Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Sealed in the Biscuits it's a magical community thing.
We've got a couple of shifters hanging out, and I won't turn away anyone from any magical community who wants a place where they can be accepted and use their strengths to fight the good fight. "
Mica grins. "And that's exactly it! You're building something, Poppy. A team that actually trusts each other, fights together, and doesn't operate on fear and manipulation."
The weight of her words settles over me. I hadn't thought about what we were building beyond scrambling to survive.
"It's not perfect," I say carefully.
"Nobody's expecting perfection, but there's a difference between imperfect and toxic. And Laurel's leadership is toxic."
I don't disagree, but I also don't know if I'm ready to be the destruction of the Emberwood Coven. I grew up loving the coven. The members of the magical community were like members of a big, glorious family.
"If you leave, won't that make things worse for those who stay?"
"Maybe, but I'm not interested in martyrdom, and I'm definitely not interested in being the example Laurel uses to keep everyone else scared. Self-preservation isn't selfish when the ship is sinking."
The driveway winds upward like a snake's spine, all cracked asphalt and moss-choked edges. At the top sits the McAllison mansion—Victorian bones dressed in peeling paint and ivy that's gone from charming to creepy.
Asher hums the Ghostbusters theme under his breath as we approach, the chihuahua leashes wrapped around both wrists. "If there's something strange in Emberwood... Who you gonna call?"
"Poppy and the Life and Death Brigade," Rowan sings.
Asher snorts. "Dude, that didn't rhyme at all."
I chuckle. "That's okay. We're not even sure it's a ghost problem."
"Declan and the sheriff seemed pretty sure. They're really hoping you can take care of things before Lizzy spooks the townsfolk."
"We'll do our best, won't we, puppers?"
Somebuddy and Nobuddy hustle along, excited for their first mission, their little feet moving a mile a minute.
Orion's silver-blue eyes track the upper windows as we near the front porch. "I agree with Uncle Declan. This place feels all kinds of wrong."
I adjust my grip on the duffel bag slung over my shoulder. "Yeah, well, Lizzy McAllison died two months ago surrounded by twenty-seven dogs and zero people. Wrong is kind of the baseline."
Somebuddy yaps, her stubby little tail wagging.
Nobuddy sniffs the air and whines.
"Agreed, puppers," Asher says. "It's exciting for you to be back at your old house, I know. It’s probably a little sad, too, eh?"
The front door swings open before we reach the top step of the wraparound porch. A woman in a blazer-and-pearls combo strides out, the heels of her sensible pumps clicking against the weathered wood.
Her smile is real estate bright—practiced, glossy, and totally hollow.
"Welcome to the McAllison House. I'm the realtor, Faye Derne, and—" Her gaze lands on the chihuahuas and her smile cracks. "You can't bring those dogs in here."
"These are two of the McAllison orphans," Asher says cheerfully. "They wanted to say goodbye to their home. You know, closure isn't just for divorcees and self-help podcasts."
The realtor's jaw tightens. "That's unconventional."
"Yet here we are." I step forward, keeping my tone light. "We'll be quick. Five minutes, tops."
In truth, I have no idea how long this might take, but five minutes is an easier sell.
Faye hesitates, glancing back toward the open door. Something flickers behind her eyes. It could be fear… or maybe exhaustion. "The market history on this property may seem a little complicated, but the location is excellent. Keep in mind that old places sometimes have a character all their own.”
That’s one way to put it.
I meet her gaze and smile. “And what kind of character does this place have?”
“We've noticed a few… plumbing issues."
Rowan chuckles. "Right. Well, plumbing can be tricky."
The realtor straightens, forcing brightness back into her expression. "Five minutes. And please keep your dogs out of trouble."
Inside, everything seems normal enough at first glance, but it doesn't feel normal. It also doesn't smell normal. But even with the Febreze efforts, the scented candles, and no doubt the apple pie pot-pourri simmering in the kitchen, the place still has a distinct 'ode de canine'.
The air doesn't just smell—it's dense. The last of the day's light filters through the windows but seems to be struggling to reach the floor. Shadows pool in corners, thick and unmoving.
I glance at Rowan to see if there's anything in the shadows we should be wary of, but other than her wrinkling her nose, she doesn't seem affected by anything.
A creak from the grand staircase has us all glancing over, but there's no one there. At least no one we can see.
Somebuddy growls, but her little butt is waggling.
"Yeah, baby girl. We feel it too. You're good." Asher crouches, scratching behind the chihuahua's ears.
Orion's gaze is narrowed and scanning. "It's chilly in here, don’t you think?"
The realtor wraps her arms around herself. "Yes, the furnace is a little temperamental. We have someone coming to look at it."
Another group arrives on the porch, and the realtor looks conflicted.
“Don’t let us keep you.” I wave away her look of concern, giving her the out to leave us.