Chapter Nine

Quin stared at Layla’s closed door for a long time before walking away, trying to absorb and accept reality. Not an easy thing to do when reality had once seemed impossible.

The further away he traveled, the quicker his steps became, his muscles tense and edgy as he leaped over a railing and down the stairwell. He had no idea how this would play out, which pissed him off. One wrong move and she could flee.

He was within sight of the front desk, but he didn’t slow down.

“What’s going on, Quin?” Dion asked. “Who is she?”

“She’s harmless,” he assured. “But you need to keep this meeting to yourself. If she leaves, call me. See you tomorrow.” Then he was out the door.

He looked around, finding the parking lot deserted, so he dug into the bag at his waist, pulling out a black velvet cloak much larger than the satchel from which it came. Within seconds he was bathed in black, practically invisible. Then he shot into the air on wings of magic.

A profusion of thoughts swarmed his head as he flew northeast, and he paid close attention to all of them, determined to handle the situation as wisely as possible.

He knew it was her as soon as she said her name; though he’d already been clued in by her honey voice and astounding beauty. Further questioning was unnecessary, but on this he couldn’t be negligent, so he’d found out more, and all of it fit. After eighteen years of silence, Layla had returned.

Quin had been dreaming about the mysterious Layla his entire life, but his dream Layla never had a face, just a magnificent blur of beautiful colors. The real Layla’s face did not disappoint. Exceeding even his greatest expectations, her heavenly visage soared beyond the realm of imagination.

Quin’s thoughts drifted to the past, to his earliest recollections of the dreams—a comforting rainbow of soothing hues with a lovely little voice that couldn’t enunciate words. As he got older, he overheard his parents talk about Layla and somehow knew they were one and the same—his dream girl and the lost girl. When her musical coos became enchanting words, she confirmed her identity, and from then on, he called her Layla.

In more recent years, she’d wreaked havoc on his sex life. Understandably, his dates didn’t like him mumbling another girl’s name in his sleep. But while others came and went, his dream girl remained. He and his mysterious Layla grew up together, and more than anything else, the visions were a source of comfort in times of need.

Bringing his mind out of dreamland, Quin recalled the moments he’d spent with the real Layla; the way he’d reached out, half-expecting his fingers to move through her like they had in the visions, finding instead soft skin and silky spirals. He’d been mesmerized by the reddening of her pink cheeks when she blushed, and the flutter of long lashes over big, round, emerald eyes. She was perfection in the flesh, yet she clearly believed herself inadequate. She had no idea how beautiful she was. She had no idea what she was.

Quin closed his eyes, remembering how it felt to hold her in his arms, and his stomach flipped and knotted. He’d never been more determined, nervous or concerned. One error in judgment could destroy more than his dreams. Others were at risk.

The image of Layla’s smiling face blessed the backs of his eyelids, but he needed to focus, so he tried to shake the stunning vision away. It didn’t work, and he smiled, realizing her face was there to stay, eyes open or shut.

His home came into view, and he sobered, descending into a large clearing thickly surrounded by trees and dotted with houses. His entire coven was on the lawn, awaiting his arrival, and two of them—Caitrin and Morrigan Conn—rushed forward when he landed.

Caitrin was the first to speak, his deep voice lacking its usual serenity. “Is it true, Quinlan? Is she here?”

“She’s here,” Quin confirmed, dropping his hood, “at the inn.”

Morrigan sobbed and wrapped her arms around Caitrin’s waist, burying her face in his chest. “I can’t believe it. She’s here. She’s finally here.”

“I can’t believe it either,” Caitrin whispered, stroking Morrigan’s curly hair. “Hope waned with each passing year.” He rested his cheek on her head, anxiously meeting Quin’s stare. “What did you discover?”

“Her name’s Layla Callaway,” Quin answered. “She just moved here by herself from Oklahoma and says she didn’t leave a family behind.”

Morrigan’s emotional sobs paused as Caitrin’s eyes narrowed. “She didn’t mention a mom?” he asked.

“No,” Quin answered, “just two friends she worked with. She confesses to having family here—says she recently found out about them—but she lacks names and addresses, so she doesn’t expect to meet them.” He paused, bowing his head as he pulled a deep breath into his tight chest, unnerved and awakened to feel such heartache for a girl he barely knew. “She’s been through a hard time, Caitrin. She didn’t say it, so I don’t know what’s happened, but I can tell she’s struggling. She’s sad and insecure, and she’s spent too much time alone. It’s what she’s used to. We’ll have to be careful not to scare her. You need to alert Serafin right away.”

“Yes,” Caitrin agreed, urging Morrigan from his chest. “How’s my sweet peach?”

Morrigan straightened, trying to pull herself together. “I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m thrilled, but we can’t mess this up. It will kill me.”

Caitrin took her cheeks, touching the tip of his nose to hers. “We’ll do everything in our power, Morrigan. I promise. Why don’t you go phone Daleen? Tell her everything we know so far.”

“Okay,” Morrigan agreed, standing on her toes for a kiss. Then she soared across the lawn.

Caitrin watched her go then turned back, clearly agitated. “How are we going to do this?”

“I have no idea,” Quin replied. “Has anyone here ever told the hexless what we are?”

Caitrin’s niece, Enid Gilmore, spoke as she stepped from the nearby crowd. “I told a friend in high school.”

“How?” Caitrin asked.

“I just told her,” Enid answered. “Then I made a matchbook disappear.”

“How did she take it?”

“She left the room and never spoke to me again.”

The idea of watching Layla walk away made Quin nauseous. “Anybody else?” he asked, and his Grandpa Lann stepped forward.

“I told a college professor,” he confessed, “after we polished off a bottle of absinthe together. I even turned his schnauzer blue, but he woke up in a stupor and thought he’d dreamed it all. I never corrected him.”

Quin’s twitchy hands clenched into fists. None of this was helping. He looked to the eldest member of the coven, his great-grandfather, Catigern Kavanagh. “What about you, Grandpa Cat?”

Catigern walked forward, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair as he spoke. “There’s no easy way to tell the secret. I’ve heard many stories—most of them ending like dear Enid’s . . .”

Quin and Caitrin cringed.

“But the elements of Enid’s tale are quite different than those spinning this one,” Catigern continued. “Layla’s by no means average, and let’s not ignore how remarkable it is she’s here. That suggests she’s accepted her adoption, among other things, so we shouldn’t underestimate her acceptance of us. Our best option is to take the plunge and hope we surface without losing her. Skillful honesty and profound patience will be vital.”

The lawn was silent for a long moment as everyone contemplated the consequences and benefits of taking the plunge. Then Caitrin swallowed and cleared his throat. “She should be given the chance to come to terms with what she is before meeting everyone.”

“I agree,” Quin advocated, “and we need to make it safe for her to take that time. What’s the latest news on Agro?”

“He was spreading terror in the Allegheny Mountains two months ago,” Caitrin answered, “murdered a pregnant hexless woman. That’s the last anyone’s heard.”

“We need to make sure his dogs aren’t lurking,” Quin pressed. “If Layla crosses paths with the Unforgivables . . .”

“I know,” Caitrin quietly growled. Then he took a calming breath and searched out Lann. “Do you mind making some phone calls, Lann? Map out the Unforgivables’ movements the best you can. And get in touch with all of our contacts in Oregon and Washington; make sure they haven’t caught wind of Agro or his miscreants.”

“I’ll do my best,” Lann agreed, squeezing Caitrin’s shoulder. Then he glanced at Quin, momentarily meeting his thoughtful stare.

As Lann flew away, Morrigan returned, alighting next to Caitrin and taking his hand. “They’re leaving now,” she said. “We can expect them tomorrow night.”

Caitrin nodded his approval then looked at Quin. “You’re seeing her tomorrow?”

“I’m taking her to Cinnia’s for breakfast,” Quin confirmed.

Caitrin stood quite still, contemplating his course, and not a soul interrupted or rushed him. After several minutes of deliberation, he kissed Morrigan’s hand and looked at Quin. “Are you willing to tell her?”

Quin didn’t have the slightest idea how to do it, let alone do it right, but he couldn’t turn down the delicate task. Having no control over the outcome would drive him crazy. “Yes.”

As soon as he answered, an objection rang out. “Wait a minute.”

Quin looked over, unsurprised to find his parents, Kemble and Cordelia, walking toward him.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Kemble went on, stopping next to Caitrin.

The entire coven knew about Quin’s reoccurring dream. And if they were looking at him closely, which most of them were, they would undoubtedly notice that Layla had already left her mark on him.

Quin understood their concerns; they were his own, but his apprehension didn’t merit submission. “I’m not sure it’s the best idea either,” he confessed, “but I’m not going to refuse. If Caitrin’s willing to let me do it, I wholeheartedly accept.”

“She needs levelheaded support right now,” Kemble countered, “not a boyfriend.”

“I understand,” Quin replied. And he did. He’d already considered everything running through his dad’s head. “I know why you doubt me . . .”

“No, Quinlan,” Cordelia interrupted, “we don’t doubt you.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Your concerns are justified given the situation, but I’m very aware of them and have treaded as conscientiously as possible around her.” He met his dad’s searching stare. “Believe me, the last thing I want to do is scare her away.”

“I know,” Kemble replied, “but perhaps someone else . . .”

“Who?” Quin challenged. “She already knows who I am, and she trusts me enough to be alone with me. It wasn’t easy getting her to relax. Ask Bri.”

Everyone on the lawn looked at Brietta, who nodded. “It’s true,” she confirmed. “She was very skittish.”

“And she remained guarded the entire time,” Quin added. “A stranger with no apparent motivation for speaking to her would only scare her. She would be hesitant to accept anything they say.” He paused, glanced at Caitrin then back to his dad. “I know a relationship would complicate things for her right now, but her interest in me is the only reason she agreed to stay in Cannon Beach. I don’t like the idea of abusing her attraction, but it’s the only leverage we have.” The more he defended his point, the more he believed it.

Kemble remained skeptical, but Quin had convinced his great grandpa Catigern. “Quinlan’s right,” he advocated. “He’s in the best position to break it to her gently.”

Kemble didn’t respond or relax. He just watched Quin’s face and the air around him, thoughtful and concerned.

“If Caitrin will let me do this,” Quin firmly decided, “I’m going to do it.” He turned to Caitrin, looking between him and Morrigan. “And I’ll do everything I can to make it easy on everyone involved, particularly Layla.”

“I know you will,” Caitrin quietly replied, pulling Morrigan’s hand to his cheek. “Let us know if you need anything, and keep us updated on any unforeseen changes.”

Quin nodded, glanced at his parents then walked away, already focused on his purpose.

“Quinlan,” Caitrin called.

“Yeah?” Quin replied, turning back.

“You said she’s sad, but…” Caitrin paused, clutching his throat as he watched the ground. “How does she look?”

Quin stared at him for a moment, remembering, seeing. Then he smiled. “She’s beautiful, Caitrin, like a star in a storm. You won’t be disappointed.”

That night—the first night of the rest of Quin’s life—peaceful rest was an elusive dream. Between snippets of exhaustion in which he’d have visions of the real Layla, he was alert and brainstorming ways to tell her the truth. None of his ideas were good enough, none of them fail safe, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t guarantee an acceptable outcome.

He deeply feared her reaction to the confessions he’d make the following day; for not only would he reveal he knows her family, he’d reveal she descends from a powerful line of witches and wizards.