by Lily Luchesi
“Mother named me after my star sign.”
My unfamiliarity with the term caused a frown to crease my forehead.
“The astrology signs for our birthdates,” she said. “You do not know of them?”
I shook my head and smiled. “Teach me.” I would use any excuse to hear her voice.
“Studying such subjects is frowned upon, so I do not know much, other than there are twelve symbols, called signs, in the zodiac calendar, which each represent certain calendar dates. Dependent upon your day of birth, you fall under one of these signs. My sign is Gemini, from which my name is derived. They say our stars affect who we are and how we behave.”
“So, what would mine be?” I asked, intrigued.
“For that, I would need to know your birthday,” she said. “Are you willing to divulge?”
“The sixth day in June.”
Her gaze held me for seconds before she smiled. “That is ... interesting. You, too, are Gemini.”
I waited for her to elaborate, watching as she stared off to the side for a moment and her brow furrowed.
She turned back to me, her eyes carrying a concern they had not seconds before. “A meeting of the hearts of two Gemini has been known to end with explosive results, Mr Holloway.”
Reaching out to trap a stray tress that stroked her cheek, I smiled. “Then, I shall look forward to that.”
***
“’Tis still early,” Jem said, as I walked her home.
“At least you shan’t get into bother on my account again.”
Her lifted skirts allowed me a charming glimpse of her ankles, as she stepped across discarded branches and bracken. “Another hour would not cause bother, I am certain.”
I smiled at her wistful tone and took her elbow to balance her step across a muddied puddle. “I have an appointment I am committed to.”
Halting, one foot each side of the shallow water, she peered up at me through narrowed eyes. “With Lord Wells’ daughter, perhaps?”
At the sight of her, slender legs peeking from ruffled petticoat and annoyance creasing her expression, I almost considered disobeying James as the want to take the female in my arms and ravage her battled my inner instinct. Drawing in a deep breath, I forced myself calm. “With my brother.”
“Ah.” She smiled, her features relaxing again. “The other Mr Holloway. I am told he is the gentleman you refuse to be.”
Laughing, I slid an arm around her waist, took her hand, and lifted her across the wet ground. She did not protest, but simply straightened her clothing once set back on her feet.
The light rain had intensified during the morning, and heavier drops landed to soak the ground. I had never been as far as Jem’s home before, though it could be seen upon leaving the forest. A scattering of thick and proud oaks dotted the land between and provided obscurity to our emergence.
Jem halted and placed her hand against my chest. My heart thudded beneath it when I realised she had initiated contact for the first time. “You can come no farther,” she said. “Mother mustn’t see you.”
“She will not see me with so much cover.” I took her hand to bring her closer, leaning in until my nose met with her slender neck. An inhalation drew her essence deep into my lungs, my upward sweep ending at her hair.
Her quiet intake of breath accompanied the tilt of her head. “Why must you always sniff at me so?” she whispered, her breaths seeping through the fine fabric of my shirt and warming my shoulder.
I smiled into her hair. “Why must you always smell so delectable?”
Her step away from me did nothing to hide her tremor. “It is time I left.”
I cupped her face, placed my lips to hers. “Until Tuesday next, then.”
She glanced downward, her cheeks accepting the deep blush that visited them. “Until Tuesday next,” she repeated, turning away. With hems lifted from the sodden ground, she met with the far sward and kept walking.
Not yet ready to part with the sight of her, I strode to the first oak she had passed and pressed my cheek to the rough bark, peering around to watch. Her scent lingered, as though collected by the rain as it struck her body, to be gathered upon the ground as a direct path to her.
She crossed beyond the second oak, and I dashed to that one, my eyes held captive by her movements. The female entranced me, without a doubt, so I did not fully register the tingling sensation which visited my limbs, or pause to investigate, before darting toward the third oak in a bid to see her for longer.
In only four more long strides, pain shot through me, forcing me to my knees.
A downward glance showed ripples rolling beneath my flesh, and my chest muscles convulsing against the heavy pounding of my heart.
I shook my head in denial, my whispered, “No,” no more than a hoarse grumble.
Peering around, I searched for a sign: who, why? How?
No one loitered, not even Jem, who had disappeared behind the security of her door.
Another circuitous inspection of my surroundings brought still no answers. My change had come early, and I did not know why.
I tried to push to my feet, but my muscles cramped, demanding I do otherwise. As my body brought me lower, my eyes fell on the culprit.
Through my frown, I narrowed my stare to study the growth harder—to be certain.
The plants bordering Jem’s home pointed at me with their spiked leaves, waving at me with the lemon flowers that sat atop them.
“Wolfsbane,” I whispered, panic surging my adrenaline higher.
With a roar of self-encouragement, I forced my legs into action.
Spasms invaded me with each earth-pummelling step I took. My heart pounded against the effort to just keep moving. Sweat beaded the surface of my skin, my breaths blasting out in short spurts.
The forest appeared a ridiculous distance away, despite my knowing otherwise.
An invasion of burning through my left calf hauled me downward, whilst a kick of my right foot urged me back up. My right shoulder dipped in protest, as bone began its restructure.
With a cry of pain barking from me, I stumbled. My hands reached out to save me from the fall, but they no longer appeared human.
When I shouted out my objection to the speed of the progression, it arrived as a snarl, and a few yards from my sanctuary, I could remain upright no longer.
With muscles and tendons stretching before tightening, my skull cracking in agonising deformity, and the jaw-clenching affliction of a realigning spine, my hair thickened and lengthened to coat every inch of my body.
Weak from the agony, I finally crawled through brush to safety. There, I collapsed, my tongue lolling, breaths steaming the air for many minutes, as the shock of my forced change and after-tremors rocked through me.
Once I had gained control, what seemed like an eternity later despite being a short pause, I pushed to my feet, my paws creating little sound as I padded to the forest edge.
The responsibility to ensure there were no witnesses fell on each of our shoulders, as did the task of dealing with any such observers, so when I peered out across the opening, I almost staggered backward, my horror escaping as a small whimper.
Beside the third oak, staring straight back at me, stood Jem’s mother, and I growled without intention.
Eyes hard and cold, she appeared undisturbed by the threat. Rather, head held high, she spun to walk away with a defiant triumph in her steps.
***
Changed back, I stepped into the garden and paused on its periphery. From the kitchen window, James stared out, and seconds later, the door opened.
He strode across the lawn, his pace increasing the closer he came. “What happened?”
I opened my mouth but closed it again. My mind refused to produce the words it should.
James came straight to me, tugged at the tattered remainders of my clothing. His hands took my face. “Tell me what happened.” Placing his nose to my throat, he sniffed.
I stiffened. If he were to smell Jem
upon me, there would be trouble—for her and for me.
“You changed.” He sniffed again, beneath my jaw, across my shoulder, before pulling back to look at me. “Why?”
Only a witch would know of the properties of Wolfsbane, just as only a witch could know to plant them when wolves were near. Jem’s mother must have known of our existence, and that should have been the point when I informed my brother of my knowledge.
“I know you have changed, Sean.” He growled. “You stink of it.”
If I told him of Jem’s mother, it would not only be her they tracked. By speaking alone, I would place Jem in danger, also.
“Why?” he asked again.
“I do not know,” I mumbled.
“Your clothing tells me it was not of your will.”
I shook my head, rubbing a hand across my frown.
“You shake your head in refusal to tell me? Do you dare—”
“I do not know why I changed, Brother. I lost my control. You advised me to remain here, yet I did not listen when I should have. Forgive me.”
His glare remained fixed on me. “You shall not leave this house on the full moon again. Is that understood?”
I nodded, dipping my head to the expected depth out of respect, before shrugging free and striding away.
His attention followed me across the grass and through the door. Past the stares of the others, I did not stop until I had mounted the steps to my bedroom and closed the door.
With little else to destruct, I took my already torn clothing and shredded it further, lips clamped to stifle the cries of anguish I so wished to give.
Another lie had been told.
4
Time had never passed with such slowness before. Within the forest border, I awaited her the following week.
She did not arrive.
Stepping to the path, I peered toward the modest stone structure beyond the oaks.
Nothing.
My yearning for her would not allow me to walk away, though. Like an ensnared predator, I stalked left and right, eyes never once leaving where I suspected her to be.
On the verge of relinquishing hope, movement caught my eye from near the small cottage.
Moving closer, I watched the approach of the female, almost mistaking her identity in my eagerness, despite the subtle difference I detected in her scent.
She did not stop walking until she reached me. “I come only to ask you to stay away from my daughter.”
To see so much of Jem’s expressions reflected within her mother’s features did little to assist my yearning, and I peered beyond, to her home.
“She will not be coming any longer.”
“Is that her wish?” I asked, giving her my attention once more. “That she not see me again?”
“Go home, Mr Holloway.”
She turned to leave, but I rushed forth into her path, my heart beating out in panic. “Does she know of me?” Without allowing an answer, she went to slip past, but I sidestepped once again to stall her. “I implore you not to do this.”
She frowned, yet appeared unafraid. “I shall not allow an animal such as yourself to lure my daughter away.”
“If you are afraid for her—”
“Yes, Mr Holloway, that is exactly it.” Her voice held nothing but steel, piercing me with the implication of her words.
“How could I hurt what my heart holds so dear?”
“What your heart holds? Jem was never yours to take. Now, step from my path.”
Fisting my hands within the strands of my hair, I moved aside. I did not turn to watch her leave, though, but tracked the fade of her sweeping steps. Once she’d neared the house, my cry of frustration erupted from me, and I struck out at the nearest tree, oblivious to the unsettled leaves that rained down across my shoulders.
How could she expect me to walk away? Jem had become as vital to me as air, as water, as changing, even if I did not understand why. Prepared to wait, I dropped to the floor.
***
With the passing of time, and the waning of light, came the grumbling of my stomach.
I ignored them all.
As I watched the shifting of shadows, I did not move, even once coated in their shroud, and the day’s quiet eventually disappeared, to be replaced with the call of nocturnal creatures—as well as encroaching footsteps.
“Sean?” James’s low voice cut through the dark.
I remained still, praying he would leave. I could not answer his questions, nor deal with his searching stare—not then.
His footsteps neared, and he dropped to a crouch beside me. “What troubles you so these past weeks?”
I dragged my attention from the break in the trees to look at him, and his eyes shifted toward where mine had left. When he heaved a deep sigh, and his fingers brushed through his hair, I knew realisation had sunk in.
“Come home,” he said.
“I cannot.”
He blew out a long breath, raising his face to the sullied and darkening sky, to the almost black leaves hanging overhead, before settling his gaze on me. “I order you to come home.”
I shook my head. “Do not—”
“It was an order, Sean.”
The force in his deep voice left no room for argument, and my groan of despair joined the rough rub of my hands across my face.
When I pushed to my feet, James stood, his hand providing support. I stared for a moment through the night, at the cottage standing in darkness, until my brother’s prompt urged me along.
We did not speak throughout the walk back. That, and the tension in his shoulders, indicated his weighted disapproval.
***
I intended to wake early but did not sleep to begin. On my return the eve before, James had asked of the purpose for my behaviour. I had met his questions with silence, and, huffing with exasperation, he told me to turn in. Yet, I knew that would not be the end of it, knew he would insist I tell all.
For that reason, my departure came before sunrise.
Once more, I sat with Jem’s home in my sights, ignorant of the cool breeze calling for the downy hairs of my arms to stand tall, and of the dewiness of the ground dampening the seat of my trousers.
However, from morning to night, no one entered. No one left. If anyone came as far as the window, they did so undetected.
Unwilling to face his wrath, I ensured I returned home before James could seek me, hiding my despondency beneath the veil of hunger and a smile. His frowned stares suggested I did not hide it well.
Thursday turned out to be fruitless, also, as did Friday. On Saturday morning, exhausted from sleepless nights, I almost missed the quiet steps that kicked the dirt of the path.
Snapping out of my reverie, I leaped to my feet and raced out to see the rear of Jem’s sister, as she hurried toward the village.
Lest their mother see, I ducked back into the forest to pursue until alongside her, where I hissed out, “Miss Stonehouse?”
She did not look my way, as her feet continued to move, her head to bob, her hair to bounce.
I called a further four times before understanding her hearing would not bear the sharpness of my own and, raising my voice, barked, “Jessica?”
Her entire body jerked, her head snapping up and round toward my hiding spot.
Peeping around an obscuring trunk, the rough bark scraping at the skin on my arms, I gestured her to come nearer.
She glanced left and right before approaching. “Mr Holloway, you cannot be here. If Mother sees—”
“Jem—how is she?”
After a moment of quiet, she said, “If Mother knows you still loiter ... I am sorry, I can be of no assistance to you.” Although regret lined her features, she spun back for the path and continued her journey.
Darting around trunks and branches, I followed beside her in a refusal to give up. “At least give her a message.”
Her feet continued to move; her head remained facing forward.
A twig, twisted and gnarled, scratched at m
y face, but I persisted in my pursuit. “Please, Jessica. I need her to know this is not of my doing.”
Still, she failed to stop. Her pace increased, as did her breaths.
“Tell Jem I think of her.” I dismissed the blood I smelled upon my cheek with a swipe of my hand. “Would you do that for me? Tell her—”
Jessica stopped, and I almost went right past her as I stumbled to a halt.
Lips thinned and hands curled at her waist, she seemed to contend with an inner battle, before her eyes rolled to the sky and frustration blew from her mouth. She strode over, fast, as though afraid of changing her mind, and pushed past the low thicket to join me. “I know I should not tell you this, but ...” She expelled another breath. “She asks for you in her sleep, Mr Holloway.”
My smile followed my sigh. “Tell her I think of her, also. That my days appear quite meaningless without her. If she is able, I shall wait for her on Tuesday. Tell her—”
“I will do my best. That is all I can offer.”
I nodded. “That is all I ask.”
***
I returned home lighter that afternoon, though the scrutiny of the pack followed my movements from door to hall, to bathroom, to table.
“You seem better today,” James said, as I sat.
I reached for a lamb shank. “I was just fine to begin.”
“Do you have plans for the next few days?”
Studying him over the meat, I bit down and tore off a chunk, whilst he held my gaze, hand poised with food midway to his own mouth.
If I said yes, he would insist on the details; if I said no, I would be committed to staying home.
My shoulders shrugged, as I grunted out a sound which gave neither answer.
“Repairs are needed to the barn,” he said. “Your help would be welcomed.”
Three days until Tuesday meant I could give him a day or more, so I nodded and went back to my meal.
***
Clumsiness did not often visit me—an advantage to having heightened senses and reflexes. However, I, more than once, missed my target when hammering to fill the holes that winter had created.
At my fifth curse, Giles took the plank from my hand, the dropped tool from the floor, and proceeded to do the job given to me. “When are you going to tell me?” he asked between blows.
