Of Potions and Portents
Page 7
My lungs burn from lack of oxygen, my limbs are paralyzed. The edges of my vision darken, tiny sparks of light swimming around me.
An instant before darkness closes in, something slams into my attacker, knocking it off balance. The hand releases me and I fall onto my back, gasping for air. I sense, as much as see, the wolf rolling over and over with it, teeth locked into the back of its neck. My eyes start to flutter closed and I fight the weakness in my body. My magick struggles to spark, falters, sparks again, my hands drawing energy from the earth.
Forcing my eyelids open, I see the wolf—Grayson—has it pinned. Hoax runs and jumps on its head, nails digging into the eyes. Our attacker sends up another howl, then vanishes, just poof, both the wolf and bird landing on the ground and stumbling into each other.
My head feels like it’s going to explode, a lance of pain burning my neck as if a ligature is still there. My eyelids are too heavy and I fight to keep them open as the wolf stalks toward me, those blue eyes staring deep into mine. His nose nudges my arm, cold and wet. He whines.
As I succumb to the darkness, the shadows closing in against my will, the wolf raises his head and howls.
* * *
I float in a dream; Tristan is there, both hands reaching for me, grabbing mine. He’s talking, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. My poor ears feel as though I’m underwater—only pieces of what he's saying get through and they make no sense.
I hold onto him and do what I can, sending my magick into him, trying to calm him and make sure he’s okay.
Then he’s gone and I’m floating in darkness again. The lilting voices of the fairies singing me to sleep.
When I come to, my head roars as though a lion resides inside it, caged and under pressure. My arm shakes when I try to lift a hand to my forehead. It is an extreme effort to move that much. My fingers touch a wet cloth, and I blink slowly, taking in my surroundings.
The faces of my sisters are the first thing I see. They crowd me, all talking at the same time. I feel their touch on my arms, belly, legs, lending me their healing magick.
I’m totally drained and swallowing hurts. I’m inside my cabin on my comfortable bed. A part of me wants to sink back into sleep, to leave this pain behind, but the worried looks on their faces makes me fight the rising tide of unconsciousness.
Someone touches my head and the roaring eases, the pressure lessening. I hear my father’s voice float over me, a soft chant in his native Creek.
My mouth is dry, scratchy, and a dampness from the forest seems to cling to my skin. I can still smell the wet leaves, the soil. Hear the fairy songs.
Long moments pass, but soon I begin to understand my sisters as they speak over each other, each asking questions between chanting spells over my body.
“Where is…”—my voice comes out raspy—“…he?”
Everyone stops talking, my sisters exchanging a glance.
“Who?” Summer asks.
I struggle to sit upright and they press me back into the soft covers. “You’re too weak,” Winter says. “Stay where you are and let us take care of you.”
Her hand on my shoulder is strong, but I’m able to shift from under it. Their healing magick is starting to take effect and I feel a small return of strength. I force myself upright, the cloth falling from my forehead. My father releases his hold on my temples.
“Where is he?” I manage to get out.
Autumn sits beside me, stroking hair from my face. From the corners of my eyes, I can see strands going every which way, feel others sticking to my cheeks and neck. Her gaze strays to my throat. “Do you know who attacked you?”
“Was it the demon?” Summer adds.
I never smelled sulfur. “I don’t know what it was,” I confess.
“It couldn’t be the demon,” Winter says. “The binding spell worked; I could feel the energy in the pentagram lines.”
Autumn takes my hand. “Tell us what happened.”
Summer hands me a glass of water from the nightstand. Swallowing hurts, but it’s beginning to get easier. I brush tangled hair behind one ear, pieces of leaves and dirt falling into my lap.
“I think it wanted my magick. It seemed… extremely powerful, but it didn’t take visible form until it touched me. It drained my magick instantly and then it became flesh and blood. Like it needed it to manifest physical form.”
I swing my legs over the edge. My body has a hard time catching up and I have to brace myself on the mattress for a moment. “I was cloaked in protection, and it still got to me. How?”
Autumn and Winter look at each other as my father sits in the nearby rocking chair. “The demon could be morphing,” he says. “Or it could be the same one you fought today, and it followed you and Winter home.”
The room falls quiet as everyone thinks this over.
“But I was able to repel it earlier,” I counter. “The one in the forest was immune to my protection magick. It was much stronger and it fed on me.”
“How did you defeat it?” Dad asks. I shake my head, but the motion makes the room spin. Autumn has to catch me before I fall over.
“Easy does it,” she says.
I rub my eyes, my face. Everything aches. “I didn’t,” I admit. “The wolf fought it off.”
“What about me?” Hoax squawks. “I helped!”
Winter crosses her arms and frowns, leaning against my dresser. “We heard the howl. That’s how we found you. But there was no one there, except Hoax, when we arrived.”
“Because I fought the demon!” he insists. “I saved you!”
“Yes, Hoax, you were very brave.” I glance at my sisters. “No wolf?”
Each of them shakes their head.
Grayson, Grayson, Grayson, the name echoes in my brain and I put a hand to my temple. From the kitchen, I hear the whistle of the kettle. “There was a wolf. He saved me—along with Hoax,” I amend before my familiar can freak out again. “But how could a wolf chase off a demon?” I ask. “He and Hoax were able to get hold of it, then it just disappeared.”
Autumn stands, releasing me. She looks at our dad. “We need to return to patrol the woods, see if we can find this thing. We can’t leave a demon—if that’s what this is—on the loose.”
There’s a knock at the front door and all heads turn. My father pushes out of the rocking chair. “That must be Hale. I already sent him and the others to see if they could find its trail.”
Summer appears with a cup of tea. She hands it to me and steadies it, the smell of lavender and pomegranate infusing the air.
As I sip, I hear my father in the other room, Hale’s as well, then, to my surprise, the sound of another familiar voice, demanding to see me.
Grayson, the name spills off my lips as Tristan appears in the doorway.
Night has fallen and the light in my room is soft from my stained-glass lamp, but I clearly see those cornflower blue eyes—the same as Tristan’s inner wolf—and my body reacts. I feel flushed, a warm shiver going down my back.
Winter steps in front of me as if to block me from his sight. “Chief MacGregor, what are you doing here?” He moves around her, his gaze never leaving mine, as he hovers over me.
“Are you all right?”
Hoax trails behind him, flapping his wings. The bird hops next to me and I set the cup on the nightstand, suddenly self-conscious Tristan is in my bedroom and seeing me in such a state.
I want to ask if he’s always known he was a wolf shifter, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. Of course, he doesn't. He doesn't even believe in magick. I’m back to being me, and he’s the Chief of Police again. What happened in the woods is like a dream. He and I are tangled in them. Or are they memories from a past life together when we were both Fae?
“How did you know,” I murmur, “that something was wrong?”
He looks down with a sense of protectiveness, concern in the tight lines around his mouth. “I came by to talk to you about something else, and they told me you’d been att
acked in the woods. What were you doing out there?” He reaches toward my neck and I flinch, afraid of what he’ll think of the raw skin.
He bends his knees and lowers himself so he looks eye to eye with me. I see the wolf pendant half-hidden under his shirt. His voice is low, controlled. “Tell me who did this, Spring. Describe them. Whoever it is, I will hunt them down and make them pay.”
Like a wolf hunts prey.
I shiver again. The last thing I want is for him to be in the woods in his human form. As a wolf he might survive—he did just take on a demon—but in his current form? No way.
“I didn’t see the attacker.” It’s not a complete lie. If Tristan remembered what happened in his wolf form, he wouldn’t be asking these questions. All I can do is keep him from putting himself in danger now. “He ran off. He’s long gone.”
Slowly, gently, he tugs the corner of my shirt from my neck and eyes the mark there. I swear, I hear a low growl. “Can you remember anything at all that might be significant?”
Just that you were a wolf. To him I shake my head.
“You might as well tell him,” Winter insists.
I shoot her a silencing look.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing important. I’m just embarrassed I let this happen.”
His face tells me he knows there’s more, but he drops it. “When you’re up to it,” he says gently, one hand resting on my arm. “I want you to take me to the spot where it happened. Do you think you can?”
I give a hesitant nod. “Did you have a break in the case with Annie? Is that why you came to talk to me?”
He starts to respond, then his gaze zeros in on my throat again. His brows pull together in a frown. “What the…?”
I touch my neck as Autumn and Winter move closer, also staring at the wound there.
“What’s happening?” Tristan asks softly.
I can feel it—my neck is healing very, very quickly. I swallow hard and feel no resistance along my windpipe. No bruising.
Hesitantly, I run my fingers around the whole area, realizing my skin is once more intact, there is no soreness, no raw skin at all.
My sisters and I exchange looks and I hear their questions in my mind. Is their healing finally kicking in? Is it my magick reversing the effects? We’ve done some amazing healings with our combined magicks—some would call them miracles—but nothing this fast.
The residual feel of the attack seems to be completely gone, my head once more clear, no pounding or roaring. It all disappeared so fast…
It all happened when Tristan knelt in front of me. When he put his hand out to touch my throat. I stare at him in wonderment. His face is full of disbelief as the room falls deathly, embarrassingly, quiet.
“I guess it wasn’t as severe as I thought,” I say, at a loss to tell him anything else. I offer a tentative smile, hoping to assure him I’m okay so he won’t ask more difficult questions.
He doesn’t buy it, but what else am I going to say? As a human, he doesn’t believe in magick, doesn’t realize he’s a wolf shifter, and, as I see the glow of the nearly full moon shining through my bedroom window, I wonder if he’s not so much a shifter as a werewolf.
But a Were would’ve been looking for blood, would have helped the demon kill me, just so he could eat me. Tristan—Grayson—saved my life.
Tristan’s fingers touch my throat and send warmth straight to my heart, filling my chest.
I’m healed because of him, and all I want to do is stare into his beautiful eyes forever.
12
The next morning, I sleep late after dreams of Tristan and wolves kept me tossing and turning. I only wake when Hoax jumps on my chest and startles me.
“They’re talking about you,” he croaks. “Get up! Get up!”
I shove him off, and automatically reach for my throat. It feels fine to the touch, still healed. I sigh with relief and think about what my father said—the demon could be morphing.
I guess anything is possible. Yet, Winter is sure the binding spell worked. Whatever—whoever—attacked me isn’t that demon, but what is it?
Winter kicked Tristan out last night, insisting I needed my rest and he could talk to me today if I felt like it. After he left, the five of us sat around discussing what happened, what this demon might be, and how we could protect everyone from it.
Hale and the others couldn’t pick up any trace of it in the woods, even after a second excursion. I fretted the whole time they were gone, even though my father assured me they were protected. I thought I was, too, and the demon still got to me, nearly killing me. Sneaky monster, attacking from behind with no warning.
Maybe I was distracted and that gave it the opening.
Or it’s simply a lot stronger than anything I’ve ever encountered before.
My mother’s face flashes across my mind. Could the demon we imprisoned within the pentacle of the earth have birthed something new?
I get out of bed and take care of my bathroom needs, spending a few extra minutes in a hot shower. There are moments when I can still feel the thing’s hand around my neck, squeezing, the helplessness when it drained my magick.
But on the heels of that, comes the reassuring energy of Tristan and his wolf.
I pull out a few of my old magick books—some of them Mom’s—and do a search for anything that resembles what I encountered. I come up with nothing.
Today is Beltane Eve, and I’m not prepared, thanks to all the distractions. This afternoon, I’m supposed to lead a workshop for those who want to create their own personal offerings to put into the bonfires. People like to make floral crowns and May baskets to embed with their wishes for the coming year.
Others dry and keep them until Samhain, or throw them into the fires, releasing the wishes to the universe. My sisters and I always make our Witch’s Ladders, weaving crystals, feathers, and twig pentagrams into a type of rosary. I need to gather the supplies, and check the signup list to see how many are coming.
Once I’ve dressed and braided my hair, I take a thermos of peppermint tea and head for Conjure, Hoax by my side.
The sky is gray and cloudy and the air is heavy like a blanket. I pass the maypole Hale erected and hope that, by tomorrow, the weather cooperates. It’s only a few minutes before opening at the shop, and I find all three sisters and my father in the kitchen arguing about the upcoming ceremony.
“We have to cancel it.” Winter leans against the counter, her hair once more a curly disaster, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug I assume is filled with coffee.
My father stays quiet, but Summer argues. “There are people who’ve traveled hundreds of miles for this event. They look forward to this for a whole year. Isn’t there a way we can do something and allow the celebration to continue?”
Autumn has been making notes on a tablet at the table. Her pen turns over and over in her fingers as she thinks. “It’s too risky with everything going on. We can’t have guests in the forest after what happened to Spring.”
They look up as I come through the back door, the screen slamming closed. I make my way to the counter, setting down my thermos and retrieving a cup from the cabinet.
“So, we keep them out of the woods,” I say. “We light one bonfire, not multiples, and ward the space. Let's be honest with them. Tell everyone I was attacked and not to go into them. We don't have to say by what. Those who choose to stay will be sufficiently warned, and we can use Dad’s friends to make sure no one sneaks in.”
Sharing this holiday with the people who come is the highlight of the season for Summer and me, like an extra holiday. It’s one of the most anticipated sabbats of the year, owing to the fertility of the season, as spring turns into summer.
“If you don’t have it,” Dad says, “people will go into the woods and do their own, and that might be more dangerous. Spring is right—at least here, we can protect them.”
Winter shakes her head. “Spring couldn’t protect herself. This is a bad idea.”
Hoax is on the back porch, jumping up and down, flapping his wings and trying to get my attention. Through the screen he calls, “A curse upon that evil thing! A curse upon you all!”
“Your shifter may be the answer,” Dad says, ignoring the bird. “There are more in this area, you know. I can reach out. With the full moon, they’ll be celebrating in their own way.”
“You mean, we could have the shifters patrol the forest?” Autumn asks.
“They’ll be looking to use the woods in this area tomorrow night for their…activities.” Dad gives a little shrug. “We might as well let them and they can keep an eye out for this thing.”
I secretly wonder how many local wolf shifters there are. “Do you think they could teach Tristan about his wolf?” I ask.
Dad’s dark eyes study me, and after a moment, he nods. “Once he becomes aware of it.”
That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? “Do you know a way to make that happen?”
He seems to be reaching for patience, although I’m not sure why unless it’s because he sees and knows my attraction to the chief of police. “I assume there’s a way with magick,” he says, “but I’ll ask my friends if they have suggestions.”
Satisfied, I get to work on the crafts. Autumn leaves to man the front, and we’re so busy I’m pulled away to help several times throughout the morning. Summer tries to get me alone to ask about Tristan, but she has to assist with the overflow as well, and even Winter has to bop in a few times to bag purchases and restock shelves.
“I hope your shifter comes,” Summer tells me with a smile when we have a break. “It’ll be our biggest celebration ever.”
As I look at the list for my workshop later this afternoon, I have to agree.