by H. L. Burke
After Jericho’s father had died, his father’s older brother had taken it upon himself to care for the family, even marrying Jericho’s mother. Jericho had always suspected that match was more a matter of duty than affection, but Uncle Farris had been kind to them. More than could be said for Jericho’s own dad. His mother and two younger siblings still lived in the shop and his brother was training to take over the family business when Uncle Farris retired.
Upon reaching the quiet village, Jericho reclaimed his satchel of books from the church before heading to the carpentry shop. The Carver’s shop and home was an old, two-story building slightly off the main road. The location was possibly so that the noise of hammers and the drifting sawdust didn’t disturb the patrons of the book shop, or the tailors, or the tiny tea room with its six gingham-covered tables and delicately iced cakes. By the time he reached it, the shop sign read “closed,” but a single lantern lit the front window.
Tarpaulins covered stacks of wood in the yard. Most of the lumber was shipped in from high mountain camps, but Farris wasn’t beyond going into the woods to seek out a special tree for a specific purpose. While his practical skill was above reproach, his passion was smaller, more artistic pieces, often intricately carved.
Jericho knocked on the door. His nineteen-year-old brother, Naz, opened it. He raised a dark eyebrow. Though not as tall as his brother, he had Jericho’s coloring: dark hair and eyes and a tanned complexion. His face, however, was broader and more open. A patchy growth of whiskers covered his lower face. That was new.
In spite of his dark mood, Jericho pinched Naz’s chin. “What’s with this? Lost your razor?”
Naz drew himself up. “I’m growing it out.”
“Not likely.” Jericho scoffed. He strode in. The shop was empty. A broom leaned against one workbench next to a pile of sawdust. Apparently Naz had been sweeping up for the night. “Men in our family don’t grow beards. We’re lucky if we can manage a sickly mustache.”
“Speak for yourself.” Naz rubbed his scruff.
“New girlfriend?” Jericho smirked.
“Huh? Why do you ask?”
“Because when you tried wearing cologne for a month it was to impress the station-master’s daughter. Before that you grew your hair out because Lily Taylor said it was fashionable.”
“Ah, well, Bess Shepherd—she likes it.”
Jericho chuckled. “She going to break your heart like the last three?”
“She’s not like that.” Naz flushed. “She’s sweet. I think she might be the one.”
A tinge of heartbreak forced its way to the surface. While his father sometimes went after Naz, Jericho had usually been able to draw the attention to himself. Perhaps because of this Naz had escaped the scarring. Maybe he could succeed where Jericho had failed.
“I hope she is.” He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “You deserve that.”
“What’s that noise? Some idiot magician bumbling around down there?” Galilee Carver burst in. Jericho couldn’t help but grin when he saw her. Seven years Jericho’s junior, his sister had no real memories of their father. She was the one member of their family who kept some innocence—the sort he’d promised himself to grant his own children.
Now she collided against his chest in a fierce hug. “You missed dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.” He ran his hand over her dark brown hair. “Good to see you, Gal.”
“Kind of late for a visit,” Naz commented. “Uncle Farris will be turning in soon. Early morning tomorrow for him.”
“I wasn’t really planning to visit.” Jericho released Gal. “I’m helping with the search party and thought I might sleep here instead of trudging all the way … home.” The word tasted bittersweet on his tongue.
“Really? Why? You could easily make it there before dark.” Naz pointed towards the windows and the dying sun.
“Trying to get rid of me?” Jericho frowned.
“Maybe.” Naz winced. “Mom always gives you the good bed.”
“Oh, shush, Naz.” Gal pushed him. “I’ll go see if there’s any bread and soup left.”
“I said I wasn’t hungry!” Jericho shouted after her as she darted from the room.
“Might as well yell at the wall as try and give that one instructions.” Jericho stiffened at his mother’s voice. She entered the workshop, crow’s feet deepening around her eyes. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I need a place to sleep. There’s a search going on for the Cobb’s missing daughter, and I wanted to stay nearby to help.” The lie burnt on his tongue.
Her gaze narrowed. “Of course.” She nodded to the satchel on his back. “Do you need a place to put your things?”
“Actually, if you don’t mind me spreading out on the table, I’d like to get more work done.”
“Anything to bring that poor child home.” She turned and left through the door separating the family quarters from the working areas of the building.
Naz eyed Jericho. “Are you all right? Mom just gave you that ‘you’re hiding something from me’ look.”
“She’s just being Mom.” Jericho forced himself to roll his eyes. “You should finish your clean up.”
“Bossy.” Naz scoffed but returned to sweeping.
A few hours later, Jericho leaned over Hedward’s old Fey reference book, his head in his hands, trying to silence the voices in his brain. His body was tired: leg muscles sore from tramping around the forest, head and eyes aching from staring at the small print in the flickering lamplight—but he knew if he lay down he wouldn’t find sleep. Not easily. Even now Rill’s wounded face glared at him, his constant companion in the quiet.
The kitchen door creaked open. Milly Carver settled across the table. “You should be asleep.”
“There’s a missing kid, Mom.” He frowned.
“Is that really why you’re here?”
“Of course.”
“It’s just, Naz is right. It’s not that far to Spellsmith Manor, where you have your tools of the trade, and your partner—and your family.”
The word squeezed at his heart.
“There’s a darkness in your eyes I haven’t seen in a long time, Jericho. What’s wrong?”
His jaw clenched. It wasn’t as if he could pretend forever. They’d question why he wasn’t going home soon. Still, the full extent of his shame was too much.
“I messed up, Mom. Bad.”
“You’ve always been hard on yourself. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can be fixed.”
“Not this. Rill and I … it’s over.”
Milly raised her eyebrows. “Just like that?”
He nodded, focusing on the wood grain of the table to avoid her eyes.
“And the twins?”
“They’re better off with her.” He picked up his stylus and tapped it against Hedward’s book. “I don’t want to complicate things by … it’s better for everyone if I give them space.”
“No!” her voice sharpened. “You’re their father.”
“I don’t deserve to be. Rill doesn’t want me near them or her, and I don’t blame her.”
Rage wrinkled his mother’s face. “Whatever you did, she has no right to keep you from your children. It’s selfish—”
“I hit her!” It burst from him.
His mother’s eyes widened. Hot shame burned through him as she searched his face. “Why?”
He scowled. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. You’re a good man. You wouldn’t have struck her if she didn’t provoke you.”
“So she deserved it?” He glared at her. “Did you deserve it all those times with Dad?”
She dropped her gaze. “Sometimes.”
“No! Just no!” He grabbed her hand. “No matter what you did, no matter what Rill said, a good man doesn’t strike a woman.”
“It was only once. I stuck with your father through so much. She can’t kick you to the side for one mistake. It’s wrong. You have children. Children need
their father.”
“Is that why you never left him?” Cold anger replaced the shame. “Didn’t you see … Mom, he broke my arm, left bruises on Naz that … No, he was a waste of breath. He was trash, and we were all better off for him dying.” He let out a long breath.
Dying? Was that his only escape now? He couldn’t run from himself.
“Rill is everything to me—and I hurt her.” His voice cracked. “I’m not who I thought I was. I’m so … so sorry.” He sank his head into his hands.
Her chair screeched over the floorboards. “Jericho, no. You’re a good man.” Her arms surrounded him. “If you say you did this, I … I can’t … yes, your father was a lost cause, and I’m so sorry I left you with him—that I didn’t protect you from him. Maybe if I had this wouldn’t be happening now—” She choked on a sob. “But you aren’t a lost cause. You’re my son.”
“I can’t go back.” He returned her embrace. “I ruined everything. I wish … I wish I could go back, but how can I?”
“I don’t know.” Her hold on him tightened.
Jericho swallowed. His options were limited in Mountain’s Foot where everything either reminded him of his happiness lost with Rill or never achieved with his father. Rill and the twins were better off without him. They had Auric, after all. Jericho would help catch the Fey Leecher so his family could be safe—and then he’d leave. Maybe to the Capital. Maybe to a small town where he could ply his trade as a magician. Whatever he did, he’d do it alone. It was better that way.
He’d never hurt anyone he loved again.
Chapter Twelve
Pain, cold, stiffness.
Bruised from throwing herself over and over against the sides of her invisible prison, Iris sank to the ground. Her thrashing had torn up the grass. She cried out. Her attempts to work magic proved futile. The Soulsnatcher’s spell was strong, far stronger than her own power.
Light had faded overhead then returned at least three times over before the haze overcame her and she collapsed, curled up in a ball, praying that God would protect her family. Parched, hungry, and exhausted she gave into the gray pall that fell over her vision.
Footsteps.
“Over here!” The voice sounded a mile away. Then the energy burst around her, showering her with prickling Fey residue.
She fought through the haze.
“I’ve got you,” a vaguely familiar male voice said. “You’re going to be all right.”
Water ran over her cracked lips. She coughed as it trickled down the wrong pipe.
“Easy. Let’s get you inside.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She tried to stand, but the world swung madly and a circle of darkness closed in around her.
When she came to, she was lying on a lumpy mattress a few feet from a crackling fire. The warm, musty odor of straw rose from the bedding, blending with the smell of smoke and something savory that made her stomach rumble. She concentrated on the odor. Salt pork, herbs, perhaps potatoes.
She propped herself up on her elbows, still lightheaded. She was in a small cabin. Two men sat on either side of a rickety table. It took her a moment to place them: Preston and the man with the missing wife.
“Oh, you’re up.” Preston stood and strode over. He ladled something out of a pot hanging over the fire into a wooden bowl. “Take it slow. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten in four or five days.”
She swallowed. “It took you that long to find me?” He passed her the bowl with a wooden spoon sticking straight up in it. The stew had a homogenized brown color, but a delicious smell. Yes, definitely potatoes. She cupped it between her hands and inhaled the scent. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I was only a little ways from this house. Surely you were in the area searching for—” She paused, her gaze drifting to the owner of the home. Iris was near certain they’d never found his missing wife.
“No, it doesn’t seem ungrateful. It’s a fair question.” Preston sat on the edge of the mattress. “Actually an interesting one from a magical theory perspective. We must’ve walked right by you five or six times searching for both you and Nan Forester. We only found you when one of the volunteers literally ran into your prison, tripped over it even though it looked like nothing was there.”
Mr. Forester hung his head. “I thought maybe it was my Nan when Master Preston said it held a person.”
A pang of guilt cut through her. It was likely too late for poor Nan. Another life failed. “I’m sorry.”
“I’d actually never seen a spell like the one that had you caught. A bit like a pest ward, but with invisibility added in.” Preston whistled. “Devious. You could’ve starved to death right under our noses, and we’d never have found your bones.”
“I’m sure that was the intent.”
“Do you think Nan is out there trapped like that, too?” Pain wrinkled Mr. Forester’s mouth.
“No, I’m afraid not. Preston, I was wrong about what was after your people. It’s not a Leecher. It’s a Soulsnatcher, but it’s acting … off. It shouldn’t have taken Nan Forester. She’s too old. We need to get ahead of it.”
“Yes, about that.” He passed her a letter. “I received this today from Jericho Carver, your son-in-law, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“Apparently he’s assisting in a search for a child who disappeared out of Mountain’s Foot just yesterday. He thinks it is the same Fey and wanted you to be informed.”
Iris winced. It had already gone home, and if it had switched hosts, that meant Nan was probably dead.
The memory of the fiery warning chilled her. Did it know how to get to her family?
“I’ve got to get back to Mountain’s Foot right away!”
***
Auric twirled his stylus in his fingers as he went through the day’s orders in the shop. The house was quiet. His attempts to approach Rill after Jericho left had failed, though seeing the now purple mark on her chin verifying Jericho’s story had nearly broken him. Up until that point, he hadn’t quite believed it. He’d stammered some idiocy about being sorry and being there for her if she needed to talk. She’d given a cold nod and said she was going for a walk … and somehow he’d ended up babysitting. That had gone poorly. After a half hour trying to calm the sobbing twins, he’d begged Annie to save him. She’d taken over and managed to calm them.
In the two days since then, Rill had avoided him. Maybe since she knew how close he was with Jericho, she worried he’d side with her husband over her. He wouldn’t have, of course, but it was hard to tell her that if she wouldn’t so much as talk to him. Instead, he’d eaten dinner and breakfast alone, both rushed affairs due to Annie being occupied with the babies.
Now he busied himself with the shop orders, trying to stop himself from listening for Jericho’s voice. Part of him wondered if he should be in the village helping with the search for the missing girl, but Jericho probably had that well in hand, and Auric needed to be there if Rill decided to take him up on his offer to talk.
The only bright spot was Lotta’s letter the day before. He kept it tucked in his pocket with his wax tablet and stylus. If only she’d been more exact about her arrival time.
Unable to sleep, he’d stayed up the night before and worked the complex spell to animate her owl familiar. He’d left the last step of it undone, but ready. He wanted to bring the little creature to life right in front of her, see her eyes light up with childlike wonder when it started to move and respond to her voice. That was the only thing he could imagine chasing away the horror of what had happened with Rill and Jericho.
The wound still felt raw. The shop reminded him of pleasant days working and chatting with Jericho. The breakfast nook reminded him of seeing a drowsy Rill resting her head upon her adoring husband’s shoulder over their morning tea. The whole house reminded him of his father. He wanted to run away, but with Jericho gone, the shop was his responsibility.
He forced himself to concentrate through most of the day’s work. Soon a stack of preppe
d weather spells stood at his side. His stomach grumbled, and he glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Near noon. He could afford to stop and eat.
Auric trotted down the stairs into the foyer. He’d eat in the kitchen where hopefully Annie could keep him company. As he walked in that direction, a rustling and bumping drew his attention. He paused. It was coming from the hall closet.
He touched the handle and found it wedged tight. A familiar metallic whine rose from the other side.
“Jaspyr?” He whipped out his stylus and drew several magical symbols directly onto the wood of the door. It popped open, and Jaspyr tumbled out, rolling like a metal ball. “How’d you get yourself trapped in there?” Auric patted the fox’s head.
Jaspyr whimpered, his ears flattening. If he’d been in there for any length of time, Rill was probably worried sick about him. She adored that fox.
“Rill!” Auric called. “Rill, where are you?”
The parlor door opened, and Rill peeked out, eyebrows arched. Jaspyr crouched at Auric’s feet. He growled. Auric recoiled.
“What?” Rill asked, her voice cold and her face placid.
Auric cleared his throat. “I found Jaspyr stuck in the hall closet.”
“Oh.” She didn’t seem surprised, or upset, or anything for that matter. A slight ripple of annoyance crossed her mouth.
“How do you think he got in there?” Auric asked.
“How the devil would I know? If you don’t mind, I’m busy.” She slammed the door between them.
Auric exhaled. “She’s been through a lot lately, you know.”
Jaspyr gave out a peevish yip.
“Yeah, I agree. Come on. Let’s see if Annie has any scones lying around.”
Jaspyr’s ears perked up, but his tail still dragged behind him as he followed Auric into the kitchen.
Annie sat at the table peeling apples. On the floor beside her, a wooden crate had been converted into a makeshift playpen where both babies lay, staring up at a mobile made of wooden spoons and twine.
“You’re a brilliant woman, Annie.” Auric chuckled, gazing down at his happy niece and nephew.
