by Celia Kyle
At least now I knew what my family went through when I was a baby. I swear, Uncle Luc only gave Bryony hellfire in order to get back at me for the way I’d been as a child.
But this heat was something different. Hellfire didn’t feel like this. For one thing, hellfire never hurt Bry himself, just as it never hurt me when I tapped into my inner flames. For another, this was a sickly, sweaty heat, and it made my poor baby wail as loudly as his little lungs could manage.
Jezze strode toward us, her skin glowing, and the soft tingle of magic filled the air. The white light slid over my friend’s body, coalescing on her hands, and she held them in the air above Bry. A growl leapt into my throat, my wolf demanding I pull its pup away from the witch. But I pushed that bitch back. I trusted Jezze above all others and she was Bry’s surrogate aunt. Other than Momma R, she was one of the best people to help my son.
Jezze closed her eyes, murmuring softly under her breath. The light coming from her palms seemed to sooth Bry, but it didn’t do a damn thing for his fever. Still mumbling, Jezze talked to herself. “There’s definitely something there.” Her hands ghosted over my son’s small body. “It’s hiding, but there. Something unnatural.”
The wolf attacked so quickly, so fiercely, I almost wasn’t able to keep it locked away. It leapt forward, snarling, and the fine hairs of my body stood on end.
“Someone attacked him,” I growled. “Trying to get to me through Bry?”
The wolf’s fur lurked just beneath the surface, aching to emerge. It thirsted for blood, for the ones who’d hurt our pup. I was on board with that plan, my wolf’s urges in line with my own. Unfortunately, I didn’t know who to kill.
“I don’t know what it is yet.” Those hands still glowed, Jezze’s murmur even beginning to calm me. She sighed and opened her eyes, the glow disappearing from her hands. When she left to go talk to her mother and compare notes, I remained in place.
I held him close, whispering softly, trying to ease his pain with my presence. He hadn’t been sick since he came into my care a year ago, right after his brownie clan was murdered in cold blood. I didn’t know how to do this, how to cope with something I couldn’t swing a sword at. If there was danger I could see, smell, or touch, I had shit handled. I’d pounce and rip it to shreds before it could touch my baby.
But I couldn’t attack this sickness with fangs or claws. I couldn’t burn it out with hellfire. I couldn’t do anything.
I’d never been so helpless than in that single moment. Not when I’d lit fire to Chicago and watched the city blocks burn. Or when my angel mate sacrificed his angel status to help me.
“Caith?”
I pulled my gaze from Bry and found Jezze standing nearby—and wringing her hands. Not a good thing.
“You can fix him.” I wasn’t going to give anyone a choice.
“I think we need to call someone.” The witch nibbled her lower lip.
“No,” I snarled, baring my elongating fangs. “You.”
I didn’t want anyone else near my sweet boy. Not when he was so vulnerable. Since the day I brought him into my home, I hadn’t let a single soul outside my family, and those I considered family, touch him. And I’d been that overprotective bitch before he’d gotten sick.
“Now, Caith.” Momma R glided toward our trio. “Being stubborn isn’t going to help Bryony. We can only do so much with our witchcraft.”
“You two are the strongest witches in the country.” And I knew that for a fact. “You can heal him.”
“We can’t. He needs a true healer.” Momma R’s words left no room for argument.
My stomach churned at the thought of contacting a true healer, of letting one place their hands on Bry. They were witches but so much more. Jezze and Momma R could mix potions and healing elixirs, but their witchcraft was of the zombie, toad, eye of newt variety. They did fun and flashy, too, and Jezze could toss balls of fire with the best of them.
True healers went beyond dangerous mischief. They reached into a person’s soul, mending the illness with magic drawn from the divine grace. Divine grace used on little Bry, a brownie gifted with hellfire.
I looked down at my son, chewing my lower lip while my thoughts whirled. I didn’t care for healers as a whole. Maybe it was because they pulled magic from On High and I had the whole “lotsa demon” thing going on. As the devil’s niece, I had a natural distaste for anything white, pure, or On High-y.
“Fine.” I knew when I was beat. “Call it in. Just make sure whoever it is— “
“I know someone who can be trusted,” Momma R assured me.
Trusted because they were trustworthy or trusted because they were afraid of Momma R? Did it matter?
Nope, not a bit.
I hugged my sweet boy to my chest and hoped—Morningstars didn’t pray—whoever Momma R called would be able to help Bry. I kept that fire of hope burning, feeding it with positive thoughts—even evil demons can benefit from therapy. He snuffled and whined against me here and there, but mostly remained quiet… listless.
So very unlike the normally boisterous Bryony.
I remained in that hopeful, exhausted, panicked daze while I paced the living room, ignoring Jezze’s pleas to get me to sit and Momma R’s orders to park my butt on the couch.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t sit and be stationary when Bryony needed me, needed something. I was powerless when it came to this. Suffering at the mercy of whatever illness captured my son.
It wasn’t until my wolf’s hackles rose, a low growl rolling from my throat, that I realized the true healer had arrived.
“Where is he?” The woman’s no-nonsense tone and brisk steps coming through the front door actually soothed the beast. This was a bitch that didn’t play.
Except, then she came into the living room, flowing robes and stereotypical witch’s hat perched on her head. That snuffed out any hint of respect and I went back to being an irrational momma.
“Hand him over.” She reached for Bryony, wrinkled arms outstretched as if to take him from me, and I snapped.
“Don’t touch him.” I jerked Bry out of reach and curled my lip, exposing a single fang.
“So you want him to die, then?” The witch crossed her arms, eyes blazing an unnatural white. The color of purity—On High.
Momma R grabbed my bicep, curling her aged fingers around my arm and squeezing tightly. Not enough to injure me, but with enough strength and zap of ice that it got my attention. “Let Sorsha work,” she said the words softly enough but with an underlying core of pure power. “She’s the best healer I know. Trust me.”
I trusted Momma R, didn’t I? She’d taken in the bedraggled, wild, obnoxious niece of Satan and welcomed me, hadn’t she?
I jerked my head in a quick nod but kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t have anything nice to say and I’d already flashed fang once. I carefully placed Bry in the healer’s arms and followed the woman when she strode to the center of the living room. She placed him on the soft carpet, and I watched every movement as she examined Bryony. When Sorsha lifted her hand, I tensed, ready to whip out a weapon and bring the bitch down. But all she did was brush a long strand of midnight hair behind her elven ear.
Then she pulled out a small pouch and pulled several crystals and charms free.
“What are you doing?” Crystals? Charms? I wasn’t looking for spells that I could handle after a trip to the local store.
“Helping him,” her reply was quick and clipped. One by one, she placed them in a sacred circle around my son, chanting as she dropped each. She next lit a bundle of incense, violet smoke twirling into the air, and scents soon followed. I resisted the urge to sneeze to clear my nose. Frankincense and myrrh, and a few other fun little scents that I didn’t recognize. Whatever they were, they wreaked havoc on evil.
And, well, I am a good hunk of evil so I wasn’t exactly feeling great.
She waved it back and forth over Bry, pausing over each charm. Her chant altered slightly depending on the charm or crysta
l, and soon she held the bundle directly above Bryony’s head. The purple fog that surrounded him slowly drifted down, settling over my son and then sank into his skin. It sparkled where it touched him, flaring to life before being absorbed. Little by little, his cries faded until he was calm enough to drift into sleep.
“Is he okay?” I slowly approached, pushing back the discomfort that came with the remaining incense. It scratched and scraped at my skin, but it wasn’t more than I could handle. “Is he better?”
“For now.” Sorsha ran a finger down Bry’s chubby leg. “The spell will help ward off the fever. It’s the best I can do.”
“For now?” The bones in my hands throbbed, a new pain overtaking my other discomfort. The wolf wanted to bust out claws and wrap them around the woman’s throat. It wanted to demand she fix our pup. Now. “You’ve got to help him. You’ve got to make him better.”
Sorsha’s head snapped up and she shot a glare at me. Deep circles lingered under the elf’s almond-shaped eyes. “He’s not the only sick person in the city I need to worry about. I’m working on finding the source and a cure. I’ll contact Helene if I find anything that can help him.”
I opened my mouth, torn between questioning her about other ill tweeners and demanding she keep her ass put.
A low, trilling ring cut me off before I could say a word and Sorsha answered her cell phone. Without a word, the true healer rolled to her feet and raced toward the front door, already involved in another conversation.
I wasn’t going to be put off and followed on the bitch’s heels. “Wait. What do you mean? Others?”
“I’m sorry.” The elf glanced over her shoulder. “I have to go. I’ll be in touch.” Sorsha paused only long enough to lay a gentle touch on my arm. She probably thought it was comforting, and maybe to anyone but me it would have been. But I’m me and anything good hurt like a motherfucker, the small touch burning my skin. Smoke drifted up from my forearm, but I was too focused on Sorsha to bitch much. “Call me if anything changes, but as long as he’s stable, I have other patients.”
Then the elf was gone, out the door as if she’d never even crossed the threshold.
I really wished I had my bat. I felt the need to hit something and at the moment, my target was Sorsha’s front windshield. Dammit. With no bat in sight, I reached for a rocking chair on the front porch only to have Momma R grab my wrist.
The witch pulled me back into the house. “Hurting her won’t help Bryony.”
I grumbled. I knew that, but it would have made me feel better. If Momma R wouldn’t let me throw things, maybe she’d let me slug Sorsha. Just one punch. Nothing major… or permanent.
Instead of dwelling on causing the true healer bodily harm, I turned my attention back to my son.
“None of this makes sense. I don’t understand how he can be sick. Especially with something unnatural.” I looked around the old house at the countless runes inscribed around each window and doorway, hoping the cause would jump out at me. “He hasn’t been out in the cold, and the wards wouldn’t let anyone in.” I shook my head. “He couldn’t have caught it from one of us, could he?”
If he got it from me… I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself.
Jezze shook her head. “No, I checked. None of us are afflicted. No one else has been coming around, right?”
I let my mind wander back to the last couple of weeks and the visitors we’d had at Momma R’s and our home.
“I’ve got no new brownies and the only other person he’s been in contact with is Papa Al. He’s been trying to teach Bry how to play Xbox. Thinks it’ll help with his hand-eye coordination.” I’d almost told Papa Al that Bry was still too young for video games, but the sight of those two cuddled on the couch, Bry in one of my fathers’ laps, had been too cute. Plus, they hadn’t exactly had video games when I was a kid. I shouldn’t complain—it was the 1400s, what did I expect?—but I wanted to enjoy something I hadn’t.
I knelt beside my son, afraid to touch him, afraid to even look at him funny out of fear that whatever Sorsha did would suddenly unravel. Bry was stable, sure, but he was still sick. My stomach churned with the knowledge that even the elf didn’t know what was wrong with my sweet, sweet boy.
I did know one thing, though. Bryony was sick—other tweeners were sick—and Orland was still mine.
I made four rules when I started this town: order, secrecy, discretion if that’s the best you can do, and no one fucks with me or mine.
Bryony is mine.
They’re gonna die for touching him.
2
I was gonna wait for news from Sorsha, really. I planned on sitting around like a human parent and watching my kid breathe, begging his little chest to rise and fall, each wisp of air rattling in his lungs.
I even did that for a little while. I mean, past experiences taught me that running off without a plan was only gonna get me in trouble. Right?
Fuck, but my give a shit was still busted. I wanted to solve my problems like I always did—kicking ass and making someone bleed. The thing who did this to my son deserved all that and more.
A more that had me even considering calling on hellfire. It’d been a year since I’d tapped into the circles of hell, danced on the edge of evil, and it was damn tempting to dip my toe in.
My shoulders itched, skin stretched taut across my back, and my arms prickled with goose bumps. My wolf. It was anxious for its own taste of blood. It wanted to hunt, to maim.
“Caith?” Momma R’s concern flowed over me and I nearly snarled at her, nearly snapped at the woman who’d been more of a mom to me than my own. “You need to calm. Bryony will sense your emotions and that’s not good for him.”
Right. Calm down. “I…” I clenched my fists and my wolf’s nails pricked my palms. “I’m going out.” I pushed to my feet and just stood there for a second, staring down at my son. My son. A purple glow surrounded him, a reminder of the protections laid by the elf. The rage swirling inside me bubbled a little higher, creeping toward the edges of my control, and I knew staying here wasn’t a good idea. “Yeah, I’m going out.” Before I snapped. “Call me if anything changes with Bry.” I turned to the two women I trusted most. “Keep him safe.”
I strode toward the front door, torn between the need to hunt whoever had started this mess and sitting and waiting for Sorsha. I was never a patient child.
“You sure, Caith?” Jezze rose and followed me, her bare feet quiet on the aged wood floors. “I mean, what can you do?”
Nothing. Everything. Anything.
I walked out the door and pulled it shut behind me, careful to be as quiet as possible. I felt an almost inaudible snap in the air, a rubber band against my back, as Momma R’s wards fell back into place. The home sealed behind me against any threats.
Did I really wanna leave Bry while he was ill? No, but if I didn’t do something with this energy, it’d be Chicago all over again. That hadn’t exactly ended well. What with the burning of over three miles of the city. The whole thing had been blamed on the O’Leary cow when it’d really been me. Betrayed by my lover, catching him in the act with another woman, sent me over the edge.
One spark led to another and another, until the city was ablaze with the Great Chicago fire of ’71.
I’d been heartbroken, devastated.
And the two women in that house had been at my side, picking up the pieces of me that’d been left over. Unafraid. Caring. Loving.
If I was going to leave Bry with anyone, it was with Jezze and Momma R. I trusted them more than anyone else with my kid. I trusted Momma R more than my own mother.
And for just a second I thought about what my mother would have done if I’d ever gotten sick. Whether she’d call a true healer or ask for help. Would she cry or feel anything?
No. Wasn’t her style. She truly was the devil’s sister, and the biggest bitch the world had ever known. If anything, she would have rejoiced in my pain.
It was a good thing two of my fathers pass
ed on a lot of their purity and love genes—a unicorn and Father Earth. It gave me the ability to feel love for Bry, to not find joy in his suffering and to instead feel rage and a need for retribution.
Okay, admittedly, the rage and retribution thing came from two of my other dads. Letholdus—Papa Leth—was the first warrior into Jerusalem during the crusades and my werewolf dad—Papa Al—was the High Wolf of North America.
Dad number five—the Pixie King—gave me the ability to laugh and have fun with Bry, to find joy in life.
Unfortunately, at the moment, none of their genetic donations—I was conceived in a petri dish, not in a magical gang bang, dammit—helped with my unending need for violence.
I took a deep breath of the midnight air, letting it sink into my lungs. The wind caressed my skin, as if Papa Eron was trying to send a little of his soothing my way. The trees danced in the gust, rustling leaves and creaking branches adding to the lulling of nature’s song.
“Not gonna work, Papa Eron,” I murmured. I was too far gone, the wolf unwilling to be shoved aside.
I walked right past my car, the cooling vehicle still parked right in the middle of Momma R’s prized petunias. The flowers were pissed at me, the magic infused plants already creeping and crawling over the car’s tires. There was no way to get it free without harming the little buds and it was Papa Eron’s influence that had me staying my hand.
Getting behind the wheel would be a mistake anyway. I’d speed, a cop would pull me over, and then I’d just be looking for a reason to start shit.
Nah, I’d run. Let the wolf free and chase down some prey in the forest surrounding Momma R’s. I’d drop to all fours and become one with the night, sleek and hiding in the shadows, leaving nothing more than a question in the minds of any humans I encountered.
Was that a dog?
Yes, of course. It was a two-hundred-pound black wolf with glowing eyes. Of course.
