“Fancy meeting a ranger all the way out here,” Meghan said. She held out her hand to Cillian, expecting him to reciprocate, which he did.
“Ma’am,” Cillian said politely, shaking her hand before letting her go. “Do you need directions?”
“I came for an appointment. I didn’t realize it was a bad time.”
“I’d suggest setting up another one later on. If you’ve no other errands in Pelham, it might be best to head back home. Woods aren’t safe right now.”
“Oh?” Meghan crossed her arms over her chest, and Bran was a little surprised to realize she and Cillian were the same height. “Has something happened?”
“Rabid bear. The rangers are putting out a notice.”
Bran bit the inside of his cheek at the lie Cillian so easily told. The tried-and-true warning was one that had been in rotation for decades. He wondered when people would start realizing it wasn’t bears.
Meghan gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “A rabidbear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She shook her head, long ponytail swaying with the motion. “Well, you don’t see that in Boston.”
She stepped away from them both, but all of her attention was still on Cillian. It was as if Bran no longer existed, and he’d be glad of that if he could trust her appearance. Jupitercawedagain, and Meghan tilted her head back, searching the eaves of the roof. Bran leaned out farther and looked up as well, but he couldn’t see Jupiter.
“A friend of yours?” Meghan asked, finally looking at Bran. The sunglasses made her face appear as if they were black holes where her eyes should be.
“Bye,” Bran said pointedly.
She quirked another little smile at him, and Bran would never see it as friendly. Meghan opened her purse and rummaged through it before coming up with a narrow metal tin that apparently held business cards. She passed one over, and Bran had to force himself to take it from her. “My contact information for the return I still need to process. I’ll call the Shoppe in a few days.”
Bran held the business card between his thumb and index finger as if it would bite, glancing at the name. Meghan Teague. “Sure.”
Meghan’s smile directed at Cillian was friendlier. Inviting, even. Cillian, for his part, only nodded a polite goodbye. They both watched Meghan saunter back to her Porsche and get behind the steering wheel. The sound of her car’s engine was a purr compared to Cillian’s truck or the sometimes rattling wheeze of Bran’s Honda Civic. She backed out of her spot and zipped off down the road, heading north rather than south, a route Bran knew wouldn’t take her to Boston.
“What was that all about?” Cillian asked.
“Nothing.” Bran shook his head, pocketing the business card and looking anywhere but at Cillian. “I didn’t think you’d stop by so early.”
“My shift isn’t for another hour, so I thought now would be a good time to visit. It’s not that early, and you did invite me, remember?”
“Only because you probably would’ve caused a scene at Red’s if I didn’t.”
“Causing a scene was always your specialty, not mine.”
Which was true. Cillian had always been the quiet one, holding himself back out of shyness, sickly through elementary school, and relegated to the sidelines during recess. His anger ran deep and cold, with a long fuse before his temper ignited, which was rarely. Bran’s could be set off with a single spark if the situation called for it. Any of the scrapes Bran had gotten into as a kid had almost always been in defense of Cillian. The handful of times the fights escalated to being suspension-worthy, his mother had always talked the principal down. When he’d gotten older, he always wondered if it was magic that had let him stay in school when others might have been expelled.
They’d been inseparable as children, though. Then Cillian had pushed him away after Bran had offered up his heart, and coming back from that wasn’t easy. First loves always hurt, but losing Cillian had felt like carving out his heart and soul. Now, with Cillian standing before him—taller than in memory, those blue-gray eyes staring at him so intently, beautiful in a way that made Bran’s mouth water and had him wanting to sink to his knees—that ache took root in his chest once more as if it had never been forgotten.
Bran sighed. “Yeah, fine. Come in.”
Bran kicked the door open wider and gestured for Cillian to step inside. He went, and as soon as he was off the porch, Jupiter flew down from the eaves and settled on the wooden planks, out of sight of the door. Bran glanced at her and then in the direction Meghan had driven off in. Pursing his lips, he jerked his head at the road, speaking in a low voice and hoping Cillian wouldn’t hear him. “Follow her. I don’t trust her skin.”
Jupitercawedan affirmative, hopped to the edge of the porch, spread her massive wings, and launched herself into the air. She flapped hard to gain altitude before winging into the sky, flying north.Bran withdrew into the Shoppe and closed the door behind him, locking it to keep anyone else out. He brushed his fingers over some of the witchmarks carved into the door frame to soothe his nerves a little.
“Are you sure nothing was taken from the Shoppe? Place looks messier than how your mother always kept it,” Cillian said, looking around.
Bran went behind the display case that doubled as the sales counter rather than to the next cupboard he’d been about to dig through before being interrupted by Meghan. “I’m trying to do inventory.”
He didn’t say he was looking for something, especially not the grimoire, because Cillian wasn’t a guardian, and he wasn’t a witch, and the most important secret that Pelham kept could never be turned into a superstitious legend.
Cillian stepped up to the counter, and Bran braced himself—both physically and mentally—before meeting Cillian’s gaze. “I was rude to you the other night. You got Aisling out of the woods, and I’m grateful for that. So, thank you.”
