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“You didn’t have to.”

Charlotte clamped her mouth shut.

“We are very different, you and I,” her mother continued. Certainly she wouldn’t argue with that. “You don’t remember her, but you are like a carbon copy of my mother.”

She never, ever spoke of her mother, who had died when Charlotte was six. There had to be something in that water—

“Strong. Independent. Just like you.”

Charlotte didn’t know what to say, so she listened instead.

“I chose a different life,” her mother continued. “But there is power in that choice.”

She blinked, figuring there was no better time than the present to speak her mind. “But things aren’t as they once were, Mother.”

“You think I don’t know that? I do. But I have to believe we’ll get it all back.”

Here was the delusional mother she knew and loved.

“And if you don’t?”

“Then your stepfather and I will have spent a lifetime with a spark of hope for our future. There are worse things in the world.”

Yes, they were very, very different. And it struck her that she had judged her mother for that. For not wanting what she did. Not acting the way she acted. Not valuing the things she did.

For leaving South Carolina, leaving her father. But that was wholly unfair. He’d made the decisions that had landed him in jail. Decisions her mother never knew about.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. She was about to say more, but before she could say another syllable, her mother stood up.

And hugged her.

Well, I’ll be.

* * *

“It’s looking good, Derrickson,”Kenton said. The group of them were arranged around the circular bar in now-familiar positions. Lawrence, of course, was behind it. Garrett had just left, his quick visit apparently a new norm for him. He’d not be coming with them after all, but instead was on his way to Long Branch, New Jersey. They’d tried to get him to stay for the opening, but he’d declined, saying he would be back before long.

Torr couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the calm before the storm.

Tomorrow, less than a hundred people would come to an invite-only masquerade party on the eve of Halloween at the newly opened The Vault Taphouse.

Standing beside Lawrence, her arm draped around his shoulder, Toni beamed with excitement. It had been their vision, this bar, and together they’d worked night and day to turn it into a reality. He was both proud and excited for them both.

Taking his drink to the actual vault, now an intimate space for two, he stared at the massive door, which now stood permanently open, and wondered how Lawrence had seen this bank and immediately thought it would be perfect for a bar.

“Trying not to spoil the mood?”

He watched Kenton approach.

A tentative truce had sprung up between them over the past few days as they’d worked side by side to prepare the bar for its grand opening.

“Good guess.”

Having looked his fill at the vault, Torr slowly made his way to the front window. Kenton followed, and together they watched the busy Main Street. More than one curious glance was thrown their way. Thanks to an article in the local paper and a TV segment earlier in the week, most locals knew about The Vault by now. But it was the tourists who would sustain the business, and thanks to Halloween, this weekend would be busier than most. By Sunday evening, the streets had usually cleared out quite a bit, but that wouldn’t be the case on Halloween, a holiday that was always busy in Stone Haven owing to its interest in all things witchy.

And the soft opening of the bar.

“Not a guess,” Kenton said. “I’ve been there. And so has your brother.”