by Coralie Moss
As I was reversing out of the parking slot, my cell phone rang. Tanner. I put him on speaker and pulled onto the road, heading in the direction of the southern section of the island.
“I started looking into your ex-husband’s family’s business,” he said without greeting. “Did you know it’s been around since the late eighteen-hundreds?”
“I did. They’re quite proud of their longevity. I met a lot of his relatives over the years he and I were together. They weren’t much into retiring out of the business. Doug and his brother were always tight, but Roger’s wife never liked me,” I added. “I never liked her much either.”
“Is she a realtor?”
“Yes, and it definitely was not her in that SUV. Her name’s not Adelaide, and the woman I saw had dark hair. My ex-sister-in-law is a dedicated bleached blond. And I need to go, but I’ll call if anything interesting comes up.”
Shit. I forgot to tell Tanner about the other offers on the orchards, and trying to locate the memo app on my phone while negotiating the curvy section of road was a no-no. I stuck my phone down the front of my shirt, nestled between my breasts, and let that be enough of a reminder to text Tanner from the Pearmains’. He could make the calls today, and we could visit the orchards tomorrow.
I looped my bag across my body as I exited my car. The comforting buzz of bugs and a distant lawnmower gave the Pearmain property a sense of life it had been missing a few days ago. I knocked on the frame of the screen door and was greeted by the tang of fresh-picked lavender and melted honey and a short, shadowed form. Abigail’s face lightened as she shuffled across the wood floor to the door, and her smile soothed some of the lingering worry from my chest. It was so good to see Abi upright.
“Been expecting you,” she said, pushing the door open and stepping to the side. “Cliff’s visiting with his trees. Go on out through the back and yell if you can’t find him. I’m stirring up a new batch of soap, or I’d offer to sit a spell. We’ll have lemonade when you come back up.”
This was the Abigail I was familiar with: hospitable to a point and always with something going on in the kitchen. “Thanks, Abi. I’ll see you in a bit.”
The newer plantings were situated opposite from where Tanner and I had come across the trees with the tunnels. I ventured on to the wider, straighter path, newly mowed to either side and wide enough to accommodate a truck. I found Clifford checking tubular mesh cages protecting the saplings’ slender trunks.
“Mornin’, Calliope,” he called, waving.
“It’s almost noon, Cliff,” I answered, smiling back. “What’s going on over there?” I pointed past this section of the orchard to a gently sloping hill where evenly-spaced posts marched along four rows of bare soil. Mulch was mounded in low rows in between.
“We’re planning to try something new,” he said. “The two grandsons I spoke about been readin’ up on ways to plant more trees per acre. It’s called the tall spindle method.”
I knew other orchardists were using the method, most with success. It was a wise choice for those with smaller acreages. “Will you be able to maintain your organic grower status?”
“Oh, for sure.” He finished refolding the ends of the mesh and pocketed his wire snippers. “And we’ll look forward to having you here to inspect us.”
“I have no doubt you’ll pass.” I waited for him to put his hand tools in the ancient canvas bag he carried. “Cliff, if you’re ready, I’d like to talk about the hidden folk.”
“I suppose it’s time.” He sighed and studied his hands, his whole upper body seeming to sag under the weight of my request. “I don’t remember when I saw my first garden troll, but it must have been when I was a little kid.”
“Can you tell me how you came to be in possession of those two heads?” I led us to a weathered slab bench. Cliff joined me with an audible huff, dropping his bag onto the grass at his feet.
“My knees,” he explained. “They don’t bend so well.” He rubbed at his worn khaki pants and cupped a set of arthritic fingers over each knee. A long sigh escaped from the depths of his chest. “I came into possession of this orchard about two hundred years ago.” The look on my face prompted the old man to pretend punch my shoulder. “Surprised ya, didn’t I?”
“Two hundred years. That explains the wrinkles,” I shot back.
“Like your Tanner, I trained as a druid, Miss Calliope. I’ve lived a long time. But then I met Abigail.” He rubbed his knees again and lifted his chin, his gaze flickering over the vulnerable young trees. “Eventually I told her what I was, and although she wanted to join me on the path, she could not withstand the rigors of training. So, I made a decision. I’d had a long enough life, and it occurred to me the best way to honor my love for Abigail was to age with her.” He looked over at me suddenly. “We’re doing everything we can to make it to one hundred, but we have a pact that if one of us goes, the other will follow.”
“That’s quite a story, Cliff.”
He nodded. “This orchard will be in good hands. Our grandsons know what to expect.”
“You’re talking about more than what it takes to grow apples, aren’t you?”
Cliff nodded. “We sent the boys off to train as druids when they turned eighteen. They’re in their thirties now, but I imagine they’ll look a good ten years younger. And stay that way as long as they can.” He winked at me and rubbed his knees. “All of this will be theirs: the enchanted trees, the tunnels, the burial mounds. And they will share it with the trolls and other hidden folk.”
“Burial mounds?” I asked.
Cliff stood slowly. His knees popped and he gripped my shoulder until he stood tall.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you. They’re in the oldest part of the orchard.” While we made our way along the path, Cliff continued to speak of the garden trolls. “They never came all the way to the house, least not in my memory, and I was always too tall to follow them into the tunnels. They could cover themselves—glamour, it’s called—and work undetected by the neighbors and other curious folk who’d stumble onto the property.”
We were in the dry season, so most of the grasses growing around the trees were tan and crunched underfoot. The few apple trees within view were branch-bound, with inedible fruit, but off to the left, between the orchard and ridge of fir trees that followed the shape of the rising mountain, were a series of burial mounds. At least three of them were ringed with local boulders and looked like those made by First Nations peoples.
Two low, conical mounds stood out. They were covered with grass, and the grass was green and well-tended.
“I found the bodies tossed some distance from the heads, but I didn’t tell my wife. I felt it would put too much sorrow into Abigail’s heart, and I didn’t know if she could withstand it. So I came out here myself and buried them in that one,” said Cliff, gesturing to the closest conical mound. “They were given full rites and sent off with prayers.”
“May I bring Tanner here?” I asked. The solemnly quiet air wasn’t inviting further discussion.
“Of course. Any time. No need to ask first.”
I took one more long look around before pulling out my phone. “May I take a couple of pictures?”
“You can, but the mounds won’t show up,” he said. “You’re here with me, and I’ve made them visible to you, but they’re invisible to modern technology and the uninitiated.”
I tucked my phone back into my bag and took hold of Cliff’s elbow. “Thank you for protecting this place.”
Cliff gazed at the mounds for a minute longer, made a series of gestures with his hands, and shuffled his feet in a box-like step.
“We can go now.” He turned and led me out of the sacred area and along a path that cut through the ‘happy humming’ ground. The closer we got to the house, the more the air filled with the scent of Abigail’s soap.
Clifford stopped us at the bottom of the porch stairs.
“Calliope, there’s one more thing.” He pulled a blue-border
ed handkerchief from one of his pockets, lined up the corners of the fine cloth, and blew his nose. “I used to be diligent about keeping up the protective wards on this property, and I am sorry to admit I’ve been remiss in my duties—to this land and the hidden folk who’ve helped us keep the trees safe. I feel…” He lifted his head, and I couldn’t tell if his eyes were seeing the land and sky around him or if they were looking back to some other time. “I feel horrible. If I hadn’t been derelict in my duties, those dear souls might still be alive.” He blew his nose once more and re-pocketed the wadded up square of fabric. “And now I have to live with the consequences of my neglect. If you could ask Tanner and River to come back as soon as they are available, I could use their help fortifying the old wards.”
“I will do that, Cliff, and I’m willing to bet at least one of them will be here first thing tomorrow.”
* * *
After leaving Cliff and Abi, the call of an old roadside cemetery was too strong to drive by without stopping. A wrought-iron railing defined a roughly square plot, and the stones were uniformly splotched with lichen and moss. I pulled over, intent on meandering until I could find words to honor the murdered hidden folk.
For whatever reason, I assumed stones as old as these would be neglected; they weren’t. Many were adorned with necklaces of small white shells or garlands of wild flowers and tiny roses. Smoothed rocks, fist-sized or smaller, sat at the base of a few headstones, stick-in-the-ground vases for flowers and votive candles near others. When I’d last stopped at this plot in June, a riot of lilacs had perfumed the air.
Even with the walk through the old cemetery, I returned to my house with a heaviness in my heart. Mourning was both solitary and communal, and Cliff and Abi deserved to have support. They had carried the secret of the Pearmain ancestors long enough. I promised myself I would reach out to them once things at the Jones house had settled down.
Tanner and Kaz had been busy. Bright neon pink and orange surveyors’ ribbons fluttered from some of the trees ringing the house. Evenly spaced at five feet apart, more or less, they were close enough that one person standing between two adjacent trees could touch both.
“What’s with the decorations?” I asked, pausing at the base of the porch stairs. A table had been set up for what looked like Magical Craft Hour, and my fingers itched to join in.
“Kaz is teaching us to carve runes,” said Harper, holding up a slab of wood the length of a dinner knife and about the width of his palm. “We’ll attach these wherever he put a marker.”
“But Tanner and I will be the ones to activate them,” Kaz piped up from the shed underneath the deck.
“And Aunt Busy called. She’s so excited that I’m a witch, Mrs. Jo—Calliope.” Leilani was beaming. “She’s going to visit soon, like maybe tomorrow. And she’s bringing ingredients for one of her special spells too. Enough for all of us.”
“That’s very generous of her, Lei-li. I’d like to see her again,” I added. “She shared her tent at the ritual and took very good care of me afterward.”
My phone buzzed. The gynecologist’s office. “Rowan, hi.”
I ran up the steps, dropped my bag on the counter, and slipped into my office for privacy.
“Calliope, I have more good news for you,” she said. “You’re free of STDs, and the blood test confirms absolutely you are not pregnant.”
I plopped onto my old oak desk chair and spun in a half circle. “That’s a relief. I was going to call you and let you know I went through my first ritual last weekend. Rose says I am officially in my Priestess stage. I have a pretty crown to show for it, and one of these days, I hope to have a deeper understanding of what this all means”
Rowan let out a modest squeal. “Congratulations and welcome to the Witchy Women’s Club! You’ll be in a coven before you know it and taking workshops every weekend. Did Rose talk to you about using herbs to get your menstrual cycle back on track?”
“Belle has me on drops of black cohosh, blue cohosh, and one more I don’t remember.”
“Good. Those are exactly what I would have prescribed. Also, try to stay out of stressful situations.”
I couldn’t stop the guffaw that flew out of my mouth. “Oh, my Goddess, Rowan, you have no idea what it’s been like around here.” I stopped spinning and leaned back in the chair. The wheels squeaked in protest, reminding me of Cliff’s knees. And the fact that I had news for Tanner. Lots of news. “And speaking of stress, I’ve got to go.”
“Calli, wait.”
I closed my eyes, wished I could just give the guys movie money, ask Rowan over for a glass of wine, and have a girl’s night on the back deck.
“Let me know when you get your period,” she said. “There’s something I’d like to do for you, for your Blood Ceremony.”
Blood Ceremony. The inevitability of the next step to my magical initiations hit my belly like I’d swallowed a tub of my aunt’s tomato aspic. My womb dropped deeper into the bowl of my pelvis, all saturated and heavy.
“Okay,” I answered, “but I have a feeling that once I start to bleed and Rose gets the news, it’s going to be all hands on deck.”
I hung up with Rowan and scanned the familiar shapes of the furniture and knick-knacks in my office, seeing but not seeing. I had to tell Tanner about my conversation with Cliff while I could still string words together.
Curiosity must have tugged at his shirttails. I answered the knock at my door and waved him in.
“How’s it going with the amulets and wards and whatever other crafty projects you guys are doing?” I didn’t mean to sound flippant, but I was tired. And hungry. And wobbly on my feet.
“Leilani, Harper, and Thatcher have been given temporary protective amulets. I’m sure they’ll show them off. And I spoke with Malvyn. He okayed our plan and has offered his and Jim’s help.”
I nodded my approval. “I’m curious to meet them. I don’t know that I’ve ever met a sorcerer before.”
Tanner looked around my office. I was sitting in the only chair, and my futon bed was a tumble of sheets and a blanket.
“They tend to cluster in the financial sector. And auction houses.” He gestured to my sleeping spot. “Mind if I join you?”
“Here, you take the chair.” I pushed my pillow and blanket against the far wall, and propped myself up. Any more horizontal and I’d fall asleep mid-sentence.
“Thatcher heard from Doug again.”
Crap.
Tanner continued. “I think he sees your youngest as the more malleable of the two. He’s lobbying hard for Thatch to visit him in Vancouver. And threatening to pull him from school here and enroll him in a private academy in the city.”
I covered my face with my hands. “Let me set that news aside for a moment and fill you in on a couple other things.” I scrubbed at my eyes and stood. “Would you mind following me to the kitchen? If I don’t eat, I won’t be held responsible for what comes out of my mouth.”
“Like this morning?” Tanner teased, pulling me in close to his chest. “I liked what came out of your mouth when you kissed me.”
Oh, God. I tried to bury my forehead inside his shirt, but it stayed buttoned.
“Calli, it’s okay. It was a really nice kiss.” He slid his hand over my forehead and pressed me away enough we could see each other’s eyes. “And it was really nice to kiss you when neither of us was under the influence of the trees or…”
“Or her.” I finished the sentence for him. I had been thinking the same thing, first of all questioning if kissing Tanner was solely my desire and if him kissing me back was solely his. I joked, “Kissing was never this complicated before.”
“Want to kiss again?” he asked, adding just enough heat to the question that his golden sparks started to go off like flash bulbs.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this …” My voice trailed off as I watched the light bounce across his irises. “But I need food.”
Chapter 18
One half of a fully loaded vegg
ie burger later and I was ready to bring Tanner up to speed on my day. “Okay, first of all, Kerry has it straight from the farmers’ mouths that two other orchard owners have received offers on their properties.”
“Are these orchards for sale?”
“No. I’ll do a follow up tomorrow and get a description of the realtor and find out if they left a card.” I lowered my voice. Harper, Leilani, and Thatch were outside with Kaz, but I didn’t want them to know about the hidden folk and the frozen heads. “After I stopped at my office, I went to see Cliff. He told me he found the bodies and buried them. And he happened to mention he’s a druid too.”
“I had my suspicions,” said Tanner. “But he’s let himself age.”
I nodded and chewed and waited to continue until I’d swallowed. “He made a pact with Abigail. They fell in love, he wanted her to train with him, but I guess she’s always been frail. They’re both in their eighties, and when one goes, the other will too.”
He nodded and reached for the slice of pickle on my plate. “I knew another druidic pair who chose that route. It’s not common. Did he share anything else?”
“He buried the bodies in one of the mounds on his property. And he wants you and River and anyone else you can gather to pay him a visit and help him strengthen the wards around the orchard. He’s dealing with a heavy load of guilt right now.”
“We’ll go over tomorrow, whether my knee’s up for it or not. Do you think you could find the burial mounds again?”
“I’m not sure.” I really wasn’t. Each time I visited the Pearmain orchards, more magic revealed itself. “Cliff told me he keeps them cloaked, but if you’re going over there, have him show you.” I added, “I really think he could use a fellow druid to talk to.”
* * *
My eyelids refused to open when confronted by Tuesday’s overly bright sunrise. Nature was, on occasion, way too perky in the mornings. Fumbling for my phone, I was grateful to see I’d managed three hours’ sleep. And while the sting of the exposed skin left by the removal of the old tattoo had lessened, my entire lower belly was out of sorts. I couldn’t bear to touch or take pressure on the left side, so I rolled to my right, shoved a pillow between my thighs, and made a stab at falling back to sleep.