GRIFFITH
“You don’t haveto chauffeur us,” Carl says from the passenger seat of his SUV.
The guy prefers to drive around in something other than his cruiser when off duty, so he keeps this vehicle in one of the garage bays next to my boat. The moment he picked up the keys, I snatched them from his fingers.
“You just got off a night shift, and your sister is half asleep.” I flick my blinker on as we make a turn, though there’re so few cars on this road that I don’t really need to bother. “This is a public service.”
Carl huffs a dark laugh. In the rearview, I watch Clementine lean against her dog, eyes closed more often than they’re open. After the interrogation by the big players in town, I wanted to send the Divos siblings off to bed.
But no one was going to let town security lapse for a nap.
Besides, Clementine will sleep better if we can find her a permanent mend for that wound.
I turn onto a two-lane road that will take us to the Of the Wing territory on Lake Galen. An area only winged mythics are supposed to permanently inhabit, but the Shelly sisters—two witches—received special permission to live in a house formerly owned by a dragon. Just ahead are the taillights of Selena’s car. We don’t need to be escorted by the witch in order to visit the Folk Haven Public Mythic Library. The place may be owned and run by a witch, but Morgana Shelly opened her collection to any mythic or human in the know.
Plus, her mate is my buddy, Bo, a monster I’ve known since I was a toddler.
As we drive the twisty way through the woods, breaks in the branches hint at sparkling Lake Galen. The spring temperatures are warming fast, and I’m looking forward to a dip in the clear waters.
My attention slips to the backseat again, and I think about Clementine’s six months of never taking her other form. Never swimming like she was meant to. When I wished that she’d leave Folk Haven, I forgot how that meant she’d likely settle somewhere that she’d need to hide her mythic form for the rest of her life. There’s a freedom here in our town. A community that protects one another and creates a safe space to be ourselves.
Sure, not everyone in the town gets along, and there are outside visitors, so we don’t have werewolf parades down Main Street, but this place is special. And Clementine hasn’t existed in this supportive environment for nine years.
Seems selfish now to wish that she would leave. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, guilt like a thorn in the butt of my pants.
Selena turns down a gravel drive, and I follow her. We come upon an impressive Victorian house that looks like a home from another time period. On the front door is a gold plaque that reads:Folk Haven Public Mythic Library.
Hopefully, early in the morning means we’ll have less of an audience.
Carl reaches back to give his sister’s leg a gentle squeeze, and she jerks awake, eyes wild. Once she absorbs her surroundings, the tension eases out of her muscles, and she climbs out of the car alongside us, Shrimp on her heels.
Before our group can even mount the stairs, the front door opens, and a petite redhead with pale skin and big green eyes walks out. She’s cradling a steaming mug, wearing a flowery robe, and she doesn’t seem surprised to see us.
“Hi, Selena. You want to talk to Mor.” The redhead says the last as a statement rather than a question, but that’s often how the youngest Shelly communicates. With an air that she knows more than you’ve revealed, only not in a condescending way. “She’s in the research room.” Her eyes alight on the rest of us. “Hi, Griffith. Hi, Carl. Hi, stranger.” She gives all of us a wave, then turns to yell over her shoulder, “Lucky! There’s a dog! Bring bacon!”
And only a moment later, a black cat comes scampering out of the house, slice of bacon in its mouth. The feline leaps down the steps, landing in front of Shrimp. It drops the bacon, then proceeds to purr and twine around the dog’s legs. Shrimp appears perfectly happy with the affection and immediately accepts the meaty offering, the strip disappearing in one bite.
“Your familiar is too friendly,” Selena scolds as she climbs the steps and enters the house.
The young woman only shrugs and sips from her mug.
“Clem,” Carl starts, “this is Ame Shelly. Ame, this is my sister, Clementine.”
“I go by Clem,” she corrects.
“Nice to meet you, Clem. You want to find the cure for a wound.”
Clementine blinks in astonishment.
“It’s my magic,” Ame explains. “I can see people’s wants and desires. Normally, I block it all out, but it’s morning, I haven’t finished my tea, and my werewolf white-noise machine is in the kitchen, cooking the bacon.” She smiles at the two all-black animals that are now nose to nose. “Your dog is welcome inside. If you see a raccoon, that’s Charm, and they live here too. Let’s go find a comfy chair for you, Clem.” With that, Ame turns and disappears through the open doorway.
“A raccoon?” Clementine asks in a whisper as she heads up the stairs herself, walking slowly, as if she’s still in pain. She probably is. Without thinking about it, I move to her side and offer my hand. She blinks at me in bewilderment. “What are you doing?”
“Offering you support,” I grunt, wondering why my face feels so hot all of a sudden.
“Oh.” She glances down at the last step. “I’m good.” She steps up it. “Thanks though.”
“Sure.”
