Page 17 of Veiled By Smoke (The Nature Hunters Academy #5)

“Our past does not define us. However, it can set a precedent for our future if we aren’t careful.

When we have been wrong, we must make amends and fix what we can.

When we have stepped off the correct path, we must return to it.

If we burn a bridge, then we build a new one through humility.

We never give up on the possibility of being better, doing better tomorrow, or the next day, or the one after that.

That is the beauty of life. Second chances are a daily option. ” ~Ra

T he Blackhorn coven mansion loomed ahead, its stone facade streaked with moss, the windows reflecting nothing but gray sky and the promise of unfinished business.

The garden was a tangle of thistle and lavender gone wild, scenting the air with something sharp and medicinal.

Ra’s boots crunched on gravel and dead leaves with every step, the sound oddly loud in the hush that seemed to press against the old estate.

Ra had never considered himself a man prone to nerves. He was a pharaoh, a fire elementalist, and, if Shelly was to be believed, a stubborn, overprotective brute with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. But even with all of that, he was still just a man.

Shelly squeezed his hand as they materialized in the cramped entryway. “You look tense,” she murmured, voice pitched low for his ears only.

He grunted, scanning the room for threats, or at the very least, for a cup of coffee. “I don’t do witches,” he muttered.

She smirked. “Damn right you don’t.”

He and Shelly reached the door, and before he could even raise a hand, it opened with a low groan that echoed down the dim, wood-paneled hallway.

Penny stood there, framed by dusty sunlight and the faint, acrid aroma of burnt sage.

Her hair was a riot of purple streaks and frizz, her t-shirt read, “Witch, please.” And her jeans looked like they’d lost a fight with a pack of wolves.

There was a faint, underlying smell of bread baking—warm, yeasty, almost comforting—clashing with the bitter tang of spell ingredients.

Penny eyed them, her gaze flicking from Shelly to Ra’s arms, where Aviur’s runes used to snake up them like ink stains. She looked a little surprised. “Looks like you managed to get rid of the unwanted dark fire king’s tattoos. ” She wrinkled her nose. “Although, I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant.”

“Dragon fire rarely is,” Ra said coolly.

Penny winced. “Yeah, that must have sucked. So, what brings the pharaoh back to my doorstep this time? And you’ve brought the woman who made you risk your immortal soul. Hope you brought snacks this time. I just pulled a loaf out of the oven, but I’m not sharing if this is another drama dump.”

Shelly blinked, the flicker of jealousy in her eyes almost as bright as the afternoon light slanting through the stained glass above the stairs. “We’re not here for bread, thanks.”

Ra’s jaw tightened as he stepped inside.

The house was stuffy, thick with the ghosts of too many spells and too many secrets.

Dust motes spun in the beams from the windows, and something sticky clung to the floor near the baseboards—maybe old honey, maybe something less innocent.

“We need your help,” he said, his voice low, the echo of his words swallowed by the velvet hush of the parlor.

Penny turned her attention back to Ra, her gaze going once again to his now blank forearms. Then it ran up to meet his stare.

“Still rocking the demon-accessory look, I see.” She made a “peace” sign with her fingers and pointed at her face, and then his.

“Those eyes . . . ” She whistled, circling him.

“Still black as a pit and creepy as hell. No offense.”

Ra rolled his eyes. “Are you done? Or do you want to continue to catalogue what has and hasn’t changed about me since our last meeting?”

Penny grinned. “Maybe later. Back to your request for my assistance. I’m going to have to go with a firm no.

And just for kicks, I’ll add a hell to the no.

” She sighed as she shook her head. “Why can’t anyone come knocking just to catch up with an old friend?

But nope, they’re looking for spells to create endless amounts of money–side note, that’s not a thing.

They want help with demon wrangling or access to grimoires.

You know, I’m more than just a witch. I’ve got needs, too.

I have emotions and feelings.” She suddenly snapped her mouth shut as if she realized she’d just shared information she hadn’t meant to.

“Ignore me. Apparently, I’m due to see my therapist.”

Shelly cut in, her voice a shade too bright. “We need your help, Penny. Actual help, not stupid spells for our own gain. It’s about Rory. She’s got a memory block, something her so-called mother put on her. We need someone who can break it.”

Penny’s brows shot up. “Memory block? Witch work, or demon?”

Ra folded his arms. “Witch. Danni was crafty. She wanted Rory to forget where she came from.”

Penny’s jaw clenched at the mention of the dead high priestess. “Figures. Danni always was a control freak with a flair for the dramatic. Let me guess, she left behind a trail of emotional devastation and questionable parenting choices?”

Shelly snorted. “You have no idea.”

Penny turned to root through a cluttered shelf, muttering, “I might have a book on mental bindings . . . or a cocktail recipe. Sometimes I mix up the two. But I give you what you want, and then I’m out, okay?

I did my time. I watched my sisters pay for deals they never should’ve struck.

All I want is to bake my bread and pretend none of you exist. There’s other witches, the few that are left, who can assist you in your memory hunting.

” She stood and turned to face them. She shot Ra a look, her face scrunched up with doubt.

“You do realize asking a witch to undo another witch’s work is like asking a cat to unclog a hairball? Possible, but messy.”

“We can’t go to another witch,” Ra said, his voice clipped. “You’re the only one we trust.”

Ra could feel Shelly tense beside him—the charge of her anger, the hint of ozone that always came when her temper spiked. “We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Penny snorted, tossing a rag onto a battered side table.

“Everything’s important to someone. That’s how my coven got roasted.

You guys want to play world savior, go ahead, I’ll give you what might help.

But I’m done. I want quiet. I want normal.

I want to be the weird neighbor with a cat, not the last line of defense against hell. ”

A draft whistled through the cracked window glass, making the candle flames on the mantel gutter and dance.

The air in the room felt thick—too warm, too close, the kind of heat that made sweat bead at the back of Ra’s neck and his skin itch beneath his shirt.

He took a slow breath, tasting the salt of old tears and the bitterness of burnt herbs.

“Rory deserves to know who she is,” he said, voice rough. “She’s . . . one of the good ones. She didn’t choose any of this.”

Penny crossed her arms, leaning against the scarred kitchen table. “And you think I did? You think any of us did? You know how many ‘good ones’ I buried? How many sisters I watched burn, screaming, because someone else decided to meddle in things they didn’t understand?”

Penny studied him, her expression softening just a fraction. “And what about you, King Tut? Did you have a choice when you tangled with darkness, or have you figured out how to use all that fire for something besides destruction?”

Shelly bristled, stepping closer to Ra. “His choices are his own. And we aren’t here to talk about my mate.

We’re here to talk about a young girl who endured something tragic, then had it wiped from her mind.

She suffered years of psychological and emotional abuse at the whims of a selfish, power-hungry witch who didn’t deserve the quick death she got from the fire of the dragons.

If you sit on the sidelines now, when you know you could help, that makes you no better than Danni. ”

Penny’s mouth tilted in a small smirk. “Damn, she’s a firecracker.” The smirk dropped as she frowned. “And also wordy manipulative.”

“I think you mean manipulative with words,” Shelly corrected. “And I’ll do worse than manipulate someone if it is for the good of someone I care about.”

After at least a minute, Penny huffed. “Fine,” she said, voice flat.

“But I want it noted that I’m not happy about it.

And if this goes sideways, don’t come crying to me.

I’ll be long gone, living under a new name in some town where the weirdest thing is a cat that wears sweaters.

” She started shoving things into a battered leather satchel—vials clinking, dried flowers snapping, her movements sharp and irritated.

“Considering Rory isn’t with you, I’m guessing you want me to go to where she is? ”

Ra nodded as he shifted restlessly. “Considering she's bonded to a dragon, we figured it was a better idea for her to stay put. Kimba is nearly as possessive of her rider as Aston, Rory’s mate, is. And a dragon sitting out there on your street would draw a little bit of attention.”

Penny closed the satchel and put it over her head so it rested across her body, then grabbed an old book and faced them. “One condition: if a demon shows up, since they’re sort of running amok as we speak, you and your firepower better handle it. I don’t do demons. Never have, never will.”

Ra nodded once, all business. “You have my word.”

Penny’s eyes lingered on Shelly for a moment, then drifted to Ra’s face, her own expression unreadable.

“You better. Because if I die for this, I’ll haunt you both.

And I won’t be subtle about it. Imagine one of those horror movies where people try to get an exorcist to get rid of the ghost. That’ll be me. ”

Ra opened the portal, the swirl of power making the air crackle and the taste of ozone stronger. Penny hesitated at the threshold, running a hand through her tangled hair, her reluctance as thick as the dust in the corners.

Penny looked up at Ra, her tone having changed.

“You know,” she said, her voice almost lost in the sudden wind of magic, “sometimes the only way to survive is to stop being the person everyone expects you to be. Remember that.” Then she looked back at the portal with a muttered curse and stepped through.

Shelly followed, her hand gripping Ra’s like a lifeline.

Ra took one last look around the ruined coven house—at the flickering candles, the battered table, the bread cooling on the counter–and then entered the portal.

As Ra stepped through after them, he felt, for the first time since Aviur’s magic, like maybe he was more than just his past and the product of his ancestors.

Maybe, like Penny said, he didn’t have to be who they expected him to be.

But lurking in the back of his mind, cold as ice and persistent as a splinter, was the memory of the deal he’d made with Viscious, the dark fire king.

With everything else swirling around him, it was like living in a storm, always waiting for the next strike of lightning.