A Squirrel Gets His Nut (Enchanted Ink

2) MM Kelex
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A Squirrel Gets His Nut
ENCHANTED INK
BOOK 1.5
KELEX
A TWISTED E-PUBLISHING BOOK

A Squirrel Gets His Nut

Enchanted Ink, 1.5

Copyright © 2023 by Kelex

Edited by Marie Medina

Proofread by Alexis Woods

First Publication: August 2023

Second Publication: October 2023
Third Publication: January 2024

Cover design by Covers by K © 2023

Logo copyright © 2023, 2024 Twisted E-Publishing, LLC.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in
whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
Created with Vellum
 A Squirrel Gets His Nut

Luca Galioto is just coming into his powers when he meets a new arrival in town, Ash Montgomery—and sparks fly.

Yet the pair are like oil and water. Luca is a tatted and pierced ancient Calé progeny, aka a witch, whereas straight-laced Ash
is a squirrel shifter who’s just joined the Salem Police Department.

Opposites attract? Sure—but can two men so vastly different trust that Fate got it right?
 Contents

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8

Only Skin Deep

Also by Kelex
About the Author
 Prologue

About twenty years ago…

A s soon as the bell rang, Luca Galioto rushed from the classroom, bypassing his locker, and heading for the outer door. He
glanced over one shoulder, his breathing growing heavier, unsure if it was the fear of Ronnie Smith and that lot getting
ahold of him again or the massive amount of textbooks he kept in his backpack to avoid the lockers altogether—or rather
the chance he might be stuffed inside one.
He made it off the Salem Middle School campus and neared Essex Street when he sighed with relief.
“There you are, maggot.”
Ronnie and his crew appeared out of nowhere. Luca jumped back, catching his heel on a broken bit of pavement and going
down like a ton of bricks. While eyeing Ronnie, he scrambled to his feet, but under the weight of the backpack, he struggled to
rise. The second he was upright, Ronnie punched him, knocking him over again.
Ronnie and his friends cackled with glee.
Sweat beaded at the back of Luca’s neck, his stomach coiling.
“Get up, Puke-a,” Ronnie cried, his friends hollering even louder at the newest nickname he’d been given. He had to give
Ronnie credit. At least that one rhymed—though that might be a stretch—but it was far better than Gypsy Trash, which he’d
been called the previous year.
A man in colonial garb appeared and stood over him, watching him. “You must rise to the occasion, young man.”
Great. Perfect timing for a ghost to appear. Just what I need right now.
Slinking out of the backpack, he rose again, ignoring the ghost. Sure, he’d get another punch, but it was better than them
crowding around him and kicking while he was on the ground. Like they’d done last time. They’d broken two ribs and
punctured his lung. He’d been hurt so badly that he’d struggled to use his healing powers to mend himself.
True to form, the minute Luca rose, Ronnie’s fist met his face. Pain blossomed inside his skull; the coppery tang of iron filled
his mouth. He landed on the ground, air knocked from his lungs. He lay there, time slowing. Cars passing. No one stopped.
They never stopped. He was just that extremely small, weird kid with purple hair, which his even weirder mother dyed black
to hide themselves from the normies. They must’ve hidden superbly well, because he seemed invisible to most citizens of
Salem, Massachusetts.
Too bad he wasn’t invisible to Ronnie.
“We must call the constable!” the ghost said before crying, “Help! Help!”
No one but Luca could see or hear him. If only the others knew a ghost stood feet away from them… that would make them run!
“Shut up,” he muttered to the ghost.
“What did you say to me?” Ronnie asked. “Shut up? Oh, I’m gonna shut you up, that’s for sure. Make you eat some of those
teeth in your mouth. Get up, Puke-a.”
The thought of getting up for another punch wore him out. He lay there, staring up at the electrical lines above, zipping and
zapping as power rushed through them, and wished he had the ability to draw that energy into himself. Maybe then he could
fight off his bullies instead of running from them.
He was tired of running.
Glancing to the side, he saw a Salem cop car approaching and felt a glimmer of joy. The guys would run off if they saw a cop,
surely.
Right?
“Oh, wonderful!” the ghost cried. “A constable arrives.”
Only, the car showed no signs of stopping. Luca’s gaze sought the officer’s inside as it neared. It was clear the man saw him…
and even smiled. The car continued past, leaving him there on the sidewalk with his bullies and the prospect of getting beaten
to a bloody pulp.
“Get up, shithead,” Ronnie yelled. His friends snorted behind him. “I ain’t got all day.”
Luca cast a glance to the side again, praying someone would intervene. Anyone. He saw a woman watering her front garden,
acting oblivious—yet her gaze moved their way here and there.
Yet she did nothing.
Luca closed his eyes and drew in a deep inhale, knowing there would be no help for him. He stiffened, expecting the kick to
come.
It never did.
“Hey! You little shits! Get the fuck out of here!”
Luca opened his eyes, expecting another ghost. Instead, a man towered over him—and towered was an understatement. Luca
barely saw the guy’s head from his spot on the pavement.
As he sat up, he noted the backs of Ronnie and his friends running down Essex Street and smiled to himself. A reprieve, of
sorts. Suddenly, the man spun and dropped to one knee—and Luca got his first look.
“You okay, kid?” He scoffed. “Of course, you’re not okay. Look at you.” He reached behind him and returned with a
handkerchief, which he used to blot off the blood around Luca’s nose and mouth.
“Your hero has arrived. I shall depart,” the ghost said before walking down the street.
Luca turned to the living, breathing man in front of him. He had a friendly smile and bright blue eyes. “Those guys need to pick
on someone their own age.”
“I am their age,” Luca said, cringing when the man pressed the handkerchief on a sensitive spot.
“Sorry,” the man murmured. “You look younger.”
Everyone thought so. His mother, who claimed herself to be a seer, claimed he’d grow to be at least seven feet tall one day, but
he knew she was likely telling tales to make him feel better about being a good six inches shorter than most of his classmates.
The stories didn’t work. Not anymore.
“Well, let’s see if there’s any more damage.” The man offered a hand to help him up.
That’s when he noticed the swirling symbol on the inside of Luca’s inner arm. He ran a thumb over it and lifted his gaze to
Luca. After a chuckle, the man pooled a small ball of blue magic inside one palm. “Follow me.”
Luca stared at the magic curling around the man’s hand, knowing his mother would have his head on a platter if he followed a
witch he didn’t know, but curiosity won out. His mother refused to teach him much about his magic for some reason. Maybe he
could find someone who would. He grabbed his backpack and turned to see where the man walked—only to see a graveyard
ahead, right beside a church.
A graveyard filled with ghosts.
The random ghost here or there through town was fine, but one step in a graveyard and he’d be pummeled as badly as if Ronnie
and those goons had beaten him. The world of the dead was a terrifying one for a young boy with the power to see ghosts. He
tread carefully, ignoring the tide of ghosts moving across the cemetery and stopping along the wrought-iron fence. Luca kept to
the outside of the sidewalk, far from their reach.
Once past, he breathed a bit better. Luca trailed behind the man up the steps of the Baptist Church nearby, noting the man’s
curious look.
“What were you doing there?”
“Nothing,” Luca lied.
“Ah,” the witch said, clearly not convinced. “Name’s Cassius, by the way.” Cassius took the hand with the blue ball of magic
and opened the front door before Luca could offer his name in return.
Luca peered inside and didn’t see a church. There was only a swirling blue light within the doorframe.
A portal? Awesome!
“I can get you all fixed up,” Cassius said. “Just follow me.”
Cassius walked through the doorway and disappeared through the portal.
Luca grinned. He didn’t know many of the witches in Salem, even though he’d lived there his entire life, and the ones he did
know kept their distance. His mother didn’t belong to a coven, which meant he didn’t either. A coven-less witch was like the
lowest Indian castes he’d learned about in Social Studies. Untouchable.
But there was a witch offering help.
Luca stepped through without another thought.
On the other side was a… he frowned, not exactly sure where he was. It looked kind of like a barbershop inside, with big,
black chairs, but instead of clippers and shears, there were little needle guns in their hands. Luca cast a glance around and
realized it was a tattoo shop.
Enchanted Ink Tattoo. He’d passed it with this mother a million times, but he’d never been inside. He had gone into the
magical supply shop down the block when his mother needed items, but none of the other witch-owned stores clustered there,
no matter how he’d begged his mother.
“Hey, kid?”
Luca turned to eye Cassius.
“Come on back to my office so I can clean you up.”
A man sat at a desk near the doorway, scowling at him. “Isn’t that the Gypsy’s son?”
“Calé,” Cassius murmured, urging Luca toward the back of the shop. Luca had never heard anyone but his mother correct
someone in regard to his upbringing.
“Better watch out. She’s a pistol.”
“I think I can handle Luciana,” Cassius said, one hand pressed to Luca’s back.
He knows Mom?
As soon as Cassius had him inside an office area, he shut the door and drew magic into his palm again. “My healing power
isn’t my strongest, but I can mend you some. Make it hurt less.”
“I can manage,” Luca whispered, drawing his own magic. He waved a hand over his face and repaired the damage.
“Impressive,” the man said, cocking his head to the side. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
“You look much younger.” Cassius eyed him, silent a few seconds. “And you can heal that quickly?”
“Yep.”
“Can you heal others?”
“I’ve healed my mother before.”
Cassius rested a hip on the edge of the desk. “Why didn’t you fight back?”
“Those guys are bigger and stronger than I am.”
“But you’ve got magic.”
“Healing is the only magic I have.”
Cassius narrowed his eyes. “You have nothing else? No battle magic, or persuasion, or transmutation, or memory or …
anything?”
“Nope,” Luca said. “Just healing.”
“Perhaps that’s why you’re so good at it. The healing.” Cassius scratched his bearded jaw. “Focused energy.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice, too,” Luca muttered.
“The bullies?”
Luca nodded.
“Are they that bad?”
Luca glanced at the floor, heat filling his face.
“Look, Luca⁠—”
He knows my name, too?
“Maybe I can teach you a thing or two? Maybe…” Cassius sighed. “Maybe we can work to see if you’ve got any other skills
that you haven’t discovered yet.”
Luca fought the grin coming to his face.
The door to Cassius’ office whipped open, and Luca’s mother appeared in the doorway, fury etched on her face. She snagged
Luca’s wrist and dragged him closer.
“You stay away from my boy, Cassius. He’s off limits.”
“You know he belongs here, Luciana,” Cassius said. “Why you won’t let me work with him, I don’t know.”
“We’re not members of this coven, nor will we be,” his mother roared. “He’s my son. Mine. He will learn the way of the Calé.
That’s all he needs to know.”
His mother yanked him toward the door.
“But you haven’t taught him anything, Luciana. How is he supposed to protect himself?”
His mother froze at the door. She turned to Luca. “Stand out in the hallway… and don’t talk to anyone or touch anything. Do
you hear me?”
Luca nodded, never having seen his mother so angry.
The door shut behind her as she reentered the office. He could hear raised voices but couldn’t manage any words. Not until the
voices rose louder.
“Death has touched him! I won’t allow him down that road.”
“You can’t keep him from his destiny by refusing to teach him magic, Luciana.”
“I will protect my son in the way I see fit. He is not your son, Cassius. He’s mine. Stay the hell away from him!”
The door flew open, and his mother whipped out. She hauled Luca from the hallway and on through the tattoo shop. His arm
burned from the force of her dragging. Heads turned, and his face burned almost as strongly. They were halfway down Essex
Street before she came to a stop and turned to face him.
“Luca, how many times have I told you to stay away from the witches in this town?”
“But we’re witches…”
“No! We are the Calé.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Luca asked, inwardly rolling his eyes.
“For generations, witches have belittled and treated us as lesser than. We have powers greater than theirs. You shall be one of
the strongest healers to ever grace this world one day. They covet that gift and wish to use you. I won’t allow it.”
“He wanted to teach me how to use my gift, mama.”
“He wants to get you under his thumb and take you away from me,” she snarled, jerking him closer. “You will learn the ways of
the Calé… not their European magic.”
“Portugal is European, Mama.”
“Our ancestors may be from there, but they were from Romania before that. The birthplace of magic.”
“Romania is Europe, too.”
His mother’s face twisted with anger. “We hold a primeval magic, far stronger and more ancient than that of the witches.” She
cupped his chin, lifting his gaze. “You were meant for great things, Luca. Don’t let them move you off your track, baby.”
“Then why don’t you teach me?”
His mother’s face tightened, her eyes sad.
“I just want to be a better witch, Mama.”
“A better vrăjitoare,” she corrected.
Luca rolled his eyes. Vrăjitoare was Romanian for witch. Why his mother was so stubborn, trying her damnedest to keep them
from others of their kind, he didn’t understand. There was no other Roma left in Salem, to his knowledge, so they were alone.
So what if their ancestors were Roma vrăjitoare who’d migrated to Portugal before emigrating to Salem? Why did that keep
them apart? They were all the same.
If they were part of a coven, their lives would be easier. Wouldn’t it? After that afternoon, he had far more questions than he’d
had that morning.
“What did you mean that I was touched by death?”
His mother’s face paled. “Come on… I need to make dinner before your father gets home and screams bloody murder.” She
snagged his hand and drew him along.
“My stepfather,” he corrected under his breath.
Two days later, Luca eyed the tattoo parlor from across the street, attempting to hype himself up enough to force one foot before
the other until he ended up inside. He’d been through it in his head, repeatedly. He needed help to grow his magic. Witches
avoided them like the plague. One had finally reached out with an offer to help.
And he wanted to take it.
After a good thirty minutes of contemplation, he crossed Essex and slipped inside. As soon as the guy behind the counter
eyeballed him, he scowled. “Out. You don’t belong here.”
“I want to see Cassius.”
The man’s scowl grew even more. “Maybe he doesn’t want to see you.”
“Ask him and we’ll see.”
The guy behind the desk lifted a phone to his ear. “Your little street urchin is back to see you.” He paused. “Yes, I told him he
needed to leave, but he’s unwilling.” Another pause. “I’m not touching him. Luciana would have my hide.” He hung up the
phone and smiled without warmth. “He’s coming. Wait over there.”
Luca wandered toward the many books filled with tattoo examples. Before he could turn more than a couple of pages, Cassius
appeared. He sighed heavily and took a seat directly beside where Luca stood.
“Your mother was clear. Under no uncertain terms, I am not to speak to you again.”
Luca frowned. “That’s not fair. I need your help.”
“I have to abide by your mother’s wishes.”
Tears burned the backs of Luca’s eyes. “Those boys… they won’t stop. I can’t deal with it much longer.”
Sympathy swam in the man’s eyes. He looked away a moment in thought. “Do you always fix the bruises and cuts immediately
after they hurt you?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe next time… don’t.”
Luca shook his head. “And remain in pain?”
“You fix it so quickly that the school administrators don’t see the harm they’ve inflicted. They don’t get in trouble, so they feel
they can get away with it. The more they get away with, the harder they push. The more they hurt you. It’s time you got them in
trouble. It’s time they were held accountable for what they’ve been doing to you.”
“Then I’d just be a snitch for telling on them,” Luca said. “It would make the bullying worse.”
Cassius sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you, kid.”
“Help me,” Luca murmured.
“I wish I could.” Cassius held his gaze. “When you turn eighteen… come back and see me.”
“If I survive that long.”
Cassius fought a smile. “We both know you will, with that gift of yours.”
“What did my mother mean?”
Cassius held his gaze but said nothing.
“She said I was touched by death. What was that?”
Cassius sighed. “Ask her.”
“I did…”
“Luca, she needs to tell you that story. I can’t.”

A year later…

ASH MONTGOMERY STARED at the program in his hands, his ears buzzing. It was cold inside the church, so much so that his skin
pebbled with goose bumps. His stomach hurt. It had twisted and tightened for days, leaving him unable to eat. Unable to sleep.
Unable to think coherently.
He scanned the faces on the program. Smiling faces.
He fought another round of tears.
“Ash?”
Ash lifted his gaze to his grandmother’s—a woman he barely knew. She nodded to the side and when Ash turned, there was a
hand outstretched toward him. He swallowed the bile rising and shook the man’s hand.
“I’m so very sorry about your family…”
Everyone was sorry. Wouldn’t bring them back.
“Thanks,” he whispered, pulling his hand away. He stared down at the smiling faces again. He’d never see them again.
The man in front of him prattled on about some memory of Ash’s father, but he couldn’t focus, not with a church full of gossip
swirling about.
I can’t believe he’s the only one left… it’s so sad.
He’s got to be devastated. His parents and both brothers? So heartbreaking.
Did you hear how they found them? Clinging to one another in the water?
He’s barely a man… what’s he supposed to do now?
Can you imagine? Drowning? How horrific.
Ash wished there was a switch to shut off his ears. The church was filled with their scurry—their squirrel community, all of
whom had exceptional shifter hearing. Including him. That knowledge didn’t stop them from blathering on about what his
family had gone through.
Not that he was close with many of them. Even the grandmother seated beside him was more a stranger than family. She and her
husband had exiled his mother for marrying a man not to their standards. A lowly public servant without much to his name.
A line formed behind the man in front of Ash, all waiting to pay their respects when a few were actually being respectful at all.
I wonder what kind of food they’re serving at the reception after. I haven’t eaten all day. It better be good or we’re out of
here.
Ugh, did you see Casey’s hat? She’s simply the worst. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that ugly thing.
Kind of odd he didn’t go with them, isn’t it? Why was he the only one who wasn’t on that boat?
Do you think they left everything to him? Probably not a lot, but the house has been in the family for generations. We
should do some digging. He has no need for that big old house.
Ash rose, glaring at the surrounding shifters. He bolted for the door, unable to sit there and listen to the ugliness swirling
around the inside of the church for any longer. As soon as he was outside, he could breathe easier. The first thing he noticed
was his mother’s best friend seated on a park bench across the street.
His gaze met hers, and he fought tears seeing the tracks of hers down her face. Descending the steps, he held her stare. It was a
lifeline. He took a seat beside her, silent.
Adelaide wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Your grandparents run you off?”
“They weren’t the worst, for once. Not that they were great, either.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why are you out here?”
“A trash panda at their precious daughter’s funeral? I was kindly told to fuck off.” Adelaide’s jaw set.
“You belong there more than they do,” Ash whispered.
Adelaide’s eyes filled with tears, and Ash lost the battle with his seeing hers. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?” She wiped her tears away.
“I won’t start drama at their funeral, though. No matter how trashy of a trash panda I am.”
“They’re being pretty trashy in there themselves.”
“How’s that?” Adelaide asked.
“Gossip—and they all know I can hear them whispering.”
“What in the hell are they gossiping about?”
“I didn’t need to relive the whole thing, but they sure want to. One mentioned the house belonged to the family, and that I didn’t
need all that. Not sure who that was, but I sense I might end up kicked out. Another wondered why I wasn’t on the boat with
them.” Tears slid down both his cheeks. “I wish I had been on that boat with them.”
“No, you don’t, baby,” Adelaide murmured, pulling him into her arms. She wore the same perfume his mother did. He inhaled,
the familiar scent bringing her back for just a moment. He snuggled closer, getting one last hug from beyond. “You’re where
you’re supposed to be. Fate didn’t put you on that boat for a reason.”
“Fuck Fate,” Ash said on a sob.
Adelaide brushed a hand down his back. “I’ve had a few meltdowns with Fate myself the last few days. It’s not right. It’s not
fair… but you’re still here for a reason. Remember what I said last night?”
Adelaide had stuck by his side as soon as the news had arrived. She’d slept in the guest room—even though she only lived
three streets over—just so he wouldn’t be alone at night. She’d held him through the many tears. Added some of her own.
He owed her so much. Glancing at the church, he was reminded of his mother’s pretentious parents and family inside. None of
them had spent the night to be there for him.
None of them had even bothered calling.
They sure were interested in the house, though. They’d likely kick him to the curb to get their hands on it.
“Those people in that church were never around. And when they were, Mom would end up in tears by the end. After last
Christmas, she said she refused to invite them to another family event. She wasn’t putting us through that trauma.”
“You know, I remember her saying that.” Adelaide wiped more tears away.
They sat in silence for a moment, other than the quiet sobs they shared.
“Does this count as a family event?” Ash asked.
Adelaide slanted her gaze at him, eyes narrowing.
Ash eyed her. “If it is, then they shouldn’t be invited.”
“Want me to go in there and clear house? You know I will. You’ve just got to say the word.”
Ash considered it for a moment. “While it sounds good, we probably shouldn’t.”
The church doors opened, and Marco, his father’s partner, appeared. He scanned the street, his gaze finally falling on Ash. He
meandered across the street in his dress blues and stopped a few feet in front of them.
“This where the real party is?”
“Not much of a party,” Ash murmured.
Marco eyed Adelaide. “Racoon.”
“Wolf,” she spat back, her voice gentler than normal.
Neither had liked one another much before his family had died, but they’d been on their best behavior since. It was surreal, and
given the ultimately surreal nature of death, that was saying a lot.
“I think I liked it better when you two picked on one another,” Ash muttered.
Marco sighed. “There’s a lot of things I liked better than what we’re dealing with now.” He dug into his pocket and brought out
a flask. After taking a big swig, he handed it to Adelaide.
“A gentleman and an officer.” She took a big drink of her own before handing it to Ash. “Here, take a sip. It’ll help relax you.”
“I’m not twenty-one yet.”
Marco chuckled. “Three months, kid. I think the current situation will allow a sip of whiskey or two.” He chuckled again. “I
promise not to arrest you.”
Ash grabbed the silver flask and vaguely remembered his father giving it to Marco as a Christmas present years before. He
scanned the surface and saw the engraving, “To the best partner a guy could ever have… even if he sucks at bowling.”
Ash smiled, rubbing his thumb over his father’s words. He took a drink and handed it back to Marco, wincing at the heat
scorching down his throat.
Marco took another sip before handing it to Adelaide again. “We going back in there?”
“I don’t want to,” Ash murmured. “Those people…”
“Those people? Some of those people served with your dad,” Marco said.
“I mean my mom’s family. I don’t know most of them and the ones I do, I don’t like. They didn’t give a flying fuck about any of
us, so the performance in there turns my stomach.”
“I think we should clear house,” Adelaide said. “Whatchu think, Wolf?”
Marco sighed, eyeing Ash. “Is that what you want? You say the word, and we will do your bidding.”
Ash considered it a moment. “I don’t want to make a scene. It’s not fair to them.”
“What’s not fair is their kid sitting outside because of them,” Marco said. “A scene?” He cast a look at Adelaide. “You coming,
Racoon?”
Adelaide jumped up. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The pair crossed the street and reentered the church. Moments later, a steady stream of people came pouring out. Ash couldn’t
hide his smile at the looks on their faces. Adelaide appeared in the doorway, a wide smile on her lips as she waved Ash back.
He rose, returning to the church. Ash slipped one arm through hers, thankful as ever that she was there. Walking up the aisle, he
noted his grandparents had remained.
His grandmother was livid. “Why you brought this… woman… in here, Ash, I will never know. She’s made a mockery of my
daughter’s funeral.”
“She was Mom’s best friend. She’s been the one helping me through this. You’re the one who needs to leave.”
Adelaide slid closer, running a hand over his back.
“Look what you’ve done,” his grandmother said to Adelaide, faux tears running down her cheeks. “You’ve turned our sole
surviving grandson against us.”
“You did that all on your own,” Ash murmured.
His grandmother gasped.
“You treated her horribly… all because she had the audacity to marry beneath her, or so you say.”
Marco groaned.
“My dad was amazing. He was better than all her family rolled into one,” Ash said. “He was always there. Always
supportive. Did everything he could to give us the best life he could. He was a great man… but you could never see that.” Ash
glanced at the four caskets at the front of the church before looking back at her. “You disrespect him by being here. You
disrespect her and her love for him by being here. You disrespect my brothers, born from that love by being here.”
“You can’t kick me out of my daughter’s funeral.”
“He’s the next of kin, so yeah, he can kick you out.” Marco eyed Ash. “Would you like me to escort this unwelcome guest out?”
“You wouldn’t!” Ash’s grandmother roared. She took two steps closer. “You’re just like him. Worthless trash.” She glared at
Adelaide and turned her focus back to Ash. “But what should I expect? My baby girl was ruined by your father. Ruined by
giving birth to more trash.”
Marco grabbed his grandmother’s elbow. “The only trash I see here is you. Time to go.”
As soon as the doors closed behind her, Ash could breathe easier.
“You okay?” Adelaide asked him.
“Yeah,” Ash whispered, staring at the newly emptied pews. While he’d wanted them gone, being reminded he had no family
left nearly broke him.
“You’re not alone,” Adelaide said, drawing him to the first pew. She linked one hand in with his. “I’ll be here for you as long
as you need me, sweetheart.”
Marco returned from escorting his grandmother out and moved to sit beside Ash. He took Ash’s other hand and squeezed it
tight. “You’ve got an extensive family with you, kid. Me and all your father’s brothers on the force.”
A great shuffling sounded behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw every member of the police there that day return
and fill the empty pews behind him. Tears brimmed. Every time he thought there couldn’t be another tear left in him, he was
proven wrong.
“Go ahead, padre,” Adelaide whispered to the priest. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Thank you,” Ash murmured, eyeing her.
“Made my decade,” Adelaide shot back with a half grin. “But you’re the one who told off that horrible woman. I’m happy to
have witnessed just how strong you are. Now I know you’re going to be okay.”
Ash wasn’t so sure she was right. He didn’t think he’d ever be okay again. Later, after the service… after his family was laid
to rest… after the food he couldn’t eat and the sorrow he couldn’t hide… the house was empty once more.
He walked through it, hearing echoes of the family they’d once been. He paused at the foot of the stairs, eyeing the front door,
half expecting them to walk through it once again.
“You headed to bed?” Adelaide asked, headed for the stairs.
“Yeah, in a minute.”
“Want company?”
“I’d like to be alone, if that’s okay?”
Adelaide smiled, but there was grief in her gaze. “Of course it is. I’ll be up in the guest room if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
She took two steps up, kissed his cheek, and ambled up the stairs. When he heard the click of the latch on her door, he
scrambled out of his clothing and shifted before racing out through the doggy door in the kitchen, thick furred tail slapping the
plastic and sending it flapping. He scrambled across the yard that needed mowing and the tree limbs that had fallen from the
storm that had arrived the same day he’d learned they were gone. Hitting the base of his favorite tree, he clambered up the side
and nestled in the leaves, surveying the only home he’d known.
It was changed, somehow. Not as bright. No longer lively.
No longer lived in.
Sure, he was still there, yet he wasn’t. Not really. A part of him had gone with his parents and his brothers that fateful day.
Fate.
Fuck Fate.
Scampering into the treehouse his father had built for him and his brothers, he transformed into his human self and lay on the
wooden floor. In the pale moonlight, he saw the dark swirl on his inner arm. His mother had claimed it was a mate’s mark—
that he was a familiar to a witch—but he’d only half believed her. No other shifter he knew was a witch’s familiar, though he
had heard whispers about them before.
Cats, typically. He was a squirrel shifter, not a cat.
Adelaide’s words whispered through his mind. You’re still here for a reason.
Was that the reason? Had that been why Fate had given him other plans that day?
“You’ve already stolen my family… you can fuck off with this mate nonsense…”
The mark warmed under his touch; he was sure of it. A sense of peace washed over him, but was gone the second he moved his
hand away.
Sorrow filled the space where the peace had rested, and another wave of tears hit.
He cried himself to sleep high in the treetop.
 Chapter

One

Salem, Massachusetts
2008

T he morning of Luca Galioto’s eighteenth birthday dawned bright. He rolled out of bed, scrubbed a hand through his riot of
spiky hair, and bounced his way to the bathroom to take care of his needs, lightness filling him. He was officially an
adult and could make decisions on his own—and he already knew the first one he was making.
Much to his mother’s chagrin.
He lifted his gaze to the mirror that covered one bathroom wall and noticed the ghost of his great-grandmother watching him—
and the urge to pee quickly dried up.
“Can you give me a little privacy?”
“As if I didn’t change your diapers,” the woman said flippantly before floating out into the hall.
Luca sighed, staring down, and willing his bladder to release, but for several moments he thought it a lost cause. Finally, he
finished, washed up, and headed out into the kitchen where his mother sat at the scarred kitchen table, waving a hand toward
the stove where a wooden spoon danced in a skillet. Across from her, his stepfather had thousands of tiny pieces spread out
before him, tinkering with one of his many toys.
“Eggs are almost ready,” his mother said, barely lifting her gaze from the copy of Witch Monthly she was perusing that had
likely been swiped from their neighbor. She waved her wrist, and the toaster’s button slid down. “You can butter those when
they pop up, hmm, love?”
He paused a moment, hoping she’d jump from her chair and shower him with affection for his birthday, but since he’d never
had any of that his entire life, he knew not to expect it. “Sure,” he murmured as he sauntered over the worn linoleum, shoulders
dropped.
“How much longer before you get that thing fixed?” his mother asked his stepfather, finally putting her magazine down. “I’ve
got a buyer down in Florida waiting for it.”
“I barely know what it is,” his stepfather said, lifting a collection of pieces still intact. “If you’d tell me, I might have better
luck.”
“Better you not know,” his replied before turning to Luca. “I know where you’re headed this morning.”
Luca’s hand stilled midway through pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“I don’t approve. You know I don’t approve, but I know you don’t care what I have to say about the matter.”
Luca spun and focused on his mother. “I don’t even get a happy birthday? You’re just going to dive in and yell at me?”
“Happy Anniversary of the Day You Exited My Vag,” she sneered as his stepfather’s head whipped up in shock.
“Nice, Mom.”
“Birthdays are more for the parents than the children.” She searched Luca’s face. “If you go there, you no longer have a home to
come back to.”
“Stella…” Luca’s stepfather murmured. He eyed Luca, sympathy in his eyes. Of all the many stepfathers he’d had, Luca liked
this one the best. He had a soul and didn’t allow Luca’s mother to walk all over him. “I pay the rent. You have a home to come
back to, kid.”
“Do you really wish to incur my wrath?” his mother asked her husband.
“No different than any other day,” he said, shrugging. “Be nice to me, or I won’t fix your doodad.”
She opened her mouth to argue again, but for once, Luca’s stepfather got in the last word on the matter.
“We both know you love this kid. Do you really want to push him away?”
Her gaze flicked to Luca’s, pain shining in her eyes. Luca knew she loved him. Deeply. But she had a weird way of showing it
sometimes.
“You are not a witch,” she said, the sadness in her eyes disappearing as if it had never been there. “You are Calé.”
“Which is one and the same,” Luca muttered for what had to be the millionth time in his lifetime.
“It is not… you are better than those witches you plan to align yourself with. Your power comes from a deeper font.”
“We’re the last of the Calé in Salem,” Luca said. “You won’t help me develop my talents, and Cassius says he will.”
“Cassius,” she snarled. “He’s beneath you, Luca. Your talents are…” Tears shone in her eyes. “Compared to you, Cassius is an
ant, and you are a god. What can he teach you?”
“Then teach me, Mom. Don’t make me seek out help somewhere else.”
She eyed him, frowning. He watched the swirl of something undefinable in her expression, his chest aching to know what it
was she hid from him. He’d asked time and time again, but she claimed she hid nothing. He knew she lied, sensed it down to
his very bones.
“I’m not a healer,” she said. “But we can find a Calé healer. There has to be one in the States.”
“Or I can accept Cassius’ generous offer and he can mentor me,” Luca said. From the moment he’d met Cassius that fateful day
years before, he’d sensed kinship.
“He cannot give you what you need, Luca.”
“Nor can you!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Not because they weren’t true, but the look of
pain that flashed over his mother’s face. His stomach tightened as he awaited the lash of her tongue to come.
Only it didn’t. Eyes shining, she returned to her magazine, ignoring him. His stepfather lifted his gaze and glanced over before
returning to his tinkering. The toast popped from the toaster, and when Luca turned, he saw it was blackened.
“Happy Birthday to me,” he whispered hotly.
“If you go to Enchanted Ink, demons will come after you. They’ll drain your power, and you’ll lose your abilities.”
“Demons?” he asked before scoffing. His mother had a habit of telling tales to get her way, using her supposed foresight as an
excuse. Most of the time, it was bullshit, and they both knew it. “You’re not going to scare me away with nonsense.”
She continued to read her magazine. “It’s not nonsense. I’ve seen it.”
He waited another few seconds for her to finish before refusing to let her drag things out a minute longer. He turned and stalked
from the kitchen and out the front door. “Happy birthday to me.”
Not long after, Luca walked through the front door of Enchanted Ink and stepped toward the front desk where a man sat perched
over multiple old spellbooks open to different pages—a different one than the man seated there all those years ago. This one
was younger—though older than Luca—with a set of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
“Do you have an appointment?” the guy asked without lifting his gaze. Luca rolled his eyes. It was his morning for being
ignored, clearly.
“No, I was hoping to see Cassius?”
The man lifted his gaze and fully eyed Luca, a sneer coming to his lips. “No appointment?”
“He told me to come and see him.”
The man at the desk rolled his eyes and lifted a phone receiver.
“No need to call, Atlas. I’m right here.”
Luca turned to see a smiling Cassius striding closer. He extended a hand, and Luca took it, sensing a jolt of power rush through
him. He’d known Cassius was strong but hadn’t realized just how strong all those years before. The magic radiating from him
was impressive.
But Luca’s healing skills were impressive, too. Hopefully, Cassius was still willing to help him.
“You didn’t wait long after turning eighteen, hmm?” Cassius murmured. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
Luca grinned, appreciating that someone said it. “I’ve waited five years. I wasn’t wasting another day.”
“Does your mother know you’re here?”
“Yeah… and she’s not too pleased. She said demons would come after me if I came, but my mom is…weird.” An
understatement if there were any.
“She’s a seer,” Cassius said, frowning and leaning in close. “Did she say more?”
“She’s wrong a lot more than she’s right. Plus… demons? Come on.”
“Demons are real, kid,” Cassius murmured.
Luca frowned. “I know, but it’s just crap she said to scare me into not coming.”
“Maybe not—and she’s only looking out for you.” Cassius eyed his watch. “I have a client up in my studio. Want to come hang
out and watch? Then we can chat about why you’re here.”
“Sure. I’ve always wanted to see your magic.”
Cassius gazed around before eyeing Luca. “Normies get tatts on the first floor, so no talk of magic down here,” he whispered.
“My studio is fair game. Let’s head up.” He waved Luca toward an elevator at the back of the shop. As soon as they were
onboard and alone, Cassius grinned. “Our apprentices work the first floor and practice on human clients. Real magic happens
upstairs.” He waved his hand, and magic coiled around it. The doors opened again, and they were on another floor—though the
elevator hadn’t moved.
“I’ve seen no one who could portal like you can.” Luca stared, mesmerized by the swirling lights. The first time had been the
day he’d gotten his ass kicked. Cassius had brought him through one to the shop. The illuminations were beautiful, to say the
least. “But then, I haven’t been around much real power growing up.”
Cassius waved him on before walking through. Luca joined him out in the hallway and headed down the long corridor.
“What has your mother shown you?”
“Not much, honestly. She taught me to distinguish between light and dark magics. How to sense a curse.”
“Your healing powers?”
Luca shook his head. “She tried to help. Got me a few books from some witch she trades stuff with online. Otherwise, it’s been
trial and error.”
“Trial and error… and you were that damned good at thirteen?” Cassius appeared impressed. “Have you gotten any better?”
Luca fought the smile coming to his face, but failed. “Broke both arms and shattered my leg on a dirt bike last summer.”
“That sentence spoken by anyone else wouldn’t be accompanied by such a wide smile.”
Buzzing sounds filled the hallway as they walked, growing louder behind a couple of doors. “Well, gathering magic in my hand
wasn’t exactly easy with both arms broken, but I was mended in less than five minutes.”
“Not bad,” Cassius said, stopping at the door at the end of the hall. “This is my studio. My client is a gargoyle, so be prepared.
He’s likely not going to be in human form.”
“Gargoyles are real?”
Cassius pulled the door closed and turned wide-eyed to stare at Luca. “Are you kidding me?”
Luca shrugged. “I’ve never seen one, except if you count that old cartoon.”
Cassius cursed under his breath. “I expected better of your mother.”
Luca had, too.
“We need to get you educated, and fast. For now, assume the creatures you’ve heard of in folk tales and gothic novels are all
real. Many of them come in and out of Enchanted Ink looking for help, so you need to prepare yourself to see a wide variety of
creatures.”
“Prepare myself?”
“You’ll start as an apprentice, but you’re going to get one of these studios yourself one day,” Cassius said, grinning broadly.
“Me?” Luca asked, stunned. “An apprentice?”
Cassius smiled. “It’s what you want, right?”
Luca nodded, a smile splitting his face. “Yeah.”
“We’ve needed a powerful healer for some time. Dotty told me someone was coming, and I’d already met him, so I sensed it
had to be you.” Cassius’ smile grew. “Well, your first act as an apprentice is to shadow me in there. You ready?”
“Readier than I’ve been for anything else in my life.”
 Chapter

Two

Apex, Pennsylvania
A few months later…

A sh Montgomery walked across the stage to thunderous applause in the packed auditorium. He shook the commander's
hand as he grasped his diploma in the other. He’d done it—graduated from the police academy.
“Congratulations, son. You’ve done your father proud today,” the Commander offered before saluting.
Ash returned the salute, a bittersweet smile spreading across his face. He turned to eye his late father’s partner, Marco, and his
late-mother’s best friend, Adelaide—along with a bunch of his father’s fellow officers—all on their feet, clapping, and aimed
the coiled paper in their direction, pointing. Adelaide hooted, she and Marco louder than anyone else in the auditorium.
A lump lodged in his throat, wishing the people he missed most could’ve been there. Ash hadn’t considered police work before
his father’s passing, but Marco had been the one to urge him to apply to the academy.
“We need people like us on the force. Your father knew that.”
Ash had eyed him across the table at the mom-and-pop burger spot they ate at once a week since the funeral. He scanned
the crowd before lowering his voice. “People like us? As in… shifters?”
Marco nodded. “It’s guys like your father and I who help protect and serve two communities.” Marco paused, a slight
frown marring his face. “Helped.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “It’s been six months, and I still struggle with past tense when
it comes to him.”
Ash knew the feeling. He still struggled himself.
Marco sighed. “My responsibility, first and foremost, is to the shifter community. Normies get too close way too often.
Being in a position of power, I can help mitigate issues. Direct focus elsewhere.”
“I won’t protect criminals, no matter which community they’re from.”
“I’d never tell you to let a guilty man go free. If a shifter harms a human? They deserve punishment—but by our kind, not
humans. The Celestial Council exists for that exact reason.” Marco scratched his beard. Just the mention of the Council
seemed to get under people’s skin. Ash had often seen the same look on his father’s face when it came up. “That’s the main
reason I became a cop. To protect our own.” He pegged Ash with a glare. “It’s why your dad did, too. Just like his pop
before him.”
After considering Marco’s words, Ash had applied and easily gotten in. He’d sailed through the program with ease and
graduated at the top of his class—though at times, it had seemed as if the instructors had expedited his journey. Most of the
trainers had known his dad or known of him. Ash hadn’t been blind to the sympathy that had shown in their eyes on occasion.
It had almost compelled him to quit. Somehow, Marco had shown up when he’d been packing a bag and convinced him to stay.
Two days after graduation, he walked through the front doors of his newly assigned station, ready to start work. Yet nearly
every gaze that came his way was filled with pity. His family’s tragedy seemed etched in their minds, impossible to forget.
Making it even harder for Ash to forget, too.
Everywhere he turned, he got those looks. Neighbors. Extended family. Family friends. Hell, his own friends had treated him
with kid gloves.
It threatened his career if his fellow officers couldn’t see him instead of the trauma. By the end of his first two weeks, he met
up with Marco for a beer after a shift. Sliding into a booth away from the crowded bar, he drained half the pint and leaned
against the back of the seat, exhausted.
“Bad day?” Marco asked, one heavy brow rising. Marco was one of the few other shifters Ash knew on the force. He and
Ash’s dad had formed a tight bond over that fact, even if Marco was a wolf shifter and his father a squirrel. Being near the man
brought a little of his dad back, in some small way.
He missed the man. He missed his whole goddamned family.
“No… it was… good.”
“Mind telling your face that?”
Ash forced a smile.
“What is it, kid? Police work not all your thought it would be?”
“No… that’s not it.” Maybe that was part of what he was experiencing, but he was still feeling his way through. It had only
been a couple of weeks—yet he sensed he needed a change. “It’s more the pity I see in every stare that looks my way.”
“That’ll pass. Once you get your feet wet and prove yourself, they’ll see you instead of seeing…” Marco shrugged. “You
know.”
“I hope you’re right.” He trailed a finger over the black coil of the curled mark on his inner forearm. Supposedly it meant he
was fated to mate a witch, though he’d never met one his entire life… that he was aware of, anyway. Shifters, sure. He’d even
met a vamp once, although met was a bit of a stretch. The guy had walked into a roadhouse bar he and his brother had snuck
into before they’d turned legal, flashed Ash a glare, and left soon thereafter with a dazzling blond on each arm.
“I’m sure,” Marco said, winking as he took another swig of his pint. “You have to give it time.”
“Yeah.” Ash sat back in the booth, eyeing the man across from him. “Seeing those looks… it makes it harder for me to forget.”
“You wanna forget them?”
“Of course not. But I want the guilt to go away, man. I don’t want it eating at me twenty-four, seven.” He took another swallow,
struggling against the knot in his throat.
“You got nothing to be guilty about, Ash. You didn’t cause that bullshit.”
Logically, he knew that, deep down, yet it was hard to make his head and his heart listen. He was the lone man standing, and he
fucking missed them. Missed having that connection. His gaze was dragged back to the mark on his arm for some reason, and it
was suddenly harder to breathe.
“I wanna hear you say it, Ash.”
Ash lifted his stare to Marco but remained silent.
“Here, let me help you. I have nothing to feel guilty for. There, that’s all you’ve gotta say.”
The sting of tears burned the backs of his eyes, but there was no way Ash was going to let a single one fall. Not in front of a
tough guy like Marco the wolf shifter. “Easy for you to say.”
“Ever think those looks coming your way are coming because they see it in your eyes? If you want them to let it go, maybe you
need to show ‘em how.”
Ash held Marco’s gaze. Let it go? Impossible.
“I get survivor’s guilt,” Marco murmured. “I do. Your dad invited me and the kids to come out with y’all that day, too. I was
supposed to be there, but Nathaniel got sick.”
“I’m glad you and your kids weren’t there,” Ash said.
“I’m glad you weren’t either,” Marco spat, leaning across the table some, a light shining in his eyes. He seemed to realize
himself, glancing around, before sitting back. “I’m glad a little piece of your dad survived and will continue on in this world.
He was a good man. You’re his and your mom’s legacy, Ash.”
Ash glanced down, noticing his finger absently trailing over the mark on his inner arm.
“Give it time. If you stop living in the past, maybe they will, too.”
Ash took that to heart, yet no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to connect with his fellow officers. They continued to gaze at
him with sympathy in their eyes, no matter how many arrests he made… no matter how solid he was as a cop… all they saw
was his dad. They were big shoes he’d never fill.
Nor did he want to. He was his own man and wanted to be treated as such.
After the first year, nothing had changed, so he’d started putting out feelers to other departments in nearby cities.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Ash lifted his gaze from a mountain of paperwork to see Marco seated beside his desk, the department buzzing around him. A
wide grin stretched his face. “Hey.”
“I heard about that arrest yesterday. Good job,” Marco said. “I knew you’d turn out to be just like your old man.”
“Yeah, and thanks to that, I’m playing desk jockey today.” A new wave of guilt hit him. He hadn’t told Marco he’d been looking
at a move. There wasn’t any point in saying anything until a position opened.
“You know that’s standard procedure after shots are fired,” Marco said.
The shots hadn’t been from his gun, but that of the armed assailant robbing the convenience store he’d happened to stop in for
to grab some coffee. He seemed to have the knack for being in the wrong place at the right time. He’d walked in mid-felony and
been shot at for his trouble. Fortunately, the human had bad aim and Ash had been able to take him down with ease.
Marco searched his face. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
The man smiled. “I can see something’s troubling you.”
“I’m good, Marco. I swear.” Ash’s cellphone buzzed. He lifted it from the surface of his desk and scanned the notification. An
email. From the Salem, Massachusetts Police Department.
The second he opened it, the coiled mark on his inner arm had tingled. He lifted it and noticed a hint of purple light appear and
sink back into his flesh.
What the hell?
He ran a palm over the mark. It was warm under his touch. His shoulders dropped. His jaw unclenched. A sense of peace
washed over him.
A sense of… home.
He glanced at the email again, and the same thing occurred. Another swirl of purple light, stronger the second time.
Beckoning him?
“What the fuck, Ash?” Marco whispered. He slapped a palm over the light, hiding it from prying eyes.
“I don’t know,” Ash whispered back.
Marco rose, yanking Ash to his feet. He dragged him through the department, weaving through desks and coworkers until they
were outside and around the corner from the entrance. As soon as Marco turned to face him, he lifted his hand.
The mark had returned to normal—a simple black swirl—as it had been since his birth.
“Anyone could’ve seen that…” Marco eyed it. “Has it done that before?”
“No.” Ash traced it with a fingertip and felt the skin was still warmer than normal. “Mom swore it was a witch’s mark.”
“What?”
“That Fate marked me to mate with a witch.” Fate? The same Fate who’d taken his family from him? Fuck Fate.
Yet…
Marco’s eyes widened. “You and a broom rider. Who knew?” He scanned the sky and then the street around them. “You think
this witch might be close? Did they set off the mark?”
“Dunno.” He thought again about the email from the Salem PD. Salem was notorious for witches. Was his mark trying to tell
him something? He lifted the phone still clutched in his right hand and opened the email.
The mark began to glow again.
“You need to cover that shit up,” Marco said. “Before you get caught. I really don’t want to have to call the Council about
you.”
“I’m wondering if this has something to do with it,” Ash mumbled before handing his phone over.
Marco glanced at the screen before snagging the phone and reading. When his gaze lifted, Ash’s stomach turned. “You apply for
this, kid?”
Ash swallowed the rising bile. “I did.”
“You wanna leave home?”
“I’ll forever be in his shadow, Marco. I’ve tried to let it go and live my life like you said… but… it hasn’t helped. And it’s not
just here at work. It’s everywhere. They see me and they think, here’s that poor kid who lost his entire family. I can’t get away
from it.” He closed his eyes, unable to witness the hurt in Marco’s a minute longer. “I need a fresh start… somewhere where no
one knows me.”
Marco shoved the phone at Ash’s chest. His eyes popped open, and he met Marco’s stare.
“I get it,” Marco said, his voice barely over a whisper. Tears shone in his eyes. “I do… I just hate to see you go.”
Ash struggled to hold on to his own emotions seeing this big, bad wolf shifter with tears. “I can’t tell you how much I
appreciate what you’ve done for me since…”
“You’re family, kid. You’ll always be family. Do you hear me?” He dragged Ash into a bear hug. “You do what you gotta do to
succeed in this world, kid.”
When Marco stepped back, he lifted a hand and wiped a bit of wetness away. “Seems that mark of yours is trying to tell you
something. Maybe you should listen.”
Ash nodded.
“But like I said… cover that shit up before you get caught.” Marco punched him lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll go grab a bandage
from the first aid kit. Wait here.”
“Thanks,” Ash murmured, barely holding on to his control. He’d never known anything but life in a small city on the outskirts
of Pittsburgh near the West Virginia border.
As he stood there waiting, a train’s horn sounded in the distance, likely filled with coal cars. A breeze washed over him,
ruffling his hair, the scent of char hitting his nose. He scanned the community the department was nestled in, the familiarity of it
burned into his brain. He’d been born and raised in Apex. It was home. The only home he’d ever known. The thought of
packing up his entire life and moving to a city he’d never seen was daunting—yet thrilling at the same time.
A mate? A new life? One where no one knew his past and only the present laid out before him…
But there were people he’d miss… namely Marco and Adelaide. They were the last little pieces of his parents and all he had
left. Marco reappeared with a few items tucked into his arm, avoiding Ash’s gaze. Silently, he went to work bandaging Ash’s
mate’s mark. When he was done, he lifted his gaze, and Ash saw sorrow in the man’s eyes.
“There you go,” Marco murmured. “That should keep everything under wraps.”
He held Ash’s gaze, silent… yet there was so much shared without the words.
“I better get back out. Investigating some robberies across town.”
“Need backup?” Ash asked, grinning.
Marco dragged him closer, an arm around his back, and led him back toward the front door. “You’re a desk jockey, my friend.
You’d best plaster your ass in your chair.”
Ash growled under his breath. “Don’t remind me.”
“Heh… you’ve got new adventures coming your way, it seems. Rest up and get ready.”
 Chapter

Three

Salem
2009

“C an I have everyone’s attention?” Cassius called.

Luca lifted his gaze from the tattoo he was almost finished with, noticing a hot girl standing beside Cassius. Long curly
hair, long legs. She wore black tights with knee-high leather lace-up boots, along with a short, short black dress. Tats graced
one wrist. A gorgeous flower that almost looked real—a bright pink peony—that was the antithesis of all that black she wore.
Her glossy lips matched the flower. He smiled at her and winked. She offered a wink of her own, a slow grin crossing her lips.
It was then that Luca realized he might’ve misgendered her. Him?
“I’d like you all to meet our newest apprentice. Gideon. He’s joining our ragtag group and starts tomorrow.” Cassius paused.
“He?” another apprentice, Damian, asked.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Cassius asked.
Damien eyed Gideon. “Only asking because I was straight when I got here this morning and now, I’m not so sure.”
Luca chuckled, along with the other apprentice.
“Nice to meet you, Gideon,” Marta said from the booth beside Luca.
“Same here,” Luca murmured.
“Gideon, this is Damian, Luca, and Marta. They’re good eggs.” Cassius’ gaze landed on Luca. “For the most part.”
“Not sure why you’re looking at me when you said that,” Luca said.
Cassius grinned. “I just like keeping you on your toes.” He eyed Gideon. “You’re welcome to hang out. Have a look around.
I’ll be in my office in back if you need anything.”
“Sure thing,” Gideon said. He turned his attention to Luca.
As did Cassius, who walked closer. “Where’s Oz?”
Oscar “Oz” Ortega was their official babysitter for the day. He wasn’t a tattoo artist, but he was one hell of a witch, who
created the magically imbued inks the master tattooists used at Enchanted Ink. There was a whole rooftop garden above where
he was typically found, growing the many plants he used in their creation.
While apprentices were still learning on humans, they occasionally got some of the milder inks to play with so they could get a
feel for how they worked. That day, they were getting their hands on a slightly stronger one, hence Oz being there to watch.
“He had to go up and grab another bottle of ink,” Luca murmured. “He should be right back.”
“Yeah, Damien knocked one over and spilled most of it,” Marta added.
“Tattletale,” Damien said through a cough. “Man, Luca, did you just see that bus come straight for me?”
“Maybe if you were more careful and not constantly dropping shit, I’d feel sorrier for you,” Luca murmured.
“I can’t help it if I have butterfingers,” Damien muttered, waving his hand around. His eyes went wide as he gazed down at the
big biker dude he was tattooing. He mouthed “Fuck” before Cassius moved in quickly and waved a hand to fix whatever mess
Damien had just made.
“Thanks, Cas,” Damien mumbled.
“Be more careful,” Cassius snapped.
Damien’s head dropped, his shoulders rising. “Will do, boss.”
“Careful?” the biker asked, lifting his head, concern on his face.
“About the ink,” Cassius said, waving his hand again. The biker relaxed and lowered back to the chair, and Cassius left them.
Gideon ambled closer to Luca and watched him work. “That’s a gorgeous tattoo. You do nice work.”
“That is, too,” Luca said, nodding to the pink peony on Gideon’s wrist before re-focusing on his client. “It caught my eye.”
“Wish I could take credit for this one. My mentor gave it to me.” Gideon slid the edge of his dress up, baring his upper thighs.
Luca clenched his teeth, noting the stockings were thigh highs. Just above the edge of the stockings, there was another, smaller
peony. “I did this, though.”
“You must love that flower.”
“I do,” Gideon said. “It reminds me of my grandmother.”
Luca finished the last of his fill-in work and cleaned the client’s shoulder blade before wiping a house-made salve over the
inked skin. “All done. Wanna go take a look?”
His client rose from the chair and eyed the nearby floor to ceiling mirror. “Man, this is as good as the photograph I showed
you! Mom looks good, dog.”
After Luca’s client bro-hugged him and paid, he wandered out, all smiles.
“Do you have another client?” Gideon asked.
A corner of Luca’s lips curled up. Was he being hit on? “Nah… but I’m here for another couple of hours.”
“Good,” Gideon said, hopping into his chair. “I want a portrait of my grandmother.” He lifted the dress over his head—
thankfully there were bike shorts underneath—and slapped a palm above one pec. “Right here.”
“You have a picture of her?”
“Yup,” Gideon said, pressing a palm to Luca’s forehead.
Suddenly, an image of an older woman with a glorious smile and bright eyes slammed into his brain. She was hanging laundry
out on a sunny day, the breeze whipping through sheets. He was almost sure he could smell lavender, fresh cut grass… and
peonies. A pale-yellow farmhouse was nearby, and along the back, wrapping up toward the front, were dozens of big peony
blooms in a multitude of shades.
The sun was warm on his skin, and he couldn’t help but smile. But then, as suddenly as he was there, he was back in the shop,
sitting on a rolling stool.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked under his breath.
“My grandmother,” Gideon whispered. “Can you tattoo her for me?”
Her face was as clear as day in his mind, the memory strong. “Your core power is memory?”
Gideon nodded. “And yours?”
“Healing.”
“Not a bad one to have,” Gideon murmured. His smile faltered a moment before it was back in place. Luca had seen that over
and over again when folks found out what his power was. Too many had those they’d lost and wished they’d had a talent like
his. “I’m ready whenever you are, Luca.”
Luca fought a smile as he rose and sanitized his tools. He prepped his space before sitting down to create the memorial tattoo.
“Ready?”
“Always,” Gideon replied.
He reached over to clean the skin, and Gideon snatched his arm. He turned to eye the swirling mate’s mark on Luca’s inner
forearm.
“That’s too bad. I thought you were cute,” Gideon said.
“Too bad?”
Gideon lifted one arm. On the inner bicep was a mark—a different one than Luca’s. It swirled like the crest of a wave, far
different from his coil.
“Witches don’t mate with other witches,” Luca whispered. They mated with a familiar—or as was the case with Cassius’
coven, a familiar and a human.
“Witches rarely mate with other witches,” Gideon corrected. “It’s happened.”
“I wasn’t aware,” Luca said. There was a lot he was still learning. He’d been apprenticing for three years, but there was way
too much knowledge out there. Eons of witchcraft. His mother had taught him some, but not nearly enough.
“My grandfather mated another witch and their shared familiar,” Gideon said.
“Your grandmother?” Luca asked as he began to freehand sketch on Gideon’s chest.
“Nah, those were the other grandparents,” Gideon said. “Grandma was the lone human I grew up around. There was a sense of
peace about her I miss.” He glanced at the peonies on his wrist. “I enjoy having her memory close. I get lost in them when I’ve
had to deal with awful shit, you know?”
“After seeing your memory, I can see why,” Luca said. “It was peaceful there.”
Gideon smiled softly.
Luca focused on the quick sketch. When he was done, he sat back. “Wanna peek at it and see if you’re happy with the
placement?”
Gideon hopped off the chair and eyed his reflection. “Perfect.”
They continued to chat away for the hours it took Luca to finish the tattoo. While Gideon was flirty, Luca felt more a sense of
kinship. There was something about the man that put him at ease. Perhaps that was a gift Gideon’s grandmother had shared—
serenity.
At the end, Gideon hopped off the chair and spied the tattoo. “Damn, Luca, you really are good.” He lifted his gaze and eyed
Luca in the reflection. “I had a good feeling about you.” He whipped around, grabbing the discarded dress. “Is your shift
over?”
“Yep.”
“I wanna check out that Bewitched Bites place down the street. Wanna join me?”
Luca nodded. “I’m famished.”
Once he cleaned his station, they left in search of food and found the start of a wonderful friendship.

ENJOYING THE EARLY AUTUMN AIR, Ash ambled through the Essex Street Pedestrian Mall on his walking tour of Salem. He’d
used up a bit of vacation time and arrived a few days early so he could investigate his new potential home. And perhaps
investigate the reason his mark went batshit crazy when he’d contemplated the move.
He paused near the six-foot statue of Elizabeth Montgomery seated on a crescent moon from her Bewitched days. He’d already
read online how the show coming to Salem back in the seventies had given birth to the town embracing its past and turning into
a tourist attraction.
Ash watched multiple folks get their photos taken at the sculpture's side, smirking at their excitement. Scanning the local shops
he passed through Downtown Salem, all he saw was witch this, witch that. The Witch Museum. Hex. Coven. The Good Witch.
There were dozens more with paranormal-inspired names, which would’ve been cool if they weren’t all owned by humans.
He’d always heard that Salem was full of witches, yet he hadn’t seen a single witch-owned establishment. Maybe it had all
been hype.
He ran a hand over his mate’s mark, which had continued to tingle since the minute he entered town. His mother’s voice was in
his ear, too. She’d claimed he was a familiar his entire life, and he’d never believed. A squirrel familiar? It made no sense.
Yet there he was, in the Witch City, his mark drawing him somewhere within.
His stomach growled as he was drawn farther down Essex Street. He passed by a few restaurants, but the tingling of his mark
seemed to grow the more he walked, so he bypassed them, following his gut. A set of businesses on the right side of the street
drew his attention as if they had a big neon sign pulsing above them. Finally, some real witches! An entire block of witch-
owned businesses, in fact. The first one his gaze landed on was a place called Bewitched Bites, and his stomach dragged him
closer.
The scent of fresh-baked bread pleased his nose the second he opened the door. The place was packed, and he reconsidered—
there didn’t seem to be an empty table in the joint—but his mark wasn’t having it. It pulsed with life, all but leading him
forward. Searching the interior, he eyed a single table with an empty seat.
And a hot-as-fuck purple-haired witch seated at it reading.
He lifted his gaze from the book and met Ash’s. Ash’s mate’s mark tingled and grew hotter. A gasp of air dragged from him, his
entire body stiffening with awareness.
Mine.
A smile played over the witch’s lips as he returned to his book. His squirrel barked in his mind, demanding he walk over.
Play it cool, man. Don’t make a scene.
Instead of rushing over and slamming the man against the wall and having his wicked way, he clenched his jaw and fisted his
hands at his sides, begging for an ounce of control.
The mating impulse is no joke!
Sweat broke out along his brow as he dragged his gaze away. He slowly ambled up to the counter, hoping he didn’t make an
ass of himself. If he lost it, they had a packed house to witness his downfall.
But what a downfall it would be.
“Hey there! What can I get for you?”
Ash surveyed the menu and struggled to focus. Nothing on the menu board was as enticing as the witch reading in the corner.
Giving up, he simply said, “I’ll have the special.”
“Good choice.” The man rang his order up and Ash paid with his credit card but couldn’t help but notice spaces in the register
filled with what appeared to be bits of silver and gold. Talk about old school. “Your order will be right out. Just head down to
the end of the counter.”
“Thanks,” Ash murmured, shoving his card into his wallet. As he waited for his food, he scanned the dining room and noted his
witch watching him closely.
He fought his own satisfied smile, his cock coming to half-mast at the thought of the witch’s gaze on him.
Bright blue eyes stared back from a handsome face. A shock of spiky purple hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush that
morning. He had a firm jaw and strong nose softened by full lips and thick lashes. His long legs spread out before him, hinting
at a great height. Seated, he still stuck out amid the crowd.
A hint of a smile curled on the man’s lips as he returned to the book he was reading, half a sandwich left on his plate.
“Order up!”
Ash’s attention was pulled. “Thanks.” He grabbed his order, noting no one had left. There was one seat and one seat alone left.
With his purple-haired witch.
His fucking gorgeous purple-haired witch.
Ash wended his way through the crowd and stood in front of the table. “Mind if I join you?”
 Chapter

Four

L uca fought a smile after noticing the handsome shifter at the counter headed his way. He reread the same paragraph he’d
already re-read six times since the man walked in. As soon as he’d passed, marching to the counter, Luca had sensed a
connection.
His mate’s mark had been vibrating all day. It had gotten worse when the man walked in. Fate was telling him something—and
he was more than ready to listen.
“Mind if I join you?”
Pain lanced Luca’s inner arm as soon as the words fell from the man’s lips. He winced, lifting his arm—and watched as
another swirl identical to his coiled onto his skin. As soon as it was done, the pain was gone. Only the quivering reminder
remained. His gaze whipped to the shifter’s, who’d witnessed it as well.
Blinking the shock back, Luca sat frozen.
My familiar?
Why it was such a shock, he didn’t know. His mark had been going off like crazy. What else could it have been?
“May I sit?” the shifter asked again. His face grew redder, his gaze darting about. “There’s nowhere else to sit.”
Luca scanned the empty dining room, smiling to himself. He was the only one seated inside. Nowhere else to sit indeed. “Go
for it.”
The man groaned, dropping his food onto the surface of the table. He yanked off his light jacket, and Luca saw their matching
marks—and the shifter’s second swirl appearing.
“Well, I suppose it’s official now,” Luca said, moving some of his items out of the way to give the man more room. “Mate.”
The man all but fell onto the seat opposite, his eyes wide. Luca took a moment to search his striking face. He had warm
chestnut brown eyes with flecks of gold in them. His hair and neat beard were almost the same shade, with a strip of blond hair
running along one side. He was a big dude—but Luca was sure he was taller. Not bigger, though.
Luca was long and lean. His familiar was muscular, but not in a spends all day at the gym kind of way. He was an otter leaning
closer to bear, and Luca didn’t hate that. The guy’s barrel chest and huge biceps got his juices flowing. Lust slammed into him
at the thought of being pinned to a bed by those very arms.
Arms devoid of tattoos. Luca couldn’t see any symbols other than the mate’s mark. His clothing was pressed and neat. Almost
too neat comparing them to Luca’s worn, holey jeans, torn t-shirt, and Chucks. Add in his tats and piercings and they were
clearly night and day.
Opposites attract?
“Luca,” he said, offering his hand.
The shifter stared at his hand a moment before grabbing it—and shooting an arc of electricity up Luca’s arm. “Ash.”
“Ash. Like the tree?” Luca said, grinning. Ash was definitely built solid like one, that was for damned sure. He held onto the
man’s hand longer than was necessary, reveling in the feel.
“Actually, yes. My brothers’ names are Birch and Oak.” A smile with a hint of sorrow crossed Ash’s lips, and he pulled his
hand away. “A lot of folks I know have names associated with nature. It’s a thing where I’m from, I suppose.”
Luca hated that something he’d said had caused the flicker of sadness. He wanted to see another smile. “A bunch of hippies?”
Ash looked around, as if worried someone would overhear. Since no one was there, they were fine. “A bunch of squirrels.”
A squirrel shifter? He’d half expected a cat, but since he wasn’t much of a cat person, he was thankful Ash wasn’t. Cats
crawled the coven building. They were everywhere he turned. A witch who wasn’t a cat person was nearly sacrilegious, so he
kept that information close to the vest. If the rest of the coven found out, they’d likely lose their shit.
“Should we be talking about this out in the open? Is everyone here… like us?” He cast a gaze around again.
Everyone? Luca frowned. “We’re the only people here.”
Ash tilted his head to the side, almost appearing offended by Luca’s comment. “No… the place is packed. Every table is full.”
Luca cocked his head to the side, curious who it was Ash saw. He was aware the café was bewitched and would change to fit
the desire of the person who walked through the door, but he hadn’t considered if he could see other customers or not. If you
were craving a sandwich, then it was a café. If you wanted coffee, it was a java joint. Want a cheeseburger? Then it could be
the best burger joint in the world. Need some groceries? It became a bodega. As long as it was associated with food or drink,
Bewitched Bites was whatever you needed it to be.
Did that also mean that the quiet he’d craved upon entering had been offered, as well? He smiled at Ash. “This place is
enchanted. It becomes whatever you want it to be… and I was craving some quiet.” He lifted his book, grinning.
Ash grimaced. “Would you prefer me to go? So you can read?”
“Ahhh… fuck no, mate.”
A hint of a smile played over Ash’s lips, and it was the sexiest thing Luca had ever seen.
“Quieter would be nice. Easier to talk.” Ash’s eyes widened as he looked around them. “Where the fuck did they just go?” He
scrubbed his eyes, rising to his feet to scan the interior. “Everyone just disappeared.”
“You said you’d prefer the quiet, so the shop apparently gave that to you.” Luca chuckled to himself. Had Fate filled the seats
to force their meeting?
Ash sat, his mouth open a bit. “You’ll have to excuse me. I haven’t spent much time around witches. I didn’t know something
like this was possible.”
“Anything is possible with a little imagination and know-how.” Luca sat forward a bit. “I didn’t grow up in a coven, so I’m
still learning some of this stuff myself.”
Ash held his stare, heat growing in it. Luca’s cock thickened, bound by denim. He squirmed a bit to relieve the discomfort.
He’d heard tales of the overpowering lust that hit once two mates met yet he’d been unprepared for the strength of the reaction.
The longer they stared, the more the craving grew.
Ash’s pupils widened, his jaw clenching. Breathing quickened, as did Luca’s.
Visions of being under Ash assailed him, need overpowering.
“Your sandwich is going to get cold if you don’t eat it,” Luca whispered. His own half uneaten sandwich sat in front of him,
forgotten.
“Not all that hungry right now,” Ash whispered. “Not for food, anyway…”
Luca held his breath, need slamming into him. “I suppose we should sit here a while and get to know one another before we…”
“Fuck?” Ash asked, a shine of lust appearing in his eyes.
“We are strangers,” Luca whispered.
“True,” Ash murmured, his foot sliding over to rub against Luca’s.
Luca struggled to draw air into his burning lungs. “I suppose there’s all the time in the world to get to know one another…”
“Later,” Ash said, nodding. “After…”
“My…” Luca’s face flamed. “My apartment is right upstairs…”
“I’ll follow you anywhere, mate.”

ASH TRAILED Luca down a wide back hallway, his heart beating louder in his ears. The floor was a checkerboard black and
white tile, giving it an Alice in Wonderland vibe, aided by the blood-red velvet benches and long tapers burning in candelabras
along the black-painted walls. A few groups hung out along the hall, or farther down, in a lobby of sorts with a door to the
outside world at one end, chatting away, or using their powers without concern for being seen.
He sensed their curiosity as he passed, but his gaze was glued to Luca.
The space was filled with power and magic. It coiled around him, as if testing him. He gasped for air, the pressure tight.
Lessening after a few seconds, he speculated the building had judged his presence there and accepted him into the space.
As they waited for the elevator, he surveyed his witch again. Luca was a good two-three inches taller than his six-three but
toned and lean like a swimmer. The shock of purple hair was interesting, as were the many tattoos he saw peppered over
Luca’s arms—and assumed would be found elsewhere. He was going to enjoy finding the others and sampling the skin
underneath.
Luca captured Ash’s gaze. The hunger he saw there nearly took his breath away. The witch stepped closer, the heat from his
body washing over Ash. Luca smelled wonderful—the nutty aroma of the sunflowers his squirrel form loved to eat. He carried
the fragrance of green things.
“You smell like summer,” Ash murmured, closing the gap and inhaling next to Luca’s throat. He saw the bobbing of Luca’s
Adam’s apple and knew he was causing that torment. He smiled to himself and inhaled again.
One side of Luca’s lips curled upward. “You smell of musk… and vanilla.”
“Could be worse,” Ash whispered.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened, breaking their spell for a moment. As soon as they were inside and the elevator
ascending, Luca dragged him close and captured his lips. Ash wasn’t accustomed to kissing anyone taller, and he laughed.
Luca pulled back, frowning. “My kiss was funny?”
He forced the smile from his lips but struggled. “No, it wasn’t. I’m just used to being the bigger guy.”
Luca’s smile returned, and Ash’s legs turned to rubber at the sight of it.
“Sounds like you better get used to being the short one, Mate.”
A tremor swept through Ash. Mate. It hadn’t fully registered when Luca had said it earlier, but hearing it again when his mind
was working more clearly, it had a weightier impact. The word skittered across his raw senses, adding to the lust growing
hotter. Mate.
He was someone’s mate.
He belonged.
While he’d questioned whether he was a familiar, he’d been prepared to meet his fated mate since he’d been a boy. His inner
animal recognized the man standing in front of him was his. Fate had bound them long ago and had finally brought them
together.
Fuck Fate. Memories from that day he’d screamed those words into the universe assailed him, mixing tragedy with newfound
joy. His entire body clenched at the thought of Fate touching something else that was his.
“Hey? What’s this?” Luca asked, frowning. “Where’d you go?”
“Just thinking about Fate.” He winced. “She hasn’t been so kind to me in the past.”
Luca stroked his cheek. “She’s not kind to many of us, but, either we open ourselves and accept this gift, or we waste what
little time we have on this earth second-guessing it.” Luca trailed a fingertip over Ash’s lips. “Which shall we do?”
Ash forced a smile. He knew Luca was right. Logically. But telling his brain to stop worrying wasn’t easy.
Luca tugged at the front of his shirt, drawing them together again. “I know something that might end your overthinking.”
“Oh?” Ash asked, heat reigniting in his gut.
“This.” Magic the same shade as Luca’s hair coiled around his arms and body. He took one step, closing the gap between
them, slanting his head and smiling.
The kiss that came was electric.
Ash barely remembered getting off the elevator, into Luca’s apartment, and out of his clothes—but the second his naked body
covered his witch’s, the sensation etched itself in his memory. Their mouths warred, their bodies writhing.
Their first was fast and quick. He came into Luca’s body, straining deep. Luca opened to him, urging their quick coupling. It
was over before it had barely begun, their cries and screams of completion filling the tiny apartment.
When it was over, Ash knew it couldn’t be enough. He was starved for connection… and love. While he knew love at first
sight was a myth, finding one’s mate brought a sense of purpose.
Love could blossom if tended carefully.
He feasted on his mate, learning the feel of every inch of skin… memorizing every sensitive spot.
Every gasp.
Every whine.
Ash was lost to the hours they spent learning one another’s body, the tender kisses, and the heated ones that burned brighter
when their bodies grew needy once more. He swallowed Luca’s sweet cries, knowing he’d never tire of their taste.
When he came again, he saw stars across the walls, spiraling him to another galaxy. He collapsed in the cradle of Luca’s
thighs, boneless and satisfyingly shattered.
“Well… that was…” Luca murmured, pausing.
“Fucking amazing?” Ash rose to his knees, gently withdrawing from Luca’s heat. He lay on his back, starring up at the ceiling
and noting the stars and galaxies hadn’t gone away. A whole universe swirled above his head.
“Something like that,” Luca replied with a grin. He turned, curling into Ash’s side. “I’d heard the first meeting was hot as fuck.
They didn’t lie.”
Ash grunted, smiling. “No, for once, it was not blown out of proportion.” He turned to focus on Luca. “Although, I didn’t tend
to jump into bed with a virtual stranger.”
“Stranger?” Luca rose on one elbow. “Now we go back to this? I said we should get to know one another a bit more.”
Ash barked with laughter. “As if either of us could wait?”
“We might not know all the tidbits about one another, but I wouldn’t call us strangers. Our souls know one another.”
Ash laced his fingers through Luca’s, holding a stare. “Yeah…” He couldn’t quite explain the connection he felt, but this man
was abruptly his entire world. Regardless of if he got the job in Salem or not, this would be his new home.
Luca was his home.
“So where have you been hiding all my life?” Luca asked.
“Far away,” Ash murmured, not in the mood to dampen the moment thinking about the past. “I’m here now… that’s what
matters.”
“Just moved here?”
“Visiting, but the plan was to potentially move to Salem. Meeting you has cemented that plan, I think.”
A smile crossed Luca’s lip. “You bet it has.”
Ash glanced around the small studio apartment. He’d barely looked upon entering. His focus had been on Luca and the big bed
dominating the space. Off to one corner was a drafting table with beautiful artwork pinned to the wall around it. Near a tiny
kitchenette stood a tiny table and two chairs. In the center was a small sofa and coffee table.
Other than the artwork surrounding the drafting table, the decorations were sparse. Even so, there was a homeyness that called
to Ash.
Maybe it was simply the fact he wanted to call somewhere home.
“Just move in?”
Luca shook his head. “Nope. Been here a little over a year.” He rose to sit cross-legged on the bed. “I work a lot, so I don’t
spend a ton of time here.”
Ash trailed a hand over Luca’s. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you could show me around Salem Maybe… help me get to know
both. You and my potential new home.”
Luca leaned closer, slanting his head and capturing Ash’s lips. The kiss was tentative but slowly evolved into something
deeper. Ash slid one hand around the back of his mate’s head and took control of the kiss. Luca moaned against his lips,
boneless against his body. Ash grinned behind the kiss, enjoying the easy submission of his witch.
“I have to check in at the shop,” Luca said, pulling from Ash’s grasp. “I was due back a half hour ago. They’ll likely send a
search party if I don’t go downstairs.”
Ash was loath to let Luca go. “If you must.”
Luca kissed Ash again. “Stay here. I’ll see if I can convince my boss to let me have some time off. Then I’ll show you Salem.
My Salem.”
His chest warmed at the thought of more time with his mate. “How long?”
“Not long,” Luca whispered, rising from the bed. “I promise.”
Ash surveyed Luca’s long, lean frame, intoxicated by the man.
With the wave of a hand, Luca was redressed and ready to leave. “Bathroom’s over there if you want to wash up while you
wait. I’ll be back soon.”
After one last kiss, Luca was gone.
And Ash instantly ached for the man.
 Chapter

Five

L uca paused in front of Cassius’ studio door, the telltale buzzing behind the door informing him his mentor was with a
client. The second he heard it stop, he lifted his hand to knock.
“Come in, Luca.”
He chuckled to himself and spun the knob. Cassius’ client—a witch from a local coven—glared at him.
“You let this Gypsy trash in here, Cas?”
Luca stiffened.
Cassius’ normally jovial expression turned to stone. Luca saw quiet rage on Cassius’ face as he slowly lowered his tattoo gun.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
The man glared. “You’re not done.”
Cassius tossed a bag of coin at the man. “No, but you are. Get out.”
The witch offered Luca another glare before pushing off the tattoo chair and stalking to the door. He paused beside Luca at the
entrance and turned to cast one last look at Cassius. “My coven’ll hear about this.”
“Make sure you tell them. We don’t allow our clients to disrespect the members of my coven under this roof,” Cassius roared.
The witch hissed at Luca and departed.
As soon as the coast was clear, Luca eyed Cassius. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I’ve heard that shit my entire life. My skin is thick enough that it doesn’t bother me anymore.” Which was a lie. It stung. Only
Luca had gotten better at hiding it.
Cassius rose from his rolling stool and crossed his private studio. He placed both hands on Luca’s shoulders. “As I said to
him, no one disrespects the members of my coven under my own roof. No matter how much gold is in their coin purse.” He
held Luca’s stare. “You might’ve heard it your entire life, but that stops here. This is your home. You will be respected here.”
Luca fought the lump in his throat. “Thanks.”
Cassius offered a slight smile. “And yes, you can have the rest of the afternoon and evening off to spend with your mate. The
next couple, too, if you want.”
Luca frowned. “How the hell did you know about Ash?”
“We’ve got to work on your masking skills. I’m sure the entire coven sensed your excitement taking him up to your apartment.”
Heat crept onto Luca’s face. Strong emotions could be projected through the coven if not masked. Luca had been struggling
with that lesson, but he’d thought he had made progress. Yet meeting one’s mate was one of the strongest of strong emotions, so
hopefully they’d cut him some slack.
Cassius winked. “I’m glad you enjoyed your afternoon with him.”
Luca’s face scorched.
Cassius dug into his pocket and brought out a money clip. He peeled off a few bills before handing them over. “Go have fun.”
Luca eyed the money. “I can’t.”
“The money you earn is put into the coven’s pot. You’ve been here a year and haven’t asked for a single thing for yourself.
Here. Go. Have fun with your mate.” Cassius grinned. “You’ve earned it.”
Luca didn’t feel comfortable taking it. He hadn’t asked for anything because the coven supplied everything he needed. A roof
over his head. A place of employment. Food at the café. Ink and tools manufactured by the witches themselves. Companionship
and a sense of family. He didn’t need anything else.
No, that wasn’t correct.
Not anymore, but money couldn’t buy that connection.
He needed Ash.
The air sucked from his lungs at that thought. Earlier that morning, a mate hadn’t even been on his radar. Suddenly he was a
we… and while he’d looked forward to meeting his familiar his entire life, actually finding Ash left him feeling upended.
In the best possible way, of course.
One afternoon had changed his entire life.
A smile came to his lips.
“You’re still working on your Persuasion spells and your Creation spells—and I don’t want you to get embarrassed if you
struggle. Take the money in case you need it.”
“Sounds like you expect me to fail.”
Cassius sighed. “Luca—you just met one of your soul mates. That’s major for any witch, practiced or not. I wrestled with my
magic when I first met Switch, and I was older and more experienced than you.”
Luca’s ears perked up. Cassius didn’t mention the mysterious Switch often. Luca had yet to meet the man. “When did you two
meet?”
“A long time ago,” Cassius murmured.
“How long?” No one seemed to know just how old Cassius was. Little bits and pieces he’d stumbled across made him think
the man was old enough to be his grandfather—plus.
Cassius ignored his question. “I don’t want you forced into a corner if a spell doesn’t work. So, take it.” He held out his hand
farther, the bills dangling from his fingers.
Luca sighed and took the cash.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to practice before resorting to cash,” Cassius added.
After many months of practice, he was improving on non-healing spells, but he still had a ways to go. “Exactly what I want.
Homework on a date.”
“Maybe if you stopped viewing it as homework, it might come easier?”
Luca nodded, biting his tongue.
“Those skills will make your life easier. You don’t want easy? Then don’t practice. It’s your call, Luca.”
“Okay, Dad.” Luca lifted his gaze and smiled at Cassius.
Cassius’ chest puffed out some. “You say that like it’s an insult. It isn’t. I’d be proud to have a son like you.”
Luca stood taller at the praise. He didn’t know who his real father was. His mother had refused to tell him, along with a lot of
things. Since that fateful day when Cassius had chased off those bullies, Luca had pictured the witch as his father. “It was no
insult.”
Cassius grinned. He patted the side of Luca’s cheek and turned back to his tools. “Make sure you hit the Witch Museum. Make
sure he knows the history of Salem before he moves here,” Cassius said. “But make sure to correct the parts they get wrong.”
Luca tucked the money into his back pocket. “Will do.”
“I’ve got a few things I need to do… and you have a mate to enjoy.”
Cassius had just been in the middle of creating a tattoo that he was no longer working—his time was free—but Luca didn’t
question it. Perhaps Cassius was off to meet with Switch for all he knew. Taking advantage of his free time.
“Have fun,” Cassius murmured before waving a hand and creating a portal. He disappeared within the flashing lights, and it
closed behind him.
Luca stared a moment, still impressed with the gorgeous portals his mentor formed. Once it vanished, he pulled the door shut
and paused, excitement filling him.
He returned to the apartment, his mind a swirl of ideas and places he wanted to show Ash. As soon as he walked through the
door, he spied his mate walking out of the bathroom.
With only a towel wrapped around his waist.
Luca’s gaze lingered over the vee formed low on Ash’s abdomen, arrowing down to the thick root he’d felt deep inside him
less than an hour before. Shutting the door, he lost his train of thought, hunger causing him to forget everything he’d planned.
All he could think about was getting under Ash again.
And spending the rest of his life there.
With a wave of his hand, he was naked.
Ash’s eyes bugged. “And you said you’re still learning magic? You seem to do alright.”
“Well,” Luca murmured, caressing a hand down his growing shaft. “In a medical emergency, I might need to remove someone’s
clothing.”
“You’re a healer?”
Luca nodded. “I am.”
“Good to know,” Ash murmured, dropping his towel. “I could use a little healing help right now.”
Luca crossed the bedroom, gripping his cock. “What hurts, baby?”
“Everything,” Ash growled. “I ache all over.” He stole a kiss. “I ache for you.”
Ash wrapped his muscular arms around Luca, dragging them closer. Luca mewled against Ash’s hungry lips, starved for more
of the shifter’s attentions. Sliding to his knees, he came face-to-face with the source of Ash’s ache and proceeded to soothe the
beast within.
After circling his tongue over the head, he took Ash’s shaft to the back of his throat and hollowed his cheeks. Tears came to his
eyes, and he came close to gagging—but slid back off the length before that happened. Ash tangled his fingers through Luca’s
hair, yanking him closer and forcing more of the shaft down his throat.
Luca moaned around Ash’s cock, loving the roughness and dominance. Ash face-fucked him, shoving his cock deep before
drawing away and allowing himself to pop from Luca’s lips.
“Oh, that’s a beautiful mouth you got there,” Ash said, bruising his thumb over Luca’s bottom lip. “It looks even better with my
cock in it.”
“I bet it does,” Luca murmured before sucking it back to his throat, a single tear sliding down his cheek from the wide stretch
of his lips around the girthy root. Just like the thick, sturdy man, his cock was exceptional. He pumped his lips over it a few
times until he needed a break for air and went back to another round of sucking.
Ash roared, dragging his cock from Luca’s lips. “I wanna come inside you.”
Luca grinned. “I suppose the question if you’re a switch or not was just answered.”
Ash helped him to his feet. “I switch. On occasion…”
“This is not one of those occasions, hmm?” Luca backed toward the bed, knowing full well he wanted to be impaled on Ash’s
cock again. His hole clenched at the thought of being filled once more, and he climbed onto the surface of the bed.
“If you’d rather I bottomed…”
“No,” Luca said, perhaps too quickly from the smile that formed on Ash’s lips. “I’m already up here, ready for you. Might as
well get on with it.”
Ash followed him onto the mattress, moving into the circle of his thighs. “I wouldn’t want to force you to do anything you
didn’t want, Mate.” He bypassed Luca and went to his hands and knees, ass in the air. “Have at it.”
“Get over here and fuck me,” Luca growled.
Ash chuckled. “As I thought.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” Luca snapped angrily. “I will get a piece of that ass eventually.”
“As you should,” Ash murmured, moving Luca’s legs higher, opening him wide.
Luca grabbed the bottle of lube they’d used earlier in the afternoon and poured some into Ash’s palm. “Damned right I should.”
He grinned. “Later. For now… I command you to fuck me.”
“Command?” Ash grinned. “I’ll do your bidding. This time.”
The first caress of cold lube on Luca’s asshole had him nearly jumping off the bed. The second had him melting against his
mate’s hand. Ash lovingly coated him and stretched his hole, all while holding his gaze. Luca’s chest tightened at the reverence
in his familiar’s eyes.
The bond that Fate forged between them was strong—stronger than he’d ever expected.
Ash solidified that bond, sliding inside him and making them one.
Luca held his mate’s gaze as they writhed together, bodies one instrument of pleasure. He rode the waves of pleasure Ash
created within, aching for release yet wanting to hold it back for as long as possible. It was as if the man was made for him.
He was.
Luca smiled at the thought and wrapped his arms around Ash’s shoulders, drawing them closer. When he came minutes later, he
screamed his mate’s name for the world to hear. So what if the coven sensed his pleasure? He celebrated his connection to Ash
and held nothing back. Ash roared, coming deep a few strokes later, filling Luca with a thick load of cum.
They collapsed together, gasping for air.
Entangled in one another’s bodies.
As Fate intended.
“How about we spend the rest of tonight in bed? You can show me around Salem tomorrow.”
Luca grinned. “I can’t be mad at that plan.”
 Chapter

Six

A fter a day of exploring Salem and seeing the city through a witch’s eyes—with stops at all of the best paranormal sights
and shops and started off with an odd excursion at the Salem Witch Museum—they wandered into Bewitched Bites for
dinner. Ash was shook seeing that the establishment had morphed into a fine dining restaurant, complete with hostess at
the door. He stepped back outside to the sidewalk, checked the sign, and then returned to the hostess station.
“Table for two?” the young witch asked.
“Yes,” Ash said. He turned his gaze to Luca. “How the hell?”
“Magic,” Luca whispered as they trailed behind the hostess.
Luca had truly spun a spell, ensorcelling him from the ground up. He’d been drawn into the witch’s world without reserve and
couldn’t wait to see what other wonders lay ahead.
They sat in a secluded corner and perused the menus. The dim light would’ve been difficult for a human but worked fine for
Ash’s shifter sight. “Do witches see in low light as well as us?”
“Most of our senses are superhuman,” Luca murmured. “But not to the level of a shifter.”
“You make up for it with gifts I could never imagine.” He lowered the menu and smiled. “You know, we’ve spent all of our
time sightseeing and/or fucking,” he said, smiling inwardly replaying the bathroom stall sex they’d had in the Witch’s Museum.
They both seemed insatiable. “We’ve never asked basic questions about one another.”
“Like?”
“How old are you?” Ash asked.
“Nineteen.” He smiled after, likely noting Ash’s wide-eyed cringe. “Why? How old are you?”
“I assumed you were legal drinking age, given the beer you had with lunch.”
“Human rules do not pertain to me,” Luca said. “Answer the question.”
“Twenty-three.” Ash leaned back in his chair, excited to play a round of Twenty Questions. “Where are you from?”
“Here. Salem. You?”
“A small city near the West Virginia border in Pennsylvania.”
“What brought you to Salem?” Luca asked.
Ash reached across the table and took Luca’s hand. “Besides you?”
Luca’s lips twerked. “Nice one.”
“I thought so.”
“Besides me, then.”
Ash leaned closer. “A job interview. As soon as I got the email, my mark tingled and there was…” he smiled, a question
answered. “It glowed purple with magic. The same shade as I saw surrounding you yesterday.”
“Seriously? I’ve never heard of that happening before.”
“I can’t say one way or the other, but it was telling me to take the interview.” Ash cocked his head to the side. “What do you
do?”
“I’m an apprentice tattoo artist a few doors down at Enchanted Ink.”
Ash had noticed the tattoo parlor near the café. “Hence the artwork upstairs.”
“Practice makes perfect.” He ran a hand over Ash’s bare arm. “I note the lack of ink on your skin. What a canvas you’d be.”
Prickles of electricity zipped up Ash’s arm, and the thought of Luca hovered over him, marking his flesh, sent a thrill through
him. “I have to be careful about tattoos. My workplace might have rules about them showing. I’ll find out soon enough.”
One of Luca’s brows curved up. “Yeah, you jumped in there and asked a question before I could. What’s the job interview
for?”
“Salem PD,” Ash replied and watched as a shadow covered Luca’s handsome face. “Did I say something wrong?”
“A cop?”
“Yeah,” Ash murmured, sensing a problem.
“Law enforcement and the magical community don’t always see eye to eye.”
Ash searched Luca’s face. “Salem PD in particular?”
“It’s the only law enforcement I know.” Luca glared at him. “A creature working for the normies. Cop normies, at that.” He
searched Ash’s face, a hint of antipathy showing. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“My dad was a cop. His dad was a cop. It was kind of the family business.” Although, his mother’s family had disowned her
for that very reason. Marrying a cop well below her station. Maybe his normal wasn’t normal for the rest of the paranormal
world. Would moving there and joining the force brand him an outcast? He’d have to do some investigating and find out. “Why
don’t we focus on something else?”
Luca was watchful. “Like?”
“Regardless of what I do, you drew me here.” Ash grabbed Luca’s hand and dragged it closer.
Luca pulled away from him.
He was silent a moment, trying to think what to say. From the chill to the air, he knew Luca wasn’t pleased.
“Mind telling me why me being a cop seems to upset you so?”
“A Salem cop car literally drove past me getting my ass beat by bullies when I was a kid. Did they protect me? Nope.”
“Maybe he didn’t see.”
“He looked right into my eyes and smiled, Ash.”
Ash winced.
“Cassius told me to stop healing myself and let the school and police see what they were doing to me. Hold them accountable. I
tried that. Even seeing me beaten black and blue, with busted ribs and a punctured lung, they tried to paint me as the villain.
Suggesting I’d caused four guys twice my size to beat the hell out of me.”
“I’m sorry that happened,” Ash said. “But I’m not that person.”
“No, you’d just be working with those assholes,” Luca said. “Witches and law enforcement don’t exactly have a positive
history together. The men policing Salem are the ones who hung witches all those years ago.”
“Oh, come on—that’s a stretch.”
“Is it?” Luca asked. “Seems like they’re still working to harm us.”
“This is my job, Luca. It’s what I’m trained to do.” Not to mention the fact that after his family died, it was the force who’d
been there for him. Marco, Adelaide, and his father’s police friends. Yet he couldn’t talk about that, not without explaining
about his family, and he simply wasn’t in a place where he wanted to bring that up. Or have it look like he was using their loss
as his gain in the conversation. “I get that policing has a bad rep, in more ways than one, but I want to be there to fix the
problem. Not walk away from it.”
“It’s never been good for our kind,” Luca said. “And I doubt it ever will be.”
“You have to give me a chance.”
Luca eyed him. “I’ve got a client coming in tonight. I need to get ready.”
“I thought you changed your schedule to spend time with me?”
“I couldn’t change this one,” Luca murmured. He looked anywhere but at Ash. “I need to go.”
“Because I won’t back down?”
“No,” Luca said.
“I think you’re lying,” Ash said, trying to force Luca’s stare.
Luca inhaled. “When I think about the Salem PD, I can only imagine that squad car driving past as I lay on the ground terrified.
Help that never came.” He shook his head. “Later, I tried to have the bullies held accountable, and that didn’t happen.”
Ash sighed. “A bad apple spoiled the bunch. I get it. But good men have to stand up and make it right.”
“Cops failed me on more than one occasion,” Luca said, rising from the table. “I won’t let you fail me, too.”
“If good men walk away from the force, that’ll only leave the bad ones in play, Luca.”
Luca nodded. “Logically, that makes sense, but being linked in any way to that profession makes me uneasy.” He searched
Ash’s face. “Maybe Fate made a mistake here.”
Fucking Fate scores again. Ash clenched his jaw, tamping down on his anger.
Luca trailed a hand over the mark on his inner arm before turning and stalking from the restaurant. Ash watched him go, a voice
within screaming inside to stop the witch. To give in and give up his profession. To do whatever he needed to in order to keep
Luca in his life.
Yet, his job was in his blood. Sure, he’d only been an officer for a year, but it felt… right. Just as right as Luca did.
Fate hadn’t made a mistake…
Not this time.
And he’d make sure Luca knew that before long. While he wanted nothing more than to chase after Luca and make the witch see
reason, perhaps it was better that they have some time to cool off and use better judgement. He rose from the table, appetite
gone, and strolled the darkened streets of Salem, his mind a whirl.
He walked until he was exhausted and crashed in the wee hours of the morning, the sky almost gray. His mind was on Luca as
he drifted asleep.
The following day, Ash stepped into the Salem PD main office and requested the chief. As he waited, he considered the
argument he’d had the night before, and qualms hit him straight in the gut. He hadn’t experienced what Luca had. He couldn’t
imagine being beaten and ignored by a peace officer. It made him second-guess taking the position at all. What kind of men
served there? Did he want to be associated with a department that would allow residents to come to harm right under their
noses?
Not just under their noses, but feigning ignorance?
The words he spoke to Luca the night before whispered through his mind. If good men walk away from the force, that’ll only
leave the bad ones in play. There was a chance he could bring good to Salem, particularly with the witches’ help.
Fate had led him to the job… and to Luca. While he didn’t always trust Fate, he trusted his own gut. This was what he was
supposed to do. He knew it bone deep. If he could convince Luca of that, maybe he could smooth things over.
The chief came out and offered a hand. “Nice to meet you, Montgomery.”
“You, too, Chief.”
“Why don’t you come on back and we can chat?”
“Sure thing,” Ash replied before following the man behind the counter and back toward his office.
“Have a seat.” The chief motioned to a chair facing the desk. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Ah, no. Thanks.”
The chief grinned and took a seat at his desk. He had a kind face that put Ash at ease. “I was excited to see your application
come through. I’m originally from Pennsylvania, and I knew of your father.” His face tightened. “I was really sorry to hear
about him… and the rest of your family.”
Ash’s jaw tightened. Would he never escape his past? “Thanks.”
“You mind me asking why you want to leave that area behind?”
“Well, like you, most of my fellow officers knew my dad. Every time they look at me, I see pity in their eyes. I’m often given
light duty. Handled with kid gloves. I thought, in time, it would stop, but it’s been over a year since I graduated the academy
and it’s… it’s too much. I want to start fresh somewhere where no one knows my past.”
“I hope I didn’t ruin that plan by mentioning I knew your dad,” the chief said, smiling softly. “I could use some good men in this
department, and if you’re anything like him, then you just might fit in here perfectly.” He smiled. “No kid gloves, I promise.
We’re in a rebuilding phase right now, and it’s tough, not going to lie.”
“Rebuilding?”
“I had to let a few officers go.” He grimaced. “I took over about a year ago, and I’ve slowly been rooting out the bad eggs. I
thought I’d gotten them all, but I was saddened to have to relieve two more a few weeks ago.”
Cleaning out the bad eggs scored the man points, especially given what Luca had experienced.
“I’d heard some tales about officers not exactly being helpful, and it had me worried.”
“This town doesn’t trust us,” the chief said. “Rightly so, too. I’m working to change that.”
“I like the sound of that,” Ash replied.
“What do you think of Salem so far? You got here a couple of days ago if I remember our earlier conversation.”
“It’s quaint.” His thoughts went to Luca. There was no reason to lie, he was moving there, regardless of if he was offered the
job or not. He stared at the Salem PD patch on the shoulder of the jacket behind the chief, the black silhouette of a witch riding
a broom below the words, Witch City. It was almost comical. “Sleepy, but I understand it gets a bit crazy come Halloween?”
“It’ll start picking up by the end of this month and all through October. It’s insane, but fun, too. I’m sure our officers have a
bevy of interesting stories to share. It’s wild, but over fast. Five weeks and then the rest of the year is fairly quiet.” The man
grinned. “If you can ever call Salem normal. We have more than our fair share of ghost, witch, and other beastly sightings year-
round—and the wild folks who chase after them. Some of our calls?” He shook his head, laughing. “Outright hilarious.”
Ash chuckled inwardly, knowing all those things existed. He’d never come face-to-face with any but the witches. If he came to
Salem, he assumed he’d meet all kinds of beings. That was exciting, if he was being honest.
“I’ve checked your references and looked at your record, and I think you’d be a good fit here, Montgomery. What do you think
about joining our team?”
While he sensed the hard sell coming up for him, he nodded. “I think that sounds wonderful.”
After discussing the particulars, Ash rose and offered his new boss a hand. “I’m looking forward to having you here full-time,”
the chief said. “Three weeks… we’ll see you back here.”
Elation soon turned bittersweet. His first stop was Enchanted Ink, hoping he might find Luca there.
As soon as he walked inside the tattoo parlor, he noted the wards drawn on the walls. A place of protection. It even felt safe
within the walls.
“Can I help you?” a man said from behind the desk. He looked at Ash with interest, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“I’m looking for Luca.”
The man’s smile faded. “Luca!” he screeched. “Customer!”
Luca appeared from around a corner, his face falling some the second he met Ash’s gaze. Well, if that isn’t a kick to the gut.
Luca’s stride slowed, and he stopped a few feet from Ash. “What’re you doing here?”
“I just got out of my interview.”
Luca tensed. “And?”
“I got the job.”
Luca closed his eyes. His shoulders drooped. When he reopened to gaze at Ash, there was sadness there. “Congrats, I
suppose.”
The guy at the desk clicked his tongue. “Dear God, Luca… let the guy off the hook already. We all felt how much of a horndog
you were for him.”
“Shut up, Atlas.”
“Shut up, Atlas,” Atlas mimicked with derision. “If you want to fuck up your relationship with your familiar, go for it.” Atlas
turned to him. “If you want a real witch who won’t kick you out of bed, call me.”
“Fuck off, Atlas,” Luca snapped. He grabbed Ash’s wrist and dragged him outside to the sidewalk. He turned to focus on Ash.
“Don’t listen to that jerk.”
“He seems like a lot of fun.”
“He’s a royal pain in the ass,” Luca replied.
“He does have a point, though… maybe?”
Luca eyed him.
“I recall you saying something along the lines of… we can either accept this thing between us or waste time second-guessing
it.” Ash drew in a breath, dumbfounded that he was going to say what he was about to say. “Fate brought us together for a
reason. Can’t you give me a chance?”
Luca held his stare. Silent.
“Come on, Luca. Tonight’s my last night in Salem. I don’t want to leave things like this.”
Luca growled before closing the gap between them and pressing his face into Ash’s neck. Ash relaxed, closing his eyes. He
wrapped his mate in his arms.
“We’re good?”
“Not exactly,” Luca said. “But I don’t want to be upset. Not at you.”
Ash leaned back. “This chief is new. He’s let a few officers he called ‘bag eggs’ go and brought in better men to replace them. I
got a good feeling from him.”
“That’s a positive, I suppose.” Luca drew in a deep breath. “Although they’re still a bunch of normies who would try to rid the
world of our kind if given half the chance.”
“Let’s not go back to this. Not tonight.”
Luca bit his lower lip. “Not tonight.”
Ash stole a kiss. “Can you get off early?”
“Maybe,” Luca murmured.
“I’d like to spend tonight with you.”
Another random document with
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Then aunt took him upstairs to his room, and I was left alone with
Jack, who looked rather out of humour.

"How different from the dry-as-dust old professor we expected!" I

said to him. "He looks quite young."

"He says he is thirty-two," replied Jack. "I don't call that exactly
juvenile."

"It may not seem so to eighteen," I responded loftily.

"I shall be nineteen in July," said Jack hastily, "and you are only a
few months older, so there, Nan."

"I am aware of the fact," I said calmly, "and I consider myself quite
old enough. We were not discussing my age but Professor
Faulkner's."

"He does not like to be called Professor Faulkner," said Jack. "He
told me so."

"Did he?" I said. "That is rather sensible of him. He seems very

nice."

"Oh, of course, you'll think him so," said Jack impatiently. "Girls are
always taken with a fellow who gives himself airs like that."

"Airs like what?" I asked, but Jack vouchsafed no reply, and aunt
coming downstairs the next moment, he at once said that he must be
off. She detained him while she told him about the Americans, a
piece of news which seemed to cheer him somewhat. Then she
reminded him that he and his father were to dine with us on the
following evening, and he departed.

"Oh, auntie, how different from what we expected!" I said, as soon as

we were alone in the drawing-room. "He is not in the least like the
Vicar."
"Very different from what you expected," she retorted. "He is so
pleased with his room, Nan. He says he feels that he has come to a
haven of rest."

"How nice of him!" I said. "You like him, do you not, Auntie?"

"Yes," she said decidedly. "I feel sure that we shall find him easy to
get on with, and I am not often mistaken in first impressions."

Our guest did not join us till the dinner-gong sounded. When he
entered the dining-room I was glad that I had taken pains with my
toilet, for he was carefully dressed, and a little cluster of my
primroses adorned his dinner-jacket. He saw my eyes rest on them,
and said with a smile:

"You cannot think how pleased I was to find some primroses in my

room. It is years since I plucked an English primrose."

"You will be able to do so here," said my aunt; "they are coming out
in our woods, and will be plentiful in a week or two."

"I am so glad to hear it," he said simply. "They will be a delight to

me."

"Then you are not like the immortal Peter Bell?" I said, speaking my
thought almost involuntarily.

"By no means," he said, smiling, "since all the joys of my childhood

seem to live again for me when I see a primrose."

We got on marvellously well together on that first evening. Aunt and I

found him such an interesting companion that we almost forgot how
recent our acquaintance was. He talked a good deal about his life in
India, and it was evident that he had relinquished his work there with
great reluctance. He had met with sundry adventures there, too, of
which he spoke in the simplest fashion, but which showed me he
was a man of fine courage and a good sportsman. I thought that
Jack would like him better when he came to know more about him.
He made very light of the health failure which had brought him home.
It was the result of the warm, moist climate of the place of his
sojourn. He had got the better of the feverish attacks which had
prostrated him. What he lacked now was nervous strength, and that
he believed the fresh air and repose of the country would soon
restore.

When he said this, Aunt Patty explained that I too was suffering from
nervous exhaustion, and, rather to my vexation, told the story of my
disappointment. But as I met his look of perfect comprehension and
sympathy, I felt that I did not mind in the least.

"Ah, Miss Nan, don't I know what that meant for you!" he said. It was
strange how from the first he fell into the way of addressing me as
"Miss Nan," just as if he had known me all my life. And stranger still it
was that, though I was rather wont to stand on my dignity, I felt no
inclination to resent his thus dispensing with ceremony.

"It did seem hard at first," I murmured, "but now I don't mind."

"I know," he said. "It went sorely against the grain with me when I
found that I must resign my post at the college, and go back to
England. My students were very dear to me, and I hoped that I was
impressing some of them for good. But there was no alternative—if I
would go on living. So you and I have the same duty before us at
present—to lay up a fresh store of energy."

"I have found it an easy duty so far," I said cheerfully.

"Indeed, in this fair home, with the spring unfolding about us, and all
the lovely summer to come, it promises to be a delightful one," was
his ready response.

So a bond of mutual comprehension was at once established

between me and Alan Faulkner.

Aunt Patty got on with him equally well, and I could see by the way in
which he listened to her and deferred to her that he felt the attraction
of her unaffected goodness and kindness.

Nor was the Vicar less pleased when he made the acquaintance of
our guest on the following evening. He found an affinity with the
Professor at once, and showed a desire to monopolise his attention;
but whenever, as we sat at the table, their talk threatened to become
too abstruse, Mr. Faulkner would seek, by some explanatory word, to
draw me and aunt into it, or would try to divert it into a more ordinary
channel. How deep they plunged, or how far back in human history
they went after we left them to themselves, I cannot say. Their
conversation soon wearied Jack, for within five minutes, he joined us
in the drawing-room.

Jack was in rather a perverse mood.

"I suppose that is the sort of chap the governor would like me to be,"
he growled, "able to jaw on learned subjects in that conceited
fashion."

"Then I am afraid he will be disappointed," I said severely; "for even

if you succeed in passing your exam, you will never be in the least
like Mr. Faulkner."

"I am exceedingly glad to hear it!" he said with a disagreeable laugh.

It was so odd of Jack to take such a dislike to the Professor. I never

saw the least trace of conceit in his bearing, and he showed the
utmost consideration for Jack. I was vexed with the boy for being so
unreasonable; but it was of no use my saying anything—he only
grew worse.

For my part the more I saw of Alan Faulkner, the better I liked him. I
was glad we had time to get well acquainted with him before any
other guests arrived. For aunt's sake I was, of course, glad, but
otherwise I could have regretted that the Americans were coming on
the morrow.
 CHAPTER VII
THE AMERICANS

MR. JOSIAH DICKS and his daughter arrived on the following day,
just as we were about to sit down to luncheon. They drove in a fly
from Chelmsford and brought with them a goodly array of trunks and
valises, though they presently explained that this represented but a
fraction of their luggage.

He was a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking man, and had the yellow,

parchment-like complexion with which I had credited Professor
Faulkner; but his restless movements and keen, alert glances
showed him to be very much alive. His forehead was bald, save for a
wisp of hair which stood up on it in such a manner as to give him
somewhat the appearance of a cockatoo. His daughter was a tall,
slight, smart-looking girl. Her face was rather pasty in its colouring;
but the sharp, piquant features were not devoid of charm. She wore
a most remarkable hat, with so many wings sticking out of it that one
shuddered to think how many small birds had been slaughtered for
the gratification of her vanity. I could not admire it, yet it was of a
style that suited her. She was a striking figure as she entered the
house wearing a long, drab travelling coat with gilt buttons, and a
magnificent boa of Russian sable, with a muff of the same fur,
depending from her neck by a gold chain.

"So this is 'Gay Bowers!'" she said in a high, thin voice with the
unmistakable enunciation of an American as she looked about her,
frankly observant, "and really it is as pretty as its name. I call this old
hall perfectly lovely."
"It's real antique, this," said her father, speaking with a still more
striking accent, "that staircase now—"

But here my aunt's advance cut short his words.

"Mr. Dicks, I believe?" she said.

"Right you are, ma'am," he replied; "you see Josiah Dicks of

Indianapolis, and this is my daughter, Pollie—or, as she prefers to be
called, Paulina. We've come, as I wrote you we should, and I hope
you can take us in."

"I have some vacant rooms which I shall be happy to show you,"
said Aunt Patty, "but we were just going to lunch; will you not sit
down with us, and we can discuss business matters later."

"I guess that will suit us excellently, eh! What say you, Pollie?" was
his response. "The fact is, we left our hotel soon after ten, and the
fresh country air on the way hither has given a decided edge to our
appetites."

I took Miss Dicks to my room to refresh herself after the journey. She
sniffed with her pretty little nose as we went up the staircase, and
said, "How deliciously fresh it smells here! I hate the smell of
London, don't you? Are there many people staying in the house?"

"Why, no," I said, rather embarrassed by the question. "You see it is

a new thing for us to have boarders at 'Gay Bowers,' and at present
there are only ourselves and Mr. Faulkner."

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, to be sure, and I

thought there would be twenty at least! I looked forward to music and
dancing in the evening!"

I felt inclined to laugh too, but I answered gravely, "Then I am afraid

our home will hardly suit you, for it is small, as you see, and we
could never accommodate more than half the number you name."
"I see," she said with a little pout. "Well, I must make the best of it
now, I suppose. I like the look of the lady, Mrs.—what is her name?"

"Mrs. Lucas," I said; "she is my aunt."

"Oh!" Thereupon she turned and looked at me from head to foot with
a thoroughness which let slip no detail of my appearance. My colour
rose, yet I gave her credit for intending no insolence by her cool
survey.

A moment later, as she removed her hat with her eyes on the mirror,
I took the opportunity to observe her more closely. Her hair was a
pale brown and fairly plentiful. It presented an arrangement of poufs
and combs, and tortoiseshell ornaments, which was quite novel to
me. I found it more extraordinary than beautiful, though when I got
used to the style I saw that it suited her.

The travellers had acquired the art of quickly making themselves at

home. As we took our luncheon they spoke and acted as if "Gay
Bowers" belonged to them. More than once I saw Aunt Patty flush
with resentment at what she evidently considered an impertinence.
But she had the good sense to hide her annoyance.

Cook, knowing that strangers were expected, had risen to the

occasion and sent up some very dainty dishes. Josiah Dicks did
ample justice to her excellent pastry, although he assured us he was
a martyr to dyspepsia.

When luncheon was over, aunt offered to show our visitors the
rooms she could give them. As they followed her from the room,
Miss Dicks turned and said to me in a very audible undertone, "How
very good-looking he is!" She jerked her head towards the window
where Alan Faulkner stood playing with Sweep. It was extraordinary
how that dog had taken to him. Ever since my arrival I had sought in
vain to coax her into accompanying me on my walks. She had
always preferred to wander alone about uncle's favourite haunts, or
to crouch disconsolately on the mat outside his former sanctum; but
now she was ready to follow Mr. Faulkner anywhere.
"Oh, hush!" I responded in a whisper to Miss Dicks's remark. "He
may hear you."

"Would it matter if he did?" she returned coolly. "Men like to be told

that they are good-looking."

"That may be," I replied; "but it is a taste I should not care to gratify."

She laughed.

"Pollie Dicks," called her father from the staircase, "are you coming
to choose your room?"

"He means to stay," she said to me with a sagacious nod, "and I've
no objection."

When she came downstairs a little later, Aunt Patty told me that Miss
Dicks had chosen the room on the left of mine. It was a large room,
commanding the front of the house. Her father had had to content
himself with a smaller room at the back.

"He seems much pleased with the place," said my aunt, "but his
daughter is evidently afraid of finding it dull."

"Do you like them, auntie?" I asked.

An odd smile crossed her face.

"They are mortals," she said. "I don't quite know what to make of
them, but I mean to like them, Nan. I cannot afford to quarrel with my
bread and butter."

"Still, I do think that they might have behaved a little more like
'guests' at luncheon," I said. "Mr. Dicks asked for 'crackers' just as if
he were in an hotel."

"I must confess that I felt rather riled for a moment," said my aunt;
"but I am sure he did not mean to annoy me. They are evidently
used to hotel life, and they cannot guess, nor do I wish that they
should, how it feels to me to receive strangers thus into my home.
My common-sense tells me that I must not allow myself to be over-
sensitive. I only hope Mr. Faulkner will like them."

"He seems to like them," I said.

Indeed I had been astonished to see the friendly interest in the

newcomers which he displayed, and the readiness with which he
talked to them.

The following day was Easter Sunday, and for once the weather was
all that one could wish it to be upon that day. It was not exactly
warm, but the sun shone brightly, and there was a delicious,
indescribable feeling of spring in the air. The trees were budding,
and the hedges breaking into leaf. Every day now showed some
fresh sign of spring's advance.

We all went to church in the morning. Mr. Dicks was struck with the
venerable beauty of our church, but he was severe in his criticism of
the service and the sermon. He had no patience with the defects of
our choir, and certainly their singing was very rural. He was anxious
to impress us with the superior order of things to be found in
America.

Jack joined us after the service, and we all, with the exception of my
aunt, took a short walk before luncheon. Mr. Dicks explained that he
was not fond of walking, but that his doctor had advised him to walk
several miles every day. His daughter frankly said that she hated it,
and certainly the smart pointed shoes she wore appeared ill adapted
to our country roads. I saw Mr. Faulkner looking at them, and
wondered whether he were admiring, or merely struck, as I was, with
their unsuitability.

"Pollie is fond of cycling," said Mr. Dicks, looking at me. "Do you
cycle?"

"I can," I said, "but unfortunately I have no bicycle of my own. I use

my sister's sometimes when I am at home."
"That is a pity," he said. "Pollie's machine will be sent down to-
morrow. It would be nice if you could ride with her."

"Do you cycle?" asked Miss Dicks, turning to Mr. Faulkner.

"I have not ridden since I came back from India," he said.

"Did you ride there?" she asked.

"Yes; I often rode with my students," he said. "In the province where I
was living the roads were as smooth and level as a billiard-table, so
that riding was delightful."

"Then I don't wonder that you have not ridden since," Jack said.

"Are the roads very bad about here?" she asked, glancing at him.
"You ride, of course?"

"They are not so bad," he replied, "but I don't say they would
compare favourably with a billiard-table."

"You will ride with me, won't you?" she said to him with a fascinating
smile.

"With pleasure," he responded, adding loyally, "and we'll hire a

machine at Chelmsford, so that Miss Nan can accompany us."

"And you will come, too, will you not?" she said, turning towards
Professor Faulkner.

I did not hear his reply, for at that moment Mr. Dicks addressed a
question to me; but it struck me that she was rather a forward young
woman.

Two days later a consignment of trunks arrived for Miss Dicks. She
had already displayed such a variety of pretty and fashionable
changes of attire that I wondered how many more clothes she had.
Judging by the size of her trunks she might have had a different
gown for each day of the year.
She appeared delighted to receive her luggage, and spent the
greater part of the next day in her room, engaged in unpacking the
boxes. Late in the afternoon I was going upstairs when I heard a
voice calling, "Nan, Nan!" Glancing upwards, I saw Miss Dicks
standing at the door of her room. I had not given her permission to
address me by my Christian name, and it would not have occurred to
me to call her "Pollie." But this was only another instance of the
inimitable coolness with which she made herself at home with us all.
I could only conclude that her free and easy bearing was typically
American, and endeavour to reconcile myself to it with as good a
grace as possible.

"Do come here, Nan, and look at my things," she cried as she saw
me.

As I entered her room I exclaimed at the sight it presented. Bed,

sofa, table, chairs, and even the floor were littered with all kinds of
choice and pretty things, making the place look like a bazaar. There
were mosaics and marbles from Italy, Roman lamps, conchas,
cameos, exquisite bits of Venetian glass, corals and tortoise-shells
from Naples, silk blankets from Como, and olive-wood boxes from
Bellagio. But it is vain to attempt to name all the things that met my
eyes. I think there were specimens of the arts and manufactures of
every place which she and her father had visited.

"Oh, how lovely!" I exclaimed. "But what will you do with all these
things? Are you going to open a shop?"

"Not exactly," she said with a laugh. "I am going to take them back to
America with me. Some are for myself, and some for my friends.
Father wanted me not to unpack them till we got them home, but I
felt that I must look and see if they were all safe."

For the next half-hour I had nothing to do but admire. There were
little boxes packed with small and rare ornaments, which she opened
one by one to show me the contents. I felt sure now that Josiah
Dicks must be a millionaire. It was a delight to me to see so many
pretty things, and their possessor seemed to enjoy my appreciation
of them.

"Aunt Maria begged me to buy everything I wanted. She said, 'Now

don't come home and say "I wish I had bought this, that, or the
other." Get all that pleases you while you are there,'" Miss Dicks
explained.

"You seem to have obeyed her most thoroughly," I remarked. "Does

your aunt live with you at home?"

"Yes, I have no mother, you know," she said. "She died when I was a
child. She nursed my little brother through scarlet fever. He died, and
then she took it and died."

She told me this in the most matter-of-fact way; but somehow I felt
differently towards her after she said that. I was feeling rather
envious of the girl who had carte blanche to spend money so
lavishly, and wondering what Olive and Peggy would say when they
heard of it, but now I felt that, though we girls had so few of the
things that money could buy, yet, as long as we had father and
mother and one another, we were richer than Paulina Dicks.

When I had looked at everything, she startled me by saying:

"Now I want you to choose something for yourself."

My colour rose as I replied by saying hurriedly:

"Oh, no, I cannot do that!"

"Why not?" she asked, surveying me with frank surprise. "When you
see that I have such heaps of things? I can never make use of them
all myself." But I still decidedly declined.

"Take this coral necklace," she said. "You were admiring it, and it
would look pretty on the black frock you wear of an evening. Why,
what is the matter with you? Are you proud? I believe you are, for
you never call me by my name, although I call you 'Nan.'"

"I will call you whatever you please," I said, "but I cannot accept any
of your pretty things, for you did not buy them for me."

"No, because I did not know you when I bought them; but I meant to
give a good many away. Oh, very well, Miss Darracott, I see you do
not mean to be friendly with Paulina Dicks!"

So in the end I had to yield, and accepted a little brooch of Florentine

mosaic, which I have to this day. And I promised that I would call her
Paulina.

"Paulina Adelaide is my name," she said. "No one calls me Pollie

except my father. And one other person," she added, as an
afterthought.

Presently she asked me if I thought Mrs. Lucas would like to see her
collection of pretty things. I said I was sure that she would, and ran
to call my aunt. When aunt came, Paulina exhibited everything
afresh, and described in an amusing fashion how she had made
some of her purchases. The dressing-bell rang ere aunt had seen
everything. Then their owner plaintively observed that she did not
know how she should get them all into their boxes again. Unpacking
was much easier than packing, she feared. Thereupon aunt and I
pledged ourselves to help her after dinner, with the result that we
were busy in her room till nearly midnight.

Paulina came to the dinner-table wearing a set of quaint cameo

ornaments, which excited Mr. Faulkner's attention. It appeared that
he knew something of cameos. He had passed through Italy on his
way home from India, and he and the Americans were soon
comparing their experiences of Vesuvius, Sorrento, and Capri, or
discussing the sights of Rome.

I listened in silence, feeling out of it all and rather discontented as I

compared Paulina's exquisitely-made Parisian frock with my own
homely white blouse. I must have looked bored when suddenly I
became aware that Alan Faulkner was observing me with a keen,
penetrating glance that seemed to read my very thoughts.

"We are wearying Miss Nan with our traveller's talk," he said. "She
has yet to learn the fascination of Italy. But the time will come, Miss
Nan."

"Never!" I said almost bitterly. "I see not the least chance of such
good fortune for me, and therefore I will not let my mind dwell on the
delights of travel!"

The look of wonder and regret with which Alan Faulkner regarded
me made me instantly ashamed of the morose manner in which I
had responded to his kindly remark. I heartily wished that I could
recall my words, or remove the impression they had created.

"Whatever he may think of Pollie Dicks," I said to myself as we rose

from the table, "he cannot help seeing that she is more good-natured
than I am."

CHAPTER VIII
A PRINCELY GIFT

"IS Miss Nan here?" asked Mr. Dicks, opening the door of the
drawing-room, where I had been pouring out tea for Aunt Patty and
such of her guests as liked the fragrant beverage. Josiah Dicks
never drank tea; his daughter took it with a slice of lemon in Russian
fashion.

"Yes, I am here," I responded. "What can I do for you, Mr. Dicks?"

"Just come this way, young lady, that is all," he said. "I have
something to show you."

As I rose and went towards him, I saw a look of amusement on Alan

Faulkner's face. Our eyes met, and we smiled at each other as I
passed him. He and I got a little quiet fun sometimes out of the
Americans. I could not help thinking that he wanted to come too and
see whatever Mr. Dicks had to show me.

It was a lovely day towards the end of April, the first really warm day
we had had. The hall door was open. Signing to me to follow him,
Josiah Dicks led the way to the back of the house, where was the
tool-house in which Pollie's bicycle was kept. She had already taken
one or two rides with Jack Upsher, but there had been some little
difficulty in hiring a bicycle for me, and I had not yet had a ride with
her.

As I approached the tool-house I saw Paulina within, flushed with

sundry exertions. She had just removed the last wrapping from a
brand-new machine.

"What!" I exclaimed. "Another bicycle! What can you want with two?"
Her beautiful machine had already moved me to admiration, if not to
envy, and here she was with another first-class one!

"Pollie does not want two, but I guess you can do with one," said Mr.
Dicks. "This is yours, Miss Nan."

I think I was never so taken aback in my life. I did not know what to
say. It seemed impossible that I could accept so valuable a gift from
one who was almost a stranger; yet I could see that both Josiah
Dicks and his daughter would be dreadfully hurt if I refused it. I knew
too that he did not like the idea of Paulina's riding about the country
alone, and that this was his way of securing a companion for her. I
tried to say that I would regard it as a loan; but that would not do. I
had to accept it. I had heard mother say that it sometimes takes
more grace to receive a gift than to bestow one, and I felt the truth of
the words now. I fear I expressed my thanks very awkwardly, yet I
was truly grateful in spite of my overwhelming sense of obligation.

"You must try it," cried Paulina eagerly. "Let us take it round to the
front of the house, and I'll mount you."

In a few minutes I was riding up and down the short drive before the
house. Mr. Faulkner caught sight of me from the drawing-room
window, and he and aunt came out to see what it meant. Aunt Patty
was as much astonished as I was by Josiah Dicks's munificence; but
she had more presence of mind and thanked him very warmly for his
kindness to me.

"That's all right," he said; "you've no need to thank me. It's just as it
should be. I like to see young people enjoy themselves. They'll never
be young but once."

Meanwhile Mr. Faulkner had been quietly examining my machine,

and he told me, in an aside, that it had all the latest improvements,
and was one of the best he had ever seen.

Certainly I found it an easy one to ride, and after a little practice I

began to feel as if it were part of myself. It was too late for us to do
much that day; but Paulina got out her machine, and we rode as far
as the village. As we passed the Vicarage we caught sight of Jack in
the garden. He shouted as he saw me spinning by, and I had to halt
and show him my delightful gift. He seemed almost as pleased as I
was. We arranged forthwith to ride with him on the following
afternoon. After dinner, I managed to get away by myself for a time,
and wrote a long letter to mother, for I felt that I must tell her about
my present.

It would not be easy to say how much enjoyment I derived from Mr.
Dicks's gift. As long as the weather continued fair, Paulina and I rode
every day. Jack accompanied us as often as he could, and was
sorely tempted to curtail the time he devoted to his studies. Then
one morning, Mr. Faulkner went to London by an early train, and
when he came back in the evening he brought a bicycle with him.
After that he too was often our companion. If we rode out a party of
four, Jack always elected to ride beside me, while Paulina seemed
equally bent on securing Mr. Faulkner as her escort, so that I had
little opportunity of talking with him. This vexed me somewhat, for
Alan Faulkner had generally interesting things to tell one, whereas
Jack's never-ceasing flow of small talk was apt to become a trifle
wearisome. We had some delightful rides and visited most of the
picturesque villages or fine old churches within twenty miles of "Gay
Bowers." But after Miss Cottrell came to stay with us, I was less free
to scour the country.

Colonel Hyde and Miss Cottrell arrived about the same time, when
spring was merging into summer, and we fondly hoped that cold
winds were over. There was no other connection between these two
individuals. The Colonel was an old friend of Mr. Upsher's. He was
Jack's godfather, and being a widower and childless, the chief
attraction "Gay Bowers" had for him was that it was so near
Greentree Vicarage.

Miss Cottrell might have been fifty. She informed Aunt Patty that she
was thirty-nine, and my aunt charitably believed her, though she
certainly looked much older. She was fond of the country, and her
coming was simply the result of seeing our advertisement. She
furnished aunt with references to persons of good social standing,
yet somehow she always struck us as not being exactly a
gentlewoman. She said she had been a governess for many years, a
fact which perhaps accounted for her worn and faded appearance,
but had taught only in the "best families." As she occasionally let fall
an "h" or made a slip in grammar, we came to the conclusion that the
"best families" known to her had not a high standard of education.
She was fond of talking of a certain Lady Mowbray, with whom she
had lived in closest intimacy for many years. "Dear Lady Mowbray"
was quoted on every possible occasion, till we grew rather weary of
her name, and longed to suggest that she should be left to rest in her
grave in peace. We knew she was dead, for Miss Cottrell had
spoken of the "handsome legacy" which this friend had left her. This
sum of money, together with some property she had inherited from
an uncle, had rendered it unnecessary for her longer to "take a
situation," a consummation for which she seemed devoutly thankful.

Yet Miss Cottrell was by no means of an indolent nature. She prided

herself on her active habits, and was especially fond of gardening.
Her love for this pursuit brought her into collision with old Hobbes,
our gardener. He could not forgive her for presuming to instruct him
on certain points, and when she offered to help him, he well-nigh
resigned his post. In order to secure peace between them, aunt had
to make over to her a tiny plot of ground, where she could grow what
she liked, and make what experiments she pleased, Hobbes being
strictly forbidden to interfere with it. The scorn with which he
regarded her attempts at horticulture was sublime.

Unfortunately, though fond of exercise, Miss Cottrell did not care for
solitary walks, and I often felt it incumbent on me to be her
companion. Her society was far from agreeable to me. It was
wonderful how little we had in common. Although she had been a
governess, she seemed absolutely without literary tastes, and even
devoid of all ideas that were not petty and trivial. Every attempt to
hold an intelligent conversation with her brought me face to face with
a dead wall.

All she cared for was to dwell on personal details of her own life or
the lives of others. She had an insatiable curiosity, and was for ever
asking me questions concerning my aunt or her guests, or my own
home life, which I could not or would not answer. Her love of gossip
led her to visit daily the one small shop the village could boast, and
marvellous were the tales she brought us from thence. She was
ready to talk to any one and every one whom she might encounter.
She was fond of visiting the cottagers, and they appreciated her
visits, for she listened attentively to the most garrulous, and told
them what to do for their rheumatism or cramp, and how to treat the
ailments of their children. I must say she was very kind-hearted; her
good nature and her love of flowers were her redeeming qualities.

She professed to admire the Vicar's preaching, and she often found
cause to visit the Vicarage. She paid both the Vicar and his friend
the Colonel more attention than they could appreciate. And the worst
of it was that she was slower to take a hint than any one I had ever
known. How Aunt Patty bore with her irritating ways I cannot tell.
Miss Cottrell certainly put a severe strain upon the politeness and
forbearance of her hostess. She was not a bad sort of woman, but
only insufferably vulgar, tactless and ill-bred.

Paulina made fun of her, yet neither she nor her father seemed to
object to Miss Cottrell's cross-questioning, or to shun her society; but
Colonel Hyde and Professor Faulkner would make their escape from
the drawing-room whenever it was possible, if that lady entered it.
Aunt confessed to me that she longed to dismiss this unwelcome
guest, but had no sufficient excuse.

She had not been with us very long when Josiah Dicks had an attack
of illness. Miss Cottrell, having wrung from me the statement that I
believed him to be a millionaire, evinced the utmost interest in the
American. She annoyed me very much by saying that she could see
that Professor Faulkner was looking after his money by courting
Paulina. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It was, of course,
possible that Alan Faulkner might be attracted by Paulina, but he
was not the man to woo her for the sake of her father's wealth. But it
was absurd of me to mind what such a one as Miss Cottrell said.

Though he was very far from well, Mr. Dicks would not stay in his
room, but hung about the house looking the colour of one of the
sovereigns he spent so lavishly. Miss Cottrell was full of sympathy
for him. She suggested various remedies, which he tried one after
another, while he rejected Aunt Patty's sensible advice that he
should send for a medical man from Chelmsford.

Miss Cottrell's solicitude contrasted oddly with Paulina's apparent

indifference. When she came downstairs the next morning she was
wearing a hat, and carried a coat over her arm, and she said quite
calmly as she took her place at the breakfast-table:

"Poppa says he is worse. He has been in awful pain all night, and
has not slept a wink. He thinks he is dying."

"My dear," ejaculated Aunt Patty, "I am distressed to hear it. And are
you going for the doctor?"

"Oh, no," said Paulina, opening her eyes widely. "He isn't dying, you
know. I am going to London."

"On his account—to get him medicine perhaps?" suggested my aunt

anxiously.

Paulina glanced across the table with amusement in her eyes.

"I am going to London to have a new gown fitted," she said, "and to
do some shopping."

"But, my dear Miss Dicks, what will your father do without you? Is it
well that you should leave him alone all day when he is suffering
so?"

My aunt looked amazed as she put these queries.

"Oh, he says now that he will see a doctor," Paulina replied. "I can
call and tell him to come if he lives near the station. I should do
Poppa no good by staying at home. He has had these attacks
before, and they will take their course. I knew he would be ill when I
saw him eating that salmon."

"But would you not like to see the doctor yourself?" aunt said.
"Cannot you put off going to London for a day or two?"

"That would inconvenience Madame Hortense," Paulina said gravely.

"No, I had better keep my appointment. I know you will look after
Poppa, Mrs. Lucas, and you will help her, will you not, Miss Cottrell?"