Page 4 of Wateredge

Her only saving grace was that the place looked closed. No cooks, no servers or busboys, no dishwashers—and Lark had served in her share of kitchens enough to know who should be there—milled around.

“Okay, you’re okay.” The woman, her fingers still wrapped tightly around Lark’s elbow, steered her clear of the gleaming surfaces. “It’s quiet in here, and you can catch your breath. And you’re not really dressed for the weather⁠—”

“Ceridwen Abigail Crowhart, what in the fires of hell are you doing in my place of business at this hour? I’m about to close down, and you know how I hate having anyone underfoot⁠—”

The swing doors that Lark thought must lead to the restaurant floor were flung open, and a woman who could’ve been an older carbon copy of the one whose fingers still held her hostage waltzed in.

Lark couldn’t call it anything else, really. She walked like she owned the place—which, judging by her words, she did—but it was more than ownership. She had a gravitas around her. A lightness and yet a sense of belonging that Lark had never seen. She owned the room in more ways than one, in more ways than were possible.

However, one look at Lark and she stopped, her face freezing in an expression Lark could not understand. There was surprise, shock and finally resignation, but why? Then her words finally registered. What had she called the angel still holding her hand?

Crowhart!

Lark knew the name. Her head spun faster. She had heard the name⁠—

“Ceridwen, I thought you had gotten over the habit of bringing stray birds home when you were ten.”

Lark wanted to sink through the floor, and yet there was something cozy, something caring about the newcomer. The way her pale green eyes twinkled had grabbed ahold of her and refused to let go, much like the warm fingers still wrapped around her arm.

“Aunt Victoria, under any different circumstances, I’d laugh, but I think I knocked the wind out of this darling and gave her a panic attack. Plus, she’s bleeding. Give us just a few minutes⁠—”

The woman—Victoria—took a few steps closer and then stopped in her tracks, the pause so sudden that Lark flinched again. The pale eyes went wide, and Ceridwen—what a strange name—just nodded, unspoken words passing between them.

“Are you badly hurt, stray bird?”

Lark shook her head, still staring and unable to stop herself.

“Lark.” She did not know why she said her name out loud. She had gotten very good at not introducing herself. She had once worked in a gas station for three months before the owner finally asked her what he could call her other than “hey you.” She gave him a fake name and left two weeks later. Nobody who showed interest in her, even superficially, was safe.

Except these women felt safe. Lark peered at the hand on hers and wondered how it could be this hot, how it could sustain this feeling, and how its hold could make her feel secure instead of trapped. It almost felt magical. And then there was their name…

Victoria’s smile was sad, one that held a secret, one that immediately set Lark on edge. Secrets were dangerous; secrets meant punishments. She shivered, and Ceridwen’s warmth flared a touch, like a caress, like a forehead kiss. Lark looked up from her stool into the forest-green eyes and blinked at the expression in them. She couldn’t decipher it, she couldn’t⁠—

She hiccuped, trembled harder, anxiety gripping her tighter.

“And there we go again, darling.”

Ceridwen’s words were softer, fingers still on her skin, and yet Lark felt like the earlier sensation of coming apart at the seams had returned with vengeance. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her chest. Surely if she didn’t hold them tight as she could, her ribs would just rip her skin apart and split her entire body open. Even her teeth chattered.

Fingers combed her hair from her clammy forehead, and suddenly the room stilled. Not even Ceridwen’s touch was palpable anymore. Victoria was crouching in front of her, hands on her face, eyes peering into hers. Not gentle, exactly. Decisive, sure. And Lark could do nothing but stare.

You know these eyes, you know these hands…

The thoughts shattered the panic attack overtaking her, and she exhaled, air coming out in a puff, visible as if the kitchen was engulfed in a chill.

Victoria did not blink, did not flinch at the unexpected condensation. Lark felt her own hands go numb.

“What is happening? I’m sorry… I…”

“Just memories, nothing serious, songbird. Lark. How fitting.” Victoria’s smile was still sad.

Memories? What memories?

And yet the familiarity of the scene was stark in her dizzy mind. Lark tucked a too-short lock of her bangs behind her ear and watched the two women in front of her exchange looks she could not comprehend.

“Listen, I… I’m sorry. For bumping into you. And for coming in here, though in my defense, Ms… I’m sorry, was it Crowhart? She was rather insistent in bringing me here…”

“Well, Ms. Ceridwen Crowhart can indeed be very insistent when the situation warrants it, and by the looks of it, yours really does, songbird.”