by Kristy Tate
“But I do. I don’t think everything has to happen for a reason.”
“You don’t believe in fate or kismet?”
“Not really.”
“What brings you to Alaska, Ms. Wood?”
“I’m a literature professor. I’m going to teach a few classes at the University.” She pointed her chin in the school’s direction. “And I’m going to be recording local lore from the Native Americans in the region.”
“Huh. You sound awfully skeptical for a teacher of fairy tales.”
She swallowed. “My faith in happily-ever-afters took a beating. Went up in flames, actually.”
“How so?”
“Oh, I... It’s too soon to talk about it.”
“Too soon?”
“Well, the fire was actually more than a decade ago. What I meant was, we just met. You don’t want to hear my sad story, do you?”
“We all have sad stories.”
“True, but we don’t have to tell them. I guess that’s why I like fairy tales.”
“Because they always have a happily-ever-after?”
She nodded.
A blue jay landed on the back of the bench and Lizbet flinched away.
“You don’t like birds?” Declan asked.
“I like to look at them, and listen to them, especially in the morning.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I think they’re dirty and disgusting creatures.”
Declan sat up. “Aren’t you worried he’ll hear you?”
“Who? The bird?” She laughed.
A small frisson of worry tickled down Declan’s spine. He didn’t know this Lizbet. She was the same, but different. What had happened to her in the past ten years?
“I’d like to introduce you to my dog. Do you like dogs?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He studied her. She was beautiful, of course, but different. More poised. Stiller. Less distracted. “You don’t sound sure.”
“I actually prefer cats.”
He chuckled and leaned back against the bench. He wanted to relax, but his mind whirred with questions. “Well, let’s not tell that to Stoker.”
“Stoker? Like Bram Stoker, the creator of Dracula?”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure Stoker didn’t create Dracula.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “He just wrote about him.”
“What do you do?” She cocked her head at him.
“I’m a doctor, as well...only my work is bloodier.”
An emotion he couldn’t read flickered across her face. “The boy I lost in the fire, he wanted to be a doctor, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
She ducked her head. “Me, too.”
“But remember, it’s too soon for sad stories.”
“You’re right.” She sighed. “Your work must be really something if you think you can out-bloody Dracula.”
“I’m a surgeon, so I see a fair amount of blood.” He paused. “Do you study vampires?”
“And werewolves...all monsters, really.”
“But you...don’t believe in them, do you?”
“Do you?”
“You’re dodging my question.”
“Actually, it’s called a counter-question.”
“What is?”
“When you answer a question with a question.” She looked at her watch and let out a sigh. “I have to go.”
Panic clutched Declan’s throat, making it hard to swallow or breathe. He couldn’t let her go. Again.“I was serious about introducing you to Stoker.”
She smiled and fished in her pocket for her card and a pen. “I’m teaching a class tonight on mythical creatures. Would you like to attend? I’d invite Stoker, too, but sadly only service dogs are allowed on campus.”
“I’d love to.”
She hid her smile behind a curtain of her curly hair as she wrote down the place and time of her lecture on the back of her card.
“Here,” she said.
He glanced at the card. Beneath her name was the caption, Fairy tales can come true.
This was something he hadn’t believed until she reappeared in his life.
DECLAN WOKE, SHIVERING despite the quilt thrown over him. The sun was still little more than a pinkish smear on the eastern horizon. He braced himself on his elbows and looked out at the forest surrounding the wooden porch. His feet dangled over the edge and a large and ugly dog softly snored beside him.
“What happened?” he asked the inert dog. Sitting up, he realized he was naked.
“What did you see?” a voice asked.
Mawmaw, Matias and Maria’s grandmother, the woman who brewed the crazy wine. What was she doing here? He took in his surroundings—the weather-beaten house, the scraggly lawn, the aged dog, and altered his question. “What am I doing here?”
She rocked her chair back and studied him. “You came by last night, in wolf form. I fed you.”
“Thank you.”
Her grin deepened. “You’re welcome.”
He scratched his unshaven chin. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”
“You aren’t the only one, I’m sure.”
“I’m still a werewolf.”
She nodded. “And you always will be.”
“But I can learn to control it.”
“For the girl’s sake, I hope you do.”
A haze that smelled like a campfire hung in the air.
“There was a fire last night,” he said. Was it just last night?
She nodded.
“And—”
“Many of the wolves died. The others fled.”
His heart quickened. “And Lizbet?”
“She’s home with her mother and grandmother.”
Declan stood. Too late, he remembered he was naked. Embarrassed, he grabbed at the quilt.
Mawmaw just smiled. “My husband has some clothes you can borrow. Stay there, and I’ll fetch them for you.”
Declan dropped back to his seat on the porch. By the time Mawmaw returned with a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, he’d gathered his wits enough to ask a few questions.
“The dream... it was all a dream, wasn’t it? Lizbet meeting her father and losing her abilities...Does it have to come true?”
“Only if you want it to.” She eyed him. “We might not have the power to alter our destinies, but we all can steer in the direction we wish to go.”
Declan nodded.
Mawmaw gestured toward the house. “You can change in privacy.” He knew she was talking about the clothes, but the words held an invitation for so much more.
LIZBET FLEW DOWN THE stairs when she heard Declan’s voice. Launching herself into his arms, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I was so scared! Where did you go?”
He swung her around before kissing her.
Elizabeth, who stood in the foyer, cleared her throat.
Lizbet ignored her grandmother, but Declan whispered in Lizbet’s ear, “Let’s go outside.”
As soon as they stepped out onto the front porch, Lizbet pulled away and smacked his arm. “What happened to you last night?”
“As soon I knew you were safe, I was going to run away... In fact, I thought I had.”
“What?”
Taking her hand, he led her down the porch steps, away from the house and any open windows. Once they were out of earshot from anyone other than birds and the goats in the field, Declan wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “My plan was to go to Alaska with Malcolm and Courtney. But...Matias and Maria’s mawmaw stopped me. She gave me some of that crazy-making wine.” He stopped at the fence and crawled through.
She followed.
“I had a vision,” he continued. “And in it, you met the other Ollos Verdes including your father. He told you that you could either join them in their community, or you could join the rest of us and give up your abilities.”
“Which did I choose?”
They walked along the wooded path. Although it was only the end of August, a few of the trees had already st
arted to turn from green to red, gold, and brown.
“You lost your abilities.”
She nodded. “I would give them up if that was the only way I could stay with you.”
He squeezed her hand. “I would never ask you to change. I only hope you can be patient with me as I learn how to balance being part man and part wolf.”
“Dr. Madison was right?”
Declan nodded. “I can control it...somewhat. I guess I have a lifetime to practice. Will you help me?”
“Will you help me?” Lizbet asked.
“You are incredible!” Declan stared up at the sky where a few dark clouds gathered. “Why would you ever want to be anything other than what you are?”
“I caused a fire.” She choked on tears. “People died. I couldn’t stop it. It’s scary.”
“Of course it is, but don’t you see? The alternative is so much worse.”
“To be like everyone else?”
“No, you could never be like anyone else.”
She bumped him with her shoulder. “And neither could you.”
A few raindrops fell.
Declan cleared his throat. “But do you think you can turn off the waterworks now?”
Lizbet shook her head. “I don’t want to. I feel...drained, somehow. I’m not sure I could do it again. At least, not for a while.”
“It’s a good thing the others have gone.”
“Gone? Where? How would you know?”
He explained to her the silent communication amongst the pack. “They’re heading to the Canadian Rockies. Ollos Verdes terrify them.”
“I’m terrifying.” She tried to process this.
“Terrifyingly wonderful,” Declan said as he gathered her into his arms and kissed her.
She noticed that they had arrived at the circle of stones.
“This is what Godwin wanted,” Declan told her. “The pack had never intended to harm anyone, but they wanted this piece of land. They believe that this place is sacred. The energy here gives them strength.”
“Do you believe that?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure what I believe in anymore. Although there is one thing I know for sure. I don’t want to live without you. Ever.”
EPILOGUE
Ten months later
John fussed with his bowtie. “It’s lopsided,” he muttered.
Declan, who had his own bowtie to worry about, came to help his dad. He tweaked it into shape. “There, it looks great.”
Declan peeked out of the caterer’s tent and scanned the lawn. Dozens of white chairs draped in tulle and lace had been set up in front of a wicker arch decorated with roses and strings of pearls. Friends and family sat waiting. He looked over his dad’s shoulder to see his mom sitting beside Holbrook St. James, and Maria sitting with Baxter. The entire school board was there as well as several teachers from the high school. Elizabeth sat in the front row, nervously clutching a string of pearls.
“What if she doesn’t show?” John asked.
“Dad, really?”
“Or what if it rains? Who ever heard of an outdoor wedding in the Pacific Northwest?”
Declan grinned. “The weather is, I think, the last thing you should be worried about. I can pretty much guarantee you a life of sunny skies as long as you stay with Daugherty.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time.”
And just then, as if the band had heard him, the violins began to play Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”
John braced his shoulders and stepped out of the tent. Everyone turned to watch as John proceeded down the aisle and took his place in front of the minister. Declan followed.
Lizbet met him at the aisle and gave him a teary smile along with her hand. When they reached the minister, they broke apart and turned to watch Daugherty make her entrance.
Pale with silvery blond hair, she looked nothing like Lizbet but as she approached, Declan couldn’t help imagining another wedding. His own. To Lizbet. Visions of their future clouded his mind. He saw their graduations from college, a home with white clapboard and blue shutters, a passel of dark curly-haired children and, of course, a menagerie of animals playing in the yard.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed reading about Lizbet and Declan. If you did, please consider leaving a review. If you’d like to read more of my books, please go to my website at http://www.kristytate.com/#welcome and sign up for my newsletter to receive a free book.
Witch One
By Kristy Tate
Copyright July 2017
When emotions run high, sparks can fly.
How a High School Dance is Like the Courting Rituals Found in the Animal Kingdom
By Evelynn Marston
The animal kingdom is rife with courtship rituals. These are generally initiated by the males who attempt to woo female partners.
Some animals, like the bowerbird, will collect a tower of objects to impress his love. The great grebe, who mates for life, has a series of dance moves to perform throughout the mating season. If, for any reason, the pair is separated, they will each bust a move when reunited. The male peacock spreads his tail feathers and struts around.
The praying mantis literally risks his life for a night of love. If his lady dislikes his performance, she bites his head off.
A male nursery web spider will present a little bundle of food wrapped in pretty white silk to the female as a request to mate. If the female likes the present, the two will mate while she unwraps and eats the meal. Sadly, sometimes the male will try to bring a wrapped twig. When this happens, the relationship is dead in the water.
It might be thought that courtship only occurs in the kinds of animals that have fairly complex brains, such as mammals and birds. This is not the case as the school dances at Hartly High clearly demonstrate!
Mr. Cox put down my essay and wannabe newspaper article and smiled with a gaze that glittered with excitement. "Are you willing to attend the dance—not as a participant, but as a spectator?"
"Absolutely," I said.
"This is the hallmark of a true journalist," he told me. "You must be able to put aside your own desires. As a reporter, you cease to be an individual with your own petty goals. Your function is to be a communication vessel—a transmitter to the world."
I nodded, mute with happiness.
"YOU AGREED TO WHAT?" Bree asked at her house later that night.
I pushed my hair off my forehead and looked across the kitchen table at my best friend. Studying at my own house, where there was no one but Scratch, our bulldog, and the sound of Uncle Mitch's lab rats scurrying in their cages to interrupt us, was quieter and therefore boring compared to hanging at Bree's.
"I'm not going to the dance, per se, as a person." I had expected this conversation and had prepared for it. "I'm going as a journalist."
"So you are going and you can get me a ticket."
"You know only upperclassmen can go."
Lincoln, Bree's little brother, burst into the room wearing nothing but his tighty-whities. "Where are the cookies?" he demanded. His pale skin stretched across his bony chest.
"I don't know anything about cookies," Bree told him. "And go and put your clothes on."
Lincoln scooted a kitchen chair up to the counter for a quick cookie-surveillance and took note of backpacks, textbooks, novels, scribbled-on bits of paper, a baseball card collection. His eyes lit up when he spotted a half-eaten chocolate bunny, probably left over from Easter.
Bree ignored her little brother. "But the Blazing Blizzards!"
"Norfolk High will probably have a great band too."
"That's so not true," Bree said.
"The guys at your school are hotter."
Lincoln stood on his chair and nibbled on one of the bunny's ears.
"What makes you say that?" Bree asked.
"Well, they don't have to wear Hartly’s uniform, for one thing."
In the living room, the front door opened and Bree’s older sister Candace walked in with a friend
wearing a chicken suit. A cold breeze circled the room until the door slammed shut.
"What the quack?" Lincoln asked.
"It's 'what the cluck,'" the girl in the chicken suit corrected him with a giggle.
Candace’s friend had masses of blond hair tucked into a hoodie covered with yellow feathers. She wore the beak on top of her head like a rhino horn.
"You look stupid," Lincoln told her.
"Thanks," the girl said.
"What are you supposed to be?"
"I'm a chick," she told him right before she lowered the beak over her nose.
"But why?" Lincoln demanded.
"You'll see," the girl said. The beak bobbed up and down with her muffled words.
"School play try-outs already?" I asked Bree in a hushed tone as soon as the chick and Candace ran up the back stairs.
"I don't think so," Bree said.
"Are the dogs outside?" Candace called from upstairs.
Lincoln jumped off his chair. "Why?" he demanded. "They have just as much right as you do to be in here."
"Just take them out!" Candace called back.
"They're not here," Bree yelled.
"Where are they?"
"I don't know," Bree answered.
"Well, keep them out."
"Why?" Lincoln asked.
The smell of fried chicken fried wafted down the stairs.
"What the...cluck?" Bree pushed back from the table and went into the front room.
I followed.
Candace and the chick were dropping a trail of chicken nuggets that started at the front door and ran up the stairs.
"Nobody step on these," the chick demanded.
"Does Mom know you're doing this?" Bree asked, her lips curled in disdain.
"She won't care," Candace said as she dropped chicken nuggets on the floor.
"Uncle Mitch would," I said under my breath.
Bree nodded. “I don’t think Mom is going to like it, but the dogs will."
"Bree," Candace called. "Come help."
I trailed up the stairs after Bree and followed the nuggets into the bathroom. The chick lay in the bathtub and Candace stood beside her with a roll of plastic wrap in her hands. "We're going to make it look like she's swimming in nuggets."
