Mind Over Magic by Lindsay Buroker

16

After feedingLucky and spending time on her laptop researching software inventory solutions for Phoebe, Morgen grabbed a camp lantern and walked out to the barn. What remained of the barn. Most of the roof and the top halves of the walls on two sides had burned before the firefighters had been able to douse the flames. If the three witches hadn’t interfered, maybe Amar could have done more to get the fire out earlier but probably not. The garden hose hadn’t been sufficient for the task.

Morgen looked for him as she padded across the damp grass, charred pieces of wood littering the lawn. The photographer would have to be selective in what he or she took pictures of in the morning. Even though the witches had spoken of driving out—or killing—Amar, Morgen suspected they’d heard about the upcoming real-estate listing somehow and wanted to make sure her attempt to sell the property went badly. She couldn’t imagine what reason they would have for targeting Amar now, when he’d presumably lived here for years.

Though she supposed she didn’t know that. She still didn’t know much about him. He could have moved in three months earlier and might only have remained to, as Phoebe suggested, keep an eye on Wolf Wood and make sure the new owner didn’t sell it.

Maybe Morgen was naive to call him her protector. Even if he was helping her, it would only last as long as she agreed not to sell the property. What would he do if she changed her mind about that?

She didn’t plan to. And remembering him the way he’d been the first night they’d met was enough to make her wish to stay on his good side. If she couldn’t do that, she had better get out of the area as quickly as possible.

Morgen found Amar inside the barn, his clothing back on but sodden from the water dripping from the charred remains of the rafters. The stars were visible between them, moonlight shining onto puddles on the ashy cement floor. The farther she walked in, the stronger the scent of wet burned wood grew.

The stairs that had once led up to the loft apartment were gone, most of the wood flooring up there burned away. Since she’d never been in Amar’s home, she didn’t know what furnishings and personal belongings he’d lost, but it might have been everything he owned, save for the extra clothing and whatever else he kept in his truck.

It was his woodworking projects that held his focus now. Even with her lantern driving back the shadows, he barely seemed to notice her enter. He was too absorbed in wandering between the tables, chairs, benches, and other furnishings, many now charred beyond saving, all of them sodden. Some of the ones that had been finished and sealed, and had missed the brunt of the flames, might be salvageable, but Morgen wasn’t sure about the rest.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in this.” She stopped several feet away, afraid to get too close.

He might lash out, blaming her for what had happened. Even though she’d never seen those witches before, never known anything about witches at all even two days ago, she couldn’t help but feel that her problems were trampling over him.

“Now you know,” he said so softly that she barely heard him, “why werewolves hate witches.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, those three seemed kind of bitchy.” It was an understatement—they’d been torturing him—but Morgen didn’t feel she knew him well enough to slather him with sympathy. She’d never been good at that anyway. Her family had always opted for making jokes over expressing feelings. Clever word play was admired. Admissions of emotions less so.

Amar slanted her a sidelong look that was hard to read. “Kind of.”

“Do you want to stay in the house tonight?” Morgen glanced up at the destroyed apartment. Even though the idea of him wandering around in the same house she slept in was uncomfortably intimate, she had to offer. She didn’t want him to have to sleep in his truck or curled up as a wolf in the woods.

“No.”

“There are plenty of rooms. And Lucky doesn’t mind sharing.”

There was that sidelong look again.

“I’ll even make you breakfast. I bought cantaloupe and granola and… sausages.” She realized he might not like her admittedly faux sausages, but how fussy could one be after having one’s home burned down?

“What are long-pause sausages?”

“Technically, they’re plant-based breakfast patties.”

“The rest of the Lobos would beat me up if I ate something as girlie as that.”

Rest of the. As if he still considered himself a part of the pack. Morgen wondered what had happened, but given how frosty he’d gotten when she’d glanced at a mere picture in his glove compartment, she wouldn’t pry.

“First off, boys become vegetarians too. And second, if you can’t ooze sufficient manly menace after eating plant-based sausages, that’s more of a personal problem than anything wrong with the food.”

He grunted and pulled a few shop towels out of an ash-covered locker in the back and started drying off his projects.

“Do you want help?” Morgen asked.

He didn’t answer at first, merely focusing on wiping water off a table, and she thought about leaving. She’d made her offer. He could accept it or not.

But he surprised her by tossing a couple of folded towels toward her. She set down the lantern where it would provide light for both of them, though werewolves could probably see in the dark, and started drying a table with a pedestal support made from braided branches of gnarled wood.

“Tonight, I will hunt,” Amar said, “and tomorrow, I will start rebuilding the barn.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Even with the woodworking tools that appeared to have survived the fire largely unscathed, she couldn’t imagine one man taking on such a large project.

“It has been my home. Gwen let me live here without paying rent. All she asked was that I helped out with repairs to the property and kept an eye on things. I will rebuild the barn.” His firm tone made it a promise, if not a vow.

Morgen didn’t fight him on it. In truth, she found that she didn’t want him to leave, not with so many threats lurking. The local witches and werewolves all seemed to have it out for her. Maybe she was being a fool for chumming up to Phoebe.

“Thank you,” she said. “How long have you—did you—live here?”

“Three years. Ever since…” Amar shifted to another piece of furniture. “Never mind.”

“Ever since you left your pack?” she guessed.

“It is not my pack. It is Pedro’s.”

“Who’s he?”

Not the schlub who’d pestered her in the truck, she hoped. No, the werewolves who’d come to the truck had spoken about Pedro. Pedro and Maria.

For a moment, Amar’s eyes seemed haunted, more pained than they’d been when the witches had been tormenting him.

“My brother,” he said quietly.

“Did he kick you out?”

“I would prefer not to discuss this.”

“Sure. Sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

“Not about me, no. You should pry to find Gwen’s killer.” Did that look imply he was irritated with her lack of progress?

Morgen bristled. It wasn’t as if she could snap her fingers and figure everything out. Usually, she liked puzzles, but she was overwhelmed by this strange new world she’d landed in. To hope to solve a mystery after two days wasn’t reasonable.

Still, she made herself say, “I know. I’m working on it.” After the night he’d had, she could refrain from sarcastic retorts. “I’m doing a favor for Phoebe, and I’m hoping she’ll give me more information. I doubt she knows who may have arranged Grandma’s death, but she must know a lot about town and the witches here. I’m going to show her the bone clip the next time I see her. I’ll also ask her who the heck those three arsonists were.”

Amar grew still, his towel pausing mid-wipe. “What kind of favor will you do for her?”

“I’m bringing her shop into the modern age so she can take orders over the internet. It’ll be a big project. Hopefully, she’ll be suitably appreciative.”

“You shouldn’t get into bed with her.”

“I’m helping her with inventory, not becoming her business partner. Or her sex partner. Whatever the hell you’re implying.” It was getting harder for her not to retort with sarcasm.

“Her sister used to prey on the young werewolves in the area. The Loups and the Lobos. She ensorcelled them and took them to her bed.”

“I got the impression her sister is dead.”

“She has not been seen in town for a time. That doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

“Well, has Phoebe done those things? She can’t be blamed for her sister.”

“She has done plenty to our kind. With her magic, she can take control of a bird or an animal. Or a werewolf.” Amar growled low in his throat, sounding more like a wolf than a man, and touched the back of his neck again. “You should not become her ally. Or learn her ways.”

“I’m just trying to find out more about my heritage. I’m not going to learn how to ensorcel any werewolves or anyone at all.” Morgen shifted uneasily, thinking of Phoebe’s certainty about Grandma, that she’d cast a spell over Amar to make him her protector. Was there any truth to that?

“All you need to learn is who killed Gwen. You don’t have to become a witch.”

“Trust me, it was never a life goal for me.” Even if she was somewhat intrigued by it, Morgen wouldn’t admit it to him, not when he was bristling like a dog. Like a wolf. “I just want to be able to protect myself while I’m here. And help out my werewolf friend when he’s attacked by a gaggle of witches or three otherwerewolves.”

“I did not ask for your help,” Amar said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Fine,” she said curtly, annoyed that he wouldn’t acknowledge that she’d been useful. “Next time, you can fight a pack by yourself. And you know what? You can clean up this mess by yourself too.” Morgen left the towels, grabbed her lantern, and stalked for the door.

He was impossible. She shouldn’t have tried talking to him.

“Stop,” Amar said and strode after her.

Morgen paused in the doorway and looked back, still wary around him, still not certain what he would do if he lost his temper.

He slowed down as he approached, lifted a hand toward her, then dropped it. Surprisingly, he seemed as hesitant to get close to her as she was to him. Because she had witch blood? She shook her head bleakly.

“I misspoke,” Amar said. “Your help was not unappreciated.”

“That’s vague. Who appreciated it? The wolf I torched?” As soon as she spoke, she regretted it. He was trying to apologize. She shouldn’t make it difficult.

“I appreciated your help,” he said before she could apologize for her sarcasm. “And I appreciated seeing Pierre’s belly fur lit on fire.”

“Good. I also thought he looked better in flames.”

Amar smiled faintly. “Yes. I… do not blame you for wishing to learn to defend yourself. There are many dangers here. But perhaps you would enjoy a firearm or a crossbow more than witch magic. I could show you how to use such weapons.”

“A crossbow? You don’t think that’s a little antiquated?”

“Casting hexes, poxes, and turning men into goats are also antiquated, but that doesn’t stop the local witches from such practices.”

“Oh? Are there a lot of goat men in town?”

“Rumors abound about a herd of goats up on Seaview Point.” He pointed toward a distant mountaintop.

“Given how poorly I did at sports as a kid, I think an academic way of protecting myself might be more up my alley. I was more of a mathlete than an athlete.”

“Mathlete?”

“Yeah. There was a team at my high school. In the mornings before classes, we practiced solving problems and memorizing trivia and theorems, and in the afternoons, we competed against other schools in math bowls.”

He mouthed, “Math bowls,” then shook his head.

“Memorizing incantations would be my cup of tea. But look: I promise I’m not going to hex or pox you. Or turn you into a goat. I’m sure you’d find that a huge demotion from being a wolf.”

“Yes.”

“Though goats aren’t picky eaters, so I bet I could interest one in my plant-based breakfast patties.”

“Also your rose bushes, draperies, and bootlaces.”

“Exactly. Not picky. Goats are amenable creatures. Not at all surly and gruff like werewolves.”

Amar opened his mouth, as if he would object to these adjectives, but he closed it again. “Just be careful around the local witches. They are… our enemies. I appreciate that you defended my honor tonight, even though you do not know me well.” He stepped forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I do not want you to become an enemy.”

“I don’t want that either.” Morgen looked up at his face, touched by what was, for the first time, gentleness in his eyes. It made him seem far more approachable than usual, even appealing. Not that he hadn’t been that before. It was hard not to notice the inherent sex appeal of all those chiseled muscles. “I should go back to the house,” she said, halting her mind before it could wander down a dangerous road.

“Very well.” He lowered his hand.

A part of her wished he hadn’t. It had felt nice to have someone close. She wasn’t cold and aloof, damn it. She liked having people around and occasionally being touched and appreciated.

“I will accept your offer of lodgings until such time that I’m able to rebuild the barn,” Amar said.

“Okay. Good.” Morgen smiled and meant it, though as she walked back to the house, she remembered his talk of hunting and hoped she didn’t wake to deer organs or rabbit steaks being fried up in the kitchen.