Page 16 of Wicching Hour

Frank had moved beside his sister, looking out the windows. Even Carter was watching.

“Okay, sometimes they get a little scared. Aunt Hester, why don’t you come out with me? We’ll move slowly and quietly. Daisy sometimes panics. You’ll place the muffins on the deck and then we’ll move back so they feel more secure getting them. Guaranteed, Jasper will snatch his and run. Otis and Daisy are much more polite.” I waved her forward. “Come on.”

Hester looked a little nervous but happy to be involved. When I opened the door, Declan looked up and the raccoons froze and then scampered to him, hiding under the bench behind his legs.

“I think they caught Carter’s scent,” Declan said. “They used to do the same when they caught mine. The more they see you and understand you’re not going to eat them, the more they’ll relax.”

“I don’t know,” Carter said. “It seems healthier for them if they continue to run when they scent wolves and bears.”

Frank and Faith shared a surprised look. Apparently, they weren’t aware of the shifter status of one or both men.

“It’ll be okay,” I said, walking out the door with Hester close behind me. “Good evening, Otis, Daisy, and Jasper. Did you have a good nap today?” I crouched down and saw Otis peeking around Declan’s leg. “We have some food for you.”

Hester moved beside me and crouched, placing the muffins in a kind of semicircle around us. We both stood and stepped back toward the open door.

One raccoon moved out first. He rested a paw on Declan’s boot and assessed the situation.

“That one is Otis,” I whispered. “He’s deciding if it’s safe for his siblings to come out.”

After a moment of scenting the wind, his gaze darting between all of us, he chittered and the other two came around either side of Declan’s legs. Otis went to the muffins, chose the blueberry, and took a bite, eating warily as he watched us. Jasper raced forward and grabbed the other two. Otis made an angry squawking sound I hadn’t heard before. Jasper dropped the second muffin but took his to the edge of the deck, farther from us. Daisy finally came and picked up the last muffin, but then ran back behind Declan’s legs to eat it.

“They’re not normally this nervous,” Declan explained in his deep, rumbly voice, “but there are lots of new people and scents tonight.”

“Oh, good,” Bracken said, walking toward us from the far end of the deck where his RV was parked. “They came to me earlier for something to eat. I tried to explain that I had nothing, but I wasn’t sure if they understood.”

Bracken was my great-uncle who, at least for now, was living in his RV right beside my gallery. He was a historian, studying both human and supernatural history. He’d written best-selling nonfiction books, and I’d known next to nothing about him before a month or so ago. As Elizabeth had said earlier, he was the black sheep of the family.

I believed more than anything he’d done or hadn’t done, the issue some of the family had with Bracken related to his being on the spectrum. That was my take on the situation, but I wasn’t a doctor. For ages, wicches had to hide who they were or risk burning and hanging. My guess was that had something to do with our intolerance of difference, of anything that might call attention to us.

Bracken had been shunned decades ago. Consequently, he’d been living on his own, far away from us for all of my life. Speaking as another of this family’s misfit toys, I loved having him around. And as I’d said to my aunt, he was dead useful.

Bracken noticed the people in the gallery staring out the windows at him and froze, not unlike the raccoons.

Elizabeth came around the far side of the gallery to pick up her kids. Seeing the crowd, she paused. “Hello, Uncle Bracken. Do you remember me? I’m Elizabeth.” She moved slowly toward him, and he stayed put. Taking his hand, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I was so happy to hear that you’d come home.”

Bracken studied her a moment and then looked at me. He’d told me once that looking at me calmed him. He said my face was perfectly symmetrical and that perfection soothed his jangled nerves. “Thank you.” He was talking to her but still looking at me. “My condolences on the recent death of your sister.”

Elizabeth nodded and then gestured to the windows. “These are my children. May I introduce them to you?”

“You married a bear shifter? I doubt my sister was pleased with that,” he said.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Carter—whom Bracken had met a few days ago—watching all this unfold.

“No,” I said. “Carter works security for me. He’s an Osso. Aunt Elizabeth is referring to her two children, Frank and Faith. Their father is a Bishop.” I waved them out and they slowly came to the door, unsure of their reception.

Bracken, who could easily become overwhelmed by too much new at once, glanced at the teens a moment and then back at me. “It’s very nice to meet you both. You have lovely children, Elizabeth. Faith has the shape of your face and your smile. They both have your eyes. I assume Frank has his father’s facial structure. He has a stronger jaw and wider brow than most Coreys.”

I studied Frank’s astonished face and laughed. “You’re right. Frank does look a great deal like Elizabeth’s husband, Robert. You know, they’re all going to be coming here to dinner on Tuesday to discuss our family’s problem.” Carter already knew. I’d needed him to be aware of a sorcerer issue, but I didn’t like speaking her name when we were out in the open. I didn’t want the wind to carry it to her.

“Elizabeth and her family have certain skills,” I continued, “that most Coreys do not.”

He looked at Elizabeth with new interest. I knew that’d get him.

“If you’re free then,” I continued, “we’d love to have you join us so you can share what you’ve learned.”

His gaze dropped to my feet. I looked down and realized that all three raccoons were with me now, watching Bracken as though they too were waiting for his answer.

The corner of his mouth quirked up and he finally said, “I’ll do what I can to join you.”

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