The farmhouse had stood on Olde Mill Lane, in one form or another, for time out of mind.
Like most of Old New Henford, the farmhouse had been held by a branch of the Watson family. as tenants of the Crown, until Walter Watson, last of the Olde Mill Lane Watsons, failed to return from the Great War. Through the latter half of the 20th century, it had passed from tenant to tenant, none of whom held onto it for long.
Finally, at start of the 21st century, the late Queen, in one of her eccentric fits, declared the farmhouse and its lands the rightful inheritance of 'my noble cousin, Gwenivar Silveroak, Guardian of the Western Gate.' What precisely the Western Gate was, and whom it should be guarded against, was unclear. So was the exact nature of Gwen Silveroak's supposed kinship to the Royal family. The whole matter caused a brief stir, until the increasingly eccentric Queen announced that she was appointing her cat, Mr. Mittens, as Bishop of Brindleton, and the news cycle moved on.
Ms. Silveroak, a painter of minor celebrity, had quietly moved into the farmhouse and the folk of Old New Henford had found her to be polite, helpful, eccentric and a very good gardener. However, she continued to cause a stir, firstly by marrying another woman - and no less a woman than the famous musician Cassandra Goth - and secondly, some years later, by disappearing along with her wife and their daughter, Miranda, in a night of mysterious violence that the media would come to call The Mill Lane Incident.
Folks were almost relieved when, after Gwen reappeared, she moved to Glimmerbrook and gifted the farmhouse to a nice young couple, Jake and Beth Volkov. They, however, only lived there a few years before returning to Moonwood Mill and renting the farmhouse out to, of all things, a community of local artists.
It was, Aadi felt, rather a lot of history for one house.
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"I can smell the smoke coming from your ears," Jake Volkov, elbow deep in fixing the broken 'fridge, said.
"What?" Aadi blinked.
"Something my dad used to say," Jake said. "'You're thinking so hard I can smell the smoke coming from your ears. What's up?"
"It's a lot of history for one house," Aadi mused out loud. They were pretty sure Jake couldn't read their mind, but you never knew.
"It's an old house," Jake shrugged.
"That should do it," he added, closing the 'fridge. "Let me know if it gives you any more trouble. Anyway, yeah, it's an old house. I guess apartments in San My don't have history."
"Oh, I don't know," Aadi said with forced cheer. "My parents' apartment has some History. Word on the street is the last tenant got killed in a mob hit. So, actually kinda similar History."
"Except Cassie and Gwen weren't killed, on account of them being alive and all," Jake pointed out. "Also, the Mill Lane thing... wasn't really a mob hit."
"That's how you met Miranda, right?" Aadi said.
"Yeah, right after," Jake said. "She hid out with us."
"You know, something else I've been Thinking About," Aadi said. "The whole Mill Lane Incident has been all over the news again since... Anyway, I'm surprised we haven't had any lookie-loos coming to see the Scene of the Crime. For that matter, this is like Cassie's House. Big, bright Star like her, I'm surprised we don't get a regular parade of fans."
Jake chuckled, "You know, I asked Cassie and Gwen about that once, when Beth and I lived here... Gwen called it a Charm of Misdirection. It's like... if you don't know how to find the house, or aren't led here, you just won't see it, or you'll forget you were looking for it, or get distracted. She said it takes someone with a strong will and a lot of determination to get past it."
"Weird," Aadi breathed.
"All part of the wonderful weirdness that comes with being friends with Miranda, I guess," Jake smiled.
"Says the werewolf," Aadi pointed out.
"Yeah, well, I've been a werewolf since I was a kid," Jake chuckled. "I'm used to it."
"Puppy, I'm a gay, non-binary, karaoke singing artist with blue hair," Aadi laughed. "I Get it."
"I guess you do," Jake smiled.
"Puppy?" he added as they walked out of the kitchen.
"Sounded right," Aadi said. "You don't like it?"
"I like it," Jake laughed.
"So, you have refrigeration again," Jake told the others, who were out enjoying the warm summer night. "Oh, and thanks Jordan."
"What did I do?" Jordan asked.
"You didn't try to fix the 'fridge, boo," Aadi teased. Jordan was, without doubt, the love of Aadi's life but they could not be trusted with tools.
"I still think I could have fixed that sink," Jordan insisted.
"Thanks, Jake," Abbey smiled. "For saving us from Jordan's DIY disasters."
"Any time," Jake grinned. "Say hi to Amber for me? I'm sorry I couldn't get here before her bedtime."
"She'll pout about missing you," Abbey sighed, thinking about the inevitable tantrum when her little one learned she'd slept through a visit from 'Uncle Jake,' "but I'll tell her."
"Jake, can I talk to you about something," Aadi said softly. They'd been putting it off, they realized, but Jake was about to leave. It was now or never.
"Anything," Jake said with a confident strength that reminded Aadi that this man, who wasn't much older than they were, was a husband, a father and a leader of his community.
"Our little M&M's," Aadi started, then realized Jake might not know that nickname for their friends. "Miranda and Mariah... you know they're in trouble... on the run from Very Bad Men. I just... shouldn't I be Doing Something."
"You want to help her," Jake said. "So do I... but the best thing we can do right now is what we're doing."
"We're not Doing anything," Aadi said, struggling to keep their voice down.
"Yeah, we are," Jake said calmly. "We're keeping the home fires burning. They're going to need a safe place to go to. Probably not right away... too many people know about this place even with the Misdirection thing... but someday they're going to need a familiar place, a safe place, to come to."
"Is it... safe?" Aadi asked, realizing that Jake was right. The Bad Men knew about this place. Wouldn't they look here?
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The White She-Wolf snarled softly. There was no scent of her prey here. Instead, the air was thick with the scent of mortals and of other Wolves. The Wolf scents were familiar, the scents of rivals. They crisscrossed the fields. They came here often, a pack patrolling the boundaries of their territory... and He was here now. The pack leader. His scent filled her. The Wolf in her whined, as instinct demanded she roll over, show her throat, surrender to him. The Woman in her growled in frustrated refusal to submit.
She would not yield.
She would watch and wait. The prey would come. Then Jake Volkov would show her his throat... and she would rip it out.
