had taken them by surprise at first. She was even happier when Peregrine raced into the living room with a big smile on his face and a trio of squirming kittens squished against his chest. Em followed in his wake.
The kittens technically belonged to Em, though the coven had adopted them. Like Chloe, Em was a recent initiate to the coven. She was a slight woman in her early twenties, an alcoholic recovering from her addiction and a horribly abusive past as a legendary psychic medium. The coven had offered Em sanctuary at the complex, similar to the way Em had rescued the tiny kittens and given them a second chance at life. And, very much like the way Athena had given Chandler a safe haven when she’d discovered she was pregnant with Peregrine.
Peregrine released the kittens onto the floor and grinned up at her. “Did the shapeshifter turn into a gigantic loup-garou?”
“We aren’t even sure he saw a loup-garou,” Chandler said, hoping to put an end to his interest.
He scowled at her answer and turned toward Gar. “Why don’t you change? You’re part wolf.”
“Peregrine,” Chandler said sharply. “It’s not polite to ask personal things.”
Gar brushed off her concern with a flip of his hand. He smiled at Peregrine. “Not everyone with loup-garou blood chooses to change.”
“Why would anyone not want to be a wolf? I’d be a big gray one with yellow eyes.”
“Believe me, there are better ways to unleash your inner beast.” Gar winked at Em. “Right?”
Her cheeks reddened. She hooked a length of mousy brown hair behind one ear and gave him a coy smile. “By other ways, you mean like jogging or playing frisbee? Or poisoned darts?”
Chandler smothered a laugh. Of course, the unleashing Gar was referring to happened in Em’s bed and didn’t involve shifting or the outdoors, at least that she knew of. A week ago, when Gar had arrived to investigate the coven for the High Council, she wouldn’t have believed him capable of joking around, let alone that he’d hook up with an introvert like Em. But in truth, their lives were interconnected in a myriad of ways. They’d met briefly years earlier when Em had first escaped from her abusive aunt and mother. Saille Webster—the ghost of a Northern Circle high priestess—had been influential in Em’s bottoming out and entering recovery. Later, Saille’s spirit had attached herself to Gar in hopes of having him solve her murder, a haunting that Em noticed when he’d arrived to investigate the coven.
Peregrine gaped at Gar. “You have poisoned darts? Can I see ’em?”
“No darts for you, young man,” Chandler said. Then the earlier redcap scare slipped into her mind. Just because Peregrine didn’t have faery sight now, that didn’t mean the ability wouldn’t manifest at some point, making him a target for the fae. Gar had top-notch skills when it came to weapons, skills that would be a nice addition to the martial arts Peregrine was learning from Devlin. “Unless—maybe Gar would be willing to coach you in weapon use and safety?”
Gar grinned. “I’d be happy to. I’m headed back to Council headquarters the day after tomorrow. When I come back, I can bring something appropriate to start with. Maybe a boomerang.”
“Really?” Peregrine turned to her. “Please, Mom. Can I really?”
“You have to do everything Gar says and be very careful.” The thought of Peregrine growing up and the imminent onset of his abilities made her heart heavy. She understood better now why her biological mother had freaked when she’d learned Chandler shared her father’s gift for working with fire. Not only the fear of the possible danger the ability presented, but also the hard inevitability of your little one creeping away from childhood. Still…
Chandler clenched her teeth, anger boiling to the surface as it always did when she thought of her biological mother. Neither fear nor the hard sense of a child growing up made her mother’s withdrawal after the death of Chandler’s father or her eventual suicide any more understandable. Mental illness or not, how could any mother turn her back on her child?
She looked at Peregrine. Her sweetheart. Her little imp. Being cast aside by a parent was one thing he’d never have to worry about. She’d be there for him always, and beyond.
Chloe picked up the open wine bottle from the coffee table and waggled it at Chandler. “You want a glass?”
“Very much, thank you.” After Chloe poured, she took the glass. The wine was deep red and semisweet on her tongue, a heady flavor and soothing relief. “I feel awful about the things we said to Lionel. When I shook his hand, I sensed only kindness.”
“I totally agree,” Chloe said. “Also, I didn’t think about it until he mentioned The Thinker. But when I saw that same performer that night, I did notice he had the energy of a shifter.”
Gar took off his cap and raked a hand over his rumpled black curls. “Did you think he was a loup-garou?”
“All I know is that we need to talk to this guy and make sure his transforming in public was a one-time mistake.”
Em’s quiet voice broke into the conversation. “It’s effing awful that the Circle is responsible for the actions of people who aren’t even members of their coven.”
“Like it or not, it’s the law,” Gar said. “Shapeshifter. Fae. Full demon. Or half-demon cambions, like Merlin’s Shade and his half brother, Magus Dux… It doesn’t matter what kind of being they are, if they pose a threat to the anonymity of the witching world, it’s the local coven’s responsibility to police the situation.”
Em picked up one of the kittens, stroking it. “I get the need for anonymity. Still, it’s not right for a coven or anyone to police other peoples’ or beings’ lives.”
“The law is law. It’s not up for philosophical debate,” Gar said.
“Unless you’re standing in front of the Council, right?” Chandler added.
Gar dipped his head, an admission that she was correct. He cocked an eyebrow. “However, in this case, we may have a third option. If this street performer is indeed a wayward loup-garou, I’ll call my dad and ask him to have his pack come down from Quebec and take care of the situation. The Circle’s had enough problems lately without dealing with this.”
“You can say that again.” Chandler smiled to herself. She’d never have believed a day would come when she’d hope someone would turn out to be a wayward loup-garou, so a bunch of French Canadians could come straighten him out.
Ten minutes later, Chandler stood at the kitchen island putting together a plate of tacos. Midas and Brooklyn had outdone themselves creating the dinner spread. There were bowls of grated cheese, spiced beef and black beans, tomatoes, and lettuce from the coven’s greenhouse, chopped herbs, and ripe olives soaked in wine. All the delicious aromas made her mouth water and she had a hard time choosing what to take. Thank goodness putting together Peregrine’s plate had been straightforward.
With plate in hand, Chandler settled down on a stool between Peregrine and Midas. She was about to take her first bite when the kitchen door swung open and Devlin walked in, returning from seeing Lionel off.
“I’m glad that’s over,” he said. “But I’m afraid it’s not the last we’ll see of Lionel.”
Gar looked up from his spot beside Em
