Magic Remembered

by Coralie Moss

  My ex appeared unbothered—or unawares—poured his weight into his back foot, and slugged Tanner in the midsection.

  Tanner grunted, bowed into the blow, and shot out his left hand. He grabbed Doug by the neck, straightened them both, and pulled his opponent’s face in close. Tanner held up his other hand in my direction.

  Stunned, I watched as Tanner’s back and shoulders undulated under his short-sleeved shirt. Whatever was happening with his face had an effect on Doug. My ex went from raging to a quiet whimper. Tanner’s body returned to its normal size, and he let go.

  To his credit, Doug didn’t back down. “What makes you think you can walk in here and interfere with my sons’ lives?”

  “They are smart young men, fully capable of making decisions regarding their education,” Tanner answered. “I merely informed them they had options outside of public school.”

  “You’re forgetting something. They are my sons—mine!” Doug yelled, spit flying. “And no other man can replace me.”

  I’d had enough of Doug’s bottled-up anger years ago, and watching the two of them posture on my driveway was more than a newly anointed witch with a Priestess’s crown and a wealth of untapped potential should have to bear. I turned the handle on the outdoor faucet, grabbed the end of the deck hose, and sprayed the back of Tanner’s bare legs and the front of Doug’s chest.

  The look on my ex’s face was priceless.

  Tanner laughed and spun around, his face split by a broad grin.

  “Perfect timing,” he said, his turned back a dismissal to Doug. Tanner took the stairs in two steps, ruffled my hair as he passed, and muttered his intention to locate a towel.

  I turned the faucet to off and dropped the spray nozzle and the hose. “Do you think you can be civil? Or am I going to have to insist you leave until you’ve cooled off?”

  Doug plucked at the soaked front of his form-fitting T-shirt. The muscles in his face fought for dominance until a forced version of a polite smile won out over the ugliness seething underneath. “I’m leaving. I have a ferry reservation. But mark my words, Calliope, this is only the start.”

  “You at least going to say goodbye to Harper and Thatch?”

  He glared at me over his shoulder and continued to march down the driveway, making it a point to slam the door to his SUV and accentuate his departure with a squeal of tires.

  Men.

  Twelve hours ago—was it only twelve hours?—I was in a tent, asleep next to Busy, surrounded by trees and birdcalls and other witches. I heaved a bone-deep sigh. I was exhausted from the excursion, in a good way, and now I had to deal with Doug’s shit. Again.

  “Mom?” Thatcher’s quiet voice teased its way into my tiredness. “Tanner’s got us helping with dinner. Can I get you anything? Water? A beer?”

  I turned and hugged my youngest son, a grateful heart rising and expanding in my chest. “I’d love a beer. And a snack. I’ll take whatever you can find,” I said. “Oh, and Thatch? I’m going to sit in the garden for just a bit. Your father—”

  “I know, Mom. Dad can be an ass hat.”

  He waved me off and went back into the house. I stepped off the deck and followed the footpath around the house and down the slope to my garden. The motherwort appeared to be settling into its new home, spreading inquisitive roots and sending up stalks.

  I settled onto the old chair and scratched at the tattoo.

  Thatcher appeared with my beer and a bowl of cheese puffs. “You okay, Mom?”

  He stretched out on the narrow strip of trimmed grass running between the aisle of raised beds and crossed his arms behind his head.

  “I’m really good, sweetie.” I popped a crunchy puff into my mouth and let it dissolve on my tongue. One day—probably later rather than sooner—I’d be comfortable with this swinging back and forth between the magical and the mundane. Until then, I would treasure moments like this. “I had a wonderful weekend. What about you?”

  “Mm…Harp and I had a good conversation with Tanner on Friday, when he took us to the ferry. And we should have listened to you when you gave us that whole ‘don’t tell your Dad’ spiel because we did. We told him we have magic—or at least, it looks like we have magic—and he lost his shit, Mom. He also hit Harper.”

  My blood came close to a simmer. I suspected something like that had happened, but to hear Doug wasn’t able to manage his anger around our sons…that was bad. “Did Harper hit him back?”

  Thatcher rolled his head in the grass until he could look back at me. “He wanted to,” he replied. “I could see that, but Harp’s a lover, not a fighter.” He pulled at the dried grass and let it flutter from his fingers. “It hurt though. Emotionally, not so much physically. It’s fucked up, Mom. Dad’s fucked up.”

  “Did all that happen Friday night?” I held the cold beer bottle to my face to cool my cheeks, took a long swallow, and then let the bottom of the bottle rest on the irritated section of my belly.

  “Naw, we had a good time on Friday and most of Saturday. Dad’s got this sweet condo in Vancouver, and he took us out for Chinese after we finished moving his stuff. They got in the fight this morning when Harper found an injured bird on Dad’s balcony.”

  “Does the condo have a lot of glass?”

  “A ton, Mom, and it wasn’t the first bird to end up hurt. Dad said other ones crashed before and he just tossed them over the railing. Harper lost it.”

  I sipped at the beer. Both sons were tender-hearted. Toward four-footed and winged creatures and to each other and to me. I prodded Thatcher’s shoulder with bared toes. “Then what happened?”

  “Harper spilled. Told Dad about you and Tanner and what he does. I think Dad assumed you and Tanner were dating or something, and then he lost it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault, Mom,” he said, turning his head so he could look at me. “Want to know the good news?”

  “Sure.”

  “The bird lived.”

  A series of piercing whistles ended our conversation.

  “It’s too beautiful to eat inside.” Tanner yelled, gesturing to the deck. “Harper and I put everything out here.”

  * * *

  After the four of us ate, I curled into a corner of the porch swing, nursing my second beer. My body continued to hum, hours after the ritual. I was very much in the processing stage and not quite ready to talk about it.

  I had questions, though “Tanner, can the wards keep Doug out now? Because after that display, I really don’t want him near me, the house, or the boys.”

  “Mom, we can handle ourselves,” Harper insisted. “Tanner showed us how. And once we’re in the program, there’s going to be so much more we can do.”

  I took one last draw of my beer, placed the empty bottle on the deck, and eyed Tanner.

  “Uh oh, I recognize that look. You’re about to get your ass handed to you,” warned Thatcher, waving his fork at the man in my sights. He wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his urge to laugh. Neither was Harper.

  Tanner adopted an exaggerated look of innocence. “What’d I do?”

  “Tanner Didier Marechal.”

  “Whoa! She used your middle name. Good luck, buddy,” Harper teased.

  I tried to stay serious. I appreciated Tanner wanting to step in and provide my sons with a magical education in addition to the one they received at the excellent high school on the island, but there were steps to gaining my trust. And he wasn’t taking those steps in any kind of approved order.

  Tanner’s face had paled slightly. “How do you know my middle name?”

  I shrugged. “It just came out. I don’t think I knew it before I said it.”

  He swallowed. “I think the ritual worked, Calli. Naming’s a latent skill, and it’s not used lightly.”

  “Does that mean I can control you now?”

  Why was I flirting with him? And why was I fluttering my hands in the air like a puppeteer?

  “Yes. No. It’s complicated.”
>
  Harper and Thatcher appeared to be enjoying this exchange.

  “Let’s leave that discussion for another time,” I said. “My point is, before you go filling their heads with everything this mentoring program could be, I’d like you to fill me in.” I looked at my sons and back to Tanner. “And tonight’s as good a time as any, unless you two…?”

  “Mom, no, we’re good,” Thatch assured me. “And I agree, you need to know. And then maybe you can tell us what you did this weekend.”

  Boys. I still wasn’t giving them enough credit for how well they knew me. “Deal,” I agreed. “Tanner?”

  He folded his napkin and dropped it on the table. “The program was formed about ten, twelve years ago, in response to a growing need for teens and young adults to have a place they could go for answers to the changes happening in their bodies. For some, it was the very first time they had any kind of explanation for what they felt or perceived or could manifest.

  “What we’ve discovered—actually, what’s been confirmed—is that individuals with magic who don’t have a strong family or tribal unit, or a coven, have a much harder time harnessing their magic when it begins to show up. The most challenging years appear to be between ages fourteen and twenty, twenty-one.”

  I waved my hand and interrupted. “As an aside, why do you think Harper and Thatcher’s predilections didn’t show up until now?”

  “I’m going to make a stab in the dark and suggest it’s due in part to their bonds with you. As you embrace more of your magic, theirs will grow stronger and more differentiated.”

  “That sounds pretty cool, Mom,” said Thatch.

  “And we’ve recruited adults across a variety of disciplines, for lack of a better word,” Tanner added.

  “You mean different branches of magic?” I asked.

  “That, and from clans of shifters. We’ve set up a system of checks and balances, been attentive to the potential for abuse or manipulation of any kind.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that.”

  “And when something unusual or rare occurs, we have others around the world we can call on for consult.”

  Toward the end of Tanner’s explanation, the itchy tattoo on my belly began to burn. I discretely pulled away the waistband of my pull-on pants to see if I’d gotten a bug bite or worse during my hours in the forest. All around the edges of the faded black ink, my skin was reddened, and the area was puffy, like I was having an allergic reaction. I touched it with my fingertips. The spot was hotter than the surrounding skin.

  “Can you hand me some of that ice?” I pointed to the pitcher of mystery drink the boys had concocted.

  Harper reached in and dried the cube on his tee shirt before handing to me. “What’s up, Mom?”

  “My tattoo, it’s getting kind of itchy. Painful itchy.”

  “May I take a look?” Tanner asked.

  I stood and rolled my pants to the widest part of my hips, lifted my shirt with one hand, and pressed the other to the soft part of my belly.

  “Anybody got a flashlight handy?” Concern raised my voice a quarter of an octave. I was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. And staying self-conscious enough I kept trying to suck in my abdomen.

  Tanner blew out a low whistle. “Othala,” he said. “It’s a rune.”

  Thatcher scooted the table holding the remains of our dinner out of his way and kneeled in front of me.

  Harp joined us. “What’s happening to our mom?”

  Tanner cleared his throat and sat on the swing. He patted the cushion next to him. “Calli, I think you should lie down in case the pain gets worse. Harper, go get a washcloth and a bowl with clean pieces of ice. And Thatcher, if you could bring me my backpack, I might have an ointment in there that’ll help with the itching and the pain until we can deactivate the spell.”

  “This is a spell? What the f—” I flopped onto the cushions, my belly exposed to the trio of curious males, and stared up, way up, to the darkened beams at the top of the A-frame.

  The night sky beyond wasn’t as sparkle-filled as the remote provincial park, but it was beautiful. And calming. And right now, I needed to stay calm, because pathways in my brain sizzled at the implication that the tattoo my ex had insisted we get—together, designed by him—was actually a spell.

  A fucking mystery of a spell, inked onto my body without my consent.

  Tanner’s comforting voice broke into my frustration. “Calliope, we can fix this. Runes are a kind of ancient alphabet and a means of divination.” He gently folded the bottom of my shirt up and away from the affected area. “This particular rune has a few meanings, and depending on how it’s placed, it can impact the bearer positively or negatively. Or the wearer, in your case.”

  “Tanner,” I started.

  “Yes, Calli?” he answered, his voice gentle as his fingers smoothed aloe vera gel over the reddened patches on my skin.

  “Doug has the same tattoo. Except his is the opposite of mine.”

  He stopped spreading. His fingers hovered above the mark. “And where on his body is it?”

  I pressed my lips together. I was beginning to feel like a fool. And an idiot. A gullible, foolish idiot. “Same place as mine but on his right side. His is a little smaller.”

  “I think this is a clear indication your ex-husband has access to magic, and right now, I’m most concerned with how to break whatever connection he may still have to you and your magic.”

  I tried to keep my breath steady and not freak out. Or beat myself up. I thought matching tattoos were an indication of…partnership? Of working toward a mutual goal? Love, even?

  “Why now?” I mused, more to myself and the sky. My ex’s gesture of bonding had become a modern-day, proprietary branding.

  “I think it’s obvious,” Tanner replied. “You’re coming into your powers at last, and that means you’re going to be able to break free of whatever influence he, and this, have had on your life.”

  “I feel…” I whispered, again more to myself and the listening trees and stars than to any of the males gathered around me. “I feel violated.”

  Chapter 14

  Tanner’s touch became gentler. My sons backed away from staring at my belly and sat in the two chairs. I reached out an arm. Thatcher took my hand, held it in both of his, and Harper leaned closer and whispered, “We love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too.” Tears formed under my eyelids, and my mouth watered at the same time. Six days of a heightened emphasis on magic, and I was ready to beg for normalcy. As my mind scrabbled for clues about how my new normal might manifest, the pain around the tattoo began to dissipate.

  I fluttered my eyes open. Tears glistened along my lashes, and Tanner’s hand hovered above the left side of my abdomen. His eyes were closed, and his lips were moving. As he chanted, the pain returned, gathered under his palm, and surged like a scab being ripped off tender skin. Searing pain hit me hard and fast, and I twisted on the hard cushion.

  “Tanner, what are you doing?” I managed to get out the words without screaming.

  “Removing the tattoo.” He glanced up at me. “I really think this needs to come off. Now. Is that okay?”

  I ground my teeth and nodded.

  “Harper,” Tanner said. “Get me a plastic bag, like a sandwich bag, something I can close up tight.” He resumed the chant, his voice getting louder, the words tumbling into one long, desperate sing-song. Harper returned with a Ziploc bag.

  “Open it,” Tanner ordered.

  I lifted my head, watching in disbelief as Tanner chanted the tattoo off my skin, onto his palm, and into the bag.

  He pinched it closed and held it up to the feeble light shining through the screen door. “Gotcha.”

  “Guys, I’m bleeding.” It wasn’t a lot of blood, but the skin was raw and stung in the air and I needed something on the bare wound and fast.

  “First aid kit?” Tanner asked.

  “Cupboard above the fridge,” I hissed between short breaths.
/>   Tanner tucked the bag with the rune-scarred skin into a pocket of his backpack. “Thatcher, stay with your mother. Harper, get the kit. And scrub your hands. Calli, I have to wash up. Then we’ll get you bandaged.”

  He stood quickly. Thatch sank to his knees beside the swing and let me squeeze his hand.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” I whispered. “It really hurts.” The rest of my body began to react to the multiple layers of pain and betrayal uncovered by the removal of the tattoo. More quick breaths in and out through my mouth helped level the spikes of discomfort and keep more tears at bay. “Did your Dad ever make you two get tattoos or anything?”

  “No,” Thatcher assured me. “But Harper and I will do body checks tonight as soon as we get you fixed up.”

  “Maybe there’s a way Tanner can check,” I said, wincing. I tried to roll up to sitting, only to find the swing had started to spin. “I feel really woozy.”

  * * *

  When I came to, I was lying on the couch in the living room. Thatch had pulled my favorite mid-century chair close and was staring at my face.

  “Mom, how d’ya feel?” he asked, one hand resting lightly on my forearm.

  I tried the head-lifting thing again. No spinning but a dull ache throbbed across the left side of my belly, into the bones of my pelvis and lower back.

  “Better?” I answered. “But do you think I can have a couple ibuprofen or something?”

  He nodded. “Be right back.”

  I patted the sore area. A wide, Telfa bandage crinkled under the slight pressure.

  Calli.

  I looked around the room. No one else appeared to have heard the voice. And this one was different from the one I’d heard here and in the orchard.

  This one was masculine. And familiar. And this voice wasn’t resonating up through the ground. It was coming from the woods ringing the back of the house.

  CALLIOPE.

  Heart thumping, I scrabbled off the couch and fumbled with the sliding doors to the back porch. The exterior lights were off and the wood under my feet and under my hand at the railing was damp in the night air. Closing my eyes, I tried to shut out the conversation inside the house and listen for the whispering.