Page 6 of Wateredge

“I’m fine…” She was reluctant to say the next sentence. She considered simply closing her mouth and shrugging. But she knew they would press, questions would still come her way, so she steadied her voice and tried to speak with as little embarrassment as possible. She was bound to say the wrong thing if she lied, so the truth would have to do. “I have my car. I parked by the pier.”

Judging by the way the two women raised their eyebrows in nearly identical expressions, Lark realized that was the wrong thing to say anyway. Victoria and Ceridwen exchanged looks that could only be described as pitying. Lark cringed inwardly.

These people and their pity… Their ridiculous sympathy…

There was some commotion in the front room again, and Lark braced herself for more newcomers. It occurred to her that she did not know where the police deputy had gone while she was out of it. Did he even leave? She shivered again.

“Auntie, why did you call? You know the fire brigade is up to our necks in snow removal.”

The voice. Low, rough yet gentle, careful even in full steam, the voice caressed Lark’s skin, teased her lips, and landed somewhere under her fifth rib. The power of the tone, the cadence, and the mystery behind the owner was undeniable.

The tirade continued as the doors swung open and a tall woman swaggered in.

“And someone parked their car down by the pier where we normally pile the snow. Dumbass Henderson ran into it. Probably totaled it. I had to cut his truck from the car; what a damn mess it was. We’re looking for the owner right now. Who the fuck would even think to park there in this weather? And of course, Henderson, that damn asshat always playing the hero, didn’t even check if the drift was snow or something else. Thank Goddess the car was empty⁠—”

Wearing the firefighting gear carelessly unbuttoned, her hair short and wet, with eyes the color of sea foam, the newcomer took a few steps into the kitchen and stopped. Her helmet, held loosely in long fingers, fell to the floor with a loud bang.

Lark did not flinch. Lark did not even breathe. Lark just stared. The premonition from the ferry bloomed into her chest again, and she breathed with her full chest for the first time since she’d been knocked down on the cold cobblestones earlier.

3

SEREN, HEARTBEATS & SONGBIRDS

SNOWMAGGEDON (cont.)

Dragonites and tourists, are you safely ensconced away from this weather and sheltering in place? You’d better be, as the snow is now forecast to rise to eighteen inches.

What do you say? Eighteen inches? Yes, we know, dear readers. We, too, find such lengths to be rather excessive, hence we request a forecast from a female meteorologist for once. Women do tend to be more honest when speaking about inches, after all.

In the meantime, this storm and whatever its inches might be is no joke, so stay inside.

The fire brigade and town services, together with the volunteer plow squad, are on the prowl, trying to make some dents in the accumulating-by-the-hour deluge of snow.

If you want to observe the town’s own Plowy McPlowface and Salty McSaltface along with Snowi-Wan Kenobi and Leonardo Di Snowprio, you can just look out of your window. The plows and rigged volunteer trucks have been hitting the town’s streets since early morning. Be careful of that Di Snowprio, ladies—though perhaps not if you are a woman over the age of twenty-five.

Be safe out there and leave a thermos of hot coffee on your porch for the first responders.

—Crow’s Caw

Seren Crowhart did not like phone calls from her aunt. Seren Crowhart especially did not like them when she was working. The damn sedan was older than her and just as stubborn, refusing to be moved from where it was fused to the little truck Henderson, one of the town’s volunteers, used to plow. Sure, his rig was highly unprofessional, but the snow was coming down hard and fast, and they couldn’t afford to be picky about who showed up to help or whatever makeshift equipment they got out onto the streets.

If only tourists didn’t leave their cars literally anywhere. Seren swung the axe once again, finally freeing the truck’s bumper. The sedan had taken the brunt of both the impact and the freeing. It wasn’t totaled, not entirely, but considering how old and bedraggled it looked, Seren was fairly certain it was a goner. She peeked inside, making out a big duffel bag and a smaller backpack on the back seat. Worn down, yet neat and tidy. Cared for. And someone was obviously living out of it. Dammit. She wished Henderson had hit any other vehicle than this little thing.

Her phone rang again, it was Ceridwen. She decided that her aunt and her older sister tag-teaming her was definitely a reason to answer.

“Come to the Tavern,” was all Ceridwen threw at her, and Seren sighed. Really, in the middle of one of the most unexpected snowstorms she had experienced in the last ten—hell, twenty—years?

The snow had come out of nowhere. If she didn’t know better, she’d make some unwarranted accusations toward Rhiannon. But her sister was not the one behind this sudden weather change. And snow was not her medium anyway. Winds, hurricanes, thunder and lightning. All that was Rhiannon. Snow, oddly, was Seren’s playground. She blew out her bangs, regretted not putting her hair up into her signature little braid, and looked up at the angry skies.

Nothing to do but keep the streets accessible and keep everyone safe.

Still, it was a rare event. Seren normally had more of a warning. Her magic reacted well before anything of this magnitude hit her island. Her ocean, her Water warned her before she had to act.

But this time, the storm felt odd. It felt like a pretext. Like a door left ajar, letting in someone who came with the snow and was meant to linger.

Seren shook her head. The snow was clearly getting the best of her.

Doors? Someone? What utter nonsense.