Chapter 1

I settledback in my seat, waiting for the door to open and for Kyle Collinsworth to emerge from talking to the doctor. I had gotten there after Kyle was called in for the consult, but given I was neither fiancée nor family, I was too late to accompany him. And we'd already agreed that he'd hear whatever news there was first, then I'd join him. Kyle had been wonderful about keeping me updated on Faron's condition. I settled down in one of the chairs to wait and picked up a magazine, flipping through it but barely seeing the words.

My focus was off, because I couldn't stop thinking about Faron. Where was he wandering? Was he aware on any level? Was he trapped in a dreamland of his own? Giving up on the article I had been trying to read, I tossed the magazine back on the end table and glanced at my phone to find a text from Grams.

i made it back to port townsend in one piece. miss you. your mother is foaming at the mouth that you didn't come with me.

let her foam, I texted. i told you she'd be upset, I texted back. please, please reconsider living up there? you can sell your house and buy one here in starlight hollow. i had so much fun when you were living here. hell, you can stay with me if you want.

Grams paused for a moment, before texting back: no i can't. that would be a big mistake, for both of us, but thank you for the offer. however, i will think about moving. to be honest, the way your mother acts is embarrassing. it makes me question whether we can coexist in the same town together. she's definitely not getting better with age, unlike a good merlot.

welcome to the club. i love her but i can't stand being around her for more than an hour without wanting to scream. she was always flighty and self-centered, but something about my encounter with the butcher changed her. i'm at the doctor's office right now. i'm waiting for news on faron. i hate this. i hate that he's still in a coma. love you. oh—move down here, pleeeeaaassseeee….?

She texted back a Care emoji and a smile.

Sighing, I set my phone down and glanced over at the door behind the receptionist.

The doctors had moved Faron to a long-term care facility after about six weeks, where he could be cared for by specialists. He wasn't in an emergency situation, so they wanted to free up the hospital bed and staff for other more critical, acute cases. Today, the doctors wanted to talk to his brother, and Kyle had invited me to come in for the update. Unfortunately, I arrived too late to go in with him, but I also thought Kyle should hear whatever news there was first.

Faron had been in the medically induced coma for over two months. The doctors weren't sure when they would be able to bring him out of it, but today they were supposed to update us on what his current condition was. Both Kyle and I were hoping that they would say that they'd be able to revive him soon, that his brain had healed enough from the bludgeoning he'd received.

Fidgeting, I thought about texting Bree, my best friend, but wasn't sure what I'd say. She knew where I was, and she knew that I'd text her when we knew more about Faron's condition. He'd been injured in helping protect her, so she was invested in how he was doing.

I finally settled on texting May. how is fancypants doing? is he behaving himself?

he's fine. i take it you haven't heard anything yet?

not a word, and i arrived too late to go in to talk to the doctor with kyle. you'd think—I paused as the door opened, and Kyle peeked out, motioning for me to join him. I joined him. i have to go. the doctor's ready to talk to me. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I headed toward the open door.

Kyle, taller and stockier than Faron, resembled his wolf-shifter brother, but he didn't have the magnetism that Faron did. They were both polite and cordial, but Faron was King of the Olympic Wolf Pack and he owned it. Kyle had no desire to take the position, but was facing that fate if Faron didn't wake up, soon.

"Please, have a seat," the doctor said. His name was Zayde Johnson, and he was tall and gangly, with a headful of blond curls that made me wonder how long he'd been out of med school. But, given he was a shifter, he could be thirty or three hundred. "Good morning, Elphyra. I hope you're well."

"I can't complain," I said as I sat next to Kyle, who had a somber look on his face. "So, what's the verdict?"

Dr. Johnson settled behind his desk. "Unfortunately, the news isn't what you hope to hear. The swelling in Faron's brain hasn't decreased enough at this point. There's a lot of inflammation. As I explained to Kyle, we want to try an experimental procedure, but there's no guarantee. However, given Faron's been in a coma for nearly two months, if we don't do something soon, the damage will be permanent."

I glanced at Kyle, then back at the doctor. "How dangerous is this procedure? What are the risks? And is there a chance that he'll come out of this on his own?"

"Right now, I estimate he has a fifty-fifty chance to heal naturally. But every day he spends with the swelling in his brain increases the chance he won't pull through. As far as the procedure, there's always going to be a risk. I won't deny it's experimental. However, given the alternative, I think it's in his best interest to try."

"I've decided to give them permission," Kyle said.

The doctor sat back. "We're scheduling the procedure for next week."

Even though I thought it might be too soon to try out an experimental operation, it was ultimately Kyle's choice, and I wasn't going to interfere. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Kyle reached over to take my hand. "Just pray and hope."

I stared at his fingers, grateful that I wasn't the one having to make the decisions. I doubted I could handle the pressure. "If that's what you need, then I'm here, with hope and a prayer in my heart."

With that, our visit with the doctor was over.

* * *

I had barely pulledin the driveway and was getting out of the car when my phone rang. It was Grams.

"Hey, what's up?" I leaned against the car, staring up at the October sky. The summer heat was long gone and we were into cool, rainy days, and blustery nights. It was my time of year. I thrived in autumn. The town was gearing up for the spooky season. While I usually loved the energy, after the trauma I'd been through with the Butcher and now, the uncertainty with Faron's health, this year I wasn't all that keen on celebrating the season of death.

"You remember your mother's vision of the Washing Woman she had a few months ago?"

Oh crap, I thought. My mother had visions of the Washing Woman and they always preceded a family death. Oddly, the visions came more from my father's side of the family, however both of their families lived in the same area in Scotland, and both families belonged to the same clan. Add to that, the spirits chose their emissaries. Those of us born to magic had no say in the matter.

I caught my breath. "Yes? Did someone…"

"Your cousin Owen, child. He died sometime last night." Grams let out a soft sigh. "Your mother's beside herself."

My heart skipped a beat. "Owen? But he was close to my age! What happened?" But I already knew the answer to my question.

Owen had been my friend as well as my cousin. We had bonded during childhood, although I had always found him a little overbearing. He was always trying to warn me away from doing things he thought were dangerous. Except, Owen never followed his own advice.

And Owen had a problem nobody seemed to be able to help. Since his early teens, he had sought relief from his anxiety in drugs, and not the ones the doctors offered. At first, pot had taken the edge off his fears, but as his paranoia began to grow, he turned to stronger means in order to allay his anxiety. Owen had been an addict for years, but he had always managed to keep his addiction under the radar. Until now.

After a moment, Grams said, "He overdosed. Your aunt found him in his bed this morning. He died around one AM, the medics think."

I didn't know what to what to say. Owen had been an addict, yes, but he had always seemed cautious in how much he took. "Was it deliberate?"

I could almost hear Grams shrug. "I don't know. They're doing an autopsy. I don't know if we'll ever find out, though. My suspicions are that he took a few pills, forgot he had taken them, then took more."

"How's Ciara taking it?" My aunt had always been the practical one, and from what I knew, had never had any problems with Owen, except for the drugs. He never tore up the house, or stole from her, or anything the stereotypical junkie did. She had tried to get him into rehab several times but nothing ever seemed to take.

"Better than your mother. Ciara's deep in grief, of course, but she's more stoic than Catharine. I think she expected this to happen someday. She seems so resigned."

While she didn't say it, I knew that Grams was thinking that Ciara would have made a more suitable MacPherson than my mother Catharine. My mother wasn't a bad person, and Grams liked her well enough, but Catharine had always been more histrionic than my father's stoic family.

"That doesn't surprise me. Mom's not leeching off of Ciara's strength, is she? Ciara shouldn't have to comfort my mother when it's her son who's dead." If my mother was making Owen's death all about her, I'd call her and chew her out.

Grams cleared her throat. "Well, you know how she is. But I think I can restrain her. I just thought you might want to know. The wake will be on Saturday. You are expected to attend. It begins at one PM and will last until late. Your aunt is sitting watch with the body during the wake, and we'll open the windows so Owen won't be trapped. The wake's being held at your mother's house, since Ciara's is so small. We've covered the mirrors in both houses, so that Owen won't be sucked into a portal. Ciara asked if you would ring the bell to open the wake."

"I can do that," I said.

Ringing the bell was a funeral tradition in our clan. To officially open the wake, the bell-ringer would circle the casket, which rested in the living room until the wake was over, ringing a loud bell. This not only cleansed the energy, but announced to the deceased that they were being mourned and celebrated, and cleared the path for them to move on.

"What about the cord cutting ceremony, or is it too early?" Death always involved a cord cutting ceremony in my family, but it could take up to a year or more before it was scheduled, depending on the grief of the family members involved.

"That will take awhile. Your aunt needs to know for sure how Owen died, and then she'll have to process it. The curious thing is, the man was well-liked. He was good-hearted, overall." After a silent pause, she added, "Such a waste of life. I hope he'll do better in the next one."

I assured her I'd join them for the wake, then said goodbye and stowed my phone in my purse. As I headed inside, my thoughts were ping-ponging between Faron and Owen, with both situations weighing heavy on my heart.

* * *

"Wake up, come on, wakey-wakey!"

The voice was familiar, as were the puffs of cat food breath. I opened one eye to see Fancypants staring down at me. He was inches away from my face and staring up my nostrils with wide-eyes. When he first started doing that, I had knocked him halfway across the room—not on purpose, but out of reflex. But he kept returning, despite my warnings, and I had gradually grown used to his concierge efforts.

"What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty." As Fancypants reached out and poked my nose, a soft purp sounded to my right. Silver and Gem had jumped on the bed, deciding to get in on the action. The silver tabby and the plush calico had become best buddies, and they constantly amused themselves trying to capture Fancypants. He let them near enough to touch him with their outstretched paw, then he spiraled up, away from them, and they'd make a leap for him. Once, Silver managed to clip one of the dragonette's wings, and that was the last time Fancypants let his guard down. But he still played with them, just a little more cautiously.

Gem scrambled up on my pillow and licked my nose. I laughed, wrinkling it as she pawed me lightly, then flopped over on her side and started to purr. Silver decided that Fancypants was garnering too much attention and headbutted him.

"All right, all right. Between the three of you, I'll never get any sleep." I sat up, yawning, as they scrambled to avoid getting covered by my quilt as I pushed it back and stretched. I brought my knees up beneath my nightgown and wrapped my arms around them.

"Breakfast?" Fancypants asked.

"Yeah, breakfast. Tell them I'll get to it in a moment. I'm just thinking."

Fancypants turned to the cats as I ran over my schedule. I'd need to clear my schedule on Saturday for the wake. I had one dress that might work, but I really didn't want to wear it If I had time, I'd go shopping. I wanted to show Owen proper respect.

"Gem is hungry," Fancypants said.

"I'm moving, I'm moving." I wanted a shower but first, I opened the cans of cat food for all three of them—Fancypants liked the same brand they did—and, leaving the three of them happily munching away, I stepped into the shower and lathered up.

As my hands brushed over my skin, I thought about Faron, and began to cry. He had wakened my sexuality again after a monster shut that side of myself down. He'd helped me realize that I could open up again. I had him to thank for that. And he cared for me—for me as a person. But now, he was in a coma. And worse, his brother thought that I was madly in love with him, and I was too much of a coward to tell him that I wasn't sure exactly how I felt. It just seemed easier to leave things be while Faron was unconscious.

I sat on the shower seat as the water thudded down around my shoulders, staring at the tiled floor. Finally, the hot water ran out, and I rinsed off the suds and turned it off.

I dressed, glancing at the clock. It was eight-thirty and I had to open the store at ten. I had time for breakfast, and for contacting my mother and my aunt. After making some toast, I pulled out my phone and, dreading the approaching conversation, called my mother. She answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Grams told me about Owen last night."

My mother, a wonderful woman in many ways, tended to make everything about her. She didn't let me down. "I just can't believe it—your cousin always seemed happy. I don't know how I'm going to work through this." She burst into tears.

I paused, not wanting to start a fight. Finally, I said, "How's Aunt Ciara doing? I can't imagine she's in good shape. I want to call her, but thought she might not be in any state to talk over the phone."

"I can't believe he did this. I'm so glad I wasn't the one to find him?—"

"Mom! Stop," I blurted out, unable to suppress my irritation. "I can't believe you're telling me you'd rather that your sister found her son, dead in his room? It would be hard for any of us, but somehow you would have managed it better than Ciara."

My mother took a deep breath, then said, "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"What?" I wasn't letting her off easy.

"Taking the spotlight." She didn't sound happy.

I grinned. No doubt Grams had already had it out with her. "Yeah, kind of. I take it Grams had a chat with you?"

"She did, and I was properly offended until she told me to knock off the bullshit and face reality. That's one thing about your great-grandmother. She's not afraid of confrontation. At least I know where I stand with her." She sighed. "My mother-in-law was less intimidating."

At that, I laughed. "Granny was definitely quieter. She was nice, but I adore Grams. I wasn't sure how we'd get along, but now I wish she'd move down here."

"Let's work on her—I think you and she get along far better than I do with either of you." My mother sounded resigned. "I wish she liked me better. I wish you liked being around me, as well. And don't argue—I know you don't."

Thatmade me wince. "Mom, it's true you and I don't see eye-to-eye. We're very different people, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."

The truth was, we'd gotten along better before the vampire had cornered Rian and me, before he'd changed my life forever. Since then, I'd become a lot more fatalistic. My mother had always worn rose colored glasses. It wasn't just that she was so damned positive that bothered me. It was that she bordered on narcissistic and everything was about her.

"I know, sweetheart. Well, back to the subject at hand. Ciara's having a rough time. She loved Owen so much—he was a good boy."

"He was a troubled man, Mom. Everybody knew it. Hell, he and I weren't nearly as close as we were when we were young, but even I could tell that he was using again." I worried my lip. "I'll be there for the wake. Grams wants me to ring the bell."

"I'll see you then," Mom said. "And I promise, I'll try to watch what I say and to support Ciara. This just hit me so hard." And by the tone of her voice, I realized that she was telling the truth this time. My mother had cared for Owen. And that one thing kept me from blowing up at her again. Her reactions might be over the top, but this time, they were genuine.

I signed off, then leaned back against my chair. I'd had such high hopes for the autumn, but here we were—starting off the season with loved ones dead, and injured. And I had no idea how to face the overwhelming onslaught of emotions. With a sigh, I grabbed the keys to my shop off the hook and headed across the driveway to my workshop/store. It was time to start the day, regardless of how I felt.