Page 38 of Wateredge

“Rhiannon?” In light of her conversation with Victoria, Lark had been extremely curious. She was also still somewhat apprehensive despite having seen the magic in action, having watched it dance on her own skin. Not to believe—that was never a question for her. She believed Victoria implicitly. Moreover, only magic explained the Crowharts, their lives, their trials, and tribulations.

No, Lark trusted that it was magic. What Lark couldn’t quite believe was that she had been led to it. That, in the entire world, of all the places, she had been led here. To a Crowhart. A Crowhart who rattled her. Yet set her at ease. Gave her comfort when her anxiety acted up. And whose house felt like home because it smelled like her.

Seren chewed on the inside of her mouth, and as she took a few steps toward the sink—small, careful steps of someone trying to avoid a conversation—a loud meow announced the arrival of a cat. White with large blue eyes, it stepped into the kitchen like it owned the place and immediately zeroed in on Lark’s socked feet. A second, another, and it launched, batting and clawing at the knitted pattern.

Seren set the pan down, clearly intent on rescue, but Lark needed none. She dropped to the floor, grabbed the playful cat—more of an almost grown-up kitten, really—and brought it nose to nose with herself.

“Wanna play, huh, buster? Are you a boy or a girl?” She laid it carefully on the carpet and pulled the sleeve of her sweater over her hand, giving herself enough protection from the little claws.

“It’s a boy, or a tom, or whatever they call male cats. I honestly never had one, so I have no idea. And he’s feisty. I don’t know if the sweater will be enough to shield you.” Seren’s voice carried a note of concern. “He drew Deryn’s blood right before you arrived.”

“She was probably too rough with him. Huh, buddy? Was Ms. Deryn too rough with you? I bet she was, Bubbles.” Lark found herself baby-talking to the cat, who now lay on his back, all four paws in the air, gently batting at the sweater-covered hand. A few more moments, and Lark drew the sweater back up. Paws reached for her fingers, but the claws were sheathed. The cat purred. Lark’s lips twitched.

Seren watched her with a strange look.

“Why Bubbles? I mean, not that I mind, I just sort of use pss-pss-pss to call him up.”

“Why not Bubbles? Are you telling me he has no other name?” Lark gasped theatrically. “Didn’t I hear that he’s been with you for a few months now?”

Seren’s gaze was bashful.

“Look, he’s fed and watered and has all his shots, and I even had him fixed. So while I may be an emotionally detached cat owner, I am still a careful one, right? I have to have some points here?”

Lark looked down at the chubby cat still playing with her sock and then back at the very contrite Seren. The cat was indeed exceptionally well cared for; even the claws were trimmed. She had to give Seren that.

Seren was still explaining herself. “Rhiannon and Ceri are all about cats, but Der and I never really had any growing up.”

“How come you didn’t have a cat? Even my family had several mousers⁠—”

Lark closed her mouth abruptly, grateful that she did not say more. Seren didn’t care about her family, her family’s rat-infested barn or the cats who lived there and who were Lark’s best friends growing up, their gentleness and discernment marking quite the difference from what she knew at home.

Her cats and her ghost. The familiar eyes looked on at her from the Crowhart wall of memories.

“Your family, huh?” Seren interrupted Lark’s thoughts, showing no signs of indifference. In fact, judging by the expression on her face, the eyebrows coming together in a thoughtful gaze, she had been waiting for this opening. “Louisiana?”

Lark sighed. She still did not know what had possessed her to give these women her true name. She had been so careful to whom she showed her driver’s license. Florinda demanded to see it when she rented the B&B room, but Lark was certain she had not taken a good look at it. So why the compulsion to give herself away to these women?

Seren was watching her expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer, and Lark thought she owed her that much.

“Yes.”

“Are your folks still there?” The question was light, unobtrusive even, and yet Lark felt the walls close in on her. In the distance, somewhere very deep in the recesses of her mind, her mother’s voice was berating her, fingers digging deep into her forearm, leaving marks…

The cat’s paws on her palm made her blink, then look back up at Seren, whose eyes were clear, honest, kind, watching her with curiosity unstained by any ulterior motive behind it.

“I guess.” She shrugged a shoulder, then decided that saying a little more would not hurt. Or at least not as much as it used to. “I haven’t been to New Orleans in over ten years.”

“Do you miss it?” Seren’s gaze was open.

God…

Lark allowed herself to say the word fully in her mind, blasphemous or not.

God, this woman and her kind eyes and her gentle touch and her low voice and her questions…

Where has she been all these years? Have you waited for her all this time?

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