Page 73 of Wateredge

“A witch’s prerogative is to have one, and once you are part of an entire family of them, it’s simply inevitable.”

Lark shook her head. “I am not one, though, Seren. I’m not… I don’t belong⁠—”

“You belong with me. Not to me, never to me. With me. I love you, Lark Thibodeaux. Stay with me. We will face him and whoever else together.”

Lark understood all the words that were being spoken, and yet her brain had stopped in the middle of Seren’s speech.

“You love me?”

“I do. I love you. You. The songbird who ran rather than be caged. The girl who kept running for ten years to be free. The woman who came to Dragons and told me she’d bake for my shop. Who wears my beanie. Who is the guardian angel of the Refuge. Who kissed me in the kitchen downstairs, and who placed her hand in fire to drag mine out. I love you.”

19

SEREN, SOUNDS CARRYING & PLANS COMING TOGETHER

Outside the night was still hanging on to the last hours of its reign. The wind was battering the cliff above, and her ocean swelling and falling beneath the stone giant. The spring chill was holding the island still in its grasp.

Inside the Crow House, dozens of candles flickered in the living room and kitchen. The fireplace puffed flames high and hot. And the table was covered with dishes and crockery.

“I guess it’s the Crowhart way. All the food,” Seren said as she came down from the bedroom.

Victoria set down the ladle and placed a bowl of steaming soup in front of her.

“Is Lark asleep?” Ceridwen moved a vase of fresh tulips to the center of the table, touching the petals gently as the flowers reached for her, perking up and swelling with life.

“Yes. She tired herself out.” Seren dropped into a chair more than sat down.

Deryn rested a hand over hers.

“You know voices carry in the house, Rennie. We heard… most of it.”

Seren just nodded. There was nothing to hide here. She’d need her sisters and her aunt for whatever was to come anyway. It seemed all the predictions and foretelling of a storm approaching were true. And she wasn’t naive enough to dismiss Dagmar Rathcross and her villainous family. Or to take them on by herself.

“I looked him up, that piece of shit, Magnus Rathcross.” Paloma set her iPad near the soup bowl.

A photo looked at Seren. Thin, almost sunken cheeks, balding, but probably considered handsome in some circles. The man was in his late fifties at least. So about thirty years older than Lark. Seren felt bile rise to her throat.

“She was fifteen when they met. Sixteen when she was forced to marry him. This monster⁠—”

Victoria laid a quelling hand on her shoulder.

“Eat the tomato bisque, Rennie. Deryn baked fresh sourdough. This asshole will not get here overnight, and you need your strength.”

Seren took the spoon and accepted the hunk of bread from her twin before lifting her eyes to Victoria.

“Is this what you meant when you said I’d have a lot to deal with? A lot to handle? Did you know about him?”

Victoria pursed her lips and sat down heavily. Much too heavily for a sprite, slim woman. The fatigue in the set of the thin shoulders suddenly hit Seren like a ton of bricks. Judging by the way Rhiannon and Ceridwen moved closer, eyes watching unblinkingly, she wasn’t the only one to notice. To instantly worry.

Victoria shook her head.

“Didn’t we all know at some level that she’d been through hell? We all guessed it. The jumpiness. The fear. The bravery. The way she relates to the Refuge beneficiaries as someone who understands them. The way she knows what to say to them, how to act, how to set everyone at ease. And yes, she’s told me some things. I believed the driver’s license was probably fake. Well, turns out it was not fake, just outdated. I guess that’s why she hasn’t flashed it much around town. She probably got it when she was a kid, still, and never renewed for fear of being found. Is that also what you thought, Ceri?”

“I did think pretty much along those lines.” Ceridwen pushed what looked like half a grilled cheese sandwich toward Seren. “I didn’t do a very deep dive into who Lark was, though. Initially, I thought I’d ask Christian to check if Lark Thibodeaux had priors and what they were. But then, time had passed, I got to know her, and I stopped looking. Not because there was nothing to be found, Rennie. I stopped looking because by that time, she was already part of us. And you don’t look into family.” Ceridwen gestured broadly around the table, and Seren did not have to ask anything at all.

Paloma, and Prudence, and her sisters. Her aunt. Lachlan and Christian, who weren’t here, but might as well have been.

Now Lark. Their family. Their Coven. It used to be smaller, but life had a way of filling empty spaces. Nature abhorred a void.