Starlight Summons

We were close enough to the Olympics to get a dose of snow most years, but this year we were in a La Niña, which meant wetter, cooler weather for our neck of the woods. Climate change was also playing a part, although the amount of magic in the area also added to the weather chaos.

“Well done on the star,” Grams said. “Fancypants, you managed to set straight on the first try.” Grams was wearing a green velvet dress with a white belt, and she looked positively festive. Her hair was a paler shade of red than my burnished copper locks, but it had once been the same color. My hair was now down to my ass, and hers was mid-back. Grams was pushing 122 years old—not an uncommon age for witches entering their senior years, but she was still spry. Folk from Scotland tended to be sturdier, as well. Grams had come over from Scotland to help me learn to control my growing powers.

“Thank you, Lady Morgance.” Fancypants fluttered his wings. His red scales shimmered under the glow of the faerie lights covering the tree. His accent still sounded oddly British, but apparently, dragonettes were born with it. And he always addressed my great-grandmother by her name.

The dragonette had really blossomed out since I found him almost a year ago. Or rather, he had found me. He was a perfect miniature dragon, with red metallic scales, and he had bonded to me when I found his egg in the woods and brought it home. We were bound for life. He wouldn’t grow much bigger. At his biggest, he’d end up the size of a smallish Maine Coone. In fact, even now he wasn’t much bigger than Gem and Silver—my cats.

Bran slipped his arm around my shoulder. In the year we’d been together, we’d become a little family, while I kept my blood family at arm’s length. At least, what was left of them.

My mother and I were still on edge every time we came together. I called her now and then, but it was the most I could do without feeling trapped by Catharine’s narcissism. She had never wanted me, but my father had forced the issue and so, I grew up knowing that—while she loved me—Catharine would have been a lot happier if she’d never gotten pregnant.

Grams let out a satisfied sigh. “Well, why don’t we get to our dinner?” It was Saturday night, and we’d decorated the Yule tree before dinner, so we could eat in the glow of the lights. I followed her into the kitchen, while May and Bran cleared the coffee table so we could set our plates on it.

Grams glanced at me. “Elphyra, are you happy?”

I stopped, tilting my head to look her way. “What do you mean? Why do you ask?”

“So much has happened over the past year in your world. Since the end of the year is always time for reflection, I was just wondering. You don’t have to answer. I just think it’s good to touch base with your feelings.” She opened the oven and pulled out a meatloaf. The potatoes were done and I began to mash them while Grams whisked the gravy.

I thought about what she said as I added milk and butter to the potatoes and began to whip them with the hand mixer. Was I happy? I thought I was, but then, I was good at glossing over uncomfortable feelings. I’d learned the hard way how to compartmentalize my life.

As I scraped the potatoes out of the pot and into a serving bowl, I thought about the past year. Grams was right—so much had happened.

Bran and I had gotten married a little over a year ago, after I had to let go of my other love—the third in our almost-thruple. I still missed Faron, but I loved Bran in a way I never expected to. We lived in my house, while his mother kept Brambleberry Farm.

Grams had her own house, and together, the four of us had created a quiet, secure unit. There was still a hole in my heart, but I’d finally accepted that Faron belonged to his world, and I could never be part of it. As king of the Olympic Wolf Pack, he wasn’t allowed to consort with a non-shifter, unless she was a mere concubine. And I would never be second in any man’s life.

“I think I’m happy, overall. I’m still dealing with PTSD from…” I didn’t want to say it aloud. Not here, not in the comfort of the kitchen.

The violence I’d endured and the torture I’d witnessed still haunted me. Every time I dug too deeply into my emotions, the memories were there, tainting everything that I thought or did with a layer of tension. It took a long time to break through my barricades, but somehow, May and Bran had managed to burrow beneath the surface. So had Faron.

“Anyone who’s been through what you have is bound to have residual anxiety. It can’t help but color your world,” Grams said. “Is therapy helping?”

During the past months, I’d started going to therapy, and my doctor was working with me to establish some semblance of inner peace. Not acceptance—I could never accept what had happened, and not forgiveness—how could I forgive the atrocities the Butcher had been responsible for? But I was aiming for something manageable—to be able to walk away from it, feeling like I was whole. I wanted to mend the pieces so that I didn’t feel broken.

“Yes, I think it is. The doctor’s patient with me, and I’m able to dig deeper than I used to. One thing I’ve come to realize is that, while I loved Rian, I don’t think I was deeply in love with him. That was hard to admit,” I said, glancing over at Grams. “That made me feel like I might have been responsible for his death—if I’d been honest, we wouldn’t have been together that night. Dr. Phelps is helping me work through that belief, as well.”

“Well, that’s a good start,” she said. “Don’t dwell too deeply on my questions, dear. I just wanted to check in with you, since it’s been a busy past month. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk,” she added. Then, carrying the meatloaf, she placed it on the table. I followed, bringing the mashed potatoes and gravy. Bran had already carried in the rolls and the roasted veggies. Dessert was an apple pie, waiting on the counter.

I gave her a quick hug. “Let’s schedule time for a real talk, as soon as possible,” I said. “Now, call May and Bran to dinner. I’ll get the plates and silverware, and fix Fancypants’s plate.” The dragonette ate off a plate, like the rest of us, but he sat in a high chair which was perfect for keeping both him and his food steady. Bran had already set it up in the living room.

I fed the cats, fixed Fancypants’s plate, and then carried the plates and silverware into the living room. As we settled down to eat dinner and watch It’s A Wonderful Life, I thought that truly—for all I’d been through—I really did have a wonderful life. And I couldn’t let the past weigh me down any more than it already did.

***

After the movie, Bran and May volunteered to do the dishes since Grams and I had cooked. I curled up in the rocking chair with the cats on my lap, while Grams wrapped the toys we’d bought for the Caring Tree at Mayfair’s Department Store.

I was about to dive back into the book I was reading when my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Bree Loomis, my best friend.

“Hey, chickie,” I said, answering. “What’s up?”

“You free for a moment?” Bree asked. She ran the Olympic Forest Expeditions Company. Leading tourists through varying levels of hikes and camping trips in the Olympic National Forest, Bree was one of the most competent nature guides to ever grace the area. Her office was in downtown Starlight Hollow, and she was busy all four seasons of the year.

“Yeah, we just finished watching It’s a Wonderful Life, while we ate dinner. We’re just chilling now.” I settled back in the chair, scritching Gem behind the ears. Silver had jumped down and headed into the kitchen the moment he heard dishes rattling, hoping to cadge a nibble from the leftovers. “So, what’s up?”

Bree was a puma shifter, and she usually held her cards close to her chest. But tonight, her emotions blasted through the phone. I could feel the hesitation as she paused, then said, “I found out something and I’m not sure whether you want me to tell you.”

That piqued my curiosity. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “But…I was at my hair dresser’s today. You know how Mimi talks?”

Mimi Welsh was the town hair stylist—well, the most requested. She could do wonders with color and style. But she was also a massive blabbermouth and no secret was safe if it reached her ears. She had the natural talent for ferreting out news that she probably was better off not knowing.

“Uh oh. What did she have to say?” The gossip could be about anybody, but one thing was guaranteed—if it came out of Mimi’s mouth, it was mostly likely the truth. The woman had a nose for accuracy.

“It’s about Faron,” Bree said. “I wouldn’t bother you with it, but I have the feeling you’ll hear it from somebody and it’s probably better coming from me.”

I held my breath. Faron had been seriously wounded while helping Bree and me, and while he recovered, I always wondered if there had been long-term damage. Or, it might be some new injury.

“Okay, tell me.”

“He’s losing his crown.”

I froze, letting the news settle in. “What? How? What happened?”

“That’s the sad part. His wife isn’t pregnant yet, and the Pack forced him to get fertility testing. Faron can’t father children. His wife decided to leave him, and he has to step down because the king must have an heir.” Bree sounded both irritated and sad. Faron had helped save her life, and she’d grown fond of the man she used to dislike.

Hell, I’d found Faron too arrogant and too obnoxious at first, but after I got to know him, that had done a major 180. I felt dizzy.

“He can’t have children? What’s going to happen to the crown?”

Bree let out a long sigh. “His brother Kyle will take the throne on an interim basis. I’m not sure how they’ll determine who becomes king next, but Faron is out.” She paused, then said, “So, did I do right in telling you?”

A whirl of emotions racing through me, I cleared my throat. “Yeah. But…I have to process this. I need to think.”

“There’s another thing I haven’t mentioned yet. I told you his wife was leaving him. But there’s more.”

“More?” Crap. My heart and my mind were both racing. I had so many feels, and so many thoughts, that I could barely hear above the whirring in my head.

“Tonight I was driving home when I saw Daisy Parker on the road. She was near a car that had run into a tree. I stopped to see if I could lend a hand until the medics got there. She asked me to help divert traffic so nobody looky-loos could cause an accident by slowing down to watch.”

“Not Faron?” My voice quivered as my heart jumped into my throat.

“No, not Faron,” Bree said. “But…it was his wife. From what I gather, Lucretia drove off the road, headlong into a tree. She’s dead.”

As the news settled in my heart, I could only stand at the center of the whirlwind that was raging around me. Faron was no longer king. His wife was dead. And as sad as that made me—she’d been a lovely woman—I found myself heading down a direction that I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. I desperately tried to push away the hope rising in my heart.