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CHAPTER SIX

“Spirits above,” Allen groused, “how many more doors does this place have?”

Hawthorne Hall was a tactical nightmare. Too many places to hide, too much ground to secure, too many points of ingress (those little walk-out balconies along every window on the second floor were just begging for a grappling hook). Plus, the sage smoke was giving him a headache. It was all he could smell for the last ten minutes.

When he sneezed so violently he knocked his head against the door he was unlocking, Allen growled. It was partly from the pain, partly from frustration. He should not be here. Sure, this was one way to meet the Hawthornes, but he was supposed to be a shadow protector, never seen unless he was needed. He couldn’t protect three witches unless he was at a distance and able to keep his eyes on all of them at the same time. This mission called for a zoomed-out approach so he could see a threat from long off instead of right before it struck.

Growling again, he did something he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do. He opened the door he’d unlocked. This was the Hawthornes’ private property, but his head was aching from the sage smoke. He just needed the window and the fresh air it would grant him for a second. Stuffing the sage into the door handle so it wouldn’t singe the floor, he stepped inside.

Inside, the walls were painted the palest purple-gray, the trim in white. There was a bookcase trimmed in the same white built into the wall opposite the bed, a white door that presumably led to the closet, another to a joint bathroom. The bookcase indeed held a few books, but it seemed to be more of a display case than anything else. Crystals, framed photographs, other trinkets that all looked like they had more in common with a Better Homes and Gardens photo shoot than an actual person’s bedroom. Even the clear vase on the desk beside the window that held long stems of fresh lilacs seemed staged.

Fresh lilacs? It had to be a spell, for those flowers were spent for the year, yet their scent perfumed the room as if they’d been cut just this morning.

With brisk steps, Allen crossed the white carpet and unlatched the window, practically shoving his head outside like a dog does when it’s on a car ride. Three deep breaths of that blissfully cold and crisp winter air cleared his head right up. He took another three, just to be sure, marking the landscape on this side of the Hall with military efficiency: a small pond nestled in the shallow valley made between two swells of sloping lawn, a thick forest beyond stretching for as far as they eye could see. The forest was closer than he would’ve liked, but the sight lines were good.

Headache Termination Mission complete, Allen closed and relatched the window and followed his exact steps back across the carpet, making sure to scuff his feet to rouse the weave back into its proper position. Halfway across the bedroom, he noticed something strange about the bed. One section of the floral comforter was puckered, pinched right were the mattress met the boxspring. With everything else being immaculate and arranged just so, it caught his eye. Like the glimpse of a person’s true personality from behind a facade.

Allen diverted only a step to investigate and found not one, but four books shoved under the mattress. Odd, for there was plenty of room in the display bookcase beside the likes of Dickens and Tolstoy.

The Perfect Rake , by Anne Gracie. Little Women , by Louisa May Alcott. Sense and Sensibility , by Jane Austen. Gone with the Wind , by Margaret Mitchell.

Of the titles he recognized, he realized they had two things in common: romance and women overcoming adversity. He wasn’t familiar with the book by Anne Gracie, but with a title like The Perfect Rake , it wasn’t hard to figure out that it was a bodice-ripper of a smutty Regency romance.

Seems like the village has only seen one side of Lilac , he mused, for the cut flowers on the desk had made it pretty clear whose room this was. With a gentle swipe of his hand, he smoothed down the comforter and erased any evidence of him being there. She’s more than a pretty face if these are the kinds of books she’s reading . . . and hiding .

Allen squirreled that information into his mental dossier and left the bedroom. Just as he stepped into the hallway and reached for the sage stuck in the door handle, he smelled them. Heard their heartbeats.

His wolf snarled. Strangers had been able to sneak up on them because of that thrice-cursed sage smoke.

No, not strangers. Two women, one man.

If they were who he strongly suspected them to be, he’d best be polite.

Allen yanked the door shut behind him, revealing the long stretch of hall and three brown-haired witches he recognized from the Coalition’s dossier . . . in an attack formation.

“Hi—Oh shit!” Allen shouted as Boar launched himself straight at him with a glowing green fist.

Allen pivoted out of the way, shoving hard into Boar’s shoulder to divert his momentum away. As the witch collided with the balcony railing, Rose charged in quick with a punch combination that made him skip back a few steps as he blocked. He couldn’t hurt them, but he couldn’t allow himself to be harmed either.

“What did you do to Nan?” Rose shouted, kicking for his groin.

The scrappy witch! Allen twisted away, sweeping out with his leg and catching her behind the ankles. Rose fell solidly on her butt with a surprised little yelp, but then Boar was leaping over her like an avenging angel.

“Who?” Allen cried.

“Mrs. Hollyoak,” Boar snapped.

“She’s fine!” Allen yanked his head back before Boar’s haymaker could connect with his cheek. “She’s in the hospital, but—”

“That doesn’t sound fine to me!”

Allen grunted as Boar caught him around the middle and took him to the ground. The male witch was massive and quick, and if he pinned Allen down, there was no way he’d be able to escape unless he shifted. Which was never going to happen. To show these witches his wolf would be a death sentence—the Coalition had made that very clear.

They wrestled for dominance, fighting like tomcats. Boar might’ve cracked him across the jaw but Allen clapped Boar’s ears like he was a buzzing horsefly. The witch reared back with a feral snarl as the thunderous claps barraged his eardrums. Allen kicked him in the chest. Boar crashed onto his side, face scrunched up in pain as he cradled his head with his glowing hands.

He’s healing himself !

Allen flipped onto his feet, landing in what he hoped was a defensive but not aggressive crouch. He lifted his hands pleadingly, but Rose was already on him again.

“Please, stop! This is just one big misunderstanding—”

Then it happened.

A precision strike right to his forehead. He hadn’t even seen it coming.

As he fell back stunned, he glimpsed a trembling Lilac lowering her finger with a triumphant look on her face. His teeth rattled in his head as he crashed against the floor, then he yelped.

The hardwood planks beneath him had softened like clay, now like sand, and they were swallowing him.

His wolf released a terrified cry, and suddenly Allen was back in the Afghan desert with that infernal sandstorm whipping about the cave, pinning him and his brothers down like fish in a barrel for the men outside to pick off at their leisure.

Caught in the floor, Allen scrambled to free himself, fingernails clawing to find purchase. His feet and legs felt nothing but air. He kicked madly but found nothing to brace against.

“Wait!” That was Lilac’s voice. “Look at his hand!”

The floor became solid again, freezing into place around his lower ribs. He continued to paw for only a second or two more, the panic not quite gone, before he realized he wasn’t falling, wasn’t being swallowed up. He was still in danger, though, and looked up at the three witches who now stood in a semicircle around him. He almost snarled at them. Almost.

“That’s Nan’s ring on his finger,” Lilac said, crouching down.

What? He’d left that on the pedestal downstairs. How had it reappeared on his finger?

Lilac reached out to touch it, then refrained, darting a wary glance at him. Her ivy-green eyes met his, and Allen felt a zap as if he’d just stuck a penny in a wall socket. Except zaps like those didn’t thunder down into his toes or make him forget to breathe. When a surprised blush bloomed on her cheeks as her mouth parted with an inaudible gasp, his heart whumped painfully against his ribs and sent a zing racing down to a particular part of himself that had no business rousing when he was suspended halfway in the air.

In that second of connection, he knew all the villagers’ rumors were wrong and those books shoved under the mattress were right. Lilac Hawthorne wasn’t gorgeous. The whole of her was stunning .

And lethal, if her perfect strike to his forehead had anything to say about it.

His face must’ve revealed that realization—and Lilac misconstrued it as lust—for she straightened abruptly. Her surprise was replaced by disgust as she stepped back, letting her two siblings take lead on the interrogation.

“So he mugged her to loot the place?” Rose asked no one in particular. She gave him an appreciative look. “Ballsy. Complete disregard for the longevity of his own life, but ballsy.”

“The ring can only be removed and/or worn by the caretaker,” Lilac said. “Nan must’ve given it to him.”

“What did you do to her?” Boar demanded, grabbing Allen by the hair and yanking his head back so he could glare down at him.

“Get me out of this floor and I’ll tell you,” Allen barked back. He could’ve just answered the question, but that wouldn’t earn any of their respect. He had to be tough but not obstinately combative.

Boar snorted, keeping his grip on Allen’s hair. But his other hand moved to Allen’s shoulder, and then Rose made the floor go malleable again. Boar rudely dragged Allen onto solid ground and shoved him into a seated position where the witches could tower over him .

“Thanks,” he snarked.

“Get talking.”

He would, but not on the ground. Not like a prisoner. Allen made to rise.

“You can talk from down there.”

Allen shoved Boar’s hand away and sprang upright. The witches tensed, but Allen merely averted his gaze to impress upon them he wasn’t a threat and made a show of dusting off his grocers uniform. It was no more than a white apron over his street clothes, but Homegrown Roots Grocers was printed boldly on the front and impossible to miss. “I might be a delivery boy, but you don’t get to push me around.”

“A delivery boy who knows how to fight,” Boar said suspiciously.

“I like to keep fit for when I’m attacked while being a Good Samaritan.”

Boar rolled his eyes. “Alright, Good Samaritan, spill it.”

Allen’s gaze flickered over the assembled witches, marking their body language with military precision. He had to make his case to the one most open to receive it, and right now, that was Rose. But she wasn’t the smart choice. He knew her to be overly friendly but impulsive, and the one he convinced had to hold some true weight with the others. It had to be Boar. Still, he couldn’t help glancing at Lilac again, just to make sure.

“ Zofia Hollyoak is good friends with my employers, the Roots,” he explained, facing the brother. “She was the victim of hit-and-run this afternoon and couldn’t make it up here, so she gave me the ring and the keys to open the place and wave that stupid sage around.”

Rose glanced over her shoulder and marked the bundle still smoldering where he had wedged it in the door handle.

“And you were snooping in my sister’s room why?” Boar asked .

“The sage was giving me a headache and I needed the fresh air.”

It seemed Boar appreciated his direct reporting, and there was no need to elaborate or even lie. The truth was always best, whenever it didn’t get you killed.

“Well, duh,” Rose said. “You only gotta wave it around the entryway. You’ve been burning it this whole time?” She laughed.

Allen chose not to be offended—animosity would only make it harder for them to trust him later. “Zofia didn’t have the time to give me explicit instructions. Said there was a schedule to keep.”

The three witches shared a look and said in unison, “The pact.”

Then Boar produced a cell phone from his pocket. “I’m checking your story. Stay right there.”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere.” Rose said, glittering magic engulfing her hands.

“Nice shot, by the way.” He spoke over her head to the sister behind her. It was important to him that Lilac know he recognized another trait besides her beauty.

Lilac sniffed, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked away. But not entirely. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye. Balefully or intriguingly, he couldn’t be sure, but his wolf certainly hoped for the latter.

Easy, boy. Keep your eyes on the prize. The Coalition, that is , he felt it necessary to add.

“So you work out, huh?” Rose asked, and very amicably too, despite the magical threat sparking at her hands.

“Rose, don’t talk to him,” Lilac admonished.

The youngest sibling ignored her. “You like cardio?” she asked.

Allen’s eyes narrowed. Is she . . . flirting with me? From the coquettish quirk of her eyebrow, that was indeed a yes .

“I enjoy a good run in the woods,” he replied, matching her sociable tone. They were all friends here, sort of.

“You like company?”

“Rose,” Lilac hissed.

He gave the younger sister a wink that was more mischievous than anything else. “Only if they can keep up.”

“Alright.” Boar stuffed his cell phone back into his pocket. “It’s as he says. Zofia vouched for him. Allen Sharpe is the caretaker of Hawthorne Hall for the foreseeable future.”

“Welcome to the family!” Rose flung herself at Allen, hugging him tightly. Then she pushed away, her hands on his arms and her green eyes wider than before. “You do work out.”

Boar hauled her off him, pushed her towards their sister, and Allen heard Lilac snip at her, “He is not your mountain man, Rose. Get ahold of yourself.”

The male witch offered one snowshoe-sized hand in way of apology. “Sorry about your jaw.”

Though it had audibly cracked upon impact from Boar’s fist, there was nothing remaining now but a dull ache. “Sorry about your ears,” he replied, taking Boar’s hand.

The bones in each of their hands popped with the handshake.

“I’m Boar. That’s Rose, and that’s Lilac,” he introduced, and Allen nodded along as if he didn’t already know that and much more about each of them. “We’ll be the only Hawthornes in residence this year.”

“Everything okay?” Allen ventured.

“Yes, of course,” Lilac said sharply. “We Hawthornes don’t need an entire coven to manage a week’s worth of festivities.”

“I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, miss.” Allen gestured to the Hall in general. “Bit new to all this.”

“Right,” Boar agreed. Then he clapped Allen’s shoulder. “You’re coming with us to the pub. ”

“Boar!” Lilac immediately protested.

He didn’t even look at her. “You need to know what Zofia signed you up for, and we need to get to know the new caretaker.”

“Which we can all do right here,” Lilac said firmly.

She was eagerly ignored by her siblings, Rose letting out a whoop of excitement and Boar continuing, “You like beer, Allen?”

“I like anything that’s free.”

Rose laughed again and Boar gave him a look that showed he appreciated the brazen confidence Allen had demonstrated by assuming the Hawthornes would be paying for his drinks. It was only fair, after all, since they had been the ones to provoke the attack.

“It’s settled then.” Boar clapped him on the shoulder and gestured for the stairs at the opposite end of the hall. “You go on and take your delivery truck around back and unload it by the walk-in cellar, we’ll go put the wagon in the barn, and then we’ll all go down to the village for a few pints.”

“Boar,” Lilac tried again. “Get the keys.”

“He’s the caretaker,” Boar countered with a frown. “The keys belong to him.”

Lilac gave them a bold look, unfolding her crossed arms so they hung loose at her sides.

She’s readying for a fight , Allen realized. He had to admire her bravery—she was trembling, but she wasn’t backing down, either.

“I don’t trust him,” she declared.

Rose rolled her eyes as Boar released a world-weary sigh. Their easy disregard for her concerns seemed ingrained in their personalities, but Allen knew that at the end of the day, they were a close-knit family. They would believe her, if push came to shove, and he could not afford to have any suspicion thrown his way. Suspicion led to inquiry, then accusation, and, inevitably, damnation. He had to win her over as soon as possible.

And, he realized with a start, not just for the sake of his mission. He wanted her to like him, for real.

From the books hidden under her mattress, he knew the first steps to take, too. Those novels hadn’t just centered on romance and women carving out their own places in the world, but chivalry also.

“Here,” he said quickly, removing the keys from his apron pocket. “I don’t mind you holding on to these if that’s what you need to do.”

Lilac eyed him like the keys were an angler’s bright lure and she was about to get her hand chomped down on by a gigantic toothsome fish if she touched them. He held still instead of giving them an enticing jingle. Let her come to me .

She took them, careful to avoid actually touching him, and took a quick step back, hugging them to her chest.

“But, um, give ’em back eventually, okay?” he couldn’t help but tease. “Zofia’ll be pissed if I lost them my first day, ya know?”

The witch didn’t smile, but she didn’t frown at him either.

I’ll take that as a win , he thought, only half-listening to whatever Rose and Boar were chatting about.

His attention was glued to Lilac’s back as she retreated down the hall, leading the way to the stairs . Spirits above, she moved as gracefully as a young doe through a fog-shrouded field. Ethereal.

When she glanced over her shoulder at him, obviously having felt his gaze, he gave her what he hoped was a disarming smile. He’d only been looking in her direction because they were all headed that way, right? She faced forward and hastened her steps like a rabbit fleeing a nearby predator. His wolf strained to chase after her.

A win , he mused again, and a challenge.