Instead, I raised a brow at him. “I had to check on the potion production for the ceremony. What crawled up your backside?”

  “So, you decided to trust the gypsy to make everything for the bonding?”

  I frowned, a little of my temper leaking through in spite of my very best intentions. “Don’t you think it’s about time you called her by her name?”

  “What’s wrong with ‘gypsy’?”

  “What’s going on, Maverick? Are you feeling left out or something? Did you want to make the oils we need rather than me getting them from Poppy?”

  As much as I hated to admit it, and I never would out loud, especially if he could hear me, but Maverick was probably the best at potion making of anyone I’d ever witnessed.

  He snorted. “No.”

  “Then shut up.” My smile was so sweet it should have caused tooth decay at twenty paces.

  He gave me a frown and because he didn’t immediately have a retort, I knew something was going on with him.

  “You’re in an even worse mood than normal. What’s your problem?” I demanded.

  “A problem? In Haven Hollow?” Maverick shot me a mocking look. “Whyever, would you think that?”

  A headache started to tap at the inside of my temples. I did not have time for my cousin’s moods. “Mav…”

  He waved me off, looking a little less sour. “Isis and I were attacked earlier.”

  I froze for a second, before anger crawled up beneath my ribs, the fury joining the blood throbbing in my head. “What?”

  Someone had attacked another of our coven members? Right here in Haven Hollow?

  “Stop that. It’s not what you’re imagining.” Maverick raked his dark hair back from his face, and if anything, he looked a little embarrassed. “It wasn’t a person.”

  “Then what was it?” A shifter? Hopefully not a vampire.

  “A bird.”

  “A what?” I frowned because I didn’t fully understand what he was telling me.

  “A bird. Some starling got a little too uppity and went after Isis and me.”

  My thoughts yanked to a stop, like a jammed sewing machine before the thread tension pulled taut again. “A bird?”

  What kind of normal bird would attack him, let alone Isis? Maverick’s familiar was an owl, and a sizable one at that. She might not be the world’s fastest flier, but she could make a smaller bird have a very bad day if she wished to.

  “Isis was upset, because the bird managed to yank out one of her feathers before it flew away. She didn’t even get a chance to retaliate.”

  If Isis was upset, then it made sense why Maverick was in a mood. He’d always had a close bond with his familiar, closer than any other familiar-witch relationship I’d ever seen, really. And certainly closer than my relationship with Hellcat. In fact, Hellcat had been so promiscuous lately, visiting all his cat girlfriends, that I barely ever saw him anymore. And that was just fine by me because the little cretin was more trouble than he was worth.

  “Well,” I said, unwinding the cashmere scarf from around my neck. “If you want to go, then head out. I can handle things from here.”

  For reasons I would never understand, Maverick actually looked even less happy. If his face screwed up any more, he’d look like he was sucking on a lemon.

  “What now,” I sighed.

  “Nothing, nothing.” He picked up his coat and flicked it with an unnecessarily loud snap. “I can’t wait to go so I can be overrun by teenage girls.”

  “Overrun by teenage girls?”

  He nodded. “Sybil has become quite the social butterfly. Nothing but children, constantly around, at all hours. Little did I know this was the life of a parent.” He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat before stuffing his arms into their sleeves. “Don’t these girls have parents? Why are they always at the coven house?”

  “Wait.” Icy dread tickled up my spine. “You left a pack of teenage girls at the coven house? Alone?” Unsupervised teens with magic and no supervision?

  Maverick gave me a look. “No. Olga is there, keeping an eye on them. For whatever that’s worth,” he added in a mutter.

  “Forming groups is perfectly normal behavior for young witches,” I felt compelled to point out. They needed to, for protection if nothing else. I wouldn’t have trusted any of the witches in my old cohort, but they were good for making other groups back down. Forget werewolves; if you wanted pack mentality and a dog-eat-dog society, look to adolescent witches.

  Maverick shot me a look. “Yes,” he said icily. “I recall. But if you remember, Sybil is not a witch.”

  I had my doubts about that. Sure, she was a shapeshifter, and hadn’t exhibited any signs of magic to date. But, both her… parents, for lack of a less disturbing term, were of a witch blood line, and a strong one at that. Besides, she was literally a few months old. Goddess only knew what she could grow up to be, if her power might mutate or grow into something else. No one like Sybil had ever existed before, as far as I knew. The point was: we didn’t exactly have a road map where she was concerned.

  “I haven’t forgotten, but she lives with witches. She’s growing up in a coven, and she’s modeling her behavior on how younger witches act.” Younger witches like Astrid. Sorrow swelled up, and I swallowed it back, hard enough to make my throat hurt.

  Maverick’s upper lip peeled back, showing a glimpse of his teeth. “Glorious.”

  In my head, I knew that it was going to take more than a few months existing within the circle of a healthy coven to let Maverick unpack the years of being considered an eternal outsider. Warlocks were strange, unstable, and male, which in witch society was a terrible combination of things to be. Maverick had been shunted from a young age, pushed to the side since the day he’d started showing his power, and how much he would one day have. Sometimes, I wondered if he would have been better off human, sent to live with a mundane family. At least then he might have gotten some support, instead of thrown out on his backside the moment he was an adult, even if doing so had only been to keep him alive.

  I could see all of that. I even understood it. I just wasn’t able or willing to get into it with him, especially not in the middle of my, hopefully, not blown-up store.

  The door opened behind me, and I breathed out a sigh of relief at being literally saved by the bell. Police Chief Taliyah Morgan swept into the store, draped in the glamor that kept her looking as human as when she’d first stepped foot in Haven Hollow.

  Gray-streaked blonde hair hung just past the shoulders of the suit jacket she wore on the job. The fine lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth spoke of a great deal of squinting and frowning in her life, but her shoulders were squared, her feet planted steadily. Pale blue-gray eyes flicked between the two of us as she took in our positions. As a human, Taliyah was definitely pretty. Most men would probably do a double-take. As the faerie queen though? She was show-stopping gorgeous. Almost otherworldly looking.

  “Everything alright?” she asked.

  “Fine, now that you’ve arrived to cart my cousin away.” I flapped a hand in Maverick’s general direction. “He’s all yours.”

  That had her face softening out of the carefully neutral ‘cop’ expression, at least, as her gaze landed on Maverick. He could say what he wanted about their marriage being only political in nature and designed to keep her from having to marry Fox Aspen, but I wasn’t buying it. There was something else there. I just wasn’t entirely sure what that something else was.

  I’d officiated their hasty wedding myself, actually. It wasn’t my usual list of tasks, but I was all for helping another woman dodge an arranged marriage to a man she’d barely ever spoken to.

  Because Taliyah wasn’t just the Chief of Police. She was also Princess Olwen of the Winter Sidhe, and the hidden heir to the throne. After a political coup that had seen the previous monarchs dead, loyalists had managed to spirit the infant princess to the human world and hidden her in secret with a mortal family.

  She was supposed to return when she matured and the seal on her memories and powers broke, so that she could marry Prince Reynard of Autumn (aka Fox Aspen) and ascend the throne. It was this whole prearranged, fate and destiny sort of thing. There was even a prophecy about it. Too bad no one had ever bothered to ask Taliyah what she thought about the whole deal. Truly, if I were in her place, I would have done the same thing—well, minus the part about marrying Maverick.

  Oddly enough, I found myself grateful to Taliyah on occasion. She was good for Maverick. If nothing else, her presence seemed to wear away some of my cousin’s sharper edges. It made him more tolerable to deal with, at least.

  And she’d dropped everything in order to go with him to Blood Rose Academy when we’d realized Astrid needed help.

  Taliyah smiled. “Ready to go?” she asked Maverick.

  “More than.”

  I rolled my eyes but didn’t comment as the two of them headed out together. Watching them go, they looked like an odd pair. But less so than when Taliyah dropped the glamor, revealing her true form. Seeing my brooding, dark warlock of a cousin next to a silver-haired, pointy eared, agelessly beautiful Faerie royal was a bit of a trip.

  I shook it off. Whatever was going on between them was none of my business and what was more, I didn’t want it to be my business. I already had enough on my plate as it was. I had a shop to run, a dress to finish, and a bonding ceremony to plan.

  I’d just barely shrugged off my coat when my pocket buzzed with an incoming text message.

  “Looking forward to tonight, Sweetling,” it read. I could all but hear Lorcan’s Irish accent as I read it, the little hint of a brogue that he’d never lost, no matter how long he’d been in this country.

  A smile started curling the edges of my lips, and I pressed them together to make it stop. I wasn’t about to start mooning over a man in public where anyone could see. Though, the promise of our evening together did cause a little flutter of warmth to build in my stomach.

  I’d thought part of the attraction between us had been the vampire bond trying to complete itself, pulling us together. But even with it broken, and Lorcan’s Kiss returned to him, I still couldn’t seem to keep my hands off the blasted man. Just thinking of him had me anticipating our evening together.

  Even stranger, I was looking forward to just seeing him. Talking to him, discussing our day, (well, night), and hearing about the ridiculous things going on at his dentistry office.

  Ugh, I was turning into a sap.

  I fired off a string of emojis, hinting at just what I was going to do to him once I closed up shop for the night. I couldn’t help my smile as I thought about how long it would take him to decipher the long string of what looked like ancient hieroglyphics.

  Less than two minutes later, when I’d just unpacked Imani’s dress from its protective tissue paper, my phone buzzed again.

  “Promises, promises.” Followed by a winking emoji.

  I snorted a laugh. Even his cornball antics were funny to me lately. I really was sunk.

  Irritatingly enough, I had to keep yanking my thoughts away from Lorcan and back to Imani’s dress. The lace was the trickiest part, but it also was what made the entire dress. I didn’t have time to waste, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from imagining Lorcan’s smile and the smooth white planes of his chest as I ran my hands…

  I jerked back, only narrowly avoiding jamming the needle into my own flesh for the second time. It was a good thing I hadn’t decided to do this part by machine, because at the rate I was going, I would have sewn stitches all the way across my hand.

  I managed to force my thoughts back so I could make some real progress on the lace straps and the line across the bodice. Then it would just be a matter of putting in the invisible zipper at the back, and the dress would be done in time to give to Imani before the ceremony.

  I’d only been in the shop for an hour, maybe, when my phone started ringing. Not the store phone, but my cell, and the obnoxiously loud blare I’d assigned as Maverick’s ringtone let me know immediately who was calling.

  What the spell did he need that he couldn’t have mentioned it before heading out? Frustrated, I set everything aside and snatched up the call before it rolled over to voice mail.

  “What?”

  Normally, that would have earned me a snide comment, but Maverick just ground out a terse, “We need you at the coven house.”

  I could hear someone wailing in the background, and a chill brushed the back of my neck. “Maverick, what–”

  “No one’s dead. Just get here as fast as you can, because I can’t deal with this.”

  He sounded more frustrated than upset or angry, but that meant I probably wasn’t going to get much more in the way of information out of him.

  “Fine.” I hung up, not bothering to say goodbye, and shot Lorcan a text.

  “Change of plans. Meet me at the coven house.”

  Whatever the hell was going on had better have been serious. Because if this derailed my evening plans, then someone had better be on fire.

  Or someone was going to be.

  Chapter Four

  The old Tudor Revival house that stood as the home for the members of Scapegrace Coven loomed at the edge of the driveway and up a slight incline.

  The house had technically been donated by Lorcan, who should have had the secondary title of ‘The Land Baron of Haven Hollow’, given how many properties he owned. But back to the coven house, it was common for witches to live together, and even Maverick, who did have his own apartment, stayed there more often than not.

  Lorcan had actually made it to the house before I had, and was now leaning against the driver’s side door of his Porsche (one of his many cars—he was like a child with his toys where vehicles were concerned) when I pulled into the driveway. He turned his head to watch as I got out of my Escalade, a small smile on his lips.

  He was so damned handsome. It was almost irritating. The blonde hair, the strong patrician features, those gorgeous green eyes. Well, I thought, eyeing the broad line of Lorcan’s shoulders, if I was going to get stuck with a man, at least I’d picked one that was very easy on the eyes. No one had ever accused me of being a martyr.

  “What’s going on? Any idea?” I demanded as he approached me.

  “Someone’s crying, but I don’t smell any blood. Or anything burning.” Lorcan’s voice was a little rougher than usual, the brogue just a tiny bit thicker, and I was fairly sure he was having the same physical reaction to me that I was having to him—it was strange, but even with no sire bond between us, we still were itching to get at each other. That’s just how it was between the two of us—not that I was complaining.

  It was nice to know that I had that kind of effect on him, even as I ignored the little shiver that moved down my spine like gentle fingers.

  “Well, that’s a start. Though, I’m not sure why they need me if someone isn’t bleeding or on fire.” I had plans, for spells sakes—things to do and not a lot of time to do those things in. Well, no help for it now, I supposed.

  “Is there a reason you’re waiting out here?” I asked as I turned for the front door of the coven house.

  Lorcan’s silence spoke volumes.

  “Ah,” I said, archly. “Because there’s a woman inside, crying, and the big bad vampire had to hide outside because he’s afraid of a crying woman.”

  Lorcan had the grace to look sheepish. “I don’t handle tears… well.”

  I would have teased him about it, but frankly, emotional situations made me react like a six-year-old girl finding a spider on her shirt, so I couldn’t exactly fault him. Neither one of us was very good with super emotionally charged situations—and, truthfully, I was even worse than Lorcan. Unfortunately for me though, being the head of a coven meant that all of their problems made themselves my problems.

  Well, with any luck, it would be a simple fix. Something a consoling pat on the back and a mildly stated “buck up,” could fix. Because that was about the breadth of my emotional bandwidth.

  I could hear the muffled caterwauling coming from inside even before I opened the door. By all rights, a sound like that should have involved actual cats.

  “Yikes,” I said as I looked back at Lorcan.

  “After you, my lady,” he answered with a smile that said this was all on me.

  I shot him a look, one brow raised, and he very bravely did not meet my eyes.

  I snorted. Men.

  The sound only got worse when I opened the door, but at least the sobbing was interspersed with snuffles and little choked gasps. Also muffled German, which at least narrowed down the question of just who was having this meltdown.

  Olga had once upon a time been the top potion instructor at Blood Rose Academy. Unfortunately, she had the very un witch-like habit of falling in love with man after man. After man. Now, don’t misunderstand me. Witches worshipped the Goddess and embraced healthy sexuality. There was no stigma against physical desire among the covens. But men were for casual hook ups and nothing more. Or for when you decided to have some children. You didn’t keep them.

  And you definitely didn’t fall head over heels for them. Or a few of them. Constantly.

  Her uncontrollable romanticism had gotten Olga banished to a remote island prison by my mother, Celestine, when she’d still been in charge of the Crescent Circle Coven. And now I was beginning to understand just why Mother hadn’t wanted to deal with Olga—this emotional stuff was freaking exhausting.

  With Lorcan’s hand gripping mine, either in support or fear that Olga might blubber on him, I had to press my lips together to keep a bark of laughter from slipping out when I walked into the house’s living room to find some of the most powerful people in town huddling in the corners of the room, like one crying witch was radioactive or something.

  Taliyah and Maverick were holding up the wall over by the enormous fireplace, and Maverick marched over to me the second I stepped through the door. Betanya was reading quietly in the corner, with her own familiar, a skunk named Willie-Ray. They were wisely staying out of things, and I wished like spell I could follow their example.