Salmon Fit for a Sophisticated Grizzly Bear

CHAPTER 5




We manage to make it through dinner without anyone embarrassing me in front of Lucas either by telling him ridiculous stories about my antics or staring at him suspiciously looking for an aura. Graham and his posh British manners keep up most of the conversation - until Miranda decides it’s time for him to pay attention to her. He bids us good night and the two of them head off, followed closely by Nana who says she’s tired. She winks at me on the way to her room, though, so I assume that’s supposed to mean she wants me to interrogate Lucas and get to the bottom of this no aura thing.

I would love to do just that, but I’ve only been paying half attention to what everyone is talking about. I’m a lot more interested in figuring out who this charming monster was in the shop, what he was talking about, and when he’s going to pop out of a corner again. Everytime I think about the feelings he conjured up, the way his aura wrapped me in a cloak of darkness, my heart starts pounding.

Lucas and I wash the dishes and put leftovers away. Our kitchen is miniscule and the two of us are constantly bumping into each other. Each time we make contact, I’m reminded that he and his lack of an aura are another problem.

Miranda’s idea, that maybe he’s suppressing his feelings, sounds kind of reasonable. I’ve known Lucas for all of five minutes, but I’ve already seen a few things I would want to avoid thinking about if I were him. Like what, exactly, would he have done if we hadn’t come along? And how many times has he slept at Starbucks? It’s also a fair guess that he’s worrying about his little sister, the kinds of things she sees in that house, and what they’re doing to her. All in all, it seems like Lucas’ life sort of sucks.

As much as I’m willing to consider all of this a decent explanation for my inability to read Lucas, there is another theory rattling around in the corners of my brain, a much more disturbing one. I wonder if this whole thing of my meeting him just when he needs a place to stay is actually a coincidence, or if maybe there is something more sinister at work here. What are the chances that I come across a kid who can’t be read at the same time Mr. Darkness begins stalking me? What if Lucas is somehow wrapped up in that new development, like he’s here to watch me, to spy, to report back? But report back about what - that I don’t do my homework or put my laundry away?

Still, there is no end to the weirdness going on the past couple of days and I’m not taking any chances. That guy made it into - and out of - the shop without any of us sensing him. That can’t be good. Not only that, but he managed to keep the darkest aura I’ve ever seen a secret from my family, from my grandmother, one of the strongest Seekers I’ve ever met. Why would he want to do that and why would he want to get me alone in the first place?

“Where do these go?”

Lucas stands in front of me with a stack of clean plates.

In his Mr. Met t-shirt with bangs flopping across one eye, he looks about as dangerous as a lost puppy. Still, if I were going to lure someone in and convince her I wasn’t a threat, I would probably do my best to look sweet and innocent, too. So what to do? Trust him and his gentle demeanor or assume he’s up to something? My obsession with true crime shows once again wins the day and I decide to stay alert.

“Up there,” I gesture to an empty shelf in the cupboard.

And while I am always extremely suspicious of everyone, I’ve never had to work very hard to figure out what someone is up to. Reading feelings without even trying means that I’m a little bit lost without an aura to guide me. There are, of course, ways, ways I have already tried - like the hand holding business - and ways I haven’t tried yet. Things I’m not supposed to do, like really not supposed to do. Things that involve real magic: scrying, card reading, maybe even a spell or two. Things off limits since the old days of the Heart Seekers, the days before they were rounded up and burned at the stake or drowned in a pond. Witch. Sorcerer. Cailleach.

Lucas lifts the plates and I decide to start slow and not wallop him with my very amateur attempts at forbidden magic. No use incapacitating him with novice spells - and having Miranda kick my ass - before I’ve exhausted the tamer options. Maybe I can try the touching again.

And just as though he can read my mind, Lucas turns around and runs smack into me, squashing me against the counter at my back. For a few seconds, his entire body is stretched out against mine. Neither one of us makes a move to separate even though that would be the logical thing to do. Instead, we stay pressed up against each other long enough for me to realize I don’t feel anything. Strike that. I definitely feel something, but it has more to do with my hormones than Lucas’ emotions.

“Sorry,” he finally mumbles, stepping back.

“No worries,” I answer. “This is the world’s smallest kitchen.”

We stand still, inches apart, looking at one another like something needs to be said, but neither of us knows what.

Happily, my phone dings, breaking the spell. There’s a split second of intense fear as I find myself terrified that the creep from the shop is now texting. That, I decide, is ridiculous, and pull my phone from my pocket. The screen lights up with a selfie of Nick and Antonio, grinning, faces pressed together. I smile. At least one non-weird thing has happened in the past 24 hours.

“Friends of yours?” Lucas asks.

I flip the phone around to show him. “My best friend,” I explain, “and his very new boyfriend.” I smile at the screen. “Did you know I’m a little bit of a matchmaker?”

He leans back against the counter and raises an eyebrow. “Funny. You don’t seem like much of a romantic.”

I open my mouth to defend myself as though Lucas is accusing me of being cold and unfeminine, but he has already seen and heard enough to accurately form his opinion. I’m nothing if not unromantic.

“I am a vast frozen wasteland,” I answer, putting my hand on my chest. “But I limit that to myself. When it comes to friends...well, let’s just say I am an extremely good judge of character. Once I decide two people are destined to be together, I do everything in my power to make it happen.” It’s the closest I’ve ever come to telling the outright truth about what I do.

“So you? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“Pretty much no friends at all. Like I said, I’m a good judge of character.”

Lucas grins. “That’s a very bleak outlook.”

I shrug. “I call it self-preservation. Anyway, time for bed. I have to get up early for work. Let me show you where you’ll sleep.” There isn’t the slightest chance that I’m going to sleep, of course, since I need to spend the next few hours agonizing over every detail of the encounter in the shop and researching ways to dig into the corners of Lucas’ heart and mind. It makes me worry I haven’t ingested enough caffeine.

I reach around him for the light switch, letting my arm brush the length of his. I feel nothing but the heat of his skin.

“Thanks,” Lucas says, low. “For this. All of this. You guys don’t even know me. I’m not sure what I would have done tonight, but I know it wouldn’t have been good. My family...” He closes his eyes, framing an explanation.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” I say softly. “We all have our secrets.”

He looks down at me. “Actually I feel like I owe you all something and my story is all I have to offer. My dad, like I said before, he’s not a bad guy. But he does drink - a lot. He wasn’t always like that but…” He looks away, focusing on the floor. “My mom died four years ago. Cancer. We only had six weeks with her once she was diagnosed.”

“I’m so sorry.” I touch his arm without ulterior motives. “Really, you don’t…”

“After that he tried to keep it together, you know? I mean my sister was really little. But slowly, week after week, month after month, he started slipping away, too. I’ve been trying to keep us going but I’m barely out of high school. It’s hard to find anything that brings in decent money.”

“I’m sure you do the best you can.”

“I try but, realistically, it’s not enough. I can keep telling myself I can do it, that it will get better, but I’m dragging my sister down with us. There’s only so long I can keep her from understanding what’s going on, before she sees things she shouldn’t. My aunt,” he clears his throat, “my aunt offered to keep her - permanently. She and her husband can’t have kids so they’re really anxious to take her. Besides,” he smiles, “she is the cutest kid ever.” Lucas shakes his head and looks back at me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lay all that on you. Like I said, I just felt like I owed you guys my story. I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

“No worries.” It must have taken a lot for him to share that with me, pretty much a stranger. “Besides, you haven’t seen the postage stamp sized couch I’m about to stash you on.”

Switching off the light, I lead the way to the living room. Nana has stacked a pile of quilts and a pillow on the couch. I suddenly wish we had more to offer.

“My room is down the hall,” I say, “last door on the left - in case you need anything. Otherwise,” I begin backing out of the room, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill us in our sleep.”

He grins. “I guess I’ll just have to read then. Good night.”

I leave Lucas to worry about his sister and his father and all the details of his life that I can only guess at. I, in the meantime, get ready for bed and text Nick back and forth a few times. He’s totally out of his mind over Antonio and I’m super happy for them, even if it means I’ll have to share my only friend. It’s nice to hear that someone got what he wanted - and deserved - especially Nick, the most good natured, loyal friend ever, the person who knows more about me than anyone and still likes me.

My laptop is open on the bed, but somehow after what happened in the shop, I don’t feel up to watching true stories of murders and kidnappings and assorted acts of violence. That creature and his aura were exactly what I would expect to be emanating from a killer. I don’t like thinking about what he wanted, what he could do.

I think about the way he turned up without any of us noticing, the way he was able to talk to me without my family sensing anything was wrong. His words run through my head. My name. How did he know that? And the other things, about my family lying to me. I have no doubt they have lied to me about one thing or another over the years. I lie all the time - to stay out of trouble, to keep my secrets. But what kinds of lies could they possibly be telling that a complete stranger would want to warn me about? Our lives here are pretty average. I doubt either Miranda or Nana have any earth shattering tales they’re not telling me.

Denial is a wonderful thing and after running the scene around and around in my head a few dozen times, I decide the whole thing is some kind of misunderstanding. This guy is just super creepy and the definition of emo, but he isn’t any more or less dangerous than every other stranger wandering into the shop. If he were, I’m sure my grandmother would have felt it and come flying down to the rescue. Isn’t that the way it’s always worked in the past?

I may be fooling myself, but the thought is comforting. I decide to talk to Nana about it in the morning, to let her reassure me and to ask for an extra protection spell. My plan brings me some kind of peace and soon, I’m sliding down under the covers, my eyes heavy. The last thing I remember thinking is that I haven’t heard a single creak of one of the ancient floorboards, so unless he’s some kind of ninja, Lucas isn’t planning on murdering us in our sleep.

Seconds later, a rough shake breaks into the dream I was having, something involving Mr. Met and a Black Magic and the library. I groan and bury my face in the pillow.

Someone curses. “Tristan. Wake up.” Miranda’s voice is less annoyed than tense. It’s not a tone I normally hear from her.

“What’s wrong?” The room is still dark except for the fairy lights I’d left on around my headboard. The dim light is enough to make it clear that Miranda is fully dressed: silk blouse, skirt, heels. She’s even wearing make-up, her black hair is twisted up into a bun. Where is she going in the middle of the night? “What time is it?” I ask. Brain fog, the dark, and Miranda’s presence in my room make it impossible to figure out what’s going on.

“It’s early,” she says. Her voice is tight and my pulse picks up as I picture a thousand different scenarios, none of them good.

“Is Nana OK?” I ask. I push myself up. “Graham?”

“Everyone is fine. But we have guests. I need you to get up.”

Now I curse. He’s back. In the shop. At least Nana and Miranda can see him this time.

“Where is he?” My feet hit the floor and I start grabbing clothes, twisting my hair into a knot with trembling fingers. “I was going to tell you. Shit.” I tug a sweatshirt over my head.

Miranda isn’t moving. “He who?” she asks. “What are you talking about?”

I stop in the middle of pulling on some leggings. Maybe I’m more confused than I thought. “What are you talking about?”

“The aunts. They’re in the shop.”

I drop down onto the mattress and the impending heart attack starts to recede. My aunts are weird and annoying, but not dangerous. They are the keepers of all of the old knowledge of the Heart Seekers, so they like to show up every once in awhile to make a proclamation or tell us about something we’re doing wrong. Apparently they believe it’s their duty to keep us in line. Miranda thinks they prefer middle-of-the-night surprise visits because it keeps the mysterious witch vibe going, kind of like keeping a black cats - of which they have a few. In my opinion they stick to the pop-ins because we might otherwise escape.

“What did we do now?” I groan.

“They...never mind. Just get dressed.” She holds out clothes I hadn’t noticed before, a black lace dress from her very own “touch my stuff and you die” closet and some tights. My aunts are also super particular about clothing and manners and I’m generally not allowed into their presence until my outfit has passed inspection.

“Really? This is a formal occasion?” I grumble as I say it and Miranda doesn’t scold me for being a brat. My aunt not taking the opportunity to boss me around is one of the most suspicious things that has happened in an entire day marked by suspicious events. “Seriously, Miranda. What’s going on? Is everything OK?”

My aunt turns away and grabs my boots from where I’d tossed them in a corner.

“Try to hurry. I have to go down and get the tea on.”

A thought occurs to me, a very unpleasant thought. If Lucas sees what’s going on, he’ll know that not everything Jannelis and Lauren had to say was a lie.

“They’ve put a sleeping spell on him,” Miranda answers my unasked question. “Your secret is safe. For now.”

She shuts the door behind her and I hustle into the dress and tights, zipping up boots. A quick look in the mirror confirms that I look like crap, curls tangled every which way, dark circles under my eyes. The dress is one of my favorites, something I once stole from Miranda to help me get into a club with Nick. I thought I could do it without her finding out. I could not. And yet now she hands it over voluntarily. Maybe I’m dying.

I pass through the bakery kitchen on my way to the dining room. There are two kettles going and my aunt is placing the best tea set, the “family heirloom” set, on a tray with cream and sugar, lemon and honey. I step up to help.

“No,” she says, looking up. “You need to go in. They’re...they’re waiting for you.”

I scramble to think of what I could have possibly done to be in this much trouble. It seems like an event that big should come to mind right away but...nothing. Unless of course there’s something going on with Lucas, like maybe he is some sort of spy or, better yet, a witch hunter. If I’ve been that stupid, maybe I should be punished.

“You haven’t done anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. They just...you’ll see. Go in.”

Which seems like exactly what I should do, but suddenly my feet won’t cooperate. Instead, I grip the edge of the counter trying to make sense of what’s going on. I don’t mind getting in trouble, not really, not most of the time, but I hate being blindsided. I usually know when I’ve done something wrong. But now? Not so much.

The door swings open just wide enough for Nana to poke her head in.

“Tristan? We’re waiting.” She disappears again.

When Miranda shoots me a sympathetic glance, I’m fairly sure this is the end.

“You know most of the time you’re a real pain in the ass, but you’re blood. My sister’s kid and the only niece I’ll ever have. I’ll have your back no matter what, understand?”

Yes. No. “Honestly?” I whisper hoarsely. “I have no idea what’s going on and I think you’re going to have to literally have my back if I’m going in there.”

She grins. “You’re twice as tough as I was at your age. You’ve got this.”

I most definitely do not, but I also don’t have any choice. It’s easy enough to picture the aunts gathered around the pushed together tables waiting to pass down the sentence, Aunt Aoife heading up the court. They sit in age order. Aoife first, Nana next, both of them white haired, and on down the line, white mixing with the same curling black hair and green eyes we all share. Everyone will focus on Aoife, letting her do the talking, piping up when she pretends she wants their opinion. No one’s opinion matters but Aoife’s, of course, so they will toss in a few words, basically repeats of what has already been said and my oldest aunt will make some sort of declaration.

Adopting the attitude I take when having a talk with a teacher after class or with the principal after school, I hide my trembling fingers by balling my hands into fists at my side. I stand straight, head up, and take a deep breath. There’s no way I can hide my true feelings from any of them. They can read me a hundred miles away. But they need to know I’m not a wuss and I won’t be bullied by them, no matter how much they scare me. Because as far as I know, I haven’t done a damn thing.

As predicted, Aoife sits at the head of the table, the picture of money, of class, like her sisters. Each of them is dressed in rich gem colors - sapphire, emerald, garnet - except Aoife, in head-to-toe black velvet. Even Nana wears her best emerald satin dress, oversized collar, tied at the waist. Emeralds dangle from her ears and around her wrist. All of the aunts have broken out family jewels better suited to an evening at the opera than a 3am trek to Astoria.

I greet each one in turn, kissing their soft, scented cheeks like we’re French and not third generation Irish. Miranda pushes her way through the door struggling under the weight of the tea tray. I make a move toward her, but she gestures me away.

“Come sit,” Aoife instructs. There is an empty chair I hadn’t noticed at her side, which is too bad really because I’d prefer to sit in a dark corner where I can see them but they can’t see me. Aoife isn’t exactly the kind of person you can say no to, so I sit where I’m told.

“No doubt you are wondering why we have assembled,” Aoife says. Her voice is low but fills every corner of the room.

It seems like a rhetorical question, but my aunt looks at me, waiting for an answer.

“I am.”

“You have had an unusual encounter of late, have you not?”

Lying isn’t even a possibility here. “Yes, I have.”

Nana takes a sharp breath, no doubt wondering why I didn’t mention this on my own.

“And this interaction was...unpleasant?”

“You could say that.” I pause. I really just want this to be over with, to figure out why we’re here, to get in whatever trouble I’m going to get into, swallow my punishment, and go back to bed. But like an idiot, I decide to ask questions. “Who was that guy? I mean...I guess you know.”

“Indeed we do,” she answers. “And he is very dangerous.”

“Very dangerous,” her sister, Caoimhe, repeats. Like I didn’t hear it the first time.

I gaze over at Nana. She sits with her hands folded on the table, eyebrows pulled together, lips in a tight line. In other words, she is pissed. And why wouldn’t she be? The guy was a threat and I kept blowing it off like he would just go away.

Now isn’t the time for my punishment, though. That will have to wait until the aunts hop on their brooms and head back to Brooklyn. For now, I will need to let everyone scold me and tell me how stupid I am.

“There is no way you could have known.” Aunt Saoirse to the rescue. “It is what they do. They wait. Until the time.”

Aoife sighs. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” It’s her version of shut up.

My head is starting to spin. I knew this guy was a problem and sure, popping in and out of the shop without my noticing was weird, but it can’t possibly be as big a deal as they’re making it. Can it?

Miranda places a steaming cup in front of me, looking me straight in the eye, boring an unspoken message into my brain. I frown and she looks at the cup. Lifting it up, the scent of something more than Earl Grey wraps around me. Shit. If Miranda is slipping me alcohol, things are heading way downhill. I take a mouthful and let it burn all the way down my throat.

“Today,” Aoife announces, “is a very important day, a day we have all been awaiting for a very long time.”

I take another sip and decide I’m not asking any more questions. I’m just going let this - whatever this is - happen. Somehow I suspect that the more of this tea I down, the less I’ll care about whatever is going on here.

“It is the day that you, Tristan Maire Byrne, come into your full power as the strongest of all Seekers.”

I drop the cup onto the saucer with a clatter. The aunts look back and forth among themselves, whispering and smiling. The only non-smiling sister is Nana.

“Excuse me?”

I am, on the best of days, a very mediocre Seeker. I’m good with readings and matchmaking, but I suck at spells because I can’t be bothered learning the sigils or memorizing the words. I’ve never even tried the big things, both because my grandmother might murder me but also because I can’t imagine how I would pull them off. So the strongest of all Seekers? Definitely not.

“I’m sure this is quite a surprise,” Aunt Niamh adds.

“And perhaps not a pleasant one,” Aoife says. “But in time, when you learn what you can truly do, when you take the place that is rightfully yours, you will embrace it.”

I pull my eyebrows together trying to make sense of what they’re saying.

“I don’t understand.”

“No doubt and we would not have been having this conversation, unless this person hadn’t forced our hand.”

“Who is this guy anyway?” Anyone who can rattle the aunts is way worse than even I had imagined.

“Again, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let us begin at the beginning.”

Infuriatingly, instead of getting to the point, Aoife sits back and sips at her tea. Likewise, the aunts sit silently, drinking tea, checking me out.

I’m just about to lose it when Aoife starts talking. “You, Tristan, are the product of a once in a hundred year combination: a female Seeker and a male Seeker.”

“There are no male Seekers,” I interject.

“No, not normally. But it is not unheard of and the child of such a combination, she is powerful beyond all others, beyond all imagining. You have been quite sheltered here in your shop, Tristan. At the request of your grandmother, we agreed to let her raise you to live as normal a life as possible with the hope that it would never become necessary for you to know otherwise. The arrival of this person makes that necessary.”

“Why? What does he want?”

“Your power, dear. He wants your power.”

I shake my head. “My power to do what? Read auras? We can all do that.”

“Indeed,” Caoimhe agrees. “We can do those things. But reading a person’s emotions is one minute step from reading their mind - as you know doubt know. What you don’t know, perhaps, is that once you have read those thoughts, you - specifically you - can manipulate those thoughts. You can do it all: read the aura, know the thoughts, manipulate a person’s will.”

“And that ability in particular, well, imagine what a person could do with such power. What a truly evil, cruel person could do with such power. And that is what this person wishes to acquire.”

“Who is this guy?”

“He is one of a group. Just as there are Seekers, so are there others, those who, in the days when our people were persecuted, chose darkness over light. When those of us who survived the purge decided to use our powers to do good, their anger at our mistreatment led them to wish only to enrich themselves in whatever way possible. While we moved forward in peace, they cast a path of destruction, taking power and manipulating people to do their will.”

Aunt Roisin pipes up from her seat way down the line.

“They call themselves The Rippers.”

Aoife hisses her sister’s name in response. “Don’t concern yourself with that just now, Tristan. You have many things to learn including both how to use your power to its potential…”

“And how to protect yourself.” It’s the first words Nana has spoken since this whole thing started. “Above all, to protect yourself.”

The aunts’ heads bob up and down in agreement.

“And that is not a task we will leave entirely to you. As the greatest among us, you are assigned someone of extensive experience who will be always by your side, a person who will be completely in tune with you and will know the minute you are in danger. You are the person with the power, but he is someone of great skill.”

“He?”

A shadow in the corner shifts and for a second, blood rushes to my head believing The Ripper is back. And then the form steps into the dim light.

“This,” Aoife says, “is the person entrusted with your safety. He is The Watcher.”

I look at the guy standing in front of me, sheepishly avoiding my gaze.

He is my Watcher.



He is Lucas.