I dropped the lily and said the one word I said over and over in my life on the road. “Goodbye.”
As I headed back to Lunaris so I could drive to the wake, I caught a flickering shadow out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to search the trees, there was nothing there.
Chapter 2
Ashroud of fog skirted the three-story house my grandad had converted into Shearwater Spa.
I’d hoped the wake would be held at a pub or the local community center, but I could never be so lucky. The Victorian manor’s steeply pointed lintels and roof ridge decorations gave the impression of teeth, the paired windows like many sets of eyes. Its door was newly painted sage green.
“It used to be cardamon,” I said as I parked Lunaris in the farthest bay available, halfway in a hedge.
She unbuckled my seat belt for me in quiet encouragement.
I got out. The rain had inconveniently stopped, so I could hear the spring. Its trickling waters dripped into my ears. A poisonous sound. I hurried inside after a couple of mourners.
The large sitting rooms of the main level had been converted into dining areas for patrons staying the night, and now featured buffet tables laden with crudites and finger sandwiches. Seeing no one I recognized, I went there to gather a plate just to give my hands something to do.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
I jumped, turning to find Fae behind me. “You may be the only one who feels that way. Mum wanted to strangle me.”
“That’s not true. Well, not entirely. It’s just … hard, you know? No one’s fault, just hard.”
Mumdefinitelyviewed it as my fault. I shrugged it off rather than argue. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine. Did you get my letter? I’m going by Fae now. Trying they/them pronouns on for size.”
It had been welcome news when I’d heard. Having another queer family member hadn’t been on my bingo card. “I did get that one. I’m happy for you.”
A frown line appeared between their brows. “You could reply to my letters from time to time, you know?”
I happened to take a bite of a finger sandwich. It had gone soggy, and the texture made me gag. The look of disgust made Fae wince. “Or not.”
Before I could find the words to explain, the man with the osprey from earlier leaned in. “Taliesin Ashborne, I was hoping I could have a word.”
Fae’s expression darkened at the sight of him. “I was just going,” they said, but leaned in to whisper in my ear as they passed. “Find me later? There’s something else I need to tell you.”
I nodded. The man fed a piece of smoked salmon to his osprey familiar. The sound of fish sliding wetly down its gullet made my gorge rise. I gently set my tray of mostly uneaten crudites aside. “Do I know you?”
“No, unfortunately not. You were young when you left Shearwater, so we weren’t acquainted. I’m Westley Warwick. I knew your grandfather quite well, you see. We were business partners.”
I didn’t know my grandfather had any business partners. I recalled him running himself ragged to run the spa on his own. It had not been fruitful back then, the magic all but gone, and with it the tourism keeping our lives afloat.
As if Warwick could read my thoughts, he said, “Yes, it wasn’t much of a business back then, but we did restore it to its former glory, as I’m sure you’ve heard. I wondered if you had any interest in returning more permanently.”
I narrowed my eyes. Westley Warwick wore a tailored suit and a watch valued higher than everything I owned. He did not so much ask questions as make open-ended statements for me to fill. The conversation made me feel like a fish herded into the shallows by a sea lion.
“No. I’m only here for the funeral.”
“Oh, well, I’m very sorry to hear that. It would be good to have you back, particularly after the loss of Edwin. Shearwater will need another Keeper.”
I frowned, about to open my mouth and ask what he meant by that, but he continued, “All the same, I hope you’ll pay me a visit before you go.” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved a business card, matte black with his name in gloss so you could only read it when it was turned to the light. On the reverse were his contact details.
“Give me a call,” he said, then turned to mingle with the crowd.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only shark in the waters of this wake. Gossiping Anne-Marie from down the road interrogated me about my life, then dragged in my uncle Pat, who was not actually my uncle by blood, but a longtime friend of my mum’s we’d forever known as an uncle. He asked if I had a girlfriend. I’d been out of the closet since I was thirteen.
When they’d done with me, other residents of Shearwater took their place, all of them following a similar refrain.
