Page 40 of Pack Nightmare

“Right-o,” Derrek says, then strides forward and climbs the porch, rapping lightly on the door. The rest of us remain in the clearing below.

After a moment, the door opens, and the fuzzy outline of an older woman appears through the screen door. She studies Derrek for a moment before speaking in a croaky, ancient voice. “Leaf? Is that you?”

My eyes dart to the others, who are all glancing at each other, confused. Who the hell is Leaf?

“Hi, Grannie,” Derrek answers sheepishly.

“By the goddess, it is you! Come in, come in, bring your friends. It’s about to be very wet outside.”

Derrek turns and gestures for us to come forward, a delighted grin on his face. Lex takes the first step, and we fall in behind her. He holds the door open for us to pass through, and we end up in a small, cluttered but cozy living room, complete with a blazing fireplace. It’s filled with earthy knickknacks; dried plants dangle from strings overhead, polished river stones, bowls of snail shells and particularly colorful leaves.

Speaking of…

“Leaf?” I mutter to Derrek.

“Yes, that’s his name,” the old lady’s voice calls from her tiny kitchen. “His true name. My Anya named him that, because he trembled like a little leaf after he was born.” She comes shuffling out and I finally get a good look at her. While she’s a little stooped, she’s still tall for a woman, easily a half foot taller than Lex. She’s wearing a long wool dress, with a thick shawl wrapped over her shoulders and pinned with an enamel brooch shaped like a fox.

“I’m Leaf’s Grannie. You are welcome to call me the same. Or Shuya, if you must. It’s so nice to meet you all.” Her voice may be a little shaky and the soft folds of her skin definitely speak of age, but there’s nothing else that seems old about this woman. Her movements are sharp, almost bird-like, but more like a hawk than a dove. Glittering, clear eyes, dark blue like deep water, rove over each of us, and I feel stripped naked under her gaze. Something tells me she misses nothing.

“Grannie, this is Jared, Landon, and Milo,” Derrek introduces us. “And this is-“

“Harridan.” She cuts him off. “Not a doubt in my mind.” Her sharp gaze travels over Lex, landing on her eyes and holding her gaze.

Lex does well. She lifts her chin and gazes back at the old woman patiently.

“Layla Harris,” my mate corrects her.

“Bah, you’re a Lilliana, through-and-though. Whatever you call yourself.” Shuya steps forward, almost uncomfortably close to Lex, and I resist the urge to intervene. Lex doesn’t move a muscle.

“Yep,” the old woman mutters, seemingly to herself. “Definitely Lilliana. You’re… something different, though, aren’t you, girl? You don’t taste the same as the others.”

Something in my stomach clenches. Just the way she says taste makes me think of Hansel and Gretel, and the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

“Grannie can taste magic,” Derrek rushes to explain as my brothers and I bristle. “It’s how most witches operate.”

“That’s right,” she agrees, stepping back and bustling into her kitchen again. “You’re all from the old pack. I could taste it on the air before you even came inside.” The high, keening whistle of a teakettle rises, then falls again almost immediately. “Sit!” The old lady barks. “I’m coming with the tea.”

Derrek gestures us to a wide table made from rough planks and moves toward the kitchen.

“Sit down, Leaf. I don’t need your help. I’m not dead yet,” she chuckles drily.

We slide into the bench seats on either side, Jared beside Lex and Landon with me, leaving the end seats for Derrek and Shuya.

She busies herself pouring tea, distributing delicate, handmade clay cups to each of us, along with a plate of cookies that have tiny flowers baked onto the top.

“Grannie, I-”

“Oh, I know why you’re here. Calm down,” she mutters, finally easing into the wooden chair. “We’ll get to that. Just be a civil guest for a few minutes and enjoy your tea.” She leans to the side, stage-whispering to Lex. “Always in a hurry, this one.”

Lex grins and lifts her cup, sniffing the fragrant steam.

I examine my cup, more than a little dubious about the contents. Aside from Derrek, the others are all hesitating, blowing on the steam or sniffing it suspiciously.

“Oh, for goddess’ sake, I’m not trying to poison you. It’s just chamomile.” The old lady lifts her mug and takes a long sip. “I grow it in my garden. It’s good for soothing the nerves and you lot seem about to shake out of your skin.”

The snort pushes from my nose, but I obediently sip the scalding-hot tea—it’s definitely just chamomile—and reach for a cookie. It’s some sort of shortbread and has a delicate purple sprig on the top.

After the buildup of excitement to get here, then being told to slow down and be polite guests, I’m left a little confused as to how we’re supposed to proceed. Shuya seems quite content to enjoy her tea and cookies without speaking, and the rest of us follow suit. I can’t help but wonder if she truly knows why we’re here. Also, why she and Derrek aren’t even speaking… from the sounds of it, she hasn’t seen him in at least a decade… isn’t she curious about what he’s been up to? Or has he been here more recently than he let on?

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