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She gasped. “You saw Bruno before you even met him?”
“Yes.”
Millie was silent for so long that I asked, “Millie, you still there?”
“Yes. It’s just . . . you have visions.”
She went quiet again, and I took advantage of the silence to ask her a burning question. “The dream you had of Jacob at the cave—I wanted to know if anything odd like that has ever happened again.” I explained some of the things that had happened when we were growing up and asked if she had experienced the same.
“No. Aside from the dream I had about Jacob, that’s all I’ve experienced.”
She sounded disappointed, and I wished there was a way I could share my powers with her. But before I could ask her another question, Millie asked, “Can we talk about Bruno?”
“No.” That was a hard no. I was not ready to discuss him with anyone, except maybe Miti.
“Okay, but can we do this at some point soon?”
“Maybe.”
After a moment, she said quietly, “Jacob’s a wolf shifter, and you’re a witch. I’m feeling a bit left out.”
I laughed. “Thanks, Millie.”
“Any time, Lira. I love you.”
Bruno
I woke up with a splitting headache. Peeling my eyelids open, I found everything out of focus and my surroundings smelled like garbage. After rubbing my eyes a few times, they cleared up, and I was able to see I was in an alley slumped next to a big garbage bin. Looking down at my clothes, my eyes widened when I saw there were slashes and holes everywhere. Dried blood smeared most of the surface.
What had happened? I tried to move and was relieved to find nothing was broken when I managed to stand up. I peered over the bin and immediately puked, thankful the bin was right next to me.
There was blood everywhere. It looked as though someone had had a feast here and left the carnage where it landed. My wolf was immediately on alert, trying to find ways to escape before someone found us.
I looked around, frantic to find an exit, and racked my brain, trying to remember how I’d gotten here. The last memory I had was of me standing in the floral shop. When I focused on the building in front of me, I was relieved to see rows of plants inside. I steered to the left, entering an opening to the alley. But before I could go far, the back door opened, and an old lady came rushing out.
“It was all staged. You didn’t kill anyone!” She came over and took my hand and pulled me back into the store. I was amazed at how strong she was.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the owner, Ray’s mentor, Waverly. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up; you were too heavy for me to move.”
I stared at her dazedly. The only thing I could think to say was, “You don’t have pink hair.”
“No, I most decidedly do not. But the girl who staged all this did.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come look.”
She pulled me into her back office, where a computer screen was showing a view of the store. She pressed play, and I watched as the girl with pink hair came in, knocked the old lady out, and then dragged her into this office.
“It’s hard to tell who she is,” I said.
“I know. Her pink hair covers up her features, and she never faces the camera. But the other person doesn’t bother hiding who he is.”
“Who is it?”
“You’ll see.”
