Page 11 of His Lucky Charm

This had to be the O’Sullivan family record Rafferty had mentioned—the one containing the original accounts of the Guardians.

I approached reverently, professional instincts overriding any concerns about privacy. This book could be the key to understanding Cloverton’s legends… and perhaps to understanding Rafferty himself.

My fingers had just touched the glass case when a sharp voice cut through the silence.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I spun around to find a woman standing in the doorway. She was tall and willowy, with the same auburn hair as Rafferty, though hers was styled in a sleek bob. Her green eyes—so similar to his—regarded me with cool assessment.

“You must be the professor,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m Siobhan. Rafferty’s sister.”

“Dr. Eliot Byrne,” I confirmed, stepping away from the bookcase with what I hoped was casual nonchalance. “I was just…”

“Snooping?” Her smile was sharp. “Raff said you were curious. He didn’t mention you’d go through his private things while he was away.”

Heat crept up my neck. “I wasn’t—that is—Rafferty said I could stay here.”

“In his apartment, yes. Not in his office.” She entered the room, her movements graceful and predatory in a way that reminded me uncomfortably of her brother. “That book you were so interested in? It’s a family heirloom. Very old, very valuable, and very private.”

I cleared my throat. “I apologize. Professional hazard. I’m a historian specializing in folklore, and when I saw—”

“I know who you are and what you do.” She cut me off smoothly. “The question is, do you know what you’re getting into?”

There was something in her tone—a warning, perhaps, or a test. I straightened, meeting her gaze directly.

“If you’re referring to my relationship with your brother, I assure you it’s consensual and—”

She laughed, the sound startlingly similar to Rafferty’s booming laugh despite her slighter frame. “Oh, I’m well aware of how consensual it is. The entire town can practically smell you on each other.”

I blinked, thrown by her bluntness. “Then I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

Siobhan studied me for a long moment, her head tilted slightly as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. Finally, she sighed, some of the tension leaving her posture.

“Raff asked me to check on you. Make sure you were comfortable.” Her smile softened slightly. “He didn’t mention you’d be wearing his clothes.”

I glanced down at the oversized flannel. “He ruined my shirt. It seemed a fair trade.”

“I’m sure he did.” Her eyes flicked to the marks visible above my collar, and her smile turned knowing. “Full moon brings out the animal in him.”

Before I could respond to that loaded statement, she was turning toward the door. “Come on. I’ll make you breakfast, and you can tell me how a rational academic ended up in my brother’s bed.”

I followed her out of the office, closing the door firmly behind me. As we moved to the kitchen, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just passed some sort of test—but what the parameters were, or whether I’d succeeded or failed, remained unclear.

Siobhan moved through Rafferty’s kitchen with familiar ease, pulling out eggs, bacon, and bread for toast. I sat at the counter, watching her work.

“So,” she said, cracking eggs into a bowl, “you’re writing a book debunking our Guardian legend.”

“That was the original plan,” I admitted. “Now I’m not so sure what I’m doing.”

She shot me an amused glance. “Because of Raff?”

“Partially.” I hesitated, then decided honesty was the best approach. “And partially because some things about this town don’t add up. The legend is too consistent across generations. The timing of certain historical events aligns suspiciously well with lunar cycles. And then there’s your family’s connection to it all.”

“Observant,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then, louder, “Most outsiders don’t look that closely.”

“Most outsiders probably aren’t trained historians with a specialization in folklore analysis,” I pointed out.

She laughed again, sliding a plate of perfectly cooked eggs and bacon in front of me. “Fair point. So what’s your theory, Professor? What do you think is happening in Cloverton?”