“We are,” Connor said. “But it always seems wise to check.”
“You heard about Paisley?” Marian asked.
He frowned. “Who’s Paisley?”
“Young female shifter who died.” Marian turned her gaze toward Arne. “What’s it been, a couple of weeks now?”
“Thereabouts,” Arne said.
Marian nodded. “Hit-and-run,” she said, then sipped her tea. “She was walking or running—we aren’t sure—along the old main road, by the resort, when she was struck by a car. The car didn’t stop.”
“How did they find her?” I asked.
Marian sipped, nodded. “One of the clan elders, a man named Loren, had walked to a coffeehouse up the road and found her in the middle of it. It was a Saturday night, and Loren believed one of the locals imbibed too much, kept driving because they’d been drinking and knew there’d be a heavy price to pay.”
“What did the sheriff say?”
“Same conclusion,” Arne said, “as far as we’re aware. No one saw or heard the vehicle, and if any of the locals know anything about it, they aren’t talking.”
Marian nodded. “She was one of the younger shifters—the up-and-comers, you could say. The younger generation has tried to distance themselves from the clan’s elders.”
“In what ways?” Connor asked.
“For one, they’re lobbying to be public about who they are. They want to be honest about their identities, and the elders aren’t interested in it. They’re also angry about the resort; they want to revitalize the grounds, and the elders aren’t interested in that, either.”
“We don’t know that there’s any actual fighting per se,” Arne said, looking at Marian for confirmation. “But there’s definitely tension.”
“The more things change,” Connor said philosophically. “How does Georgia feel about all this? She’s an elder, after all.”
“Mom likes what’s familiar,” Marian said. “She’d deal with changes if she had to, but she’s mostly content.”
There was gentle rapprochement in her voice, as if Marian hadn’t agreed with her mother’s position.
We sat quietly for a moment, sipping our drinks and listening to the girls’ bubbly chatter from the other room.
If I was being honest, this was not at all what I’d expected to find on this trip. A happy family of shifters acting like any other happy family might and letting me—an obvious outsider—sit companionably in their home.
“There are more interesting rumors coming out of Grand Bay, you know,” Arne said.
“What rumors?” Connor asked.
“Some sort of bigfoot,” Arne said. “Supposedly.”
“The Beast of Owatonna,” Marian said. “Or that’s what they’re calling it.”
Connor arched a brow. “What’s the Beast of Owatonna?”
“Minnesota’s answer to Bigfoot,” Marian said with a grin. “A big and hairy creature that supposedly stalks prey in the North Woods.”
“Are we sure humans haven’t just seen shifters in their native forms?” I asked.
“That would be the simplest answer,” Arne said with a smile. “And logical. But the sightings came from clan members, not humans.”
“They find any evidence?” Connor asked. “Footprints, scat?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Arne said, glancing at Marian for confirmation.
“Nope,” she said.
“God only knows what happens in the North Woods. Probably young guns screwing around, maybe hoping they get caught by the humans. Either way, it’s the kind of thing that might attract attention, and the clan doesn’t want that.”
A squeal echoed from the room at the end of the hall, and little feet quick-stepped toward us. The older girl ran to her father. “I didn’t hit her,” she said quietly, and rested her head on her father’s arm.
“Mommy!” The younger girl stomped into the room, eyes streaming. “She hit me with her doll.”
“No, I didn’t! I didn’t!” The older girl paused. “She hit me first!”
“I did not!”
I had a flashback to similar scenes twenty years ago, when Connor and I were kids of about the same age and fighting over toys, running to our fathers to solve our disputes. I glanced at him, found him smiling knowingly back at me. I guess he’d been thinking the same thing.
“Girls,” Arne said, firmly enough to stop the rising hysteria. There were sniffles, but the yelling stopped. “We don’t hit each other, do we?”
In answer, the little girl burst into tears.
“And I think it’s nap time,” Marian said, pushing back her chair. “Girls, quiet time, now.”
That created another round of screaming as they stomped dramatically toward the back of the house.
“Excuse me,” Marian said, and followed them.
“Poor kids,” Arne said. “Adulting is hard, but you couldn’t pay me to be a kid again. All those hormones, still figuring out the world.” He shook his head. “Crazy thing is, give them fifteen minutes of quiet time, and they’ll be best friends again. Biology is a fickle mistress.”
“We’ll get out of your hair,” Connor said, rising from his chair. “We need to hit the road, anyway. Thank you for the refreshment and the conversation.”
“Please don’t feel like you have to go,” Arne said. “This is a minor skirmish in the War of Daughters.”
“No, we’re on a deadline. Sunrise,” he said, nodding toward me.
“Right, right.” Arne looked at me curiously. “I think you’re the first vampire I’ve ever met.” He grinned. “You seem pretty normal.”
“Please excuse my husband,” Marian said, coming back into the room. “The running has finally scrambled his brain.”
“For a vampire, she is pretty normal.” Connor looked at me, his smile so tender and warm, my heart fluttered like wings in my chest.
“Adorable,” Marian murmured, sliding her arm into Arne’s. “Do you need anything for the road?”
“We’re good,” Connor said. “But thank you for the offer.”
They walked us to the door, and we exchanged hugs.
“I like you,” Marian whispered as she embraced me. “And I like you for him,” she said when she pulled back, meeting my gaze. “Take care of each other.”