But will it be the most dangerous as well?
13
By four, the pergola is set up for the crafting hour. Hale and I are putting the finishing touches on the seating arrangements. He’s tall and lanky, barely my age, with long brown hair and a soft smile. His mother, Tala, is part of my father’s tribe and he’s become like a brother to all of us as he’s been working for us since he was a young teen.
Tala. My dad is nuts about her, and as I recall, her Lakota name means alpha she-wolf.
I thunk my head with my hand. My father has a thing for a wolf shifter.
We are more alike than I realized.
The smell of lilacs blooming on the nearby tree lifts my spirits, but like the lazy sun hanging low on the horizon, I’m already anticipating going to bed tonight, I’m so tired. Probably won’t sleep, but the dreams I’ve been having about Tristan are enough to have me crawl in it anyway.
In last night’s episode, the two of us ran in the woods, faster than normal humans, past the hot springs and toward the distant lake. He shifted into his Fae wolf form and jetted past me.
“That’s not fair,” I called.
A second later, I took bird form—a falcon—and flew high over the trees, leaving him behind at the edge of the lake.
“Now, that’s not fair,” he rumbled in my mind.
I flew far away, knowing I could go wherever I wanted, but eventually, my heart tugged at me to turn back to him, to my sisters. As I cruised over the water returning to the forest, Grayson took up the race again and I woke up laughing.
Hale and I have set out two six-foot tables to accommodate all the women making flower crowns. I consider asking if his mom is a shifter, but decide today is not the time.
I cut fresh sprigs of lavender and rosemary, tiny stems of lily of the valley, bright daffodils, pansies, lots of baby’s breath. I grab my hand shears and harvest a couple of lilacs as some of the crafters begin to filter out to the backyard.
A few are regulars, and I greet them with hugs before welcoming the newcomers. My friend, Storm, appears in her usual gypsy garb and we laugh like little girls as we embrace. She’s a storm-born witch, hence her name, and has latent weather magick in her bones. Hale nods at her shyly and she gives him a saucy wave. She takes my hand and we do a quick dance, her spinning me around.
While the others take their seats and talk, she pulls me aside. “Why haven’t you texted this week? I know you’re busy, but I thought I’d hear from you.”
There’s so much to tell her and no time. “Can you stay after the workshop and have a cup of tea? I have loads to fill you in on.”
A curious grin lights her face. Her skin is a beautiful toast color, her eyes nearly violet like the pansies on the tables. “Did you meet someone?”
“No. Yes.” I giggle. “Sort of.”
She squeals and her bracelets clank as she does a fist pump. “I’m definitely staying.”
I begin doling out flowers, noticing there are still two empty chairs. The women laugh and chatter, Hale quietly disappears with a longing glance at Storm, and we begin.
The back door of Conjure opens and Summer comes on the porch, calling over. “Angie Cormer will be late.” She glances at a yellow sticky note in her hand. “Sue Easton is sick and can’t come, but there was a late addition, Shoshana Walters. She’s on her way.”
The Shoshana? The woman I want to talk to, but have no good reason to approach? I send a verbal thank you to Summer, and a mental one to Ostara and any other spirit guides who created this opportunity. “Send them out when they get here,” I inform her.
Summer retreats inside and I continue to instruct those gathered how to create their crowns. As we work, I feel the knots in my shoulders loosen, my brain shoving my worries aside. The smell of flowers soothes me, as does the sound of the women having fun.
Angie shows ten minutes later; Shoshana is still a no show twenty into the workshop. A light breeze whispers through the pergola and the temperature drops a couple degrees, but the sun is warm enough that we’re all comfortable in our lightweight sweaters and jackets.
I find myself laughing when Storm tells a story about me and a rose bush incident from high school. She’s a year younger than I am, but she knows all my secrets.
I’m helping Mrs. Harold attach a sprig of rosemary when I hear Storm say a soft, “Oh boy.”
Glancing up, I see the chief striding confidently across the ground toward us in full uniform. I stop what I’m doing and just stare—he’s so…handsome.
“What did you do now, Spring?” Storm teases.
Several of the women look as well as I walk down the steps to meet him. He tips his hat at the group. “Hello, ladies. Mind if I borrow Spring for a minute?”
There’s tittering, then Storm says, “No problem! Is she in trouble?”
“You never know,” he replies with a killer smile at them.
My best friend winks at me, and I hide a grin. Touching his arm, I motion for him to follow me a few feet away so we’re standing under the lilac tree.
“Hi.” It’s all I can think to comment as I stare at his rugged face.
He smiles slowly. “Hi.”
For a moment we don’t say anything else, like a couple of awkward teenagers, and the world recedes. I can still hear the soft chatter, the birds singing in the trees, and smell the heavy scent of the lilacs infusing the air between us, but it all takes a backseat to the electricity humming under my skin. The burning in my breastbone is there, but it’s no longer uncomfortable.
“How are you today?” Tristan asks.
“I’m fine.” I smile to convince him. “And you?”
He gets a strange look in his eyes but it’s gone in a heartbeat. “I was hoping you could take me to the spot where you were attacked. I didn’t realize you were teaching a class right now.”
“We’ll be done by five if you can stick around.”
He looks a tad disappointed. “Can you get someone to take over? I have an appointment later. It’s important.”
On a Friday night? My heart sinks a little, jumping to the conclusion it’s more than likely a date. “I can have Storm do it.” Hiding my sudden grumpiness when I return, I ask my friend to finish. She agrees.
Back with Tristan, I worry about taking him without backup. “Let me notify the others I’ll be gone a few minutes,” I tell him.
Inside, Autumn is with a client, but Winter is in the kitchen unpacking new glass bottles for my blends. I explain I’m venturing into the forest with Tristan.
She breaks down the cardboard box and tosses it into our recycle bin. “I’m going with you.”
There’s no point arguing, although I wish I could have Tristan to myself for a little while. “Do you think you could at least do it without Chief MacGregor knowing you’re there?”
She gives me an insolent grin. “I’ll make myself invisible, if that’s what you want.”
“That’d be awesome. Do we need anyone else?”
Dad enters carrying a walking stick. “Me, but I’m not making myself invisible.”
“Great,” I say under my breath, feeling like a teenager again on a first date with my father in tow. “Let’s go.”
14
They wait until Tristan and I are on our way to the forest before following. I immediately sense their energy behind us, and apparently, so does he. As we walk, he glances over his shoulder. “Looks like we have company.”
I glance back and see Dad, although Winter has done what she said and made herself invisible. Instinctively, I send a white bubble of protection around us, whatever good it might do.
“My family is very protective, if you haven’t guessed.”
“That’s good.” He smiles. “I like them.”
I try to hide my surprise and return it. It’s not often I hear that from anyone.
As we pass the poet garden, my cabin, and then Summer’s, a comfortable silence descends. He checks out each of the gardens, the flowers I’ve planted aro
und my sisters’ homes, and I point out the greenhouse and the stack of wood for the main bonfire Saturday night. He asks several polite questions, but doesn’t mention attending the celebration.
In the forest, the birds sing in the trees. I pray these little messengers are letting me know the woods are safe right now. The breeze I felt earlier ruffles my hair. Tepid sunlight sprinkles over the path.
“So, describe what happened. You never told me why you were here to begin with.”
The truth is slippery and I debate the merits of it. Maybe if I come out with the full story, it will spark something for him, and he’ll remember he’s a magickal creature, too. I’m surprised he could forget transforming into a wolf, since I’m told shapeshifting is a painful process.
But dumping an entire story on him filled with magick, evil demons, and his own shapeshifting, might be a bit much. Baby steps, I tell myself. I don’t want to scare him off, I just want him to accept who I am, who he is.
I want him to believe and understand Annie and Jace might not have died by natural means.
“My family and I took a walk, did some land conservation.” I figure that’s close enough to the truth. “It’s something we do regularly and is especially important this time of year.”
Yesterday, my father made me analyze my unfortunate encounters—what was similar and what was different. Both entities felt evil, but I only smelled sulfur at the sauna. That one I was able to repel with magick, while the other near the altar was barely fazed by it. In essence, Tristan was present at each encounter, just in different forms.
“Because of this Beltane ceremony?” When I nod, he continues, “I read up on it online.”
He’s taking an interest in finding out more about my lifestyle. This is good. “We celebrate every year on May 1st, halfway between the spring equinox and summer solstice. There are bonfires, special food, and a maypole. It’s one of the most special sabbats—holidays—to recognize the turning of the wheel of the year.”
He helps me step over a large branch and I enjoy the feel of his strong hand on my arm. He’s so masculine. I know that sounds screwy, but I’m usually drawn to beta types—artists, tree huggers, environmental warriors, so my attraction to him surprises me on some levels.
On the other side, he doesn’t release me, keeping hold of me with a firm but gentle grasp. “And the attacker? Why do you think he was out here?”
“This is private property, but we get hunters, teenagers, and an occasional vagrant at times.” I don’t say he might’ve been one of those, but I figure he’ll assume that’s what I mean.
“Why would someone attack you? Did you startle him? He didn’t try to…” He hesitates for a long moment.
“Try to what?” I ask.
“Assault you… sexually?”
I start walking again and he releases me. “Oh no, nothing like that. Thank the goddess.”
“But he knocked you down and tried to strangle you, correct?”
“Yesss.” I draw the word out, trying to come up with a plausible motive for such a thing. Inspiration deserts me, so I go for something close to the truth again. “I think whoever it was did so because I practice an alternative religion.”
This is a bold statement and it gets an equally bold reaction from him. “The Wicca stuff? I read about that too. I mean, I know everyone says you’re a witch—you and your sisters—but honestly, I didn’t realize how popular this New Age stuff has become.”
I bite the inside of my bottom lip, once again struggling with how much to say. I have to be honest about it, because otherwise, even considering a friendship with him based on lies is doomed. It still kills me, worrying he’s going to run away as fast as he can.
“What we practice is older than most religions around today. I’m an earth witch, natural born, with strong air skills. It’s not just positive thinking and chanting for my family. Magick literally runs in our blood. I’m sure you’ve heard my father is a shaman, even though he’s mixed blood and doesn’t only belong to one tribe. What people around here consider magick is reality for us.”
He falls silent, and I let him digest that bomb.
At the crossroads, we turn right. The ley line energy grows stronger as we close in on the altar, waves of it going up my legs. I wonder if he feels anything. “I assume you believe in good and evil,” I say, growing nervous with his silence. Have I just torched any potential relationship with him?
He moves a low hanging branch out of the way. “I’ve seen a lot of both in my job.”
“Remember the history of the land we discussed the other night when you came for a visit? How you mentioned it was haunted?”
He sighs. “Spring, you don’t have to skirt whatever it is you have to tell me. I get it—the land is cursed, you’re a witch, and you’re trying to protect someone—maybe a whole herd of someones.”
Wow. His directness takes me off guard. The way he said “witch” didn’t sound completely damning, but pretty close. He may say he’s accepting of what I’m telling him, but he’s still a skeptic. That much is obvious.
I glance over my shoulder but don’t see my father anymore. He’s probably fallen behind on purpose or circumvented this path in order to give us some privacy.
Tristan touches my arm, drawing my attention back to him. We stop, facing each other. “Just tell me the truth.”
My turn to give a big sigh. What should I do?
His eyes are direct, not judge-y, but encouraging. Does he really mean it, or is this a technique the chief has perfected to get people to open up to him? If so, I bet it works.
What’s the point of lying? I’m living a pipe dream to think he could ever really be interested in me. I can’t fake normal, and deep down, I don’t want to, even if it means being alone.
“Okay then. You asked for it.” I swallow hard and draw in another breath, bringing it up all the way from my toes for courage. I start walking again, and he follows. “There’s something evil—we’ve labeled it a demon—that’s used these woods as a hunting ground for centuries, maybe millennia. It killed my mom six months ago, and my sisters and I were out here last night with Dad to recharge the spell that holds it captive so it can’t hurt anyone else.”
He blinks, once, twice, and it’s like I can’t stop myself from spilling the rest. “The thing that attacked me wasn’t human. It didn’t feel the same as the demon we keep in this prison, but it was exceptionally powerful, and my magick did little to nothing against it. Not to sound conceited, but I’m powerful enough I should’ve been able to protect myself as I did when…” I trail off, not wanting to mention the demon at Annie’s. “As I have before.”
We’re several dozen yards from the altar and Tristan pulls up short again. He makes me face him and stares into my eyes as if trying to figure out if I’m completely bonkers or telling him a truth he doesn’t want to hear.
“Something evil?” He says the word like he’s trying it out. “Something that wiped out a village in the 1600s and has come back to hunt again?”
I swallow hard, realizing I’m standing on the head of a pin. One wrong move and everything will tumble, including me if I can’t convince him of what I’m saying. “Yes, and before that? There were tribes of native people who lived in these woods and disappeared overnight many centuries ago. That’s how the legend started.”
He takes a step back and looks around. “Where did the attack happen?”
I motion a few feet away. “There.”
“Describe exactly where he came from and how he—it—jumped you.”
I try to stay detached as I relay the details. When I get to the part about the wolf, he gives me a sharp look. “So, it could’ve been the wolf that knocked you down?”
I shake my head. “The wolf protected me.” I search his features as I describe the fearless animal. His face grows incredulous, but he says nothing. “If it hadn’t been for him, I’d be dead.”
How could a wolf possibly strangle me? I want to add.
�
��You couldn’t fend off your attacker with your powerful magick, yet a wolf chased him—it—off.”
The cynicism in his voice makes me recoil. “I’m not making this up. You saw my neck. You know it was real.”
“Funny how that wound disappeared while I was watching.”
You healed me. I almost say it out loud, but that’s just another thing for him to place me in the crazy category with. “That was magick.”
He sighs heavily and motions me to move to one of the large birch trees nearby. “Let me look around.”
He takes out his phone and begins snapping pictures. I’m sure all he sees are some disturbed leaves and mud that’s now dried. There is no trace of the attack.
A sparkle catches my eye and I look down to see Summer’s necklace. I swear it wasn’t there a second ago. On the wind, I hear the faintest sound of laughter—a fairy, no doubt, who snagged it for herself, but brought it back to me.
I reach down and pick it up, the chain cool as it slides through my fingers. It’s broken and I hope I can mend it.
“What did you come to talk to me about last night?” I ask.
“Nothing, really.” He snaps another photo. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping, I thought you might have something that might help. Nothing… magickal, necessarily.”
I catch a grin on his face, and it feels nice, our earlier tension alleviated somewhat. He’s not the only one, our mutual dreams keeping both of us unsettled. “Lavender spray for your pillow and chamomile tea before bed,” I recommend. “Or I could put a spell on you.”
For a split second, I can see he’s wondering if I’m kidding.
“What’s that?” He tips his head toward my hand.
“My sister’s necklace. I was wearing it when I was attacked.” I hold up the crystal for him to see. “This is rose quartz. Isn’t it pretty?”
He steps forward, inspecting it. “What’s it for? I assume it means something.”
I don’t dare tell him it’s for love. “Maybe I just enjoy it’s beauty.”
Of Potions and Portents Page 8
