Page 75 of Wateredge

“Apt, he does look like one.” Rhiannon smiled. “How about we⁠—”

“You’re about to say put a hit on him, Rhy, and while a very deserved suggestion, I don’t think we should do that just yet.” Ceridwen, ever the voice of reason, lifted her hand to hush Rhiannon, who was already stuttering. “We need to figure out if he will indeed come after Lark. Ten years is a long time.”

Paloma pointed to the iPad still on the table.

“He has not petitioned for divorce in absentia. Stands to reason that he did not remarry, he has no children on record. He has clearly still not moved on from her. Otherwise, from what I know of these types of pendejos, they marry again and again and younger just to ensure they get those broods of kids to repopulate the Earth in their image.”

“She took all the precautions for ten years,” Seren whispered. “I think her time is up. I shouldn’t have goaded Dagmar at the coffee shop. But I wanted her out as fast as possible. Lark was shaking, almost falling apart⁠—”

“Nothing you could’ve done would have stopped that woman. Once she saw Lark, she was probably already texting.” Deryn took Seren’s hand. The heat of Fire brought some much-needed warmth to Seren’s skin that the hearth could not manage.

“So we have to be ready.” Seren looked around the room.

Six pairs of eyes met hers. Resolute. Loyal. Steadfast. Her Coven.

“Lark needs to know she is not alone, Seren. She will probably have the wobble, feeling like she is facing this man, this fucking family, by herself. She isn’t. She has us.” Ceridwen moved to hug Seren, slender arms wrapping around her shoulders, tight and secure.

“I reckon she has a lot more than us,” Victoria rasped, voice full of emotion as the room blurred for Seren, her eyes filling yet again. “But also, you might want to check that her go bag is still under her bed at my house.”

“Go bag?” Seren flinched. “You think she will bolt? You think she will just leave?”

Victoria shrugged.

“She’s had that bag under there since the very first day she slept in that room, Rennie. But between you and me, I don’t think so. I saw the way she looked at you at the fundraiser. She loves you. And she might do brave and foolish things to shield you. We need to watch out for that, but I don’t think she’ll leave you. One thing’s for certain—Dragons is where she’s meant to be. You’re who she is meant to be with. She’s ours. We’re not giving her up. Not again.”

Upstairs, a murmur and a quiet movement could be heard.

It was Ceridwen who flinched this time, throwing Seren a quick look. Deryn’s mouth dropped open. Rhiannon closed her eyes, her hand finding the counter, fingers gripping harder.

Paloma and Prudence watched in wonder.

Victoria chewed on her lip, then went on.

“Yes, again. I think some of you may have danced around this particular issue for a bit. I hope you did talk to Lark about the resident specter?” When Seren lowered her eyes, Victoria tsked. “Honestly, does anyone in this family ever talk?”

When nothing but silence met her, Victoria tsked again. “I see it’s a rhetorical question. Miscommunication is not a popular romance trope, girls.”

“Technically, this one is not miscommunication, but withholding crucial information,” Deryn ventured.

“You say potat-oh,” Victoria countered before taking a deep breath and looking back at Seren.

“This particular ghost I actually know personally, Rennie. I was a child when Gwen Crowhart was living her last years here in this very house. I have very clear memories of her. Old and unhappy. And guilty. So very guilty. All that guilt ate her up. Ruined her life. Have you and Lark talked about Gwen at all?”

“You’re not saying…” Deryn trailed off. Then frowned as Victoria stared her down unblinkingly. “You are saying.”

“It’s not for me to say. It’s for your sister to acknowledge. I figured she’d have the puzzle pieces together once the Thibodeaux family name was dropped months ago. And yet, Rennie, you said nothing.”

Seren let out the air from her lungs.

“We did talk about it. A little. She knows about Gwen. She has seen someone on the swamps since she was a kid. Even been punished by her damned family for making ghost stories up. And she knew the name, the family. Our name, our family. She never said anything bad though, never blamed⁠—”

“Well, I hope what was said about the Crowharts was not complimentary because it’s just how that one family member behaved. Not to blame anyone is noble. Even though there is a very real person to blame.” Victoria narrowed her eyes and glared at a picture on the wall. Seren knew exactly which one, despite at least thirty of them hanging there.

“Are we talking about what… well, who I think we’re talking about?” Deryn finally broke the silence. “And I think in the interest of catching up, maybe we should bring everyone up to speed? Because I do remember stories about the ghost of Gwen Crowhart and her sad story, but Paloma and Prudence deserve the entire thing, and I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

Victoria set her mug on the table and pushed the soup bowl closer to Seren.

“Eat. I’ll tell you what I can. You chime in at any time.”