Page 1 of Ulune's Daughter

Chapter1

Homecoming

KELLAN

“Honey, I’m home.”

I put my bags down and look around the entryway of my empty apartment.

It doesn’t feel like home yet. The tenant I rented it to while I was in Cali painted the walls above the white wainscoting a deep green. He asked my permission and I gave it, but that’s the first thing I need to change. The former owners, my friend Teddy and her three husbands, may be happy to live part of their lives in a cave, but I’m an Air-Witch and I don’t do green.

I weave around boxes stacked in haphazard piles by the movers and make my way through the big, sunshine-filled living room into the kitchen. Jane emailed to say she stocked the fridge for me. My friend and mentor is a goddess.

Poking through several covered dishes, I find Carrie’s tuna salad. I load it into a pair of brioche rolls from the bakery on Main Street, stuff in some lettuce so I don’t feel so bad about the lack of vegetables, grab a chilled bottle of my favorite ginger ale, and carry my lunch out through the back onto the porch.

The back yard is the second-best part about my house. It’s big, secluded by stands of cedar trees on three sides, and has an adorable, carved wood gazebo, strung with fairy lights, set next to a burbling spring that keeps the lawn and flower beds green despite the summer heat that hasn’t faded into Massachusetts’ crisp fall yet.

I sit in one of the overstuffed chairs on the porch and take deep breaths of warm, humid Air. The last few years on Isla Cedros have been amazing. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

But, by the Mother, I’ve missed this.

By the time Jane and Carrie knock on the back door, I have the boxes sorted into the correct rooms to unpack later, the walls sanded, washed, and taped off, ready for the primer and blue paint that will be delivered from the hardware store tomorrow.

I toss the rags I’ve been using to clean into the garbage, pull off my head scarf and shake out my black braid, before meeting them at the door. The apartment’s breezy with the huge windows open, which is why I’ve been drawn to it since I first rented the third floor from Teddy and her guys my senior year at Bevvy. But with the late August heat, it’s more comfortable on the back porch.

The tenant took good care of my furniture, so all the dining set and outdoor couches needed was a wipe-down to be ready for guests. I wave Jane and Carrie to the dining table after giving them both warm hugs.

They unpack the baskets they’ve brought. Caesar salad, steamed fish on a bed of rice, corn on the cob, and Jane’s pecan pie. Carrie opens a bottle of wine and their first toast makes my eyes prickle and my cheeks burn.

“To Professor Wyndham. Welcome home.”

I grab Jane’s slender fingers and squeeze. “Thank you for everything.”

Today, she looks nothing like the Necromancy professor who terrorized my junior year in her little black dresses, court pumps, and severe chignon. Her hair’s down in a straight, salt and pepper fall to her shoulders. Both she and Carrie are wearing sandals and summer dresses, although Carrie has a short-sleeved jacket over hers, tailored to cover her cobra hood. But whatever Jane wears, whatever her expression, this woman has guided and encouraged me through the last seven years to such an extent that I owe my professorship more to her than anyone else.

She squeezes back. “Anything we can do to help you settle in?”

“No, thank you. Give me a few days to unpack and I’ll have a housewarming thing.”

“A housewarmingthing,” Carrie repeats, flashing one of her rare, wry smiles. “I’m sure we can do better than a housewarmingthing. Dessert parties are the latest craze amongst the faculty. Jane will bring the pies. I’ll bring the dessert wine.”

Carrie was definitely a sommelier in another life. Her pairing of wine with whatever we’re eating has never been anything but perfect.

Despite the calories of a dessert and wine party, I’m all for it. “That sounds wonderful. And, of course, I’ll let you know as soon as the exhibit’s ready. You get a private tour before the grand opening.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Jane says with an enthusiasm she usually reserves for baked goods. “You keep downplaying your discovery, but a whole lost civilization of mages, I can only imagine what we can learn?—”

She breaks off as a huge, albino crow flutters onto the porch. It stares at us with ruby eyes.

We all wait to see if the crow is just a crow. Although Bevington is extensively warded, the wards have been defeated before.

When the crow does nothing more than stalk around the porch a few times and peck at the floorboards between its toes, we slowly relax.

“Very handsome,” Carrie observes. “I forget how large ravens are until I see one up close.”

I nod. A raven. I should have realized it was too big to be a crow. It’s the size of a small dog. The dark red eyes peering back at me are eerily alert and perceptive.

I fork the fish skin left in the serving dish onto my plate and put it on the porch floor, scooting it away from the table with my foot. “I’m sure it’s come because it smelled the fish.”

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