Shattered (Tempest Coven Novels) by Wendolyn Baird

Author:Wendolyn Baird [Baird, Wendolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wendolyn Baird
Published: 2020-10-30T05:00:00+00:00

THE LIGHTS ARE STILL out when I reach the shop, so I assume Nova's appointment ran late, and let myself in through the back. Here, the dark is comforting, and breathing in the air, I can almost feel my dad's hand on my back.

“I need you,” I whisper out loud, brushing my hand over the top of his work bench. “You helped me save Tania today, you know.”

Three months without him has seemed like an eternity, and it isn't so much the big things that bother me. Taking over the shop, trying to convince Mom not to sell the place... no it's the little things. Just calling him for advice, having him greet me when I get to work. Helping me figure out when I'm blowing things out of proportion, or not letting myself feel anything at all.

I don't know what I'm doing. I can't lie to myself and say that Tania's appearance is changing my life; my life changed as soon as I got that phone call.

It's one thing to have a heart attack in the middle of the street, but even if they could have helped that, the impact of his car hitting a streetlight meant there was no coming back.

It feels as though everything stopped with his death. I've done nothing but push through as normally as I can, but the town itself is starting to feel like an anchor. No matter where I turn, there's traces of his magic imbued in every road, every street, and how can I move on when I'm trapped with those reminders?

I can understand why my mom doesn't like to leave the house. It's painful to wrap myself up in just this workshop, but it helps because I can feel him here. I can remember how happy he was here. Out in the town, we can still feel him. But it's twisted up and vague, mixed up with the craziness of the town and the pain of his death.

Usually the only deaths that leave such a large stain are those that were cut down before their time. At sixty, he still seemed pretty young to me, so I can easily see how much time he should have had left.

Standing here in the quiet, I have to force myself not to fall apart. Not to scream, and cry, and grieve over my dad. Not to panic over the demon that's after either me or Tania. Not to anything but fix up that stupid mailbox. Thomas needs to be safe; we all do. Whatever that thing is, it’s power mad, and driven by an instinctual hunger that overpowers all other senses. My gut tells me that much, and after years of dismissing its heedings, I'm finally learning to trust my intuition.

So, I work. I work and ignore the pain that's edging itself out. The heartache of everything that's gone wrong; the fatigue that's plagued me for weeks that I pretend doesn't exist; and the physical pain that reminds me of this afternoon. I work and I let it all out.

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