Spring Rain (The Witchling #4)(17)

He shifted his weight between his feet, not sure he was ready to take responsibility for some stranger’s life like this. He wanted to help, not adopt someone. But he gave his information, scribbled down the address and hung up.

His eyes strayed to the history book once more. He had some time before needing to be in Las Vegas, so he sat down and skimmed through a couple more chapters. The material was mostly pretty dry, reading like a school manual. The chapters were labeled according to names he didn’t recognize – sources of the oral histories – and he looked through the printed pages for mention of Tranin or Bartholomew. At the rate he was going, it would take a week or two to get through the book. An hour passed, and he rose finally, stomach growling.

Trotting to the main floor of the cabin, he made his way towards the origin of the wonderful scents filling the house. The doors to his father’s office and the family room were closed. He hadn’t yet seen his parents but knew they were going to be occupied with the equinox crowd.

“Grandpa Louis!” he exclaimed as he entered the kitchen and wrapped the small, dark-skinned man with curly white hair in a tight hug. He had spent the entire previous day at school with Amber and had yet to eat a home cooked meal or talk to his family.

“My lumberjack,” his grandfather said affectionately.

Beck smiled as he released him. “It’s gone.” He motioned to his cheeks. Grandpa Louis had been the only one in the house to see his full beard.

“Breakfast?”

Beck considered, eyes on the heated pans in the buffet line for visitors. “I’ll have whatever’s ready.”

“And cookies.” Grandpa Louis went to the far counter to retrieve a plate of five, each one a different flavor.

“I love you!” Beck said and took them. “Thanks for sending me food in the forest.”

“Someone has to keep you all fed.” Grandpa Louis went back to monitoring the pots on the stove and contents of the oven, while Beck took a seat at the breakfast table.

He looked around, loving everything from his mother’s rustic chic décor to the plates of food. He hadn’t known how much he missed everything until he was back in the middle again.

“Are you back from the wilderness for good?” Grandpa Louis asked.

Beck focused on the cookie he was breaking in half. “I don’t know.” He was still raw and being in the schoolhouse where Morgan’s memories were more intense yesterday didn’t help take his mind off anything. He hadn’t wanted to return until he had a chance to heal.

But it was looking like he would never heal from losing her, and it disturbed him to think he’d spend his life in pain.

“Did you notice I quoted Nacho Libre? The wilderness?”

Beck looked up, startled. His normal stoic grandfather rarely cracked jokes. “No, but I do now,” he said with a laugh. “Run out of serious British shows or World War Two movies to watch?”

“I can enjoy a comedy from time to time.” His grandfather smiled warmly. “Decker had a fight with Summer, short circuited like he and your mother do when they’re upset, and melted my favorite movies. I had to watch what you boys watch for a week until he’d replaced everything.”

Beck grinned, not surprised to hear about Decker’s meltdown. The dynamics of his family were often strained, given he and Decker sat on opposite sides of the good-evil fence, but they were always united when it came to their calm, wise grandfather.

Despite his noncommittal response about breakfast, he soon had a full plate of food in front of him. Beck wolfed it down, surprised by how hungry he was and how wonderful real food tasted after three months.

“Where’s Decker today?” he asked when he’d finished.

“Went to fetch Summer and take a day trip somewhere.” Grandpa Louis shrugged. “Said he’d be back for dinner.”

“Big dinner for the equinox?”

“Huge. Dinners for the next week are being hosted at the club.”

The club overlooking the lake where Morgan died was the last place Beck wanted to go. Ever. His temporary cheerfulness faded, and he stood. “I’m going on a day trip, too. Probably won’t be at dinner, though,” he admitted.

“I’ll leave you a plate in your room.”

“Thanks, Grandpa. Can I get cookies to go?”

“I assumed you’d be leaving early.” Grandpa Louis held out a plate with a baggie of cookies on it.

Beck smiled. He snagged the remaining cookies from his plate and walked down the hallway. Long before he reached the front door, he had summoned his magick. White fog billowed out around him, and he directed it to take him where the call had originated from.

Within a moment, the clouds had swept him away.

They cleared at the side of a large, blocky hospital in the grassy area under a tree. The spring in Nevada was much warmer than that of northern Idaho, and he immediately regretted wearing a sweater. With a quick glance around, Beck pocketed his cookies and strode into the emergency room to the nearest nurse’s station.

The staff paged Doctor Bridges over the overhead speakers, and Beck waited.

Five minutes later, a petite, slender woman with dark hair appeared. “Beck Turner?” she asked and held out her hand.

“Yep. Nice to meet you, Doctor Bridges.” Beck shook.

“You look familiar.”