“Where did you meet him?” I asked.
“At one of the Witches’ Balls—they’re still held, you know. Annual black tie affair, very ritzy, all the elite blueblood of the magical set. You should go. You can take Killian. While he can’t become a member on his own, you can and he’ll be an adjunct member through you. I’ll have the organizers send you an invitation.”
I frowned. “What are we talking about? The Court Magika?”
“I’m sorry—I forgot you’ve been gone so long. No, the Royal Order of the Wand & Sword. It’s a private organization first created by the Crown Magika. It is aligned with the Court Magika, as an adjunct organization. Members must be from witchblood families, and either must prove their lineage or apply to have their family inducted into the order.” She paused, then added. “My family has been participating in the Royal Order for hundreds of years. I’m a member, so you will automatically be accepted.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to join something that sounded quite so snobbish, but I decided to find out more about it before accepting or declining. “What does the Royal Order do?”
Rowan shrugged. “A lot of good works. Where the Court Magika takes care of the judicial issues in the witchblood community, the—”
“Hold on,” I said, realizing that I had missed something. “I’ve never heard of the Crown Magika. Are they some type of royalty?”
Rowan let out a long sigh. “I wish I could rattle your parents’ bones—and don’t you bother protesting. I’m just as sorry they’re dead as you are. But they neglected their duties. They should have sent you to the Aseer when you were young, they should have prevented your marriage to that asinine human. And they should have taught you about your lineage.”
“How could they when Father didn’t know about you?” She was being unfair now.
“I mean your magical heritage. Even without knowing I was his mother, your father could have encouraged your mother to teach you more about what it means to be a witch.” Rowan was hot now, letting off steam.
“Then you teach me. It’s too late to turn back time, but you can teach me what I need to know, now.” I leaned forward, staring at her, hands propped on my knees. “Since you think I’m lacking, take the ropes. Mentor me.”
Rowan smiled and I realized I’d fallen right into her trap. “Challenge accepted. I hope you’re ready for it, girl, because I am going to run you through your paces.”
Right then, it occurred to me that I should never, ever, underestimate my grandmother because Rowan would catch me coming and going.
Chapter Nine
Rowan laughed at my expression. “Caught like the cocky little fly in the web.”
I pressed my lips shut, not certain what to say. Finally, I shrugged. “Hey, you could have just come out and told me to study with you.”
“Why, when it’s so much more fun this way? All right, we’ll spend some time setting up a lesson plan. But back to the Crown Magika. You don’t seem to know, so I’m going to start from the ground up. There’s a queen that all witches answer to. Queen of the Witches, the Empress of Energy. She’s from one of the oldest witchblood families, and she’s been queen for the past three hundred years. She took the throne shortly before I was born.”
“Where does she live?” I asked.
“There’s an island off the coast of Shrove, Ireland, called Easa Cailleach. It’s where the original witch families lived. Not the druids, but the witches. Queen Heliesa lives there. You won’t find it on any maps, because it exists within the Betweon Veille, between the veils where the doors to the elemental planes exist.”
I had heard nothing of any of this. “Why didn’t my mother talk to me about this?”
“Because she wanted you to integrate into the human world,” Rowan said. “Your mother was proud of her heritage—she wasn’t ashamed of it, or anything like that, but…” She paused, frowning at the floor.
“What is it?”
“I don’t wish to cast any shade on your mother, especially since she’s not here to defend herself.” Rowan paused, then glanced up. “I hear your beau. He just pulled up.”
“Tell me, before he comes in. What were you about to say?”
Rowan gave me a faint smile. “Your mother knew that I was your grandmother. She wanted to separate us as much as possible. She always feared I’d get my hands on you. Bluntly put, she didn’t like me much because she thought I was dangerous.”
At that moment, Killian opened the door, and Rowan gave me a shake of the head, indicating that tonight’s conversation was over.
She left shortly after, leaving me reeling with all the information she had dumped on me. But I had pressed her, so I only had myself to blame.
Killian kissed me, then settled down in the recliner. “I’m tired. Do you mind if we order takeout? Or maybe we can drop by a fast food place, grab a burger, and go sit by the water? It’s been a long day, and I’m beat.”
I had more than enough on my mind to deal with. Dinner out sounded good. “I like that idea. Hey.” I paused. “Is there a game on you’d like to watch? You seem in the mood to just chill.”
He grinned sheepishly. “You can tell? Actually, it’s not a game, but a new season of Survive or Shift starts tonight. I know it’s just a cheesy reality show but—”
“But you like it. Why don’t I go get a bucket of chicken? I can use the break. A lot happened today, but I still haven’t processed a fraction of it, so a drive will help me clear my head. I’ll tell you all about it later. Anything in particular that you want?” I was antsy, jonesing to go for a drive and shake off the past forty-eight hours. The last thing I wanted to do was to talk.
“You’d do that?” Killian asked, reaching out to take hold of my fingers and kiss them gently.
“I’d do that. I’m a good girlfriend,” I said with a smile. “What do you want?”
“Bucket of chicken sounds good. Maybe some mac ‘n cheese on the side, mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits…a milkshake?” He gave me his best puppy dog look and I melted.
“KFC and milkshakes it is. What flavor shake?”
“Chocolate. Extra large?”
I gathered up my keys and jacket. “I’ll be back in half an hour or so. Feed the cats, would you?” Before I headed for the door, I gave him a little kiss. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” he said, winking.
I headed out into the night. The sky was clear, and the air cool and crisp. I could see the first light of stars beginning to twinkle and I deliberately ignored my house while sidestepping over the gate to my driveway. I tried to keep my eyes on the yard, on the car, on anything but my home as I pulled out of the drive and headed toward the lower level of Moonshadow Bay. All the while, Rowan’s words were zinging around in my head, even as I tried to push them out of my thoughts for the night.
Moonshadow Bay was built on two levels. The upper level was mostly residential suburbs, schools, and medical complexes. There were at least six to eight main roads that led down the steep slopes to the lower level, which made up the downtown shopping area. Next to the bay, the lower level not only contained the main shopping district, but also the City Central complex and other services. There was a central park by the marina and I decided to stop there and take a walk. I needed the break, and a walk in the fall air would do me good.
The leaves on the trees were just beginning to fall, lining the sides of the roads with their colorful debris. The summer had been hotter than usual—something that hadn’t made me too happy, but now that we were headed into autumn, I was starting to relax, at least until a few days ago when my house became ghost central.
I parked in the lot that bordered the marina and, locking my car and tucking the keys in my pocket, I headed over toward the park that overlooked the water. There were couples walking hand in hand, people walking their dogs, kids bundled up and playing on the swings. Everything seemed nice and easy. I headed over to one of the piers that led out into the water, with park benches spaced along the br
oad concrete walkway.
Along the pier, tall lamp posts illuminated both the walkway and the water, and at the end of the pier were two older men, sitting on a bench that directly overlooked the bay, their fishing rods in hand. The pier wasn’t one for boats—that part of the marina was farther down the road—and the men were bundled up, silent as they watched over their rods and lines.
I chose a bench on the left side of the pier, not far from where they were fishing, and sat down. Thanks to the cool scent of brine and decaying seaweed—which made for a scent that never failed to remind me of home—I felt my mind began to clear and my tension melted away. The sound of seagulls overhead reminded me, once again, that I was where I needed to be.
Galadriel’s warning to Legolas in Lord of the Rings might as well have been aimed at me. “Legolas Greenleaf long under tree in joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.”
I might be witchblood and not elf, but I knew from a young age I could never move away from the coast. I could never move inland. For me, being on the edge of the ocean meant that I would forever be able to run free…to escape. I wasn’t sure what it was I needed to escape from, but all I knew was that I slept better when the water was nearby. I’d gone inland on a few trips and had panicked, feeling landlocked. But here, I felt free and I felt at home.
I sat there on the bench, just breathing, trying to let my mind settle. After a few moments, one of the old men who was fishing on the end of the pier packed up his tacklebox and slowly stood, stretching after he gathered his things. He looked about eighty, and was wearing a lightweight windbreaker and a matching golf hat.
As he passed me, I asked, “Have any luck? Catch anything?”
He smiled. “Fishing is its own reward. I hate fish—to eat. So anything I catch, I throw back. But it gives me an excuse to get away, to come out here and be on my own to think.” He paused, then added, “Sometimes appearances deceive, you know. My wife, bless her, is the best woman in the world, but I need a break from her at times. She thinks I’m a lousy fisherman, and I let her think that I’m trying to improve. Because if she knew that I was out here just to think, she’d try to get me to do something I’m good at—something that’s real work.”
I laughed. “So, you let her think you love to fish, so you can just sit and think?”
“You do what you gotta do,” he said. Then he tipped his hat. “You have a good evening, miss.”
Giving him a half-wave, I watched him go. He was right. Sometimes you did what you had to in order to manage life. The other fisherman packed up as well, and headed out a few moments later. I moved to their bench, staring into the water.
Had my parents stopped Charge—if the skeleton was his—in the only way they knew how? I was freaked out by the thought that they might actually have killed someone, but what if he had threatened them? What if he had threatened to hurt my mother? And why hadn’t I asked Millie what the police’s response had been to their reports about Charge? I pulled out my phone and texted myself a reminder to ask her about that.
Then, feeling calmer, I headed back to my car. I stopped at KFC and ordered a big spread, then at the Dive—a local burger drive-thru—I ordered Killian’s jumbo chocolate shake. I decided that sounded really good, but I wanted orange cream instead of chocolate. I also ordered a half-gallon of soft serve swirl. Heading back to Killian’s, I was grateful that my time sitting by the bay had calmed my nerves. Hoping the effect would last, I pulled into the drive, parking next to Killian’s SUV, and headed inside with the food.
Killian was watching his show, so I spread out the food on the table and put the soft serve in the freezer, filled a plate for myself and, taking my food and milkshake, I headed into the bedroom where I sprawled on the bed with Xi and Klaus. I was going to read, but realized I was too tired, so I set up my tablet and, turning on the TV to an episode of the Great British Baking Show, I ate my chicken and played solitaire until Killian joined me. I snuggled under the covers with him, and we fell asleep, both too tired to do anything but kiss each other good night.
Four shots of espresso, along with eggs, toast, and bacon, made for breakfast.
“What are you doing today?” Killian asked. “You going back over to the house?”
I shrugged. “First, I’m going down to City Central to look up who built it, who owned it, and anything else I can find. Teran said it was built in the 1950s and that it was updated shortly before my parents bought it. They bought it the year before I was born, so in 1979.” I stopped, realizing I hadn’t told him about the secret basement. “Oh good gods, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you—we found a hidden basement in the storage room.”
He stopped, holding his toast midair. “What?”
I told him how we had found it. “We haven’t been down there yet—Rowan thought we should explore it during the daylight, so that’s what we’re going to do this afternoon.”
Killian shook his head. “This is getting stranger and stranger. You knew nothing about the room when you were little? The basement, that is?”
I shook my head. “Though now that I think about it, maybe that’s why my parents didn’t want me in the storage room. Maybe they found the basement after I was born and were afraid I’d find it and…oh, maybe fall down the stairs or something. They look steep and narrow.”
“That makes sense,” he said. “I wish I could help you, but today I’m doing three spays, two neuters, and a dental on Mrs. Holder’s rottweiler.”
I thought I recognized the name. “Holder…Holder, isn’t that the shifter family with a dozen kids?”
He grinned. “Yeah. I’m not sure if they have a dozen, but enough that it must cost them a fortune in groceries. They’re wolf shifters, which is surprising. Most wolf shifter families are fairly small—two to four kids at the most.”
“Maybe they have some rabbit in their background,” I said, grinning. “Who knows. Well, I hope today’s not as tiring as the past couple for you.”
“It shouldn’t be. And I hope that you figure out some of what’s going on,” Killian said. He jumped up, folding his napkin. “I have to run. Don’t forget to lock up when you leave.” After a quick kiss, he headed out for work.
I finished my breakfast, then rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. Killian’s house was comfortable. It was a little bigger than mine, with that masculine feel most bachelors’ homes had. It felt oddly monied, with heavy leather sofas and chairs, and dark, sturdy furniture.
I sat down on the sofa to put on my boots and Xi came running up, leaping into my lap. I picked her up and rubbed my face on her belly, then kissed her head. “Hey, little one. How are you?”
The faint impression of happy came through—not the word, but the emotion. Xi and Klaus seemed quite at home in Killian’s house. Almost as much as they did in our own home. They loved him, and he, in turn, treated them like honored guests.
But then, I got the faintest hint of worry from Xi, and I paused, bringing her up to look in her eyes. Xi, what’s going on? Are you afraid?
I reached out, searching for an answer, and found myself slipping into a trance.
I was standing on the edge of the forest. There, in front of me, was the beginning of a path leading into the vibrant undergrowth. The forest was lush with ferns and bracken, with stinging nettle and salmonberries, with huckleberries and skunk cabbage and moss hanging off massive old-growth fir and cedars.
The air was thick with moisture, mist rising from the ground to swirl around me. I could smell the earthy geosim as the rain fell on the soil, releasing bacteria that echoed with the tang of mushrooms and moss and mildew. It mingled with the smell of the petrichor of fresh, growing trees and the ozone from the storm that had just passed through. All three churned together to send me into the heart of the forest, the heart of the land.
I began to head into the trees, along the trail, stepping over the occasional tree root t
hat spread across the path, producing knobby protrusions that could easily catch and turn an ankle. Besides the roots, rocks the size of my fist and larger jutted up, scattered along the trail. I continued to walk between the towering guardians who silently watched the land.
After a while, I came to a fork in the road. The trail continued straight, but I knew in my heart that I had to choose either the left or the right. I turned to the left and saw, standing at the head of that fork, a tall man. His hands rested on the top of a staff, and he was surrounded by a nimbus of blue fire. His indigo cloak sparkled with stars. Over the cloak, he wore a fur shawl, and on his head was a headdress that looked like a giant crow, with ruby eyes and a sharp beak. The man’s hair was long and black as the night. It trailed down to his shoulders, and his eyes were pure white, glowing like neon.
In an odd way, he reminded me of Captain Jack Sparrow, from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, but his charisma wasn’t fueled by booze, and he had a sly, cunning look to him. He was surrounded by a bevy of crows, with one atop his shoulder, and eight crows surrounding his feet. The birds stared at me with the same energy as their master.
I stared at him, feeling afraid. He cocked his head to the side. “You are not for my realm. Your path leads a different direction,” he said.
I nodded. He was definitely blocking the way so I couldn’t continue along that fork in the road. “Who are you?” I asked.
“The Crow Man. I did not summon you. Turn around while you can.” And with that, he laughed, and I saw a figure behind him, translucent, almost like a specter—a woman in black leather, with feathers in her hair and a skull around her neck, and two crows sat on her shoulders.
My stomach twisted and I backed away, instinct taking over. She was a goddess, but she was not my goddess. “Who…who…” I asked, as I stepped back, almost tripping over a root.
“My Mistress is the Morrígan,” the Crow Man said. “While you speak with the dead, you are not a spirit shaman, and she is not for you.”
Harvest Web Page 10
