Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"Oh, what a lovely little home," Aunt Peony declared, the first to climb the back porch steps. "I really didn't take much notice of it when—" Her gaze darted to the glass of the shattered windows glittering on the porch and in the creeping myrtle. The November storm winds had sucked the gauzy curtains out through the window frames, wafting like trapped ghosts. "Um, before ."

My family clustered on the porch out of the rain while I went inside to adjust the wards, the witches staying decidedly away from Arthur and the two cats.

The Crafting Circle ladies had not accompanied us to the farmhouse. Flora had declared the moonflower grove a hot mess—and it most definitely was after a battle between two shifters and an entire coven of witches—and would be focusing her energies on repairing it, as well as swapping out all the ruined crystals. Daphne had taken Shari home immediately for a hot bubble bath and a new audiobook. I'd sent Lewellyn with them. First, to make sure they were protected, for the magic hunters were still afoot, and second, to get him out of the coven's sight, particularly Grandmother's. While he hadn't necessarily betrayed his contract with her, some of his actions could definitely be labeled suspect.

Ame, however, had chosen to stay with us instead of following Shari home. "I need to be Fern's ex-familiar and Sawyer's mentor more than your housecat now, Shari," she'd told the quiet crafter as she'd twined between Shari's legs in farewell. "I'll be back when I'm back." The two cats had left shortly after to tell the hobs and pixies to stand down, that the foreign witches were no longer a threat.

And Arthur hadn't let me out of his sight, his hand slipping into mine, fingers interlacing. The family hadn't liked that one bit, but no one had verbally protested again. Instead, they contented themselves to glare, glower, and otherwise stare daggers at him. As if he had seduced me away from reason, all the while conveniently forgetting he had been the one to drag half of the coven out of Arcadis's portal and back to safety.

Except for Uncle Badger, who quietly looked at the big shifter with awe. He and Lewellyn had been the ones to anchor Arthur in the mortal realm in case his strength and grit had failed, but it hadn't. Because of that, Otter, the last link in our family chain and his son and only child, hadn't been lost with the rest of us. Uncle Badger continued to look star-struck until Aunt Hyacinth slapped him in the arm in a reminder to scowl. He might have schooled his expression after that, but he didn't scowl.

Inside the farmhouse, I knelt down at my struggling hearth fire and stuck my hands into it. The weak flames flared a deep green, measuring my health as they licked over my skin like the tongues of hounds happy I had returned home to them.

"Let's get your strength back up," I murmured to not just the hearth, but to the farmhouse itself. I'd made it a promise all those months ago to get us both cleaned up and shipshape.

Leaning over to the stack of wood beside the hearth, I began adding log after log until the fire lapped at the chimney chute. But I didn't stop there. I pressed my glowing green hands against the slate hearth stones and sent a magical apology to the structure that had so diligently shielded me since coming to Redbud. Though the farmhouse wasn't sentient, it still seemed the right thing to do.

It took only a minute or two to adjust the wards, and then the back door seemingly swung open of its own accord to admit my family.

The coven flooded inside in a flurry of black robes and battle leathers like a tide of shadows. Then the snooping began.

Grandmother made herself at home by the hearth, releasing the clasp on her censer to transfer the ember of the Hawthorne Manor fire into the fireplace; Aunt Hyacinth rattled through every spell-ingredient jar and vial on the shelves in the hearth room; Aunt Peony opened every drawer and cabinet in the kitchen, including the fridge and freezer, familiarizing herself with each utensil's placement and "What I've got to work with here"; Mom had taken the grimoire from Aunt Hyacinth and gone into the den where my little collection of books was to start an illusion spell that would hide the grimoire in plain sight; Dad and Uncle Badger immediately swept the downstairs and upstairs to familiarize themselves with their surroundings and any potential weak spots in its defense; Aunt Eranthis helped herself to my closet to root around for spare clothes to get everyone out of their battle leathers, but only after she called down the stairwell, "Why are all these buttons all over the floor in the master bedroom?"; and Otter—

"Otter, go with her," Grandmother said sharply as I tried to slip out the front door unnoticed.

Otter said nothing but obeyed, only rolling his eyes at chaperone duty when he knew Grandmother couldn't see him do it.

"Meadow, don't leave that porch," she told me.

"I'm going to my maple tree. It's right there, at the edge of the fence, and it's protected by the hearth."

Before Grandmother could protest further, I grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him after me. The lumberjack shifter stumbled only a step in surprise before he matched my stride. We didn't stop until we were on the opposite side of the maple tree facing the orchard, the massive trunk hiding the farmhouse—and my family—from sight.

"I'll, um, be right over here," Otter said from the other side of the tree. A second later, I heard the rustling of a robe and then the soft reedy notes of a flute as my cousin began to play.

I took a moment to gulp down a breath and survey the sleeping apple trees beyond the wildflower fields, for what, I didn't know. But the rolling orchards, the fringe of forest to the east, the country road to the west, the stretch of sky above it all with the gray storm receding and another approaching to take its place—the vastness of the landscape lifted a weight that had settled on my heart. I'd become so used to my privacy, to my individual space, that it was overwhelming to once again be completely surrounded, for my life to be bared for anyone to look at and comment about. And what was I thinking, challenging my grandmother like I was the matriarch of my very own coven?

Thistle thorns, I've made such a mess of things. With a shuddering sob, I whirled around and threw myself against Arthur's chest.

The lumberjack shifter grunted as he rocked back against the coarse bark of the maple tree, but then his arms surrounded me.

Oh my Green Mother, how I clung to him. My arms wrapped tight around his waist, fingers digging into the taut flesh of his back, and I buried my head into the crook of his shoulder. I was so overwhelmed; I just needed a moment of peace.

Arthur's strong fingers wove into my hair, his other hand passing long, slow strokes up and down my spine.

"I'm here," he murmured. "I'm here, sweetheart."

And he simply held me, stroking me, allowing me to lose myself in the sound of his heartbeat, the melody of my cousin's flute, the wind sweeping through the orchard and robbing the remaining leaves from the trees until only skeletal branches scraped against the sky.

I could not comprehend the all-consuming sensation that I was home when I was with him, much less express it in words. The Hawthorne estate and its sweeping pastureland, the long lake, the copses of trees, the thousands of flowers, the manor of stone and gleaming hardwood, that had been my home for the last twenty-five years. My source of comfort, of love, of acceptance, of growth, and yet it paled in comparison to him. Something buried deep in my essence was awakening to his presence, his touch, that invisible tether—now a chain—drawing me ever closer.

My heart began to pound, abandoning the steadiness his strokes had coaxed and exchanging it for something wild and reckless. Suddenly remembering he was half-naked, Uncle Badger's robe wrapped around his waist, and that I was plastered more closely to him than apple butter smeared into every nook and cranny of freshly baked bread, I lifted my face from his chest.

Warm hazel eyes greeted mine.

Flushing furiously, I pulled away, hugging my hands to my chest. The Celtic pendant he'd given me was impossibly warm against the back of one hand. I found it, rubbing the metal between thumb and forefinger, desperate for anything to take my mind off Arthur Greenwood and everything his presence promised to provide. We'd agreed earlier this morning, before our worlds had been turned upside down, that we'd talk before any more ties were forged between us. And with my family here, and my brother taken hostage, I wasn't sure when or if we'd ever get another chance.

"I-I don't know where to begin," I admitted softly, staring at the trampled grass between our feet, mine in woolen socks, his bare. Thistle thorns, I should've put boots on before leaving the house. I shook the errant thought away. "I owe you so much. Arthur, I-I…"

"I'll go first," he said softly, cupping a hand to my cheek and lifting my gaze. His thumb smoothed over my cheekbone, and I gave him a grateful smile at his generosity, his vulnerability. "My name is Arthur Frederick Greenwood, and I'm a Coalition enforcer from Washington state. I'm here in Redbud fulfilling an oath my family made to Cody Beecham years ago. What you've seen is the whole of our relationship—him a cantankerous carpenter and me his browbeaten apprentice, with a little familial affection sprinkled in."

He smiled, and we both laughed softly at the image his words had conjured. The twiggy old man was full of vim and vinegar, a stark contrast against his mild-mannered gentleman of a best friend, Emmett Trinket.

His amusement faded when his hazel eyes drifted to the Celtic shield I thumbed, and he sucked in a breath between his teeth. "That pendant isn't just coded to me, Meadow. There's a piece of you embedded in its magic too," he admitted.

My fingers stopped worrying the iron pendant. "M-me?"

He nodded, his hand slipping from my cheek. Like he was closing in on himself.

I caught his hand before it could fall to his side, holding it in mine. Squeezing it gently, I silently pleaded for him to explain himself. I'd once relished secrets and all hidden things, but here, right now, I couldn't stand it.

"It's a protection amulet, Meadow. To shield my heart… from you."