by Coralie Moss
Harper pulled a flannel shirt off a hanger and gestured to the door. “Lead the way, Mom.”
“Kaz, I have another patient for you,” I said.
Kaz looked up from where he was sitting near Tanner. “Who?”
“Harper. Can you come take a look?”
We walked closer to the couch, and I motioned at Harper to turn around. Kaz stepped away from Tanner and gave a low whistle.
“Feathers,” he said, shooting me a concerned look. “Haven’t seen anything like this in a long time.”
“But you have seen this before?”
He nodded.
“So why now?”
“It could be a stress reaction,” said Tanner, piping in from his horizontal position on the couch. “It could be that Doug’s been dampening Harper’s abilities through some means and now that his glamour’s been lifted, maybe the connection to his son is also loosened—or broken.”
“Do they hurt, Harper?” Kaz had him lean over the dining table and scanned his back under the pendant light.
“They itch more than they hurt,” Harper admitted.
“Are they only on your back? Did you see them anywhere else, or can you feel anything like this happening on other parts of your body?”
“No, just my back,” he answered, his voice muffled by his folded arms.
“I’m going to put a little numbing cream on the bumps and see if we can get you some relief.” Kaz opened his medical kit and placed a jar of ointment on the table. “You have any Q-tips, Calliope?”
“I’ll get them for you,” said Thatcher. He hustled to the downstairs bathroom and returned to hover near the head of the table, seemingly intent on finding ways to get his brother to laugh.
I left them to Kaz’s care and turned my attention to Tanner. His face was a better color, and some of the stress lines across his forehead were less prominent.
“How’re you?” I asked, sliding a raggedy multi-hued quilt over his bare leg.
“I suspect my knee’s wrenched. There’s too much swelling to really tell, but I should be okay until I can get an herbal poultice on it.”
Shit. That reminded me Belle’s bag of tinctures was sitting on my bureau. I had to take my first dose before bed. “No more leaping off my porch deck or chasing my exes through the woods for a while, okay?”
“Probably not until tomorrow morning, at the earliest,” he replied, a pale twinkle lighting his tired golden eyes. The same twinkle had been there in the orchard, only much stronger. And if Tanner and I had been the only ones in the house at that moment, I might have kissed him. That’s what stress did to me—made me want to kiss strange men.
“What’re you thinking?” he asked, stroking my hand where it rested on the couch beside his hip.
“Nothing.” I shook my head, clearing the memory of his mouth devouring mine and the way every element of the landscape around and under us had urged me on. “It’s been a week for the history books.”
“It’s not over yet. You haven’t said anything about the ritual.” He rubbed his thumb over the top of my hand and slid his palm under mine, interlacing our fingers. “But start with filling me in on what’s going on with Harper.”
“Tanner, I—”
“Calliope.” He squeezed my fingers and peered at me from under his lashes. “Something big is happening here, on this island. And it’s affecting me and you and your sons and maybe even others like us. I don’t want to leave you, and I can’t go back to my office in Vancouver after what just happened with your ex.” He pulled my forearm across his chest and drew me closer. “I can’t pretend I didn’t kiss you in the orchard. Damn near every hour, there’s some new revelation or incident, and you’re too close to—if not directly within—the center of it all.”
I left my hand in his and turned away from the intensity of his gaze and the truth in his words. “Harper has feathers. Or what look like enlarged follicles, like what a chicken has after molting and the new feathers are starting to come in.” I shrugged. “Not weird, not weird at all. Just another normal daily occurrence in the Jones household.”
“Given his affinity to winged creatures, I’m not surprised,” he said, his voice soft enough only I could hear. “I think you and your sons have been under Doug’s influence for a very long time. For Harper and Thatch, possibly their entire lives. The coming days and weeks are going to be very interesting.”
I wiggled my arm from underneath his and leaned away. “You think there’re more interesting reveals on their way? Because if you tell me Thatch is going to start taking all his food to the stream to wash it before he eats and might grow a bushy tail and become even more nocturnal, I might lose it. Seriously, Tanner, what more could happen?”
“Nothing you can’t handle, especially if you three stick together and allow help from those of us who are used to dealing with this kind of a thing.”
Tanner’s touch lit the fires of my erotic imagination while his words poked at my indignation. I neither needed nor wanted a man to try to take charge of things right now. Offer assistance? Sure. Take over? No way.
“Are we like your latest case studies?” I kept most of the sarcasm out of my voice. But not all.
“In a purely observational way, yes. But I can’t look at you, or them,” he said, tilting his head toward the trio at the table, “without it being very personal too. Wessel. Kaz. River. They’ve become family. There are fewer and fewer of us druids and witches and other Magicals, so when we find others, the tendency is embrace and enfold.”
“Except when they’re like Doug. And his brother.”
“They seem the antithesis of the kind of magical beings Cliff and Abi have been protecting.”
I nodded my head. We could agree on that point. “Those two are raising a field full of red flags. The boys were with Doug all weekend, and from what they told me, he appears to have no problems affording a new condo in Vancouver.”
“Money’s been an issue in the past?”
“Pfft, you have no idea.” My attention had been divided between talking with Tanner and keeping an eye on Harper. Kaz straightened and started to step away. I noticed a beat of hesitation before he came over to the couch.
“May I join you?” he asked, pointing to a side chair. He turned to Tanner and lifted the ice pack to examine the injured knee. “How’re you doing?”
“Knee’s going to be fine,” Tanner said. “It’s these three I’m worried about.”
“I’ve seen this before, in other teens who’re straddling that cusp between puberty and adulthood. They’ve gone through all those hormonal changes within a relatively small window of time, and now their bodies are trying to settle into the next phase, kind of like they’re figuring out who they are while being armed with all this terrific new equipment. That said, I’ve only seen this feathering phenomenon once before. Up on First Nations lands in the Northwest territories.”
Tanner grabbed the back of the couch and shifted to sit up straighter. “I need to hear more. I’ve had a trip up there on the back burner. Maybe I should move it forward.”
Kaz nodded and turned to me. “I think I know a good man for Harper to meet, but I have to speak with him first.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I have to actually find him first, then speak with him. But this phenomenon is so rare, I think he’ll be willing to at least talk with Harper.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” I asked. “Can he start school? Is this a full moon-related phenomenon?”
Kaz rubbed his chin. “We just had the full moon, and you had your initiation ceremony, am I correct?”
I nodded.
“So, we have another month before the next one. I think Harper should go about his life, maybe keep his shirt on,” he suggested, his smile kind and full of understanding. “I also think he needs to stay open and willing to being closely monitored.”
“Hey. Guys. I’m right here.” Harper came up on his elbows and pushed his way into sitting on the edge of the table, his wadd
ed shirt pressed to his chest. “This is happening to me, so I’d appreciate being included. And Mom,” he added, punching his arms through the sleeve holes. He winced and pulled the shirt off. “I can handle this. I just don’t want Dad to come back here. Did you see how he tried to take Thatch away?”
I had temporarily misplaced that piece of the evening’s excitement. I looked from Harper’s set and settled face to Kaz’s. “Kaz? What do you think we should do?”
“Operation Calliope’s Fortress,” he said without hesitation. “You’ve got Tanner here. He’s weakened, but don’t discount his abilities, especially once he’s mobile again. If you’ve got coffee, I can stay the night, add to the wards.”
“Can I do that with you?” Thatcher asked. He’d sidled closer as they spoke and was now bouncing on his toes expectantly as he looked back and forth between me and Kaz.
“It’s fine with me,” I said. “But if there’s any hint, even the tiniest, that Doug or Roger or anyone else from that side of the family is back, I want you in the house, okay? No heroics.”
Thatch nodded and tapped his brother’s thigh. “What about you, Harp?”
“I want to call Leilani, see how she’s doing.” He winced as he gripped the edge of the table. “Y’know, Mom, she’s eighteen too. Should she be here?”
I had no idea, but I was already strategizing how to talk to Leilani’s fathers about her potential and their plans for furthering her magical education. “Talk to her, see how’s she’s doing. No one’s leaving the property tonight, so no sneaking out. If she’s scared, or…”
“Dad knows about her. At least let me warn her.” Harper slid off the table, shook Kaz’s hand, and let him know he’d be upstairs.
I watched him walk away, shoulders drawn and the skin on his back a splotchy canvas in shades of red and pink. Doug knowing about Leilani could complicate things.
Kaz broke my train of thought. “Thatcher, if you’re going to help me add to the wards, we need to get your arm in a sling. Come here.”
* * *
“Mom? Where are you?” came Harper’s voice.
I poked my head out of my office. I had relinquished my bedroom to Tanner and unfolded the futon in my office to use as my temporary bed.
Harper’s feet landed heavily on the last couple of stairs. He’d donned an oversized flannel shirt and left it unbuttoned. “Lei-li’s freaking out. And Mal and Jim aren’t home.”
“Would you both feel better if she was here with you, with us?” I was on my knees, struggling to make a tight corner with a top sheet. The futon was winning.
“One-hundred percent better.”
The concern playing across Harper’s face sealed the deal. “Let’s ask Kaz to pick her up.”
He nodded, worry and relief scudding across his face like clouds over the water on a windy day. “And Mom, is it okay if she stays in my room with me? We won’t… I mean, we don’t…” He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Fuck.”
“Shh, it’s okay. Right now, we all need to feel safe. And I trust you and Leilani.” I rolled onto my feet and nudged him into the hallway. “And if there’s anything either of you need, don’t be shy about asking.”
My oldest son, the one who’d broken my heart open at the moment of his birth, blushed and drew me in for a hug. “Thanks, Mom, for understanding. And for being amazing. I love you.”
While Kaz fetched Leilani, I changed the sheets on my bed for Tanner and left a quilt and a pillow in the living room for the evening’s designated triage nurse and chauffeur.
“Remember to put out towels for Lei-li,” I called up the staircase.
I was desperate for sleep, but houseguests deserved clean bedding and their own towels, and if the amount of thumping was any indication, Harper was turbo-cleaning his room in anticipation of his special guest.
He called back, “Got it, Mom.”
My special guest was talking on his cell phone in the living room. I pantomimed him walking down the hall and sleeping in my bedroom. He nodded and mouthed a thank you.
Bed. Sleep. I ducked into the refuge of my office, rested my upper back against the closed door, and visualized sliding between crisp cotton sheets and seeing this day finally end.
Dammit. The tinctures were waiting, unopened, in their pretty lavender bag in the downstairs bathroom.
I reread the instructions, dropped the recommended dosage into a small glass of water, and drank it down. The smell of Kaz’s coffee meandered down the hall and tried to tease my brain into waking up, but my body wisely overruled the temptation.
When I closed my eyes and sank my head into the blessedly soft pillow, sleep came fast.
* * *
Mornings arrived early during the height of summer, and by four-thirty or five on Monday, light streamed through my office’s uncurtained windows. I lay on my back, covered to my breasts by a white cotton sheet, and contemplated rising before anyone else.
Stretching my arms and legs, I opted to stay in my makeshift bed. My toes found the cool surface of the wall underneath the window, and my fingertips curled around the legs of the old farmer’s table I had turned into a sturdy desk. Underneath, a board laid over the foot rest served as a shelf for my rickety wooden flower press and a stack of cigar boxes and photo albums. At one time, before I started high school, I’d wanted to be a botanist. The oldest album held preserved plant matter and my earliest sketches. A few of my mother’s sketches were in there too. She and I would sit side by side and make detailed renderings of the flowers I dissected.
I scooted onto my belly and extracted the album from the pile, along with a few well-thumbed books. Piling the stack beside the bed, I imagined the bodies congregating under my roof would be better served if I familiarized myself with my new skills. Speaking Tanner’s middle name without knowing it beforehand then causing my ex to fly out the door simply because I raised my voice—and my arm—were two things that would not have happened prior to the ritual.
But I wanted a mug of tea first.
In the living room, Kazimir slept on his side on the couch, a pillow over his head. The coffee carafe was cleaned and upside down on the dish drainer. I lit the flame on the stove and filled the kettle from the tap, careful to flip the cap up so its whistle wouldn’t wake the house. Mornings had a sacred quality to them, and I wanted to sip my tea in silence.
And solitude.
I let a pot of Assam steep four minutes and tiptoed a mug of sweet, creamy tea to my office. Settling in cross-legged, the warmth from the mug spreading into my lap, I leaned against the tongue-and-groove paneling and breathed into a scan of my house. Watchful stillness flowed along the floorboards and up, down and across the supporting beams. When I floated my inquiry beyond the shingled roof, there was a lack of anxiety in the air and the surrounding woods.
The wards were holding. They were strong, complex, and palpable without making me feel claustrophobic or imprisoned.
Soothed by the pervading sense of calm, I drew my awareness into the room and under the lightweight cotton of my nightgown, to my skin. I paused. Breathed. Sipped at my tea, placed the mug on the windowsill, and resumed my earlier position on my back.
Limbs akimbo, I returned to those hours I’d spent encircled by ancient, sacred Sitka Spruce. I replayed the walk to the grove, the way the deliberate placing of my feet had expanded my awareness and opened my eyes, ears, and nose. I replayed the gifts the witches offered—the symbolic gestures, the spoken words, the very act of their participation. I wanted to know more about the meaning of each headpiece, and as I dove deeper into my memories, they were overlaid with someone else’s.
For one, elongated moment, love flowed toward me, and I knew it was my mother’s love, stored away in a place beyond the present, gifted so I would never again need to wonder.
I snapped into the present and stifled a sob. Reaching for one of my mother’s spell books, I opened the cover to read the familiar dedication written in her delicate hand.
Fo
r my Calliope.
Chapter 16
Pressing the aged paper to my lips, I kissed the ink. The tears rolling down my cheeks dampened the page, and where they landed, more words appeared in faint brownish ink.
My heart thudded against my ribcage, grabbed onto curved bones, and threatened to hammer its way out. I moved the book away from my face, afraid I would smudge or forever lose one of the few examples of my mother’s handwriting I possessed. I caught a teardrop on my fingertip and trailed it through the spaces between the words.
The salty wetness illuminated more missing letters.
Nurture your Garden
Know your Roots
Watch for the White-Winged Man
Beware the …
… Water’s Edge
I wet my tongue and pressed the tip against the missing words. The page remained blank, the paper thicker than the surrounding area, as though a section had been replaced with a patch. I scraped the edge of my fingernail after the word beware until a scrap smaller than the nail on my pinkie peeled away.
My instincts were right; whatever word or words had come after had been cut away.
“Mom,” I whispered. “I miss you.” My mouth and chin wobbled when I tried to blow on the damp paper. I used the bedsheet to wipe my face and left the book open to dry, weighted on either side with other books.
I forced myself to finish my room-temperature drink. And for a moment, I was back in the bare-bones kitchen of my mother’s grandparents’ cottage on the coast of Maine, drinking a lukewarm tisane from blue-speckled enamel mugs. Outside the window, a field of pale pink and lavender lupins swayed in the breeze coming off the ocean.
At the sound of a soft knock at my door, the memory was gone as quickly as it came, sucked back to wherever it was stored.
“Come in,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Calli?” Leilani’s hand gripped the edge of the door. She opened it enough to stick her head into the room. “Can I talk to you?”
I waved her in. “There’s a pot of tea in the kitchen,” I whispered. “It’s not hot anymore, but if you want, you could warm it on the stove.”