“Okay open them,” he bayed.
Zoe’s face lit up with wonder. She wondered over and grabbed one of the ropes of the swing he’d made her hung from. Slats of old barn wood buffed and shined with a honey-colored stain.
“You made this for me?” she asked.
He smirked his answer. Zoe closed the distance between them with a kiss. Her every question laid to rest by the gesture. She was in love. The knowledge hit her with a sonic boom she couldn’t deny. This boy was a thrill a minute.
“There’s something about you I just can’t shake,” Zoe admitted.
The compliment left him fighting a losing battle against an awkward smile. He pulled away to the swing, their hands made a circuit. He beckoned her with a tilt of his chin. She sat down on his lap draping her arm around the back of his shoulder. She was glad he couldn’t see her face.
This was her one good thing. In tumultuous chaos at her perimeters, he was her stability. And not just that he offered that otherworldly romance we’ve all been craving since we turned twelve.
You weren’t supposed to get both. Life is a one or the other kind of contract. Zoe possessed an old soul. She saw the strings that tied this world together. And at the same time, Johnny admired her innocence. Her tenacity to hope.
And that’s where they stood in the other’s embrace and profoundly disconnected. Zoe was lost in the spin of so many dangerous plates. And she still couldn’t help asking how did I get here?
The sky swung back and forth. Enormous and sparkling the trees were nothing more than shadow over the hazy hue. The moon got a little bigger every night. It loomed down on her from deep space. Zoe couldn’t help but feel small under such circumstances. He laced her fingers between his, happy.
Johnny had never known bliss like this. He dove headfirst, eager to experience it all. That’s what your first love is all about. The sweet sunflower scent and velvety petals of such a lovely bloom. He gazed down at her from an uncomfortable vantage, but his smile never wavered.
36
Chapter
Izobel glared at the laptop sitting in front of her. She reached over and adjusted her teacup. She could control that. She’d poked around the archives once or twice looking for interesting ways of going about a charm. It was helpful then. Like Googling a recipe.
With the explosion of technology over the past century witches decided to use it rather than cut off options. It started with a few tomes copied for posterity. The archives were the most ambitious project to date. A website dedicated to preserving and sharing spells and charms from even the most remote parts of the world.
It opened up the studies of the old ways to everyone. She’d read more than a few articles about the realities of creating a charm. Tips and tricks on casting and what foci to multiply its effects. They had to have something.
People think magic will solve your problems big and small. Hell, even Izobel jumped right to it. She was sure there was a way to manipulate charms to fix a problem that had cost more lives over the span of history than she could count. I mean this problem developed a cultural bias, what made her think she could wipe all that away with a simple spell?
The reality of that promise was just a little more daunting than she gave it credit for. Izobel would figure this out. She had to. The look on Zoe’s face made it imperative. Zoe tried to float above it. To accept and swallow down what she could. She was a victim but it didn’t hold her back. At least… until the day before yesterday when she came back from the clan’s square.
White as a ghost, twice as haunted, and worse, Izobel had no way to comfort her. She had no words of wisdom to make this a teaching experience. She had nothing to impart that would help her baby sister swim in this ocean of gliding monsters. Hence research.
Izobel just didn’t know where to start.
She leaned forward with hesitating fingers, a face that read please-let-this-work and typed in a few search parameters. She picked the grimoire that came up and opened it.
Creation myths of a dying culture.
The poignancy of such a thing had her pining for the good fortune of the Lycanthrope way. There was beauty to marvel at. She could even pick out little intricacies of Abel’s mannerisms tied to the histories she read in the Kin’s folktales. The deeper she read the bloodier they got.
Oh, sure it was a modern system, efficient and settled. It also had savagery at its core belief structure. Easily underlined too.
She would protect her baby sister against anything in the sphere she landed in. Zoe would thrive here. Izobel would make sure of it.
Izobel decided to be on her guard. This place was the epitome of what she could love about the Kin. That let her relax. That let her sneer at the rest of it, but stay. After several position changes and work to keep comfortable eventually, she reached for her tea to find the cup empty.
She got up to put the kettle on. This place had a hum that crept up on you. A roar that marked its transplanted edges. Izobel could feel the defined end of this world. It was isolated here. Tranquil. She wandered into the kitchen, smooth wood cold against the bottoms of her feet.
This farmhouse yearned to be part of something and she felt it keenly. The stove lit and she set the dripping kettle on it.
Abel swept into the room and reached past her to grab a screwdriver from the top of the cabinet next to the sink. She backed up visibly giving him that extra millimeter of space he so obviously needed. She did like that spike of pine and sandalwood. She had the urge to smell his hair.
He flashed her the ghost of a smirk and she noticed his bleeding hand.
“What happened to you?” she asked reaching for it.
“The fan on the engine we thought was seized wasn’t,” he said shrugging it off.
She shook her head and grasped his wrist firmly but made sure her touch was gentle. Izobel led him a few feet to the farmhouse sink. He opened his mouth to argue. There was no point. Eventually, it would heal. It would be aggravating for twenty minutes. Nothing he couldn’t handle. Izobel lifted a rag off the counter and dabbed the blood away from a jagged cut down the side of his palm.
“I thought you healed everything?” Izobel asked.
Abel cast a glance at the cut acknowledging it for the first time. “It takes longer when you’re human. The closer you get to your beast the faster you heal,” he explained.
She smiled at the offered tidbit. We all have questions. Both Zoe and Izobel lapped at every scrap. The truth was her gratitude for sharing was more about trust. It was more of a factor than she wanted it to be. Especially days like today when she found herself missing the companionship and ease of her circle.
“Find anything yet?” Abel asked a little hungrily.
“Some lovely folktales,” she answered with a determined smile.
He made a face sucking in a sharp breath. “The kin have always held their secrets close to their chests. I didn’t think you’d find much in a sparrow library.” He looked into her lovely face for a moment. Then he made his decision. “How would you like to hear about the Kin from a Kin?”
37
Chapter
The woman was wizened, her skin a nutty brown. Her course, waist-length salt, and pepper dreadlocks were tied back and hung over one shoulder. The woman glinted with wide, flat jewels of deep color spun together with braided and rolled silver. The riot of color and jangled lines that decorated her long skirts contrasted with the milky cashmere of the shawl that hung from her shoulders and swagged over her large bosom.
She waddled toward them from the rocking chair on her wide porch holding out her arms the smile she wore was happy to see him. Izobel hopped out of the truck her gaze bouncing between colored bottles catching the sun and the enormous chimes strung between branches of the towering pines, some thirty feet high. The tink and whistle of wind chimes were a shimmer to this little world. Izobel recognized the song.
“Abel Merrick!” The old woman called.
Izobel closed the truck door just as Abel le
aned in to hug her. He pressed a theatrical kiss on the side of her hair and spun them around to face Izobel. With one arm spread wide, he introduced them.
“Magda, my dear, this is Izobel Cerise my newest friend.” He flashed her a conspiratorial wink. “Told you I could make them.”
“And a bewitching one you did,” she said thoroughly approving of the fetching creature standing before her.
Izobel smiled offering her hand. Magda brushed her fingertips over the back of her palm and sucked in a quick breath. Izobel shivered. Magda’s smile widened.
“Well, that’s a taste I ain’t had in a while. You’re no Kin that’s for sure. Cold as moonlight you are. No wonder he can’t keep his eyes off of you.”
A smile stole by Izobel before she even knew it was there. She locked eyes with Abel and he looked down at the grass making a green island beneath his feet and his alone. He regained control quickly though and his blooming smile was warm and sweet as honey.
“Well come in! Come in, I’ll get you a glass of sweet tea and we can chat.”
Izobel let Abel help her on the staircase and sat down on the tightly woven wicker couch. Abel came down next to her. Magda offered them both a tall glass. Izobel took it and was not disappointed by the flavor.
“Izobel here is working on something for Johnny. But she needs to know more about us. The way we work. Not just the feel of it. The legends.”
Izobel nodded along and decided to add, “What is their cardinal direction? How primordial, are we talking shallow and warm, or deep and temperate? How much does moonlight effect the technique?”
“What are you doing to Johnny now?” Magda asked with suspicion. “Don’t you know nothing can be done about what happened. We just got to let that stuff go. To move on.”
“This hasn’t got anything to do with your daughter, Magda.”
Izobel could taste the emotion in Abel’s voice. He even moved to put an illusionary wall between him and Izobel. An inch at most and it might as well have been a continent. Izobel couldn’t deny the sting of it. It was sudden and surprising.
It was obvious Lorelei still lived here. She permeated the people and their space. Izobel wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with this woman’s ghost. She certainly had no idea how to fight her. Or even wanting to fight her. Still, Izobel knelt to no one. Izobel couldn’t get past that look. Something happened to Lorelei that she just didn’t know the whole truth of. All she had to do was ask. She was sure Abel would tell her every haunting detail. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to know in reality. She stole a glance at Abel.
“The beast is like a voice in your head. It talks to you, seduces you. Whatever the Kin have become we started as moon drunk monsters. Some of us still hear that howl from the days of savagery and nature a little keener than our brethren. Rage and lunacy rule many a Kin. Even the best of us,” she said looking up Abel.
“Moonlight is the ocean that ebbs and flows. It is the mercury that pulls north in every one of us. Make no mistake, child, it is the key to any magic that affects the Kin,” the old woman warned her finger-pointing.
“I thought silver hurt werewolves,” Izobel blurted.
“Oh, it hurts like a bitch,” Abel agreed casting a disapproving glance at Magda. “An ache that hammers right along your bones.”
“Why do you wear so much of it then?” Izobel asked point-blank.
“Magda is sensitive,” Abel explained gently. “The wolf howls loud in her blood. Johnny’s the same way.”
Izobel licked her lips her expression entreating more. All the while making note of the silver and crystals she’d seen Johnny wear from time to time. They looked an awful lot like Magda’s. The workmanship had a familiar aesthetic.
“To keep the beast from invading our lives,” Magda said in all honesty, “I wear silver to keep the animal parts of myself at bay.”
She shared a look with Abel that said she was going to speak her truth, didn’t matter what people thought of it. Izobel admired that bravery. She leaned in to listen.
“I’m a lunatic. They tell you only the Metri can hear the howl in the blood. That’s nonsense. Anyone who tells you they haven’t heard a voice on stark nights with clear skies is lying his ass off.” She eased back into her chair with the laughter that brought on from both her and Abel.
“What’s a Lunatic,” Izobel asked.
“Silver is the tears of the moon. When her heart is fullest she is most open. And at her most vulnerable. We are those born closest to our mother the moon,” she spun.
“Some say the farthest,” Abel chided gently.
He had a real kid gloves reaction to this woman and Izobel thought it was kind of sweet. He called her on everything but let her pass unharmed.
“So you were bitten?” Izobel asked.
There was a hesitant pause where Magda and Abel had a conversation of looks. Izobel sat back suddenly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Magda was caught just a little off guard by the girl’s knowledge. The metri were not the topic of polite company.
Magda shook her head. “No. The head of our family witnessed my birth. You know once our births were celebrated. Feasts laid out, and stories told about those born in her silver auspices,” Magda mentioned.
“The signs were read, and my family made sure there was a witness to everything. Born on the lunatic hour.” She shook her head eyes closed as though it still stung all these years later. “And they doubt me today.”
38
Chapter
“Alex? Are you kidding me? You want to put all our lives on his shoulders?” Abel asked absolutely horrified at the notion.
Nora frowned. “Not his shoulders. Mine.”
They both went back to their respective corners at the end of the round. Izobel heard the last as she came into the kitchen with an empty teacup. Her wavy black hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. Her feet bare and her dress shimmering silver and blue in the incandescent light.
“Who is Alex,” she asked filling the kettle.
Nora’s mouth dropped open to tell her it was pack business. Abel gave her a look. Izobel blinked at him.
“You said all our lives. That involves me and Zoe,” Izobel reminded him.
He hated that he couldn’t argue. They took the girl in. That made her pack.
He and Nora had a battle of looks that ended in him saying, “Alex is Nora’s twin brother. He’s the heir apparent.”
Izobel blinked quizzical eyes at Nora. “I thought you ran things in all but name. Why wouldn’t it be you?”
Nora was a little blown away that someone would even consider that was the way things should be. She sighed with the answer.
“I’m folk. I can nudge, and pull strings from the shadows, but they would never make me head of the table.” Nora crossed her arms over her chest. “My brother has no ambition. Putting him in my grandfather’s place would make it easier for me to affect the table proceedings.”
Izobel chewed on the inside of her bottom lip apprising this woman and her situation. “And those proceedings are where they decide my sister’s fate?” she asked the room.
Abel looked like he wanted to argue but kept his tongue. Nora nodded.
“Yes.”
“This isn’t just about whether to put him in place?” Izobel deduced.
“He’s got his tail tucked between his legs, hiding from his responsibilities in California. There is no guarantee he will even agree to this. Alexander Malintoc Worthington,” Abel sneered as he stated his middle name, “Has never committed a selfless act in his life. Nothing you say is going to change that now.”
“Abel. I keep saying it. I am asking you to have faith in me. Not my brother.” Nora’s tone was tired of this argument.
“Faith? Are you fucking kidding me, Nora? This pack acts on your every whim. We have thrown our lot in with you. To the death, girl. Of course, I have faith in you. I’m just saying there’s got to be a better way.”
His sad eyes ripped at Nora. But good Lord, it fel
t good to hear it. Selfish as her stakes were they were just as tall and dizzying as anyone elses’.
“I have to go alone, Abel. There is no one else I can take,” Nora argued. Her shoulders slumped and she dropped her head to one side.
“Take to California?” Izobel asked for clarification.
“It’s another clan’s territory and they have forbidden entry from us. Not to mention California is bristling with leach churches,” Abel growled. “It’s too dangerous.”
Nora opened her mouth to argue. Izobel beat her to the punch.
“I’ll go.”
“What? No!” Abel cried.
“Why not?” she asked with a laugh that told him his objection was absurd.
“Because then instead of worrying about her, I’ll be stuck worrying about both of you,” he shot back.
Izobel turned to Nora. “Do you mind if I make a stop along the way?”
39
Chapter
Michael wandered through the Table house casually eating an apple. His suit pristine, dark shirt pressed to an edge. He twisted his fingers in his wild, platinum hair to sculpt it back into place. He ducked into the front office. Michael smiled at the star-struck young folk girl helping the head secretary. She wasn’t hard on the eyes with her dark hair and luscious lips. A cherry on top as it were.
Michael loved it when he got to mix business and pleasure.
“I’m waiting on a parcel of some import. I wonder if you’d put your lovely eyes on it?” he asked oozing charm.
“I can certainly check,” she offered eagerly. “Where is it coming from?”
“California,” he said.
Alex was supposed to have been dealt with already. On days like today mired in the very center of their enemy, he questioned the soft nature of their attacks. Isaak had his reasons. That didn’t do much to change his outcomes should Michael get caught.
Aching Silver (House of Wolves Book 1) Page 13
