Page 95 of Wateredge

“More importantly, Gwen Crowhart knew it.” Ceridwen’s expression morphed to wonder. “A century-old cautionary tale. A family ghost whom everyone learned to live with. One who, trapped by her own decisions, finally took a stand. I do think her presence and her magic, her power, dormant and hidden from the world for a century, was what ultimately saved Victoria and Lark. Gwen didn’t save her love over a hundred years ago. She saved our loved ones now.”

Seren felt tears burn the back of her eyes. She hoped Ceridwen was right. She hoped the heartbroken Gwen Crowhart had found her peace on the beach that night.

“I am also really pissed that when I was in danger, my tattooed crows did nothing and yours did all that!” Deryn’s face was disgruntled.

“Maybe you were not really in danger?” Seren teased. Deryn almost jumped her, only Rhiannon’s long arms keeping her away.

“I was in danger, I’ll let you know, and so was Victoria, who was with me.”

“Children, children!” Ceridwen laid her hands on their shoulders, and they quieted down. “We still have a lot of issues to resolve.”

“Yeah, we do. And I’m really glad Victoria foresaw some things. But this big one remains.” Seren gestured around herself. “Lucio and the boys have been trying. I know Khaled all but quit Cupcake and moved back here, but the Tavern is a Michelin-star establishment with potential for a second one. Did Victoria have a plan⁠—”

The horn of the docking ferry coming from the pier sounded shrilly. Seren did not get to finish her question. Something shifted in the air around them. Something definitive. Final. Something that felt like a piece of the puzzle falling into place and yet refusing to stay put. Seren felt the ground adjust uneasily under her feet.

“What the—” Deryn’s question fell on deaf ears.

They all turned to Ceridwen, whose face was suddenly… Seren didn’t even know how to describe the sequence of emotions that moved across those sharp features before Ceridwen’s expression settled on entirely unreadable. And yet Seren had managed to catch the most important one of all before her sister ruthlessly shut it down. Longing. Longing had taken hold of those eyes and wiped out everything else. Sadness, hurt, fear, a surprising amount of fiery anger; all came and went before longing prevailed. And then it was gone, and Ceridwen’s features hardened into nothing.

The four of them remained silent for a minute. Then another. They all waited for Ceridwen to speak. To explain what was happening.

In the end, it took exactly five minutes. The distance from the pier to the Tavern. The time it would take efficient and precise steps to walk that distance at a brisk pace. Steps that needed neither directions nor sightseeing. Steps that knew the way. Steps that had walked this exact path countless times ages ago.

When the sound of a key in the lock came from the front door, Seren sensed the universe confirming her wild guess. Except was it really all that wild?

She had recognized those steps. She had known them for the first thirteen years of her life. They all had. When the swing doors to the kitchen opened, pushed by a resolute hand, Seren held her breath. So did all her sisters, it seemed. All but Ceridwen. Ceridwen, whose features had hidden longing just minutes ago, stood ramrod straight and completely still in the face of her destiny.

A destiny that still looked like the twenty-three-year-old version of herself. Still tall, still willowy, still graceful. Perhaps the only detail that looked different was the hair, no longer raven black, it had been allowed to go starkly silvery gray around a thin face. A face they all knew.

“Well, hello again, Ceridwen Crowhart.”

Damn, Seren thought, even the voice was still the same. And just like twenty-three years ago, nobody but Ceridwen existed in the room for this particular woman.

It turned out Victoria did have a plan for the Tavern, and maybe not just for the Tavern. An audacious plan, and Seren did not know where to even start in thinking about it.

24

LARK, GRAVES & BLESSINGS

In the far corner of Crow House’s garden, away from prying eyes and incidental onlookers, in the silence of the willow tree, Lark set down the flowers she’d brought from the hothouse. She ran her fingers over the name on the tombstone and set them in the narrow vase at its base.

“I came to say… To ask…” She felt foolish. Not for coming to the grave. That did not seem foolish at all. That seemed perfectly reasonable. She was about to ask Seren a question, and it felt only right to ask her mother first. At least in her mind, when she’d conceived this plan, it all appeared very seemly. Proper. Now, she had no idea what the heck… hell… no, heck—she was not going to cuss in front of her future mother-in-law—she was doing here.

“Er… Well… My name is Lark Thibodeaux⁠—”

A suppressed giggle sounded behind her, and Lark whirled around to see Seren holding a hand to her mouth, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Seren Gwen Crowhart!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh at you. Well, I wasn’t actually laughing at all. You’re just so adorable. Perfect in every way. It’s a happy laugh. It’s joy.”

Lark shook her head.

“You think you’re so smart.” But she got up from her knees, touched the flowers one more time, fixing the already perfect bouquet and allowed Seren to wrap her arms around her.

“What are you doing here?”

Lark snuggled closer to Seren and looked at the grave.