Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

After cleaning the house, Grams and I headed out to meet Randy at the new house. I poked around the old ranch house, but it was well made from what I could see, and updated nicely. It would be perfect for Grams, and it was on a tidy lot that wasn't too big. There was plenty of room for a kitchen garden, an herb garden, and yet it wouldn't require more than a light mowing. The house needed new paint, in and out. Grams was like me—she detested beige and the entire house was beige—but that could be changed. The kitchen was fully updated, the inspector was coming the next morning, and, in my gut, I knew that this was where Grams would be settling.

"This is wonderful," I said, poking around. "I think it's going to be a good place for you." But my mind wandered. "Do you mind if I go home? I want to look at the journal again." I both wanted to take my mind off Faron and, at the same time, read more of my father's diary.

"Of course. So, do you approve?" Grams gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"I approve, heartily. This is a lovely house, and you're right, it's close to me. Okay, I'll see you later. I'll walk. We're only five blocks away." I glanced out at the sky. "It's not going to rain for a while, so I should make it home before the storm breaks."

I headed out, grateful that there was a sidewalk, even though it was overgrown and broken, and I set out at a brisk pace. I was wearing my leather jacket and a muffler around my neck, and I found a pair of gloves in my pocket.

The neighborhood I lived in was just outside the boundaries of the city limits. Grams's neighborhood was just inside. While the houses in the area were older, the owners kept them in good shape. Most of them were single-story ramblers and ranch houses, with a few two-story homes tucked into pockets, usually newer builds. Starlight Hollow had city rules against dense development, so they couldn't do what was happening all over western Washington—short platting multiple houses on small lots.

As I dashed across the street, the clouds darkened and a flash illuminated the air. I slowed, counting to four before a rumble of thunder rolled through. The storm was four miles away. I was near my driveway, and began to sprint as the clouds opened and fat raindrops splashed down. I wrapped my scarf over my head and ran faster.

Another flash, another clap—closer—and the rain started to pound, stinging me as it bit into my exposed skin. I darted up the steps and ducked into the enclosed patio, shivering. I loved my leather, but it wasn't waterproof. Darting up the steps, I fumbled for my key and then let myself in. I kicked off my shoes and then set them out on the porch to dry.

After shrugging off my jacket and hanging it up, I closed the door behind me, peeled off my pants, and headed toward my bedroom. My legs were clammy, the leather pants were damp, and I decided that I'd change into a long skirt and a warm tank. After changing, I brushed out my hair and fixed my makeup.

Fancypants flew into the bedroom with me and he sat on the bed, watching as I changed clothes. I'd gotten over feeling awkward around him. He was a dragonette. I was a witch. There was no weirdness there.

"How was the house?" he asked.

"Perfect, damn it. I told her to buy it." I wrinkled my nose. "I wish she could stay here?—"

"She'll be right down the street, won't she?"

I nodded. "It's within walking distance, so that's cool."

A huge thunderbolt shook the house.

"Yikes, that's too close for comfort. I'm glad I'm inside now. Hold on, I'll be right back." I retrieved my father's journal from the living room and, after grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen, returned to the bedroom and stretched out on my stomach, propping myself up with a few pillows. I set the journal in front of me.

"What's that?" Fancypants settled down near me, staring at the journal. Gem and Silver came bouncing into the room and up on the bed to curl by my feet. They hated thunderstorms and we always cuddled when thunder rattled the house. Luckily, we didn't have many lightning storms, though fireworks triggered the same fear in them.

"My father's diary. He kept it the last four months of his life. My aunt found it and sent it to me. I'm not telling my mother." I opened it, flipping past the entry I had read. The next one was written two days later—April 9, 1996.

Elf is growing so fast. I love her with all my heart. I'm worried that Catharine isn't taking to motherhood like I hoped she would. I take care of Elf's needs most of the time, and I don't mind doing so, but I have to work to pay the bills. Catharine keeps complaining about feeling stifled, but I reminded her, she made the choice to be a mother. I didn't force it on her.

Today I went into the secret room again. I tried to stay away, to keep it locked. But I couldn't help myself. Once again, Neylan offered me the chance to make it big. It would be so easy to turn my back on my ethics. And I have the perfect position for it. But I can't do that to my clients. And I can't scam them out of their money. I can't give up my autonomy for the chance to be rich and famous. But each time, it's harder to say no, and it's harder to avoid visiting. But Neylan's getting pushy. I'm running out of time. If I don't agree, he'll force me and then I'll lose who I am, and my family will be in trouble.

I've done all the warding I can, and I've talked to Drew, who knows everything, in case something happens to me. I've hidden a letter for Catharine, but whether she'll find it or not, I don't know. But I can't leave it out where anybody can find it. So, I'm doing the only thing I can—I'm leaving it in my favorite place, and I hope it's found, if it comes to that. My biggest hope is that, twenty years from now, I'll be able to tell everyone about it and it will all be over and done with. Obviously, I'm being vague here, given that what I know could put others in danger if they found out and I'll never do that. Hell, why did I ever get involved?

Drew…I had no idea who that was. I peeked at the next page, but the entry was—to my surprise—a picture of me when I was three, and a heart drawn around it.

"He must have really loved you," Fancypants said. He was learning to read. Two weeks ago, he learned to read English and French. Last week, he learned German and Spanish. This week, he was studying Spanish. I had no clue what to say about his proficiency, except to rejoice that I had my own personal translator. Dragons were apparently brilliant.

"I guess he did," I said. "My mother never told me how he felt about me. She never says much about him at all. She was traumatized finding his body, and she…it was like the moment the funeral was over, she stopped talking about him. At times, it felt as though he had never existed and that I dreamed him up." I set the journal to the side. "I want to read the rest, but I'm finding it hard to make myself open the book."

"Why? What are you afraid of?" Fancypants asked.

"I think… I think I'm afraid that I'll find out he was a rotten man. He was wrapped up in something that frightened him. I have no idea what, but it sounds like somebody was trying to force him to rat out his clients—or do something to them. He was on the Port Townsend Witches' Council. Grams mentioned that they hushed up his death." I rolled over on my back and bent my right knee, then crossed my left ankle across it.

My phone jangled and I reached for it, holding it up so I could see. Bran was texting me.

hey sweetheart. how are you feeling? would you like to go out for dinner? i thought we could go to carter's steakhouse. i want to talk to you about something.

tonight? i'm free.

i'll pick you up at seven, then. dress up. love you.

By the time Grams arrived home, I had made a batch of chocolate chip cookies, distracted Gem and Silver from the thunderstorm, lost a game of Scrabble to Fancypants, and was sorting through my closet for something nice to wear. Nice was a relative term. To me, nice included leather but I didn't think that was what Bran meant. I spotted a cobalt blue dress in the back. It was a cold-shoulder dress, a light jersey knit. It had a plunging V-neck, and with a patent leather black belt, it would be warm, cozy, and pretty. I redid my makeup, then dressed and put on a pair of chunky-heeled patent leather boots that laced up the front.

"Don't you look pretty?" Grams said as I returned to the kitchen. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm having dinner with Bran. He's taking me to Carter's Steakhouse. He said he had something important to talk about, and asked me to dress up."

A delighted look spread across Grams's face. "I wonder…" she murmured.

I was fixing a latte. "You wonder what?"

"I wonder if he wants to ask you a certain question." She held up her hand before I could protest. "And don't you stop me. I know what you've been going through, and I know how you feel. But it's plain as the nose on anybody's face how Bran feels about you. There's no way that you can deny it. That man is in love with you. And I know that you love him. And yes—I know you also love Faron. I'm not questioning your devotion to him. But don't throw away a jewel in your hand, for the hope of one that might be hiding in the bushes."

I sat down by her at the table. "I know you're right. And yes, I do love Bran. But how can I accept a marriage proposal from one man when I'm waiting to see if the other love of my life even remembers what we had? What if Faron hears about the engagement and then remembers what we had? Would it be fair to him for me to move on, before he's had a chance to remember? It was only a few months ago that he was hurt, so should I throw away what we had without giving him time to heal?" Even as I desperately tried to argue, I could feel my protests weakening.

"I suppose you make sense, but what if he doesn't heal up? I mean, what if he doesn't remember what went on between the two of you? How long are you going to give him before you move on with your life? I don't mean to sound harsh, but you can't keep Bran in the wings. I'm going to ask you this once, and you don't have to answer but I want you to think about it. Are you using Bran as a backup?" Grams leaned back in her chair, patting her lap. Silver jumped up, curling up on her apron.

I stared at my latte, stirring it slowly. "No, I am not using him as a backup. I really do love him. And I know he loves me. But Grams, I can't walk away from Faron without knowing whether he'll ever remember us. I won't wait forever, and Bran isn't my second choice, but I can't pretend that Faron and I were only friends."

"Well then, at least you have your foundation. Just remember all this, in case he asks you." Grams picked up a takeout menu. "If you're going out to dinner, I might order in. I haven't had fried chicken in a while, and though I prefer my own, to be honest, I don't feel like cooking tonight." She sorted through the rest of the menus.

"I won't push you," she said. "I always found it hard enough to deal with one relationship, no matter how much I loved your great-grandfather. Trying to juggle two lovers seems like an abnormal amount of time and energy. But that's just me. We're different, everybody's different. I trust that you know what you're doing."

"On other subjects, did you put a down payment on the house?"

She lit up at my question. "I did, with the contingency that it passes inspection. He's supposed to come out in a couple of days—probably Monday. I think there's a ghost in the house, but she feels like she's been there a long time, and I don't feel anything malign coming from her."

"That's good. Say, Grams, I have a question about my father's journal. You said that he belonged to the Witches' Council of Port Townsend?"

"Yes, he did. They invited your mother as well, but she deferred. I don't think she wanted the responsibility. Why do you ask?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Because the second entry in his journal mentioned powerful people trying to influence him to do something bad to his clients. I'm not sure what, but I got the feeling he meant financially. And he said that he hid a letter to my mother in the house somewhere. But if she never read the journal, there's a good chance she never found the letter. When we go up there for Thanksgiving, maybe we can look around for it?"

Grams frowned, and she set the takeout menus to the side. She seemed hesitant to answer for a moment, then said, "I suppose we can. Your father didn't say much to us. I don't know if he talked to your mother about this at all, but I have a feeling he didn't. I know that he was concerned over something that was going on behind the scenes. Possibly something to do with the Witches' Council. That's dangerous water to tread. There are many powerful people on the council and it's not wise to stir up old issues."

"I understand that, but what if he was murdered? What if he didn't kill himself? You yourself said that they hushed it up. What if they did so for a reason? If he did kill himself, then I'll accept it. But if he was murdered, shouldn't we look for justice?" I glanced at my phone. Bran would be here in a few minutes. "I better get my purse and keys."

"We'll talk it over on the drive to Port Townsend. Maybe we should go up early?"

"Oh gods, no. He's been dead for twenty-eight years. A few more days isn't going to make any difference." I heard Bran's truck pull up outside. "Okay, Bran is here. Love you and I'll see you later. I don't expect to be out too long, but I have my keys in case you want to go to bed early." I gave her a kiss on the cheek and headed for the door. The fact that Grams was nervous about looking into my father's death told me that she suspected there was something wrong. And I wanted to know what it was.