Harvest: Dark Urban Fantasy (Shifter Chronicles Book 3)

by Melle Amade

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to use cell phones.” The words rasp out of my mouth.

  “My phone can’t be traced,” Aiden says.

  “Do you really think I would use a phone that can be traced?” Callum asks.

  I want to say no, but then again. “Why did you need to call her?” Even I can hear the pithiness in my voice.

  Callum glances over at Lord Van Arend, whose breath sounds like he’s gurgling. “Let’s go outside,” he says quietly.

  I steady myself with a deep breath knowing Lord Van Arend’s sickbed is no place to have this conversation. Spinning on my heel, I’m out the front door in seconds.

  “She’s running my Ravensgaard,” Callum calls down the stairs as he rushes to keep up.

  “You were supposed to marry her.” I throw the words at him.

  “She doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry her,” Callum says. “Can’t you get that through your head? I’m with you. Unless you don’t want to be with me.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” I say. The words come out a lot harsher than I’m feeling, but there’s something, something right about them. I stop and take a deep breath. “Callum, I’m sorry. I don’t mean it that way, it’s just… I’m just overwhelmed with everything right now.”

  “Are you serious?” His arms reach towards me. “You don’t mean it.”

  “Callum, I do,” I say. “I’m in no shape for any kind of relationship right now.”

  He drops his arms, his face going perfectly still, his lip curling slightly. “Right,” he says. “Of course, you’re not. Aiden’s back.” He shakes his head and without another word he turns and goes back into the house.

  20

  Sometimes chores are good. Like those times when things are so difficult and you can’t quite figure them out. Today is so one of those days. I can’t do anything for Lord Van Arend. I don’t know how to navigate things with Callum. I certainly have no way of processing this capability of making fire come out of my hands. I mean, I don’t even want to test it out. Finding El Oso and rescuing my Dad from him couldn’t seem farther away. Today is the perfect day for mindless chores. I’m washing out the feeders back behind the barn where no one can see me, unless they are looking for me.

  Which apparently is exactly what Mom is doing. She leans up against the fence, her hair pulled back in a handkerchief.

  “Take a break,” she says, with a smile. “Come do yoga with me.”

  I look back at the feeder, trying to think of a good excuse to not take a break. “I told Cooper I’d take care of feeding.”

  “You’ve been working yourself to the bone since you got here,” Mom sighs.

  “Hardly to the bone.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Right,” I nod. What she’s really saying is I’ve been avoiding her. And I have been. I hate those guilt-ridden people who think they’re responsible for everything has ever happened in the world, but in this case, well, it’s pretty much true. Well not the whole world. But my dad. If I hadn’t –

  The gentle touch of mom’s fingers stops my thoughts and I gaze into her clear blue eyes. “Just come. Do yoga with me. The feeders will still be here when you get back and feeding time isn’t until the sun hits the far horizon,” she says, a gentle smile forming on her lips.

  “It’s like you’re a real farmer now,” I say.

  “A real farmer who does yoga.” She takes my hand and leads me towards the oak tree where she’s already put out two mats. It’s almost like being at the Topanga Harvest Festival. Only it’s not at all.

  As my feet take their well-rehearsed place on the edge of the mat, I shake my shoulders out. They ache. I may have completely underestimated my need to stretch my body. The collar is a huge weight on me in all ways, pushing me to do any task to stop me from thinking about this thing I will always live with.

  “Stand in mountain, your hands resting at your sides.” I have always loved my mother’s voice when she’s teaching yoga. At home, her tone was often shrill and harsh and strained with the million things she needed or wanted to get done before she went to bed at night or just, what I understand now, trying to hold back the rage that moved under her skin. The rage of the wyte. The shifter who never had the Bloedhart and could not actually become their animal self. But regardless of what was going on with her, whenever she stepped into the yoga room to lead her classes, her voice went gentle and soft and dipped an octave lower, like a warm summer breeze that fills your soul with the knowledge there will be plenty of food come winter. I settle into the pose, letting her voice wash over me.

  “Raise your left-hand open to the sky, stretching over to your right side. Reach and stretch your shoulders flat and straight.”

  My body creaks and groans as I stretch it out. It’s never felt like this before. I can definitely tell I haven’t done yoga in weeks. The collar weighs on my neck, pulling my head farther to the side, but I don’t worry about it. I just let the weight stretch my body out more.

  “Let your body expand and fold and then relax to mountain position.”

  We repeat the stretch on the other side and then Mom brings me through downward dog, lunge, and warrior. With each position I take, the creases and chinks in my body elongate and align. It’s like my molecules were all slightly out of place and doing yoga helps them slide into where they’re supposed to be.

  We end in corpse position. Lying flat on our backs, arms at our side, breathing slowly and deeply, in through the nose and out through the mouth. My body sways in the tide of my breath. Breathe in the flowers, blow out the candles. If not for this breath, there would be nothing.

  “Roll your body gently to the right side, with eyes closed, lifting yourself into a sitting position.” Mom’s voice rouses me from my deep breathing.

  I sit up and press my palms together and hold them up to the center of my body, against my heart chakra. I bow my head. “Namaste,” I say.

  “Namaste,” Mom responds.

  We sit there in silence, heads bowed and take another deep breath together. It may just be the calmest I’ve felt in the weeks since this all happened. This is the centered place where I will discover solutions.

  “Does it hurt?” My mom asks.

  I shake my head. “No, no, it doesn’t, Mom. It’s really just, you know, annoying. How is the pain for you? I haven’t seen your mood swings lately.” I inhale deeply and I can smell the lavender, clove, and lemon grass oil she uses to keep her spirits calm.

  She pulls a vial out of her pocket, shakes it up, and opens it. I glance and get a whiff and groan. “Dirt?” I ask.

  “It’s the last remnants of the powder Zaragoza gave me,” she says.

  My heart clenches at the mention of the warlock’s name. But it drops when I realize she’s almost out of the powder has been keeping her anger and aggression at bay.

  “Have you tried the powder Roman is making for you?” I ask.

  “He’s a little caught up with Lord Van Arend, at the moment,” Mom says. “He might need some help finishing it. You know, maybe like an assistant or something.”

  I look at her sideways, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to be Roman’s assistant?” I ask.

  “I just thought it would give you something to do. Something you can help with. I know you must be sick and tired of doing all the chores around here. Even though I’m really proud of the way you’ve just jumped in with both hands. It really makes me feel like I might have done something right.”

  “Look, Mom, I’m happy to help. I’ll do anything you need. But I don’t think Roman exactly needs my help.”

  “Probably not. He’s such a clever boy.”

  “Guy,” I sigh. “Boys are like eight years old. Like Henry.”

  “You’re right, Shae,” Mom smiles. “I’m just so glad I still have a young one. I’ve been watching you all grow up over the last few years and you know, I still see you all running around like, little ankle biters, as your father would call you.” Her
voice stops at the mention of my dad. Her eyes mist over. My mom’s tough but I can see her take a short wavering breath, as if she needs to swallow whatever is going on inside so it doesn’t come out. I try really hard not to feel anything about that. I really need to keep my boundaries strong with my mom. But in this case, I owe her.

  “I’m going to find him.,” I say. “I’m going to find Dad, and I’m going to get him out of there and I’m going to bring him home. I have a way now.” I don’t tell her about the fire power I have. I don’t know how to use it, much less explain it. And if they keep their promise, none of my friends will tell her either.

  “No!” The word rockets out of her mouth as if it is the one thing she really wanted to tell me all day.

  I’m blown back by the force. “What?” I ask. “Don’t you want him back?” My voice chokes as it tries to escape my throat.

  “Of course, I want him back.” Mom’s smile painfully ripples across her face. “Of course.” She says the words emphatically enough, but in her eyes, I can see old rage, like how dare you even ask me question? Instead she says something I don’t expect at all. Something I didn’t see coming, catches me completely off-guard.

  She clears her throat. “Leave your father in El Oso’s hands,” she says. Her words are slow steel. She delivers them carefully so there’s no mistaking her words.

  “How can you say that, Mom? How can you leave him with El Oso? This is the guy who had Zaragoza killed. There’s not a high survival rate of this. If we don’t get in there and get Dad out he’s not going to survive, Mom. There’s no way I will go the rest of my life without seeing him. And Henry! How can you say that with Henry? Henry is eight years old. He’s way too young to lose his father.”

  “And I’m way too young to lose you,” she says.

  I slide my mouth shut but I push myself off the grass and stand up.

  “You don’t think I can do it,” I say. I try not to feel belligerent but I can’t help it.

  “I don’t think anybody can,” Mom says. “Nobody but your father.”

  “You think Dad can get out of this himself?” I ask. “All alone? Lady Heather who is like some sort of mage witch jaguar shifter hasn’t even been able to get away from him in over twenty years and you think Dad, all alone, is going to figure something out.”

  “Yes,” Mom says. “Yes Shae, I do. I have faith in your father. Do you?”

  My hands clench at my sides, because Dad has always saved me. “He’s always been the one there at my side, and it’s not that I don’t have faith in him. I do. But I find it so hard to just sit here and do nothing. I can’t just sit here flightless and hopeless.”

  Before she can respond I turn and leave. I try to walk and be cool about it, but I can’t stop the tears from falling down my cheeks and before I know it, I’m running into the darkness and the safety of the barn where I can huddle alone, out of sight.

  The sun is angling low towards the top of the mountains. Being on the west side of the valley, it sets the earliest over here. I’ve gotten used to the way the sun moves across the sky and how it affects wherever you are and what you’re doing. Back in Topanga, we were often in the house at sunset and didn’t really notice when it got a bit dark. We would just turn on the lights.

  But here it’s different. We’re usually out in the field or with the animals. They start calling for dinner and harassing you into feeding them. That’s how you know the sun is setting. Then you’re racing to make sure you get them all locked up before the sunsets in case there’s any predators about. Once they’re all fed and tucked in, then finally you get to go and eat.

  Usually Uncle Steve’s got some meat on the barbecue or some ribs in the smoker and it becomes the perfect trifecta between resting after physical work with the visual splendor of the sunset and the rich tang of barbecued ribs tempting your senses. And you know you’re going to settle down in the backyard, turn on the lights strung over the grass, switch on the music and enjoy a well-earned plate of food. Usually I feel like never been hungrier in my life.

  There’s something really cozy about country life. It’s definitely growing on me.

  Tonight, it was a little harder to pull myself together and crawl out of the barn, but the smell of ribs draws me forward and, being with my friends sure beats sitting alone in a dark, stinky barn. So, when I hear the dinner bell, it’s like a homing beacon and I make my way to the kitchen.

  Cooper’s usually the first one in line, but he’s not here tonight. I glance around because it’s kind of weird. I actually don’t know where he is. I wonder if he might be out somewhere with Aiden, but although he is a couple of minutes late, Aiden files into line with the rest of us. He has dark circles under his eyes and I can’t even bring myself to ask the question that there’s really only one answer to. The standard “How are you?” Or, in this case, “How is he?”

  I don’t have to ask the question. It’s obvious.

  Lord Van Arend is dying.

  His gray skin undulates with stored water. It’s a look I haven’t seen on anybody, anytime, anywhere before.

  I squeeze Aiden’s hand. He looks listlessly at the food, but he has to eat something. Callum’s gaze goes down to my hand holding Aiden’s. His shoulders stiffen and he does a quick intake of breath, but he is Aiden’s Ridder and Aiden is suffering. He won’t abandon him. And neither will I. Callum looks away without any expression whatsoever. I try to help Aiden get a plate, but he shrugs me off.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m just going to grab a couple of things and go back to my dad.”

  “Take a rest,” I say. “Come and sit with us for dinner.”

  Aiden shakes his head as he puts a little bit of mashed potatoes and green beans on his plate and a thin slice of meat. “No,” he says. “I’d rather be with my dad right now.”

  Roman and I exchange a look. His face is hollow too. But he’s not stupid, he knows this isn’t his fault. Saving Lord Van Arend will take a miracle. And although we seem to have found some magic, it doesn’t mean we have miracles.

  With our plates full we go outside to the backyard, sitting on the benches and tables around the porch. We watch the last light of the dying sun disappear behind the mountains.

  Truck tires sound on the gravel of the front driveway. Minutes later, Cooper comes around the side of the house and, I stare at him in amazement. He has Guinevere with him.

  Aunt Natalie stands up, her plate dropping from her lap. “What’s she doing here?” Her words travel cold and rigid across the space.

  My gaze flies to Evie, but she’s not flustered in the slightest. She just bows her head in deference to Aunt Natalie, though doesn’t retreat at all.

  “I invited her.” Cooper takes the brunt of Aunt Natalie’s shock. “She’s my cousin, too. My uncle’s child and I want to get to know her.”

  “You couldn’t think of doing this somewhere else?” Aunt Emma asks.

  “Nope,” Cooper says.

  Aunt Natalie storms down the path to her house slamming the door loudly, the screen banging repeatedly against the framework.

  Awkward.

  I glance at Evie, but she’s already moved off with Henry. He’s showing her the plastic steer head stuck in the straw bale and showing off his newly developed lassoing skills.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t warn any of us you were bringing her here,” Zan eyes Cooper.

  “We don’t need a family rift,” he says. “It doesn’t matter. She’s my uncle’s child. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be one of this family. She can turn into a coyote just like the rest of us. And she’s a Nuverling, like her.” He nods his head towards me. “We should be taking more care of her than not.”

  “What’s a Nuverling?” Henry asks.

  “It’s- it’s like me, or like I used to be. I can shift into two animals.”

  “You can shift to two animals?” Henry asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “A raven and what else?”

  “A d
ove.” I smile.

  But Henry doesn’t look all that impressed. “Oh,” he says. He grabs a big mouthful of Aunt Emma’s pesto pasta from the plate he has sitting on the bench. He turns back to Evie who’s trying to wrangle the lasso around the steer head. “What can you shift into? Birds?”

  “No,” she says. “A bird and a coyote.”

  “A coyote? That’s cool.” Henry enthuses. “Do you think I’ll be able to turn into something like that?”

  “The best you can hope for would be a raven and a dove like me,” I say.

  “You’re apparently out of fashion,” Cooper smiles seeing the look of disappointment that flows over Henry’s face.

  Zan frowns over at me. “How is it she can turn into two animals and not be torn apart?”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “Everything she’s capable of doing,” Roman says, “shifting at twelve, shifting into multiple animals without being torn apart…It’s unheard of where we come from.”

  “Dad said they used Aborigine magic as part of their ceremony for shifting. Down there they didn’t control the mating process of species. They don’t have enough of any one species to be picky. So, everybody just has children with whoever they want to have children with. I know, cutting edge idea, right.”

  Callum stares at me folding his arms across his chest.

  “It’s the ceremony that’s different,” Cooper says. “That’s what you’re saying.”

  Roman nods. “Right. Here they don’t use the Bloedhart. In Australia, they don’t use the Bloedhart.”

  “So, you think it’s the Bloedhart that made it dangerous for me to be a Nuverling?” I ask.

  “Possibly,” Zan says.

  “And, even though the Passiefs didn’t shift until they were sixteen, well, their roots are in Europe, so maybe that is the way the tradition was handed down.

  My eyes go to where Evie and Henry have moved on to playing corn hole. Henry’s face is screwed up as he aims his shot. He throws the yellow bag and it skids up the wooden slope and drops into the hole. “Yes!” he exclaims, pumping two fists in the air.