He tried, he really did. He opened his mouth and forced his lungs to contract but barely a trickle of air passed between his lips.
A tear broke from the corner of her eye and coursed to her chin. “How brave you are to fight. Such short, fragile lives you humans have and you fight for every moment of it, celebrate every struggle. I wish I could do more. I’m sorry. I’m not that kind of witch.”
The black spots were bigger now, limiting his vision, but his ears still worked and they picked up a siren over the hill. “Help is coming.” She smiled down at him, and damn it if his heart didn’t beat just to see it. “Maybe there is one more thing I can do,” she said tentatively, her wand raised between them. She kissed his forehead, then pressed the wand between his eyes. “All you need is more time. I can give you that.” The wand glowed brighter. “You never saw me. Memoriam exudate.”
Light flashed between them, and then he plunged into total darkness.
Logan’s body jacked off the bed, heart pounding, hands gripping his chest. He was back in his room. He patted his head, his arms, his hips. He was whole again. “Just a dream,” he murmured, eyeing the predawn light through his window.
He flopped onto the mattress, still panting. “What the hell?” He rubbed the spot on his forehead where Polina’s lips had touched his skin. The spot still burned. Polina had been there. She’d witnessed his accident and been with him on the side of the road. Was she the reason his soul ended up in Grateful’s attic? Had she been responsible for his coma? Why did she keep it from him? He needed to talk to her. He needed to know. The only problem was, after everything… he was afraid to ask.
Chapter Seven
Winter Wolves
Polina couldn’t sleep. It was late, or early depending on your perspective, and Hildegard’s soft snore came from her perch in the corner of the bedroom. She’d done her rounds and her realm was safe for another night, but sleep eluded her. A certain human chef was to blame.
Why had Logan been so kind to her at his Halloween party? She hadn’t welcomed his attentions, had she? Physical attraction to a human was idiotic, an invitation to heartbreak. Humans had short, brittle lives and questionable motivations. Men often confused their desire for wealth or power for their love of a witch. She’d known human males who’d treated their witch girlfriends like genies, calling on them only when they needed something. Not that Logan was that type of man. No, she suspected his attraction to her was the result of residual magic, although she’d rather not admit his attention wasn’t warranted for other, more personal reasons.
The best course of action was to forget about Logan Valentine. The problem was, it had been months since she’d seen the man, and he still haunted her thoughts and her dreams. Like now, when she crossed and uncrossed her legs to try to alleviate the weight of need that had formed between them.
Slapping her hands down on the mattress, she exhaled. What she needed was fresh air. Icy cold fresh air. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and quietly, as not to wake Hildegard, tiptoed to the front door. It was snowing again, but she didn’t bother with a coat. Barefoot, she stepped into the two-foot accumulation of white powder, her thin nightgown clinging to her body in the blowing flakes.
“Do you need assistance, mistress?” A metal-on-metal clang preceded a flash of green-stained copper slicing through the storm. One of her three gargoyles, Nicodemus, coasted on metal wings to her side. His small horns and pushed-in face were typical of his kind, although his animation was anything but. Nicodemus was the result of an enchantment powered by the dead buried behind Aurorean House. He came to life every sunset to help her guard her realm.
“No. I’m fine. Needed some air.” Her flesh had taken on a reflective quality, the cold seeping to her bones and lifting her metal magic to her skin. She might as well have been made of steel. In this state, the cold didn’t bother her at all.
“I have news,” Nicodemus said. “Skogal and Rohilda reported visitors at Renegade Caverns tonight.” Skogal and Rohilda were the other two gargoyles, although they’d never developed the ability to speak in a way humans could understand. Skogal, in particular, struggled to fly straight and had difficulty completing basic tasks. Along with an elongated tongue that lolled from the side of his demon-like face, he had an overtly unintelligent quality that made her wary of trusting his observations. Still, Rohilda, although mute, was a highly intelligent female gargoyle. Polina perked to attention.
“What kind of visitors?”
“Three men. One smells of the werewolf who passed through in the fall. He’s back, and he’s brought a pack.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “How many?”
“Three.”
“Any problems with the trolls or fae in the area accepting the werewolves?”
“Skogal and Rohilda just discovered the pack tonight. We will continue to monitor them if you wish.”
“Yes, please. I’ll pay them a visit as well. As always, you are an asset to the realm, Nicodemus.”
“You flatter me, my lady.” He bowed, his horns sweeping the ground before he dismissed himself, his shiny webbed wings carrying him to his place on the eastern gable of Aurorean House.
Polina glided into the forest, her red hair transforming into strands of silver in the icy wind. She couldn’t make herself invisible exactly, but she could become almost impossible to see. By reflecting the forest around her, she produced the illusion of transparency. Usually, that was all she needed to escape notice.
A mile trek east brought her to Renegade Caverns. Humans once used the openings in the mountainside for shelter while bootlegging goods across the Canadian border. The four caverns, which connected on the inside, provided sufficient shelter from the elements for even a human to survive a Vermont winter. And, they were conveniently vacant. Trolls, elves, or mountain fae already inhabited most of the caverns on the mountain. Not these. The relative nearness of the Renegade Caverns to the human camp made them a poor choice for most supernaturals.
In the clearing outside the caverns, three men had dug out a ring of snow and started a campfire. One was an older, heavyset male with a face full of gray stubble. He huddled inside his red plaid coat, eating steaming brown stew out of a metal pot. That was unusual for a wolf. Their core temperature ran hotter than most supernaturals. She wondered if he might be ill. Next to him was a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties, with wavy dark blond hair and a wool cap pulled low over his eyes. Polina was almost positive this was the man who had transformed into the red wolf, although she hadn’t gotten a good look at him before he shifted. He wore jeans and a T-shirt but didn’t seem the least bit cold. The third man was hardly a man at all. He looked to be in his teens, but judging by his light jacket, his werewolf gene had already switched itself on.
From Polina’s limited experience with werewolves, she knew that the boy was born human and likely began showing signs of lycanthropy around puberty. But it wasn’t rare for a werewolf to be sixteen or seventeen before shifting completely for the first time. This was a new pack member, still learning the ropes. So the red wolf had found a safe place to live and returned with a sick old man and a newbie werewolf. She ran a finger along her bottom lip.
Quietly, she backed away. An old man, a young boy, and a vagrant were no threat. No one was using the caverns. She’d leave them alone for now. If they kept to themselves, she’d allow them to stay.
Blending into the woods, she returned to Aurorean House as the horizon paled with the rising sun. She’d stayed up all night. Just as well. Even with the distraction of the werewolves, her brain kept wandering back to Logan: the feel of his hand on her arm, the way he’d looked at her. Sheer exhaustion was her only hope of getting any rest. That or acting on her feelings, which in her estimation was absolutely unacceptable.
Chapter Eight
The Christening
* * *
Please join us for the baptism of
Lucas Matthew Knight
Noon, Sunday, July
21st
Monk’s Hill Chapel
Reception immediately following at Valentine’s restaurant
* * *
Polina arrived early to Monk’s Hill Chapel. The only other soul in the place was an older man she didn’t recognize praying near the front of the church. He didn’t turn around when she came in. Just as well. She wanted to be alone.
The dress Polina chose to wear to Lucas’s christening was a few centuries out of style. Ankle-length green linen, it boasted gold embroidery around the hem and a scooped neckline. A belt in the same Celtic pattern hung low on her hips. It was solid gold and matched the setting of her emerald necklace. She couldn’t remember when or where she’d purchased the dress. It was similar to one she’d worn in the seventeenth century, but the fabric and stitching were in far too good of shape for it to be authentic. No. She supposed this was one of the many replicas she’d purchased over the years. Comfort clothing.
Shoed in saddle-colored leather flats, she shuffled across the stone floor and slid into a pew. The polished wood smelled of lemon oil. Homey.
“You look like a Disney princess,” Logan said. He took a seat beside her, blocking her exit.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your dress. It looks like you bought it at the Bippity Boopity boutique. This is the second time you’ve reminded me of a fairy-tale character. Do you always dress like you ride unicorns for a living, or is this just for special occasions?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, a flush warming her cheeks. “I prefer this clothing. It is comfortable to me. What’s so special about this ensemble?” She motioned from his dress shirt to his shoes. “You look like Costco was having a sale.”
He chuckled through a lopsided grin. “You’ve been to Costco?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I have.”
“It’s just… I’m having trouble picturing it. You, dressed like a medieval princess, buying ten-gallon vats of eye of newt?”
Her mouth twitched of its own accord, and she pretended to cough to hide her laugh. “Shows what you know. Witches buy eye of newt in bulk by the pound. Trouble is, they tend to roll off the scooper before you can get them into the baggie.”
“Thank you for that. There will be rolling eyeballs in my nightmares tonight.” He leaned back in the pew, mouth twisting in distaste.
Polina chuckled. “Honestly, who started that rumor anyway about witches using eye of newt in everything? Do you know what a newt is? It’s an amphibian. Looks like a lizard. Who has time to be plucking the eyes out of the little buggers? And why on earth would they have magical properties?”
“Not to mention, who fashions the canes for all the blind newts?”
She turned to face him, stifling a laugh, only to let it out when he pantomimed a newt using a guide cane for the blind. The man praying near the front of the chapel cast a harsh glance her way, and she covered her mouth with her fingers.
“Why are you here, Logan?” she asked, smoothing her dress.
“To see Lucas get baptized.”
“Why are you here so early?”
“I like to be early. I’m a punctual person. Why are you here so early?”
She blinked at him. “Why would anyone purposefully be late?”
“I don’t know.” Their eyes met. Logan looked away first.
“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. I need to ask you something.”
“What could you possibly need to ask me?” She tipped her head and shook it gently.
“I’m going to let that obviously patronizing and offensive commentary pass and just come out with it. My dead mother says you did the hocus-pocus on me when I crashed my bike.”
Polina frowned. “She just comes to you with these things? Out of the blue? On any given Sunday? A spiritual tattletale?”
“Then it’s true?”
Polina sighed and looked toward the front of the church. Another family had arrived and was taking a seat. “Yes. It is true. I found you on the side of the road in my territory. You were dying. I healed you as much as I could, then made it so your soul wouldn’t pass over on its own. I gave your body extra time, so the humans could heal you the rest of the way.”
Logan’s mouth fell open. “What the hell, lady?”
“Shhh,” Polina said, apologizing to the older man who’d turned to stare. “Keep it down.”
“Do you know how close I came to haunting Grateful’s attic for all eternity?”
She pursed her lips. “It was an honest mistake. I thought your soul would go to my room of reflection and that I’d be responsible for sorting you. How was I to know that they would take your body home and your soul would follow to that realm? Grateful’s realm.” She shrugged. “I honestly didn’t know what happened to you. I assumed you’d died. Do you know, that first night I met you at Grateful’s, I didn’t realize who you were right away? You were terribly familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”
Rubbing his chin, Logan scrutinized her. “When did you realize who I was?”
“When I rescued you from the water witch. Once I saw you passed out on the beach, it came back to me.”
He slapped his thighs, eliciting more intense glares from the gathering guests. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” Logan whispered.
Polina spread her hands. “It didn’t seem important. Now that you know, if you’d like to say thank you, I’m all ears.”
His face reddened and he rolled his eyes. “Thank you for almost causing my soul to wander the earth for eternity.”
She straightened in her seat, ignoring his sarcasm. “You’re welcome.”
A piano began to play and Polina joined the other guests in standing as Rick and Grateful walked to the baptismal font with baby Lucas. Logan stood too, shuffling closer to make room for another couple who entered the pew. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you saving my life,” Logan whispered.
“Twice.”
“Twice. It’s just that I would think you’d be a little more empathetic about the unexpected results. It’s also not something a person keeps from another person.”
She turned to him as the minister began the ceremony. Neither of them were listening. “I am sorry that saving your life inconvenienced you and that I did not immediately inform you of the unselfish thing I did for you.”
“Glad we got it out in the open,” Logan said.
Polina turned back to the front and engaged in the ceremony. The babe was truly adorable in his white baptismal suit. He lay quietly in the crook of Grateful’s arm as she and Rick answered questions for the minister. Polina had never been Christian, not even in her old human days, but she tried to follow along. There were prayers and promises and then the minister scooped water out of a basin and poured it over the child’s forehead. Only, he missed. He tried again, and this time the water hit its mark.
“Did you see that?” Logan asked.
“Yes.” Polina cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes. “The minister missed the babe’s head.”
Logan smirked. “Missed? It looked like the water curved out of the way.”
She elbowed him in the side of the arm and shook her head. “Shhh.”
“We are not done talking about my accident,” he whispered in her ear.
With a sigh, she gave him a reluctant nod. So be it. It was best if he knew the truth anyway.
Chapter Nine
Valentine's
“Does Lucas look sickly to you?” Grateful asked. They were in a dark wood booth at Valentine’s, under swags of powder blue and silver cutouts of umbrellas and rubber duckies.
Polina leaned over the burrito-shaped bundle on the table. Lucas had a perfectly round head with saucer-sized blue eyes and a mouth perpetually shaped like an O. His chubby cheeks flushed bright red.
“I am not experienced with babies,” Polina said, eyes darting to her friend. “But is it possible he’s too hot?”
Grateful nervously unwrapped her son, who promptly shoved a fist into his mouth and kicked
his feet joyfully. “Hmm. Thank you. I am no good at this. I never thought it would be this hard.” She buried her face in her hands.
Polina touched Grateful’s wrist. “What ails you, sister?”
“Oh, this?” She wiped tears from under her eyes and waved her wet fingers between them. “Let’s see. He never sleeps, which means we rarely sleep. Even Rick is tired. Rick! He only needs to sleep one night a week. I feel like a zombie. Oh, and I’m obsessed with his comfort. Is he too hot, too cold? Hungry? Wet? And then there is the obvious worry.”
Leaning forward, Polina shook her head. “Not obvious to me.”
“Whether he’s…” She rubbed circles over her temples and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Normal.”
“Oh,” Polina said, thinking back to the misaligned water. “Definitely not.”
Grateful’s face fell into a look of horror. Polina froze. Was it possible Grateful wanted her son to be human? What a bizarre thing to want for a child.
“You misunderstand,” Polina backpedaled. “I simply mean he is obviously special. A special little boy. Not abnormal in any way.”
Grateful let out a relieved breath. “So, you think he’ll be human?”
Polina waved a hand in front of her face. “Pishposh. Most certainly. A special human child. Normal but certainly above average.”
The reward for the lie was Grateful’s smile. “I thought so,” she said, scooping the baby back into her arms.
“Nothing to worry about,” Polina reassured.
Grateful bounced the baby gently. “I saw you sitting with Logan at the ceremony. I thought you weren’t interested in humans?”
“I’m not!” Polina said much too loudly. Too much. She internally chided herself for overreacting. After a composing breath, she added, “He wanted to ask me about his accident.”
“What about his accident?”
Polina smoothed her dress. “I was there. I tried to heal him but wasn’t strong enough to finish the job. I… I sent his soul to your attic in a final attempt to rescue him.”
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 207
