Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (25 page)

A question. A nosy question. But it didn’t feel rude because Angie…cared.

“Well…” Should she actually answer? But friends told each other things—or so the stories implied. “My mother was a…heartless person and only interested in her status. She didn’t have friends and didn’t let me have friends. So I know how to behave with strangers, but not with people I like.” She stirred the pot more vigorously as anger at her mother welled up. “Sometimes, I can’t tell if it’s impolite to ask questions or ruder to act as if I wasn’t interested.”

“Your mama didn’t teach you to cook. Didn’t teach you about friends.” Angie scowled. “How short-sighted. I wish I’d had the upbringing of the both of you.”

Angie’s grown daughter lived upstairs—and the love she had for her mother was beautiful. Lucky female. But why had Angie said “the both of you”? Emma turned to Bree, “Did you have a bad mother, too?”

“I had none at all. I’m an orphan and was raised in foster care homes. Human ones.” Bree offered her a half-smile. “Some were good, some not so good.”

“Oh.” An orphan. Raised by humans. How dreadful. “Just when I start to feel properly sorry for myself, the goddess smacks me silly with a ruthless paw.”

Angie laughed. “Oh, I do like you, bear.”

Her declaration silenced Emma completely. A friend. Two friends. Wealth beyond imagining.

“Shay said you’re still at Ben’s house,” Bree commented. “I’m so glad. I bet you’ve brightened up his lonely life.”

Lonely? Ben? “He’s so friendly. How could he be lonely?”

Bree squirted frosting onto the cupcakes in elaborate whirls. “He has lots of friends, but no family. Bears don’t do packs, and until Ryder arrived, he didn’t have a littermate.”

“After a drink at the tavern, he’d go home to his big empty house.” Angie added, “I’m not sure why, but Ben’s never…socialized…with females between Gatherings.”

They were actually
gossiping
with her. Emma shivered in delight. “He did say he enjoys having people in his house.”

“I’m glad you’re there. He looks happier now,” Bree said softly. “And, as for the questions you were too polite to ask: Our wolf pack’s previous alpha and his littermates damaged the pack. Now Shay’s the alpha, and things are improving, but…as you heard, we still have problems. I’ll explain sometime over a beer.”

“A beer? You mean at the tavern? Just females?” Her mother would’ve been appalled. But, Emma had seen females sitting together at tables. Without male escorts.

Both females stared at her. “By the Mother’s tits, you really were isolated,” Angie said. She frowned at Bree. “Take this bear out—get Vicki on it—and show her what females do. Better yet, have Calum set her to waiting on tables. He’s been complaining about the lack of barmaids.”

“I’d love to help,” Emma said. “I’m allowed to walk without a cane for two hours at a time now.” Although Donal hadn’t permitted her to remove the stupid brace.

“Great.” Bree grinned. “After you’re through singing on Thursday, we’ll both help out with the barmaiding. Then when the crowd thins out, we’ll have a beer and chat.”

“Really?” Emma bounced on her heels with anticipation.

“Never seen anyone so delighted to work in a bar.” Angie shook her head, her face soft.

Lacey stuck her head into the kitchen. “Hey, Angie, I have orders. Is the food ready?”

“Coming right up,” Angie answered. “Emma, are you going right to your house now?”

“Yes. Ben and Ryder were going to pick Minette up, so I can just head home.”

“Perfect.” Angie pulled a deep basket from under the counter. “You can take your cub and males some supper.”

“Oh, but—”

Angie gave her a stern look. “I’ve seen how much time they’re putting in at Tullia’s. They’re doing what we couldn’t for our pack member; they deserve a reward.”

“Don’t even try to argue with her.” Bree dropped six cupcakes into the basket. “Or me.”

‡

D
uring Emma’s Thursday
performance, people had packed the tavern, as squished together as grubs under a rotting log.

Afterward, the numbers had diminished until the country-western music could be heard under the hum of conversation, and Emma—Calum’s newest barmaid—could walk between tables without being tripped. Considering she was still a bit clumsy without her cane, the decrease in crowding was a relief.

She stopped at a table of four older male shifters. “What can I get for you?”

At their welcoming smiles, she realized she was growing accustomed to being treated politely. Cold Creek was truly a wonderful place.

“Fine music, bard.” Joe Thorson, the scarred-up male she’d met at Wesley’s rites, nodded to the short, pudgy shifter beside him. “Albert Baty runs the grocery. Quentin and Walter own the hardware store.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” If nothing else, her mother had had taught her how to greet people—although three years of isolation had rusted her manners.

“An honor, bard,” Albert said with the other two chorusing in.

“Refills on anything?” she asked.

“Another round, please,” Joe said. “Tell Calum it goes on my tab.”

“Yes, sir.”

At the bar, she waited and admired Calum in action. Leanly muscular, he had all of a werecat’s grace as he moved up and down the bar, opening bottles, pouring glasses. Every now and then, his smile would flash, lightening his tanned face.

He was amazing…although she was still scandalized a Cosantir would own a tavern—let alone work in one.

“Here you are.” He handed over her tray with the drinks on it. “After you deliver those, you are off duty.”

“But”—she looked around the room—“most of the tables are still full.”

“Rosie and her daughter can handle the crowd at this point.” His grin came quick and fast. “Although I appreciate your help, I
have
noted that your music is the reason the place is so full.”

“Um…” What could she say?

He chuckled. “Lass, don’t apologize for being an excellent bard.”

The compliment hummed warm and soft inside her. “I can work longer.”

“You cannot.” He tilted his head toward the fireplace. “My mate and Breanne are waiting for you.”

“Really?” Despite the ache in her leg, she bounced on her toes in delight.
Friends.

“Aye. They already have a beer for you.”

“Thank you.”

After delivering drinks to Joe Thorson and friends, she crossed the room, stopping frequently. Would she ever lose her wonder when people actually smiled at her, greeted her, asked her about music, or requested a song for a future night?

In the U-shaped sitting area in front of the brick fireplace, Vicki and Bree occupied the two facing couches. A leather chair formed the bottom of the semi-circle.

“Look at you,” Bree said, grinning. “When I waitressed, I’d finish feeling as if my tail was dragging on the ground. You’re glowing.”

“I had fun.” Uncaring of grace, Emma plopped down into the chair in a way that would have made her mother send her to her room. “I met more people in this one night than in my entire time here. I didn’t know taverns were like this. I thought they were mostly filled with males hunting for females to pick up—and vice versa.”

“They usually are, especially human ones.” Vicki smiled. “But Calum spent time in Ireland where the bars are almost community centers. Everyone goes there, from youngsters to seniors. He wanted Cold Creek to have something similar.”

Bree grinned. “But we never see this many people. Your singing filled the place.”

Emma hugged the words to her like a warm blanket. “Thank you.” She wiggled slightly to get more comfortable, enjoying the hum of conversation around her. Calum had created a wonderful atmosphere. Although she still had trouble believing the Cosantir owned a bar.

She couldn’t imagine having a Cosantir for a mate. She studied Vicki, wondering if—

“Did I forget to put on a shirt or something?” Vicki asked.

Oops
. “Uh, no. I was just”—
just being really rude
—“Um…”

Vicki grinned. “Just ask. We already know you’re insatiably curious about everything. Calum says it’s because you’re a bard.”

She hadn’t realized she was so obvious. Oops, again. “Right. Well, speaking of Calum, uh…what’s it like to live with the Cosantir and all his power?”

“You mean does he fry me with it in bed?”

When Emma’s eyes widened, Vicki laughed so hard her eyes started to water. “Okay, I’m sorry.” She pulled in a breath. “It’s just your expression was…” Still giggling, she said, “The power doesn’t come into the bedroom. And really isn’t very…present…in just daily stuff. Calum says his connection to the God is normally like a light switch. He can flick it on to check where the shifters are in his territory.”

The sense of disappointment was keen. “Oh. Here I thought it was so much bigger. I guess the tales were exaggerated.”

Bree frowned. “When the Cosantir confronted Klaus, he was humming with power.”

“He does, sometimes.” Vicki considered. “If he actually
invites
the God in by opening his soul—rather than drawing a little juice—the connection is more like a massive power line. But he said when the God takes over, he has very little control over the outcome. I get the impression he doesn’t always agree with how expeditiously Herne will execute the Laws.”

“Well,” Bree said diplomatically, “your mate
was
a lawyer.”

A lawyer? Calum? Oh, so many tales here in Cold Creek needed to be written. “So he doesn’t…call…on the God if he can avoid it?”

“Fuck, no.” Vicki sent a fond look toward the bar. “It’s why Herne has Cosantirs rather than just handling everything Himself. The Cosantirs might be human and imperfect, but they’ll listen to everyone and take their time in deciding what’s best for the clan. Far better than the
Bad Daonain; Dead Daonain
style of judgment the God is known for.”

“This is true,” Emma muttered, feeling a shiver seize her as she remembered the alternate,
Bad Daonain, Banished Daonain.
“So if Calum calls on the God’s power—say to compel someone to tell the truth—the God might just take over completely.”

“Exactly—which is why Calum invokes the least amount of power needed to get the job done.” Vicki moved her shoulders. “If you’re being all bard-like and collecting information, Calum did say each Cosantir works out his own balances with Herne.”

“Herne apparently gives the guardians more flexibility than the cahirs,” Bree said. Considering she was married to two of them, she would know, Emma decided. From what she’d heard about Zeb and Shay, their history would be fascinating.

“By the way, Emma, did Angie mention the Beltane preparations?” Bree asked. “An hour before the meeting on Saturday, a lot of us will gather wood for the two bonfires. Also, people bring finger foods and drinks, and blankets.”

Beltane, already? The sun festival marked the beginning of summer. Time had certainly gone by quickly. “I can manage finger foods.” And if she felt adventurous, Angie’d give her some ideas. Ben and Ryder could bring the drinks. “When is the meeting?”

“Before sunset. It’s the usual Daonain meeting,” Vicki said. “Calum hoped you’d give the people a Beltane song. He told me you’d know one, but—”

“If you don’t, it’s all right,” Bree said hastily.

A bard not know a sun festival song? Emma stared at the females and recalled they’d been raised as humans, and hadn’t heard of the Daonain until grown. Having lost her shifter parents as a toddler, Bree had been raised in a human foster care home. Vicki’d been changed into a shifter by a young werecat’s Death Gift. “Am I the first bard you’ve met?”

Both nodded.

“Well, a bard must memorize the songs of our heritage, as well as add to them.” She smiled. “I know about a dozen Beltane songs.”

Bree blinked. “I think I know about a dozen songs. Total. You know a dozen just for one holiday? Does your head hurt?” She handed Emma the still full glass of beer sitting on the coffee table.

Grinning, Emma took a sip—and a deeper one as the icy liquid slid down her throat. “Not any more. But when I was an apprentice and memorizing a song a day? Oh, most definitely.”

“A song a day. Damn, that’s amazing.” Vicki raised her glass. “To Emma.”

Bree followed suit.

Emma had to clear the thickness from her throat before she could speak. “Right. Please inform the Cosantir I’d be honored to sing before…” Her voice faded as fear filled her center. The meeting was before sunset.

Beltane was celebrated on a full moon…which meant a Gathering would start immediately afterward. A
Gathering
.

“Jesus-fuck, what’s wrong?”

At the sharp voice, Emma’s head jerked up.

Vicki was leaning forward, scanning the room, her posture that of a male ready to fight.

Bree took Emma’s hands. “Are you all right? What scared you?”

“S-scared me?” Emma shook her head. “I’m not…” She was. She could smell her own fear stench.

“You’re as fucking terrified as fresh meat facing their first battle,” Vicki said bluntly. Her determined copper-colored eyes held the same protectiveness as Ben’s. “Who are you afraid of?”

“No one. Not exactly.” Emma closed her eyes and breathed out in the way the Master Bard had taught her to avoid freezing up before a performance.