Chapter 2: The Walk Home

She shut the door firmly behind herself, twisting her key into the finicky lock on the ancient building. She stared up at the glass-fronted café, feeling a sense of pride as she did so. She had done this by herself, working hard at the diner to raise enough money for the cart and eventually the store.

Night had fallen completely now, the sun well below the horizon. She could feel the moon creeping up behind her, taking its rightful place in the night sky. The autumn breeze stirred leaves around her feet as she began the long walk home. His scent was still here.

Instead of fighting the scent, she inhaled deeply, letting the warm amber aroma swirl inside her. She had avoided the Brochades so far. They rarely came into town, preferring to shop in the bigger cities outside of the small town. Garin was the first she had actually come into contact with. She hadn't experienced this before. Her grandmother had warned her about their scent.

"You'll know what they are when you smell them. They smell warm, almost inviting. Don't let it fool you. They will kill you as soon as you turn your back." Her grandmother's voice floated through her mind as she followed the sidewalk through town, nearing the end of the shopping district. Soon she would pass through the Shadewood Estates, a horrible, gated community that popped up a few years ago full of McMansions.

Unfortunately, these wealthy people that moved in boosted the economy of their town but also raised the housing costs. Thankfully, her house on the edge of the woods was built by her great-great-grandparents and would eventually be passed on to her. She picked up her pace, hoping to dash by the ridiculous homes.

His scent was still strong here. She felt as if she were following his ghost, his smell haunting her. She trailed in its wake, feeling as if she could see it dancing on the wind. The large iron-wrought gate of the Estates loomed in front of her. Startled, she stopped before she ran headlong into it. She had been so focused on following the trail that she didn't notice that she had nearly bludgeoned herself.

It extended beyond the gates. Her eyes roamed up the newly paved road to the largest house on the hill. A modern monstrosity that towered over the town. She could make out a large extravagant B carved into a decorative boulder. So that is where they lived. She would have to find a new way home.

She took a wide berth from the edge of their community and froze. The hairs on the back of her neck stood and she could nearly feel someone's eyes burning into her. She turned sharply, a growl in the back of her throat. Nothing moved. Still, she knew someone was there. A faint woodsy scent struck her, and she knew she was being followed.

Not wanting to break the treaty, she hurried away, wondering if it was that new stranger in town, stalking her.

The wind began to pick up and she tucked herself deeper into her leather jacket, wishing she had her fur instead. She followed the path home more by memory than sight. Her family's house set at the very edge of the forest, it's back gate butted up against the thick pine trees.

A warm glow was burning cozily from the windows as she trotted up the dirt road to her house. She stopped and turned to look at the town. She could vaguely make out the Brochade home, pressed against the cloudless night sky. Realizing that with binoculars they could probably see her home gave her the creeps. A shudder wracked her body thinking about them watching her and her family. Quickening her pace, she reached the front porch of her house.

The house always gave her a sense of comfort and security. It was a large, whitewashed cape cod with black shutters. The front door was a faded red. Willow loved this house. She had lived in it since she could remember although she knows that she wasn't born here. Her grandmother never really told her the story of her birth but tonight was not the night to delve into that.

She pushed open the door and was comforted by the smells of her home: fire smoke, baking bread, and a spicy incense that her grandmother insisted on burning day and night. She dropped her bag by the door and pulled off her boots.

"Willow?" her grandmother's voice carried from the kitchen.

"Yes, Gramme. It's me," she padded towards the kitchen, running her hand along the soft yellow walls. Her grandmother was sitting at the kitchen island, flipping through a magazine. Her grandfather had updated the kitchen before he passed a few years ago, and it looked as if it were from a magazine.

Granite countertops and white cabinets shone brightly from the industrial lighting hanging from the wooden beams crossing overhead. It was incredible and since his passing, her grandmother spent most of her time here.

Willow walked to her grandmother and placed a kiss on the back of her head. Her hair had begun to lighten over the past few years, fading from her a deep auburn to a light copper, her roots a striking white. It hadn't thinned at all. Her braid was still as thick as Willow's.

"How was work, dear?" she asked as Willow put the kettle on the stove. Willow turned and leaned against the counter.

"I met a Brochade," she said quietly. Her grandmother's hand stilled, and she looked up, her amber eyes looking worried.

"How?"

"He came into the café. I think…I think he knew what I am. He was rude." Her grandmother tapped her lip with the tip of her finger, looking pensive.

"You've never seen him before?" Willow shook her head.

"No. I've seen Silas and Miles around but never…him."

"Must be the middle one, Garin." She sniffed and pushed her magazine away.

"Yep, I overhead him talking to Mr. Schwartz," Willow said, pouring the steaming water over the tea leaves in her cup. The fragrant smell of crushed rose hips soothed her.

"He didn't say anything to you?" She looked at Willow over her cat eyeglasses. Willow shook her head sharply, once.

"No, he took one look at me and looked like…well like he wanted to kill me,"

"It was probably your eyes…and scent,"

"Scent?" Willow asked and sniffed her shirt. Her grandmother chuckled.

"You know how we identify them by their scents?" Willow nodded. "It's the same for them. Hopefully, he won't be sticking around too long. We don't need another one here,"

"He said he will be here until the festival," Willow replied, sipping on her scalding tea.

"Only a few weeks then," she said and pulled off her glasses, rubbing her eyes.

"Hopefully." Willow stared down into her empty cup.

"What aren't you telling me?" her grandmother eyed her suspiciously.

"Well, before he shot daggers at me with his eyes, I thought I felt…something." She refused to meet her eyes, her cheeks flushing.

"You must stay away from him. I don't care how handsome he is or whatever it is you think you felt, Willow. Their family has hunted us for years. Years. They are the reason your mother is no longer with us," her voice rose.

"I know. I know." Willow murmured. "I'm not proud of it. It was just nice to see someone attractive in town."

"Pssh," her grandmother said, waving her hand. "You're already intended." She stood with a groan, her hand pushing into her lower back. "I'm going to bed. Stay away from that boy. Only death comes from mixing with the Red Hoods," She pressed her leathery lips to Willow's cheek and walked up the stairs to her room.

With a sigh, Willow put her cup into the sink and stared at her reflection in the window. Her bright yellow eyes shone back.