I missed most of that and cringe.
“Are you alright, luv?” Lachlan whispers.
“Yes, just tired.”
“That’s right, you spent the night at the hospital. What happened?”
With Lachlan, the script is well-rehearsed: whenever I have a witchy emergency, I tell him the hospital called. But in this case, since I have to stay at Mabel’s house, I’ll use option number two and tell him she’s having health issues and needs help with the family real-estate business.
I can’t exactly share with him that my wolf shifter Aunt was abducted and most likely killed by faceless monsters.
So I lie.
“It wasn’t a patient, exactly. Mabel had been dealing with intermittent abdominal pain, and I managed to get her in for a CT. They took her appendix out overnight.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is she going to be alright?”
“Yes, she’s awake now and doing better. They should discharge her tomorrow morning. I’m going to rest a bit and call you back later, alright? I might take a couple of days off work to take care of her.”
I thought lying to Lachlan would be harder, but it slips out as naturally as breathing, like when I was a teenager, brushing off the real reason I flinched at mirrors to the school therapist.
“You’re a darling. She’s lucky to have you. I’m heading into a tunnel, but I’ll see you when I get back, alright?” he answers, oblivious to my treachery.
“Alright. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up.
“You’re not married to this man, right?” E asks in a soft, breathless tone.
I flash my however-many-carat diamond ring. “Not yet. Hence the wordfiancé.”
“And you’re stayingherefor a couple of days?”
His voice brims with something purer than joy—hope. The loud subtext of the word is that I’m staying herewith him, and I get the sense that my new ghost friend is an incredibly lonely soul.
I click my tongue, wrestling with a mix of disappointment and anger that isn’t E’s doing. “Looks that way.”
I call the hospital next, informing them of my absence for the next couple of days. I haven’t had a family emergency since I started medical school, so they shouldn’t mind so much.
The mundane thoughts jumble together, and the tension in my ribs acts as a circle of fire, slowly tightening. Fuck. Aunt Kerri is dead, and I’m in mortal danger. The disconnect between that reality and the absurd necessity of planning my absence from work knocks a shaky breath out of me, and I brace myself against the kitchen island.
I’m right back to that night in the pantry. Right back to that young girl who was living a life of hide-and-seek. I swore never to go back to that, but destiny had other plans.
I graze the burgundy mark of the Bloodraven coven on my arm, the patch of skin red and prickly since last night.
“That mark. Mabel has one exactly like it,” E says. “What is it? It looks painful.”
“It’s a bloodmark in the shape of the Bloodraven crest. It’s usually much flatter and darker, but yesterday, after the attack, my brother Nick sent a warning to all other coven witches through this bond we share, a signal to go to ground and break their mirrors in case of a large-scale attack.”
“Clever.”
A chill scatters goosebumps across my arms. “As our leader, Mabel uses it to communicate with us, but I haven’t felt her since last night.”
No soft tickle to indicate she’s alright or an ice-cold warning that she’s in danger. Nothing at all.
“Do you think she might have been attacked, too?” E asks softly.
