“The true problem lies in finding the trail of peace, then staying the course; that is why Great Coyote will use Waapake to teach you—” Chuquilatague glanced at Keir, then rested his gaze on his daughter. “—both of you.”
The topic of the lesson came as no surprise; Keir swallowed hard, realizing how he’d failed to embrace the peaceful methods Unole had sung about. He looked to her, prepared to admit his failure, but her reaction startled him.
Perched on the edge of her chair, a hand flattened against her chest that did little to stop her body from shaking, she gaped at her father. “Me? Waapake will teach me?”
The wise man nodded.
Chapter Eleven: The Forest Glade
Strolling into the starlit forest glade, Unole slowed, giving Keir the chance to catch up and walk alongside. Did she dare to think he felt the same about her? She held her breath, counting heartbeats drumming in her ears. Ten beats pounded louder and faster, until she couldn’t count anymore and his footsteps crumped the hard snowpack behind her. She glanced his way. His light blue eyes reflected the star shine, sparkling like the rapids of a swift trout stream on a cloudless summer day.
“Wow.” He motioned across the clearing and tilted his head back. “I thought it’d be dark since the moon has already set. Look at those stars.”
She squinted after his gaze in an attempt to read the vital lesson. “A river of Coyote Stars, what we were hoping to find.” She mouthed a silent appeal to the spirit. When Great Coyote’s reply came as a smug smile and the winking of sly stars, she shot him a scowl.
“Do you think the Great Coyote is trying to teach us something?”
“I’m sure he is. I wish I could understand him without an animal translator. I can’t guess what single topic might teach both of us a lesson.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked. She felt the heat of his stare warming her cheeks as if kissed too long by a May sun overeager for summertime.
“Well, my mother passed four years ago, but I do not grieve; I’m happy she’s with the Great Spirit. It fills me with the greatest joy that one day I will see her again when my time is here, whether later or sooner.” However, her voice quivered, recalling how close she’d come to that final journey just months ago. Her anxiety was not because she’d told Keir a lie; she accepted and honored both life and death. It was the passage itself that terrified her; all change seemed difficult, dying perhaps the hardest.
Since her recovery, she’d dedicated time to studying that ultimate passage. Her father appeared at ease with the last trail, and she envied him. Whether his scholarly wisdom allowed deeper understanding or his advanced age prepared him for acceptance, she didn’t know. Whenever she asked, he redirected the conversation. Did his avoidance mean the topic was too raw, too much in his thoughts, because his time was drawing near? She considered her own preoccupation with dying. Did her soul long to fly free, like a darting starling, from the confinement of her corporeal body—was that what Great Coyote had not revealed yet?
“Hey, are you all right? You seem far away.” Keir brushed her bare hand, his fingers warm and inviting from his jacket pocket. His touch grounded her in reality, back from the world of her ancestors, a place where her mind often drifted since death had paced at her sickbed window. She didn’t trust death’s lies: that the crossing would be easy, no matter how many wildflowers bloomed in the meadow where her mother and family waited to welcome her.
She sucked in a breath, inhaling life into her, and clung to Keir’s hand.
He threaded his fingers between hers, his grip alive and firm, as if he wouldn’t let go—exactly what she needed most. He asked again, “Want to talk about it?”
“Just wondering when my time will come.”
“A serious thought for someone so young.”
“Doesn’t everyone think about death?” She glimpsed over and found him watching her with an open face and smile that invited dimples to his cheeks.
“Not about my own,” he blurted.
The difference in their views planted seeds of silence and tension that grew between them. She wanted to explain, but how? She felt his forthcoming question—one she must not answer if what her father had spoken earlier was true—with her heart before he asked.
“Is that because you recently suffered—”
Desperate to change the topic, she elbowed him and mustered a scrap of a wisecrack through an uncertain laugh. “No, you’re too busy thinking about other people’s deaths, faulting yourself because they didn’t have more days to live.”
“Ha. Could be. Some say it’s more valiant to think of others rather than yourself. Maybe it’s a defense—training myself to keep that orientation so I’ll respond better next time, not lose another …” Keir’s voice cracked, and it was his turn to become lost to some distant place.
He must have been thinking of Waapake. His terror over losing his coyote had been strong enough to travel to her upon the willow’s winds. But the hitch in his tone, had it voiced another concern? Perhaps over losing me? Did he think that much of me?
As if in response, a scolding voice so unlike hers grated through her mind: A handsome catch like him wanting you? Are you kidding? Both the message and icy chill that followed belonged to the same north wind who’d fought her along the stream. At that time, she knew the formidable force only as Waapake’s mysterious captor, fighting to keep Unole from hearing and helping Keir during the abduction. Now, for the first time, she recognized that force—Adara.
Unole dropped Keir’s hand and whirled around, checking the woods on all sides. She’d first met the witch scrabbling for her own life in those same shadows. The witch woman’s power now seethed from the darkness, yet she’d left more than a month ago. Why had she returned—to retaliate against Unole for trying to stop her from stealing the coyote? When attacked, Unole hadn’t known the identity of the north wind. If Adara knew that fact, would she still seek revenge? Unole couldn’t comprehend what the witch woman wanted with Waapake. Or with Keir—was her reason enough to divulge Unole’s secret to him?
“What’s wrong? What’s out there?" With his gaze fixed on the forest, Keir darted in circles around her. “Stay behind me.”
A weight pummeled her chest, not unlike death when he sat upon her, squeezing air from her lungs. She couldn’t tell Keir about the witch woman’s presence. While he faced another direction, a badger sped between trees marking a trailhead, then fled along that path. Unole forced a stilted sigh, unsure whether she’d imagined or escaped the danger, and touched his arm. “It was just a forest animal out hunting. I thought I heard something else.”
With a gentle laugh, he retook her hand. “Over four hundred miles away, and I’m still on edge. I guess you’re right. I am guarding the lives of those I care about.” He turned toward her, the chiseled angles of his cheeks and jaw aglow with Great Coyote’s lights. “And I care about you, very much.” He touched a hand to the hair along one side of her face.
Chin lifted toward him, she smiled.
He dipped his head and bent to touch his lips against hers. His kiss throbbed with heat. Longing to fill that void, she parted her lips, and he deepened the kiss. Strong arms enfolded her, and her body responded, every nerve twinging with happiness. His embrace, pulling her tighter, confirming she truly was alive. She pressed against him, reveling in the gifts of life and of knowing him. She allowed her breath to mingle with his. For a blissful moment, they became one lifeforce, one magnificent soul. Nothing had ever felt more alive.
An owl hooted on the edge of the clearing and brought an end to her rapture. She pulled back, breathless and slightly dizzy, while he spun her close behind him and, again, took a defensive stance.
Once he spotted the flying owl, he turned and eased a bit, running a hand along her back as he gazed into her face. “You are both beautiful and wise. In ways I don’t understand, your soul sings to mine. You were right about another thing. I’m not at peace. I can’t even stay on the path when an owl hoots. But I d
o know where to find the trailhead.”
She shivered. Had he seen the badger? Felt the air tremble from the witch woman’s magic?
“It’s in the Hollow.” Keir continued. “I need to find Waapake so he can teach us what we need to learn. I wish I could spend more time here with you, but I have to go home tomorrow. The Coyote Stars already told me if I wasted time, Waapake would face serious harm.”
She clutched his free hand, not wanting to let go. “I know. I heard them. I was with you.” She bit her lower lip, considering whether to warn him against mentioning her name to Adara. Perhaps that would be enough to prevent him from learning her connection to his coyote’s captor—that truth might bring dangerous complications Unole couldn’t anticipate.
His eyes searched her face. “I promise I’ll be back.” He kissed her again, and her secret became lost in a recess of her mind.
She pushed a hand across his broad chest and shoulder until her fingers played in the silky hair at his neck.
“Unole!” the tight voice of her aunt cut through the bare winter woods. “Unole!”
“Who’s that?” Keir’s husky voice rasped into her ear.
“My elogi. She’s been caring for us since my mother died. I’m sure she wants me to drink a healing tea or take some herbal bath or some such other remedy.” With a hand cupped to her mouth, she called, “I’m here, Elogi. I’m coming.”
“She took care of you while you were sick?” he asked.
Not wanting to open that discussion again, Unole only nodded and led him along a shortcut to her house.
At the edge of the lawn, she spied Elogi’s gray head under the porch light. Huddled in a shawl, she scurried to meet them and snatched Unole by the elbow. “What were you thinking? It’s time for you to …”
Her elogi’s reminders droned on though Unole only noticed Great Coyote’s frustrating tricks. He teased her with what she longed to do, kissing Keir’s black hair with gleaming blue starlight. Far worse, the spirit still withheld what could mean everything to Keir, to her, to them: how to save Waapake.
Chapter Twelve: Failed Gambit
The drive back to Coon Hollow filled Keir with foreboding. Instead of the happy anticipation of visiting old friends, he now faced formidable odds he couldn’t afford to lose. He had to contact Waapake, either directly or some other way. Keir assumed Adara was holding his coyote at the Tabard house. Perhaps surveilling the place and watching for her to leave might give him a chance to enter and free his coyote. Or at least check on him. In no way would that end Keir’s entanglement with that woman. He’d ultimately have to face her—one on one, without endangering his friends. But perhaps the Great Coyote’s lesson might better prepare him for the encounter.
As the miles passed, Keir recalled what he could about the layout of the Tabard property. Although he’d driven by countless times, on only a few occasions had he been inside, after Tercel and Grizela Tabard, then Adara, had each won their elected positions as high priest.
When no more details surfaced, Keir’s mind drifted to Unole and Chuquilatague, their unusual powers—so much seemed different. His use of the potentially dangerous technique of mind-brushing with enchanted chicory startled Keir. During his summer studying shamanism, he’d never witnessed his teacher performing such extreme acts. However, a mystifying aura often cloaked Chuquilatague when he returned from meditative treks through deep woods, the smell of ancient magic clinging to his bare chest and arms. Though curious, Keir never doubted his teacher’s commitment to using his powers for good—until now. He battled a grain of uncertainty while attempting to cling to that belief.
In a different way, the changes in Unole also overwhelmed him. He remembered her as an awkward, gangly teen. Now she was a graceful, lovely young woman. She’d grown into powers possibly inherited from her talented father, with vast wisdom of the spirit world. More than that, the way her soul connected to his, through her song and in the incredible energy of their kiss, amazed him, spun his mind in circles. How was that even possible? He longed to return to her.
He depressed the accelerator, matching the current speed of his life, the pace of thoughts whipping in his mind. Driving into the Hollow, he turned directly onto Owls Tail Creek Road toward the Tabard house. No need to wait a moment longer.
***
Juggling an armful of grocery bags at her back door, Adara inserted the key from among half a dozen on a ring. A great force, like that of a violent wind, shoved back, and the entire collection clattered onto the cement floor of the enclosed porch. “Hmm. That’s curious,” she murmured to her white crow familiar Dearg perched on the arm of an old wicker glider. With her palm hovering over the suspicious lock, Adara applied a clearing spell, eliminating wisps of foreign, gray magic. The emission was too slight to analyze. However, she had a hunch who’d forced entry. She licked her lips and opened the outside porch door for Dearg. “Be my eyes and ears.”
“Right you are, dearie.” He flapped away along the house perimeter.
Surprised to find whoever entered had relocked the door, Adara retrieved her key, which the lock now accepted. She cracked the door and checked the dark hallway before she crept inside, keeping a lookout for the normal but tedious household hazards.
From within a black and white framed photograph, Aunt Claudesia shot up from her rocker and snapped her fingers at Adara, who usually ignored the old biddy’s reprimands. “Don’t you know how to put better wards on this place? There’s someone—”
Adara whisked the picture down and set it along the baseboard, silencing her deceased aunt. Now was not the time to humor Claudesia and allow her the satisfaction of spoiling either Adara’s good mood or fortuitous luck.
Ahead, she needed to take more care with tattletale pieces of furniture like the Lockwoods’ bench that—depending upon the its allegiance—would be sure to alert either her or the intruder. Most likely to whomever last did the Lockwood family a good deed—an honor Adara would never qualify for. When rumbling sounded from the basement, she smiled and tiptoed the gauntlet, finding the basement door ajar.
At the head of the stairs, she paused to drink in the glorious tableau: Keir Sheridan kneeled beside his coyote, hands massaging the animal’s temples, probably engaging in some of their insipid private communication. She and Dearg understood each other better with brief and to-the-point communication.
Adara would have loved to witness Keir’s desperation the moment he discovered he could open the cage but not release his cherished familiar. She’d set the additional ward with a definite intention, beyond making sure Waapake remained captive. Her plan worked. Almost. If only Keir would scoot that tight ass of his a foot farther into the cage. Have patience, girl. A good predator waits for the right time to strike. She stood silent, while the bats flapping within her stomach stirred up a wingding.
Keir inched forward, rewarding her restraint. Nose to nose, coyote and master each murmured incoherently—probably in one of their shamanistic journeys to witness the birth of a flower, or ride atop a cloud, or slide across a sun ray. All the places he’d never taken her—never even asked. Their mind-travels only happened if she tricked him into sharing the dark world of her night visions. All that was about to change. She’d changed and wanted to share his light, his joy in all that was good.
She drew her arm up, aiming the first shot to start the game. Their past relationship thrived under the guise of a game—with rules that validated their indulgences—so it was natural to greet him that same way. Only a fingerful of power, to conserve what she’d worked hard to restore, would swing the cage door shut. Keir would become her captive, subservient to her whims and desires, as before—better than before. Her absence during the past months would make him beg for more, worship her. A flame of magic burned at the tip of her finger, its long, crimson nail. Since returning to the Hollow and devising her scheme, she’d grown her nails longer, how he once enjoyed them.
A growl sounded from inside the cage, unfortunately from the coyote,
not Keir. Waapake lunged at the warded opening. As if he struck metal, his claws scraped, shrill and grating—shredding Adara’s daydream.
Keir kicked the closing cage door open, rolled free, and jumped to his feet. “I want my familiar back.”
Waapake paced the side of the enclosure closest to his master.
“Hello, Keir. Did you think it would be that simple? Ask and receive?” Her smile broke into a laugh. “There is the matter of a payment, as was indicated in my note. Did you get it?”
He stood tall, his chest broad, legs planted wide. Confidence not only made him a better opponent, her anticipated victory more satisfying, it also enhanced his appeal beyond her wildest expectations. Unable to resist the strong lines of his broad shoulders, the set of his squared jaw, she sauntered down the steps and stopped a few feet away. The right distance for her eyes to fully taste him, and for him to be tempted by what he once had.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It is that simple. Release Waapake now.” His voice remained calm, too calm for someone who’d narrowly escaped entrapment. And far too passive for one eager to engage her challenge. His blue gaze met hers. Something about his eyes had changed, now lit with numerous glittering stars. Unexpectedly, the steady huskiness of his speech and scintillating eyes, along with the resolve he exuded, made her skin tingle. Their usual game might take an intriguing twist—she couldn’t wait.
At the mention of his name, Waapake snarled.
She tipped the slightest glow of red power over each nail and showed Keir—her gambit. She closed the distance between them. “Remember these? How you loved their scratch?”
He said nothing, staring at her hand as she curled the talons toward the bare skin of his neck.
“You want me to mark you, don’t you? Brand you as mine again?” She traced one nail along his jaw. “Don’t you?”
The coyote growled.
Witch's Windsong (Coon Hollow Coven Tales Book 5) Page 10
