Chapter 7 - Jonah

Jonah walked out of the bakery, the smell of sugar and vanilla clinging to him. He imagined that's what Moira smelled like all the time, as sweet as she looked. Too bad she hated him. He kicked a rock down the sidewalk and yanked his hat back on, warding off the night's creeping cold.

For a moment, it had seemed like she was going to agree to be his mate. When he'd offered her anything she'd wanted in exchange for it, she'd hesitated, her eyes softening as she looked around the bakery. But then they'd fallen on him, flashing ice-blue. She'd kicked him out with a warning not to come back.

The hurt that he'd inflicted on her so many years ago was still fresh to her. If he could go back in time, he would take back everything he had ever said to that fragile girl. He'd explain that he'd been a stupid, mean kid and that his teasing had nothing to do with flaws in her, but in him. If only he had a time machine.

He walked along the deserted main street until he reached the Hot Shots Cafe. Its blue siding was freshly painted. The windows were fogged, but he could make out a few figures moving around inside. The keys to the upstairs apartment were in his pocket, and there was an entrance around the side, but he wasn't ready to be alone.

The coffee shop was warm and gently lit, with low lamplight in the corners casting a soft glow over the sofas and cozy chairs around the room. A neat, rectangular coffee bar sat at the far end, stacked with columns of white cups. A woman worked behind it, shaggy blonde hair swinging to cover her face as she pulled a shot.

Only a few of the chairs were occupied. A couple sat side-by-side on a mustard-colored velvet sofa, his arm around her shoulder. Jonah's chest ached at the sight. He'd never know love like that. His mate, his future, was with a woman who would never love him. His inescapable fate was a loveless, lonely life.

"Can I help you?" The woman behind the bar prompted, startling Jonah from his melancholy daydream. "Oh, you're—"

"Jonah," he said, preparing himself for the next barrage of vitriol.

She studied him, hooking her hair around her ears and out of her face. "Cute. But I hear you're a menace. What can I get you?"

Jonah sighed in relief. A menace was one of the nicer things he'd been called. "A cappuccino, please, and a biscotti."

The case beside the counter was stocked with various baked goods. Jonah realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast, his stomach grumbling in protest. She handed it to him, wrapped in wax paper, and turned to make his coffee.

"You know that's from Moira's bakery," the barista said from somewhere behind the immense espresso machine. He could barely hear her over the hiss of it.

The biscotti, dotted with pistachios and dipped in dark chocolate, looked perfect. He should've known it came from Moira.

"Do you think she put a curse on it?" He asked, eyeing it warily. His stomach rumbled again, and he decided that curse or no curse would be worth the risk.

"Sounds like she'd be justified if she did." The barista eyed him, steaming the milk until it foamed to the top of the silver jug. "She hates your guts."

"Yeah, I kind of hate them too at this point." He took a bite of the biscotti and closed his eyes. It was crunchy, lightly sweet, and the best thing he'd ever eaten. "Wow. She's good. This is delicious."

The barista slid his cappuccino over, the white mug filled to the brim. "She's the best."

"And she deserves more than this rundown town has to offer."

Jonah turned to find the source of the new voice. A woman sat, curled like a cat in an emerald armchair, its arms partially encircling her. Even if he hadn't recognized her, he would have known her to be Moira's sister, Vera. They had the same blue eyes, black hair, and ceramic doll skin. But where Moira was soft and curvy, Vera was narrow and lean, like sinew stitched to bones.

With her eyes narrowed above her high, sharp cheekbones, she resembled a bird of prey, sighting its mouse far below. Her book was facedown in her lap. Jonah glanced at the title. A dry, nonfiction book on diseases in domestic rabbits. Some light, evening reading.

"Hello, Vera," Jonah said, holding his cappuccino between them like it might offer some protection against her glare. "It seems like she loves that bakery, though. I don't get the impression she wants to leave."

Not that he could blame her if she did. The sad town didn't seem long for the world, and everyone should be abandoning ship while they still could, before it dragged them down with it. It would take a better man than Jonah to bail it out now, to save it from sinking, but he might be all the town had.

"Because she's stunted. She doesn't have any ambition. I blame you for that, you know. All your bullying in high school." Vera had three empty cups on the table beside her and the intense focus of someone with far too much caffeine.

He backed away a little, looking for an empty seat far away from her. She was just as scary as Moria, too, but in a different way. More like something hungry and hunting than something wounded and lashing out.

"Right. Right. Been hearing a lot about that lately." Jonah took another step back, slowly. He didn't want to set off her prey drive. "I really was just teasing. I didn't mean to hurt her."

"Just teasing? Just teasing? " Vera spat, her fingers digging into the arms of the chair.

Jonah readied himself to shift if she lunged at him. There was such fury in her eyes that he wouldn't put it past her to attack right then and there. Where Moira had been timid and quiet in school, Vera's reputation for scrappy fights in the halls and bathrooms had been well-known even by Jonah, who was two grades below.

"Look, I know better now. I was a stupid kid, and that's no excuse, but if I had known the damage I was doing, I would never have done that. I wish, more than anything, that I could take it back." How different would everything be now if he had just kept his mouth shut then? "But I can't. I can just beg forgiveness."

"Oh, so you don't think she's a sad fat, little goth anymore?" Vera threw his own words back at him.

He groaned. "No! She's beautiful. She's perfect."

He wanted to melt into the floor as soon as he realized what he'd said. Had he just admitted that out loud? In front of all the people in the cafe?

But Vera didn't look mollified. She scoffed. "Great, now you've got a crush on her. That's the last thing she needs."

Then a look passed over her face, somehow more awful than the furious one from a moment before. Her eyes fixed on Jonah.

"What is it?" He said, bracing himself.

"Actually, this is perfect." She settled back into the chair with a half-smile on her face, fingers relaxing. "I think I've found the one thing that could finally drive Moira out of this town. The one thing that might push her to try in life."

The barista watched the exchange with fascination. He had no doubt it would be the talk of the town in a few hours' time. Gossip traveled fast in a small town. She made no effort to hide her interest, either, leaning on her elbows over the coffee counter.

"If you stay in this town, Moira is definitely going to leave," Vera went on, picking up her book again. "You might just be the best thing that's ever happened to me, Jonah."

If only she knew that Moira couldn't leave the Silversands without the hook of fate dragging her back. She wouldn't look so pleased if she knew that not only was Jonah staying, but Moira was too. And there was nothing the town, or the pack, could do about it.

"I thought she wanted that bakery," Jonah said weakly.

Vera rolled her eyes. "She does, but that old lady who owns it will be selling it any day now, and Moira can't afford to buy it. She needs to give up on that dream."

Even though he'd only been in there once, Moira's love of the place had been obvious. It was clean, every surface lovingly polished, and the baked goods were prepared with such care and precision. There was nowhere else she'd rather be. It bothered him to think of the place being sold out from under her.

Seemingly done with him, Vera turned her attention to her book. He slinked away to the farthest chair, feeling the weight of every eye in the room on him as he went. All he'd wanted was a cup of coffee and the sound of other people around him, something to make him feel a little less lonely in this town he'd run from. Instead, he'd gotten an earful and fed the town gossip machine for a month.

Jonah drank his coffee as quickly as possible and finished the biscotti, wishing he'd ordered ten more. And that he hadn't gotten kicked out of Moira's bakery before he'd been able to order one of everything she had. If Moira wanted nothing to do with him now, he'd have to work until she could see that there was good in him. That he could be kind. That he was terribly, completely sorry for everything he had done to her.

As soon as his coffee cup was empty, he brought the cup back to the coffee bar, staying as far away from Vera as he could. She winked at him over the top of her book. Jonah shuddered.

"I'd run away now, if I were you," the barista whispered to him, taking his cup. "It's never good when Vera has you in her sights. And I would not want to get mixed up in that sister stuff. Those two have issues to work out."

"Thanks for the advice," Jonah whispered back. "I'm afraid it might be too late for that, though."

He left the cafe and turned right to wrap around the back of the building, find an iron-railed staircase leading up to the second floor. His key slid into the lock and he let himself, bracing himself for whatever horrors the apartment held.

It was surprisingly modern. The kitchen was small but well laid out, with plenty of counter space and a nearly-new oven. Thankfully, it was already furnished, and the furniture was sturdy, good-quality wood. Probably antiques from the landlady's house.

Dropping his bag on the bedroom floor, Jonah took a quick tour of the place. The town had surprised him a few times, first with the bakery, then the bookstore and cafe, and now this. Parts of the town were still loved, still cared for. Maybe there was hope for it yet.

His stomach was still grumbling, though he wasn't sure how he'd maintained an appetite after Vera had gotten a hold of him. He ordered a pizza from the next town over, paying an exorbitant fee for the delivery, and started unpacking his things. It didn't take long to get the books on the built-in shelves in the living room, and his handful of clothes packed away into the drawers.

Then he took stock of the kitchen. Empty cabinets, but a good assortment of pans and, pots, and utensils. He'd just need to hit the grocery store tomorrow to stock up. He was dreading that, but maybe if he went early enough, he could avoid running into anyone else.

Not for long, though. He needed to meet with the pack and tell them what the soothsayer had foretold, and he needed to find out more about the incident Moira had mentioned, the vandalism of the Rosewood tree. He hadn't done it, despite what she believed, and finding out who actually had committed the crime might go a long way toward smoothing over how she felt toward him.

When the pizza arrived, Jonah was hunched over the kitchen table, notebook and pen in hand, scrawling a to-do list. It covered everything from solving the mystery of the tree vandal to convincing Moira not to hate him, and everything in between. Once it was all out on the paper, it was out of his head for the time being. He ate most of the pizza, stuck the leftovers in the fridge, and then crawled into bed.

Out his window, he could see the moon rise over the ocean. The sea was calm, gentle waves stirring the surface. There were parts of home that he had missed, and the salt air, the lullaby of the tides were some of them. But as he closed his eyes, the shadowy figures of all the people he'd let down or hurt filled the room and haunted his dreams.

***

"Oh, you're still here." Adria stood outside of Hot Shots, a chunky scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. "Wasn't the funeral a few days ago?"

He was as surprised to see him as he was to see her, standing in Silversand town. The packs were close, but Rosewood had more of anything this town had to offer, closer, and probably higher quality. Jonah tucked his hands into his pockets, wishing he had a warm drink to hold.

"It was, but I think I need to stay for a while. There's some pack stuff going on, and I can't just take off." Much as he wished he could.

But he was trying not to be the man that ran away from everything. And also, he couldn't, not with fate tying him there. He was a dog on a leash, and it was better to find his place inside the range rather than throw himself against the restraint.

She did not look happy about it, her eyes closing for a beat too long. "Moira must be thrilled."

Just her name sent a jolt through him. That mire of a situation rivaled the one left by his father.

"Can we go inside? I have a couple of questions," Jonah asked, bouncing on his toes to keep warm. "I'll buy you a coffee."

Adria hesitated, glancing around the empty street as if Moira might be lurking. "Fine, but I can't help you with Moira."

Nobody could. He nodded and held the door open for her. They stepped into the blessed warmth of the coffee shop, and he inhaled the bitter, nutty smell of the coffee.

"Hey, Evelyn," Adria greeted the barista behind the counter with a smile and got one in return, which was more than Jonah got. "Can I get a cinnamon latte?"

Jonah ordered one of the same and two croissants. He was eager to try one of everything that Moira had made, and the pastry case at the coffee shop was his only chance, since he was banned from the actual bakery.

"You again," Evelyn said, glancing at Jonah.

He was already tired of everyone looking at him like that, like they'd found something stuck to the bottom of their shoe. Unfortunately, he'd just have to get used to it.

Plastering on a smile, he paid for their order. "Me again. Afraid I'm your new upstairs neighbor, so you'll be seeing rather a lot of me."

Evelyn shared a quick glance with Adria. Commiserating, no doubt.

"Actually," she said, biting her lip. "Do you need a job?"

Jonah tilted his head to the side. That was not what he'd expected. "Me?"

She nodded and went on. "I'm taking a few classes, and need someone to work the morning shifts. Just a few hours, really, part time. It's hard to get anyone to work in this town."

Guilt flooded him. It was his father's fault that no one new came to town, that there was no one to fill the few jobs left. The least he could do was fill in so Evelyn could go to school.

"Um, yeah. I could do that. I could use a job." Strictly speaking, he didn't need the money, but it never hurt to have a steady income, which might help make some inroads into the Silversand community. Then again, it might just mean that people avoided the shop.

"Great. You're hired. Come back tomorrow at quarter past six, and I'll give you the rundown." Evelyn clapped her hands together with the finality of a sealed contract.

They took their coffees over to the back corner of the shop, away from the cold air that swirled in each time someone opened the door, and sat across from each other at a small table.

"What is that you wanted to ask?" Adria wasted no time, probably eager to get away from him.

He swirled the spices around in his mug, inhaling their warm scent. "Well, I heard about the tree. I'm sorry that happened, and it wasn't me, by the way. Since some people think it was."

"Moira," Adria said.

"Moira," he agreed. "But I'd like to help find whoever did it. I want to be helpful. I want to make amends for… for everything."

He lifted his arms to encompass not just the cafe but the whole town and all of the people in it.

She considered him for a long moment, picking at the croissant in front of her. He'd already devoured his, crunching through the buttery, flaky layers. If only he could tell Moira how perfect they were.

"We don't know much," she answered finally, brushing crumbs from her lap. "The axe was stuck in the tree, but it's just a generic axe, the sort you'd purchase at any hardware store. No convenient initials are carved into the handle to tell us who it belongs to. We tracked the scent down to the old lighthouse, up along the beach here."

The lighthouse. It was a fixture in Silversand lore, much like the Rosewood tree. According to Silversand legend, a group of shifters had fled their homeland under the threat of persecution, sailing across the sea. Along the rocky, deadly coast, they'd seen a silver light, flashing from the shore and followed it to safety, a cove. When they'd disembarked, the light had vanished.

His father had told him this story a hundred times. He'd heard it as the pack gathered around the driftwood fire, huddled in the shadow of the lighthouse. Those shifters had settled there and built the lighthouse in honor of the light that had guided them, to become the light for future ships in need of guidance.

Throughout their history, it had been a position of honor to tend the lighthouse until his father's time as alpha. He could still remember that dark day when his mother's body had washed ashore, ravaged by the sea. He could still remember his father's face changing, morphed by grief into someone he didn't recognize. After that, he'd forbidden the pack from caring for the lighthouse, blaming it, in some way, for his wife's death.

"It must be a wreck by now," he said, chafing his hands over his arms, suddenly chill. "Did you find anything?"

"Actually, yes," she said. "We found evidence that someone had been staying there. A sleeping bag, some food, a lantern. But again, no ID, no name tag. Nothing that would lead us to anyone in particular."

"But Moira still thinks it's me," he grumbled, mostly to himself.

"She wants it to be. Convenient when the monster from your past is still the monster in your present. Makes them easy to find. Easy to avoid." Adria drank the last of her coffee and tapped her fingers on the table.

"And what do you think?" He wanted her opinion, her honest one. Even if she agreed with Moira.

"Beth told me you were the only one that was kind to her during those first weeks with the White Winters. That you were gentle, sweet, even. That you became her closest friend there." Adria's gaze was faraway, past Jonah's shoulder. "She's my best friend. I trust her judgment, so I can't believe that the person she said those things about is the person who vandalized the tree."

She got up and wrapped her scarf around herself again. "But then again, I can't reconcile the person Beth said you are with the person Moira says you were. Who are you now, Jonah? That's what I'm waiting to see."

Jonah watched her go. He'd been left with more questions than answers in the end, but at least he knew about the nest at the lighthouse. It was a shame what had happened to that place, a shame that his father's grief had led to the ruin of something sacred to the pack. Superstitiously, he wondered if the disrepair of the lighthouse was somehow tied to the pack's misfortune. If by allowing it to crumble, forsaking their duty to guide ships, they'd brought bad luck upon their pack.

"You all right?" Evelyn asked, wiping down the next table over. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

He cracked a smile and tried to shake off the melancholy that clung to him like cobwebs. "Everything's fine. Can I get another coffee?"

Holding tight to his cardboard cup, a double shot strong enough to wake the dead inside, Jonah made his way down the street toward the beach. Toward the lighthouse and the ghosts that clung to it.