by Coralie Moss
“These are seeds too,” I said. “So how come they haven’t dissolved?”
“They were encapsulated in glass bubbles before insertion.” He untwisted his torso so he could slide his body under the surface of the water again. “Jessamyne bound me to one of the Great Trees, Calli, and she took— She…” He gestured to his washcloth-covered lap, opened his eyes wide to the ceiling, and spoke forcefully. “We had ritual sex and part of me reveled in the experience and part of me was reviled by it, and I hope to the goddesses and gods that I am never asked or coerced or forced into doing anything like that ever again.”
His words dissipated into the steam coming off the water and the surface of his body. I sat on my heels and stared at his profile. Tension gathered into three deep furrows between his eyebrows. The rest of his features were a series of sharply defined curves, from the sweep of his nose to the little scoop under his bottom lip.
I wanted to kiss the deep plum of those lips but not now, not with what Jessamyne had forced on him. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry, Tanner.” I came onto my knees to gently tease the last bits of flora out of his hair. “I will listen any time you need to talk. And I will set my wild and willing vines on that woman if she shows up here again, as a witch or a tree.”
He almost smiled before he closed his eyes. “Wait until we find out about our friends. And, Calli, she’s my problem. Unless she’s had a complete break from the Keeper tradition, there’s no way she would have participated in the deaths of the hidden folk. She knows they’re crucial to maintaining the sacred trees. I think it makes more sense to focus on the Fae, on what they’ve done and what they’re planning to do.”
Tanner was going pale, even in the heat of the water.
“I think it’s time for you to finish up in here and get some food in you,” I said. “And rest.”
“You’re right.” His eyelids fluttered open, and he stared upward. “I’d like to wash my hair first.”
I uncapped the shampoo. “Give me your hand.”
The blush on his neck deepened. Closing his eyes, he asked, “Would you wash it for me?”
He wouldn’t see my answer. I pressed my lips together and nodded, my sexual attraction toward this man tamped down, lid secured. I concentrated on the micro-movements that would transfer shampoo from the bottle to my hand: pour a healthy dollop into my palm, recap the bottle, and distribute the thick liquid between both palms.
“Could you slide down and get your hair really wet?” I asked.
Tanner drew his knees into his chest, rounded his spine, and sank deeper into the tub. He tilted his head, let the water cover his face, and stayed there, suspended, strands of mink-dark hair calling to be stroked, curled around my fingers, brushed over my bare skin.
“Tanner,” I said, breaking my reverie to tap his shin. “Sit up.”
His features rose above the surface. He wiped one hand across his face, covered his nose and blew out water, and sat up. I spread my fingers through his hair and over his scalp and massaged him clean and free of debris. When I signaled I was finished, he groaned, louder this time, and leaned his head back.
“Thank you,” he mouthed before ducking his head until he was again completely submerged. He managed to rinse his hair, stand, and step out of the freestanding tub without stumbling.
“Bend forward,” I said, handing him a towel.
He caught up most of his wet hair, twisted, and squeezed before letting the towel drop to the floor. I kept an eye on him as he dried his body with a fresh towel and sat on the toilet seat, waiting for my next instruction.
“Brush?” I handed him one with wooden teeth.
Tanner stroked his wet hair and patted the brush on his towel-covered thigh.
“Do you have an extra elastic?” he asked, picking up the brush again. He quickly divided his hair into three sections and fashioned a short, neat braid. I handed him a hair tie. He glanced at me, cut his laugh short as his features arranged themselves into an unreadable expression. “Got any clothes that’ll fit?”
“Wait here,” I said. Tanner and Thatcher were close to the same height, and my younger son had amassed a collection of sweat pants, full-length and cut-off. I found a pair stacked on top of the dryer, along with a T-shirt. Tanner would have to forego underwear.
I handed him the clothes.
“One more thing, Calli. Can you look at my back? My skin feels kind of raw.”
He was right; his skin needed attention. A bottle of wild rosehip oil sat in arm’s reach.
“Put the pants on,” I said. “Then sit down, and I’ll do your back.”
There was no way I could rub the oil directly onto the roughed up patches. I poured the oil into my palm and drizzled it onto his shoulder.
While I patted the areas that looked the most painful, I filled him in on the events he’d missed. “Malvyn took custody of Sallie’s parents. An RCMP officer showed up right after he and James left. All four teens are upstairs, and Rowan stayed here too. She’s sleeping in my office. And I didn’t see Wes or Kaz or my grandfather went I went to the kitchen, but—”
Tanner reached for my hip. “Wait a sec. Did you say your grandfather is here? When did that happen?”
“After you left, when we were still trying to figure out what was what, I heard someone calling me.” I snorted softly as I pushed the bottle of oil away from the edge of the sink and washed and dried my hands. “Seems like that’s becoming a thing. Let’s just yell or whisper ‘Calliope’ until she looks up or looks down or steps onto the porch, and then we’ll throw another curve ball at her, see how she does.” My voice shook, along with my hands.
“C’mere.” Tanner had stood and was pulling the T-shirt over his head. The faded cotton stretched tight across his chest. At least the hem sat below his belly button. Gathering me to his chest, he said, “Tell me more.”
“His name is Christoph. I don’t know if he has a last name. He’s my father’s father, and he’s a gyrfalcon.” I lifted my head away so I could look Tanner in the eyes. “He has wings. Wings.”
“He’s the bird-man Kaz was talking about, isn’t he?” He lifted the hank of hair that kept falling in my face and let it slide through his fingers
“How did you guess?”
“You said it yourself, Calli.” He used his forefinger to tuck the bothersome hairs behind my ear. He then traced the curve of the same ear with his thumb and smoothed my earlobe. “Curve balls. There are very few gyrfalcon shifters, fewer than a dozen, last I checked. It makes perfect sense in a curve-ball crazy way that the bird-man Kaz wanted to find for Harper would already be related to you.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “But it’s going to take me a helluva long time to process the fact that I’ve got a living, breathing, flying grandfather. And that I have a name for my father.”
“What is it?”
“His name was Benôit.”
“Was?” The thumb that had left my earlobe longing for more touch now caressed the side of my jaw.
I nodded, pressing my forehead hard against Tanner’s sternum and taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart below layers of cloth, skin, muscle, and bone. “Christoph has no idea if my father is alive or dead. All he told me is Benôit fell in love with a selkie, used her skin to enable him to swim, and gave his heart to the sea, rather than the wind.”
“That sounds so poetic.”
“You should hear me after I’ve had a glass or two of wine.” I smoothed the cotton over his pectoral muscle and gave a half-hearted giggle.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked, stroking my hair down the back of my head to the ends. He slid his fingers to the base of my scalp, through the unbrushed tangles, and tugged.
I glanced at the window. “It must be at least six-thirty, seven,” I said, lulled by his touch. “Are you hungry? There are four teenagers upstairs. I have no idea how long they’ll sleep, but I know they’ll be hungry when they wake up.”
“I’m
starving. Let’s go make breakfast.”
“Is there any more to tell me about what happened last night?”
His body stiffened then relaxed. “I’m going to have to see Jessamyne again if we want answers to her part in Abigail and Clifford’s disappearance.” He stopped playing with my hair and slid the side of his face against mine until his mouth neared my ear, squeezing me so tightly against his chest I could barely take in a breath. “I wanted to be your hero, Calliope.”
When he released me and I reached for the door, his openness shut down, fast and tight. I had no response for what he’d just whispered. I gave Tanner his privacy and ducked into my bedroom to add a bra and pair of cargo pants to my ensemble.
In the kitchen, the rote movements of mixing batter and heating the waffle press soothed my jumbled head. Tanner unwrapped a fresh stick of butter and placed a saucepan of maple syrup on the stove to heat. In my tired state, I bumped into him a lot, my elbows to his ribs, my heels on his toes. I was usually more conscious of my body’s boundaries. Seems four hours of sleep wasn’t nearly enough to set me closer to normal.
Quiet knocking sounded against the front door. Tanner peered around the refrigerator, laughed, and asked, “Where would I find towels for a couple of otters who look like they’ve been rolling in dirt?”
I pointed in the direction of the hall closet and peeked under the waffle maker’s lid. “Lower shelf.”
The men made a bit of a commotion after Tanner opened front door. He must have offered to hose off the two druids because there was quiet cursing and the sound of water hitting the deck. The men talked as they toweled off. I lifted my heels and peered through the window over the sink, catching flashes of naked backsides as Wes and Kaz shook out the towels and hung them over the railing.
Tanner ducked back into the kitchen. “They’re changing. And they have news.”
“Is it Abi and Cliff?” I asked, a hopeful flutter in my chest. He shook his head. All those little wings dropped to the floor.
“We found your portal, Calliope,” said Wes, walking into the kitchen, bare-chested in cut-off sweatpants.
His eyes wide and sparkling with the excitement of discovery, Kaz added, “And it’s a doozy.”
Chapter 4
Tanner shushed his friends into silence and motioned for them to gather plates and utensils and set the table. I worked on processing my need for instant gratification by adding to the mound of waffles. Kaz offered to get a pot of coffee going. He’d spent enough time in my house that he was opening cupboards and grinding beans before I could say yes.
Seated, plates full, and thanks given, I couldn’t hold back a second longer.
“Where’s the portal, and where does it go?” I directed my question to both Kaz and Wes.
“The portals occupy the entire area around the base of the old crabapple tree next to your garden, Calli. We know there’s more than one and suspect there are four. Access to each is dependent upon where you stand. Or who summons you.”
Portals. As in, more than one. And I didn’t even want to go near the idea of being summoned via a portal. How did my life get so weird? I’d tackle that question later. Instead, I asked, “How did you figure that out?”
“Locating active portals is a druid thing.” Kaz was nonchalant and seemed much more concerned with forking the last waffle onto his plate. “And Magicals, witches like you,” he said, pointing his utensil in my direction, “can use the portals. We just have to show you what to do. Or you can travel between them as long as you’re in physical contact with a guide or their portal key.”
He and Wes exchanged another look, before Wes took over explaining. “The portal connected with the northwest quadrant is one that requires a guide, and the guide currently in charge is very interesting.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I said, shoving a bite of waffle into my mouth.
“He’s on the island to apprentice with Malvyn’s sister, Maritza. She’s a witch and Professor of Necromantic Studies, and I think the guys name is Albert? Sebastian? Kaz, do you remember what he said his name was? Tall guy. Bald. Wears a cape.”
I paused, my mouth full. Kaz shook his head.
Wes continued, “Maritza doesn’t teach at a human university. She’s at the College for Magic. Actually, that’s not the school’s correct name, but that’s what everyone calls it.”
Everyone but me, because I had never heard of the place. I filed away yet another nugget and swallowed. Down the hall, the toilet flushed, and bare feet scuffled on the wood floor. Rowan, red hair tamed by a turquoise head scarf, appeared a moment later and walked bleary-eyed to the coffee machine.
“It’s a good thing I’m not on call,” she mumbled. “The babies would have to deliver themselves.” She filled a mug and called over her shoulder, “Anyone need a refill?”
Wes pushed his chair away from the table. “Kaz? Tanner? Calli?”
We all nodded.
“Our intrepid druids were just telling us about the portals on my property, Ro,” I said.
She waited until Wes was beside her to give him a shy smile. Together, they gathered milk from the fridge and more mugs and brought the carafe of coffee to the table.
“So. Portals. And have we heard from the kids yet?” Rowan asked, filling the lifted mugs before seating herself across from me.
“Nope,” I said, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if they sleep until at least noon.” I was reminded about Lei-li’s concern about her fathers. “Wes, Kaz, either of you hear from Malvyn or James?”
Kaz grunted and reached into the backpack near his feet. He pulled out his cell phone. “A text came in at two o’clock this morning. Says prisoners secured and they’ll be in touch once they’re en route to Vancouver.” He scrolled and frowned. “There are two messages from River. First one says Clifford and Abi never made it back to the farm. Second one came in a half-hour ago. Still no sign of the Pearmains.” Kaz placed his phone face up on the table and looked at Tanner. “Did you reach Jessamyne?”
Tanner clenched his teeth, picked up a knife, and drew a precise line in the stick of butter. He pressed down, placed the pat on the center of his waffle, drizzled maple syrup in a spiral, and dropped his knife. The utensil clanked against the edge of the plate.
“I don’t remember much of what happened after Jessa pinned me to the tree and nothing about how I got here.” He stood quickly, opened the front door, and scanned the area, his weight balanced on his forward leg. “And my truck’s missing.” The haunted look was back in his eyes, replaced in a blink by anger. “Either she drove me, or I found a portal.”
I nearly gagged on my coffee at the image of the Apple Witch driving Tanner’s truck, even as I struggled to picture her in human form. Devastatingly beautiful, in all likelihood. More used to driving steeds with flowing manes than dented Ford 150s.
“Do you remember where you drove when you left here last night?” I asked.
“Of course I do,” he said, his voice edged with irritation. “I remember arriving at the orchard and walking until I reached the heart of the sacred acres.”
That was a first for us. Him being bothered gave me permission to be irritated that the Apple Witch was now “Jessa.”
“I just told you,” Tanner continued. “When I left this house you all were still here. I drove to the Pearmains’. No one was at the house, so I walked the property until I came to the burial mounds. Cliff thought some of the trees along the periphery of that area of his property had been brought over from England and other places in Europe as seedlings. If his theory is correct,” he looked around the table, “which I think is plausible, those trees could have been chosen because they’re portals or were grafted off of portals. There’s no reason to doubt the man. He was—is—one of us.”
“Wait,” I said, “are you implying portals can be moved? Like, uprooted and planted somewhere else if they’re a tree or a…a bush? What about rocks?” I reached for the coffee. The carafe was empty, and I needed more caffein
e. A lot more if I was going to separate my emotional entanglement from facts and observations.
Rowan stood with me. “I want to hear more about portals and plans,” she said, folding her napkin, “but could you table the discussion until I come back downstairs? I’d like to peek in on the kids. Sorry, the young adults.”
“I’ll come with you. Just let me get another pot going.”
She followed me into the kitchen and whispered, “Overwhelmed yet?”
“Totally.” Portals. Jessa this… Portal guides. Jessa that... I measured grounds into a paper cone and added an extra scoopful for fortitude.
“Stay tight with your sons. They’ll keep you grounded.” She darted a look over her shoulder and bit at her lower lip. “I can see why you’re all over Tanner, but that man has secrets. Proceed with caution, girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. I almost lost it. No woman had ever called me girlfriend in that affectionate way. “Trying,” I said. “But he’s so…”
“Hot?”
I nodded, pouring cold water into the machine and flipping the switch. “And complicated.”
“Those are the worst.” Rowan gently hip-bumped me. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Kaz, Wes, and Tanner kept up a conversation, punctuated by forks and knives butting against stoneware plates. I led Rowan to Harper’s door, gripped the handle tight, and turned it slowly. Matching shades were drawn on the windows. Thatcher, garbed like the other males in the Jones’ house uniform of sweats and a T-shirt, was sprawled belly-down across the mattress he’d dragged in from his bedroom. The two bodies on Harper’s bed were covered by a sheet. I opened the door further, intending to count three more bodies and finding Sallie spooned into Leilani’s front, with no sign of Harper. I pulled the door closed and slowly released my grip on the handle.
“Harper’s not in there.” I went to the room diagonally across the hall. The bathroom was empty. Both the sink and bathtub were dry.