CHAPTER ONE
I handed the star to Fancypants and he flew up to the top of the tree and carefully tucked it on top, plugging it into the rest of the lights. As he flew down to land on my shoulder, the star lit up, sparkling with a warm red glitter. Bran, Grams, and May clapped. The tree was gorgeous, decked out in gold and green and red ornaments, illuminating the living room with a warmth we desperately needed. The winter had already been a rough one with storm after storm coming through, and now it was snowing.
May peeked out the window. “I haven’t seen it snow like this in years,” she said. “We usually get some snow, but this is going to break records if it keeps up.”
Bran glanced out the window, looking over her shoulder. “I’m glad the men got the animals in early. We’re going to have to make sure the heater in the barn is on.”
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.
