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Mor

Bo is replacing some old boards on the dock, and I’m shamelessly staring at the shirtless monster through our kitchen window.

Unfortunately, there’s a decent distance between the house and the lake, so I’m only able to goggle a miniature version of the monster.

“Fixed,” Jack announces from the room over.

With a sigh, I leave off my staring and join the werewolf at the computer station I have set up for all library-related things.

“What was wrong?” I called in my brother-in-law because the cataloging system he’d built for the Public Mythic Library was creating double records of some books.

“Titles starting with ‘the’ were listing twice. The History of Water Beasts and History of Water Beasts comma The . My fault. Now they list the second way.”

“You’re my favorite werewolf.”

Jack throws me a smirk.

“I?—”

He freezes, his eyes going pure black.

And I don’t need to ask him why because I spy white tendrils of light—the same emotional spike he felt—radiating from the front of the house.

Ame is afraid .

Jack launches up, leaving the office chair spinning in his wake as he sprints to the front door, me on his heels.

When we burst out onto the porch, the wolf keeps going.

Meanwhile, I stumble to a stop, horrified by the sight in front of me.

A Mercedes is parked in the gravel lot.

A couple climbs out in tandem—the woman short with pinup curves and shoulder-length blonde hair, the man tall and lithe with a head of dark red hair.

They look the same as when I last saw them.

Ame stands as still as the statues in the garden, her face as pale as the fear in her aura.

“What’s wrong, Ame?” Jack growls the words as he enfolds his mate in a protective embrace.

“They’re here,” she murmurs, eyes wide and locked on the couple, all blood leeched from her cheeks.

“Who?” Jack’s question is low and urgent.

“Who are they?”

“Our parents,” I say so she doesn’t have to.

Regaining my ability to move, I jog down the stairs and try to figure out how to make Helena and Alistair leave and never come back.

Why the hell are they even here?

The Shelly parents seemed perfectly content up in Maine.

Those wards really must be malfunctioning.

“Girls. Look at you.” My mother gives each of us a distracted smile as her attention flicks to the house behind me.

The library.

Full of magical knowledge.

Endless spells.

“Morgana. Amethyst.” Our father’s focus stays on us, his grin charming.

He’s very good at endearing people to him.

A skill Anthony inherited, though my brother is also a decent person.

My father is missing something fundamental at his core.

“It’s been too long.”

“Why are you here?” The question comes in a hard snap from Jack.

He only ever interacted with the Shelly parents as a cat, but he knows plenty about their version of child raising.

Alistair tilts his head.

“What a rude creature you are.” Unaware of the danger he’s in, my father saunters closer.

“I’m allowed to see my daughters whenever I wish. Who are you to question that?”

“My mate,” Ame pipes up, her voice strung tight.

“This is Jack. He’s my mate.”

Alistair frowns and glances toward our mother, but she’s too focused on the library to notice.

“Why didn’t you contact us when you were looking for a mate?”

Gods, like she was shopping for a life partner.

“Because you’re not a part of her life,” Jack states, his voice sharp as cracked ice.

He glances down at my sister, his voice gentling with his next words.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

Ame shakes her head.

He turns his attention to me, and I’m surprised by his next question.

“And you, Mor? Do you want them here?”

I feel a warm glow in my chest, knowing that Jack cares about my feelings on this subject.

Not that I expect he’d side with me over Ame, but at least he doesn’t treat me like a nonentity.

Still, I’ve never expressly told my parents they are uninvited from my life.

Other than the time I emancipated myself, that is.

Not sure they even noticed.

But I have a house full of magical books, and they’re paying attention now.

“No. I don’t want them here,” I admit, without a waver in my voice.

My father blinks at me.

My mother ignores me, strolling toward the library I’ve built.

“Wait—”

“No further.” So fast that I didn’t even see him move, Jack is suddenly in front of Helena, so close that she stumbles back a step with a huff.

“I was told this is a public library.”

“Your daughters don’t want you here.”

“Well then, they should have made this a private library.” My mother smirks and steps around Jack, the move possible only because he lets her.

She lets out a, “Ha,” as if her maneuvering was an accomplishment, and skips up the porch steps.

But when she tries to open the door, nothing happens.

“Why is this locked?”

“It’s not,” I say, honestly confused, not that I want to help her enter.

“The house doesn’t like you.” The deep rumble of a voice sounds just before Bo rounds the corner, narrowed eyes bouncing between our tense party.

“The house doesn’t know me yet, so I doubt it’s formed any kind of opinion.” Helena reaches into her pocket and comes out with a handful of red powder, pressing her palm to the thick wood.

“Let me in. You have no right to keep me out.”

The door doesn’t move.

“Ame,” Alistair sighs.

“Open the door for your mother.”

My father makes a mistake then.

He places his hand on my sister’s shoulder, as if to guide her toward the library entrance.

Ame’s aura swamps with white as pure terror condenses in her mind.

The next thing I register is my father’s scream of agony.

I throw magic into my shields to keep out the neon blue wave of pain emanating from the man.

The move is instinctual, the reaction faster than my mind, as I slowly take in what Jack just did in defense of Ame.

“My hand!” Alistair clasps a bleeding stump to his chest. At his feet lies the severed limb, fingers still twitching.

In front of him stands a wolfman, claws bloody, saliva dripping.

“No,” the creature snarls, “touch.”

“Get away from him!” my mother yells, running toward her maimed husband, fear finally showing on her previously passive face.

Jack turns and roars at her.

She gasps and raises her red-powdered-covered palms.

Not good, not good ? —

But Ame is quicker.

At some point, my sister dipped her own fingers into the magical assist, and she lunges toward our mother, grasping her wrists in a tight hold.

I watch as the red of wanting overwhelms Helena’s aura.

“You want to take your husband and go to the healing witch who lives on Peachtree Lane. You want to reattach his hand. And then you want to leave us alone forever.”

I can see the struggle on my mother’s face.

She’s strong in her own right, and spells don’t tend to stick to other witches well.

What helps is that the first two commands Ame gave probably match up pretty closely with protective desires Helena has.

After a stretch, where the only sounds are Jack’s panting and my father’s sobbing groans, my mom goes lax in Ame’s grip.

When my sister releases our mother, Helena hurries to collect the hand and ushers Alistair to their car.

They peel off.

Jack, the wolfman, engulfs Ame in his furry arms.

Suddenly, I find myself in a strong embrace as well.

And it’s only when Bo’s arms are around me that I realize I’m shaking.

“They’re bad news, huh?” he asks while holding me close.

“Yes.”

“Will Ame’s magic keep them away?”

“No,” the answer comes from my sister. “They’ll be back.”