Mac reeled back as if Bran had punched him. “What?”
“The Fae lord would have killed me, but he wanted her alive. I’m not letting the bastard keep her.”
“But you can’t?—”
Mac broke off as a floorboard squeaked behind Bran. A blanket was draped over his shoulders, the feel of it the same one that had beenfolded over the back of the couch last night. “You look cold, despite the weather.”
Bran plucked at the edges of the blanket, refusing to turn and look at Cillian. “I’m going into the forest.”
“You shouldn’t,” Mac said.
“Are you crazy?” Cillian asked. “The Shoppe is basically ruined, and you want to hunt whatever did that?”
A tiredcawmade him look up. Jupiter circled overhead before folding her wings back and diving toward them. She landed beside him on the porch, hopping close andcawingloudly. She fluttered her wings, the gold flecks in her eyes catching the sunlight. If it were anyone else but Mac and Cillian with him, her eyes would be pure black, no hint of magic in them. But Mac was a guardian, and Cillian had been his best friend once upon a time, and she knew them.
It’d been Cillian’s mother who had brought Jupiter to the Shoppe years ago, explaining she’d found the raven injured on the side of the road. She hadn’t known she’d brought the animal that would become Bran’s familiar, and Cillian had only ever known Jupiter as she was—gold-flecked eyes and smarter than she should be.
Jupiter leaned in and pecked Bran lightly on his thigh, sadness echoing through their bond. She missed Aisling, too, but she was willing to guide him however she needed to.
“I’m going,” Bran said again, fingers tightening on the edges of the blanket, gaze drawn to the trees across the road.
“Then I’m going with you,” Cillian said.
That finally got Bran to jerk around, head twisting so he could look up at Cillian. “What? No.”
Cillian’s mouth firmed in a way Bran remembered when they were kids and the older boy was determined to get his way. Everyone always thought that just because he was quiet, Cillian wasn’t willing to fight, but he dug his heels in when it was important for him. “You haven’t lived in Pelham for years. You need someone who knows the forest to go with you.”
It took everything Bran had not to laugh in his face. “You don’t think I know the forest?Me?” A witch not knowing the forest theywere made to guard. He’d find it funny if the situation wasn’t so fraught. “You’re not coming with me. I don’t have time to babysit you.”
Cillian arched an eyebrow, the look pure condescension that made Bran bristle. “I’m a ranger. I don’t need babysitting in the forest. We’re patrolling in pairs right now because of the threat out there. I’m off today, and you shouldn’t be in the forest alone. I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m leaving with you, or I’m following you. Take your pick.”
Bran opened his mouth to argue, but Mac put his hand on Bran’s shoulder, prompting him to hold his tongue. Bran turned his head back around, feeling as if he were the ball in a tennis match. Mac’s expression was grim, his grip a little desperate, but his voice, at least, was steady. “He’s right. The forest isn’t safe, even for you. Let Cillian go with you. He can be trusted. I’ll stay behind to put the Shoppe to rights so it’s ready for your return.”
Bran swallowed tightly, shrugging off Mac’s hand. Guardians were meant to track the encroachment of the wyrding and warn the witches in the covens. They had no magic, no way to tap the eddies of power that moved through Nature, not the way a witch could. But they were stalwart in a way Bran’s coven remembered well, and he knew he could leave all his worldly belongings in Mac’s care and the other man would keep them safe.
“And I’ll keep looking,” Mac said, not speaking of the grimoire, but the inference was plain between them.
Bran gritted his teeth and finally nodded. The last thing he wanted was someone tagging along who didn’t know he was a witch, but Cillian had always known Bran had weird habits.
He’d thought about it when they were younger—telling Cillian his secrets. That he was a witch. That magic was real. That the lights were more than a superstitious legend. But he hadn’t because he knew better. Because his mother had taught him better. Yet here they were, forced to work together because Bran knew Cillian wouldn’t leave him now that Mac had made his wishes known. No matter everything between them, he’d never leave Cillian to wander the forest alone.
The thought of doing so left him terrified and sick to his stomach.
“Fine,” Bran said through gritted teeth. He got to his feet, draggingthe blanket off his shoulders and handing it back to Cillian. “Take this back upstairs.”
Cillian glanced from Bran to Mac before snorting. “If you wanted a private conversation, you could just ask.”
He still went into the Shoppe, giving them the privacy Bran wanted. Bran leaned down and offered his arm to Jupiter, who hopped on it before jumping to his shoulder. Her talons pricked his skin through his thin T-shirt, but she’d never hurt him, and the weight of her was comforting after last night.
“Going to the Otherworld is a death sentence, especially for witches,” Mac said quietly before glancing over his shoulder at the forest, as if even speaking the name of the Fae’s homeland risked bringing them forth.
“Covens have done it before when incursions got bad. I can’t leave Aisling with them. She’s all I have left, and I won’t lose her,” Bran said.
“If you go, it’ll be weeks for us until your return. Maybe even months. What do you want me to tell the town?”
