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“Oh good heavens.” He hurried to wipe off the dust, chuckling. “I don’t need a meeting of the minds with lint.” His eyes lit up as he saw his plate. “Ooo! That looks good, thank you.”
He rubbed his hands together and then flew over to the sink and washed them before returning to the table to eat. He was a fastidious little creature, far more prim and proper than I was, but somehow we worked together. It had been an interesting past six weeks or so, watching him grow into his personality. At first, he’d been new to the world and mostly asking questions, but now he seemed fully acclimated. It was easy to imagine him wearing a bowler hat and carrying a walking stick.
Our bond had grown, too, and now, I couldn’t imagine being without him. I cherished the fact that Fancypants had chosen me, and I was determined to live up to the honor.
“I’m headed over to Bree’s in about twenty minutes. Do you want to go along?”
We had tried to keep Fancypants’s existence private, but that hadn’t lasted long. So, we were cautious, and he seldom went out with me.
There were wicked men in the world willing to pay a high price for a kidnapped dragonette. But most of the captured creatures died when the poacher tore them away from their bond-mate. Dragonettes in the wild were rare and they chose their people, not the other way around. Trying to force a bond on a dragonette was akin to mind-rape. Usually, the dragonette died under such circumstances.
Several of my customers had seen him, and word spread, and now most of Starlight Hollow knew that Elphyra MacPherson, the owner of the newly opened Silver Thorns—a magical apothecary—had bonded with an earth dragonette.
“All right. I like Bree and I feel safe at her house,” he said.
“I know, and I’m glad, especially since she’s my best friend. Eat while I go turn on the sprinklers.” I headed out the kitchen door and over to the raised herb beds.
The plants were thriving, burgeoning out of their beds as though I’d pumped them full of growth hormone. They felt happy and content, although I could sense they were thirsty. We were in the hottest month of the year and, while the temperatures on Hood Canal seldom rose above eighty during August, the plants still needed regular watering. I set the sprinkler where it would hit all four beds and turned it on. Then, I turned on the drip irrigation hose that ran through the little kitchen garden I’d also planted, and headed inside.
Fancypants was ready to go. I grabbed my purse and keys and, locking the door behind us, slid into my car. The Chevy Equinox was midnight blue—one of my favorite colors—and it handled the terrain around the Olympic Peninsula with ease. Fancypants flew into the back and settled down. As I started the ignition and eased down the long, graveled drive to Oakleaf Road, I thought back to how my life had changed in eight months. Hell, even in the past two months.
* * *
My name’s Elphyra MacPherson,and I’m a witch. I moved to Starlight Hollow, Washington—a town of three thousand people on the edge of Dabob Bay—around eight months ago. Originally from Port Townsend, which was three times the size of Starlight Hollow, I left my home and plans behind after my fiancé was ruthlessly killed by a vampire while I was forced to watch. The trauma of sitting there helplessly, watching the torture, and then watching the rats move in for the remains left me with a serious case of PTSD.
Unable to face life in the town where the love of my life had been murdered, I packed my bags, took the trust fund that my father had left me, and bought three acres and a cottage in Starlight Hollow. I moved, applied my business license to open up the shop of my dreams, and turned my back on the past. Or rather, Itriedto. But the past has a way of coming back to haunt you if you don’t have closure, and my past intrudes in my thoughts every day.
Being near Bree helps—she’s been my best friend since high school. My neighbor May, a lovely old witch woman, and her son Bran, are delightful. May’s become a role model, and Bran and I date occasionally. I’m also dating Faron Collinsworth, the King of the Olympic Wolf Pack.
Balancing the two is proving difficult, but I like them both and they know about each other. Unless something happens to disrupt that delicate balance, I’m good with the way things are. I hadn’t thought of dating until they came into the scene, but when the spirit of my fiancé showed up and told me to move on, to let him go, I finally faced the facts: the future isn’t waiting for me to be ready. It’s coming regardless of how I feel.
* * *
Bree livedabout two miles away on Salmonberry Drive, a side street off Thoroughfare Drive. Thoroughfare Drive was the main street that ran north-to-south through Starlight Hollow.
True to its name, Salmonberry Drive had several empty lots covered with salmonberries, and I had managed to gather enough to make twenty pints of jam during May and June. The bright orange berries were endemic throughout all of the Pacific Northwest. Now, in mid-August, the bushes sat berryless, but their foliage was still green and bushy with leaves. The canes were covered with prickles, but they weren’t as painful as blackberry thorns.
I passed three lots on either side, pulling into the fourth driveway on the left. Bree’s house was also a single-story house—a rambler. A large shed sat to the left of the house against the fence dividing her lot from her northside neighbor. The house was painted a pale grey, and the yard was spotless. Bree loved doing yard work, and she kept her lawn and gardens immaculate. It wasn’t a cookie-cutter suburban lawn that looked like astroturf. No, the lawn was neat, with patches of flowers laid out across the sprawling grass. A large weeping willow filled the front yard, giving a southern-gothic feel to the house.
I rang the bell and instantly heard barking. That had to be Atlas, her black Labrador retriever, and Oscar, her husky. Both were loud but well-trained, and in good physical shape. She took them with her when she was out scouting locations for expeditions, and she also took them with her during the actual trips. They provided an extra measure of protection, and generally made her female clients feel safer on the women-only expeditions.
A moment later, I heard her telling the dogs to get back, and she opened the door and waved me in. Atlas and Oscar knew me, but they weren’t sure about Fancypants, who was sitting on my shoulder. He flew up toward the ceiling and they took off, barking their silly heads off.
“Sorry, I didn’t think about the dogs’ reaction to Fancypants. I can ask him to?—”
“Don’t worry. They’ll learn to adapt, but for now, let me put them into the back yard.” She paused, then said, “That’s what I wanted to ask you about, anyway.”
“The back yard or the dogs?” I asked, following her through the living room. Bree had an eclectic design aesthetic. Her snowboard hung on one wall, next to a couple framed shots of her when she had been twenty, and she had won the Rainier Aeriel Freestyle Competition. The next year, she crashed during a practice to uphold her title. The breaks had healed, but instead of one bone breaking, it had been seven fractures in her left hip, leg, and ankle. Bree had recovered but was never able to compete again.
Against the other wall, shelves covered the wall from floor to ceiling. They contained neat, tidy rows of books as well as a few nicknacks. It looked like she had raided Target or Walmart and stocked up on minimalist vases, single silk roses, and an assortment of river rocks.
She whistled twice. Both dogs immediately quieted and sat down. She whistled again, then said, “Yard.” The dogs stood and trotted into the kitchen. We followed, to find them sitting by the back door. Bree opened it. They continued to wait, although they looked like they were straining to keep still. “Attention!” The dogs stood. “Go!”
They bounced out, yipping as they raced around the yard, chasing each other.
“Do your neighbors ever complain?” I asked. “About the noise?”
“I have one neighbor to worry about. To the left is a berry lot, to the right everybody’s dead. Across the street, Mrs. Clary is deaf as they come. To her left and right, the neighbors also have dogs, and they don’t complain.”
