23. Otis Racoon’s Jug Band

It was late and I was exhausted, but I did my best to stay awake while Declan drove me home. "So, it turns out my mom and dad loved each other."

He reached over and held my hand. "That's always the hope. What happened?"

"The family. Mom was expected to step into her role as next in line to lead. She missed Council meetings, let some things drop. You know, had a life. If he'd been a nice wicche, I think there would have been more leniency and understanding. Fae blood sullying the Corey line was a problem, though."

Declan's hand squeezed mine. "So it's okay for you to be half fae, as they need a Cassandra wicche to live a long life in order to help them. But any other little half-fae-ling running around is a threat to the supremacy of the Corey line?"

"Something like that."

"I'm surprised she didn't tell them to go fuck themselves." He turned onto the coast road.

"She was young—eighteen or nineteen—and had been groomed since birth to take the mantle when it was time. Telling them to fuck themselves would mean walking away from her family, from her whole world."

"They wouldn't have let her leave with you. She had all the power," he said.

"Maybe, but you don't have it if you don't know it. And she didn't." I blew out a breath and crossed my arms, staring at the moonlight dancing on the waves.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Your scent changed."

"My—" Right. Wolves could smell emotions. Cool yet creepy. "It's just that I've always seen Gran as the one on my side. Great-Gran didn't care for me. I remember catching looks from her when I was little. She scared me. I don't think she trusted a half-fae seer. Gran, though, once she took over as the crone, always backed me up. Mom wanted me to stop playing in the abandoned, horribly dangerous cannery. Gran tells me to go have fun."

Declan gave a chuff of annoyance.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Finish your thought." He parked in front of the gallery and cut off the engine.

It felt so wrong to say anything against Gran, but… "Her daughter was happy and in love. She was pregnant and Gran didn't step in to stop the rest of the family, to defend her daughter." I scrubbed my hands over my face. "Now that I know the story, all the times Gran rolled her eyes at Mom, sided with me against her—damn, those were such dick moves."

I started to tear up. Saying anything against Gran hurt my heart. "What? Her daughter was just a tool, the conduit to a healthy Cassandra wicche? If she meant so little, let her be with her love. If she's powerful—and she is—and next in line, then show her the proper respect. Recognize her choices as her own, not subject to committee approval."

"Yes, but like your mother, your Gran was also conditioned since infancy to follow the word of the elders. And given your memory of your great grandmother, she might have tried but was shot down."

"Yeah. There's that. I just wish she could have been more obviously supportive of her own daughter, the way she was of me. It makes me question…"

"If she was indulgent of you, her granddaughter, or of you, the Corey's Cassandra?"

I unbuckled and leaned into him. "Yeah."

Tapping my forehead gently, he said, "And what are you really thinking in there?"

Grinning, I looked up at him. "Getting my mom and dad back together."

"And there she is." He unbuckled his seat belt, grabbed my backpack, and stepped out of the truck. "Step one in your quest would seem be to be meeting him."

I slammed the door, and he caught my hand in his as we walked around the side of the gallery. "Yes. That seems like a good step one."

"It occurs to me," he said, "that someone has a big grand opening of her new art gallery coming up. Maybe your dad might want to attend."

Declan and I were talking quietly and the ocean was loud, so it was odd when he stopped walking and put a finger in front of his lips to shh me. Grinning, he motioned me forward.

As I was sure he wouldn't blithely send me into danger, I ran around the corner, setting off the security lights, and found three little raccoons on their hind legs, front paws out, like they were warding off velociraptors, completely frozen in the sudden light. All three were crowded around the back door of my studio, no doubt trying to figure out how to break in and steal baked goods.

"I can see you, you know." Two of them went down to all fours and backed away. The third was still frozen. I crouched down. "Aww, buddy. It's okay." I realized he was looking over my shoulder at Declan. "Squat down, scary wolf."

He did, handing me my backpack. "I smell a muffin in there. That might help."

"Ooh, good idea." I unzipped the top and pulled out the muffin from yesterday that I'd wrapped in a paper towel. I broke it into three pieces and tossed them out for Otis and his siblings.

The nervous one by the back door finally relaxed and reached for the muffin. The other two scampered back and grabbed their own. Declan stood, pulling me with him, and we sat on the nearby bench, watching the raccoons nibble away. The nervous one stuffed the whole piece in and then moved back to a safe distance to chew.

"She's scared of me," Declan said. "The closer I get to the full moon, the stronger the wolf scent."

I turned and sniffed his shoulder. "I just smell laundry detergent and warm Declan skin, not wolf. Of course, I'm not sure I'd be able to identify wolf smell. I didn't notice a different smell when you were in your fur."

He tapped my nose. "That's because this isn't as sensitive as theirs. They see human but they smell wolf."

"Oh." I nodded, watching my little friends. "If you guys are still hungry, I can get you more." I turned to Declan. "I don't know how healthy it is for them to just be having muffins, though."

He laughed, causing the nervous one to move farther away. "They're raccoons. They eat garbage. They're fine."

"Okay, good. Wait right here, guys." I unlocked the back door and went in, closing it behind me. I didn't want to chase baby raccoons around the studio. Balancing four muffins, I went back out, placed three on the deck, near each of the raccoons, and gave the fourth to Declan.

"Thank you. I'm starving."

"I'm sorry I screwed up our dinner date." Watching the three, I decided Otis' siblings needed names.

"Not your fault."

I knew which one was Otis. Don't ask me why. I just did. They looked identical, but I knew he was the one in the middle. "Can you tell if the ones on the right and left of Otis are male or female? They need names."

Declan lifted his face, scenting the air. "Female by the door and male by the railing."

Studying the nervous one, I said, "You, I shall name Daisy." She paused midbite and then continued eating. I watched the third for a few minutes. "It's got to be Jasper."

"Otis, Daisy, and Jasper, huh?" Declan tugged on my braid. "Do they play banjos?"

"Otis is on the banjo. Daisy plays the washboard. And Jasper…has one of those moonshine jugs he blows into."

Declan kissed the back of my head. "I think you need to paint that."

"I don't paint that kind of—" I mean, I could. It might be a nice change from some of the other paintings I do. "Maybe a collection geared toward children and nurseries. That's a thought. Maybe watercolors or line drawings. I'll think about it and experiment. But not now. I have a gallery to get ready."

Declan's stomach grumbled loudly. "Sorry. Werewolf metabolism and I shifted tonight, adding to the need to eat soon. I have to ask. Do you have any meat I can cook? Otherwise, I'll run out and pick us up some dinner." He put a finger under my chin and tipped up my face so he could see me in the moonlight. "Or are you too tired for company? I can head out, if you are."

Leaning into him, I said, "I'm very tired and emotionally wrung out, but I would love for you to stay, and I have a beef stew in the freezer I can heat up. I also have some smoked salmon you can have while the stew is heating."

"Perfect," he said, putting me on my feet and ushering me to the studio door.

"Good night, Otis, Daisy, and Jasper!" I called. "Sweet dreams, Cecil, Charlie, and Herbert! Oh." I stopped Declan before he followed me in. "Can you see if Wilbur's tennis ball is on the deck? I haven't seen him for a little while. I'm getting worried."

"Sure." He stepped back out and I went to the kitchen.

If I was going to date a werewolf, I needed to up my meat game. I should probably get a barbecue. No. Better yet, he gets one and all barbecuing happens over there. Yeah. That works.

I plated the salmon and left it on my worktable with a fork, napkin, and beer while I went into my freezer, looking for the container of stew. I'd just turned around when I bumped into Declan with an empty plate.

"Dude, chew your food."

Grinning, he rinsed off the plate and put it in the dishwasher. "That helped take the edge off. Thank you. It was getting painful."

I gave him the container on my counter with four muffins. "Have at it. This will take a few minutes."

He took them and sat on the couch, polishing them off in eight bites.

After defrosting it, I finally had the stew on the stovetop, heating up. I turned and found him watching me. "In the truck, when I was talking about me playing in this abandoned cannery, you got angry, but then told me to finish my thought. Why did you get angry?"

"It doesn't matter." He shook his head, placing the empty muffin carrier on the coffee table.

"Why?"

He sighed. "I don't want to say anything negative about your family. You have one and it's large and complicated. Some are evil, others incredibly kind. I don't have that, have never had that. It was just my aunt and me, so my perspective is probably skewed."

Stirring the stew, I considered his words. "I'll take all of that into consideration, but I'd like to know what was going on in your head. I've shared a ton about me, and it hasn't been easy."

"Okay. I like your gran. I do. But undermining your mom, always being on your side, even when you wanted to do something dangerous—your mom was right. You shouldn't have been playing in an abandoned cannery—it feels manipulative. She was keeping the Cassandra close and loyal while freezing out her daughter. It rubs me the wrong way." He paused a moment. "But maybe I'm just pissed that they don't want mixed blood in your family."

I turned back to the stove and continued stirring. It was starting to bubble. "Almost ready." Ignoring the tears running down my face, I pulled one of my mixing bowls out of the cupboard and poured the contents of the pot into it.

"Arwyn?" His voice was deep, grumbly, and too sympathetic. I didn't want to cry, didn't want to think about this at all. If I could have gone back in time and unasked the question, I would have.

I did a quick glamour spell so my face looked normal, and brought Declan his dinner.

He put it aside and held out his hand for me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No. I'm fine. You eat, okay. I'm just going to run upstairs to the bathroom. My stomach is off." I climbed the stairs quickly, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. I tried to hold it in. My stomach hurt from trying to hold back the tide. When a gasp escaped, I turned on the shower to mask it.

Crying into a towel, I rethought a million interactions with my mom and gran, recasting the villain. I tried to convince myself there were no villains, just different levels of love and loyalty, but after hearing what my mom had been going through, to have her own mother rolling her eyes and indulging me hurt my heart. I'd spent most of my life misunderstanding my mom's fear of losing me, but Gran knew. She never pulled me aside to explain why my mom was the way she was. She let me disrespect her. Mom ended up with no love and a daughter that was a hostile brat.

I'd been too young to understand why my mother seemed cold and distant. As a child, I'd decided she disapproved of me, and I'd held onto that belief my whole life. All the years lost because I couldn't see her clearly.