Chapter One: Mason

The stars shone brightly overhead and glimmered across the dark surface of the ocean as she stared out into the night. Her skin prickled, her hair standing up at the profound sense of longing that swept over her, a strong wave of…no, it was something else approaching, something…

She dove to the side as a bolt of energy laced through the air, turning the sand where she had been standing to glass with the sound of rumbling thunder. Before she was even to her feet, she muttered a spell of protection, just as the surrounding beach lit up as a ball of fire engulfed the air around her. Even through the shimmering air of her shield, she could feel the heat.

As the flash faded, she swept her hand in front of her, calling for the sand to shift and become fluid. She heard a frustrated grunt as the robed shape of her assailant sank to their waist on the beach, the heavy silver chain they wore around their neck shining in the moonlight.

She turned and fled, every inch she put between her and the attacker hard won as her feet sank into the soft sand. Up ahead, she could see the shape of the old shipwreck she had called home for some time now.

Filled with wards and charms, it would keep her safe, at least for long enough to come up with a plan.

She heard a rush of wind behind her. Whoever was after her had freed themselves and was hurtling through the air on magical winds.

She was close to her hidden entrance, but she wouldn't make it before the stranger was upon her.

She slid to a stop and spun about, casting her hands forward as she whispered a soothing rhyme to the air, stilling it and halting the figure's momentum.

Instead of a controlled landing, they fell the remaining distance, colliding with her, sending them both tumbling over and over until they crashed through the driftwood door of her hideout.

She shoved the figure off and gawked as she looked around. Instead of the dim, cramped inside of her hideout, she stood in a well-lit, positively cozy space, filled with the aroma of fresh breads and beers. Rafters adorned with cluttered shelves hung overhead, and old weapons were displayed on the walls.

Her gaze returned to the dark-robed figure as they extended a hand and a bright beam of energy shot forth, hitting her square in the chest.

Can't breathe!Mason sucked in the cool night air, but his lungs refused to inflate. Rolling out of bed, he hit the floor, ready to shift and take down his attacker as he gasped.

There's no one here,his wolf assured him. We're alone.

Mason pushed out his senses. His wolf was right. There was no one there. At least not in his apartment. Pushing further, he could sense the other people in the building, all asleep aside from the older guy in the apartment below, who never seemed to find the need to sleep.

He would have been Mason's first guess if someone were to break into his apartment. He'd been sure the guy was a vampire, considering his odd behavior. However, when Mason had crossed paths with him in the hallway, the guy had looked and smelled like a living, breathing person, despite his pale appearance.

Mason slowly straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow as he scanned over the monotone colors of his dark apartment before he closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands as he fought the rising flood of emotions threatening to surge through him. He could not let them take control. Not again.

Think. Clearly. That was what he needed to do.

It hadn't been him that was being attacked. No. It was a dream.

No, his wolf said, it was the dream.

Thedream.

He hadn't dreamed that dream for years. Not since…

It normally faded quickly, leaving him with an unsettled feeling, but this time, the vision was burned into his mind. Each image was bright and almost too real.

An ache, soul-deep and relentless, pulsed within him, reminding him of the one he had lost. The pain was as familiar as it was unwelcome, a ghost that refused to fade no matter how much time passed.

His wolf stirred restlessly inside him. So why now?

Mason straightened and sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands as he tugged at the tendrils of the dream, gathering the pieces together. The sand... The sky. A hideout in an old shipwreck. A warm, cozy room that smelled like beer. It was familiar. It was…

The tavern!His wolf howled. At the end of the dream. The Lonely Tavern.

Mason sprang to his feet. Of course! Of all the places he might find an answer, of course, it would be that strange tavern filled with nothing but questions and mysteries. He hastily pulled on a shirt and some jeans then shoved on his boots. All the while, his mind raced at a thousand miles an hour, even as he tried to stay centered.

The dream was always intense, but this was different. It had been so vivid, so real, he could almost feel the magic flowing through his veins.

Which was ridiculous, since there was not an ounce of magic in him.

Apart from me,his wolf said. Are we not born of magic?

That is a question for another time, Mason said as he grabbed his well-worn jacket, the one that had seen countless miles and just as many moons, and headed for the door.

The cool night air filled his lungs as he sucked it in, searching for a scent.

Her scent.

None. He tugged the collar of his jacket higher and slunk into the shadows, his senses alert for anything, anyone. Down every alleyway, around every corner, he could almost see the dark figure from the dream, but the streets were deserted.

He pushed on; the tavern was across town. A strange building that had appeared out of nowhere one day, shoehorning itself in between other houses and shops, twisting itself to fit.

Out of place. Much like him.

How could we not have seen it?his wolf said as the urgency inside Mason propelled him forward into a jog.

Because we have tried to bury that dream, just like we have tried to bury all memories of…her.

And yet she had still haunted him. She was there in everything he did, everywhere he went. A shadow. A loss.

He was close now. Close enough that if she had been there, he would have sensed her as he ran across the cobbled streets of Wishing Moon Bay.

But he had to keep going. Until he had checked out the tavern, he would not rest.

He could still feel the force of that last blow radiating out from his chest.

A thought struck him, one that was as painful and terrible as the bolt of energy from the dream.

What if she was dead?

She's not dead,his wolf said levelly. We would know if she were.

Would we?They had been telling themselves that since she'd gone. Taking comfort in the idea that if she had passed from this world, then they would know.

Then they could grieve and mourn and perhaps move on. Instead, they had been stuck in limbo.

Was limbo about to end?

Mason entered the alleyway. There was the peculiar building stuffed between the brick and mortar of the faceless buildings on either side. He slowed his pace, creeping toward the tavern stealthily, unseen and unheard, as he had been taught so long ago.

These were the skills he'd honed for decades.

But there was no one there.

Perhaps it was only a dream, after all,his wolf told him.

Well, we've come this far. I'm not going back home until I've at least checked inside.

He reached the door and looked up at the sign swinging in the light breeze that swept in with the tide. The Lonely Tavern. A strange name for a strange place.

Steeling himself for whatever he might find inside, he raised his hand to open the door.

He tensed as it swung open before his fingers made contact with the aged metal handle.

A trap? his wolf asked.

Then let's spring it!Mason rushed inside.

The tavern, as always, was pleasant. The air was comfortably warm; the lights had been dimmed just enough to not startle the eyes of someone stepping in from the dark night. The whole place was quiet and empty, save for the scraping sound of furniture being moved.

His eyes fell on Morwenna, the tavern owner, complete with her curly mane of gray hair and black dress adorned with jingling charms. Her head popped around the side of a large armchair she had been moving.

"Morwenna," Mason murmured, his gaze fixed on the old, peculiar witch. "A little late for rearranging furniture."

Morwenna glanced at the long grandfather clock behind the bar that never seemed to keep the right time. "And you are a little early...for whatever you are here for."

"I'm sorry, I could not wait until the tavern opened," Mason replied as he stepped farther into the tavern. "It was…urgent."

"Well, in that case, you can give me a hand." Morwenna let go of the chair. "I could use a big ol' hunk of a wolf shifter right about now."

"...right."

Why does it feel like she's up to something?His wolf eyed her with his usual suspicion.

Because she definitely is.

"The furniture." She gestured at the heavy chair. "Consider it an apology."

"For what?" Mason asked.

"You never know when you might need one saved up. Now, move this, please. Preferably at a minimum of ten feet in that direction." She pointed toward the low burning hearth.

Mason let his arms hang by his side, most of the tension in his body leaving as he looked around at the calm interior, void of any dangerous mages or…her. "Sure."

He felt like a fool, barging in here expecting a fight, when instead he had been roped into midnight redecorating.

If you don't ask her what she's doing, she won't ask you, his wolf said.

I wasn't planning on it; I think whatever her reasons, I'd rather not know.Mason watched Morwenna for a moment before he moved forward.

"Wonderful." Morwenna stepped back and let Mason lift the chair. "That's it, this way a bit more. A bit more. A smidge more." She walked backward, beckoning him forward. "Woah, stop!"

Mason paused, watching Brushworth, the seemingly sentient, floating broom, sweep past him.

Morwenna put her hands on her hips. "That damned brush always seems to know just where you're going to be putting your feet well enough to always be under them. Okay, just a few more steps and…just there is fine."

Mason placed the chair down next to where several stools and benches were cluttered together, already having been put to one side.

"The tavern not open tomorrow?" he asked. "Or is there some sort of event?"

"Oh, there's going to be an event all right." Morwenna stepped over to him. He tensed up as she placed her hands on his shoulder and began to turn him back around to the empty space on the floor. "And it's just that I'm very particular about my furniture."

Mason opened his mouth to say something as he was turned away from her, but there was a sudden rush of air that whipped his hair back and a crackle of energy and light. Through it, he could just about make a familiar, starry beach, before two people came tumbling out.

The woman got to her feet first, shoving off the other figure dressed in dark robes, but as she went to ready her next spell, she paused, gazing around at the tavern.

Mason felt the air leave his lungs. It had been so long since he had seen her face.

"No!" Mason howled, and the air crackled around him as he leaped forward, shifting midair.

The dark-robed figure leveled a hand at her, the air swirling around it as they gathered their magic, but in the moment it took, Mason's wolf was already on top of them.

There was a thunderous crack as the bolt of energy shot off, disappearing up into the darkness above the rafters overhead, singing the wolf's fur. But he didn't stop. Snarling, Mason bit down on the thick cloth the robed figure wore.

Whoever this is, they won't escape, Mason said.

His wolf grunted in agreement, but the person beneath them seemed to evaporate, becoming a fine mist that slipped from his jaws, before reappearing a few feet away, already running for the closest exit—the stairs.

They must have moved the wrong way in their panic, with Mason's wolf blocking their way to the door.

Mason shot forward, chasing the swirling robes as they dashed up the stairs.

"Whoop!" Morwenna waved her hand as Mason leaped halfway up the first flight of stairs, mere inches behind the stranger as they reached the first landing, but as he landed, the stairs folded in on themselves, becoming a slope that he slid all the way down, landing in a pile at the base of the stairs, and at the feet of…Tamsin.