Mallory
As another surge of disconcerting warmth roiled through her and pooled in her chest, Mallory set down the glass bowl she’d been drying and pounded her chest. Her breathing had been labored all afternoon.
She knew the malady wasn’t medical, though. She’d been in Norseton for too long to know magic when she felt it.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Vann, tucking into his dinner at the kitchen table, asked.
Mallory forced air into her lungs, barely managing to fill them before her breath back out.
No room.
Winded or not, she managed to turn from the sink with a smile on her face.
Her children were at the ages where little white lies were as often to get met with jeering as they would with belief.
They weren’t ready for the truth, though. She could only give them some words that had just enough of the whiff of truth about them.
“Magical indigestion,” she told them. “No biggie.”
They’d connected, apparently—Asher and Keith. They must have gotten over their various squabbles. The web was different around her. She didn’t remember there being such a change after she’d been with Asher, and yet there Keith was—dominating her entire corner of it somehow like a heavy bird leaning precariously against delicate silken strands.
It didn’t make sense.
But it did make sense. They were meant to be three and not two, and no matter how she tried to avoid them, the magic was going to do what it wanted to. Perhaps she didn’t even need to touch Keith in that way. Perhaps the magic would bind her to them no matter what, and it was only a matter of time.
Vann lifted an eyebrow before diving back into his stew. “If you say so.”
“Heard a rumor,” her daughter Micah said airily.
Mallory gulped and turned back to the drying rack. There were plenty of wet dishes on it for her to make herself busy with. “Oh? A good one, I hope.”
“It was about you, so I’d say it was pretty good.”
The dishtowel slipped through Mallory’s fingers and was on the floor before Mallory’s slow-cranking brain could fire up the right neutrons for her to swipe at the cloth. “You…shouldn’t pay any attention to rumors.” Keeping her back turned to the children, she bent for the cloth. There were so many things they could be hearing about her or, worse, about their estranged grandfather. She wasn’t sure she was in a mental state where she could properly explain the drama.
Not yet, anyway.
“Well, what was it?” she asked lightly. “Spit it out. I’ve got to go check on your uncle.”
“He’s who we heard it from,” Micah said.
That made Mallory turn. She could feel her eyes going round. “Elliott said something? And when’d you see him?”
“Earlier when Aunt Erin took us to pick up work packets for school.”
Mallory gritted her teeth. “She didn’t tell me.”
Micah shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal. He’s a hugger, huh?”
Mallory’s heart felt like it had collapsed in on itself. She didn’t want the children to think their uncle was pitiful. He was doing the best he could, but they were smart and observant and would know if something was off. “Yeah,” she said thickly. “He’s a comfort toucher like many Afótama.”
“Looks like Vann a little,” Wendy said.
Vann whipped around to face her. “He does?”
Micah snorted. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“Those Petersen genes are strong,” Mama called out from the other room. “He does look like Vann a little, around the eyes and temples.”
Mallory dragged a hand down her face. “And when did you have the opportunity to see him?”
“About twenty minutes ago. You know how nosy I am.”
“Mama.”
“What?”
“You can’t just sashay your way into these things and make introductions.”
“Why not? I took him my special gumbo. Scrawny thing, I tell you.”
“Because—” The words caught in Mallory’s throat. She actually didn’t have a good excuse. There was no reason her mother couldn’t meet who she wanted to. She wasn’t Afótama. No one could track her on the web. Mallory had simply assumed her mother wouldn’t want to meet one of her ex’s other mistress’s offspring. She should have known better. Her mother was rarely predictable.
Emitting a quiet groan, Mallory turned back to Micah. “You were saying?”
“Uncle Elliott said he thought Keith Dahl was trying to date you.”
“You’d better be happy I don’t believe in corporal punishment, child, because that smirk on your face is making me feel a certain way.”
Micah shrugged. “Is it true?”
Mallory chose not to respond.
“We don’t care, Mom,” Wendy said. “You can see whoever you want.”
“Yes. I can,” she snapped.
Wendy rolled her eyes and took a long slug of milk. “You know what I mean. We’re just saying that you don’t have to hold back for us. It’s okay if it’s true.”
“The truth is a little more complicated than you think,” Mallory muttered.
“So you’re dating him?”
Mallory drummed her fingertips along the sides of her arms.
Her mother chose that moment to poke her head into the room. “Lord, have mercy. That fairy can haul tail when he needs to. Funniest thing I’ve seen all day long.”
“What fairy?”
Certainly, she couldn’t have been talking about Asher. As far as Mallory knew, her mother didn’t know anything about Mallory’s recent dalliances. She wondered if confiding in her wouldn’t do her some good. Her mother may have been the most practical person in Norseton, and she wasn’t even a witch.
“Lachlann. He’s the one who works at the mansion guarding Ótama, right?”
“Yeah, that’s Lach. You just saw him?”
“Yep.” Mama popped her fists onto her hips and gave her head an amused shake. “I was looking out the den window and cracked it open to hear what was happening. He was sprinting across the village square toward the gates, I think. Trying to find someone to give him a ride to the airstrip. Looks like Ótama got away from him.”
Mallory cringed. That had been a naughty thing for Ótama to do. While she and Lachlann may have been equally inexperienced in the workings of modern society, Lachlann had a certain edge on her. They both had magic, but Lachlann had wisdom, cynicism, and dangerous fighting reflexes. He’d never let anything happen to Ótama.
But perhaps that was what Ótama wanted—something to happen.
“Oh, hell.” Mallory murmured.
“Know anything about that?” her mother asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I was at the mansion this morning visiting—” At her children’s too-curious stares, Mallory pinched off the words and turned expressly to her mother. “Um. When I was there, I heard Jody was going to rustle up some representatives for that special Viking meeting thing. Maybe Ótama went along without saying anything to the big guy.”
Mama’s brow creased deeply. “Anything we need to worry about?”
Mallory knew exactly what her mother meant. She wasn’t talking about Hall-Dahl family shenanigans—those were never-ending. She was talking about the reason there needed to be a meeting in the first place.
“Maybe?” She shrugged jerkily. “They’ve got him in a cell.”
Mama’s lips tightened.
“Are you talking about your father?” Micah asked.
Mallory turned to her in a flash.
She set down her spoon and sighed the sigh of the perpetually annoyed young teen. “We hear things, even if you don’t tell us, Mom.”
“But you never say anything.”
She shrugged yet again. “Figured it wasn’t important. This feels important, though.”
“It’s complicated, sweetheart. Everything is complicated.”
“Like you and Keith Dahl?”
Mallory ground her teeth.
“What is happening with you and Keith Dahl?” Mama asked.
Mallory cut her a “not now” glare that the older woman seemed entirely unaffected by.
Growling, she corralled her mother into the adjoining den and closed the door. She figured she might as well just spit it all out. In a rushed whisper, she said, “Keith isn’t my only problem right now, but I seem to also have a needy fairy on the hook, and neither of them seems to have a problem with sharing.”
She waited for the matronly gasp—the rebuke, the scolding. Instead, what she got were a triumphant nod and a devious chuckle.
“Mama?”
“Get it, girl.”
“What?”
“I said get it.”
“I don’t think you heard me.”
“Heard you fine.” Mama fluffed her hair and pushed her glasses up. “Go on. Gives me something to brag about at my next Norseton bridge game.”
All Mallory could do was blink at her.
“Oh, spare me the fake modesty. And let me get my joy wherever I can. You’re a flighty widow with a brood of smart-mouthed kids and a father who isn’t worth a wad of soiled toilet paper, and yet you’ve still hooked two of the biggest catches here.”
Another blink. “Flighty widow, am I?”
“Yep.”
“You might want to think for a moment about what me being one of Dan’s daughters is going to look like when people find out everything he did.”
“Not your problem. It’s Keith’s.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Makes plenty of sense. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’d give a damn about a little scandal.”
He wasn’t. And apparently, her mother wasn’t the kind of woman who cared about scandal anymore, either, because there she was—strutting around Norseton with her kids and grandkids as though it wasn’t all strange and unusual…and most people didn’t seem to mind.
She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Dan had.
“I…don’t know, Mama.” Mallory sank onto the recliner and buried her head in her hands. “I’m not brave enough for this. I’ve got the kids to worry about, and—”
“Kids aren’t going to give a damn, Mallory. You know they’re not. They’ve been going with the flow ever since you first told them about this place. Not once did they question your sanity or your judgment. Kids know when they’re where they belong, and they belong here. Just like you.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. I didn’t raise a coward. I tried to raise my girls to stand tall in their righteousness, but I know I didn’t always set the best example. I let your father keep me waiting for way too many years for something that he was never going to give me, but it’s not going to be that way with you. If someone’s offering to show you to the world, you let them do it, and don’t you give one single damn about who you might offend.”
Overcome, Mallory threw up her hands. She was so tired and emotionally mangled that didn’t know what else to do but relent. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Mama raised an eyebrow. “Okay what?”
“Okay I’ll figure this out. I’ll…” Mallory shrugged jerkily. “I’ll get my head out of my ass. I’ll make it work.”
Mama shuffled over and plopped her hands onto Mallory’s shoulders, smiling. “The beauty of it is you’re not putting in the work by yourself. Don’t you remember what that’s like, hmm?”
Mallory swiped at tears budding in the corners of her eyes and repressed a sniffle.
Yes. She remembered. Her marriage been easy before it stopped so cruelly. She’d been spoiled. Maybe some part of her had been afraid for her to try again—had been afraid that nothing she ever did was going to hold up to what she had with her late husband.
But they weren’t comparable. She was in a different sort of world and needed a different kind of arrangement.
“I remember, Mama.”
“Good.” Mama gave Mallory a much-needed hug and then sent her back to the kitchen to finish her dinner. “I’m going to go snoop.”
“About what?”
“About whether or not Lachlann is going to catch up to Ótama.” Mama snatched up her purse and shoved her feet into her walking mules. “Oooh, I can just see it now. Sparks are going to fly.”
“I thought you said drama was bad, Gramma,” Vann said.
Mama gave him a long, scolding stare.
“Never mind,” he murmured and rushed his bowl to the sink.