Page 64

Week One

T he bell tinkles at the front door and I look up from where I’m carefully removing the cardinal’s nest. I’ll have to figure out where the poor thing got into Zelda’s back room or I’ll be back in a few weeks when another smart avian worms their way into a place that’s protected and warm. Old Z keeps this store at a temperature just this side of Hades, so it’s a tempting spot to nest.

I wipe the sweat off my brow as I take off the gloves I used to make certain I didn’t leave a scent on the nest—I don’t want the mama to abandon these eggs. I’d rather find a nice tree outside on Main and place it, knowing she can follow the smell to her nest easily. I’ll check on it periodically, and if my gambit fails, I’ll bring it home to my aviary to incubate. Either way, the little guys will be taken care of.

A low, dark feline snarl pricks my sensitive ears, and I tilt my head, listening. Something is going on in the store, and I’d better go out and see despite my intense dislike of cats. It’s not normal for someone’s companion to go into protective mode in a fucking furniture store—though Zelda isn’t the most diplomatic person in town. Clashing with a customer wouldn’t be out of her wheelhouse, but this sounds more serious.

Stepping out into the front, I put my fingers to my lips and whistle as loudly as I can. The large cats drop to the ground, their big ears pinned back as the noise interrupts the fierce defense of their human. Once they are neutralized, I look at Zelda. “What in the seventh circle of Hades is going on? Zelda, you asked me to help evict the family of redbirds from your rafters, not calm wild kitties.”

Zelda flutters like a schoolgirl—a behavior that always creeps me out. “Presley Hamilton! You are not dressed for receiving company—even if it is unwelcome visitors.”

The gorgeous woman whose cats are now growling at Zelda narrows her eyes. I’ve never met her, so I don’t know if she’s a Society plant, a Guardian passing through, or maybe even that contentious new resident my darling Lucy has been jabbering about. I wouldn’t think a lost one would have companions, but one thing I’ve learned about the supe world is that you can’t predict anything. I’ve seen humans—or even people who think they are human—completely ignore magic and wonder when it’s clearly right in front of their faces. And in a town like Whistler’s Hollow where there’s a large presence of supes, someone specifically crafted the spells woven into the border of town to enhance the cluelessness of those who are not aware.

Mystery girl touches the head of the cat on her right, calming the protective beast, so I know I have to de-escalate the situation. After all, if she is lost, no amount of supernatural behavior will get past her memory spells. The Council makes certain they’re strong until emergence so that the individual doesn’t remember or can’t even see anything related to magic or shifting. Zelda is a cagey old bat and she damn well knows that, so I have to make sure the snobby shop owner doesn’t take advantage of it.

“I don’t know, Z. Looks like he’s dressed to be receiving something, but I doubt it’s what you’d like him to.”

I can’t help it—I burst into laughter at her saucy observation. This has to be the infamous Jolene Whitley, because she definitely has Zelda pegged. I’ve been dodging ‘helpful hands’ for hours as I worked in the back room, and only someone familiar with the Hollow would know the cougar’s routine. Zelda huffs at her, preparing to go on an offended rant, and I cross my arms over my chest. I kinda want to see what this bird does to take one of the reigning matriarchs down for snarking at her.

“I’m Jolene Whitley. I moved back here a day or so ago. I needed some furniture to replace the stuff at my folks’, but…” She looks at the inventory in the store, her lip curling like she’s inspecting a diseased corpse at the morgue. “… I can see that this is a little old school for my taste. I’ll let you get back to your bird removal, Mr. Hamilton.”

Hollllllyyyyyy shit. Zelda’s going to lose her mind.

My lips twitch as I fight another round of delighted laughter, arching a brow at her. “I apologize for my appearance, Jolene. Miss Zelda’s crawl space is musty.”

“I’ll bet it is,” she mutters, just loud enough for us to hear. I have to bite my cheek to keep from snorting at the implication, but she looks down at the cat on her left and speaks. “Are you ready to go, boys? I think we’ll need to look at more contemporary designs online. I don’t want to live in a museum.”

Zelda makes an affronted squawking noise, and I turn my head so she can’t see my smirk. There’s nothing incorrect about what Jolene is suggesting, and no one’s ever had the heart to tell this biddy that her precious furniture is as outdated as bell bottoms. Jolene winks at me as she passes by, head held high and giant cats in tow. I can’t seem to let it go now that I know this saucy little bird is probably my Lucy’s mate, so I call out to her before she gets through the door.

“Oh, and Jolene? It’s Dr. Hamilton.”

Her muttered curses are all I hear as she exits, and I put a hand on my chest.

Damn. I can see why Lucy’s so bloody taken with her. She’s a firecracker set to go off at any moment, and it’s hotter than hell.

* * *

After I finish cleaning up my mess at the Grant store, I head back to the office. I have more than a few physicals booked this week because it’s back to school season and I need to make certain my schedule stays on track. The sports teams will need to be completed first so they’re eligible to continue practicing, and after that, any other unemerged teens take priority over younger children.

Unlocking the door, I walk in to find a boxed lunch with a note on it, and I smile to myself. Lucy’s been here, and this is his uncanny ability to know what I need even before I do. The note is brief and to the point, letting me know where he’ll be and when he’ll be home for dinner. I shake my head fondly as I make my way to the back office, dropping my keys in the bowl by the door.

Wolfgang Lucien Fletcher is the best thing to happen to me in a very long time.

I open my laptop and the box with another exotic salad, sighing as I scan the emails that built up while I was gone. Most of them are Council or Society related—progress on patient’s and observations about certain individuals or their powers. As the town doctor in a Society enclave, they completely integrated my job with their business. I monitor the unemerged, update them on those with developing or additional skill sets, and send reports that Andromeda Bane uses for her ‘counseling’ sessions at the school. The adults in town are a much more mundane part of my job since once they emerge, their health care is centered on normal day-to-day patient woes.

When the council forced the previous doctor to retire, I was yanked out of an internship at a major hospital further South. I’d finished medical school at State U two years before that, and I planned to find an open doctor position in Asia. I’d already lived in England while I attended Swallowtail and I wanted to settle down in another new place with unusual charges to watch over. But the Fates sent me here, and I thought I’d be miserable in this small, insular town full of rich residents who barely follow the rules of their own bargain.

Then Wolfie came home from vet school to set up his practice, and from the moment I saw him, I knew. We were written in the stars for sure, but I wasn’t certain he understood. While I grew up under the supervision of active Society members and strict boarding school staff who were familiar with my kind and its needs, he grew up with an adoptive family that were never around because of their agent status. By the time he was old enough to emerge, his father had been killed, and they committed his mother. What he knew about mating and relationships was bound to be colored by that kind of trauma.

I spent months becoming his friend, learning who he was inside, and waiting for him to make a move before I realized he was far too worried about what the rest of the town would think to take a chance. So I asked him on a date and after a day of biting my nails, he came over for lunch at my office and accepted. Since then, we’ve been inseparable, and even though he understands the signals that let his kind know who their mate is, he still didn’t recognize that Jolene was when they met.

I blame his bitch of a bio mom—her negligence and refusal to tell him who his father is making this even harder than it needs to be.

What I haven’t shared with my darling boy yet is the fact that I felt the electricity the moment our eyes locked. The tingle my species gets when in the presence of a potential mate is more like a jolt to the heart, and I felt it. It wasn’t the time or place to examine that little tidbit, so I focused on the situation at hand, but that girl is definitely meant for me as well. It’s not uncommon, I know, but much like Lucy, I worry that it will be a bit much for the provincial townspeople of the Hollow.

They won’t have a choice, though, will they? Mates are mates, whether they want to accept an unconventional relationship or not.

Pausing in my musing, I look at the new email flashing on my screen. It’s from Mayor Nelia, and it’s marked urgent. I frown, clicking the button to see what is so damned important that it can’t wait until the next meeting.

Presley,

As you may be aware, a lost one named Jolene Whitley has returned home. The Society believes that she is very important and must be cared for until she reaches her full potential. No one is certain why she hasn’t emerged yet, and though it is quite late in life for it to occur, they are sure she will do so. Since you come from a different atmosphere than the Hollow is capable of providing, I would ask that you try to assist anyone who is helping her fend off the ghosts of her past. She had a very rough time during her high school years, and despite the edicts of the Council, certain behaviors are still rampant amongst the residents. I can only do so much from my position, but if she has allies looking out for her, perhaps I can spare her the pain of her youth resurfacing before she gains the powers to defend herself.

Gratefully,

Mayor Cornelia Sykes, Esq.

I stare at the screen in shock. Mayor Nelia is probably the best mayor this town has ever had—at least according to Society records—and she’s not the kind to whisper behind people’s backs. However, this email is tantamount to admitting she’s aware of the imbalance of power in town and even more aware that she can’t resolve it. I wouldn’t have expected her to admit that in writing, yet her plea says enough for me to grasp her implication.

Clearly, Jolene Whitley must be protected at all costs, and I’ve been drafted.