The Lion, the Witch, and the Secret Garden

by Larissa Emerald

  “I know. I’ve been so busy planting and keeping up the garden now that the weather is finally warmer.”

  “We’re going to The Freaky Rabbit on Wednesday night for karaoke. You should join us. Like old times.”

  “Sounds fun. I might do that.” Her gaze shifted to the side and she noticed Diago traveled directly to Luna’s counter. He was dressed in his usual black T-shirt, black jeans, and black leather jacket. His dark, cropped, short hair and his neatly trimmed beard created a bad-boy, sexy look. If she looked deeply into his coffee eyes, she could see hints of the wolf shifter in him. It probably was no accident that Luna was getting off work. They had an on and off relationship. Evidently, at the moment, they were on. “Maybe I’ll drag Luna with me.”

  “That would be great. We can make it a foursome,” he smiled the charming smile she’d know since they were in fifth grade.

  She nodded, then pushed through the doorway.

  Outside, Diego and Christian’s bikes were parked next to her mule. She smiled to herself. One of these days, she may have to get one of those bikes, too. She slid into the mule and drove home.

  * * *

  Twyla tugged her waist-length hair to one side and braided the strands down to the ends where she tied it off with a rubber band. Allowing her tresses to tangle all over the place while she tended to herbs and plants was not something she liked to deal with, so she always got her hair out of the way.

  She breathed deeply the aromas of fragrant flowers and greenery, slipping on leather gloves and lifting the spade. The sun hung low in the west, and clouds were moving in, so daylight was fading quickly. Now that the weather had warmed, she needed to transplant the root plants, turmeric, and ginger from the greenhouse to the raised, outside beds.

  Opening the arched, wooden door, she stepped inside to fetch the wheelbarrow she’d prepared earlier this morning with plants. Twyla set the spade in the cart next to the plants. She carefully backed the cart out the door and navigated between the rows of raised beds until she arrived at the spot she’d chosen.

  Kneeling, she went to work preparing the rich, organic soil, breaking apart the rhizomes and setting them in the ground. When winter returned, she’d repeat the cycle, housing the plants in the greenhouse during the snowy season.

  As she finished and rested back on her heels, the sun sank behind a thick gray band of clouds on the horizon. A rush of cool air washed over her. The hairs on her arms rose, and she had the urge to brush the sensation off her skin, as if she’d been sprinkled with a light dusting of sand. Standing, she turned and inhaled sharply.

  Two vampires stood within reach. She recognized the one closest to her. “Ethan. You frightened me. I didn’t hear you.”

  “That was the point.”

  She cocked her head at him, feeling her brow pinch.

  Without warning, he tossed a black strap over her and secured it around her waist, lashing another tie over her hands in front of her, then attaching it to the first. She struggled to touch the ruby red pendant around her neck but couldn’t reach it. Panic gripped her chest and stomach.

  “What are you doing? Why—”

  He tugged on the lead. She stumbled forward.

  “I’m in need of your services, my dear. Do as we ask, and you will be set free in no time,” Ethan said.

  “Your idea of ‘no time’ and mine are not the same.” He led her like a cow across the yard. She scuffed her feet, digging her heels in as she went. Twyla thought of the cell phone in her jean’s pocket and wondered if there was a way to get in touch with Nora or Luna. Judging from the descending darkness, Solis had probably already closed the drug store.

  But she didn’t have a chance to grab at her phone. The rope kept her hands outstretched in front of her. She winced as it bit into her wrists.

  ~ ~ ~

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  Awakening Touch

  by Larissa Emerald

  The Story – Book 2

  Paranormal Investigator, Grace Wenger, seeks the truth behind a recent French healing miracle, and if true, hopefully obtain the curative potion for her inoperable disease. While on her quest, she set out to unearth a ghost or two in the gorgeous wine country, but nowhere in her wildest imagination did she anticipate falling for a mysterious shapeshifter, guardian to a magical tree, and battling a Reaper demanding the tree’s secrets.

  Immortal Ian Hearst, a Divine Tree guardian, avoids human involvement. A master at distancing people from the tree, he’s failed to keep Grace from repeatedly trespassing onto his land and trying to get to his Divine Tree. She tests more than his protective duties, when he falls prey to her sassy, open nature. But by opening his heart, she allows the Reaper a path for evil deeds to multiply. Soon Ian finds his love for her puts him at direct odds with his duty.

  The Legend

  In the beginning of ancient time, the massive Tree of Life stood tall, with heavy branches and mile-deep roots, holding within knowledge of the universe. But after the division of good and evil, this sacred tree needed to be protected against exploitation and the Archangel Seth was charged with the tree’s protection.

  Realizing one such tree was far more susceptible to destruction than several, the angel split the tree into twelve that took root around the globe; if one tree should fall, the knowledge of the universe would prevail within its colleagues.

  The archangel created a brotherhood of powerful immortal guardians to safeguard the mighty trees. These twelve brothers, from the Isle of Skye, formed the league of the Divine Tree Guardians.

  1

  “Why are you dying?” Ian Hearst plucked another fistful of dried leaves from an ill grapevine. He shook his head and dropped the leaves to the ground, then walked over to his horse, mounted, and rode away.

  Custos felt his immortal Guardian’s lingering frustration. Yes, Ian was dedicated to his winery hobby. He was enthusiastic about everything he did, actually. His extensive attention to detail showed in everything at Chêne Sacré from the hand-carved railings and elaborate stonework at the château to the manicured lawns and colorful garden that led to the rows of vines.

  Custos stood within the heart of a sprawling vineyard on the outskirts of Provence, France. He was a Divine Tree, one of eleven unknown around the globe, an ancient oak stretched tall and full, and this expanse of land was his refuge from the world with the protection of his Guardian.

  He swayed and bent as the lavender-scented breeze coming from the south rippled over his bark and stroked his limbs. In the shadow of the Alps, he wiggled his roots even deeper into the ground and drank the moisture from the rich soil, allowing thirsty wood fibers to absorb the life-sustaining minerals held deep within the French earth.

  The spring rains had let up, and this May morning the sun warmed his branches and the wind gently teased his rich green leaves, which were beginning to thicken with the commencement of summer. Today captured the perfect essence of existence—joyous, peaceful, and harmonious. The wisdom of the ages coursed through the vast catacombs of Custos’s being like electricity zinging through wires, igniting each synapse and particle of knowledge and history with renewed life. Days such as these should be cherished.

  He sighed, only slightly worried that Ian might be too distracted from his Guardian duties by his vineyard and winery. Even though contentment should be flowing easily through every sliver of wood, a vibration of unease couldn’t be denied. His Georgia complement—one of ten around the world—was finally showing signs of real life after a lengthy dormant recovery period following an altercation with the demon Io.

  The demon had used Ian’s brother and his soulmate’s magical ability to poison a Divine Tree. Thank heavens they’d found a way to thwart the evil fiend and save the sacred tree.

  As the day burned brightly around him, the ancient oak turned within, sorting and filing and restructuring the indefinite quantity of files, the knowledge of the universe he held within. It was what he
did to overcome that feeling of being…alone. He supposed that Ian did the same with the winery in his own way. The land had been this Guardian’s friend from the beginning, the very thing that had sustained Ian over the millennia.

  Custos had enjoyed the company of the twelve brothers—one gone now—who guarded him. He pushed the thoughts of loneliness aside, shifting the black hole energy farther down into a leeward root.

  And so it went, moving and shuffling the secrets of the universe until something prompted him to stop and take heed.

  With an internal yawn, the Divine Tree became aware of unusual activity within the vineyard. People. No, there was but one human. The other was something else. He reached out with a tendril of energy, testing what he found.

  A reaper.

  With a sharp gust of wind, heavy gray clouds eclipsed the sun, and a shadow covered the ground. But the Divine Tree didn’t need eyes to know this creature was the Dark Realm’s spawn. Although death was a natural part of the circle of life, there was nothing natural about reapers. They took individuals before their times and claimed their souls.

  Custos could sense it all. A little girl, no more than seven years old, ran desperately, moving as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. She squeezed through a small opening in the grapevines, and with a frantic burst of energy, she stumbled forward, planting her palms against the ancient oak’s massive trunk. She hugged the bark as if she knew it was her only hope and tilted her head way, way back, looking up into the branches. Perhaps she was considering climbing up, with thoughts of a safe haven, but Custos wasn’t sure.

  A tingling sensation shot deep into his roots then. A special quality emitted from the child. And when she laid her cheek upon the old oak, images of the future and the potential role the little girl played in it rolled over him.

  Her breaths came in ragged, labored exhales. More tortured than what a child’s breathing should have been, even under the circumstances. She started to cry and gasped sharply for air. She glanced over her shoulder, her vivid blue eyes round and frightened, and her silky, light brown hair sticking to the wetness on her cheeks. Coughing, she stepped over roots as she scrambled around to the other side of Custos’s massive trunk. With a few strangled wheezes, she collapsed to the ground, her breathing shallow, growing even more labored with every inhale. Her eyes slowly closed, then fanned open before closing again.

  The reaper bounded over the top of the vines and landed squarely on both feet. He angled his head, taking in the situation.

  Custos moved his roots upward through the earth, encircling the child and pulling her closer. “You cannot have this little one.”

  The reaper laughed. “No?”

  “Go find a deserving soul.”

  Someone as wicked as you are.

  “Now where’s the fun in that?”

  This time, at the sound of the reaper’s voice, the sweet girl moaned. The reaper leaned in. Placing his index finger to his pursed lips, he whispered, “Shh.”

  With the girl’s back tucked snuggly against his trunk, Custos felt her heart slowing, stopping, dying. He heaved upward, dislodging deeper roots that had been in place for centuries. Moving one and then another, he wrapped her up and drew her down into the earth, where he opened a porthole and took her inside the catacombs of knowledge to safety.

  “No,” the reaper bellowed, the eerie sound echoing across the land.

  “She is not for you,” Custos snapped.

  “It is her time. Could you not hear her struggling?”

  Custos shook every branch in fury. “She lives. I have the power to make it so.”

  Beside himself, like a dog that had just lost a well-anticipated bone and was still salivating over the prize, the reaper stomped around in a circle and glared at the Divine Tree. Finally, realizing he had no immediate recourse, he changed into a scraggly vulture and flew to a nearby cork oak, where he resumed his reaper form and sat perched high in the evergreen branches, scythe in hand.

  Knock yourself out, Custos thought, knowing the reaper would soon grow bored and go searching for easier targets. The critical task at hand was to find the right grain of knowledge to cure this sweet child of the killer illness named cystic fibrosis.

  In the meantime, his Guardian needed to know the reaper had some evil business afoot.

  * * *

  Ian lifted the saddle from the gelding and set it in the tack room. His ride among the vines had been invigorating and reminded him why riding horseback remained one of his favorite activities. It reminded him of the life he’d lived over the centuries since he’d left Scotland, before modernization with fancy cars, mega computers, and phones that demanded an instant response.

  The gelding tossed his head as if to say farewell. Ian paused to run his palm along the animal’s neck. The horse had taken quite some time to accept Ian, for he’d sensed the shape-shifter forms of bear and eagle residing inside the Guardian and hadn’t been able to relax due to a natural fear of becoming prey.

  As Ian raised his hand for another pat, the branches of the tree tattoo on his back warmed. Custos was summoning him.

  The layout of his estate was built around his needs to attend the oak. There were underground passages hidden in several of the buildings, the nearest one tucked within the massive wine cellar. Although he could approach aboveground, he rarely did if he perceived a true threat. The clandestine location enabled the best surveillance of the situation. And sometimes the element of surprise was key.

  The cool fifty-five-degree temperature of the wine cellar brushed his face as he entered. He picked up his pace, moving past the new batch of oak barrels waiting for the cellar master to test and approve for structural integrity. Inside a private room, stairs rose to a private, rarely used, split-level wine-tasting bar. Ian flicked a switch on the wall and the staircase tilted upward, guided by mechanical lifts and hinges. He trotted down a second set of stairs beneath the first, which led to the underground passages. At the bottom, he hit another lever and the upper staircase descended, closing the opening and returning everything to its original position. From here, he had a number of directions he could go, including to the château straight ahead or to the Divine Tree. He hustled toward the oak, the thud of his footfalls echoing through the stone.

  The passage ended at the subterranean entrance to the tree where a threshold comprised of twisted and gnarled roots formed a golden arch over the doorway. At the top, knots of wood created the images of bear and eagle, his shape-shifter beings. Ian completed the anointing ritual, allowing sap to drip from a thick, wet root onto the tree of life tattoo on the inside of his wrist.

  “Benison,” Custos whispered.

  “Blessings,” Ian returned. “My strength and loyalty are yours.”

  After acknowledging the Divine Tree, the door opened and he entered.

  Inside, on the far side of the hand-carved furniture of the watch room, he was stunned to find a little girl curled up sound asleep on the floor. How had she gotten in here?

  He narrowed his eyes, noting her convenient location to the invisible porthole to the outside. “What is this?” Ian whispered aloud so as not to wake the child.

  The neighbor child, Maely Dubois. I brought her inside, Custos answered within Ian’s head, the Divine Tree’s voice like dry autumn leaves rustling across the ground.

  “Which is even more shocking. What of our code of secrecy?”

  The girl will not know. She sleeps.

  “But why? Why did you bring her in?”

  Look about to the south and you will find a reaper. He was pursuing the child. She had an illness that he planned on taking advantage of.

  “Had?”

  I’m capable of healing, so I chose to do so.

  Ian rubbed the backs of his knuckles along his jawline and shook his head. This act of compassion would cause them trouble. He could feel it. He peered outside through the magical properties of the tree bark, and sure enough, a reaper reclined in a treetop, his fiery eyes trained on the an
cient oak, his soul-extricating scythe resting across his thigh. “What does he want?”

  That hasn’t been revealed to me yet.

  “Does he have a name?”

  A rustling noise indicated the Divine Tree was thinking, sorting through his infinite stores of knowledge. The reaper calls himself Death.

  “Of course he does,” Ian muttered. As usual, the Dark Realm was predictably unoriginal.

  “But Death can’t have the girl,” Custos announced, this time out loud.

  “Agreed.” Ian stepped closer to Maely. “I’ll take her home.”

  He bent and lifted her slowly and gently into his arms. She snuggled her cheek against his hard chest and placed her palm over his heart. Protectiveness surged inside him, eliciting a moment when he feared for the child’s safety. He sighed, releasing the anxiety.

  She will be fine.

  He wondered, not for the first time, how the Divine Tree could be so sure.

  Maely weighed barely anything. He carried her back the way he’d come, except this time he took the route that led him to the forest near her parents’ property. He exited aboveground at a ledge of rocks. The girl stirred as they came out of the tree line and traveled into her father’s vines. She blinked her eyes open.

  “Bonjour, petit agneau,” he said in French. “Did you get lost? I found you asleep, and I’m taking you home.”

  She attempted to rise up. Ian stopped, adjusting her so that she rested on his forearm in an upright position. “Merci, monsieur,” she said, then hugged his neck. “I had a lovely adventure this morning.”

  “Really? Tell me about it.” He began walking again.

  “The mean, ugly man chased me. And then the magic tree saved me and took me inside its trunk. It was the coolest thing ever.”