Page 36 of Demon and the Raven

Crap. “Listen, I⁠—”

“Are you kidding?”

I had no idea his voice could go up a whole other decibel without my brain exploding, but I remained alive, at least for the moment. “I just⁠—”

“This woman tells you that something was so powerful, it burned up the rift when it came through and mutilated her friend, and you think it might be bad?”

“Okay, no. Sorry. That was wrong. I know it’s bad.”

“Then why aren’t you freaking out?”

It was my upbringing. The issue was, I’d been trained, for years, not to panic. Dealing with all things paranormal required one to stay calm, especially in the face of danger, and not come unglued until every possible outcome had been exhausted. Having heard about the threat to Osprey, but not coming face-to-face with it, I was on guard but not terrified. When I was scared down deep in the marrow of my bones, only then did I panic. I wasn’t there yet. Lorne on the other hand…

“What the fuck, Xander!” he roared again, grabbing hold of my hand. “What if this thing is what killed Kathy Hayes?”

“Why would some evil entity be after Kathy?”

“The hell if I know, but something is in our town, and two weeks ago a nymph was torn apart, and now a woman is dead! Think about it. Isn’t this how it started when Megan Gallagher was killed?”

“Yes, but that was done to try and take control of the rift on Corvus. Whatever this is already came through.”

“But all those wolves and the people who came with them that initially attacked you last time—this is the same thing.”

“You can’t simply jump to that conclusion.”

“And why not? To me, it seems like this thing is planning to use our rift to move on.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly, it was doubtful he had any idea how happy he made me. But even as furious and worried as he was, still, in the middle of all that, he called the portal I guarded with my life ours.

Ours.

Most people might not want to be stuck on a tract of land in upstate New York in a tiny town for the rest of their lives. It couldn’t possibly be where anyone wanted to end up. Even if you were fine living a simple life, most people still wanted to have some adventure. They wanted to see the world and reach for the stars. If you were born into my family, however, you didn’t get a choice.

There were the gifts that came with being a witch or mage, but no one would ever know beyond your family and friends. While it was true that people in town called me a witch, the fact was that very few had ever seen me do anything even remotely magical. In all honesty, it was more of a derogatory term than anything else. The thing was, though, I’d been entrusted with a sacred responsibility, and I would never abandon my post. And now, amazingly, I had a man I was in love with, who was happy to remain in this little corner of the world with me for the rest of his life. Furthermore, he wanted to marry me. I had no idea how I’d won the life lottery, and because of that, I was both deliriously happy and terrified he would change his mind. It was one of the reasons I found the idea of a justice of the peace so appealing. I wanted to put a ring on his finger as soon as possible. Not that he couldn’t ask me for a divorce down the road, but whereas normally, I would worry and obsess about that, thinking perhaps five years from now he’d want out, there were things he did that made me think he was in this for the long haul.

Like, every morning before he rolled out of bed, he would hug me and tell me he loved me. And it wasn’t one of those quick ones; instead, he would wrap me in his arms so tight, I could feel the beat of his heart. Best way to start a day.

Before he poured his coffee, he’d thank his home for sheltering and protecting him. He’d told me it wasn’t something he’d ever done before moving in with me. But he never missed the chance now. Amazingly, his words would bring on a deep, earthy, sort of song-of-fall aroma that wafted through our home.

There had always been wonderful scents in the cottage, from lemon and verbena, petrichor and old books, to hot cocoa and oud. But for Lorne, because we’d met in autumn and he’d first visited in that season, even in the middle of summer, there would come a burst of pumpkin, but like outside, in the dirt, more pulp than pie, a hint of vanilla, the forest in the fall, chai, and baking bread. He would stand there, cup to his lips, hand on the counter, and grin at me. There was no doubt that both me and his home were madly in love with the man.

And finally, before he left the house, he waited while I sprinkled salt on the floor and had him walk over it, put a sprig of lavender in his back pocket, and then gently dusted him with cinnamon, all the while speaking softly, asking for protection while he was out in the world. Never once did he complain, and there was only a kiss before he closed the door behind him. Small rituals that told me he was grounded in his new life. I couldn’t have been any happier.

“Are you listening to me?” he asked harshly, bringing me out of my gossamer thoughts. He was clipping his words as we turned down our cul-de-sac, Cider Lane, where Corvus, the Johnson Apiary, and the Wingate Farm were, except we didn’t have a circular end that made it easy to turn around. The street simply stopped at trees. “Xan?”

“I am,” I promised, noticing Pete coming toward us in a police vehicle. Normally, on a Friday night, just a bit before midnight, the only thing on the two-lane road were assorted animals—deer, opossums, rabbits, and the occasional black cat.

“What the hell,” Lorne grumbled, stopping to find out what Pete wanted. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I came to get you,” he answered, and I saw how tired he appeared.

Argos jumped from the floor to my lap and then out my window. He landed lightly on the cobblestone driveway that led from the street to the small spot we had cleared for Lorne’s vehicle. Argos sat on the path for a moment, then darted left, trotting around the side of the house and disappearing into the shadows. He had definitely wanted to be home, and while he tended to ramble all over Osprey, tonight he seemed to have a singular destination in mind.

Taking off my seat belt, getting out of the car, I left Lorne and Pete to talk shop. Walking up the cobblestone drive, not following Argos’s path but instead striding to the right, I slipped between two of the many enormous hydrangea bushes lining the driveway.

Sinking to the ground, I pushed my hands into the dirt and thanked the land for answering my call earlier in the night.

You were away, the land said.