Lines Drawn

Another slice of apple pie slides in front of me, and I groan in protest. "You know I don't have a wolf shifter's metabolism like you, right?"

Ignoring my grumbles, Jesse nudges the utensils at my elbow closer. "Come on, I've seen you eat way more than this."

With a deep breath, I straighten in my seat at his kitchen table. "What makes this one different from the four slices I already ate?"

A frown tugs at his lips. "Can't tell you that. It will make you biased."

My stomach stretches taut, ready to burst, but I gamely pick up my fork.

If someone had told me last week that I would get sick of pie, I would have stabbed them in their lying mouth. And I would have been wrong to do so.

Mrs. Smith had returned to crotchety good health with the announcement that she would be bringing a new creation to the table at the upcoming festival. Not to be outdone, the threat had launched my dear friend Jesse into a baking frenzy to further perfect his own recipe.

I had eagerly volunteered to be his guinea pig and now have delicious regrets.

Barron's voice drifts from the front door. "Jesse, come help me with this garland."

A thump follows the request, and Jesse lumbers out of the kitchen to go rescue his mate.

Jesse's home is a hive of activity, with baking supplies fighting autumn decorations for space. Barron is determined to win the doorway contest, which apparently requires fall leaves and tiny gourds. Lots of them.

"What do you think of this variant, Rowe?" Jesse yells, the multi-tasking fiend.

Dutifully, I cut off the tip of the pie, the flaky, golden crust cracking beneath the tines of my fork. It smells like apples, cinnamon, and other spices I can't identify. The apple pieces, layered with loving care, glisten with syrup.

My stomach rebels at the sight.

A deep breath brings honeyed sweetness into my mouth, and I force the bite in after it. The crust melts on my tongue, followed by the spice-filled, sweet tang of the fruit filling, and I swallow convulsively.

This is worse than the time Ros challenged me to eat the gravy in the mess hall where he used to live with his vampire brethren.

Don't get me wrong. It's not usually a challenge to consume an entire pie in one sitting. Hell, Tris and I have had pie-eating contests in the past just for funsies. This is the third consecutive day of taste testing, though, and four more uncut pies sit on the counter, waiting for their turn with my tastebuds.

By this point, I am pie. Buttery crust seeps from my pores, and apples line my insides.

"Rowe?" Worry fills Jesse's voice. "Is it not good?"

"I can't do it." A burp escapes as I push the plate as far away as the small table will allow. "I've hit the pie wall. If I eat any more, I'll become a walking, talking apple crumble."

"Crumble was yesterday. Today is lattice top." Jesse reappears in the kitchen, a bright orange leaf stuck in his beard. "You can't give up. The contest is in less than a week!"

"Sorry, but my tastebuds are tapping out." I lean back in my chair and clutch my taut stomach. "It's time to bring in my replacement."

Mournful eyes turn toward the untouched pies. "But…"

"Let Barron take a turn." I peer toward the front door, knowing Barron can hear us with his super wolf ears. "It's his duty as your mate."

Shaking his head, Jesse grabs a sponge to clean flour off the counter. "I love him, but the man thinks burnt toast with butter is fine cuisine."

"Hey, don't knock a good piece of charcoal." Barron sweeps into the room and scoops up my plate of pie, taking a bite and moaning with appreciation. "This is better than your original recipe."

Jesse's shoulders slump with defeat. "That is the original recipe."

Barron gives him a chagrined smile. "It's still good."

Knuckles rap against the front door, followed by Tris's voice as he comes inside. "Did someone request a pickup?"

"It's time for me to go." Hands pressed against the table, I attempt to heave myself up but only make it an inch off the chair before flopping back down with a groan.

Any movement now, and my stomach will burst.

Jesse checks the clock on the wall and his eyes widen in panic. "How is it already nearly three o'clock?"

Barron walks over to kiss his scruffy cheek. "You've been in the kitchen for twelve hours. It's time to take a break."

Tris strolls into the room, still wearing his blue scrubs from work at the clinic. In deference to the chill outside, he wears a pink hoodie that perfectly matches the dog collar around his throat, the tag with his name on it framed by the V-neck of his top.

Honey-brown eyes land on me. "Ready for magic class?"

"Help. You'll have to carry me." I lift my arms toward him. "I've eaten so much pie that I've turned into one."

His eyes crinkle at the edges with amusement, and he shakes his head. "No can do, my tiny apple dumpling."

My arms drop back to my sides. "Why not?"

"My hands will be full." Turning to the counter of pies I taste tested today, he wiggles his fingers in anticipation. "Reject babies, come to daddy."

He opens the utensil drawer and grabs a fork before scooping up an entire pie pan. At the first bite, a hum of enjoyment rises from his throat. "Cardamom. Me likey."

Jesse's eyes gleam. "If you like that, try a slice of?—"

"We gotta go!" With mighty effort, I heave myself to my feet. "Magic class waits for no witch."

"You heard the woman." Tris takes another pie pan and thrusts it into my hands to carry while he eats the one he holds. "We're off."

Jesse trails us to the door like a lost puppy. "You'll be back tomorrow, though, right? Or I can bring the pies up to the house after your lessons are over."

"Yes." Tris points his fork at Jesse. "Do that. Haut made enough stew for an army."

"Dinner." Jesse's eyes widen. "I didn't even think of that."

"We'll be there." Barron wraps an arm around the larger man's waist and rests his cheek against one flour-dusted shoulder. "It will be a nice reprieve from ordering pizza again."

"See you both in a few hours." With a wave, I grab my jacket before we step outside.

The crisp autumn air slaps me in the face, and I juggle the pie I hold while pulling my scarf from my coat pocket to drape it over my head. "Remind me again why we don't drive into town?"

"One, it's not that long of a walk. Two, we need the exercise. Three…" Tris gestures to the booths being constructed on either side of the street. "Where would we park?"

My sigh puffs into the chilly air. "I guess you're right."

Jesse and Barron's house is close enough to the heart of Hartford Cove for it to be surrounded by the festival. When I had first learned of the annual, wolf shifter get-together, I don't know what I envisioned beyond the pie contest and rumored orgy, but the citizens really go all out.

Shifters have already begun trickling into town for the week-long gathering, which looks like a fair minus the rides. Owen told me there will be booths selling homemade goods, a craft alley, and even games.

The orgy part is just a byproduct of the overall event.

The festival gives wandering wolves a brief respite within the barrier, a place to take off their shoes and relax among their own kind, safe from fear of being exposed to the human world. If it also brings new blood into the town, that's just a happy bonus.

Fallen leaves crunch under our boots as we walk down the center of the road. The forest that surrounds Hartford Cove swirls with pops of fiery orange, crimson red, and sunshine yellow. The change had happened overnight, turning the greenery to a kaleidoscope of color.

Tris's breath forms white clouds of fog as he eats his pie, and I snuggle my nose into the soft scarf Haut gave me, trying to ward off the cold. While the sun shines brightly in a clear blue sky, frost still clings to the shadows.

Tris nods to a row of narrow townhouses. "Should we swing by Delilah's house to see if she's left yet?"

"Sure."

The hand holding the pie slowly goes numb, and I shift the pan to my other hand to stick my frozen digits into my pocket for warmth. We veer off the road, crunching through a thick layer of leaves toward the olive-green house third from the end.

Delilah had embraced the festival with enthusiasm, and we have to pick our way around white and blue pumpkins. Tall lanterns sit on her stoop, filled with electric candles.

I reach up to knock at the center of the enormous wreath that hangs from her lime-colored door.

A rustle comes from inside, and a moment later, the door opens, letting out a blast of warmth.

A tall woman in her forties stands in the opening, a hat pulled over her silvering auburn hair as she shrugs into a jacket.

At the sight of us, a warm smile spreads over her lips, the skin crinkling softly on her cheeks. "Well, this is a surprise. Are you on your way home?"

"Yep. We're here to walk with you." I hold the pie I carry aloft. "Dessert?"

She chuckles and takes it from me. "That sounds delightful. Is it one of Jesse's creations?"

"Number eighteen, I think." With my hands free, I tug on my gloves.

"Let me just put this in the kitchen, and then I'll be ready to go." She bustles back into the house, leaving the door open, and I revel in the heat that escapes from inside.

Tris nudges me, the pan in his hands eaten down to crumbs. "Hey, that was mine."

I nudge him back. "Jesse will bring more when they come for dinner."

Delilah returns with a book satchel over one shoulder. Tris and I head back down to the sidewalk to give her room to lock up, and then she joins us.

When Delilah first arrived in Hartford Cove, she'd been near death's door. It had taken a while for her to build back muscle, and the ordeal she'd been through prematurely aged her. The arrival of autumn has seen her blossom, though, as if the change of season breathed new life into her.

As we walk, she tucks her arm through mine, giving it a gentle hug. "How was your day, sister?"

Now used to her familiar ways, I squeeze her in return. It helps that she spends a lot of time at our house, visiting with her brother Ambros, my vampire mate. We've bonded more than I have with the other witches we brought to Hartford Cove.

"The repairs on the rec center were finished today, so it will be back open in time for the craft fair. Then I spent the afternoon taste-testing Jesse's apple pies." I tip my head back to study her. "How much do you like pie?"

"Careful how you answer." Tris scrapes up the crumbs in his empty pan and licks his finger. "Rowe's looking for a replacement at Jesse's table."

"I dare say that many sweets would make me sick." Delilah's attention drifts to the bustle of activity around us. "I can't wait for the festival to begin. It's so exciting, don't you think?"

"A bit. I've never been to one," I admit. "My family only visited during the summer."

Pity flashes across her face, which I ignore.

The fact that I grew up in seclusion isn't a source of sadness for me, no matter what Dr. Lopez says in our therapy sessions. It just means I still have a ton of new experiences ahead of me that I get to share with my mates.

Reaching out, I take Tris's hand. Even with the separation imposed by my gloves, blue sparks dance around our interwoven fingers.

Tris looks over the top of my head at Delilah. "Do you think you'll be ready in time?"

Delilah and some of the other coven members had signed up for one of the street booths to sell talismans and tonics.

While the wolf shifters here are used to having the magical barrier to protect them from being discovered, those who come to visit don't usually have that luxury.

Delilah's small group had gotten together with our mentors to come up with some charms and potions that will help with that. They've been working on them after class for the last few weeks to prepare everything in time.

"I believe so." Her arm tightens around mine. "If people like them, we can also ship replacements when the spells wear off. Mel also said we can sell them in her shop once it's up and running."

"The old town council will have a field day with that," I mutter.

After Horace's attempt to oust Owen as Alpha had failed, he'd kept his dissatisfaction to a quiet grumble. The new town council had taken over, with a few of the more open-minded members of the previous one continuing in their position.

But Horace had not received that invitation.

Were it up to me, he and everyone he talked into his scheme would have been kicked out of Hartford Cove. Both Haut and Owen vetoed my proposal, though. Apparently, trying to murder the pack leader is a forgivable offense.

As we near Main Street, my gaze catches on a tent erected around what used to be the statue of Nesse, the wolf shifter who led the founders to this forest to rebuild a home.

The statue had been destroyed during the fight against the rogue huntsmen, but it's finally getting replaced.

Why the secrecy, though?

Curious, I release Tris's hand to dart toward the tent opening.

"Rowe, what are you—" Tris cuts himself off when he sees where I'm heading.

"Is that the new statue?" Delilah's long legs easily catch up with me.

"Let's see." I push aside the flap at the entrance to peek inside.

A polished bronze wolf gleams at the center, her head raised to the sky just like the original Nesse. All perfectly on the up and up, except for the addition that now stands at her side; a short witch with a wand held high.

My jaw drops in horror. "No."

Behind me, Tris laughs. "Wow, they really captured your shortness."

"It could be Mel. She was a bigger part of the fight than I was." I walk over to stand next to the witch, and dismay fills me that our heads are at the same height. "Who approved this nonsense?"

"I believe that would be the town council."

"But I'm on the town council, and I never approved…" I wave a hand at the bronze me I stand next to. "This!"

"That's what happens when you skip meetings." Tris hustles me back out of the tent. "Practice your grateful acceptance face for the big unveiling."

I throw my head back against his shoulder, trusting him not to let me walk into anything. "Why is my life filled with so much burden?"

Delilah's green-blue eyes twinkle with amusement when we rejoin her. "It's not every day you get immortalized in bronze."

Sure, she can joke. She's not the one being placed on a literal pedestal in the middle of the town.

I glare at my sister-in-law. "I seem to remember twelve other witches standing there with me."

"You're the one who killed the boss, though." Tris squeezes my shoulders. "Take the honor in the spirit of its intent, sparky."

"That's it, I'm changing my last name," I grumble as he leads me up the road toward our long driveway. "From now on, I will be a Shultz."

Delilah claps her glove covered hands. "I'm delighted to hear it."

"It's just adding a new name to the list, Ms. Branning-Wendall-Rothaven-Shultz." Tris kisses the top of my head. "Once you go down that path, you'll be tacking on Hartford and Haut, too."

My shoulders slump with the weight of all that expectation. Sometimes, I want to go back to when it was just me and Tris, in a car running on fumes.

Had we turned the other direction on the highway and never come to Hartford Cove, would my life be less complicated?

Were that the case, I never would have discovered my magical heritage or the burden that came with it. Then again, I also never would have reconnected with Owen or met Haut. Tris would still be cursed, and Ambros might not have ever learned of his father's evil.

And Delilah probably wouldn't have escaped that well where she and the other witches were buried.

Not to mention I would probably be insane by now, my mind broken by the unused magic inside of me, if Bryant hadn't killed me before I reached that point.

I pull back my shoulders and straighten my spine. After all that, I can handle a little statue in the town square.

But I can't handle any more pie. A girl's got to draw a line somewhere.