by P. C. Cast
I did think about it. Erin had been cold. She’d been unemotional. And that’s about all she’d been. “Well, you’re right. Now that I really think about it she hasn’t been much of anything except detached, and that feels weird,” I said.
“You know what’s weirder, she’s showing more feeling than Erin.” Shaunee pointed out the window at the little professors’ courtyard not far from the edge of the parking lot. A girl was sitting beside the fountain there. As we drove past there was just enough light to glimpse that she had her face in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking as if she was bawling her heart out.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“Nicole.”
“The red fledgling Nicole? Are you sure?” I rubber-necked, trying to get a better look at her, but we were already heading down the tree-lined driveway and my view of the girl was completely obscured.
“I’m sure,” Shaunee said. “I saw her there on the way to the bus.”
“Huh,” I said. “Wonder what’s going on with her?”
“I think things are changing for a bunch of us, and sometimes that just plain sucks.”
“Anything I can do to make it less sucky for you?” I asked.
Shaunee looked at me then. “Just be my friend.”
I blinked in surprise. “I am your friend.”
“Even without Erin?”
“I like you better without Erin,” I said honestly.
“I do, too,” Shaunee said. “I do, too.”
In a little while I went back to my seat beside Stark and let him put his arm around me. I rested my head against his shoulder and listened to his heartbeat, leaning on his strength and his love.
“Promise me you won’t freak out on me and become some cold, distant stranger,” I said softly to him.
“I promise. No matter what,” he said with no hesitation. “Now, clear your mind of everything except the fact that I’m going to force you to try a different pizza tonight.”
“No Santino? But we love that pizza!”
“Trust me, Z. Damien told me about the Athenian pizza. He said it’s the ambrosia of pizzas. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but I’m thinking it’s better than good, so we’re going for it.”
I smiled, relaxed beside him and pretended, for the short ride from the House of Night to the depot, that my biggest problem was choosing to expand my pizza horizons.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Grandma Redbird
Sylvia greeted the sun with joy and thanksgiving and a heart that felt lighter than it had for years—lighter even than it had the morning before when she’d faced Aurox and chosen love and forgiveness over anger and hatred.
Her daughter was dead, and though she would feel Linda’s loss for the rest of this lifetime, Sylvia knew that she was finally free of the wasteland her daughter’s life had become. Linda rested in the Otherworld with Nyx, content and pain-free. The knowledge made the old woman smile.
Sitting at her crafting desk in the workroom of her cottage, she hummed an ancient Cherokee lullaby as she chose from the various herbs and stones, crystals and threads, picking a long, thin blade of sweet grass to wrap around a bundle of dried lavender. This dawn she would sing to the sun while the cleansing smoke of sweet grass and the soothing scent of lavender mixed and bathed her along with the sunlight. As she created the smudge stick Sylvia’s thoughts turned from her biological daughter to Zoey, the daughter of her spirit.
“Ah, u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya, I do miss you so,” she said softly. “I will call you today when the sun sets. Your voice will be good to hear.” Her granddaughter was young, but she had been specially gifted by her Goddess, and even though that meant Zoey had unusual responsibilities to bear, it also meant she had the talent to rise to meet the challenges that came with those added responsibilities.
And that had Sylvia’s mind turning to Aurox—the boy who was a beast. “Or is he a beast who is a boy?” While her hands worked, the old woman shook her head. “No, I will believe the best of him. I name him tsu-ka-nv-s-di-na. Bull instead of beast. I have met him, looked into his eyes, watched him weep with regret and loneliness. He has a spirit—a soul—and therefore a choice. I will believe that Aurox will choose Light, even if Darkness resides within him. None of us is entirely good. Or evil.” Sylvia closed her eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of grass and herbs. “Great Earth Mother, strengthen the good within the boy and allow tsu-ka-nv-s-di-na to be tamed.”
Sylvia began humming again as she finished fashioning the smudge stick. It was only when she’d completed the weaving of grass and lavender that she realized the song she hummed had changed from lullaby to a much different tune: “Song for a Woman Who Was Brave in War.” Even though she still sat, Sylvia’s feet had begun to move, beating out the strong rhythm to accompany the rise and fall of her voice.
When she realized what she was doing, Sylvia went utterly still. She looked down at her hands. Woven within the sweet grass and lavender was a blue thread that was strung and knotted with raw turquoise. With a jolt of clarity, Sylvia understood.
“A Goddess Bundle.” Sylvia spoke the words reverently. “Thank you, Earth Mother, for this warning. My spirit heard you, and my body obeys.” Slowly, solemnly, the old woman stood. She walked to her bedroom and took off her sleep shirt. Opening the armoire that rested against the raw pine walls, Sylvia took out her most sacred regalia—the cape and the wrap skirt she had made when she first learned she was pregnant with Linda. The deerskin was old and a little loose on her slight body, but still smooth and soft. The green that Sylvia had spent so much time mixing and then dyeing had remained the color of moss, even after three decades. Not one of the shells or beads was loose.
As Sylvia began to braid her silver hair in one long, thick rope, she began to sing the “Song for a Woman Who Was Brave in War” aloud.
She looped silver and turquoise earings through each earlobe.
Her voice lifted and fell in time with the beating of her bare feet as she strung necklaces of turquoise around her neck, adding one on another, so that their weight felt familiar and warm.
Sylvia circled her thin wrists with cuffs of turquoise and smaller, thinner ribbons of silver and turquoise—always turquoise—until both forearms were almost entirely filled, wrist to elbow.
Only then did Sylvia Redbird pick up her smudge stick and a long box of wooden matches, and walk from her bedroom.
She let her spirit guide her bare feet. Her spirit did not take her to the bubbling stream that ran behind her house where she usually greeted the dawn. Instead Sylvia found herself in the middle of her wide front porch. Continuing to follow her instincts, she lit the smudge stick. With graceful, practiced movements, Sylvia began circling herself with the scents of sweet grass and lavender. It was when she was engulfed in smoke, foot to head, and singing a Wise Woman’s war song, that Neferet stepped from a pool of Darkness, materializing before her.
Neferet
Sylvia Redbird’s voice sounded like chalk screeching on a blackboard. “By your own belief system it is impolite not to welcome a guest.” Neferet raised her voice so she could be heard over the old woman’s horrible song.
“Guests are invited. You have no invitation to my home. That makes you an intruder. According to my beliefs I am greeting you appropriately.”
Neferet curled her lip. The old woman’s singing had ended, but her bare feet still beat out a repeating rhythm. “That song is almost as annoying as that smoke. Do you really think the stink of it will protect you?”
“I think many things, Tsi Sgili,” Sylvia said, still wafting the thick wand of herbs around her as she danced in place. “At this moment I am thinking that you broke an oath you made to me when my u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya first joined your world. I call you to task for that.”
Neferet was almost amused by the old woman’s insolence. “I made no oath to you.”
“You did. You promised to mentor and protect Zoey. Then you broke that oath. You owe me the price of that broken oath.”
“Immortal you may have become. That does not change the Earth Mother’s laws.”
“Perhaps not, but it does change how they are enforced,” Neferet said.
“An oath-breaking is only one of the debts you owe me, witch,” Sylvia said.
“I am a goddess, not a witch!” Neferet felt her anger rise and she began moving slowly closer to the porch. The tendrils of Darkness slithered with her, though Neferet sensed their hesitation as wisps of white smoke drifted down, seeming to melt around them.
Sylvia continued dancing and waving the wand around her. “The second debt you owe me is greater than an oath-breaking. You owe me a life debt. You killed my daughter.”
“I sacrificed your daughter for a greater good. I owe you nothing!”
The old woman paid no attention to her. Instead she paused in her dance long enough to bend and place the smoking herbs at her feet. Then she lifted her face and opened her arms, as if embracing the sky. “Great Earth Mother, hear me. I am Sylvia Redbird, Wise Woman of the Cherokee, and Ghigua of my tribe, that of the House of Night. I beg mercy from you. The Tsi Sgili, Neferet, who was once a High Priestess of Nyx, is forsworn. She owes me an oath-breaking debt. She is also the murderess of my daughter. She owes me a life debt. I invoke your aid, Earth Mother, and call both debts due. The payment I demand is protection.”
Ignoring the tendrils of Darkness that were cowering around her, Neferet approached Sylvia, climbing the steps up to her porch as she spoke. “You are vastly mistaken, old woman. I am the only goddess listening. I am the immortal to whom you should be begging protection.”
Neferet stepped onto the smoke-filled porch when Sylvia spoke again. The old woman’s voice had changed. Before it had been powerful as she evoked the one she called Earth Mother. Now her voice had gentled, become softer. Her arms were no longer spread. Her face no longer raised in supplication. Instead her dark eyes met Neferet’s gaze steadily. “You are no goddess. You are a mean-spirited, broken little girl. I pity you. What happened to you? Who broke you, child?”
Neferet’s anger was so intense that she felt as if she would explode. Threads of Darkness forgotten, she struck out at Sylvia, wanting to connect flesh with flesh—to gouge and cut and bite this insolent hag.
With a movement so quick it belied her age, Sylvia lifted her arms defensively before her face, meeting Neferet’s blows.
Pain burned through the Tsi Sgili’s body, radiating from her hands. Neferet shrieked and jerked back, staring at the bloody marks left on her fists, burned in the exact shape of the blue stones in the bracelets that circled her withered arms.
“You dare to strike out at me! A goddess!”
“I strike at no one. I only defend myself through the stones of protection the Great Mother has gifted me with.” Never breaking her gaze, and keeping her turquoise and silver swathed arms raised, the old woman began singing again.
Neferet wanted to tear her to shreds with her hands. But as she circled closer to the Cherokee she could feel the wave of heat that radiated from the blue stones in which she was covered. It was as if they pulsed with a fire equal to her own fury.
She needed the white bull! His frigid Darkness would extinguish the old woman’s flames. Perhaps the odd energy she wielded would surprise him, and he would, again, lend Neferet his alluring might.
Controlling her anger, Neferet stepped back, outside the ring of smoke and heat that engulfed Sylvia. She studied the old woman, watched her dance, listened to her song. Old. Ancient. Everything about Sylvia Redbird said she, and the earth power she was wielding, had been here for a very long time.
The white bull was ancient as well.
This Indian would not surprise him.
“I will deal with you myself.” Still meeting Sylvia Redbird’s gaze, Neferet lifted her hands and, without so much as flinching, used her sharpened fingernails to gouge the wounds already formed by the old woman’s protective turquoise. Her blood flowed freely, spattering the porch. Neferet shook her hands, raining scarlet through the smoke cloud, dispersing it, and painting the old woman with bright dots of red, which were a garish, stark contrast to the earthy greens and blues she wore. Then Neferet turned her hands, cupping her palms and letting her blood pool there. “Come, my Dark children, drink!” The tendrils were hesitant at first, but after the first taste of Neferet’s blood, they were emboldened.
Neferet watched Sylvia’s eyes widen and saw fear shadow them. The old woman’s gaze did not waver, but her song faltered. Her voice began sounding old … weak … tremulous …
“Now, children! You have tasted my blood and Sylvia Redbird has been anointed by it. Entrap her—bring me the old woman!” Neferet’s voice changed, and became rhythmic. Darkly she mirrored Sylvia’s earthy war song.
“You need not kill.
You need only sate my rage.
You drank your fill.
Now create for me a cage.
I’ll make old new.
You’ll feast on youth, vibrant, strong.
To me be true.
And kill this old woman’s song!”
The tendrils obeyed Neferet. They avoided the old woman’s turquoise stones. They wrapped around her naked, unadorned feet, halting her rhythmic dance. Like the floor of a jail cell, Darkness formed from her feet, spreading, and then growing up and up and up, caging Sylvia, and finally, finally her song was silenced, replaced by an agonized scream as they lifted her and, moving through shadow and mist, carrying the terrible cage and its prisoner, Darkness followed their mistress.
Aurox
Aurox waited until the sun was high in the winter sky before he climbed from the pit again. The morning had dawned cloudy and gray, but as the endless hours passed the winter sun had broken through the mist and shadows. At noon, when the sun was highest in the sky, Aurox emerged.
He did not allow the sense of urgency that skittered under his skin to make him careless. Aurox used the sinuous muscles of his arms to hold firm to the roots and hang, partially belowground, partially aboveground. He used all of his paranormal senses to seek. I must get away without being seen, was foremost in his mind.
The school was not as silent as it had been the day before. Human workmen were busily repairing the damaged section of the stables. Aurox saw no vampyres, but the human cowboy, Travis, seemed to be everywhere. Yes, his hands and forearms were still swathed in white gauze bandages, but his voice was so strong that it drifted across the school grounds to Aurox. Lenobia did not show herself in the noonday sun, but she did not need to. Travis was there for her, and not simply with the workmen. The cowboy interacted freely with the horses. Aurox watched him move the huge Percheron and Lenobia’s black mare from one makeshift round pen to another.
He does not merely work for Lenobia. She trusts him. The realization surprised Aurox. If a High Priestess can trust a human so much in times of stress and tumult, perhaps there is a chance that Zoey can—
No. Aurox would not allow himself to indulge in such a fantasy. He’d heard what he was. Zoey had heard what he was. They all had! He had been formed by Darkness through the lifeblood of Zoey’s mother. He was beyond her trust or her forgiveness.
There is only one person on this earth who trusts me—only one person who forgives me. It is to her that I must go.
Aurox hung there, peering through the roots and the shards of bark, waiting … watching … Finally the humans began to meander from the stables, talking about how glad they were to be within walking distance of Queenies so they could have the Ultimate Egg sandwich for lunch, and laughing. Friends always laughed.
Aurox longed to share the laughter of friends.
When their backs were to him and their voices faded, the boy pulled himself fully from the pit and, monkey-like, scaled the felled tree to where it rested against the wall of the school, and then vaulted over it.
Aurox wanted to sprint—to call the beast
and tear the soil and run with all of his otherworldly might. Instead he forced himself to walk. He brushed the dirt, leaves, and grass from his clothing. He ran his fingers through the matted mess that was his hair, breaking apart the clumps of mud and blood, and combing it into some semblance of normalcy.
Normal was good. Normal was not noticed. Normal was not apprehended.
The vehicle was exactly where he’d left it the day before. The keys were still in the ignition. Aurox’s hands trembled only a little as the engine turned over and he made his way from the rear parking lot of Utica Square and headed southeast—to sanctuary.
The drive seemed to take only a moment. Aurox was thankful for that. As he turned the car down Grandma Redbird’s lane, he rolled down his windows. Even though the day was cool, he wanted to drink in the scent of lavender, and with it accept the calm it offered. Just as he accepted the sanctuary Grandma Redbird had offered.
When Aurox parked before her wide front porch, everything changed. At first he didn’t understand it—couldn’t process it. The scent hit him, but he fought the knowledge he breathed in with it.
“Grandma? Grandma Redbird?” Aurox called as he got out of the car and jogged around the side of the little cottage. He expected to find her beside the crystal stream—she belonged there. She should have been humming a joyful song. Peaceful. Secure. Safe.
She was not there.
A terrible premonition washed over him. Aurox remembered the fetid scent that had drifted to him amidst the lavender air when he’d parked before Grandma’s home.
Aurox ran.
“Grandma! Where are you?” he was shouting as he rounded the side of the cottage, his feet sliding in the loose gravel that paved the small parking space in front of the home.
Aurox grabbed the railing of the porch, and took the six stairs in two wide strides, stopping in the center of the wide, wooden deck, just before Grandma’s closed front door. Aurox yanked the door open and ran inside.
