works out? I get it. Most raccoons don’t get happy-ever-afters. We get good-enough-for-now, and I need to be satisfied with that.
Still, I squeeze the fingers that only I can feel for the moment, and tug on his arm. “Let’s go meet another witch.”
Once I unlock the door, Riordan steps inside the shop first—and, right away, I know that something’s… off.
Normally, the chief deputy goes to great lengths to looks painfully polished. Dark hair slicked back without a strand out of place. Expensive shirts. Pressed pants. His gold shifter eyes, bright and commanding. Even when I’ve pissed him off, he moves like someone completely in control of himself.
Before I knew about the curse, I thought it was all some pompous act. As the Beta of the Moonshadow Pack, he tried to present himself as the exact opposite of what most shifters expect of powerful wolf shifters. He leaves the growling and the shaggy russet-colored hair to his younger brother Max.
But then the gossips in Moonburrow let slip about the curse.
I did a little digging myself, and I’ve learned that Riordan is male so concerned about losing control that he wraps himself in perfect manners and expensive clothes like a suit of armor.
That’s what happens when he’s an alpha playing the part of Beta all because he’s been cursed so badly, he’s forced to watch every word that leaves his mouth or else he’ll accidentally be the worst kind of monster.
Obeying someone should be a choice. You can’t make someone listen. You can’t take away their free will. You can’t forced someone to do something they wouldn’t… like be loyal or follow you or love you…
In a way , I understand that sort of hiding more than I want to. Me and Riordan Lobo, we’re not that different, even though I didn’t piss off a witch so much that I ended up with an open-ended curse I can’t break.
And, look, here comes a cursebreaker…
You think the wolf would be ecstatic to have a witch brought into his territory who might be able to help him with his curse.
That’s not the case. So when the witch female standing just behind him follows him inside and I catch the flash of panic in his eyes before he buries it again, I’m stunned by the reaction.
Who the hell is this witch that she scares an alpha wolf shifter? And why, as she moves by him, is he watching her unblinkingly? And, oh, that’s a pretty hungry look there, bud. Like he wants to gobble her up—
Oh.
Oh, no.
She can’t be… can she?
I give her a more scrutinizing look as she breezes past Riordan, oblivious to the way the uncharacteristically disheveled male— he has four, count ‘em, four strands of hair out of place… and is that a wrinkle in his shirt—is leaning in her direction, like he’s stuck in her orbit and can’t break free of it.
The witch gliding into my shop doesn’t look remotely threatening enough to do anything to unravel Riordan Lobo at the seams. In fact, she looks more sweet than anything else.
Long red hair tumbles nearly to her waist in soft waves, bright against the flowing blue blouse and layered skirt she’s wearing.
Her big, blue eyes are wide and nervous as they drift around my crowded shop, taking in shelves overflowing with antiques, old mirrors, chipped porcelain, brass figurines, jewelry trays, old marble statues, and enough random nonsense to make most people back slowly toward the exit.
Instead, she smiles softly, more to herself than anyone else. “I like it here.”
I narrow my eyes automatically. “Are you making fun of my store?”
She startles, whirling around, her skirt flaring, as she searches for me. Wow, scatterbrained much? I literally let them in through the door, but she reacts like she only just noticed I was here.
But then she surges toward me. “No, I mean it! Honest. The vibes in here are immaculate.” Her expression turns genuinely distressed at the idea I might think she was mocking me. “It feels…” Her gaze drifts slowly around the packed shelves again. “Loved.”
Ash drifts next to me. “Hear that, Rox? She thinks your shop is loved. She’s got good instincts already.”
“Yeah,” I admit begrudgingly. “Maybe.”
Her mouth parts just enough to form a small ‘o’. “Are you talking to me? Or… oh.” Her head turns, looking dead at Ash’s ghost. “I see.”
My heart jumps. “You do? I mean, you can see Ash?”
She gives her head a small shake. “No. I’m sorry. That was the wrong word. I… sense him.” She gestures with her long, pale, spindly fingers. “He’s right there, isn’t he? Staying close to you. Where he belongs.”
I jerk my head to see if Ash heard that last part. Next to me, Ash exhales, relief flickering briefly across his face before he smooths it away.
I hide my growing smile. Yeah. He does belong next to me, doesn’t he?
The witch clasps her hands in front of her. “I should introduce myself. I’m Penelope Willows. I came from the Salem coven at the request of Chief Deputy Lobo.”