by Coralie Moss
I found a measure of peace in that moment, and as I reached for another one just like it, Christoph’s outstretched form parted the air in front of me.
“I came as soon as I could, Calliope.” His wings snapped as he brought them in. He took hold of my upper arms, brought me to his chest, and kissed the top of my head. “Harper’s stable, Thatcher’s gone on a bit of a rant, and Kaz has everything under control.” He leaned back to assess my face.
“Did you happen to bring the pouch?” I asked, giving him a hopeful smile.
“I…” His brow furrowed. “I wondered if that was what you meant. Did you attempt to send me a message when you sent the single feather summons?”
I nodded. “I did. But I couldn’t figure out how to tell you where to find the pouch.”
“I can go back and get it,” he said.
An idea was dancing around the edge of my awareness, too new and radical for me to voice. “I’ll get it. Promise me you won’t step into the underland without me.” I squeezed Christoph’s hand. “Please. I want to see the look on your face when you see who’s in there.”
Christoph indulged my request and waved me off.
I hightailed it to the portal tree and stopped as its branches crowned my head. I pocketed a few stones, whipped out my wand, held it much like I had my grandfather’s feather, and pictured the crabapple next to my garden.
Nothing.
I pictured it harder, made myself remember the smell of its blossoms and the feel of its bark and even the tang of its fruit in homemade apple cider. I breathed over my thumbs and my rings. The filigree began to glow.
“Take me home,” I whispered. Pressure, suction, and nausea. I clutched the crabapple, dashed to the front steps, and ran up and into the house.
“Great-grandpa, is that you?” Thatcher hollered from the second floor.
“It’s Mom,” I answered. I struggled to keep my feet pointed in the direction of my bedroom, not tearing up the stairs to touch my sons. I had to finish this task. The pouch was where I’d asked Wes to conceal it. One more time, I slipped the double cords over my neck, rubbed my thumb over its worn surface, and yelled up the stairs, “I’ll be back soon. I love you!”
Leaning against the crabapple, I tried to catch my breath as I emptied my pockets and repeated the experiment. The return trip was every bit as nausea-inducing, but my stomach was empty. I arrived at Christoph’s side out of breath.
“Ready?” he asked, chuckling at my discomfort.
“Ready.”
* * *
Christoph’s wings snagged on the strips of fabric in the doorway to the underland, adding a touch of drama to our entrance. He sucked in a breath when he noticed the cage and its contents and rubbed his hands together when our eyes adjusted to the scene at the tea table.
The bird-man straightened his spine, stepped closer to the women, and bent at the waist to acknowledge Maritza. Pivoting, he then bowed to Idunn and kissed the hand she offered.
The goddess rose from her seat, her arm stiff and her fingers curled over Christoph’s. “Christoph. Aviator and rogue of hearts. Pardon me for keeping my distance. I do not count raptors amongst my favorite birds, though I have no quarrel with you.”
Blush brushed her cheeks and just as quickly faded as she released his hand and turned to Tanner.
Mercifully, someone had decided the tablecloth would serve a higher purpose as a toga of sorts. Tanner fumbled for my fingers and tugged me against his side.
“Tanner Didier Marechal, student of Ni’eve du Blanc. You and I have business to finish.” Idunn stepped toward us. Her facial features elongated as she continued to grow in height. “You signed a binding contract, and try as you might to run from your vow, the time has come to make this right.” She turned to me. “Before we depart, there is one thing I wish to show you.” Idunn gestured for me to come closer to her. “Tanner, you, too.”
Idunn was now at least six feet tall, with golden-white hair trailing over her shoulders and down her back, all the way to her ankles. She lifted the cords of the necklace from underneath the shirt I had neglected to change and pulled the well-worn leather strips through her fingers.
“You have guarded this well,” she said, speaking to Tanner while cupping the pouch in both palms. “Almost as well as you have guarded your heart. I have seen your dedication to keeping the sacred objects within safe and on your body at all times.” Clear stones—icy diamonds, pale blue aquamarine, pink tourmaline—set in delicate rings, glittered on every one of her fingers. Idunn winked at me and smiled. “Unless, of course, you knew that to wear this into certain situations would endanger its contents. Calliope would have been my choice too.”
I stood a little taller, relieved the Norse goddess wasn’t there to school us on magical object etiquette. Or punish Tanner for his choosing me.
“There is one thing.” Idunn giggled softly and lowered her voice for my and Tanner’s hearing only. “Perhaps more than one thing, but for the sake of brevity, I shall say ‘one thing.’” She returned to speaking to the group gathered in the underland. “There is one thing I neglected to mention when I tasked this druid with guarding the seeds to my beloved apple trees.” She lifted one loop, drew it over my head, and drew the other loop over Tanner’s, forcing the two of us to stand chest to chest. “Only the beating of true hearts in tandem can awaken the seeds.”
Idunn placed one hand between my shoulders blades and guided me closer to Tanner, close enough the pouch was pressed between his bare chest and my blood- and mud-soaked shirt. The golden sparks I had seen flickering around Tanner’s eyes when he was amused or aroused returned. Similar sparks, more green in tone, flickered in a fine mist around the both of us.
The pouch at our hearts warmed, the leather softened. Spring-green tendrils peeked through the whipped stitching edging the square and began to curl around the cords.
“Uh-huh, children,” cooed Idunn, “that’s enough for now.”
Tanner’s eyes grew wide as saucers. He grabbed my hand and turned us to face Idunn as she removed the cords from our necks and looped both around her own. The stems emerging from the pouch reached for sections of the hair falling over one shoulder, and intertwined themselves throughout the pale golden strands.
Idunn patted at the curlicues and leaves absentmindedly, whispering in a language I’d never heard, until the movement stopped with an audible sigh. The goddess kissed the inquisitive leaflet budding near her lower lip, and tucked it behind her ear.
“Though it is time for you to return to your teacher,” she said, her smile for Tanner tight, yet not without…hope, “I think we may have to renegotiate the terms of your indenture.”
I squeezed my wolfy druid’s fingers and tried to bring him close for a parting kiss. But a Goddess’s will pulled harder than an earth witch’s connection to gravity. Tanner and Idunn were gone in the space between heart beats, swallowed into the gloom of the underland, and I was left with the imprint of an apple seedling over my heart.
* * *
“I think we should call Malvyn to come get this one,” said Maritza, tilting her head in the direction of the cage housing Meribah. With a flick of her fingers, she orchestrated a hands-free clean-up of the tea table, returning the underland to its original state.
“I would be pleased to escort Malvyn here.” Alabastair’s baritone spread like warm caramel as he approached us from the far end of the underland.
“Thank you, Alabastair. Before you do, would you please assist with moving this cage? I find this place is giving me a headache.”
Maritza had shrunk, perhaps from all of the magic she’d expended, from helping Bear take form to stitching my aunt’s memories back into her quilt, to restraining Meribah and helping in some way to bring Idunn here from wherever the Goddess resided.
“I can help as well,” said Christoph. His wing brushed my side as he stepped forward. He and Bas grasped the bars of the cage, lifted, and walked toward the entrance. Meribah’s eyes were close
d, her arm was bandaged and she didn’t even twitch as she was being transported. “Shall we bring the prisoner to the portal?”
“Yes. Please.”
I left Maritza, Bas, Christoph, and the cage at the portal tree with the excuse I wanted to see if anyone was at the farmhouse. I assured them I could drive myself home and added that a checking-in superseded a hot bath.
Memories had been unspooling all day and into the night. I used the time walking the path from the oldest section of the orchard to the newest, winding them into a ball, like I did when Aunt Noémi asked for my help with her yarns.
By the time I reached the warm yellow glow of the porch lights, I was ready to crawl the rest of the way to my car. I mounted the steps, let myself in, and listened for voices.
Belle rounded the corner from the pantry, dessert bowls in each hand. “Wes is resting upstairs,” she said. “L’Runa and Rose left a while ago. Both of them said you’re to call no matter the time if there is anything you need.”
I plopped my sore butt onto the kitchen chair she offered. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t have all the details, but I can tell you the LaFleurs insisted the girls come home and invited Hyslop and Peasgood to go with them. Vadim was adamant they would be back in good time.”
“Was anyone injured?”
Belle blew out a breath, set the stack of bowls in the table, and pulled out a chair for herself.
“Doug’s in bad shape. There’s a psychiatric wing at the Grand St. Kitts Clinic, and two of the Fae guards will escort him there in the morning.”
“Where is he now?” I asked.
Belle looked at the ceiling. “Up there. Tied to the bed and knocked out. Good thing I brought an emergency stash of elixirs with me. The guards are with him.” She patted the hand picking at the dried streaks of dirt disguising the original color of my pants. “There’s no reason in the world for you to see him, Calli. Wait until he’s of sounder mind.”
I nodded, my chin quivering. “How’s Wes?”
“Banged up but otherwise well. Kaz has been in touch with me since he arrived at your house. Your Thatcher’s quite the empath, and Harper will recover. Though what Doug put him through…” Belled tsk’d.
“And Roger and Adelaide?” I had to ask, had to know what kind of protection we would need in the coming days and weeks.
“You took after Meribah, and all hell broke loose between those two, the LaFleuer’s Fae, and that wolf, the brown one.”
Jack. “Is the wolf okay?”
Belle slapped the table and laughed. “Man’s got an appetite, that’s for sure. It’s a good thing you thawed all those steaks,” she said. “By the time he was done with Adelaide, he was missing a lot of fur, but he got her. One of the guards used the chains on Adelaide and bound her up good. Jack brought her to the jail, said he’ll call you tomorrow.”
“And Roger?”
Belle snapped her fingers. “The way Jack and Wes described it, Doug’s brother went berserker then disappeared. It was his knives that carved up Wes, but like I said, Wes is resting.”
“Do you think he’d mind if checked on him?” If any permanent damage had befallen Wes, I wasn’t sure how I would handle the guilt. The man had become someone I considered a friend.
“I think it’d be best if you got yourself home, Calliope Jones. Your boys need you more than that old druid. Besides,” she said, winking, “Rowan will be here soon, and if anyone knows how to heal Wes, it’s her.”
I stood and opened my arms for a hug, comforting myself in her soft curves and her mysterious scent. “Thanks, Belle.”
The twenty-minute drive home took closer to forty. I was exhausted and overly cautious, but when I passed through the wards and they shimmered green in response, I had a feeling we would be okay.
I left my car on the grass, glanced at the roof in case more flying relatives were waiting to descend. Instead, the quickening flap of wings called my gaze skyward. A pair of giants bats circled the house, and as my heart quieted, I found comfort in their high-pitched back and forth.
Christoph was right. Bats were a chatty bunch.
I had to make myself move my feet, or else I would be listening to bats all night.
The screen door squeaked, and Thatcher whispered, “Mom, is that you?”
“Come here, sweetie,” I said, dropping to the ground and patting the spot beside me. “Let’s listen to the bats and look for constellations.”
“Pokey’s here too,” he said, landing next to me and looking up. “The bats know Harper’s hurting. They keep landing on the roof outside his window and trying to get inside.” He shook his head. “I’m worried about Harp, Mom.”
I wrapped my arm around my youngest’s ever-broadening shoulders and pulled him in tight. Pokey clambered into Thatcher’s lap and patted the pockets of his flannel shirt before giving up and wandering off.
“We’re going to have to talk about what’s best for Harper,” I said. “And what’s best for you. We’re also going to have to talk about your dad. But for right now, let’s imagine everything’s going to turn out the way it’s meant to be.”
Thatcher nodded his head, leaned back on his hands, and crossed his ankles. “Want to see who can name the most constellations?”
When I nodded, he added, “You go first.”
I followed his lead. We looked skyward at the same time. I let my eyes adjust, found a familiar starting point, and began.
“Ursa major.”
THE END
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my editor, Jeni Chappelle for your willingness to try different approaches to the writing and editing process, and for helping me grow exponentially as a storyteller.
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My gratitude to cover designer, Elizabeth Mackey. You make collaborating a joy. I am in awe of your creativity.
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The Beta Belles—Leslie Mart, Kim Kennard, Maureen Marshall, and Diane Castro. Thank you for reading MAGIC RECLAIMED in its rough stages and sharing your thoughtful feedback.
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The ARC readers. Your time is valuable and I am so grateful you read and reviewed. Thank you!
About the Author
Coralie Moss loves everyday heroines and complicated witches, layered magic and earthly moments, and will always believe in the power of love. Whether she’s writing Urban Fantasy or Contemporary Romance, her characters get her up in the morning and Assam tea keeps her going. She lives on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia with her HEA, their son, and two globe-trotting rescue cats.
Also by Coralie Moss
URBAN FANTASY
Magic Remembered (Book #1 in the series)
Magic Redeemed (Book #2 in the series. Releases June 6, 2019)
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Summer Rules, a novelette
Invisible Anna
Opening Nights
Read on for the first chapter of MAGIC REDEEMED.
Magic Redeemed (book #3)
A Calliope Jones novel
When my ex-husband proposed we get matching tattoos, I thought Doug’s motivation was to celebrate the birth of our second son and recommit to our life together as partners and parents. Unbeknownst to me, the ink used in the tattoo was imbued by a Spellbinder in my ex-mother-in-law’s employ. Once the design was etched onto my lower belly, the altered ink began to halt the development of my magic.
I was made painfully aware of the tattoo’s true function fifteen years later, when the spell began to burn its way deeper into my flesh. A druid I met during the course of an investigation was able to diagnose the situation and remove the tattoo before it did more harm. He performed the procedure using a magic-infused chant. I had to scream into a pillow for lack of anesthetic.
Though I never wanted to go through that kind of pain again, here I was, on a sunny day in the middle of September, face-down on a padded chair at Salt Spring Island’s only tattoo parlor.
“Ready?” My friend, River s
ettled onto the rolling stool and snapped on a pair of non-latex gloves. Like Tanner, who removed the old tattoo, River was a druid and one of the growing group of Magicals who were fast becoming fixtures in my life.
“Ready,” I said, giving him a relaxed thumbs up. A local plant witch, knowing my history, assured me I could use a heavy hand with her proprietary blend of pain-relieving herbs and still stay alert while getting inked. The drops tasted of crushed grass and worked wonders. I was relaxed and feeling no pain, physical or emotional.
I asked River to create a design that would honor my Aunt Noémi and her daemon, a towering Kodiak bear. Noémi, who had raised me from age six on, died over the recent Labor Day weekend. For strongly sentimental reasons, I wanted bear paw prints inked at the base of my neck, one to either side of my spine.
The stories I had told myself about my aunt and her hands-off parenting methods were based on a series of profound misconceptions. I thought she didn’t care about me, or resented that my mother’s death left her with a third child to raise. The truth came to light in the month before Noémi’s death. A moment of lucidity from her dementia had shed a hazy beam of light on my childhood.
With narrow swaths of the past growing clearer, I had to find out more about my mother, and what triggered our flight from an idyllic, small town in Maine to my aunt’s home in British Columbia.
“I have to shave you, Calli.”
The serious edge to River’s voice made me laugh. “Is that you telling me politely I have a hairy back?” I asked.
