Chapter 4 - Moira

Moira cut the butter into the dough. The sharp, flashing edges of the pastry cutter made quick work of it, leaving her with the perfect sandy texture for her scone dough. It was Sunday, her day off from working at the bakery, but she always seemed to find herself baking anyway, especially when she had something on her mind.

She opened the window, letting the oven heat escape her tiny apartment. Loaf dozed on the cushioned window seat in the living room, content in the afternoon sun. If only she felt so at ease.

After spotting Jonah at the bar, she'd been trying to get him out of her mind. He'd left her shaken and hadn't even talked to her, though he'd looked like he'd wanted to. Probably wanted to laugh in her face, cut her down in front of her friends, and make her cry in a place that felt as familiar as home to her now.

Luckily, Adria had gotten to him first. She'd warned him off, and surprisingly, he'd listened, scurrying out of the pub not long after to terrorize someone else, no doubt. But she couldn't let it go at that. Why had she followed him out? Maybe just to check that he was real, and not just a ghost from her past.

Moira blew a strand of hair out of her face and cut the scone dough into eight neat triangles. She glazed them with a wash of cream and a sprinkle of sugar, then set them in the oven to bake while she cleaned herself up, glancing at the clock.

Swearing, she hurried into the shower. She was supposed to be at Vera's in twenty minutes, but she would definitely be late. Not that it mattered; they weren't doing anything that required punctuality, but Vera would tease her for it. Unprofessional, she'd say.

Moira got dressed, tugging on a knit sweater and wide-legged jeans. She ran a brush through her hair and flicked a coat of mascara over her eyelashes just as the oven timer dinged.

"Perfect," she said, breathing in the smell of the blueberry scones. They were just golden at the edges. "But no time to cool them."

She wrapped the pan in a few towels, stopping by Loaf on her way out the door.

"Wish you could come along. Vera's a sucker for you," she said, scratching the cat under his chin. His fur was warm from the sun. "She might go easy on me if you were there."

He meowed doubtfully, then settled his head back down, green eyes blinking closed again.

"Be back soon," she said, locking the door behind her.

It was a short drive over to Vera's, walkable if she wasn't in a hurry. Her sister lived among the Rosewoods, in an adorable two-story house Moira could never afford, complete with a porch and a front lawn. Pots of mums sat on the stairs up to the house in autumnal shades of orange and red.

She let herself into the house. Unlike Moira's cluttered, messy apartment, Vera's house was the picture of minimalism. From its mouse grey walls to the white couch, it was something out of a modern living magazine.

"Vera?" She called, taking off her shoes in the hallway.

"In here!" Vera replied from the kitchen.

Moira felt a tremor of trepidation at the thought of Vera cooking, relieved to find she was just hunched over the island, a French press full of coffee beside her.

"For a second, I thought you were cooking," Moira said, setting the scones down on the counter.

"Never," Vera swore. She grabbed two mugs and filled them while Moira helped herself to cream and sugar. "You're late."

"Don't start with me," Moira warned, pushing a scone at her sister. "I saw Jonah the other night."

Vera rolled her eyes. "I know he bullied you, Moira, but seriously, it's been years. You can't let him shake you up like this. You need to learn to be more resilient, or no one is going to take you seriously in this world."

She could see the lecture building, her sister picking up steam as she settled on to her favorite topic—Moira's lack of ambition.

"I don't need people to take me seriously; I just need them like my cookies." Moira helped herself to a scone. It was perfect, buttery, crunch, tender. If only the rest of her life came as easily to her as baking did.

They faced off across the island, neither of them flinching. Moira arched one eyebrow, daring her sister to keep going. Vera sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Fine, I'll drop it," Vera said.

"Thank you—" Moira began, before Vera cut in again.

"Just tell me you'll at least consider doing some night classes. A degree can only help you. And that's all I'll say about it." She held up her hands.

The doorbell rang, interrupting the argument before it could pick up steam. Vera frowned.

"Who is that?" Moira asked.

"No idea. I'm not expecting anyone." Vera carried her coffee to the front door, and Moira followed.

For a second, she thought it might be Jonah coming to talk to her, where there was no Adria to cut him off. She shook her head, annoyed at herself. Jonah was not a boogeyman, trying to jump out and scare her, and he was only as powerful as she let him be. At least, that's what she'd learned in therapy all those years ago.

It was Adria at the door, her usually sunny face clouded with emotion.

"Hey," she said. "Sorry for just dropping by like this. Can I come in?"

Vera stepped back to let her in. "Of course. Moira just brought scones, and I made some coffee."

"Really, you're saving us from the argument we were about to have," Moira added, following them into the kitchen.

Adria laughed, but Moira could see that something was bothering her, something that had brought her to Vera's house. It wasn't just a social visit.

"Is everything okay?" Moira asked, passing Adria a cup of coffee. "You seem upset."

"Have either of you been into town yet today? Past the green?" Adria looked from Moira to Vera.

They shook their heads.

"I came straight here," Moira answered.

Vera pointed to her lounge-wear-clad legs. "I haven't left the house yet and, honestly, probably won't."

Vera took her days off of work seriously. Pajamas, couch, and snacks all day. She said it was the only thing that could stave off the burnout from being a veterinarian.

Adria blew on her coffee, then took a sip, wincing. "You make the strongest coffee in the world, Vera. This could wake the dead."

"I'll have to try it next time I lose a patient," Vera said, taking a long drink from her own mug.

Moira was pretty confident that Vera had long ago built a sky-high tolerance to caffeine, and her double-strength brew was the only thing that made her feel a jolt. That's why she doubled up on the cream and sugar at Vera's house.

"What happened on the green?" Moira had a bad feeling about it, whatever it was.

Adria sighed, setting her coffee down on the island. "Someone tried to chop down the tree."

The tree. It didn't need further specification, they all knew she meant the heart tree at the center of the Rosewood town. It was more than just a tree to the Rosewoods, it was a sacred space, a symbol of power, a piece of magic that bound the pack to the land and the land to the pack.

Adria looked close to tears as she went on, her voice wavering. "The axe was still stuck in the trunk when I went by to tend the tree this morning, and the bark had been mangled by previous swings. I guess when they swung hard, it got wedged in, and whoever it was abandoned it there."

Vera slammed her fist down on the counter, making their mugs jump. "What kind of monster would do something like that? We'll string them up by their toenails from a branch once we find them."

Moira gaped at her sister. "Wow, Vera. That's a little gruesome."

But she understood the feeling behind her sister's words, the disquiet that came with the image Adria had put in their mind. What kind of monster would attack their tree? She could imagine one.

Adria placed her hand over Vera's clenched fist. Even unsettled as she was, she still brought comfort to others. "We'll find them, and while we won't be stringing anyone up by their toenails, I'm sure we'll find a suitable punishment."

She couldn't remember something like this ever happening in their town before. It was peaceful, perfect, close-knit. No Rosewood would ever hurt the heart tree, so who had?

Moira could feel Vera practically vibrating with anger and indignation. She almost felt sorry for whoever had attacked the tree, if Vera did get ahold of them.

"You're the best tracker we have," Adria said to Vera. "We're going to get a group together to find whoever did this. Will you help us?"

Vera nodded. "Of course. I'll find whoever it is and rip them to shreds."

Moira fought the urge to roll her eyes. Her sister was more bark than bite, even as a wolf, preferring not to get her hands dirty. Then again, her bark held more than enough bite of its own. Moira had been on the receiving end of it too many times to deny that.

"I'm coming too," Moira said. She had to know where the trail ended. If her hunch was right, it'd lead them right to her childhood bully.

Vera shook her head, catching hold of Moira's arm. "No way. It could be dangerous. I'm not letting my sister come along when we're chasing after some axe-wielding, tree-chopping psychopath."

"He's not axe-wielding anymore," Moira pointed out, yanking her arm free. "Go get dressed. No psychopath is going to be afraid of someone in their pajamas."

They stared each other down, neither of them blinking. Vera had never gotten over the fact that Moira had grown up and no longer followed and did everything Vera told her to. The audacity of it still rankled Vera.

It was Adria who saved them. "We'll wait, Vera, but we really should hurry. Spencer is chomping at the bit to go."

With a final glare at Moira, Vera stomped upstairs. They could hear her yanking open drawers and slamming them shut again.

"Is the tree going to be okay?" Moira asked as they waited.

"I think so," Adria said. "Spencer pulled the axe out. It came out easily for him. There was a gouge, but it wasn't too deep, and the three were strong, you know. It will recover."

Moira hoped that was true. She'd visit the tree later and see it for herself, but first, they had to find the bastard that had done it. Why had they done it? To weaken the pack, seemed the most obvious answer, and that had the mark of the White Winter pack all over it.

The tentative truce they'd signed not long ago had been met with skepticism from most of the Rosewoods, but they'd hoped that the White Winters had meant what they'd promised. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that Jonah had shown up just before the incident, a White Winter himself.

Vera clomped down the stairs, dressed, her previously unruly, shoulder-length hair brushed smooth. "Let's go get this monster."

The sunny morning she'd woken to have vanished during her time inside Vera's. Grey clouds gathered overhead with the promise of rain in their dark bellies. Moira could smell it on the wind, that sweet, heavy scent. She was grateful for her sweater, the wool keeping her warm on the walk to the town green.

"When I get my hands on that guy," Vera was muttering under her breath beside Moira, her long legs eating up the ground.

Her sister was a fast walker even when there was nowhere they needed to hurry to, and doubly so when she was on a mission. It was all Moira and Adria could do to keep up. Not that she wanted to be too close, with her sister mumbling like that, her blue eyes dark with rage.

"I can not believe someone lets her near them with a scalpel," Moira whispered to Adria, trying to lighten the mood. "It's a miracle she has any vet techs left, and they haven't run screaming with terror yet."

"Maybe she drugs them," Adria replied, equally hushed. "They're all anesthetized before the blades come out."

"I heard that!" Vera called over her shoulder. "And I don't drug them. I just tell them I'll cut their toes off if they try to run."

Adria and Moira shared a wide-eyed look.

"I'm starting to think you've got a thing for toes," Moira teased, but she slowed down her hair to put a little space between herself and her sister, and she saw Adria do the same.

"Scary," Adria said.

"Sometimes I wonder how we're related." All the time, really. If they didn't look so similar, dark-haired, pale-skinned, blue-eyed—though Vera was rail thin where Moira was all curve—she wouldn't be able to believe it.

They reached the town green and found a group of Rosewoods gathered there, others spilling in from the surrounding houses and shops. She spotted Spencer beside the tree, the axe in his hands.

"There you are," he called, waving them forward through the others. "And you brought Vera, good."

The great tree bore its wounds with dignity. Cuts crisscrossed its trunk, pale spots where the bark had been removed, and sap leaked out, oozing below. Adria reached out and rested her palm against the tree, eyes closed.

"We'll only take a small group," Spencer went on, selecting two more wolves in addition to Adria, Vera, and Moira. "I want two people standing guard here at the tree all day in case they come back and try to finish the job. Maybe with a chainsaw this time."

Moira gasped at the horrible image, the loud, angry sound of the chainsaw disturbing the peace of the town as it bit into the beautiful tree. Whoever could do such a thing had no heart at all. Angry murmurs rose from the gathered crowd at Spencer's words.

"Be on your guard," Adria cautioned before shifting into her wolf form.

The first drops of rain slipped from the sky, pattering on the leaves that sheltered them. Vera and Spencer shifted, and Moira followed suit, the warmth of her fur replacing the sweater's touch. Her coat was as black as her hair, matching Vera's like dark twins.

Vera dropped her nose to the ground, circling the tree as the wind blew through its branches, a spatter of rain striking them. It was going to be a miserable run, wherever they were headed, but Moira had no desire to stay back and wait with the others. She needed to know who had done this, see his face with her own eyes, and know she had been right about him her whole life.

Barking, Vera took off, following the scent trail she'd found. The others fell into line behind her, Moira at the back, Spencer hot on her heels. Rain splattered the pavement around them, and then they slipped into the woods that edged the town, heading not toward the White Winter lands but toward the Silversand ones. Toward Moira's home.

Vera's howl set the fur on Moira's back up, peaked fur running down her spine. She was on the scent and picking up speed. The trees thinned as they neared the coastline, thick conifers giving way to the short, scrubby shore pines. Beneath her paws, the ground became sandy and loose. The wolf in front of her was kicking it up with his back paws, and she veered to the side to avoid a face full of it. She caught sight of Vera as she crested a sand dune.

Silversand was aptly named, and the coastline was a unique, lovely shade of grey that glittered on sunny days. That day, it reflected the color of the clouds above, a moody, tarnished pewter. Salt air filled her nose. They scrabbled down the dune and along the beach while seabirds wheeled above, their calls shrill as alarms. She wished she could silence them, certain they were drawing eyes to the windows of the shabby houses lined the beach.

Here, Vera slowed, then backtracked. For a second, it seemed she was leading them up into the town. Moira flattened her ears against her head as the rain beat down on them, but Vera wouldn't be hurried. She picked up the scent again and led them farther along the beach, past where the houses stopped.

An old lighthouse stood alone, overlooking the ocean. Its red roof was the color of dried blood, and the sides may have been white, but they were now the color of old bandages. The glass was broken, both in the house's windows and at the top of the tower where the old light sat, unlit.

It gave Moira the creeps to look at, the kind of place that would be filled with ghosts. Was this really where Jonah was staying? She couldn't imagine anyone spending the night in there, not without running out screaming sometime after midnight.

They circled it, seagrass brushing against her legs. She scrabbled on the barnacle-crusted rocks, wet from sea spray, and hoped they wouldn't have to go inside. Vera made two laps around the lighthouse. If it gave her the creeps, it didn't show, her nose glued to the sand.

Vera pawed the door, and it swung open, but the lock was broken. She disappeared inside the lighthouse, followed by Spencer, Adria, and the other two wolves. Moira hesitated outside. She didn't want to go in there, but maybe she'd just watched too many scary movies.

When the others did not immediately return, Moira poked her head in. The inside was as neglected as the outside, maybe more so. Broken, dusty furniture littered the room, and the kitchen was the stuff of nightmares, with dust-coated windows and cabinet doors hanging off their hinges. She sneezed, padding inside.

A staircase spiraled up to the second level, but she wouldn't trust it to hold a cat, and she would never mind a full-grown wolf. The stairs were sagging, and the railing was hanging on by a hope. She couldn't see the other wolves but heard scrabbling in the next room and headed toward it.

She leaped back, yelping when Vera jumped up onto a sofa in front of her. Her sister turned to face her in a look Moira could identify as "you stupid scaredy-cat" without the benefit of human expressions. Moira shook herself off and exhaled, just grateful it hadn't been an actual monster. She wouldn't have put it past that place.

The group moved back outside, to Moira's relief, and gathered again at the foot of the lighthouse. The wind whipped through the grasses, bending them to touch the sand at their feet. Vera paced up and down the trail. Her tail whipped back and forth like an irritated cat's.

It seemed she'd lost it, the trail growing cold, though wasn't ready to admit defeat. Moira sat down, trying to find cover under the lighthouse's narrow overhang, but the rain blew in from the side. She was soaked by the time Vera finally shifted.

"I lost it," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "Well, I didn't lose it, really, it's just everywhere. Whoever it was has come back and forth through here so many times, it's impossible to tell what's what."

Spencer leaned back against the lighthouse, arms crossed. "Why here? There's no place to sleep, no food. Whoever is coming here doesn't need it, so they're coming for something else."

"At least we can assume it's someone from the Silversand pack," Adria said, sounding relieved. She had been the biggest supporter of the truce with the White Winters, trusting Beth's promises, and it would have devastated her if the path had led to them.

"I've got an idea," Moira broke in, shivering. "Why don't we all go back to the bar and discuss this over some warm food?"

The others agreed and they started back home. Moira felt the lighthouse behind her, long after it had slipped from view.