by Coralie Moss
Dropping to my knees, I added my palms and fingers and waited, breathing in time with the rhythm of the earth. Tanner’s mint, and Jessamyne’s baked apple scents, were completely gone from the air.
Where is he?
I connected first to the vibrations of feet hitting the ground. Running. Fast. I lifted my head in the direction of the rhythmic footfalls. The driveway melted into black ahead of whoever, whatever was running. The hard, fast pace turned into a softer loping within a handful of strides.
Paws.
Ahead of the beast, the ground split, just as it had split in my yard.
The pounding stopped.
I stayed on all fours, in disbelief, in hurt. After all that business about baggage and getting to the point where past relationships didn’t matter, I was hurt that Tanner chose to follow the Apple Witch. I sat on my heels, brushed my dirty hands down the front of my dirtier pants, and stopped caring how grungy I was or how tired I felt.
Tanner was a druid. Jessamyne was the daughter of a druidess, and that was only the start. Both of them had inhabited their magic far longer, maybe centuries longer, than me. Their magic permeated everything about them. Their accumulated knowledge, tested and honed, allowed them to switch back and forth between forms—humans, trees, wolves, and who knew what else.
I blew out a frustrated breath. Dug my fingernails into my palms. The training I had been promised had better start soon. I’d had it with being left in the dark.
I waited, propped on my shins. Tanner wasn’t coming back. At least not tonight, not via the path ahead of me. Nature, usually my ally, stood silent. My insides continued to hollow out.
Time to report to the others. I swung open the screen door and made a grand entrance of my own to the echoes of an empty hallway. At the kitchen table, I told River, Rose, and the others about the Apple Witch and what she’d done. Those words came easy.
Filling them in on Tanner’s apparent choice to follow her was not. Getting those words formed and out choked me. Wes offered to accompany me to the hospital, and when I couldn’t stop my face from contorting as I tried to moderate my emotions, he insisted. I washed off my hands, and we left.
The building was in after-hours mode so we had to be buzzed inside. When Wes and I stopped to speak with the nurse in charge, the man informed us the Pearmains were resting and could not have visitors until tomorrow at the earliest.
Relief tumbled through my limbs. Cliff and Abi were here, and they were safe. Wes’s hand on my lower back steadied me. I left my phone number.
As we made to leave, the nurse added, “The RCMP are involved in this case. You’ll have to clear any visits with the Chief Officer first.”
Jack had been promoted. Interesting. Soon, the Chief Officer was going to know more about my personal life than I wanted. Wes took the wheel. Our ride to my house was mostly silent until we pulled into the driveway. I teared up at the sight of my A-frame’s stone foundation.
Wes cut the engine and waited, resting his forearms across the top of the steering wheel. “Calliope, before we go in, there’s something I want to say about Tanner.”
“I’m listening.”
“For as long as I have known the man, he’s been in a tug of war with Jessamyne.”
“How long have you known him?” I asked, rolling against the back of the seat and headrest.
He squinted, got that look that said he was doing the math. “At least a century. Probably more.”
“That’s a long time for a lover’s quarrel.”
His snort was soft. “Anything involving a woman who’s beholden to a Norse Goddess is going to be epic,” he said. “I’ve never met Idunn, but I know the story. At least, I think I do. Our mutual friend can be a bit enigmatic.”
I side-eyed Wes. “And here I thought he was just moody.”
That got a laugh. Wes brushed his knuckles over my cheek and smiled. “I’m not going to tell you everything will work out.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“I will say, though, that I hope Tanner figures out how to extricate himself once and for all from whatever hold that woman has on him and moves on. For all our sakes. He’s a better man when he’s…” He stopped speaking and grabbed the door handle.
“When he’s what?”
“When he’s not with her.”
I gathered my bag and boots and closed my door. “I appreciate you sharing your thoughts, Wes. It’s obvious you guys all care for each other.”
“We care for you and the kids too.”
“I’ll be right in,” I said. “I just need to check on something.”
Wes waved me off and trudged up the porch steps. I scooted around the house. The total lack of light made locating the pouch’s hiding place a challenge. Once I found the patch of grass Tanner had coaxed into lushness, my palm found the loosened bit of plaster with ease.
Pouch secured around my neck, I tiptoed into a quiet house. Low voices drew me to the back porch. The screen door slid then stopped, its track jammed with blackened fir needles from the previous winter. I stooped, unjammed the slider, and popped my head out to let Rowan and Christoph know we were home.
“There’s a loaf of anadama bread on the counter,” Christoph said. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?”
I shook my head. “I’m showering first. Then I’ll make toast and fill you in. How are the kids?”
Rowan gave a half-smile. “Thatcher’s holding up well, and Sallie’s in a deep sleep. I had Shamaha come over. She was at your initiation ritual, Calli, and she’s good with analyzing magically-charged objects. Shama sped up the process of drawing the poison out of that poor girl’s system. We agreed the best thing for Sallie was a deep rest. The next step will be to support her body and mind as though she were going through withdrawal.”
“Thank you for everything.” I bent forward for the offered hug.
From the sound of water running through pipes, Wes was already using the boys’ shower. I ducked up the stairs, gave a quick peek into Thatcher’s room, and was rewarded with the sight of two sleeping bodies and a pervading sense of serenity. The same pink light I often conjured to surround my sons coated the walls, floor, and ceiling in shimmering bands. I closed the door, exhaled my held breath, and relied on the bannister to keep me on my feet.
The shower was life-affirming, clean clothes a gift, and two thick slabs of bread already in the toaster almost made me cry again. I composed myself while waiting then took the food onto the porch.
“I think I have about five minutes of consciousness left in me before I crash.” I snuggled into a corner of the swing, tucked a shawl around my legs, and brought the plate of toast into my lap. Commingled flavors of molasses and cornmeal kneaded into a base of whole wheat flour made my grandfather’s bread the panacea I didn’t know I needed. Slathered with strawberry jam made earlier in the summer, the snack was the perfect send-off to sleep.
Wes joined us, sitting on the arm of Rowan’s chair. Back and forth, he and I gave the bare details of the day.
“I’ll be leaving around five, five-thirty in the morning,” Rowan said, leaning against Wes’s side. “I’m on call this weekend and back to my clinic on Monday. I’ve left my answering service instructions to prioritize calls from you, and I have my phone on me always.” She added, “Shamaha’s on the island for a witch’s gathering. She said you can call her anytime you have questions related to Sallie.”
* * *
Saturday morning I awoke to sticky bits of jam and toast crumbs stuck in the corners of my mouth. I had forgotten to brush my teeth before I finally typed The End on yesterday. Curled in the shadowed corner of my bed, I wasn’t going to rush the next few minutes. Sun streamed in my bedroom window, bright and clear, warning the day intended to go from warm to hot.
I hadn’t checked phone messages or my email before I passed out. Guilt wagged an accusatory finger, but I swatted the digit away. If something major had happened here, at the Brodeur house or with Malvyn in
Vancouver while we were at the orchard, Rowan or Christoph would have let us know.
There were other responsible adults around, and I didn’t have to do it all or keep track of it all.
With that comforting affirmation lifting a bit of weight off my chest, I shuffled to the bathroom then to the kitchen, where I gathered the makings for a pot of tea.
Rowan had scribbled, “Call me any time” on a Post-it note and left it on the refrigerator. The saying on the magnet she chose—My other car is a broom—made me giggle. Waiting for the water to come to a boil, I listened for movement from upstairs. All was quiet. I poured water over the basket of Assam, set a timer for it to steep, and tiptoed through the living room to the open glass slider.
Wes and Christoph were in the backyard, putting themselves through a series of elegant movements that could have been t’ai chi or chi gong, or the Magicals’ equivalent. I watched until the kitchen timer dinged.
I wanted to see Sallie and Thatcher with my own eyes. I knocked at his door and waited. Bodies stirred on the other side. Something brushed against the wood, and a faint scratching sounded close to the floor. When fur brushed my bared toes, I stifled a squeal, jerking my foot away from the paw sticking out from underneath the door.
I pressed an ear to the wood, knocked again, and hissed, “Thatcher. Sallie. It’s me.”
Turning the handle, I pressed the door open and was met by the feline version of Who, me? A fluffed-out Maine Coon cat with gorgeous dark silver fur stared, both its ears flicking back like it was more than annoyed with my presence.
“Hey, Mom. That’s Jasper. Jasper, c’mon over here. Mom’s one of the good guys—girls.”
Jasper gave me the up-and-down, stretched, and walked to the edge of Thatcher’s bed. He sniffed at Sallie, scent-marked her chin with his, and crossed the braided rug to where Thatcher was curled on his cheery beanbag chair, sketchbook in hand.
“Shamaha brought Jasper over yesterday, Mom,” Thatcher said. “Said he’s the best magic-detecting cat she’s ever had and that we can keep him as long as we need to, even after Sallie’s better.”
“He’s amazing.” I was waiting for a signal from the massive feline that I was welcome in the room. “Do you know what he eats?”
“Magic.” Thatch shrugged. “Mice. But not magical mice because those make him sick. Shamaha left instructions for his care. I’ll share the doc with you.”
While my son talked, the cat positioned himself on Thatch’s lap and was giving his wrist a thorough sniffing and licking.
“Is that where you wore the bracelet Sallie gave to you?”
He nodded and rotated his wrist at a nudge from the cat. “Sallie said she didn’t weave any magic into the strands, but Shamaha thinks Sallie’s just not aware of what she’s doing when she makes things.” He looked up. “Not food, Mom. Her pies are safe. Lei-li’s the one we have to watch in the kitchen.”
Seeing Thatch grin like he was sharing insider information warmed my heart. “I made tea. Would you like some?”
“Sure.” He scratched Jasper behind the ears. The cat jumped off the squishy seat and followed me into the hall, down the stairs, and sat by the front door.
“I take it this means you’d like to go outside?” I didn’t wait for his response, just opened the door.
He flicked his tail as he passed.
I stuck my tongue out at his departing backside and propped the screen open for his return.
Thatcher liked his black tea sweet, at least, he did when he was younger and I brewed him and brother pots of the decaffeinated version. I added a third mug to the tray for Sallie, along with the pot of honey and a small pitcher of cream.
Jasper thundered up the stairs and pushed his way between my legs as I entered the bedroom. Sallie was awake, with color in her cheeks and brighter eyes. Thatch had shifted to a perch next to her on the bed.
“I brought black tea, Sallie. Would you like some, or can I make you herbal tea or coffee?”
“Cream and sugar please.” Disentangling her limbs from the bedcovers, Sallie pressed her elbow into the mattress, and Thatch helped her to sit upright. “Oh my god, I feel so much better.”
“Here’s to good health and healing.” I handed the mugs over, and we toasted.
Jasper went from where he had parked himself at Thatch’s feet to the bed to rubbing against Sallie’s back and starting up a loud, throaty purr. His priority was the kids.
“Mom, Ro and Shamaha talked to me and Sallie a lot yesterday.” Thatcher sipped his tea and looked to his cousin for the okay to say more. At Sallie’s subtle nod, he continued. “And we had a video call with James, Harp, and Lei-li too.” He glanced at Sallie again. She bumped shoulders with him before focusing on the contents of her mug. “So everything I tell you has been okayed.” He cleared his throat. “It’s super important to know there’s no blaming allowed here. Right, Sal?”
She nodded vigorously, still not meeting my gaze full-on. “I’m trying, T-man, I swear.”
“And no guilt.”
Sallie nodded again. “No guilt. That’s a little harder.”
“Her parents made her start wearing a collar when she was twelve.”
She nodded twice. “My mom handed me a box of sanitary pads, a book about understanding my body, and a pink velvet ribbon choker.” She drew another sip of tea, swallowed, and muttered, “And they wonder why I hate pink,” under her breath. “I wore that choker everywhere, even when I bathed, and they replaced the ribbon whenever it got too ratty.”
“Do you have any sense at all of your magic?”
She shook her head, but her body language said otherwise.
“You can tell my mom.” Thatcher’s loving support for his cousin was palpable.
Sallie fortified herself. “Aunt Adelaide always called me her little crow because I wanted to touch all the pretty shiny things when I was a kid and when I got older I liked to make things for people to wear. People and pets. You tell her the rest, T.”
“When Sallie looked in mirrors, she noticed things,” Thatcher said. “Oh, and this all started before she had her first period. Her parents said Sal’s eyes were getting weak so they got her glasses, and she stopped seeing things.”
“What kinds of things?” I asked.
“All the Fae traits,” he answered, putting his mug on the floor. He used his hands to elaborate on the details. “Her ears would extend into points at the top, and her eye color would shift.” Sallie nudged him and wiggled her fingers. “Oh, and her nails. They got sharp, like cat claws but thicker.”
“I was so freaked out,” she whispered. “No one else in my family looked like that.”
“You understand now,” I said, “that no one else looked like the you in the mirror because your parents and Meribah and everybody else were so good at disguising their true faces, right?”
Sallie nodded. “There’ve been a lot of revelations to absorb, Aunt Calliope. I’m going to need time to get over what’s been going on at my house. I’m still trying to understand why my parents hid themselves from me. I’m their kid.”
“Either they were protecting you,” I said, “or—”
“Or weaponizing me.” Sallie grimaced. “They encouraged me to make jewelry, once they saw people actually liked my designs. When I told them I had started to see Harper and Thatcher regularly because of their jobs at the market, Josiah and Garnet were all like, ‘Oh, make them some of your cuffs. Maybe Aunt Calliope will be nicer to us if you cousins get closer, blah blah blah.’”
I could see Sallie’s hurt and hear her anger. I hoped the hurt would keep her on our side and the anger would keep her sharp.
“What about school?” I asked.
“They pulled me out of public school when I was thirteen and said they wanted me homeschooled. Which meant hired tutors. The first year it was just me, but after that, more of their friends took their kids out of the private school for Magicals so by the start of my junior year, there were like a dozen of us.”
“Mom?”
I knew what was coming, and I would not say no to Thatcher’s request.
“If Sallie stays with us, she can go to school here with me and Harper and Leilani.” He looked at his cousin and curled his pinky around hers. “Safety in numbers and all that, right?”
Sallie nodded, her pinky snug in his.
“And Shamaha told us she was a witch, like you, Mom, and that she had a sub-specialty in mitigating Fae magic.”
The other witch’s talents were intriguing, as was the thought I too harbored the potential to develop other magical specialties. I said, “Tell me more about what she did yesterday.”
Sallie drained her mug and set it on the tray. She wiped her hands down her thighs and looked at Thatcher. “I think I’m okay to explain this, but if I forget something, just, y’know, speak up.”
Jasper brrrp’d from behind Sallie, wiggled his way in between her and Thatcher, and drooled as both teens petted his fur and rubbed behind his ears.
“Jasper’s like a therapy cat,” said Sallie. Jasper opened one eye and glared at me.
“I am totally getting that he has been assigned to you.” I laughed. “You should see the look he just gave me.”
“First Rowan brought Shamaha in here and waited. It was weird to wake up and see a total stranger in the room. I freaked out. A little. Thatch calmed me down, and Shamaha explained she was there because she wanted to watch me transition from being asleep to being awake. Her explanation was that during times of transition, like the transition to getting my period when I was twelve, unstable Fae—her words, not mine—show their true selves. I don’t remember taking my collar off at your party. I don’t even remember much about what happened.”
“Why do your ears look human?”
