Page 23 of Wateredge

Ceridwen opened her mouth. Seren had heard this discussion many times. Ceridwen would argue that Rhiannon needed to live her life, and Rhy would wave her away and tell her that time was of the essence.

“I already spoke to Deryn and Paloma, since this is sensitive and pertains to their family. Well, Paloma’s. Remember her ancestor, Isamar Moreno, the one who came to the island in the nineteenth century, fell for Lynnie Crowhart, only to see her killed by her murderous husband?” Seren and Ceridwen nodded in unison. Rhiannon’s smile was feral at the edges. “Pages of her diary are among the papers that survived. And I know enough Spanish to restore and read most of what is there. Beautiful handwriting, too.”

“Did Deryn make the joke that all women of that family are good at handiwork? ’Cause it would be just like Deryn.” Seren deadpanned, and Rhiannon smiled.

“Of course she did. But, jokes aside. She lived the rest of her life on the island, buying out the murderous bastard and establishing her business on the pier, the yellow brick warehouse.”

“The one where Deryn built her bakery.” Ceridwen’s voice carried awe. Seren had to agree—the twists and turns of their family history were truly something.

“Yes, but that’s not all that’s there. Isamar mentions a bird of prey several times. One that kept coming to her garden, to her warehouse. One she fed till the very end. I showed Paloma the pages, the ones I managed to bring back to a legible condition. She agrees that it’s not metaphorical. There was some bird of prey, and Isamar nurtured it till the end of her life.”

Ceridwen frowned.

“That makes no sense⁠—”

“And that’s exactly what I said,” Rhiannon agreed. “It makes even less sense when you dive into Elizabeth Crowhart’s diaries. The birds of prey are often described as ruin, as terror. And yet, here we are. Isamar nurturing one.”

“Do you have many diaries left to restore?” Seren rested her elbows on the counter.

“There aren’t as many good pages as we thought there would be. Some are sadly not salvageable. I am speaking to people, though. Half the reason Prudence and I went to New York in December was to see a friend of mine. She’s a legendary restorer. Well, she’s a legendary forger, but her skills are legion.” Rhiannon waved her hand breezily, and Seren had to laugh.

“The company you keep, Rhy.”

“Listen, what you don’t know can’t hurt you. And what I am telling you about my friend is hearsay and inadmissible in court anyway.”

Ceridwen laughed, but Seren heard the note of falsehood. The merriment was forced, just like the smiles. Ceridwen was on edge. Seren gave her sister another long look. Tired eyes, tired hands. Tired and pretending she wasn’t.

Same old Ceridwen…

“In any case, this isn’t much, I know,” Rhiannon said. “But I’m working hard. Also, it helps that I can work at the Resort. Paloma has been very generous with the hotel suite. All the papers and tools would never have fit in the damn apartment along with Patches and Boleyn.”

“Oh sure, it’s the critters that occupy most of the space and not your wardrobe, Rhy!” Ceridwen threw a napkin. Rhiannon caught it before it hit her face.

“Most of my wardrobe burned!”

“I helped carry your purchases up the stairs the last time you went to the mainland. You replaced most of it and then some.” Seren blew a raspberry at Rhiannon and took the tattered napkin out of her sister’s hands before more violence occurred in her place of business.

“I knew you’d throw that in my face one day! A woman needs her shoes to feel like herself. Or better about herself. I need my clothes and my heels to feel beautiful.” Rhiannon threw back her mane of dark auburn hair and pouted.

“And speaking of beautiful women.” Ceridwen smiled and slid her gaze to the right, as the little bell rang, the front door opened, and Lark came in, a book under her arm, her ratty jacket’s hood over her face, a few strands of hair poking out, almost entirely obscuring her eyes, making her look adorable. Adorable but cold. Seren felt her hands warming on the counter.

“Easy, tiger. Act natural. Or as natural as you can while drooling.” Rhiannon smiled and elbowed Ceridwen while winking at Seren.

“You two are annoying. I regret being associated with you in every way.” Seren groaned and left her sisters to giggle like schoolgirls, feeling a bit hot under the collar at their teasing, and returned to the register.

Lark’s steps were careful as she surreptitiously took in the coffee shop from under long bangs. Her hand went to her threadbare scarf, pulling a little on the simple knot. It fell apart easily, and Seren felt her blush from earlier return at the simple, innocent act.

She sighed at herself. Why was she acting like an jackass?

“Hey, Lark. Out and about?” Seren said. Then, after a very long moment—which was a bit sobering for her ego since Lark seemed to be lost in thought and completely disregarding her—she added, a little louder, “Can I get you anything?”

Lark damn nearly jumped out of her jacket.

“Oh, hi, sorry. I was… I was wondering… A cappuccino, please. Victoria paid me my first paycheck today.” Her eyes were wide and her voice was coming out too quickly, Lark’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. Seren smiled. Lark flushed harder. Seren bit the inside of her mouth to avoid preening.

“Wow, these two weeks flew by. So we’re living large, are we?” She leaned on her elbows by the cash register and winked. She couldn’t help herself; Lark flustered so easily. And the color of her cheeks was just so beautiful. What was a woman to do but try and make her blush as often as she could?

Lark bit her lip, clearly trying to make a decision. Then she nodded, quite resolutely and so endearingly that Seren almost reached out to trace the way the blush touched the gentle slopes of those cheekbones.