Snakeroot

by Andrea Cremer

  Satisfied that his sister was being well cared for, Ren returned to the gardens. He padded through the snow, partly looking for signs of what had transpired before he arrived but mostly lost in his own thoughts.

  Ren had learned much that night. Both Logan and Bosque asserted claims on him, but through their spellwork the Keeper and his master had imbued Ren with more power. The Haldis pack had answered his call.

  Somehow the magic at work meant the rules of Ren’s existence were changing. If he could figure out why and how, he might be able to take control of his own life. Or rather, his own afterlife.

  SARAH’S BREATH fogged the window as she watched the wolf with golden brown fur drag Ariadne’s limp body through the snow. When Sarah thought of Shay, she usually imagined the boy she knew, a toddler of three with chubby fingers and wide green eyes that matched his mother’s. Sometimes she remembered the Shay who freed her and Tristan from the painting that had been their prison. A tall boy, nearly a man, but with the same eyes.

  Sarah never allowed herself to recall her son as a wolf. But that didn’t stop her from recognizing him. Though she blocked it out whenever it threatened to surface, the memory of Shay transformed into a beast had been seared into her memory. She didn’t want to remember the way he’d bristled at the sight of so many humans near him. How he’d bounded out of the rubble filling the library and into the winter night while Sarah shrieked and sobbed.

  Since that terrible day—a day that should have been a triumphant, joyful reunion—Sarah had been returning to Rowan Estate. It wasn’t difficult to persuade Weavers to let her come to the mansion with the daily contingent of Scribes and tour guides. A grieving mother, she usually inspired pity, or else she made them uncomfortable enough that they hurried to move her along, making her someone else’s problem. Tristan hated it when Sarah didn’t return at the end of the night, but Sarah often found it too difficult to leave Rowan Estate. She spent many nights in Shay’s room, rarely sleeping, but going through her son’s belongings. Trying to recall him through objects, to piece together the years of his life that she’d missed. None of it was enough, and with each passing day the dull ache in Sarah’s heart grew sharper, its pain insistent.

  Pressing her fingers to the cold glass, Sarah fought the urge to rush downstairs and fling herself out into the winter morning. Shay was here, but he was still a wolf, and Sarah’s sudden appearance would surely startle him.

  But he’s pulling the girl along the ground, bringing her to the mansion. Why would he do that?

  Sarah knew enough about wolves to immediately dismiss any suspicions that Shay had attacked Ariadne. The pack’s range was well away from populated areas, high on the mountain slopes. Something other than instinct had drawn Shay to Rowan Estate.

  He wants to come back. He knows this is where he belongs. It has to be. What else could draw a wild animal to this place?

  A surge of hope traveled through Sarah’s limbs like an electric charge. She remained at the window, watching as Shay left Ariadne near the mansion’s rear entrance. She stayed until the brown wolf bounded away from Rowan Estate, through the garden, and disappeared under the cover of pines.

  Though Sarah hadn’t known she was waiting for it, she realized this was the sign she’d needed. A sign that Shay hadn’t forgotten who he really was. That he wanted to return to his family and that he needed her help to do so.

  Filled with a new resolve, Sarah turned away from the glass and went to find a Weaver. She had to get back to the Academy as soon as possible. Anika would help. Now that this had happened, how could she pretend that Shay belonged in the woods with those other beasts? How could anyone deny that the boy belonged with his family?

  Her son had saved the world. Yet somehow everyone else has forgotten him. Sarah whispered a promise to Shay: “I’m going to make them remember.”

  CONNOR ROLLED over and drowsily stretched his arm out to hook Adne around the waist and draw her against his chest. His seeking hand found only rumpled sheets, long bereft of Adne’s warmth. Connor’s body tensed, his chest constricting with disappointment. He rolled onto his back and stared at the night sky that seemed to pour down on him through the crystal ceiling of the Roving Academy.

  They never talked about it. How often this happened.

  The first few times Adne had stirred in the middle of the night, Connor had woken with her, wanting to reassure her that whatever demons had dragged her from a restful sleep inhabited only the dark recesses of her mind and could do her no harm in the waking world.

  Presuming that Adne’s nightmares must be tied to her grief, having so recently lost both her father and a brother she’d just found, Connor had urged Adne to talk about Monroe and Ren. He’d expected reluctance, but Adne didn’t hesitate to share the pain she still felt at Monroe’s absence and her sense of failure when it came to Ren’s death.

  And so they’d talked. And talked. So many nights’ sleep interrupted and sunrises greeted with broken memories and tears.

  From those conversations, Connor felt confident that Adne was dealing with her grief. At least when it came to Monroe. The blame she wrongly took upon herself about Ren’s death remained a touchy subject, and Connor didn’t press her too hard on the topic. Adne would deal with that loss when she was ready.

  They were talking about it. That was a good first step. It was at least something.

  But despite that something, which Connor wanted to believe wasn’t a small something, he continued to wake in the middle of the night having lost the lover he’d taken to bed.

  Connor tossed out a variety of unsatisfying answers to the puzzle of Adne’s insomnia. Perhaps she’d always been a restless sleeper. After all, only in recent weeks had Connor been in a position to make such observations. Or maybe Adne couldn’t quite get comfortable sleeping in Connor’s room. But anytime he suggested they spend the night in Adne’s room, she insisted that she preferred Connor’s bed to her own.

  If she wants to be in my bed so much, why the hell does she always leave?

  Chastising himself for what he deemed a selfish reaction, Connor sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Adne didn’t always leave. But more and more nights Connor woke to find her gone.

  He wasn’t angry about it—admittedly he sometimes indulged a burr of resentment—but Connor was afraid for Adne. Something was off and he couldn’t pin down what it was. The more he tried to coax Adne into revealing the source of her restlessness, the more reticent she became.

  Throwing the covers back, Connor swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabbed the T-shirt he’d tossed on the back of a chair, pulled it over his head, and went to look for Adne.

  The halls of the Roving Academy were shadowed and silent as Connor padded through the Haldis living quarters. Even as he approached Adne’s door, Connor wondered if he shouldn’t turn around and go back to bed. Adne had always been independent. Maybe he was crowding her. And wouldn’t stalking after her in the middle of the night push her to seek even more space from him? What if she simply needed to come and go as she pleased? Maybe nothing was wrong at all and Connor just couldn’t handle how much he wanted Adne with him. Every day. Every night. Every moment. Every breath.

  Standing in front of her door, Connor’s fists clenched. He’d begun to suspect that his long avoidance of a romantic entanglement with Adne had been for none of the reasons he’d claimed. Not the seven-year age difference between them. Not that Adne’s father had been Connor’s commander. Not the risk of loving someone in a life filled with violence and loss.

  No. Connor realized that all of those rational explanations crumbled upon close examination. The truth was here. This visceral need that held him hostage; the need for her voice, her touch, her scent. For all that was Adne.

  Somehow, despite all his denials, Connor had known that once he let Adne take hold of him—heart and flesh—that it would be like that. That there would only be her for the rest of his life.

  If that wasn’t scary as hell, Connor did
n’t know what was.

  And now that Adne slipped from his arms more nights than she stayed, Connor had begun to fear that it was too much for her.

  “Are you trying to open the door with the power of your mind?”

  Connor had been so consumed by his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Sabine approaching.

  “Because as far as I’m aware, the Force isn’t a real thing.” Sabine smiled at him, though her brow was slightly furrowed, revealing concern.

  “I know.” Connor pushed his hair back from his forehead, giving a little laugh. “It’s disappointing, isn’t it? I just have to check every so often to be sure.”

  Sabine kept smiling, but her eyes narrowed. “Seriously, though. What’s up?”

  Connor ground his teeth. He’d been trying to get Adne to talk about her frequent disappearing acts, but he hadn’t told anyone else about it.

  “You lose something?” Sabine glanced at the closed door.

  Knowing that Sabine wasn’t going to let him off, Connor said, “She wasn’t there when I woke up. Just want to see if she’s okay.”

  “Fair enough.” Sabine shrugged. “But I’m surprised she’s not with you. From what Adne’s told me, you’ve got some serious talent between the sheets.”

  Connor choked a little. He was used to dishing out salacious commentary, but being on the receiving end of those jibes was still pretty new. Though startled by Sabine’s remark, Connor nonetheless found it reassuring. At least Adne hadn’t passed any complaints on to her friend.

  “I do what I can,” Connor said, trying to return to form. He wasn’t sure he was ready to share his real concerns with Sabine. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the former Guardian, but he was protective of his relationship with Adne—letting others in felt risky.

  Sabine, however, wasn’t one to give up the hunt once she’d caught a scent. “I’m sure you do. But Adne snuck out on you? Does that happen often?”

  Sabine was also not one to beat around the bush.

  Connor grimaced, which apparently was answer enough for Sabine.

  “Really?” Her eyebrows went up.

  “I notice you’re not in Ethan’s bed,” Connor shot back.

  Sabine laughed. “Ethan knows that I like to prowl at night.” Her smile became wicked. “And he loves it when I come back to bed. He doesn’t mind at all when I wake him up.”

  “I’m sure,” Connor said drily. He hadn’t meant to go after Ethan and Sabine’s relationship, which was perfect for both surly Ethan and sharp-edged Sabine. In truth, he was a little jealous. By all accounts, Ethan and Sabine—once sworn enemies—should have the complicated, difficult romance. Instead it was Connor who felt like love was tying him in knots.

  The teasing glint in Sabine’s gaze faded. “If you’re out here in your pajamas, you must be worried. Is something wrong between you two?”

  “No,” Connor said too quickly, then shook his head. “I mean, I don’t know.”

  Sabine jerked her chin toward Adne’s door. “Are you sure she’s in there?”

  “I have no idea where she is.” Connor heard the weariness in his voice and felt the weight of it on his shoulders.

  Regarding him with concern, Sabine said, “She loves you. Don’t ever think she doesn’t. If Adne has a problem, it’s not you.”

  “I know she loves me,” Connor told Sabine. “And I . . . there aren’t words for what Adne is to me. But—”

  “But what?” Sabine put her hands on her hips.

  “But . . .” Connor took a step back. Sabine’s expression was a little dangerous. “What if it’s too much?”

  “You’re going to have to run that by me again,” Sabine said.

  “It’s just—” Connor scratched the back of his neck, uneasy with the conversation, yet desperate for some relief from the stress of keeping his fears bottled up. “What if it happened too fast? I kept Adne away for so long. I knew what she wanted from me, but I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance. Maybe that was the best course and now I’ve mucked it up. What if now that she has it . . .”

  Connor couldn’t finish. His stomach lurched at the thought that after all this time, Adne might regret having pursued him.

  “Be careful what you wish for?” Sabine’s laugh was harsh. “Bullshit.”

  “You can’t know that,” Connor said, slightly injured by her brash reply.

  “The hell I can’t,” Sabine told him. “You had to know that with you and Adne it was going to be all or nothing. Once it happened, that was it.”

  Connor started to object, but Sabine shook her head. “She doesn’t regret it. She has known for years that you belong together. Nothing will change that.”

  “I guess.” Connor shoved his hands into the pockets of his flannel pajama pants.

  Sabine laughed again. “When did you get lame, Connor?”

  “I am not lame.” Connor glared at her, then laughed sheepishly.

  “Yep.” Sabine nodded. “That comeback proves beyond a doubt that you are in no way lame. Now go back to bed. Despite what anyone says, lurking is not a turn-on.”

  With a sigh, Connor rolled his shoulders back. He knew she was right. And he was tired.

  “Don’t you go forgetting who it is you fell in love with, Connor,” Sabine continued. “Adne has never needed looking after. She’s a survivor—stronger than any of us by a long shot.”

  “Yes,” Connor said quietly. “I know.”

  “But I’ll try to catch up with Adne,” Sabine told him. “I’ve been so busy with Rowan Estate, it’s been a while since we’ve had girl time. If something’s off, I’ll try to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Thanks, Sabine.” Connor turned away from Adne’s door. “Don’t wear Ethan out.”

  “Mind your own business,” Sabine hissed at his back.

  “You’re one to talk.” Connor retraced his steps. While his fears hadn’t been allayed entirely, he did feel much better. By the time he reached his door and opened it, he half expected to find Adne curled up in bed, awaiting his return.

  But the bed lay as Connor had left it. Disheveled and empty. Undoubtedly cold. Connor pushed off the weight of disappointment that tried to drag him back into self-pity. He went to an armoire and took out an extra wool blanket.

  Hardly a substitute for Adne, but it was the best he could do. Sabine wasn’t wrong, Adne had never been helpless; wherever she was, she could take care of herself. Connor closed his eyes, clinging to that thought and wishing he could understand why now, and never before, he had so much trouble believing it.

  LOGAN’S VISION BLURRED. He rubbed his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time in the past hour and tried to make the page in front of him come back into focus.

  I should have asked more questions. Paid more attention.

  His father had lived for over a century. Though he hadn’t been born a Keeper, Efron Bane had wasted no time after his ascension. At the sudden, violent end of his life, he’d been one of the most powerful warlocks walking the earth. Logan had taken his father’s legacy for granted. As Efron’s heir, he’d always assumed that his father’s power would be there for the taking.

  And there it was again. Regret.

  Logan had come to believe that regret was the most unpleasant of emotions. Far worse than grief or melancholy, one became mired in regret as if it were a tar pit, but rather than just slowing and sinking in the muck, regret’s dark pool had sharp, toxic spines that pierced the skin and injected its captive with the reminder of missed opportunities, poor choices, and all the wrong roads taken.

  Regret: the parasite twisting in his gut, reminding him of all that could have been. Of all he’d failed to become.

  Even the spell he’d managed to pull off had been a bust. He managed to call up a Guardian. A Guardian who, spirit or not, probably wanted to tear out Logan’s throat just like his packmate had done to Logan’s father.

  Ren had barely disguised his aversion to serving as Logan’s connection to the Nether rea
lm. Whatever magic had chained Ren’s will to Logan’s command surely chafed at the wolf’s neck. It made Logan shudder to speculate about what would transpire should Ren find a way to break that hold.

  And that left Logan with what? A reluctant spirit guide and a riddle of a message.

  You have to get back what you lost.

  Logan didn’t doubt the double meaning of Ren’s words. Yes, he’d have to get that box of bones and trinkets back, but he also knew that Ren spoke to the loss of Keeper magic itself. That was what had truly been lost. And Ren obviously knew how desperate Logan was to get it back.

  Frustrated and demoralized, Logan lifted the heavy book he’d been poring over with the intent of putting it aside for the night in favor of getting a stiff nightcap. As the pages crackled and flipped, however, an illustration on the back inner cover caught Logan’s eye.

  He’d seen family trees before, but none quite like this. The most elaborate illustrated genealogies he’d seen featured trees blanketed by leaves in shades of jade and emerald, with golden branches filled with blooms and sometimes populated by fauna. The vitality of the scene intended to mirror, or at least project, the good fortune of the family’s history.

  This tree appeared to be dead. Its enormous trunk and sprawling branches suggested the tree had seen several centuries before it died. In its prime the tree must have been glorious. Why an artist would render such a tree as lifeless eluded Logan.

  A gaping hole at the heart of the tree further marred its beauty, but what drew Logan’s eye wasn’t the wound torn through the ancient wood, but the name inked below the black maw.