The Danger of Destiny (48 page)

And strangely, I felt better.

“Do you find these biscuits dry?” asked Mouse, chewing slowly.

“They're called cookies here.” I took another swig of grape juice to wash the cookie dust down and placed the bottle on the table beside my porch rocker. “Mouse, humans say you should never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Why not?” he asked after a thoughtful silence. “Stands to reason that if a mortal is given a horse, he should make sure it's of sound health. Poor sod's got nothing else going for him.”

Truth.

And here's another: Mouse needed to go to school, where he could learn about humans, and gift horses, and PlayStation, and hockey. I'll head over to St. Hubert's on Monday and get him registered. Maybe I'll talk with the headmistress about tweaking the curriculum so that lupine pride is merged with some Fae recognition.

Trowbridge broke away from a group of Weres to walk toward the porch. As he passed a small clutch of women, they visibly melted—those jeans cupped the swell of his ass almost as neatly as my two hands—and this time I didn't feel like tearing their collective hearts out.

I don't live in jealousy anymore.

He's mine.

Another fact, this one without a shred of myth to it.

My One True Thing leaned down to plant a kiss on my temple. “Everybody's got food. I'm suddenly sleepy. Want another nap?”

I grinned.

He stepped back so that I could uncoil my legs, and as he did his gaze casually roamed over our pack and, from there, beyond. Suddenly he went as still as a pointer spotting a pheasant.

Trouble? I pivoted to see what had raised his interest.

A car.

Even from this distance, I could see that the old red Subaru was filthy. Bug guts coated the glass where the wipers couldn't reach. A tall woman sat behind the wheel. Beside her, a slighter silhouette. The driver turned the dusty sedan into the long driveway.

“Oh.”

My hand traveled to cover my trembling mouth.

“Mouse,” said Trowbridge quietly. “Go get Lexi.”

The driver braked—her head swiveled to take in all the vehicles, and the people, and the general carnival air—then she touched the gas again and let the old car motor up the drive, and as she got closer I could see her red hair and her big hands on the wheel and the final knot inside me loosened.

Ten days.

I'd missed her so.

My Cordelia was a woman who took her word very seriously. I'd asked her to take Lexi's daughter, Anu, away from the dangers of this life, and she'd done so. Right after placing that collect call to Petra, she'd headed for the West Coast. She'd driven straight through, leaving without her clothing, makeup, and, most important, cell phone.

She'd motored through four provinces and 4,921 kilometers without knowing if I was alive or dead.

There'd been no way of reaching her.

Best I could do was make sure a message waited for her in Prince Rupert. We knew that she read it because Trowbridge's friend called to say that he'd watched her unfold the paper. According to him, she'd sat for a couple of minutes staring blankly ahead. Then, she'd refolded the paper on which the e-mail had been printed, said something to the teenage girl sitting in the passenger seat, and driven away.

It takes five days to reach British Columbia and an equal number to drive back
. Ten freakin' days.
She could have called collect to ease my mind. She didn't.

I guess in her mind that was fair. It was my turn to fret.

The Subaru drove right past the Raha'ells' pig feast, right past the beer table, all the way up to the burning bush that anchors the northeast corner of the Trowbridge house.

She turned off the car, then snapped the visor down to check herself in the mirror.

People stopped talking.

Lexi came around the side of the house. He wore mortal clothing: a pair of jeans and a shirt that hadn't been tucked in. Today, he bears little physical resemblance to the Black Mage's Shadow. Gone is the long sheaf of blond; his hair has been shorn to a half-inch stubble. If possible, he looks harder and tougher. I have to work not to stare at the paw print inked over his ear.

The jury's out on my twin's future.

I don't know how much magic he retained from those two days in Merenwyn. If he has some, he hasn't demonstrated it. If he has none, he hasn't complained about it.

But that's my twin.

And only he can make peace with his wolf. He goes down to the pond most nights to sit on my pirate rock, to stare up at the moon or perhaps the air above the pond. I can't tell which. A few nights ago, I joined him. We didn't talk about anything important—he asked me a few questions about iTunes and its cloud, which I couldn't really answer (who the hell knows what the iCloud is?), and eventually our conversation died out. We sat quietly on our old pirate rock, at rest with each other. When the cold got to me, I started shifting toward the spot where I could wedge my foot for an ungainly dismount.

He leaped to the ground with effortless lupine grace. He held up his arms and took my weight. Then, he stood there, not letting me go, but not really holding me. I'd said, “We'll face the moon together.”

His hug had bruised my ribs.

So, I think there's hope.

Cordelia opened her door and slid out of her seat as if she were wearing a pair of Jimmy Choos and a beaded gown, not a pair of flats and a crinkled skirt. Her red wig needed a wash and restyle. She rested an elegant arm on the top of the car.

Arctic blue eyes studied me, then softened. “So. You're not dead.”

“I'm not dead.”

Strange. As my mouth started quivering in earnest, hers clamped down. Forever, the ying and the yang. Over the Subaru's roof, she gave Trowbridge a tight smile and he gave her the old Robbie Trowbridge grin, and life was almost perfect, though Anu hadn't opened her car door yet.

My niece sat, clutching her pet ferret in a death grip, staring at my brother through her window.

Lexi cast me a helpless look.

There was a lot of crap I could have said and questions I could have asked. But this isn't Camelot. This is simply my new life, with my family once more almost intact, and friends, and cookies, and the smell of grilling meat.

I opened my arms wide. “Welcome home, Cordelia.”

 

About the Author

L
EIGH
E
VANS
was born in Montreal, Quebec, but now lives in Southern Ontario. She's raised two kids, mothered four dogs, and herded a few cats. Other than that, her life was fairly routine until the day she decided to write a book about a half-Fae, half-Were girl who's a magnet for trouble. The first Mystwalker novel was grabbed by St. Martin's and released as
The Trouble with Fate
in 2012. Second and third books quickly followed:
The Thing About Weres
and
The Problem with Promises
. At the age most people start thinking about retirement, Leigh is slinging words and pummeling plots. Leigh's destiny has finally been met: she's a writer. A little tardy, but then again, her mum always said she was a late bloomer. Visit:
www.leighevans.com
. Or sign up for email updates
here
.

    

 

Praise for Leigh Evans and

THE TROUBLE WITH FATE

“[A] brilliant debut … has a likeable, light-fingered heroine with smarts, a tough sexy hero with troubles, and a glimpse into a fascinating fae world that will have you howling for the next book. I loved it!”

—Suzanne McLeod, author of
The Shifting Price of Prey

“What a delicious read! Chock-full of fun twists and sexy diversions, one of them named Robson. Leigh Evans is definitely one to watch. Get this book! You will not be disappointed!”

—Darynda Jones,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Charley Davidson series

“It's rare to find a debut novel with a well-crafted world, a great story, and dynamic characters, but this book has them all. I was grabbed early and hooked to the very end. I eagerly await the sequel!”

—Karen Chance,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Cassandra Palmer and Dorina Basarab series

“Her first time at bat, Leigh Evans has hit one out of the park.
The Trouble with Fate
is the perfect mix of romance and action, with characters you can't help but root for and a twist that had me squealing with surprise. Evans offers a brilliant new take on fairies, werewolves, and magic—and this book is urban fantasy and paranormal romance at its best. I am officially addicted.”

—Chloe Neill,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Chicagoland Vampires and Dark Elite series

 

Also by
Leigh Evans

The Trouble with Fate

The Thing About Weres

The Problem with Promises

 

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Contents

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Now …

Map

Letter

Before …

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13