Jenna Ryan - Night of the Raven

“So was I.”

“He still half believes one of his spooky Bellam cousins can talk to ravens and make them do her bidding. Frigging witch.”

Losing patience, Amara regarded him through her lashes. “Don’t tempt me. I’m older now and less...tolerant.”

Jake showed his teeth but didn’t, she noticed, utter another word.

“Smart man.” Through a crowd that was now vying loudly for his attention, McVey indicated the carnage in the corner. “How many arrests have you made?”

Jake dragged his resentful gaze from Amara. “Six. When you didn’t show, I called the Hardens in to help out.”

“Part-time Hollow deputies,” McVey said over his shoulder. “Twins.”

“Thick as bricks, the pair of them.” Jake snarled at a trio of men who elbowed him aside and began pleading their cases to McVey. “The Hardens are kin to Tyler Blume. No idea why he took the job, but Tyler’s the police chief here in the Hollow.” He raised his voice. “A town we Cove cops are being forced to watch over while he’s off snorkeling with his new Bellam wife.”

“That would be my cousin Molly.” When McVey shifted his attention from the squabbling men to arch a brow in Amara’s direction, she let her eyes sparkle. “It gets complicated very quickly if you start talking relatives around here. Think of me and Nana as the link between two feuding families.” Without missing a beat, she offered a placid, “Say missing link, Jake, and you’ll have hemorrhoids by the end of your shift.”

She felt the deputy’s glare before he pushed his way to McVey’s other side.

A man with a pockmarked face and no neck shouted over Amara’s head, “Was a Blume who started it, McVey. Called our beer donkey—er, well, anyway, he accused Yolanda of cutting it.”

Amara poked McVey’s hip. “Does Yolanda Bellam manage this bar?”

“More or less.... Yeah, Frank, I heard you.... From your expression, I’d speculate you and Yolanda aren’t BFFs.”

“Put it this way, if I’d known she was here, I’d have taken my chances with the shooter up at Nana’s.”

On cue, a high female voice sliced through the predominately male grumbles. “Amara? My God, is it really you?”

Her cousin had a little-girl drawl, glossy pink lips and red-blond curls clipped back at the sides to show off her angelic face.

Yeah, right, angelic, Amara thought, tipping her lips into a smile as a pair of wide blue eyes joined the mix. “Hey, Yolanda. It’s been— Well, years.”

Her cousin pushed a man out of her path, slung the dish towel she carried over her shoulder and spread her arms in welcome.

“Cousin Ammie’s back. And isn’t she a living doll? She brought me the best present ever.” Those welcoming arms knocked Amara aside and wrapped themselves tightly around McVey’s neck. “How’s the handsomest lawman on the East Coast tonight?” Her eyes and mouth grew suddenly tragic. “You’ll make them pay, won’t you, McVey? I tried, but I couldn’t get any such promise out of your mean-mouthed deputy.”

Amara’s opinion of Jake shot up ten full points. She wasn’t so sure about McVey.

To his credit, however, he removed her clinging arms, sent Amara a humorous look and headed for the pool tables, where three men with pierced body parts were holding their cues like baseball bats.

Yolanda pouted after him...until someone stepped on her foot and then the pout became a snarl. “You still nipping chins and lifting butts?”

Unruffled, Amara smiled. “Why? Are you looking for a freebie?”

“I wouldn’t come to you if I was.”

“Only because we apply the word in different ways.”

Yolanda’s fists balled. “I could blacken both your eyes, you know.”

“I’d say the same, except you’ve already done it yourself.”

“I— Damn!” Wiping a finger under her lower lashes, Yolanda scowled. “Some dumb Blume threw a beer and got me square in the face.” She gave her other eye a wipe. “Talk to me, Amara. Why have you come here after fifteen years of not here?”

“I wanted to see Nana.”

“In that case, Portland’s an hour’s drive south and have a nice flight. Nana’s in St. Croix. Or maybe it’s the Cayman Islands. Anyway, you’ll find her if you look hard enough.” With the speed of a striking snake, she grabbed Amara’s trench coat and yanked her forward to hiss, “He’s mine. You got that?”

Amara pried her hand away. “I got it when you turned into a barnacle a minute ago.”

Her cousin’s eyes flashed. “I can make your life hell.”

“You can try.” And, she admitted silently, might have succeeded if Jimmy Sparks hadn’t beaten her to it. “In an effort to keep the peace, Yolanda, if McVey says he’s yours, he’s yours. And welcome to you.”

A finger jabbed her shoulder. “You can’t stay at Nana’s house while you’re here.”

“Yep, figured that one out, too.”

“Can’t stay with me and Larry, either.”

“Your brother, Larry, the nighttime nudist? Uh, no.”

The overhead lights surged and faded and caused an icy finger to slide along Amara’s spine.

“Stupid wind.” But Yolanda observed her more keenly now. “A little raven told me you had some heavy court action going on down south. Saw someone die who wasn’t on your operating table when it happened.”

She didn’t need this, Amara thought, but rather than snap at her cousin, she shrugged it off. “I saw. I testified. It’s done.” When the lights faded again, she added a quick, “Uh, how’s Uncle Lazarus?”

Yolanda sniffed. “Still pays me next to nothing to manage this rude branch of hell, but he’s a Blume, so what do you expect?” Her lips quirked. “Word is the man you testified against is the mean and powerful head of a family that’s into all sorts of nasty things. Extortion, weapons, drugs—murder.”

“My, what big ears you have, Grandma.” His pool-player problems apparently dealt with, McVey surprised Amara by dropping an arm over her shoulders. “Some analogies go on forever, don’t they, Red?” Before she could answer, he made a head motion at the crowd. “I’m seeing a lot of unfamiliar faces, Yolanda. They drifting in for the Night of the Raven Festival already?”

Amara knew her cheeks went pale. She glanced at a nonexistent watch on her wrist, then at the walls for a calendar. “Is it—? What’s today? The date,” she clarified, still searching.

“May 10,” McVey supplied. “Why?”

“What? Oh, nothing. I forgot...an appointment.”

But damn, damn, how on earth had she forgotten about the scores of strangers who drove, bussed, cycled and hitchhiked to Raven’s Hollow to take part in the three-day celebration known as the Night of the Raven?

The Night festival was the Hollow’s once-a-year answer to the Cove’s once-every-three-years Ravenspell. Although the story at the root of the events was the same, it was told from two very different perspectives. Over the years both events—the Cove’s in the fall and the Hollow’s in the spring—had become a magnet for every curse-loving fanatic in and out of the state.

This was, Amara realized, the worst possible time for her to be in either town.

Her smile nothing short of malicious, Yolanda drew a raven’s head in the residue of a spilled beer. “Bet the Cayman Islands are looking better and better about now, huh, Amara? Say the word and I’ll get right on my little computer and book you a flight out of Portland.”

When a shrill whistle cut through the crowd noise, she banged her fist on the bar. “I’m not a dog, Jake Blume. What do you want?”

He wagged the receiver of a corded wall phone. “Boss man’s on the line and he’s in a crappy mood.”

“I hate that man,” Yolanda breathed. “Both men. Remember the spiders, Amara.” With a lethal look for her cousin, she snapped the dish towel from her shoulder and vanished into a sea of bodies.