Page 61 of Wicche Hunt

“It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head, placing the empty muffin carrier on the coffee table.

“Why?”

He sighed. “I don’t want to say anything negative about your family. You have one and it’s large and complicated. Some are evil, others incredibly kind. I don’t have that, have never had that. It was just my aunt and me, so my perspective is probably skewed.”

Stirring the stew, I considered his words. “I’ll take all of that into consideration, but I’d like to know what was going on in your head. I’ve shared a ton about me, and it hasn’t been easy.”

“Okay. I like your gran. I do. But undermining your mom, always being on your side, even when you wanted to do something dangerous—your mom was right. You shouldn’t have been playing in an abandoned cannery—it feels manipulative. She was keeping the Cassandra close and loyal while freezing out her daughter. It rubs me the wrong way.” He paused a moment. “But maybe I’m just pissed that they don’t want mixed blood in your family.”

I turned back to the stove and continued stirring. It was starting to bubble. “Almost ready.” Ignoring the tears running down my face, I pulled one of my mixing bowls out of the cupboard and poured the contents of the pot into it.

“Arwyn?” His voice was deep, grumbly, and too sympathetic. I didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to think about this at all. If I could have gone back in time and unasked the question, I would have.

I did a quick glamour spell so my face looked normal, and brought Declan his dinner.

He put it aside and held out his hand for me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No. I’m fine. You eat, okay. I’m just going to run upstairs to the bathroom. My stomach is off.” I climbed the stairs quickly, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. I tried to hold it in. My stomach hurt from trying to hold back the tide. When a gasp escaped, I turned on the shower to mask it.

Crying into a towel, I rethought a million interactions with my mom and gran, recasting the villain. I tried to convince myself there were no villains, just different levels of love and loyalty, but after hearing what my mom had been going through, to have her own mother rolling her eyes and indulging me hurt my heart. I’d spent most of my life misunderstanding my mom’s fear of losing me, but Gran knew. She never pulled me aside to explain why my mom was the way she was. She let me disrespect her. Mom ended up with no love and a daughter that was a hostile brat.

I’d been too young to understand why my mother seemed cold and distant. As a child, I’d decided she disapproved of me, and I’d held onto that belief my whole life. All the years lost because I couldn’t see her clearly.

TWENTY-FOUR

I Think You Need a Day Off from Evil. It’s Really Affecting Your Mood

Asoft knock sounded at the door and then Declan walked in, pulling me into his arms and turning off the shower. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head into his chest. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not. They’re your family and you love them.” He squeezed his big arms around me, kissing the top of my head. A moment later, his stomach rumbled.

I wiped my face and leaned back. “Let me see what else I can find you.”

“No. I still have the stew downstairs. I haven’t eaten it yet.”

“Why not? You’re starving.” I broke away from him and snagged a wad of toilet paper to dry my face.

“Did you think I was just going to sit down there eating while you were up here crying?”

“Kind of. Yeah.” I threw the wad in the trash and went for the door. “Come on. Enough of that. Time to eat.”

Declan reached for me as I walked by. “Arwyn.”

“Nope. Let’s go.” I went downstairs and checked his bowl. “Still hot. Let me know if you want it hotter.” I went to the kitchen. “In fact, I have some sourdough rolls you can eat with it. Give me a minute.” I defrosted them with a spell and then popped them in the oven. “They won’t be exactly like coming out of their first bake, but they heat up pretty well.” I turned to him and found him watching me again. “Do you like butter with your bread?”

“Sure, but how about if you sit with me and we’ll watch a British mystery again? Something to take your mind off everything else.” He ate a large spoonful. “And this is delicious. Thanks for dinner.”

“I’m glad you like it. My mom made it. I bake. I don’t know how to do all the other stuff.” I took the rolls out, split and buttered them, and then brought one to Declan and bit into the other. The warmth was nice. What I needed.

“You should eat something besides a roll.” He held out a spoon of stew again and this time, I took it. “Why don’t you finish it? You gave me four servings.”

“Six. This roll is good for now. I’m not up to eating a lot.” I took another bite and enjoyed the crusty, buttery-ness. “Tea. I could use some tea.” I went back to brew myself a pot before returning to Declan and the couch. By then, he had the screen down and the guide up.

I don’t have a standard television. I had a screen built into the ceiling that comes down on a remote, with a mounted projector and some streaming services. I don’t watch shows very often, usually reading in the evenings. I used this side of my studio as my living room, but it was still a huge open studio space. I had storage closets across the room from the couch and didn’t want to mount a screen on a closet door, and I had no desire for a freestanding screen at the edge of the lounging area. I would have knocked that thing over a dozen times when I was moving around thirty-foot tentacles in here. Phil, my contractor, suggested this setup and it’d worked well.

“Are we sticking with the vicar solving crimes in his sleepy yet murderous village? Or should we watch some baseball?”

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