Wolf's Promise

by Elyce de Reefe

  “Aaron,” he called down the stairs, “how’s it coming with those computer files?”

  Chapter 20

  Lyla sat in the comfortable club chair in the bedroom and took another sip of her frozen margarita, staring down at the grimoire in her hands. Elizabeth really did make excellent margaritas. The pitcher was almost three-quarters gone—which was good, because she was about to turn to those last few spells in the book. The ones she hadn’t been able to face in a very long time. Her mother’s spells.

  She flipped through to the back of the book, running her hand down the spidery writing of her grandmother. She should add that wolfsbane charm here, Lyla thought. That had been really effective. Against Aaron anyway. She squinted at the heading on the top of the page. At least Granny made an effort when writing in the grimoire. The writing in her journals was so messy and cramped it was almost unreadable.

  The heading at the top of the page seemed to be a charm to help bread to rise. Lyla smiled. Of course Granny would add that. She loved to cook. Lyla shook her head. Granny had already been very old when Lyla was a girl. Her mother had given birth to Lyla late in life, and she had been Granny’s youngest daughter. But that hadn’t kept her out of the kitchen. She was always cooking or baking. Lyla had a sudden image of her pulling a tray of cookies from the oven, her silvery white hair piled in a loose Gibson Girl on top of her head, her pale, almost translucent skin flushed from the heat.

  “Your grandmother was a hoot, Lyla,” Elizabeth said from the window seat across the coffee table. She sat with her back against the wide window frame, her knees up and one of the older journals balanced there. “She has a recipe for Get Happy Sponge Cake in here. And it comes with variations. Either, Melt Your Heart Chocolate Sauce, or Banish Tears Lavender-Sugar Glaze.”

  “Let me see that,” Mari said. “How much of this stuff have you had?” She pushed up from the other chair to peer over Elizabeth’s shoulder, almost spilling her margarita in the process.

  “Not as much as you,” Elizabeth said, laughing, deftly rescuing the margarita from Mari’s hand and setting it on the table. “Be careful you don’t spill that on the journals. Look, right here.”

  Mari made a comical face, squinting at the book, and closing one eye in an attempt to bring the scribbled writing into focus. “Huh. It does kind of look like that. Weird ingredients though, aren’t they?”

  “You know, Mari, I think you’re right. I think this is some kind of spell recipe. How cool is that? Hmm… what else does she have? I wonder if there’s a “Make Cray Do Everything I Say Meatloaf” recipe in here.”

  The two women dissolved into giggles, and Lyla smiled. Granny did have some interesting recipes. Most of them were the normal kind though. She could still remember the smell of almond cookies baking whenever she visited Gram’s cute little Tudor nestled in the hills of Hastings-on-Hudson. They had been Lyla’s favorite, and Granny was sure to have a fresh batch every time she came to visit. Those had been happy times. Wonderful times. Her mother and Granny would often disappear into Granny’s work room, leaving Lyla and her father to play cards, or Parcheesi. Sometimes when the weather was good, they’d all play bocce or croquet out on the back lawn. They’d spent so many Sunday dinners all together there, eating in Granny’s old-fashioned dining room, a white lace tablecloth adorning the table. It seemed like those times would go on forever. But Gram had died when Lyla was twelve. And a year later there had been that terrible car accident, and suddenly, she was an orphan.

  Lyla felt a stab of guilt. Or maybe that was shame. After the accident, she’d gone to live with Aunt Zoe, and since then, she’d done her best to distance herself from everything magic. But maybe if she hadn’t, maybe if she had done her best to learn everything she could about magic and its applications, she’d be better prepared for what she faced now. And for the first time, rejecting that side of her nature felt like a rejection of her mother and grandmother, not just Aunt Zoe. After all, magic in itself wasn’t bad. It was the way you used it that mattered.

  Lyla sighed and turned the page to reveal another spell in her grandmother’s hand.

  How to Scry for Location Using an Object.

  Hmm. That looked interesting. And oddly specific. But most of the spells were like that, very focused in intent. She flipped another page and caught her breath. Her mother’s flowing script couldn’t have been more different from Granny’s. The words sent a little chill down her back.

  Protection from Compulsion Against a Coven of Thirteen

  (Must be put in place ahead of time)

  What was her mother working on before she died? Lyla scanned down the page. The spell did require a lot of preparation. And some ingredients that she thought were less than common. Ground minerals and dried saffron flowers. Not just the stamens, but the entire flower. That wasn’t common. She flipped to the next page.

  Protecting a Location From a Specific Threat

  She looked through the spell, wondering if it could have been used to protect her house from the ax wielders, but it looked like you needed stinging nettles, which she didn’t think grew around here, and something specific from the threat itself, like a nail clippings or some such, so that wouldn’t have worked. Unless one of them had been thoughtful enough to shed while they were in her store. Wait a minute. There was blood at the shop—could that be used? No. The police would clean that up, wouldn’t they?

  Hmm. Maybe they won’t. They didn’t exactly run a maid service. Then she saw a note at the bottom of the page referencing another spell on making identification charms and substituting that. Possible. Possible. She’d have to look into that. She turned the page, and the final entry in her mother’s hand stared back at her.

  Creating an Energy Barrier Against Scrying

  Again, Lyla wondered what her mother had been studying. They all seemed like defensive spells. And against other witches. She took a sip from her drink and considered. Something to think about later. For now, none of these were what she needed. She needed “How to Make a Lure.” Or, more accurately—how to break a lure. What she really needed was Aunt Zoe’s grimoire. Aunt Zoe was always trying to get her to participate in spells like that. And she had one of the oldest grimoires Lyla had ever seen. Who knew what kind of arcane spells it contained?

  She flicked back through the pages, pausing occasionally when a particularly intricate diagram caught her eye. Fortunately, most of her ancestors had better handwriting than her grandmother. There had to be something in here about how to trace a charm back to its maker, or maybe discover the intent—

  “Hey, look at this.” Elizabeth’s voice broke into her reverie. “She has a recipe for Powerfully Delicious Lunar Star Cookies. She’s in the middle of a rambling account of cleaning out some Zida chick’s attic, and all of a sudden she throws in a recipe.”

  “Really? Zida was Granny’s sister. She died before I was born.” Lyla shook her head. “They never got along. Hadn’t spoken in years, and then she died. I always thought my Gran was a little sad about that.” Actually, Zida was Aunt Zoe’s mother. Technically, that made Aunt Zoe some kind of cousin, probably, but she’d always been referred to as Aunt Zoe.

  “What does it say?” Lyla sat forward.

  “Well, there’s something about some old crate with books and scrolls—it was the word scroll that caught my attention, and then all of a sudden, she’s writing down a cookie recipe.”

  Lyla sighed. “Yes, I know. She does that. It makes reading the journals very tedious. I really do appreciate you ladies helping me with this. There’s nothing more about the scroll?”

  “Not here, no.” Elizabeth sounded thoughtful. “Although I wouldn’t really call this tedious. Listen to this, Lyla.” Elizabeth gave her a look she couldn’t quite interpret, and then continued.

  “Take one pinch sparkly star dust, combined with one generous helping silvery moonbeams—fold together until bound tight.

  – Yield: One batch—

  “And then this part is hard to rea
d, but I’m pretty sure it says, “—powerful River Pack.”

  “What? Let me see that!” Lyla stood up so fast she almost spilled her own drink. Whoops. Forgot she had that in her hand. She put the glass down gently and met Elizabeth halfway. Mari came over to join them as they hovered over the coffee table peering at the journal. There were irregular stars and crescent moons drawn all around the ‘recipe’ and some kind of tubes with squiggly edges that she couldn’t make out.

  Lyla felt her skin go cold. Goose bumps raced up and down her arms. “Do you think those cylinder things with the curlicues on the end are meant to be scrolls?”

  Elizabeth squinted at the objects. “Could be,” she said, sounding skeptical. “It’s possible. No offense, Lyla, but your grandmother really did have terrible handwriting. And um… doodles.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mari said. “I think I saw something like that too.” She plucked the journal she’d been reading from the chair behind her and flipped through the pages. “Here is it. Next to a recipe for succotash. But aren’t there, like, only three ingredients in succotash?”

  “Pretty much,” Elizabeth replied. “Let’s see what-cha got, Mari.”

  The three of them stared down at the journal in silence.

  “You know,” Elizabeth said slowly. “I think your grandmother was one crafty old witch.” She reached out to touch the cylindrical symbols that looked very much like the ones by the cookie recipe. “I think it’s possible her handwriting is atrocious on purpose.” She looked up and met Lyla’s gaze. “I think there’s a reason her journals are so jumbled up and hard to read. Could she have been trying to hide this from someone?”

  Because there on the page, was indeed a recipe for succotash. And it started out normally enough, calling for lima beans, corn, and red pepper. But when it came to the directions, they were unusually intricate, describing shucking the corn, cutting it from the cob, and peeling the lima beans out of their shells. And along with the usual instructions to mix together and simmer were other words embedded into the recipe, written in such a tight, scribbled hand they were nearly impossible to read. But once you knew what you were looking for—

  Lyla read aloud, subtracting out the boil on high for three minutes, along with the rest of the instructions.

  “In the days when the grey wolf walks the world again—when the sun’s power is absolute, there will come a time when the starlight will make a push to return to power.

  It will be a time of peril for all People.

  A daughter must be given—from her will come the solution. From the youngest daughter of the Oldest Crone will come the answer.

  Lyla broke off, chills racing up her spine. Oldest Crone was a title among the witches. A title her grandmother held until she died. She read the last line in a hushed voice.

  “Through her line the weapon will be forged.”

  No wonder Aunt Zoe thought the prophecy spoke of her. It did! She was the only child of the youngest daughter of the oldest crone. She sank back down into her chair, feeling suddenly dizzy. She was going to be a weapon? She didn’t want to be a weapon. Why couldn’t there just be peace among the Peoples?

  “So,” Elizabeth said, “the sun’s power—that’s humans, right? Lucas told me that humans used to be called People of the Sun.”

  Lyla nodded, trying to still the thoughts swirling around in her head.

  “And the starlight, that’s you, right? The witches?”

  “Yes. The witches were the Starlight People in the ancient tongue.”

  “So then,” Elizabeth’s voice was tentative, “what’s this daughter that has to be given?”

  Lyla pressed her hand to her forehead, rubbing her temples. “I think that’s supposed to be me. Starts to make a little more sense why someone would set those lures. I guess I’m like the sacrificial lamb.”

  “Only it didn’t work,” Elizabeth said. “Cause Aaron got to you first.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Lyla said. “What if the lure is what brought Aaron to my shop that day?”

  Elizabeth snorted. “I’m pretty sure Lucas is what brought Aaron to your store that day. Didn’t you tell me he bought a stained glass piece with roses all over it? Had you take it right out of the window?”

  “Yes—”

  “He did?” Mari popped up from the seat she’d just resettled in. Her eyes shot from Lyla to Elizabeth. “You didn’t tell me that!”

  “Mari.” Elizabeth’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Of course I didn’t tell you. I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be a surprise.” She wagged a finger at Mari. “Now, make sure you act surprised when he gives it to you.”

  Mari groaned. “What is it about roses with that man? He’s obsessed with them.” She leaned over and filled her glass from the pitcher. Settling back in her chair, she took a long sip. “I swear, every time I turn around there’s another kind of rose soap in my bathroom. Rose shampoo, rose body wash…”

  “I don’t know, Mari,” Elizabeth said, filling her own glass, and then topping up Lyla’s with the last of the pitcher, “what is it about roses?”

  Mari took a hasty swallow of margarita and covered her face with her hand. “I’m not sure but—” she peeked through her fingers, “I used to have this rose soap that I used.” She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “It was imported from India. It was my one indulgence when I ran. I took all three boxes.” She lowered her hand and looked to Elizabeth. “You don’t think he could—” she dropped her voice to almost a whisper, “smell it on me, do you?”

  “Um…” Elizabeth rolled her lips together and turned away, looking very much like she was trying not to smile. She turned to Lyla and made big eyes at her. Finally, she turned back to Mari. “I would say… that’s possible.” She broke into a broad smile. "In fact—yup.” She giggled. “The big bad wolf trying to get the girly-girl soap for his honey…”

  She took one look at Mari’s face and burst out laughing.

  “Elizabeth,” Mari hissed, “that’s not—” The younger woman pulled a throw pillow from behind her back with the hand not holding her margarita and flipped it at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth held her glass up and batted the pillow away. “Hey.”

  Both Mari and Elizabeth were laughing now, and Lyla couldn’t help her own smile. These women were so lucky to have each other, they could tease and play, but deep down each knew the other had her back. Unfortunately, right now Lyla had other things on her mind.

  “So, um… do you think that means maybe Lucas was right? Maybe I am a danger to the pack?”

  That stopped the laughter.

  “No way,” Elizabeth said immediately. “That’s impossible. I refuse to believe you’d do anything to hurt the pack.”

  “You know,” Mari said, “when you think about it, it sounds more like you’re the answer the pack has been looking for.”

  Both women stared at her.

  “What?” Lyla finally asked. She’d love to believe that, but—

  “Powerful wolf cookies!”

  Lyla glanced at Elizabeth, who seemed just as mystified. Elizabeth leaned over and tried to snatch the margarita from Mari’s hand.

  “Hey!” Mari lifted her glass out of reach. “No, really. Read that wolf cookie recipe again.” Mari waved a hand. “Star cookie. Whatever.”

  Elizabeth glanced down at the journal open on the coffee table. “Hmm. You know… Mari, you may be on to something. Take one pinch sparkly star dust, that’s you.” She indicated Lyla with her chin. “Combine with a generous helping silvery moonbeams—that’s got to be Aaron. That man is definitely a generous helping.”

  Lyla couldn’t quite hold back her smile. Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “And have you ever seen him as a wolf? That white coat almost glows. Now, fold together until bound tight. Hmm… Bound—bond… it could be. Equals one powerful River Pack. That’s got to be the Rabbit River Pack.” She said it with an air of conviction. Lyla wished she could feel as certain.


  “Lyla, maybe by bonding with Aaron, you actually bring power to the pack.” Elizabeth sat back, tapping the book thoughtfully. “That’s just what Lucas needs.”

  Mari nodded like she’d known it all along. “See. And what did the other one say about power?” Mari plucked that journal from the coffee table and started rifling through the pages. “Here.” She squinted down at the page. “She doesn’t make it easy. Oh, sun power—that’s humans, right? Bla, bla, bla,” Mari circled a hand in a get-to-it motion, “starlight push for power… A time of peril for all People,” she finished in triumph.

  Lyla and Elizabeth exchanged a look. Elizabeth made another swipe at Mari’s glass, which Mari eluded.

  “Wait. I’m not done. From her will come the solution. The answer. Lyla, if you were going to ‘forge a weapon,’ what kind would it be?”

  Lyla just looked at her.

  “Flaming arrows, magical fire bombs, giant, ugly attack ducks, or… what?” Mari watched her expectantly.

  “I wouldn’t… forge a weapon.” Lyla tried to banish the image of giant angry attack ducks from her mind. “Not like that. I might make something that would protect against that Marten guy and his goons—”

  “Exactly!” Mari said, placing the journal on the table with a snap. “I rest my case.”

  There was a moment of silence. Mari smirked and sipped her drink.

  “Oh, wait,” she said, sitting forward and reaching for the journal again. “I wanted to check something. I thought I saw that little scroll thingy somewhere else in this thing. I think your Grammie used it to indicate where she put in stuff about the prophecy. She uses all kinds of symbols along the margins—kind of like a code.”

  Mari glanced up at their continued silence and blinked at them. “What? You didn’t notice that?”

  It took a while and another half pitcher of margaritas, but eventually they had compiled a list of all the entries in the journals that had little scrolls next to them. And it seemed Mari was right, they did seem to pertain to the prophecy. And after reading through all of them, and discussing them at length, it wasn’t at all clear to Lyla whether she was supposed to be a boon for the witches, or the pack, or both.