Chapter 1

It was seven in the morning and the summer sun was already high in the air radiating an excruciating heat. It looked like Shadow's Keep, South Carolina was in store for another record breaking June.

Beckett Kane stood on the front porch of the two bedroom cabin breaking a sweat by merely drinking his morning coffee. He tapped his fingers on the side of his favorite mug and watched as the world woke for the day.

Two blue birds flapped lazily in the little fountain that sat at the edge of the property and the plants in the garden drooped, begging for water. He knew he'd soon have to remove himself from his spot on the porch and tend to the little plot.

The small cabin set off in the trees on the outskirts of town. It faced a dirt road, barely wide enough for one car, and was well hidden if you didn't know where to look.

He loved the land, the house, the town, all of it. How couldn't he? It had been home since he was four years old when his mother had dropped him at the front door for Agatha Kane to raise. His grandmother, what a saint she was, treated Beck more like her own child than a grandson. She scolded him when he acted out, which was as often as not, and praised him in all of his accomplishments. She'd taken on a role that she didn't have to and she did it to the very best of her ability.

Finishing off the last of his coffee and placing the mug on the wooden railing, Beck wandered out into the yard. He picked up a few large sticks and tossed them toward the edge of the trees as he made his way to the cramped herb patch. Bypassing the water hose, he waved his hand and a light shower began to fall.

"Beckett Wiley Kane," the voice that always stopped him dead in his tracks snapped from the front door, "what is the rule about magic in this house?"

"Magic is only used to help others and give thanks," he grumbled, stopping the rain with a flick of his wrist, "but I honestly thought that only applied when you were looking."

He snatched up the water hose and shot her an innocent smile as he turned it on. She wasn't buying it. Agatha marched to the corner of the creaky, paint chipped porch and propped a hip against the railing so she could keep her eye on him.

She kept close watch as he walked around the garden to make sure every plant received their fair share to drink. The corners of her lips twitched proudly as she realized he was happily whistling Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon while he worked.

He was so much like his father. Tall, dark hair, and those beautiful gold eyes. But what mattered to her most was his heart. Sure, he was a smartass and a pest but he was also kind hearted. He was more than old enough that he didn't have to continue living with her but he did anyway, so she wouldn't be alone. Yes, he was like his father, kind and always willing to sacrifice for the good of others.

Agatha jumped back as water shot her square in the chest. She glared at him, quickly regretting all the nice thoughts she'd just had about him, "Boy, if I hadn't been there myself, I would swear you had been raised by demons."

"Sorry, Grams, the hose slipped."

She clicked her tongue and crossed her arms over her chest. Beck climbed over the side of the porch and wrapped her in a hug. Towering over her, he looked down and stuck his bottom lip out. His grandmother laughed and returned his hug to show all was forgiven.

"I need you to come into the restaurant today to help Alastair in the kitchen," Agatha broke the embrace, placing her hand on his cheek and rubbing her thumb over the scar there. "Dara called out so I have to help Willow wait tables."

"It's my day off," he stated, sitting down in the rickety rocking chair next to the door, "I'm spending the day right here."

"You're coming to work," she gave him a stern look.

"Naw," he shook his head and propped his feet on the porch's railing, "I think I'm going to stay right here and enjoy my first day off in the last twelve days."

Agatha glared at him; a look in her eyes daring him to argue with her again.

Defeated, Beck stood from the chair and started inside, knowing there was no use fighting with the old broad. She was just going to get dig her heels in anyway. It was easier to just keep the peace.

He was just stepping over the threshold when he heard the sound of gravel crunching underneath tires. He turned to see the blue of Jeff Dobson's little pickup in the distance and he took off in a sprint to try to beat him to the end of the driveway. The truck slowed as it passed and a newspaper soared out the window landing with a splash in the fountain; the birds evacuated the pool in a ruffle of feathers.

Beck cursed when he heard Jeff whoop as he sped on by, "Score!"

This little game had been going on for a few months now and Beck was growing rather annoyed with having a wet paper every morning.

"Don't look, Grams," He hollered and lifted the paper in front of his face. Taking a deep breath, he blew. He felt the power of air fill his lungs as the gazette dried completely.

Satisfied with his work, Beck tucked the newspaper under his arm and strolled back to the house. He slipped past his grandmother through the front door then took four steps backward to grab his mug from the porch. He grinned at her disapproving stare as he made his way into the kitchen.

He dropped the paper on the table then headed down the hall for a shower. Once, he'd finished and dressed for a day of cooking, he sat down at the dining room table where Agatha had prepared him a plate of fried eggs and bacon. He scarfed his food while flipping through the sports section, kissed his grandmother, who was braiding her long, gray hair, on the cheek then headed out the door.

Beck rammed his feet into his already tied shoes sitting on the front porch and hopped into his old Ford Bronco parked on the lawn. He listened to a morning talk show on the radio through the static that seemed to be on every station and drove into town.

Pulling into the parking lot of Kane's Pub and Grub, Beck shook his head and chuckled. Willow O'Connell was trying to coax one of the stray cats that hung around the restaurant down from it's roost on the blue awning over the door. Her wild mass of red curls bounced as she jumped to hit the side of the shade, falling short.

"You can't even get bowls down from the lowest shelf in the kitchen," He called to her as he climbed out of his vehicle, "what makes you think you can touch something that's eight feet in the air?"

She scowled at him then went back to the cat, holding her hand out and calling out in a high pitch, "Here kitty, kitty."

Beck jogged to the front of the old brick building and pulled Willow aside by her elbow. He grabbed the metal bar just below the blue fabric and used it to pull himself onto the narrow ledge that ran around the building. Once balanced, he leaned forward grasping the scared animal by the scruff of it's neck and pulling it into his arms. He jumped from where he was perched and landed gracefully on the sidewalk.

"My hero," Swooning dramatically, she pulled the kitten toward her, it's claws clinging to the fabric of Beck's t-shirt. "Aren't you supposed to be off today?"

"You'll never guess who called out."

"Dara? Again?" Willow scrunched up her face in disgust, "I don't see how she still has a job. Where's Agatha?"

"She's on her way," He pulled his key from the pocket of his jeans and unlocked the front door, "Don't bring that cat in here."

Ignoring his demand, Willow walked in behind him and to the kitchen. She grabbed a saucer from a group of dishes that had been left drying overnight and pulled a jug of milk from the cooler. She poured a little splash into the bowl and set it down with the cat. She pointed two fingers at her eyes and another toward Beck, daring him to try anything, then pushed through the door to the dining room.

With a roll of his eyes, he went to work turning on fryers and pulling supplies out to begin morning prep. He worked on peeling and chopping potatoes as he watched the little fur ball lap up it's treat. As soon as the kitten finished, he planned to drop it out the backdoor where it's family was surely scrounging through the garbage. He was certain allowing it to be in the kitchen this long was violating some kind of health code and didn't need his grandmother riding him if the pub got shut down.

Prepping the sausage for their signature Jambalaya, he tossed pieces of meat over his shoulder toward the cat to keep it occupied. He sat a pan on the stovetop and poured the sausage in. The curious black feline began to wind between his feet, purring out it's plead for more food. Beck picked the animal up and quietly dropped it out the back door after glancing over his shoulder to make sure Willow wasn't around. The kitten was greeted by the other strays as they sniffed at it in jealousy.

He turned to resume his work and jumped back, startled to see his grandmother standing behind him with her hands on her hips.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Longer than you'd like," she said, "Why did you have a cat in my kitchen?"

"I told him not to," Willow giggled as she peered through the swinging door, "You know he never listens."

"I'm sorry, Grams," He raised his eyebrows in the direction of his redheaded friend, letting her know that he was more than willing to take blame for her, "It was stuck on the awning and it looked hungry. It wasn't in here long."

"You're a sweet boy," Agatha's eyes softened and a smile touched her lips, "Get back to work. No more animals in the kitchen."

Beck winked at Willow.

She had been his best friend since kindergarten when she'd stolen his yellow crayon and told him to color his sun purple because conforming to what society saw as normal was how ''the man" won. Since that day, they'd been close friends and never allowed to sit next to each other in any of their classes. But one thing was for sure, he'd always have her back.

He smiled as she stuck her tongue out at him then he returned to preparing everything that would be needed for the day's menu. He measured rice and set it on to boil before moving over to begin mixing the ingredients for Agatha's famous caramel apple pie.

He'd just begun setting the rolled out crust into a pan when a large, dark hand came down on his shoulder. He turned around and gave Alastair Orion a quick grin as the towering man moved through the kitchen to his usual post at the fryers.

"Ah, my friend, your rice will never swell like that," Alastair spoke slowly in what was left of his Tanzanian accent.

Beck turned to look just as Alastair flicked his fingers in the direction of the stove, causing a flame to come to life under the pot.

"Don't let Grams catch you doing that in here."

"It's fine," He smiled, "Agatha believes magic is best used if it helps others and I was clearly helping you."

Laughing, Beck turned his attention back to the pies, "I'm not sure she'd see it that way. Anyway, it's my day off. I'm allowed a few mistakes."

"Hopefully you don't have many more."

They fell into sync beside each other as the lunch orders began to pour in. The afternoon went by in a whirlwind as the kitchen door swung open and closed each time Willow or Agatha brought in new meal requests and picked up those that were already prepared.

Once the rush had died down, Beck hopped onto one of the work tables and sat there with his head leaned back against the wall. Alastair began cleaning his area and prepping materials that would be needed for dinner. Willow slipped in and leaned back against the metal surface between Beck's knees, counting her tips. She whistled low and grinned happily at her earnings then stuffed the wad of cash into her apron pocket.

Beck grabbed her by a curl, twisting it around his finger, and pulled, causing her to tilt her head back until she was looking up at him, "Good day?"

"Killer," she beamed, "but you're not going to be happy."

"Why? You're not tipping your cooks today?"

"Don't be silly. We're all working doubles so you'll get your share by the end of the night."

"It's my day off. I'm not working a double," Beck released the red spiral.

"Agatha just left and said to tell you to run the bar then close up tonight. Adam will be here to help Al in the kitchen." Willow smirked as she made her way to the door and back to the dining room. "You're stuck with us."

Beck followed behind her, "Where did she go?"

"I'm just the messenger."

"She didn't say anything?"

"She was speaking to Gwendolyn then said she needed to leave," Willow grabbed a broom and dust pan from behind the bar, "Now, you can help me clean up the dining room or you can stand there and sulk. Either way, you're here for the rest of the night."

He leaned back against the bar. Putting his elbows on the surface, he knocked a glass that sat on the edge to the floor and gazed out the large window into the parking lot. Willow shot him a dirty look.

"Did you just break that glass on purpose?"

His eyes dropped to the floor and he stared at the pile of scattered shards, "It made me feel better".

"Grow up," Willow shoved the broom into his hands.

Beck swept the glass with a scowl on his face. He glanced back toward the window and a smile replaced his frown as rain began to pour onto the cracked asphalt. He knew when the storms hit, business slowed down, and as long as it kept up the rest of his evening would be smooth sailing.

Author's Note

Lots of work still needed but I've vowed to walk away from it for awhile and move forward