Raven's Shade (Ravensblood Book 5)
Page 22
“If nearly killing yourself didn’t teach you anything, then my disapproval would surely do nothing.” Raven said. “To be honest, we might not be here to have this conversation without your assistance at the butte, and so I’m not certain I would have the right to disapprove.”
Morgan gave a boyish grin, reminding Raven of just how young he really was. “So you’re saying I was right.”
Raven hid a smile at the cocksure tone. “I didn’t use those words.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“So how are things going otherwise?” Raven kept the question deliberately vague, not certain how comfortable Morgan felt talking about the traumatic events that preceded that day on the butte.
He had to ask, though. Had to let Morgan know that if he wanted to talk, Raven was there to listen. If Morgan was struggling, if he needed any kind of help, Raven would make sure that he got it.
Morgan took a deep breath before answering. “It’s rough,” he admitted. “No point in pretending otherwise. They say the pain fades in time, until only the good memories are left. I’m not sure I believe that, but I’m holding onto it anyway. Not sure I could get through day by day if I didn’t. But the neighbors have been great. The Armstrongs down the road, they stepped in and took care of the horses until I could pull myself together enough to manage. Even now Mrs. Armstrong finds an excuse to call every day, or send one of her kids around, just to make sure I’m okay. Sheriff Schmidt put me in touch with a Unitarian minister from down the road in Barnett. I mean, I’m not religious. Mom and Dad weren’t, either. But they did believe that there was something out there, beyond what we can see and feel, beyond our own magic. And, well, having met Winter, I could hardly deny that there’s something after death.”
Raven’s own experiences with necromancy had brought him to the same conclusion at about the same age. He was glad that Morgan was coming to it in a better way.
“Anyway, Mr. Wojinsky, that’s the minister, has met with me a couple times for counseling. He’s not trying to push any of that God stuff on me. Well I guess he wouldn’t. Not the Unitarian thing. He said sometimes it helps to talk and it has.”
“I’m glad,” Raven said. He was glad that Morgan had someone to talk to, and even more glad he didn’t have to try to be that person, for both their sakes. “Any thoughts for the future? It’s not too late to think about college.”
“I know that. I’m looking into some online courses. Going away to college isn’t really in the cards right now, what with being the only one to take care of the farm now.”
“Couldn’t you sell it?”
“Oh, I could. It would more than pay for college, even after the mortgages are paid. But the breeding program, that was Mom’s dream. Producing old-style working horses with real solid temperaments. And I, I guess I’d miss the horses anyway. I mean it was different when I planned to go to college knowing the horses were back here when I came back on breaks, but to have them completely out of my life. . .” Morgan shook his head.
Raven had heard that horses were for some people like the magic was to him. Could never understand it, but it wasn’t his to understand.
“Maybe someday, when I start getting older. If I find someone who believes in the bloodlines to take over. But not now. Not for a long time. And that’s okay.”
Raven wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea of Morgan putting off a serious focus on his education, but it was understandable after all that he had been through. More than understandable. Still, it couldn’t hurt to keep the boy focused on his future.
“Have you thought at all about areas of study?”
Morgan’s eyes lit up. “I have, as a matter of fact. After everything that’s happened, well the good stuff that’s happened. . .The cave, the petroglyphs, Winter, it’s all made me think I want to learn more about anthropology.”
“Not the magic? You were quite impressive out on the Butte. You have aptitude, and I don’t say that to everyone.”
Morgan shook his head. “Oh, I’ll always be a mage. Art is in my soul. But to practice seriously, like I would have to if it were my profession, that started to lose it shine after I made my mistake with Matthew Brock. And maybe it makes me a coward, but I just as soon not face dying again anytime soon.”
Raven smiled. “It doesn’t make you a coward. It probably means you’re wiser than I. So. Anthropology?”
“Yeah.” Morgan blushed a little, like he was confessing an ambition to become a rock star. “After what Winter sacrificed to save my life, I want to make it count for something. I’ve even talked to the people organizing the interpretive center. They said that that they'd be proud to have one of the heroes of the butte on board with the project. I don’t know, I don’t feel particularly heroic, but it’s a nice change from everyone thinking of me as a murderer. They seem to think a part-time internship is impossible. I either have to work around the hours I need to spend at the ranch, or else do something remote online, but we can work all that out in the future.”
It was the first time in their short acquaintance that Raven had heard Morgan speak of the future with enthusiasm. It might even be the first time he heard Morgan speak of the future as if he believed he had any future at all.
“You know anthropology and magic aren’t mutually exclusive,” Raven said. “And you don’t have to be a professional—or risk your life—to further your studies in the Art. There’s a mage I’ve read about. Her father is Nez Perce, and she’s been studying the way pre-European shamanism actually overlapped with both Art as well as Craft.” Raven had come across articles by Laura Hawkweed while researching petroglyphs. “I understand she’s looking for apprentices, and her cousin is PA to Cassandra’s aunt. Let me know if you want her to put in a good word.”
“I’ll think about it,” Morgan said.
Whether Morgan followed up or not, Raven was going to look into whether Ms. Hawkweed needed any financial assistance for her research. Raven found the loss of magical techniques morally offensive, but recent experiences led to a practical interest in seeing the revival of lost Native magical knowledge in particular.
“And Morgan, if you ever need anything, and I do mean anything, let me know.”
Morgan met his eyes. “I will.”
And Raven felt confident that he would. Confident that Morgan understood. It would not be a stranger’s charity. After what they went through at the butte, there was a bond between them stronger than blood.
A week after that, he had enough strength to teleport to the sheriff’s bar, where he was hailed as a hero by the staff and the patrons alike. He still got headaches when he used magic, but they were getting better. It was a price he was more than willing to pay.
Craig insisted on treating him to prime rib on the house, and Raven ordered a side of those seasoned curly potato things that he grudgingly admitted having developed a fondness for. By the time he finished the meal, the sheriff had brought out a celebratory slice of chocolate decadence torte. He had to have sent one of the waitresses down to the bakery to get it, as it was not on the menu.
His dinner at the Devil’s Pitchfork was the most he had eaten at one sitting in a long time, way more than he eaten since waking up from the cave. He’d split the dessert with Cassandra and Rafe. He hadn’t asked why the latter was still hanging out in Devil’s Crossing. Had he stayed to support Cassandra, or was he really that worried about Raven?
A partial answer came when the sheriff walked out from behind the bar to speak with them. Rafe slung an arm over the sheriff’s shoulders, and before returning to the bar, the sheriff gave Rafe a kiss that bordered on inappropriate for a public space. When Raven raised an eyebrow at his wife’s work partner, Rafe merely gave him a cocky grin in return.
“Someone works fast,” Raven said.
Rafe chuckled. “Well, I had to do something to keep myself occupied while you were sleeping. I came in here for dinner on my own a few times after Scott and I broke things off. Craig came over to keep me company. It tu
rned out I got along a lot better with him.”
“I see that,” Raven said.
How Rafe was going to make things work with the sheriff, given the distance, was not any of Raven’s business. Although he imagined there was going to be a lot of teleporting in Rafe’s future, and he would be seeing the sheriff hanging about Portland as well. He couldn’t say he was sorry.
Other Books by this Author
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More books by this author in the Ravensblood series:
Ravensblood
Raven’s Song (novella)
Raven’s Wing
Raven’s Heart
Raven’s Vow
Books by this author in the Werewolves and Gaslight Mysteries:
A Hunt by Moonlight
Moon over London
Other books by this author:
Brother to the Wolf
Where Light Meets Shadow
The Stolen Luck