I could rinse the conditioner out of my hair. “Crap.”
Male voices drifted into the room as I stepped out of the shower. Aaron could have a conversation with anyone, including a Neanderthal. I combed out the tangles and slid into a pair of jeans. He’d seen me look worse, but I still wished I had more prep time. I wiped the steam off the mirror for one last check. In the reflection, a woman stood behind me . . . my birth mother.
How had I not noticed the resemblance? We shared the same hair and eye colors, and the shape of our faces was similar, though our builds couldn’t have been more different. I reached forward and touched the spirit woman. I’d never tried. Even as a child I’d assumed my hand would pass through her. Her skin was solid beneath my fingers.
“You’re my mother?”
“Yes.” Atsila brushed my hair from my face.
“I have so many questions.”
“Tessa? Who are you talking to? Is someone in there with you?” Bryson banged on the bedroom door.
“I’m on the phone.” I turned and Atsila vanished. “Dammit. Seriously, would a little privacy kill you?”
I went into the kitchen, and Aaron cleared his throat. “Hi, Aaron, sorry to keep you waiting. I had to shower. I smelled like a bonfire.”
Bryson laughed and went back into the living room, shaking his head.
“You met my cousin?” I tried to make light of the situation, but I was thinking of ways to cook hawk stew.
Aaron folded his arms across his chest. His eyes moved to the phone on the table.
I leaned in to whisper, “I was giving myself a pep talk. I do that sometimes when I’m nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?” He grinned. “I’m kidding. I’m nervous, too. You look good for someone who’s been shot twice.”
I couldn’t exactly tell Aaron that my wounds had healed when I shifted into a firebird. I shrugged. “Gram Mae is a miracle worker.”
Aaron gave me a dubious look.
I debated sitting at the kitchen table. Mae would approve, but it left Bryson within earshot. I motioned for him to follow me into my bedroom, making sure to limp and grimace every so often. Aaron closed the door behind him. If Bryson needed to pee, he’d have to go outside.
“This isn’t what it looks like. It’s a small house, and with him here, there will be no privacy.”
“As long as you know I don’t put out on the first date.”
I sat on the bed. “My Gram Mae would pitch a fit if she knew I had you in here with the door closed.”
“She didn’t mind me being in here when you were shot.” Aaron ran his hand over his chin. “Where did the nickname ‘Gram Mae’ come from? I’m betting there’s a story behind it.”
“Great-Grandmother Mae was a mouthful when I was little.” I grinned at his socked feet.
“We were never allowed to wear shoes in the house. Old habits.” He sat beside me.
“Where did you grow up?”
“Montreat, North Carolina. Took me forever to lose the accent.”
“I’ve been there. My family is Cherokee. We spent a lot of time in the mountains when I was a kid.” I frowned at the bathroom door, wondering when I’d have the chance to talk to my mother. “Oh, I’m rude. Do you want something to drink? We have beer, water, or tea.”
“Sure. Mae filled me to the gills with sweet tea the other day. How about a beer?”
I stood and limped to the kitchen. Before I returned to Aaron, I looked in on Bryson. “There’s beer in the fridge and some leftovers. Help yourself.”
He nodded without taking his eyes off the television.
I snatched a beer from the fridge and returned to my bedroom. “How long have you lived in Florida?”
“I went to UCF right out of high school, been here ever since.” He took the beer and smiled. “You don’t drink beer?”
“Naw, tastes like it’s been through someone once already.”
He nearly spit beer on the quilt. “Never thought about it like that. How about you? I assume you were born in Florida?”
“My great-grandmother was born in the
Male voices drifted into the room as I stepped out of the shower. Aaron could have a conversation with anyone, including a Neanderthal. I combed out the tangles and slid into a pair of jeans. He’d seen me look worse, but I still wished I had more prep time. I wiped the steam off the mirror for one last check. In the reflection, a woman stood behind me . . . my birth mother.
How had I not noticed the resemblance? We shared the same hair and eye colors, and the shape of our faces was similar, though our builds couldn’t have been more different. I reached forward and touched the spirit woman. I’d never tried. Even as a child I’d assumed my hand would pass through her. Her skin was solid beneath my fingers.
“You’re my mother?”
“Yes.” Atsila brushed my hair from my face.
“I have so many questions.”
“Tessa? Who are you talking to? Is someone in there with you?” Bryson banged on the bedroom door.
“I’m on the phone.” I turned and Atsila vanished. “Dammit. Seriously, would a little privacy kill you?”
I went into the kitchen, and Aaron cleared his throat. “Hi, Aaron, sorry to keep you waiting. I had to shower. I smelled like a bonfire.”
Bryson laughed and went back into the living room, shaking his head.
“You met my cousin?” I tried to make light of the situation, but I was thinking of ways to cook hawk stew.
Aaron folded his arms across his chest. His eyes moved to the phone on the table.
I leaned in to whisper, “I was giving myself a pep talk. I do that sometimes when I’m nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?” He grinned. “I’m kidding. I’m nervous, too. You look good for someone who’s been shot twice.”
I couldn’t exactly tell Aaron that my wounds had healed when I shifted into a firebird. I shrugged. “Gram Mae is a miracle worker.”
Aaron gave me a dubious look.
I debated sitting at the kitchen table. Mae would approve, but it left Bryson within earshot. I motioned for him to follow me into my bedroom, making sure to limp and grimace every so often. Aaron closed the door behind him. If Bryson needed to pee, he’d have to go outside.
“This isn’t what it looks like. It’s a small house, and with him here, there will be no privacy.”
“As long as you know I don’t put out on the first date.”
I sat on the bed. “My Gram Mae would pitch a fit if she knew I had you in here with the door closed.”
“She didn’t mind me being in here when you were shot.” Aaron ran his hand over his chin. “Where did the nickname ‘Gram Mae’ come from? I’m betting there’s a story behind it.”
“Great-Grandmother Mae was a mouthful when I was little.” I grinned at his socked feet.
“We were never allowed to wear shoes in the house. Old habits.” He sat beside me.
“Where did you grow up?”
“Montreat, North Carolina. Took me forever to lose the accent.”
“I’ve been there. My family is Cherokee. We spent a lot of time in the mountains when I was a kid.” I frowned at the bathroom door, wondering when I’d have the chance to talk to my mother. “Oh, I’m rude. Do you want something to drink? We have beer, water, or tea.”
“Sure. Mae filled me to the gills with sweet tea the other day. How about a beer?”
I stood and limped to the kitchen. Before I returned to Aaron, I looked in on Bryson. “There’s beer in the fridge and some leftovers. Help yourself.”
He nodded without taking his eyes off the television.
I snatched a beer from the fridge and returned to my bedroom. “How long have you lived in Florida?”
“I went to UCF right out of high school, been here ever since.” He took the beer and smiled. “You don’t drink beer?”
“Naw, tastes like it’s been through someone once already.”
He nearly spit beer on the quilt. “Never thought about it like that. How about you? I assume you were born in Florida?”
“My great-grandmother was born in the
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