The man’s hand came around from behind the folds of his cloak, a white rose grasped in his fingers, and Roan saw red.
That was it.
He stalked around the corner of the bar, Beastie immediately following him.
“Why do you have one of my grandmother’s roses?” he asked as he approached the stranger, his voice harsh and unforgiving. “No one is allowed to touch those.”
“Perhaps you should make a sign,” the man said, his voice haughty. “How is one to know that they shouldn’t touch your precious roses if there’s nothing to tell them that? They’re not that pretty, anyway.” He threw the flower to the ground.
Roan’s hands curled into fists unbidden. Who was this stranger to come and cause trouble at The Lucky Goat? His grandparents had built this tavern with their blood, sweat, and tears, and this man had no respect for any of it. First, he’d thrown the door open so hard Roan had thought it might crack, and now he was insulting his grandmother’s roses.
“You are not welcome here,” he said. Perhaps it was hasty to throw out a potential paying customer, but it didn’t seem as if he could pay anyway, and Roan wasn’t here to be a charity.
If the man wanted charity, he should go see his brother Nathaniel, who seemed far more focused on doing good than maintaining what had been left to them by their grandparents.
“I think you should be careful,” the man said, returning his hand to his pocket, his other hand moving to his cloak pocket.
Roan tensed and clicked his tongue for Beastie, who waited by his side, ready for what was to come. If there was to be a knife fight, he wouldn’t want Beastie to be wounded, but the dog was often better than he was at stopping fights before they began.
“You should leave,” Roan said, making an effort to keep his voice more measured. If the man was ready to start a fight, he needed to calm down. He needed to keep his head straight if he was going to be defending himself.
It was his duty to protect everyone in this tavern—not to mention himself.
“Now, now,” the man said, clicking his tongue. Roan reached down to put his hand on Beastie’s head, readyto unleash her if necessary. “I think that this is all a little hasty. After all, I was told to come visit your establishment, but I suppose that you may not be as welcoming as I was led to believe. Perhaps I should make you a little more welcoming.”
What did that mean?
The man continued, mumbling to himself. “Perhaps you should learn to think more of the people in front of you than the roses.”
Roan took a step forward, Beastie staying right at his side.
“I think you’d better leave, sir,” he said, his gaze shifting between the man’s face and his hidden pocket.
“Yes, I think that’s it,” the man said. As he pulled his arm out of his pocket, Roan braced himself to lunge. He stopped short as he noticed it was not a knife, but merely a stick with a small brown egg on the bottom of it.
He barked a laugh. The man had come to threaten him with a stick?
“You should be less of a beast,” the man said, acid dripping from his voice as he waved the stick toward Roan. “Until you learn to care more for people, may you never wake again.”
He looked down at the stick with a puzzled grimace, banging it on the heel of his other hand. “Already out of power?” he said, groaning. “How?”
Roan had seen enough—the man was clearly mad.
He stepped forward to reach for him and take him to the sheriff when the man pointed the stick again with a triumphant “ha,” and a burst of light came out of it, striking Roan squarely in the chest.
Roan startled, but it didn’t hurt.
It hadn’t done anything.
The man turned and ran, and Roan chased after him, reaching out to snag his arm as the man crossed the threshold. But as his body reached the doorstep, he hit something, and his tavern faded into a sparkling rose-colored void.
Chapter two
Abigail
Abigailstirredthestewas the scent of fresh bread filled the air, and she smiled in satisfaction at the three loaves she had just taken out of the oven.
Experimenting with baking their own bread instead of buying from the baker every day had been her idea, and this new recipe smelled successful. She’d have to wait a moment if she wanted to see what they truly looked like on the inside without the crumb being damaged by her trying to slice them before they cooled…but she was far too impatient.
