Page 10 of Claws for Celebration (Hollow Oak Mates #3)

MOIRA

T he grandfather clock in the corner of The Hollow Oak Book Nook chimed eleven times, its deep bronze voice echoing through the quiet shop.

Moira looked up from the Shadowheart Codex, surprised to discover she'd been reading for nearly four hours without realizing time had passed.

These late-night research sessions had become her new normal, drawn by a compulsion she couldn't fully explain to return to the ancient grimoire long after sensible people had gone to bed.

"Another late night?" Lucien's voice carried gentle amusement as he emerged from the back office, a steaming mug in each hand. "I thought you might need some fortification."

"You're here late too," Moira observed, accepting the tea gratefully. The warmth seeped through the ceramic into her fingers, which had grown stiff from hours of careful page-turning. "Don't tell me you're pulling inventory shifts at eleven PM."

"Caught me," he admitted with that slow smile that made her stomach flutter. "I've been updating the digital catalog system. Exciting stuff like cross-referencing ISBN numbers and checking publication dates."

She studied his face in the lamplight, noting the slight tension around his eyes that suggested something more than cataloging had kept him occupied. "Everything all right? You seem a bit on edge tonight."

"Long day," he said, settling into his usual chair with fluid grace. "Sometimes running a business feels like juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle."

"I can imagine." Moira marked her place in the grimoire and reached for her notebook, where she'd been attempting to create a family tree based on the increasingly detailed stories the ancient text revealed.

"Though I have to say, your inventory management seems remarkably thorough for someone who's supposed to be struggling with business logistics. "

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you always know exactly where everything is, you can quote publication histories from memory, and your rare books collection is organized with museum-quality precision.

" She gestured toward the pristine shelves surrounding them.

"Either you're the most naturally gifted bookstore owner in existence, or there's more to your background than small-town retail. "

Lucien was quiet for a moment, sipping his tea while something unreadable passed across his features. "I've always been drawn to knowledge preservation. Books, history, making sure important information doesn't get lost to time."

"Is that why you stayed in Hollow Oak? For the historical preservation opportunities?"

"Partly." His dark green eyes met hers across the small table. "But mostly because this place felt like home in a way nowhere else ever had. Sometimes you find a community that accepts you exactly as you are."

The wistfulness in his voice filled her with empathy. "That sounds like you weren't always accepted elsewhere."

"Let's just say I've never been particularly good at fitting into conventional expectations." Lucien's smile held shadows that spoke of experiences he wasn't ready to share. "What about you? Academic life must come with its own set of social pressures."

"Oh, definitely. Publish or perish, departmental politics, the constant pressure to prove yourself worthy of tenure." Moira traced the rim of her mug absently. "But at least the expectations are clear. Work hard, research thoroughly, write compelling papers, hope someone notices."

"And has someone noticed?"

"A few someones. Enough to keep me employed and occasionally invited to conferences where I can present my findings to rooms full of people who nod politely and ask pointed questions designed to expose any weakness in my methodology."

"That sounds terrifying."

"It is," she admitted with a laugh. "But also exhilarating when you've discovered something genuinely significant. Like finding a previously unknown genealogical connection or uncovering a historical mystery that's been unsolved for decades."

"Like your family's connection to Hollow Oak?"

Moira's hand stilled on her mug. "Exactly like that. Except this mystery is personal rather than academic, which makes it both more compelling and more frightening."

"Frightening how?"

She looked down at the Shadowheart Codex, its ancient binding warm beneath the lamplight.

Over the past week, the grimoire had revealed stories that challenged everything she thought she knew about her family's history.

Tales of powerful witches who had helped establish Hollow Oak's magical defenses, who had bound their very essence into the town's foundations before vanishing from the historical record.

"The things I'm learning about my ancestors," she said slowly, "they're incredible. But they're also impossible."

"Impossible how?"

"According to this book, my great-great-grandmother and her sisters weren't just influential residents of early Hollow Oak.

They were... practitioners of something that sounds suspiciously like actual magic.

" Moira met his eyes, searching for signs of skepticism or condescension.

"Blood magic, specifically. Rituals that supposedly protected the town from external threats and preserved the community's autonomy. "

"And you find that impossible to believe?"

"I find it impossible to dismiss," she corrected.

"Which is what's frightening me. A week ago, I would have categorized these stories as folklore mixed with wishful thinking.

Historical communities often developed mythologies to explain natural phenomena or celebrate particularly skilled individuals. "

"But now?"

"Now I'm watching this book respond to my touch in ways that suggest it's not entirely ordinary.

" Moira's voice dropped to a whisper. "Pages turn themselves to exactly the information I need.

Text appears that wasn't there moments before.

Sometimes I swear the words rearrange themselves based on my questions. "

Lucien leaned forward, his attention focused on her with an intensity that felt almost predatory. "What kind of text appears?"

"Instructions, mostly. Descriptions of magical techniques that apparently run in my bloodline.

Warnings about the responsibilities that come with awakening power.

" She laughed, but there was no humor. "Yesterday it showed me a passage about how Shadowheart women traditionally serve as guardians for supernatural communities.

Complete with detailed explanations of protective spells that I somehow understand despite never having seen the language before. "

"That must be overwhelming."

"Overwhelming doesn't begin to cover it." Moira set down her mug with trembling hands. "Lucien, I think I might be losing my mind. Either that, or I'm discovering that magic is real and I'm apparently supposed to be some kind of witch."

The words hung between them in the quiet bookstore, weighted with implications that made her stomach churn with anxiety. She'd never spoken those fears aloud before, never admitted to another person that she was questioning the fundamental nature of reality itself.

"What if neither of those things is true?" Lucien asked gently.

"What do you mean?"

"What if you're not losing your mind, and you're not discovering magic for the first time?" His voice carried careful neutrality. "What if you're simply remembering something you've always known on some level?"

"That's a poetic way to describe a psychological break."

"Is it? Or is it a poetic way to describe coming home to yourself?

" Lucien reached across the table and covered her hand with his, the contact sending familiar warmth spreading up her arm.

"You said yourself that Hollow Oak feels different from other places.

That the mountain air seems to whisper secrets, that certain books respond to your touch in unusual ways. "

"Environmental factors and confirmation bias."

"Maybe. Or maybe your rational mind is trying to protect you from accepting truths that your heart already recognizes.

" His thumb traced gentle circles across her knuckles, grounding her to the moment even as her thoughts spun in chaotic directions.

"What does your instinct tell you about the stories in that book? "

Moira looked down at their joined hands, noting how right the contact felt despite her general discomfort with casual touch.

"My instinct says they're true. That my family really did practice magic, that they really were guardians of some kind, and that leaving Hollow Oak was a sacrifice my grandmother made to protect future generations from something dangerous. "

"And what does your instinct say about your own abilities?"

"That they're real. That I can feel them waking up inside me like something that's been sleeping for a very long time.

" She met his eyes, surprised by the understanding she found there instead of skepticism.

"That's what scares me most. Not the impossibility of magic, but the possibility that I'm supposed to embrace it. "

"Why does that frighten you?"

"Because embracing it means giving up everything I thought I knew about myself. My career, my life goals, my entire sense of identity is built on rational analysis and empirical evidence. If magic is real, if I'm some kind of hereditary witch, then what does that make me?"

"It makes you Moira Marsh," Lucien said simply. "Brilliant researcher, careful scholar, and someone brave enough to seek truth even when it challenges anything we thought was for certain about the world."

The sincerity in his voice made tears gather in her eyes. "You make it sound so simple."

"Simple doesn't mean easy. But some discoveries are worth the disruption they cause, especially when they help us understand who we're meant to be."

As Moira sat in the quiet bookstore, her hand warm beneath Lucien's touch and the Shadowheart Codex pulsing gently beside her elbow, she realized that her fear wasn't really about losing her mind or discovering impossible abilities.

Her fear was about what accepting those abilities might mean for the careful, controlled life she'd built for herself.

But looking into Lucien's patient green eyes, feeling the steady strength of his presence beside her during the most confusing time of her life, she wondered if maybe some changes were worth the risk of uncertainty.

"Lucien," she said softly, "what would you do if you discovered you weren't entirely human?"

His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on hers, and for a moment, something wild and dangerous flickered in his expression. "I'd hope that the people who cared about me would accept whatever I turned out to be."

The weight of unspoken meaning in his words made her pulse quicken. "Even if it meant they had to reconsider everything they thought they knew about the world?"

"Especially then," he said, his voice rough with emotion she couldn't quite identify. "The best kind of love grows stronger when tested by truth."

As the clock chimed midnight and cast them deeper into the intimate shadows of the sleeping bookstore, Moira found herself wondering if Lucien's words carried promises that went far beyond philosophical discussions about accepting the impossible.