Emmy scurried past my aunt without a backward glance atme.
Lucy had slimmed down considerably, or perhaps it was an illusion cast by her choice of attire—a simple black sheath belted at the waist. As I kept staring at her, I realized it wasn’t an illusion. Her milky-pale cheeks had lost their roundness, and her freckled arms seemed too narrow for her column of bangles. Even her eyes had gone through a transformation. They carried haunted shadows, as though grief had absorbed into the fragile skin of her lids and swelled herorbits.
“What are you doing here, Ness?” sheasked.
“I came to see Mrs.Morgan.”
“Mrs. Morgan doesn’t care for visitors.EspeciallyBoulders.”
She spoke the word as though we were something glued to the bottom of her shoe. Granted, she wasn’t a werewolf, but being the wife of a wolf and the mother of another had made her just as much of a Boulder as Iwas.
“She told me to stopby.”
“I very much doubt that.” I started advancing, but she blocked the entrance of the living room. “You are no longer welcomed here.Leave.”
I reined in my annoyance by tightening my hold on my bag’s crossbody strap. “Lucy, Ihaveto talk toher.”
“I’ll let her know you stopped by. Now,go.”
“Lucy?” came another voice that always made my hacklesrise.
Her hazel eyes widened, and she mouthed, “Go,” again, but I didn’t heed hercommand.
Surely Aidan would allow me to meet with his cousin. He appeared behind my aunt and then slowly brushed past her. “Miss Clark, to what do we owe the pleasure of yourvisit?”
“I came to seeSandra.”
“Huh.” His lips twitched, and then his fingers rose to his earlobe, and he rubbed it—one of his weird little ticks. He did it when he was nervous, but he also did it when he was intrigued. His stealthy smile told me it was the latter. “Right thisway.”
My aunt—former aunt—went as rigid as marble. “Aidan, I—I don’t think it’s a good idea. We don’t know what her intentionsare.”
“My intentions?” I said. “You think I came to burn down theinn?”
Her nostrilsflared.
“My rose”—Aidan ran a knuckle along the pillar that was Lucy’s neck—“do not fear for our safety. You know we could snap her like a twig before she’d even have time to strike amatch.”
I let out a lowhiss.
Leering at me, Aidan started toward the living room but stopped and patted his thigh. “Come alongnow.”
“I’m not a dog,” Isnapped.
“Oh, I know. I’m fond of dogs; I’m not particularly fond ofyou.”
The feeling wasmutual.
Lucy didn’t even blink as I passed by her, didn’t even twitch, but I caught the spike of her pulse and the aroma of something cold and tinny wafting over her heavy rose-and-tobacco scent: fear. Was Lucy truly scared I’d set the inn on fire? My aunt had never been a very caring person—at least not toward me—but believing me capable of arson was a whole newlevel.
The leather couches in the living room had been arranged in a semi-circle around the massive stone fireplace blackened by a recent fire, and the Native-American patterned rugs had been dragged in the middle. They overlapped and were strewn with throw pillows as though the yellow-stuccoed living room had become a hippycampsite.
“You like our new décor?” Aidanasked.
I eyedhim.
“I think it’s much moreconvivial.”
“Do the rest of your hotels look likethis?”
