Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Orion pulls his truck to the curb to drop me off at Biscuits & Banter five minutes later. Wylder's reply text came just as we were about to leave the town square, and I admit, I am more than a little relieved.
"Good luck, baby girl," Asher calls through the open truck window. "Don't let him strangle you with any local foliage."
"You just worry about getting those supplies to Mom and Sebastian."
"We're on it," Orion says. "And call if you need a ride later."
Asher frowns. "Yeah, if he's any kind of gentleman, he’ll drive you. If he’s a dick, don't walk home on your own. Promise?"
"Promise."
The truck pulls away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, wondering if this is a mistake. I could’ve just texted the information instead of asking for a face-to-face meeting. But this feels too important for a text.
And our little group of rebel arcana members is better with him in it, so it’s time to pull up my big-girl panties.
Inside, I choose a booth against the window where I can watch the parking lot.
Marty appears almost immediately, hot chocolate in hand. "Hey, darlin'. You look like you need this."
"You're not wrong."
He sets down the mug that reads Once in a while someone amazing comes along, and here I am. I laugh and thank him. "Are you waiting for someone?"
"I hope so." I wrap both hands around the mug. "Wylder said he’d meet me here."
Marty scrubs his fingers through his beard. "That boy's been moping around town like a kicked puppy. Glad to see you two are workin’ it out."
"There’s nothing to work out. We're not…” I don’t even know what to tell him.
He watches me struggle for how to describe our situation and pats the top of my head. “Don’t strain yourself, girlfriend. It is what it is. Do you want pie?”
I chuckle. “If I eat pie every time I come in here. I’ll be as big as a house.”
He scoffs. “Darlin’, life’s too short to worry about such nonsense. I’ll bring you over two bowls of our fruit pavlova. It’s like eating air. Besides, you look like you could use some pleasure endorphins.”
He has no idea.
I watch the cars moving in and out of angled parking in front of the diner, but Wylder’s Jeep is nowhere to be seen. I check my phone to see if he’s been waylaid at his landscaping job, but there are no update messages.
Five minutes pass. Then ten.
My chest tightens with each minute that ticks by, and it hurts my heart more than I’d ever admit.
He’s not coming.
I pick up my spoon and dig into my pavlova. The moment I crunch down on a bite of meringue-berry-whipped-cream perfection, I moan and close my eyes.
Oh, sweet goddess, this is good.
“This is a family restaurant, Hallowind.” Wylder arches a dark brow as he slides into the booth opposite me. “You’re not Meg Ryan and I’m sure as shit not Billy Crystal.”
His broody snark hits me so fast I laugh…
And then proceed to choke on my dessert. It’s not a pretty or feminine moment. I sputter and hack, with a hand over my mouth, and tears running down my cheeks.
After what feels like ages, I can breathe well enough to sip from my hot chocolate and settle things down. “Hey, broody, you startled me.”
He’s sitting across from me, wide-eyed and looking unsure. “You had your eyes closed. Things like that can happen.”
Wylder is blessed to be a man of lean muscle, controlled movement, and natural grace. I doubt he’s ever felt like a dork in his life.
Unbothered by my mortification, he shrugs off his leather bomber jacket and tosses it onto the upholstered bench seat beside him.
In jeans, wearing a fitted black Precision Turf and Garden t-shirt, and with his dark, shoulder-length hair windblown and slightly messy, he’s just about the hottest guy I’ve ever got up-close and personal with.
Certainly, the hottest guy who’s ever kissed me.
The snap of his fingers in front of my field of vision breaks my mind-wander, and I realize I’m staring. Based on the tension in his jaw, I take it he's bracing for something difficult.
"Sorry about that.” I gesture to the untouched bowl of pavlova in front of him. “Trust me, the moaning was completely warranted. It wasn’t me just being… well, me.”
He picks up the spoon left for him and digs in. If I were a betting woman, I’d say he was glad for something to do so he doesn’t have to focus on me.
Awesome. This is going to be fun.
Marty appears with coffee in hand and sets down a mug for Wylder. His reads, Grumpy is my resting face. He sets it on the table, pours, and vanishes before either of us can speak.
"Thanks for coming," I say.
Wylder swallows and reaches for the handle of his mug. "You said it was important."
Right. Straight to business. I can do that.
"When we came to town today, we noticed half a dozen locals walking around with sigils glowing red on their foreheads. I think they’ve been marked, but I don’t know by whom or for what purpose.”
I open the gallery on my phone and show him the picture. “The only sigils I know are the ones you taught me. Orion thought maybe you could help.”
He takes my phone, tapping the image to enlarge it to get a better look. “Do you know when this started?”
“We asked Izzy at the apothecary, and she said she started noticing them three days ago.”
He studies it for a long time, his scowl growing more stern. “The way it’s glowing, it’s almost as if it's shining through from under the skin rather than on it."
“I hadn’t really thought about it, but yeah.”
“Are all of them nocana?”
“Everyone we saw.”
He hands me back my phone. “Can you forward me the image? I’ll need to do some research to be sure.”
“Do you have a first glance guess?”
He leans back, processing. For a moment, the awkwardness fades into something familiar. It’s nice to know we can still work together when there's a problem to solve.
“It looks like a targeting spell, or maybe a marker.”
“Targeted for what? Marked by whom?”
He arches a dark brow. “Emberwood is generally a one apocalypse at a time kind of town, Poppy. I’m assuming it’s a demon mark put into play by your buddy Tharuzel.”
The way he says that is intentionally cold, and if his intention is to twist the knife, he succeeds.
I set my spoon down and rub my palms over the thighs of my pants.
“I was summoned into a Hell Realm holding room and told that because he bound Mom during the ritual and she died, the Hallowind line is marked. He gave me a choice—I could accept the bond, or he’d leave me in hell and get one of my sisters to assume the contract. ”
I blink against the sting of tears trying to surface and lower my voice. “What would you have done? If you think I want to be tied to that thing, you’re nuts.”
“I don’t think—”
“And if you think I’d take the out, and leave one of my sisters to take the hit, you don’t know me at all.” I swipe at my cheek, hating that I’m crying in public and in front of him, of all places.
Wylder glances around to ensure our conversation is ours and leans over the table. “Of course you wouldn’t. I understand why you did it. He left you no other choice.”
“Then why are you punishing me? From the moment you found out about the contract, you’ve looked at me like I’m dog shit on the sidewalk. If you don’t blame me for what happened, why the hell did you ghost me?”
The brass bell jingles, and I glance toward the door to where Mr. Patterson has come inside.
As a kid growing up here, I remember Mr. Patterson as a regular guy who loved to talk about his wife and their weekend camping trips. Since I’ve been back, everything is about being retired and spending time with his grandkids.
My heart sinks the moment he steps into the diner fully. “Oh, no. Wylder? Do you see that?”
“The sigil? Yeah, I see it.”
Ice slides down my spine and something unnatural tingles over my skin. “No, not the sigil, the three ghosts attached to him. Mrs. Patterson is one, but I don’t recognize the other two.”
Wylder squints as if trying to see, but shakes his head. “Attached how?”
“Remember at the Harvest Festival, how Tharuzel’s minions were siphoning energy through those iridescent ribbons? Well, this is more like a thin red rope glowing the same as the sigil.”
Wylder leans back in the booth and chews his bottom lip. “What if that’s what the sigil is for? Not so much a target as identifying a person to tether.”
“To tether? You think it’s like a beacon for ghosts to stalk him? Why? Mr. Patterson is a sweet old man.”
“But he’s also been endlessly sad and lonely since his wife passed. Maybe that’s the chink in the armor they need to create a tether.”
The idea is repugnant. Using the man’s grief to have him haunted is disgusting. Then again, Tharuzel is a demon. If he’s doing this… it could be much worse.
I swallow. “What do we do?”
Wylder frowns. “Well, you’re the spirit witch, so I guess you have to break the tether somehow and send those ghosts back to wherever they came from.”
“Do you think that’s possible? I may be a spirit witch, but I don’t know anything about demon beacons tethering ghosts to people. Are the ghosts aware? Are they suffering? Where do I send them?”
He shrugs. “Maybe ask Zoe or Sebastian. Is your boy at home to answer the phone and put it on speaker for your mom? Do you know where Sebastian is?”
I don’t care for the tone as he refers to Asher as ‘my boy’, but given the situation, that goes way down on the list of things to deal with.
“Sebastian is with Mom in the workroom. I’ll call him.”
I pull out my phone, and Wylder rounds the table to sit on the bench seat next to me. With my cell between us, I pull up Sebastian’s contact and draw a steadying breath.
By the time the call ends a few minutes later, I’ve got a decent idea about the ghost side of things but only a wish and a prayer for the demon element.
“You ready for this?” Wylder hands me the salt shaker from the condiments caddy.
“Nope, not even a little.”