by Coralie Moss
I peeked at the jar. Wispy streams of liquid life hung suspended in the cloudy, brownish water. Pride—or something akin to it—rose in my chest.
“I forgot to grab a Band-Aid for you,” he said.
“I can get one,” I assured him.
“You’re not going to faint?” he teased, topaz eyes sparkling under a fan of lashes.
I pressed the tender fingertip against my thumb and snorted. “I’m the mother of sons. I don’t faint, and I always have Band-Aids and antibiotic ointment on hand.”
Standing, I made my way to the bathroom and fought an unexpected wave of wooziness. My day was catching up with me and I wanted my bed, but I wanted to watch Tanner more.
“Will this do?” I handed over the first-aid supplies and an old makeup brush I’d found in the medicine cabinet.
He nodded, bandaged my finger, and started toward the front door.
“This is meant as a temporary measure only, but it should last a few days.” Once on the porch, he looked me up and down. “Follow behind me. We’re going to start at the end of your driveway and loop the perimeter of your property clockwise.”
“Okay.”
“It’ll be an uneven line—we’ll include the trees and bushes closest to the house.”
“Can I bring a flashlight?”
He shook his head. “Trust your senses. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Stick close. Stay quiet.”
We walked in silence to the end of the short driveway. Tanner surveyed the paved street, crouched, and dipped the brush into the jar.
“Wait. Tanner,” I whispered. “What should I do?”
“Your feet are bare?”
“Yes.”
“Keep your hands free and feel through your feet. See if you get any feedback from the ground and alert me if you sense any changes.”
He began to chant in French, dropping into a crouch every few steps and brushing a signet-like shape over tree bark, bushes, and the occasional patch of grass. Cool fingers of night air stroked my ankles and wrists and even the exposed skin at my belly, and the less I could see in the ambient dark, the more my other senses attuned to the surroundings. Our feet crushed leaves and needles, releasing more scents into the air. I stepped closer to Tanner’s back, curled a finger through one of his belt loops when we pushed through tangles of underbrush, and paid attention to every swoop of his brush.
The timbre of Tanner’s voice drew me along, and without knowing when it happened, I became a participant in the dance of words and intentions and the herbal allies blended with my blood. Tanner may have been the architect of the wards, but a tangible part of me was in the mortar. Tree bark became my skin. Sap blended with my blood. Tree limbs became my legs and arms; leaves, my fingers and toes; blossoms and fruit, my skin.
If Tanner and I had been lovers, I could have offered him an apple or a pear from one of my trees and felt his teeth on my thighs and breasts. Before I could linger any longer on that evocative thought, we were back to where the driveway met the road and retracing our steps to the house.
Warding the interior meant painting the same watery ink on every threshold and windowsill, which took longer than our walk through the woods. My shoulders sank away from my ears once the ceiling-mounted trapdoor to the attic space was inked. Tanner carried the emptied jar to the kitchen sink and methodically rinsed the brush and washed his hands before following me to the living room couch.
Leaning forward with both elbows on his knees, he threaded plant-stained fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. “I’ve been thinking about the orchards. Each grow heirloom trees, none of them have reported missing employees to local authorities, and the land has been in family hands for generations—so what’s the underlying motivation to murder?”
Greed? “Land’s a valuable commodity,” I posited. “Just look at how property prices have risen in the past five years. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was murdered so that someone else could have access to their land.” I continued, “One set of people taking land from others is woven deep into the history of this island, into most every inhabited square foot of land on this continent.”
Tanner hummed in agreement. “Most of my ancestors arrived as explorers. Or as indentured beings.”
“Humans and druids?”
“And other things.”
“Other things?”
“Have you ever met any shifters?” he asked, pulling his hair back again. For a moment, aspects of his ancestry shimmered across his face.
My cheeks warmed. Had I met any shifters…“I met two werecougars online and went on a couple of dates.”
A low sound vibrated deep in his chest, setting whatever was hanging around his neck to swinging against his shirt. “At the same time?”
“What? No!” Really, Tanner? “I picked one werecougar, we had two dates, neither of which went very well. Why do you ask? Can you shift too?”
“Druids can take animal form.” A pained expression rippled across his face, shifting his features once more. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“Are you changing the subject?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He pressed a hand to his sternum and clutched his shirt. For a moment, his eyes were unveiled. “The story of my life and how I got here and why I am having issues accessing my animal forms would take far longer to tell than we have tonight.”
“Will you tell me another time?”
“If you’re still interested in knowing more about me, yes, Calliope, I will answer all your questions.”
“Good.” I sat up and extended my arm. He let go of his shirt and shook my hand. “So, tomorrow I want to research the deeds to the Pearmain’s property and…wait, what am I supposed to do with that bat-thing?”
“I’ll deal with it in the morning.”
“But Harper will want to see it when he gets home.” And he’d never forgive me for letting it go without him saying goodbye. Was there a way to stay in touch with magical creatures?
I leaned forward and mimicked Tanner’s posture. “July twenty-fourth is going down as one of the oddest days of my life. I found the heads of two murdered beings in a freezer, I came out to my sons about being a witch, and I’m having a sleepover with a druid.” I glanced over at him. “I’m overwhelmed and exhausted, and I’m going to bed.”
He covered one of my hands with his. A torrent of sensation accompanied the weight of his flesh pressing against mine, anchoring me in place. I reached into the maple floorboards, sought the dank soil and bedrock underneath the house. Instead of receiving a calming, connecting rebound, flickers of desire scuttled over the surface of my skin, like someone was trailing the tips of their fingernails—or the end of a branch—over my forearms and up my legs.
Tanner’s pupils dilated; the hand on mine pressed heavier, and he brought the other one to cup my jaw. Unexpected heat flooded my inner thighs and prickled against my sex. I followed his unspoken suggestion as he rose, brought his other hand to my face, and stared.
“What are you doing?” I whispered. “Are you trying to spell me?”
His entire body went rigid. He shook his head. Didn’t speak. His arms, bent at the elbows, lifted me until my toes scrabbled to stay in contact with the floor.
This was not my idea of foreplay. “Tanner!”
I grabbed his wrists, thick with rigid tendons, and yelled his name again. Boards creaked, my house trembled, and the sensation I’d had outside earlier—of cool fingers of night air wrapping my waist—returned. This time the invisible digits were thicker, colder, more insistent. More embodied, as though they were trying to separate me from Tanner.
One loud snap from the edge of the woods and the golden light in his eyes flickered out.
My heels hit floorboards, the walls groaned, and I tried to wriggle away. But he kept hold of my face, bringing his forehead to mine.
“What the hell?” I demanded.
“She’s co
ming.”
“Who’s coming?” I squeezed his wrists again, tried pulling his hands off my face so he’d get the message and let me go. His skin was fiery hot and slicked with sweat while mine self-armored with scattered patches of goosebumps.
He kept his forehead mashed against mine as though he could bore his way past skin and bone, inhaling and exhaling slowly even as he relaxed some of the intensity of his grip. His overheated fingers slid past my ears and rubbed at my scalp.
I shook my head, finally able to disengage from his touch. “Tanner, who is coming?”
Chapter 6
The vibrations from another subterranean snap echoed from below the concrete foundation. Tanner dropped to his hands and knees, pushed away the wool rug, his movements frantic.
“I need something to draw with, Calliope, something…” His gaze was wild. He sat back on his heels, patted his pockets, and drew out the pocketknife he’d used earlier. Stabbing at his thumb, he gestured me to join him. “Sit. Hurry.”
I shook my head. “No way, not until you explain this.”
“No time,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “No time.” He dropped the knife, grabbed my thigh, and pulled me down. “I have to make a circle. Now. Before she finds your house.”
That was enough for me. I joined him on the floor, pushing away the table and a basketful of books and abandoned mending. “What do I do?”
Tanner granted me a two-second assessment. “Build the strongest ward you can around your sons then around this house, especially the ground directly below this room.”
He re-cut his thumb, turned away, and began to chant.
I ignored the bloody lines and squiggles appearing on my pale maple floorboards and concentrated on picturing Harper and Thatcher and encasing them in a bubble of rosy pink light. Fierce, protective, maternal light. My hands heated, and I deepened the color, thickened the circle, and let the bubble surround them in their sleeping bags.
Tanner was halfway through completing his circle. His scrabbling mussed up the rune-like marking in a couple of places, but pointing that out to him seemed silly. I had equally as important wards to place and less time to place them.
“Calliope, move,” he said.
I moved. Taking the carved bone handle of Tanner’s knife in my left hand, I followed his lead and sliced my right thumb, let blood slick my fingers, and began to draw my circle within his larger one.
“You shall not pass. You shall not pass…” The entire Lord of the Rings movie trilogy was a favorite of my sons. I had no idea what other words or phrases I could have used on such dire notice. Every time I repeated those words, I made an X, put a circle around it, and drew a line to the next one.
All using my blood.
My thumb throbbed. I drew the final circle, connected it to the first, and sat back on my heels. Tanner finished a few seconds later. There was blood everywhere, even on his face.
“Record time,” he said, grunting as he hugged his knees to his chest and checked our nested wards. “Where’s my knife?”
I wiped it on my shirt. “Let me wash this and…”
“Stay.” Tanner grabbed my wrist. “Do not leave this circle.” He continued, “I can tell you about her now, if you’d like.” Using his knife, he sliced into his shirt, tore off a strip, and another. “Bandage up. You first.”
I showed him my thumb. He pinched the sides of the cut together and wrapped the bit of cloth around three times, ripped the end in two, and tied a loose knot. He handed the other piece of his shirt to me and extended his thumb. He’d cut himself pretty deeply. Glancing side to side, I could see the symbols he’d drawn required much more blood than my simple Xs and circles.
“It all began with Idunn, the Norse Goddess of Spring and the keeper of the apples of immortality,” he started.
“So, we’re going way, way back,” I said, letting out an exhausted laugh and releasing some of my built up stress—some. Not much.
“Yeah, we are,” Tanner said, letting out a matching huff. “The myth goes that Idunn was kidnapped by Loki, the trickster, and though Idunn was returned, safeguards had to be put into place to ensure, should she be kidnapped again, or worse, the gods of Asgard would always have access to the apples. Centuries go by, humankind spreads over the Earth, and apple seeds and cuttings are one of the agricultural items they take with them. But what humans don’t know is this: the potential to produce Idunn’s apples lies within the seeds of each of the ancient varieties. Growing viable trees from those seeds, however, requires magic and rituals few know how to perform properly.”
He took a deep breath. “And pesticides, genetic manipulation, global warming and other things are destroying the old varieties, which means…”
“Which means,” I interrupted, “it’s of utmost importance that we protect those ancient varieties and the people who continue to safeguard the stock. Like the Pearmains.”
Tanner nodded. “Exactly.”
“But how could a commonly grown apple tree produce the apples of immortality?”
“That’s where the Apple Witch comes in.”
“And is the Apple Witch the reason for all this?” I asked, sweeping my uncut hand across the area in front of us.
“Yes,” Tanner whispered, “and I am so sorry.”
I didn’t know if I wanted to thank him for presenting an opportunity to learn or yell at him for endangering me, my sons, and my house. “Tell me more.”
“The earliest caretakers of the seeds of Idunn’s apples were culled from her female followers, and in return for safekeeping the lineage of the fruit, this group of thirteen were gifted with the ability to change their form.”
“Like shifters?”
“Not exactly.” Tanner returned to his self-soothing habit of threading his hair between his fingers and tugging it tight to his skull. Every time, his features shifted slightly and another layer of who he was came into focus and disappeared again. “The females can transform into trees—apples trees—and most of the early safekeepers chose to make that change just once, as their human lives were ending. While one of the Keepers was making her final change, a younger one was beginning her initiation into their ways. This allowed the thirteen to stay constant.
“Fast forward a few generations. The Keepers had to look farther and farther for women willing to commit to the rigors and responsibilities of their role and work harder and harder to keep them. A handful of the younger ones decided to experiment with changing back and forth while they were still in their fertile years. They discovered that as long as they bled monthly, they could shift between human and tree, thereby keeping a semblance of a normal, human life. But even with this development, their numbers dwindled until only three of these women were left. They began to eat the apples, which they were warned never to do...”
I snorted softly. “Because isn’t that how so many fairy tales begin, with someone being warned not to do something, which they promptly do?”
Tanner nodded. “You could probably finish the story for me at this point. The Keepers’ DNA had begun to morph into a hybrid of human and tree. Which meant they could bear human children, and some of those humans carried the capacity to bear the apples of immortality.” While he spoke, he’d released his hair and begun caressing the pouch he wore around his neck. The leather—at least, I assumed it was leather—was burnished to the color and sheen of a chestnut. “One of my first druidic teachers was one of these women.”
And things just got even more complicated.
“Have you eaten the apples?” I asked. Please say no.
His unbandaged thumb slowed its circling. “Somewhat willingly—out of curiosity—and somewhat against my will.”
“Are you immortal?” July twenty-fifth, though barely two hours old, was starting as strangely as its predecessor had ended.
“Not exactly.”
“How old are you?”
He shrugged. “Eternally thirty-seven?”
I tucked his admission away for a time whe
n I wasn’t so tired that ‘eternally thirty-seven’ didn’t sound so perfectly plausible. “And I’m going to venture a guess that you do the work you do, so you can have access to apple growers. And the apples.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But only in part.”
“So how does this explain what happened half an hour ago?”
Tanner groaned. “My teacher had a daughter—all three of those Keepers had daughters, who themselves grew up as Keepers. They had no say in it, given the dire straits, and my teacher’s daughter and I became lovers for a time. And then we parted ways.”
“Is this daughter here, on the island?”
“If not here, then she’s close.”
“Why the strong reaction?”
“She wants something from me I can’t give.”
“Why?”
“She’s become corrupted.” There was more. I could see it in the way the corners of his eyes tightened. His features stopped shifting and hardened into the Tanner I’d met at the Pearmains’.
“Do you think she has something to do with the catatonic orchardists and the severed heads?”
“I’m not willing to rule out her possible involvement.”
“You have to admit it’s an odd coincidence.”
He nodded. “I agree. It is. But jeopardizing the orchards also works against her, so…” His words drifted off into the far corners of my sleepy house.
“Tanner? I need to be able to trust you.” I was desperate for my bed.
His eyes looked genuinely wounded that I even questioned his intentions. “I’m not here to hurt you, Calliope. We’ve known each other what, twelve, thirteen hours? Every instinct I have is to protect you and this house and your sons. There’s more I can do to shield all of us from her influence—and I’ll do it, I promise.”
We leaned against each other and lapsed into silence. The story of Idunn and her apples and the Keepers was a lot to absorb. Add in the parts about women morphing into trees and Tanner’s old girlfriend being the jealous type…
