9. Natalie

9

NATALIE

I know I’m dreaming. Logically, this is a dream. But it is so vivid that my mind can’t decide if what I’m experiencing is reality or fantasy.

One moment, Rian’s massive form is hefting my mattress up the narrow staircase, muscles rippling beneath golden fur. The next, he’s tossing it carelessly onto the floor, spinning to face me with fire in his dark eyes.

He stalks forward, his huge body crowding me against the wall. I can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the intoxicating musk of his skin, his fur. My heart hammers in my chest as his gaze roams over me, anger and desire warring in those obsidian depths.

“What do you think you’re doing, Natalie?” he rumbles, his voice a deep growl that sends shivers down my spine. “Selling out to Munchin’ Morsels? Betraying this town, my town?”

I lift my chin defiantly, refusing to be cowed by him. “It’s my property, Rian. I’ll do what I damn well please with it.”

His nostrils flare and he leans in closer, so close I can count the thick lashes framing his eyes.

“You have no idea what you’re messing with here,” he snarls. “No idea the power you’re playing with. Who you’re playing with.”

“Well, why don’t you spell it out for me, then.” Desire is laced through my bold words.

Instead of an answer, his mouth is on mine in one swift motion, wide and hot and demanding. I gasp and he takes advantage, his huge velvety tongue slipping past my lips to stroke against my own.

Oh gods. I’ve never been kissed like this before, with such raw passion and primal need. Rian devours me, consumes me, his hands gripping my hips to yank me flush against the hard planes of his body. My tall frame becomes small and frail compared to his.

I moan into his mouth, my own hands fisting in his shirt. The rough caress of his fur against my cheeks, the slide of his thick tongue, the nip of his teeth—it’s all so foreign, so thrilling. Every nerve ending in my body is alight, burning for more of his touch. I want to reach up and stroke the long horns protruding from his head.

This is wrong , a distant part of my brain whispers. He’s not even human. Plus, he’s your enemy .

But gods help me, I don’t care. I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life. I arch into him, my blood pounding with forbidden desire.

With a rumbling growl, Rian yanks his shirt off over his head, baring the magnificent expanse of his chest. My hands find the warm silk of his golden fur, fingers sinking into the thick pelt as he grasps my thighs and lifts me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to him, desperate to be closer.

He carries me the few steps to the mattress and tosses me down onto it. I bounce slightly, pushing up on my elbows to watch as he looms over me, dark eyes burning with promise.

“I’m going to make you forget what it was like to ever sleep with a human man.” Then he’s on me again, his huge body covering mine, pinning me to the bed.

I cry out as his mouth finds my neck, lapping at the sensitive skin of my neck with that thick, wide tongue. His hands are everywhere—sliding under my shirt to cup my breasts, dragging down my sides to grip my hips.

I’m lost to the heat of him, the raw masculine power. Nothing exists but Rian and the feverish need he’s ignited within me.

And I can feel his inhuman length pressing insistently against my thigh. It feels as big as my forearm, and a whimper escapes my throat at the thought of taking him inside me, stretching me impossibly wide.

Rian hears my whimper and looks up at me, then grinds his hips into mine as my whimper turns into a full-throated moan. I reach down between us, desperately to feel him for myself, and then?—

I jolt awake with a gasp, my skin feverish and my panties soaked. My breath comes in ragged pants as I stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling, slowly reorienting myself.

Holy shit . Did I really just have a sex dream about Rian Kincaid? The same Rian who’s hellbent on thwarting my plans, the one who trapped me in Elderberry Falls?

I groan and flop back onto the mattress, throwing an arm over my face.

As if I needed my subconscious playing tricks on me. As if dealing with long-lost relatives, enchanted journals, and infuriating small-town politics wasn’t enough.

Screw you, Dream Rian, and your talented tongue. And screw you too, Elderberry Falls.

I am so not equipped to handle this shit.

An hour later, I’ve managed to shake off most of the lingering effects of that wildly inappropriate dream, thanks to a long, cold shower and an extra strong cup of coffee. I’m pulling on my blazer, preparing to head downstairs to the makeshift remote workspace I’ve set up in Myrtle’s storefront when a now-familiar glow catches my eye.

The leather journal.

Of course. Because my life wasn’t already weird enough.

After a brief moment, curiosity gets the best of me, so I walk over to where it sits on the dresser. Flipping it open, I find a new message scrawled on the pages. My own handwriting from the night before has disappeared. Witchcraft, literal witchcraft.

N –

Yes, I had hoped to reach Myrtle. I knew she had left us already but thank you for your concern.

Rest assured, there is no risk of possession from this notebook. It is simply a magical means of correspondence, nothing more. Myrtle and I used to speak often, especially when we needed comfort and advice.

I’ve been in a spot where I miss her wise words and so reached out to a dear friend, even knowing she would never be able to reply. I’m glad someone was able to answer, even if it wasn’t her. It’s comforting to know her things have passed on to someone.

If you don’t mind me asking—are you currently in Elderberry Falls? Your questions suggest you may be somewhere else, or at least unfamiliar with the magical aspects of the town.

The message is unsigned.

I stare down at the message, chewing on my lower lip as I process this new information. So this mysterious person had been trying to contact Myrtle like I thought. She really was a loved member of the community here…

I run my fingers over the ink, marveling at the instantaneous nature of this strange correspondence. I’m tempted to write back immediately, to start peppering the unidentified writer with all the questions churning in my mind. Questions I would take to Ecco normally, if we weren’t in an awkward stalemate.

Questions I could probably ask Velda, but then they’d come attached to a huge pile of family information that I am just not ready to hear… and may never be.

I hesitate, the practical side of my brain taking over. I don’t know this person. They could be anyone, with any number of motives.

Just because they knew Myrtle doesn’t mean I can trust them.

Still... the lure of an anonymous confidant is strong. Putting aside the whole “town pariah” thing, it’s not like I can call up my friends from school or work and casually mention that I’m crashing in my secret witch grandmother’s enchanted herb shop, trying to avoid any more sexy dreams about minotaur bakers.

Asking a few questions won’t hurt. I find myself scrawling onto the pages of the book. Except it isn’t just a few questions.

Everything I’ve pent up about this situation pours out onto the parchment.

Condolences for your loss as well. I can tell Myrtle was loved in this town.

Thank you for addressing my concerns about possession. It feels like every time I turn around, I’m faced with a new law or known-to-everyone-else magical fact. Just to keep reminding me how much I know nothing.

That’s why this inheritance is so confusing—I inherited Myrtle’s store front in the town square if you weren’t aware. So many people would bend over backward to help Myrtle, but not once did I hear from or about her during her life.

She’s apparently my grandmother. But when my father was still alive, he told us she died a long time ago. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that he lied. Lying came as easily as breathing to the man, and this is definitely not the worst thing he did to me and my mom. But still, it hurts all the same.

Not to mention I was raised as completely human—only to learn my grandmother was a witch, and that might mean I have powers too! I mean… if that isn’t a total mindfuck, I don’t know what is.

Sorry, excuse my language. I’m just really overwhelmed right now.

So, the store… Velda explained Myrtle wanted to keep the store in her family, that family was important to her. If that was true why did she stay away?

I’m forced to live here for sixty days now before I can sell. It’s part of some silly archaic law. Selling this place is the only thing that makes sense. I can make sure another great business opens up here, instead of it sitting empty. Isn’t that good for Elderberry Falls? But more than that, the sale of the space gives me the funds to achieve my biggest career ambition, so… everything is on the line here for me, personally.

I’m beginning to overshare. I don’t normally do this. Writing in this beautiful notebook, I guess it feels like a journal? I’m regretting sharing so much. But then… I don’t think I can erase in a magic notebook… or can I?

Is there anything else this notebook can do? Any tips about living here in Elderberry Falls for a confused human? And who are you?

I stop myself from continuing and sign off my letter with my name. Writing out to this stranger has been more cathartic than I realized.

But now I’m revealing too much, to a total stranger.

Maybe I should just pick up journaling, instead of taking this weird risk… Or book an emergency appointment with my therapist, since I’m comfortable treating a notebook like one.

I snap the book shut and tuck it into my bag. With it out of sight I won’t stand by waiting for the soft glow to light up, like a love-sick teen watching her phone.

As I make my way downstairs, I try to shove away the lingering images of golden fur and searing kisses.

I have a feeling forgetting that damn dream is going to be easier said than done.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, a strange noise catches my attention. It’s coming from behind the old checkout counter, a sort of gurgling, bubbling sound that definitely wasn’t there yesterday.

I freeze, my mind racing through the possibilities. Is it a magical security system? Maybe a break in the water pipes, and the whole place is about to be flooded? Or could some kind of enchanted creature be in the shop? With my luck, it’s probably a portal to a hellish demon dimension.

I glance around, searching for something to defend myself with. My eyes land on a broom propped against the wall. It’s old and rather pathetic looking, but it’s better than facing the unknown empty-handed.

Broom in hand, I inch towards the counter, my heart pounding in my ears.

As I get closer, I notice something even more bizarre.

Bubbles. Honest to gods soap bubbles, floating up from behind the counter.

“What…” I mutter under my breath.

Steeling myself, I take the final steps and peer over the counter.

There, sitting on the floor surrounded by bubbles, is a little girl. She screams, her eyes wide with shock.

The shrill noise startles me, and I give a scream of my own. As the sound leaves my lips a strange surge of heat runs through my veins. Like silver lightning enveloping my body, gone as quickly as it came.

I take a step back in order to see the young person clearly. She’s large for a kid, but her features are clearly adolescent. Slightly curly dark brown hair down to her shoulders, golden brown fur and small horns protruding from her head…

She’s a minotaur. A mini minotaur, to be exact.

The girl narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “Who are you? This is my spot. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m Natalie. I’m, uh, Myrtle’s granddaughter.” The words still feel strange in my mouth. “I’m sort of….living here now?”

Jessa frowns, clearly unhappy with this information. “I’m Jessa. Myrtle always let me come here,” she says, a hint of a challenge in her voice.

I hold up my hands in a placating gesture. “I understand. I’m not upset. I was just surprised to find you here, that’s all.”

The girl seems to relax slightly, though she still eyes me warily. “Dad doesn’t know I come here,” she admits. “It’s my secret place. Myrtle was like family, she gave me a key. Sometimes I just need, like… girl time.”

A lightbulb goes off. She must be Rian’s daughter, here from next door.

I feel a pang of sympathy. I get the appeal of a secret hideaway, especially at her age. Especially with a dad as overbearing and obnoxious as hers. How many daydreams did I have as a tween about finding a secret world in my closet, or building an invisible treehouse that no one else could see or access?

“Well, your secret is safe with me,” I assure her. “And I’m sorry for scaring you earlier. How about we start over?” I extend my hand to her with a smile. “Hi, Jessa, I’m Natalie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Jessa considers me for a moment before reaching out to shake my hand. Her grip is surprisingly strong.

“Nice to meet you too,” she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Even if you did almost hit me with a broom.”

I laugh, the tension dissipating. “Yeah, sorry about that. I thought you might be a demon or something.”

Jessa giggles. “Nope, it’s just me and Thrasher!”

“Thrasher?”

Jessa holds up her hands, and I notice for the first time that she’s holding some kind of dark tiny lizard creature with delicate wings. As I watch, the creature opens its mouth and blows out a perfect stream of bubbles.

“He’s a bubbledragon,” Jessa explains proudly. “He’s my best friend.”

I stare in amazement as the bubbles float around us, catching the light in iridescent swirls. Even after the past few days, the casual display of magic catches me off guard.

“He’s incredible,” I breathe.

Jessa beams, clearly pleased by my reaction. She opens her mouth to say something else, but suddenly her eyes widen, focusing on something over my shoulder.

“Whoa,” she gasps. “Did you do that?”

I turn to follow her gaze and nearly stumble back in shock.

There, in the corner of the shop, a small potted plant has grown into a towering tree, its branches brushing the ceiling. The ceramic pot lays shattered at its base, roots spilling out across the floor.

“What the…” I whisper, my voice shaking slightly. “That wasn’t... I didn’t...”

But as the words leave my mouth, a sinking realization hits me. My scream. The bizarre rush of heat through my veins, like nothing I’ve felt before.

Did I do this?

No, absolutely not. There’s no way. I’m a normal, regular human who takes after her normal, regular mom. A normal, regular human who belongs in the normal, regular human city and not here.

Herb magic , a voice says in the back of my head. That’s what Myrtle had. Which makes sense, her running an herb shop and all. And herbs are plants.

So, my relatives had plant magic, basically.

The plant probably grew itself. Right? Maybe Myrtle enchanted it before she died. That’s the only explanation.

Because the alternative… that I have magic after all…

It’s unthinkable.