Chapter 1 #2
Asher lights up with sudden inspiration and grins. "What about the Life and Death Brigade?"
The words hit, and I laugh again before I can help it. "You totally stole that from Gilmore Girls."
He arches a brow, completely unrepentant. "So what if I did?"
"I mean, it fits." Rowan tips her head, considering. "We're definitely dealing with life-and-death situations on the regular."
"And we're brigade-ish," Asher continues, warming to his theme. "We brigade. We're brigade-ing right now."
"Dude, that's not a verb," Orion says.
"It is now. I'm making it a verb. Brigade, brigaded, brigading."
Eliza's lips twitch into something almost resembling a smile. Whether it's watching how Orion and Asher interact or the suggestion about the name, I'm not sure. I think it's seeing her nephew happy for a change.
"The Life and Death Brigade," I repeat. "It's dramatic enough to sound official, yet casual enough not to take ourselves too seriously."
"And it's way cooler than the Justice League," Rowan adds.
I take another sip of water, letting the name roll around in my head. The Life and Death Brigade. “All right, let’s put it to a vote. All in favor?"
All hands go up.
"Motion carries." Asher pumps his fist. "The Life and Death Brigade is officially official!"
The celebratory pie sits between us on the table—apple for me, cherry for Asher—and the sugar rush has both of us riding high on the kind of giddy energy that comes from suddenly having more money than we know what to do with.
"I'm just saying," Asher gestures with his fork, a chunk of cherry filling wobbling precariously on the end, "you could buy so many dogs right now. Like, all the dogs."
"Why would we get more dogs when we already have the best two dogs in the whole world? No other dogs could live up to their pupper perfection."
"First of all, fair, they are perfection. Second, because you're rich now. Rich people have weird hobbies. You should lean into it."
I scoop up a bite of apple pie, the crust flaking perfectly under my fork. "I'm pretty sure adopting excessive amounts of dogs doesn't count as a hobby. That's a cry for help."
"Potato-potahto."
Marty materializes at our table with the coffeepot, topping off both our mugs.
He's a wall of a man—ex-trucker turned diner co-owner and hubby—with a magnificent beard and a collection of sassy coffee mugs that cut deeper than any blade.
"You two are awfully cheerful today. What'd you do, win the lottery? "
"Pretty much," Asher says around a mouthful of pie.
I take a sip from my mug and let the java kick warm me down to my bones. "We sorted out the Hallowind estate stuff. I'm officially home and in control of my life again."
Marty nods approvingly, a smile tugging at his beard. "Good for you, kid. Tanner will be jazzed to hear it."
I glance toward the pass-through window into the back. "What's Tanner up to? He usually pops his head out to say hi."
"He's fussing over a new biscuit recipe. If you play your cards right, there might be a dozen or two 'trial runs' for you to take home when you leave."
Asher gasps. "I heart you hard, big man. Like big, manly love."
He snorts and heads back toward the counter, where Tanner's visible through the kitchen window, bent over whatever he's working on with the focus of a surgeon. "I heard that, Hendrix. Stay away from my man."
Asher laughs. "You can buy me off with baked goods. I'm shallow that way."
"Done. I can't compete with your Ken doll, surfer-boy looks."
Asher laughs harder, and it does my heart good. He came to Emberwood for me, but he's building his own relationships and becoming part of the Emberwood landscape on his own merits.
When Marty's out of earshot, he leans across the table and grins. "Okay, back to you being loaded. What do you think about the two of us going over to Pete’s Mercantile and blowing a wad on dog purses and tiny sunglasses? Then we could Paris and Nicole the shit out of Emberwood."
I blink. "I don't see that happening, no."
"Okay… what about a boat? We could be Professor and Marianne."
I laugh. "Why would I buy a boat? We're nowhere near an ocean."
"Because you can." He spreads his hands wide. "That's the point, Pops. You now have 'fuck you' money. You could walk into a boat dealership and be like, 'yes, I'll take that one' in blue and another in silver,' and they'd have to get it for you."
"I don't think that's how buying boats works."
"You don't know. Have you ever bought a boat before?"
I'm laughing—really laughing—when the brass bell above the door jingles.
Sheriff Decker steps in first, his broad shoulders hunched against the cold. He’s followed by Mayor Declan, standing tall in his blue plaid jacket.
The two of them look like they’ve already lived through three disasters today and are bracing for a fourth.
Tanner appears from the kitchen, a tea towel over his shoulder, and flour on his apron. “Afternoon, Sheriff. Mayor. Two Tuesday specials?”
“Please.” Declan slides onto a stool with a long exhale. “Better pack them to go. It’s best that we stay mobile.”
Sheriff Decker hands his travel mug to Marty but stays standing, one hand resting on his gun belt. He doesn’t seem tense. Just… alert.
“Mobile?” Marty repeats. “Why? What’s going on?”
He accepts his refilled mug and takes a sip.
The caffeine injection seems to smooth some of his rough edges, and he nods his thanks.
“Emberwood seems to be having a series of strange events. Mrs. Henley’s antique shop lost power this morning at 10:32.
Just her shop. The streetlights stayed on and the rest of the grid showed no problems.”
Tanner shrugs. “Old wiring? That place is basically held together by duct tape and prayer.”
“That’s what we thought at first,” Decker agrees, taking another swallow of coffee. “Except every clock in town seems to have stopped at the same time. Wall clocks. Watches. Even the battery-powered ones.” He points to the clock over the serving pass-through to the kitchen.
Sure enough, it’s stopped at 10:32.
I check my Fitbit and it’s the same.
Asher checks his Garmin and gives me wild eyes. “That’s freaky. Are you hearing the theme song for the Twilight Zone ringing in your head?”
“Well, now that you said that, I am.”
That level of weirdness definitely falls outside the norm.
I tilt my head toward the counter, and Asher and I take our empty dishes and join the conversation. “Is that the only weirdness, gentlemen? You two look frazzled. Is there more?”
Mayor Declan looks so much like his sister Eliza, it’s amazing. They’re like the male and female version of the same person. They both have the same rich brown hair and ice-blue eyes, both of them are wiry strong white tiger shifters, and they both share a weird penchant for plaid flannel shirts.
Declan rubs his temples as if he’s fighting off a headache. “Actually, yeah. The other complaints might fall more in your court than ours, Poppy.”
“Okay, you have my attention. How so?”
Before he can explain, the bell chimes again. I glance over and freeze.
Mica—a coven witch I met during the disaster of Tharuzel tearing the veil between our world and the Hell Realm—stands in the doorway. Backlit by the afternoon sun filtering through the windows, her hair is a shimmering riot of teal and blue with streaks of purple and green woven through it.
She scans the diner with sharp steel-gray eyes until her gaze lands on me. She closes the distance in a few hurried strides. "Poppy, I hoped I'd find you here."
I don’t really know her, nor do I know any reason why she’d seek me out. Well, any reason that doesn't involve Laurel or Emberwood Coven bullshit.
Still, we managed to work together to seal the rift and calm the ley line fluctuations that had been plaguing Emberwood, so there's that. "Hey, Mica. What can I do for you?"
She takes in the tension of the conversation she interrupted and bites her bottom lip. "Sorry to just show up. I was hoping to talk to you about something. Privately, if you've got a minute."
The shift from her casual tone to something more careful sends a prickle of awareness down my spine.
Asher catches it too, his expression sobering. "Want me to come?"
"No, it's—" Mica glances at him, then back to me. "It's coven stuff. It's nothing dire, just... easier one-on-one."
I nod. "Sure. Asher, can you—"
"—order another round of pie? Why, yes. Yes, I can," he promises solemnly.
I chuckle. "I was going to say finish the conversation with Declan and the sheriff, so we're not holding them up, but sure, more pie is good too. Tanner, do you mind if we slip into the party room for a quick chat?"
"My party room is your party room."
"Thanks." When I turn, Mica's already heading toward the door at the back of the diner.
I follow her inside, and the soft click of the latch seals us in. I step over to where the mismatched chairs are stacked against the side wall and pull two free. Taking one for myself, I gesture for her to take the other.
"So, what's up?"