I chuckled, the fury now escaping from me as his mood clearly improved. Agatha sprang back to mind since the topic of the house had been moved past. “Dad, I have something to tell you. It’s about my run today. Something, um, something happened on my run.”
His head perked up with a concerning expression and I carefully explained what had happened. All while struggling not to cry myself.. By the end, he sat there with a look of shock and some other unknown guise mixed in. Dad lived here longer than I had, which made this even more startling that someone had been murdered in this town.
“Staked with a cross? Who would be sick enough to do that to Miss Agatha?” He frowned in thought. Then, reaching across the coffee table, he claimed my hand nearest to him with a look of concern. “How are you? This is your first time seeing something like that.”
I shrugged while toying with a chip in the coffee table with my other hand. My finger slid along the jagged grooves that time had smoothed, wondering if I was okay or not. “I mean, it was unnerving. But, I’ve seen enough of our livestock dead by coyotes that it didn’t bother me that much.” I admitted with more nonchalance than I meant to. Thiswasdifferent and I mourned the loss of her, but I doubt I’d go any further in the grieving process beyond crying.
I had mourned my whole life for a mother I didn’t remember. There wasn’t much left in me to give beyond tears and an aching heart. What could I give when I gave it all to my mother?
My father let out a sound that let me know he didn’t believe me. I was being honest, but he still thought I was his sensitive little girl who used to cry over roadkill.
He must’ve forgotten the day he taught me how to kill a pig.
“Well, if you want to talk about it then I’m sure that Dr. Bailey can—.”
I cut him off instantly by rising back to my feet and saying, “Respectfully, I don’t think I need a therapist, Dad. I told you, it wasn’t as scarring as seeing a gutted pig or chopping the head off a chicken for the first time.”
He did not use any words in his response; rather, he simply shrugged and let his gaze rest on the fire. At this point, the contract had been totally devoured by the flames, and it was now nothing more than ash. I looked back at my father todiscover the same fire that was burning inside the brick hearth, flared in his eyes with a fearsome ire.
There was definitely more to the narrative than what he shared with me, but I was also aware that he was too resolute to reveal the entirety of it. Having already given up before I had ever begun, I left the living room and went upstairs to rid myself of the smell of the forest. In the daytime, it always had a distinct smell to me, and I never found it to be enjoyable.
My jogs during the night, on the other hand, were a whole other sensation. Everything was more pleasant at night. It came with a crisper scent and musical vibrato in the air. My love for the dark caused me to gain some negative attention, due to small town superstition about the dark and the ignorance as to why I would find it appealing.
As I walked into the bathroom, I thought to myself that it was a tragic existence that they chose to live. A life confined to superstition and strict religious folly was a life I could not enjoy. The world was too vast to be scared of what ifs and divine intervention that may or may not occur.
Change, good or bad, was welcomed by me since nothing interesting ever happened around here.
Chapter Two
Isadora and Ambrose
Holding a map in her hands, Isadora Dumas let out a shrill noise of discontent as she stared at the fir trees that surrounded her and her younger cousin, Ambrose Amonette. Every direction looked the same. Endless green needles. Dark trunks. No landmarks. No path that felt certain or intentional.
The forest around them seemed to swallow the sound, leaving only the faint rustle of branches overhead and the soft crunch of earth beneath her designer boots. Maybe they weren’t the right ones to leave home with, but she had made the decision on a whim and now she was stuck with it. And struggling as a result.
Human maps were so hard to read. Lifeless trees scribbled on with lines and symbols that expected the owner to already know where they were going. The maps made by warlocks were enchanted to guide the holder wherever they wished to go, regardless of the direction or distance. You simply followed, and the magic did the rest. This mundane one offered no such mercy.
She would have used her phone, but there was no cell service where they were. No signal bars. Not even enough for a drop of data to reach through. Therefore, they were completely and utterly lost with nothing but a paper map to mock her frustration.
"Admit it, cousin." Ambrose sighed as he gently swiped blood from the corner of his lips. He had caught an unsuspecting deer on its nightly jaunt, leaving it discarded behind him to be devoured by those who enjoyed the taste of death. "You don't have the ability to read that map. Now you have gone and caused us both to become lost."
Isadora's amber eyes moved in the direction of her cousin. Their eyes were nearly identical in color, yet entirely different in presence. Where hers flickered with irritation and wounded pride, his remained still and unreadable, as if emotion were something he observed rather than experienced.
It was only because of his insistence and his inability to conceal anything from her father, their coven leader, that she ultimately agreed to bring him along. Worse, he wore that loyalty like a badge of honor. It was pathetic.
If she had been given the opportunity to make a different decision, Isadora would have left him behind in Shadowhaven.
She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath through her nose before releasing and drawing another. She forced the familiar heat of her temper to settle before it could erupt. "Forgive me for saying,” she replied at last, her voice clipped with the annoyance that didn’t subside with her irritation, “but if you want to reply like such a smart ass then maybe you would be better at map duty.”
She shoved the folded paper into his chest and turned away before he could come up with another clever response. Her boots carried her a few steps farther down the uneven forest floor. Pine needles crunched beneath her heels as she put distance between them, her hands flexing at her sides.
If he believes that he is more capable of doing it. Then he can take on the duty of leading the group.
In his usual calm and collected manner, he responded, "I never once said I was capable. I was simply pointing out your shortcomings."
The insult landed exactly as he planned, mirroring the efforts of his idol she called her brother. Lucien Dumas.
Isadora bared her fangs, a jagged hiss tearing from her throat before she could stop herself. Her restraint snapped momentarily under the weight of his condescension. Ambrosedid not flinch. He did not retreat. He only watched her, unimpressed by her reaction. It was predictable for Isadora.
