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“Faron,”I said, walking over to greet him. “Welcome to my home. Do you know—”
“Oh, we know each other,” Bran said. He straightened, staring impassively at Faron.
Faron met his gaze with a bemused smile and extended his hand. “Bran, so good to see you again.” While the tone of his voice was pleasant, he too had straightened and stood unnaturally stiff. He was wearing a polo shirt fit to his trim waistline, blue jeans, and motorcycle boots. His hair was hanging loose, sleekly brushed. Not a strand was out of place.
I wondered what had gone down between the two, but wasn’t about to ask.
After a moment, Bran took Faron’s hand and gave it a brief shake, then glanced over his shoulder at the garden. “I’d best get back to my work. I’ll put up those shelves now.” Before I could say a word, he turned and walked away.
I watched him go for a moment, then turned to Faron, feeling oddly embarrassed. I wasn’t the one who had been incredibly rude but I still felt awkward, given it was my land and house.
“So…” I wasn’t sure what to say. I had been brought up to welcome guests into the house with a dinner plate and a glass, and neither ever stayed empty. That had changed since the Butcher, but the graciousness my mother had shown friends and family when I was young had stuck. “Come in, please. Welcome to Thornwylde, my home and land.”
Faron hesitated, then graciously nodded and followed me toward the house. It was then that I remembered Fancypants. “Hold on, please. One moment!”
He stopped as I raced into the house. Fancypants was sitting on the sofa, watching TV. He gave me a quizzical look as I raced in and slammed the door behind me.
“You need to hide. Someone is visiting and I don’t want him knowing about you. I don’t know him well enough to trust him yet.” I glanced around, trying to figure out where to stash the dragonette.
“I’ll stay in the bedroom.” Fancypants flew up into the air and hovered in front of me. “You aren’t taking him in there, are you?”
I snorted. “Not likely. Go.”
Without a word, Fancypants turned and flew sedately into the bedroom. I followed, closing the door. Then, I hurried back to the front door and opened it. “Sorry, come on in. I had to pick up a few things.”
I didn’t want Faron to know about Fancypants. I had no clue how trustworthy the wolf shifter was, and I wasn’t about to find out with something as important as Fancypants’s existence. The fact that I had a dragonette wasn’t up for public knowledge. I would tell Bree, of course, and May and Bran already knew, but other than that, I’d have to carefully choose who I told about his existence.
Faron looked around. “Where should I sit? Do you want me to take my shoes off?”
I glanced at his feet. His boots looked relatively clean. “Not necessary. Please, have a seat on the sofa. Would you like something to drink? I have some lemonade and cola in the fridge.”
He shook his head. “That’s all right. I’m fine. Thank you anyway.” He stiffly took a seat on the sofa and waited. I sat down in the rocking chair that was kitty-corner the sofa and let out a long breath.
If we kept on like this, he’d be here until January.
“So, what did you want to ask me?”
“Right to the point, I see,” he said, smiling for the first time.
“Well, we don’t exactly have a great history, so I’m surprised you wanted to come over.” I snorted. “By the way, I’m sorry about running into your shopping cart.”
“It was an accident. No harm done.” He sat for another moment, then let out a loud sigh and said, “You’re right. So here’s the reason I wanted to talk to you. I have a problem and I need a witch’s opinion with regards to it.”
“What about May and Bran? Why aren’t you asking them?”
Faron shrugged. “You saw how Bran reacted? I don’t tend to approach him or his mother. They aren’t my biggest fans.”
“Okay…and you don’t know any other witches?”
He paused, then said, “You know how witches and wolf shifters react to each other. You’re new here and, except for the two times we’ve run into each other, you haven’t formed an opinion of me. At least, I am hoping you haven’t.”
I thought about it for a moment. I could be an asshole about this and tell him to leave. But something about him told me that—below that gruff exterior—lurked a genuinely decent man. The animosity between wolf shifters and witches stemmed from their innate fear of our magic, but I decided that—given he had come to me—he might be able to set that aside.
“All right. Ask away and I’ll answer if I can—or if I choose to.”
Looking relieved, he said, “Have you heard about the two murders that happened recently?”
I blinked. I hadn’t expected the conversation to turn inthisdirection. “You mean Olivia? I don’t remember the other person’s name, but I think it was a man.”
