Page 31 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

31

ERICA

I ’d had high hopes for today.

I was so excited for Sam to pick me up. Had it all planned out. Visit a few romantic spots, starting with Lake Paxton. I loved it the first time I was there with Monica. And going with Sam, it would be even better. There was a river further north, named Venus after the Greek goddess of beauty. Monica had offered to take me, but I’d refused. I wanted to see it for the first time with Sam by my side. But my hopes crash and burn with a single text.

At least he had the decency to text and let me know he’d be late. Except he’s not late. He’s a no-show. The Crawford brothers had vanished for the entire day, starting with nothing but a vague text from Raul to Monica.

“Pack business. It’s too complicated for me to explain in a text. I’ll see you tonight.”

Tonight? Right.

Unless 2 a.m. somehow counts as ‘tonight.’ I’m exhausted. My hopes of a romantic evening were wasted on Scrabble with Monica instead of the plans I’d imagined. I went to bed alone. The complete opposite of what I’d hoped.

I wake up in my pink pajamas in a bad temper. Can’t get much further from waking up naked and smiling with sunlight spilling over tangled sheets and warm skin. I touch the empty space beside me. The sheets are cold and untouched.

Annoyance flares hot in my chest as I march downstairs, ready to unleash my frustration on the first person who crosses my path. Then I see it.

On the kitchen table sits a synthesizer. Old. Worn. The “O” in its brand name faded and barely visible, a crack on the top right edge. In the middle of the instrument sits a note. I walk over and pick the note up.

“Hey, girl,

This was all Ray could find yesterday. I hope it plays okay.

Please don’t be mad at me, but we won’t see each other today, either. I’ve got a lot of work to do. I wish it was in the workshop, but it’s pack related.

Love, Sam.”

I exhale sharply and crumple the note. Whatever kept the Crawford brothers away had to be big. Monica never complained when Raul disappeared for a day or two, but this? This is different. Something is wrong. I feel it so deeply; it aches. But I’m not going to find out what it is today.

Disappointment mixes with anxiety as I pack. Closing my bag, I look around the room, feeling like I’m forgetting something, but unable to figure out what. I walk around the empty house, running my fingers over places and things that make me feel connected to him.

Finding nothing, I finally walk out the door. Pausing one last time, I linger in the door, wishing he was here. I don’t want to leave, not like this. No hug, no kiss.

It will be fine. He’s fine.

I’ll be back in twenty-four hours, then he can tell me all about why he bailed, and I’ll give him an earful about how it’s not okay. Which won’t happen right away, because Stacy’s coming with me when I return.

Sighing heavily, I get in my car and drive to the city.

I do my gig at Michelle’s, still waiting to hear more on the contract and go to sleep in my too big, too empty bed. Tossing and turning all night with anxiety that I might oversleep my alarm and waste even one minute of time with Sam.

It turns out to have been pointless. Sitting in my living room, I look at my phone for the umpteenth time. True to form, my redheaded friend, Stacy, is late. She’s on her way is the last text I have from her, which I keep opening up and staring at, as if it will somehow magically give me more information about why she’s not here yet.

I pace the small room, go to the door, open it. Stare at the empty parking space that should hold her car. Shut the door, pace, sit. Wait. Go to the window. Stare. Pace. Sit. I want to get back to Crawford. Want to be in Sam’s arms.

Finally, I hear a car pulling up and run to the door. Throwing it open, relief fights with anger. It is her, which is great, but she’s also forty-minutes late.

“I know, I know! Traffic,” she says, getting out.

“Yeah,” I say, gritting my teeth.

There’s no point in arguing. We’ve had too many fights over her lack of punctuality, and she’s not going to change. Fighting with her about it will only put me in a worse mood and make the drive miserable. The last thing I want is to drive angry.

She’s here. We can go. It’s enough.

I take a deep breath and force my muscles to relax. It’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s not only her anyway. She’s a target that’s here, that I can see, and I don’t expect her to be any different than she is. I’m worried about Sam, who I still haven’t heard from. The unanswered texts to him hold a lot more of my attention than the time waiting on Stacy.

She gets her suitcase out of the backseat. Yanks it free, sets it down, slams the car door then presses the key fob, locking the doors.

“Put it in my car,” I say, going back inside to get my suitcase which I’d left sitting next to the door.

“Hey, Erica…” Stacy calls from outside.

Frowning, I grab my suitcase before going back out.

“What is it?” I ask, walking over to her by my car. She’s staring out at the street so I drop my suitcase.

“Look at her,” Stacy says pointing down the street at a woman half a block down the street. “Where do I know her from?”

She looks out of place. Out of time even, but I know exactly who she is. Helena.

Dressed in a knee-length denim skirt and a white t-shirt, she stands on the sidewalk watching the passing cars like they’re something out of a sci-fi movie. Her gaze lingers on the houses, her expression shifting when she lands on the lone remaining Victorian-style estate. Maybe it’s the odd shade of purple that has her mesmerized.

“Hey!” I yell, striding past Stacy. “Helena! Over here!”

“Erica,” she says, her head snapping around, then she waves and smiles. “How are you?”

“Better than you, I think,” I say with a grin as I reach her. “Hate to say it, but you look lost.”

“It’s been forty years since I was last in New York City,” she says, watching a sleek black Mercedes rolling by. “It’s incredible how much has changed.”

“Forty years is a long time,” I say, shaking my head. “Eleven more than I’ve been alive.”

“Yes, but…” her voice drops to a whisper, tinged with awe. “Did you see that car? The smooth lines around its headlights? I wonder how much it costs.”

“About as much as that Victorian house you were just drooling over,” I say, stifling a laugh.

Helena frowns, clearly unamused. I pat her arm.

“Listen, we need to go shopping. I can’t have you walking around looking like you stepped out of an eighties ice cream commercial. Also, if you visit during the summer, do yourself a favor and invest in some sunblock.”

“We have bigger and more important problems than my wardrobe or skin protection, Erica,” Helena says, a familiar hardness in her voice that cuts through the easy banter. “I found the information I was looking for. I need you to gather everybody and bring them to meet with me at Edward’s sanctuary.” I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off with a glare before the words are even fully formed in my head. “I don’t want to repeat myself.”

“Sure,” I murmur, any desire for banter fading as fast as my plans for the evening.

Helena has spent too much of her life in the shadows. It shows in the way she dresses, the pallor of her skin, and in the way she holds herself. She looks like she’s braced for impact. As if the world is always only seconds from striking her down. She’s forgotten how to enjoy the small things, like a casual conversation. But even so I respect her.

It takes guts to return to a place she barely knows, and chase down deeply buried secrets. If I want the truth about what she’s uncovered, about myself , I’ll have to ignore the sharp edges of her attitude.

Focus on the witch’s skill, not the woman’s flaws.