by Jen Crane
Chapter 11
My cheeks heated at the brazen invitation. My brain short-circuited and I couldn’t form a response, though other parts of me had responded. I could so clearly imagine being in his bed, his big body rising over mine with the forceful confidence that manifested in everything he did. For a few naughty moments I allowed the fantasy to go on, imagining the feel of his rough hands reaching beneath—
Ewan was the one clearing his throat for attention this time. I glanced away in an attempt to regain my composure. What are you thinking, Stonewall? I shook my head to clear it. I shouldn’t be having such thoughts when I was involved with Gresham. Well, actually, I probably wasn’t involved with Gresham anymore. I was fairly sure that ship had not just sailed, but had crashed into the rocky cliffs of secrecy and betrayal.
As I accepted the development, realized the loss of Gresham, I waited for my heart to break.
Waited.
But it never did.
Was I furious that he’d kept things from me yet again? Yes. Humiliated that I was so naïve as to think Gresham had my best interests at heart? Mm. Hmm. Supremely ashamed that I’d been so stupid? You betcha. But heartbroken? No.
And that didn’t surprise me. I was Stella Stonewall, after all. Never did a girl possess a more befitting name. At twenty-two I had yet to be in love. My boyfriends over the years had always complained that I was “unemotional.” I had a history of breaking things off when someone was headed for heartbreak, and that someone was never me. But…I wasn’t opposed to love; I’d just never known it.
I’d never loved Gresham. I was attracted to him, had come to depend on him, to appreciate his knowledge and experience, to like and respect him. He was red hot in the sack. But love was never a consideration, and thank god for that. All the better to get over him.
But just because I wasn’t heartbroken over Gresham didn’t mean I should hop right into a relationship with someone else. No. This thing with Gresham was a lesson learned the hard way. And I had always been a good student.
I came crashing back to the present when Emrynne said, “Next time, Stella, you can create your own damn wards.” She put as much force in her words as her willowy little body could muster. Though the actual effect was as intimidating as a good scolding from a kitten, I nonetheless felt guilty. She’d heard Ewan’s reprimand…and his offer.
“Good luck with that,” my faithful and supportive friend Timbra muttered from the side of her mouth.
To Timbra I shot a discreet “Good luck with this” finger. To Emrynne I gave an apologetic look. “Thanks again for your help.” It was the only thing I could say as she stomped away.
* * *
Mari’s shift at Sabre Bar was over, and after a few minutes she and Layla left us in favor of some time alone.
“Stella, we all know something serious is going on with you,” Boone said abruptly after the two had gone.
“Yes, what was all that about with Gresham today?” asked Timbra. “You didn’t just have a fight; you were afraid to be near him. And you were unconscious when I found you in your room.”
Ewan went deathly still beside me. “Did he hurt you, Stella?” he breathed.
I tried to formulate an explanation of the situation in my head, but none came. Silence went on longer than intended, and Ewan’s body—no, his aura—began to fracture. He had taken my silence to mean that Gresham had harmed me, and he was so angry he was at risk of changing to his animal form right there in the bar.
“Oh, shit. Ewan. No! He didn’t touch me.”
But he was so far gone he didn’t hear my words. A snarl escaped lips that had retracted to reveal elongating teeth. Sharp teeth. He needed to calm down. Fast.
I didn’t think. I closed in on him, my nose a breath away from his as I held his face in my hands.
“Get back, Stella!” Boone bellowed and reached across the table for me.
I didn’t move. Timbra held Boone back and took a gentler approach to our enraged friend. “Stella, back away from the wolf,” she said. “He doesn’t have control of himself right now. He could hurt you without intending to. Just back away and let’s all cool down,” she soothed.
“He’s not going to hurt me.” I was confident of the fact like I was confident I’d meet the stars each night I looked up to find them.
Ewan Bristol could never harm me. I sat up taller to meet his eyes. He was so on edge that their chocolate depths darted continuously to each corner of the room. Growled sentence fragments escaped with each exhale.
“Ewan.” I called his name with confidence, but when it was clear he hadn’t heard me I began to plead. “Ewan? Can you look at me?”
He snarled again, his fingers clenching into tight fists, his body vibrating with repressed rage.
“Ewan? Ewan, please?” I whispered.
He finally swung his eyes down to me. They softened ever so slightly, and pent-up breaths around the room released at the likelihood Ewan would recover.
“He didn’t hurt me, Ewan,” I said. “He’s been keeping some pretty big secrets from me is all, and I found out. Secrets about my family.”
Ewan’s chest expanded with his efforts to reclaim control of his body. He closed his eyes, released the breath, and when he opened them again they were back to the intelligent, impassioned ones I knew so well.
“Stella, we’re your friends,” Timbra said and lay a gentle hand on my arm. “We care for you deeply, and we know you feel the same. If there’s a way we can help you, I wish you’d let us in. You know you can trust us. Deep down, you know you can.”
My conscious mind screamed, “Don’t do it!”
“All right,” I breathed. “But not here.” I raised away from Ewan, and my legs shook from the aftereffects of the tense little moment.
“We can” Ewan cleared his throat of wolf and tried again. “We can use my room. I’ve warded it for sound.”
* * *
In Ewan’s room we all found a comfortable place to sit or a door jamb on which to lean. At first Boone and Timbra made small talk so that it wasn’t so obvious everyone in the room was waiting for me. Ewan made no such pretense. He stared openly at my mouth, as if he could will it to start moving.
I had no idea how I was going to say the very difficult things I needed to say. Best to get it over with, like ripping off a Band-Aid. I jumped right in and hoped I wasn’t screwing it up.
“So, remember how I turned into a wolf at Solstice Fest and ran from those dragons?”
Three heads nodded.
“And you know last week I escaped Brandubh by turning into my wolf.”
“Mm-hmm’s” all around.
“Well, what you don’t know is…as it turns out…well…Gresham knew my father. And apparently he was an omni.”
Stunned silence protracted in the room. I searched each of their faces for some clue to what they were thinking. Timbra’s mouth fell open in shock. Boone frowned with incomprehension, and Ewan’s expression was disturbingly calculating.
“Damn,” Boone said. “I did not see that coming.”
“Stella, are you serious?” yelped Timbra, her fawn ears twitching with nervous excitement. The movement caught Boone’s eye and a goofy grin spread across his face.
“So, that makes you an omni?” Ewan’s eyes had reduced to slits. He squinted so long that I suspected he was trying to look within me. To my knowledge, that was not possible. At least I hoped not.
“So they say,” I said casually. “Half, anyway.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“Gresham and Professor Lochlain. I met with them earlier tonight. I overheard Lochlain ask Gresham how someone felt about having a niece. Said whoever it is wants to meet me. Lochlain thought it was a good idea. That this ‘Gaspare’ could teach me the ways of an omni.”
“Gaspare?” gasped Timbra.
“That’s what he said. Why? You know someone by that name?”
Boone was struck silent, a feat in itself, and Ewan had gone pale as the mo
on. He worked his throat several times, as if he couldn’t swallow the information.
When he found his voice he asked, “Stella, did you learn your father’s name?”
“I did.” I nodded. “Gabrio. Gabrio Shaw.”
“Good gods on a green bean,” Timbra panted before slouching onto the bed.
Ewan shook his head in slow denial.
Boone’s big lips, which until then hung open in shock, snapped closed. “So, you’re saying that your uncle, the one Gresham and Lochlain said wanted to meet you, to teach you the ways of an omni…is Gaspare Shaw. Is that what you’re saying?” He turned one ear toward me, his head listing to the side. Like if he just listened hard enough, the answer would be no.
But the answer was yes. “What the hell’s going on, guys? Who is Gaspare Shaw?”
“And what of your father?” Ewan almost whispered. “Does he know of your existence, too?”
I had to be careful. I could only tell them so much. Nothing about my mother or her family. I wasn’t ready to reveal the dragon angle. I might never be.
“I’m told my father died long ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Timbra and Boone put in at the same time.
I nodded my head in acknowledgment, but wouldn't be sidetracked. “Who’s Gaspare Shaw, Ewan? Why are you all acting like it’s a big deal?”
“Because it is a big deal, Stella. Gaspare Shaw is the most powerful person in Thayer.”
“No,” I scoffed, though the contents of my stomach threatened to make a reappearance.
“Oh, yes. If what they said is true, you’re the prime minister’s niece.”
The blood drained from my own face and I ran a hand across my forehead, which was suddenly covered in a cold sweat. “No,” I repeated. First my mother’s loaded background and now this. My life could not possibly get any more complicated. The prime minister? Of Thayer? Surely this was all just a very bad misunderstanding.
I was so tired. Tired of questions, sick of surprises, and fed-the-eff-up with secrets and lies. I pressed the pads of my hands into my eyes and tried to force the bad news from the front of my mind.
“At least things are starting to make sense now,” Ewan said. “This certainly explains Gresham’s excessive interest in you.”
“Excuse me?” I bristled and looked up.
He gave me an exasperated look. “Now we know why Gresham latched onto you, Stella. He works for Prime Minister Shaw. He always has. Getting…close to you…was a way for him to keep tabs on you.”
The sting of his words cut into me like a steel-tipped whip. “For your information, Ewan, we discovered who my father was only recently. He didn’t know who my father was, who I was, only that I existed out there somewhere.”
His uncompromising glare told me he didn’t believe that for one minute. “And how did he know to go looking for you? Tell me again. I’ve forgotten.”
Ewan Bristol forgot nothing. I eyed him. Stood up straighter. “Dean Miles saw me in a vision. She told him what she’d seen, gave him a name. She foresaw that Gresham and I would become…involved.”
He grunted and his nostrils flared. “And how fortuitous that her vision became reality.”
“Don’t go there again, Ewan,” I said. “We’ve already been through this. Mine and Gresham’s relationship is none of your business. Don’t say something out of jealousy you’ll regret.”
“Jealousy?” Ewan balked, his bold eyes on fire with emotion. “It’s not jealousy that I feel about it, Stella. It’s anger. It’s profound outrage that he took something that belongs to me. And righteous indignation that you gave it away.”
I was stunned silent at the truth behind his words. He meant it. Flutters of forbidden pleasure scrambled up my spine and filled me with a sick satisfaction. It was a visceral response to his bold claim. Damn him.
“It doesn’t matter now, Ewan,” I said. “It’s over. I—”
“Damn right it’s over,” he cut me off. I cut him an eye.
“I need to decide what to do next,” I said. “I don’t feel like I can trust Gresham anymore. He’s kept too many secrets from me. Too many secrets about me.”
“I think so too, Stella,” said Timbra. “We can all at least agree that his motives may not have been pure. Sure, he may have meant well, and…I could be wrong, but I don’t think he set out to hurt you. The fact remains, though, that he works for Shaw. And if Shaw knows about you, I expect it’ll be no time before he finds you.”
Boone’s wholesome face was covered with a deliberative mask. “Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “Did I miss the part when we talked about your mother? If this Gabrio Shaw was your father, how did he meet your mother in another world?”
I couldn’t form words. My throat closed in fear and my pulse raced as I searched for a way out of the line of questioning. I didn’t want to lie to my friends. I didn’t. But I couldn’t reveal my mother’s identity. It was bad enough Gresham and Lochlain knew. And Gresham had proved highly untrustworthy. I hoped it wouldn’t result in disaster for me.
It was Timbra who came to my rescue. “Stella’s mother always refused to discuss her father,” she said. “Stella doesn’t know anything about their relationship.”
Boone shook his head in sympathy. “And with your father dead, you may never know. I’m sorry.”
Chapter 12
“Stella, girl, stop gnawing your cuticles. It’ll be all right. We’ll figure this out.”
Timbra eyes were filled with empathy as she watched me fidget in my chair during our Wednesday morning Intro to Craft class. For once the stand-in professor, Dean Miles, was the least of my concerns. She never missed an opportunity to humiliate me or make me feel inadequate in some way. Honestly, I would’ve welcomed the distraction.
My smile at Timbra’s ever-forward way of navigating life was weak, but that wasn’t her fault. I was feeling significantly less positive about the situation.
“I just don’t know what to do next,” I said.
“Too bad you can’t divine some kind of plan or see the future through a spell or something,” she mused.
“Timbra, that’s it!” I yelped.
“What’s it?” She blinked her over-long eyelashes.
“Obviously, I need help. And this place is crawling with clairvoyants, oracles, and seers of all kinds. I don’t know what to do, but surely someone could help me see the right path. Right?”
“Sure, I guess. Who do you think could help?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I’m new here. Don’t you know anyone?”
“I’m afraid my family’s not very magical. We excel more in the political arena. But I did hear our Elements professor saying she dabbled in pyro-osteomancy.”
“Pyro-what?”
“It’s a kind of divination that uses bones heated over a fire until they crack. Then someone reads the cracks to foretell the future.”
“What kind of bones?” I yelped. Ew.
“I dunno. Surely animal. I don’t think it has to be the pinkie toe of a virgin or anything.”
“Wait a minute,” I said slowly. “Layla. Layla once said her mother is a clairvoyant. A good one.”
“Miss Ston-ewall?” rang a sarcastically-pert sing-song voice.
Dean Miles. Perfect. “Yes?” I squeaked.
“I was just discussing how modern perceptions of witchcraft in other cultures are a convergence of science, superstition, and history. But you know that, of course, because you were listening so intently.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me, Miss Stonewall, your particular thoughts on that image we’re all so familiar with of a cone-hatted witch riding a broom across a moonlit night. I’m sure your perspective is one we’d all love to hear.”
I knew she was being sarcastic, that she was taunting me, but what were my options at that point?
“Ah…okay.” I cleared my throat. “Well, as early as the 1300s there’s evidence that people who practiced witchcraft made compounds—hallucinogenic compounds—
from plants like nightshade, henbane, mandrake.
“And a natural progression of drug use has pretty much always been to discover how to get higher faster. These people discovered their compounds could be absorbed through sweat glands like the armpit or mucus membranes like…well, farther south.
“Of course the primary benefit of these alternate routes was they bypassed the metabolizing function of the liver.” I paused to aide my dry mouth with a swallow. The subject matter had made me uncomfortable. “Ah, so, they bypassed the liver and stayed higher longer. Not to mention avoiding a righteous stomachache.
“Anyway,” I said, growing ever more agitated as I went on, “it’s documented that the compounds were applied with the end of a broomstick.” The room was dead silent, and the sound of my throat clearing was like a trumpet blast. “Ah, you get the point. And as for the flying…well…yeah. Middle-Aged version of an acid trip.”
My classmates, who until then had sat in stunned disbelief, or morbid curiosity—maybe both—erupted in raucous laughter. I shrugged and swung an arm behind me before taking a little bow.
“Enough for today,” Dean Miles clipped out. A wicked grin pushed her mouth toward her cruel eyes. Despite the applause, she was distinctly pleased she’d forced me to publicly discuss broomsticks stuck in hairy places.
* * *
Timbra shook her head in astonishment as we made our way across campus. “How could you possibly know that?”
“About the hallucinogens and the brooms, you mean?”
“Of course that’s what I mean! Is it true?”
“I don’t know if it’s true or not. But I read about it in my extracurricular studies. Makes sense, though.”
“Phew,” she said and splayed fingers in front of her face. “Mind blown.”
Chapter 13
Layla’s family lived in…well, a tree house. She traced Timbra and I to her family home after our morning classes. She was certain her mother wouldn’t mind helping me, though she warned me she never worked for free. I didn’t have a lot of money since I was living on a stipend, but I took what little cash I had. I hoped it would be enough.
