by Coralie Moss
Ugh. Doug. The last person I wanted to be thinking about. Divorce papers should be accompanied by a spell. A spell of Unbinding I could alter at will, depending on how much of a jerk he’d been or how behind he was on the child support payments I was now convinced he could easily afford—he wasn’t nice enough to sleep his way into owning a condo in a brand-new building in Vancouver.
Or maybe he’d slapped a tattoo on some other unsuspecting person and finagled an upgrade to his housing situation.
Double ugh. Sleep was probably gone for the day.
I reached for my spell book, the one I’d cried on the day before, and hugged it to my chest. Palm to the book’s cool surface, I closed my eyes, shoved thoughts of Doug and revenge out of my head, and willed myself to picture my long-lost mother. I searched for memories, any memory, in the haze of exhaustion coating my bones.
The rough surface of barnacled rocks snugged against my palms. Long hair floated around my face and shoulders and down my back, strands shifting across skin with every ebbing and flowing movement of gentle waves. I released air bubbles from between my lips, turned my head, and spied my mother.
Genevieve nodded, smiled, and blew out answering bubbles in a slow-moving, aquatic kiss. Her body undulated and rolled, her hair similarly unfettered and floating like the long strands of kelp attached to nearby rocks.
My little-girl body was clothed in the bottom half of my favorite two-piece suit, the candy-striped one with the ruffle at my skinny hips. My mother had also shed the top half of her bikini, and I giggled, eyes closed, at the feel of warm salt water and seaweed on my skin. When I reopened my eyes, it was in time to watch my mother’s feet and legs disappearing into the deep green waters below where’d we’d been playing. A large, dark flipper waved in time to her kicks.
I released my hold on the rock and floated to the surface.
The bedding was soggy, and my face was wet with tears when I woke again closer to eight. The corner of the book left a red-edged dent underneath one of my collarbones, and my lower belly was suffering through slow waves of cramps. When I pulled the pillow from between my thighs, it was streaked with pale, reddish-brown blood. I flung it behind me and pulled the sheet over my head.
Fuck. Rose was the last person I wanted to see today.
I ignored the tapping at the door and whispered the wish to be left alone. An invisibility spell was beyond my knowledge, but I could always hope whoever wanted me would just go away.
A gentle tug at the sheet was followed by a warm, familiar hand on my shoulder. “Calli, are you awake?”
“No,” I answered, my voice muffled by cotton stuffing.
The side of the futon sank. I rolled slightly with the weight of a body determined to take away my covers.
“I know you’re awake,” Tanner said, “and I know you started to bleed.”
I ran my hand over my hip and around one side of my butt in an attempt to tuck my nightgown closer without getting blood on it. “I’m hiding.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
I shook my head, pouting. “I want tea.”
“Be right back.”
Before I could plot an escape route out the window and to…to where, I had no idea, Tanner returned, accompanied by the pungent aroma of a strong batch of Assam. The warm washcloth he put into my hand after setting a mug on my desk broke my stoicism. “Thank you”.
He nodded. “Take your time, but when you’re ready, you have to call Rose.”
“I know.”
“There’s a towel on your desk,” he said, tilting his head to the right. “Harper and Tanner took the Jeep to work, and they’ll be back this evening, right after they’re done at the market. James is coming to pick up Leilani. As soon as he does, Kaz and I will head over to help Cliff.
“I’ll be in touch later.” He patted my hip, stood from the crouch, and left, closing the door behind him.
I rolled onto my belly and pressed the warm washcloth to my forehead. Feeling slightly less petulant, I called Rose to give her my good news.
“We’ll do the ceremony tonight,” she informed me. “I’ll text you the location. No, I’ll have Belle pick you up. Around nine.”
No. No, no, no. “Wait, Rose, tonight is too soon. There’s an investigation I’m conducting as part of my job, and there’s been some trouble here at my house.” I took a deep breath through my nose, let it out slowly. “I have to make sure my kids are safe. Tanner and Kazimir are helping.”
Rose took her time responding. “I understand there are times when family comes first, Calliope. And another twenty-four hours does give me more time to extend an invitation to witches who live farther away.” Her voice trailed off before she came back and took charge of my calendar with renewed vigor. “Tomorrow night, then. August first. Which is also Lughnasadh…”
Rose disappeared again; all I heard was distant breathing and the shuffle of papers.
“Lugh what?” I asked, hoping to call her back and settle on a plan so I could get myself to the bathroom before I bled through to the futon covering.
“I keep forgetting how much you don’t know,” Rose harrumphed. “Lughnasadh is one of our eight sabbats. We bring together covens and other practitioners of magic who have a kinship to the festival. We’ll just be a little more seat-of-the-pants and prepare for holding your Blood Ceremony first, and once you’re in the Mother Tree, we’ll continue with the scheduled celebration.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Unless you hear otherwise, Belle will escort you to the ritual ground.”
“Is there anything I should do to prepare?” How was I supposed to prepare to be “in a tree”?
“No baths while you’re bleeding, only showers. And do not use tampons, only pads.” She continued as though reading from a printed list of instructions. “Tomorrow morning, do not eat after breakfast. You may have water and herbal teas only, nothing with stimulants. Wash your hair and oil your skin. Prepare yourself as though you were going on an important date. Try not to get angry or upset, and most of all, rest. It’s going to be another long night, and you’ll manage better with the after effects if you’re rested when we begin.”
That didn’t sound scary.
“Thank you, Rose,” I said, knowing the witch on the other end had hung up. Rose was beginning to remind me of my aunt. I’d make it through today and tomorrow and let Belle nurture me on the drive to wherever the ceremony would take place. I texted Rowan to give her the good news, had more of the tea, and strategized how I was going to get to my bathroom without leaving a bloody trail.
* * *
Cleaned up and flushed out, with a pad tucked into my underwear and garbed in a flowy, ankle-length cotton dress, I made my grand appearance in the kitchen.
No one was there. I served myself a bowl of sliced pineapple, bananas, and grapefruit, sprinkled shredded coconut on top, and headed to my garden.
If it weren’t for the solace offered by an old chair under my butt, warmed soil underfoot, and strong sun already warming my scalp, I wasn’t sure I could settle myself enough to be ready for whatever lay ahead, let alone be an open and willing participant.
Waving a persistent honey bee away from the fruit, I spooned another bite into my mouth, delighting in the contrast between cool and juicy on my tongue and the dry breeze feathering over my bared arms. I found it strange to be bleeding again. I’d only skipped two, maybe three cycles, and I had to admit I missed the familiar weightiness in my body and the physical and mental clarity that would come a few days after.
The vines I had called on to trap Doug and Roger broke through my musing, reaching out for affirmation and guidance. I offered the mental image of a flexible fence marking off a space around their invasive stalks, and asked that they confine their activity to a few small spots on the property. Their natural propensity for rapid propagation made it a hard vow to keep, but I gave them tacit permission to assist with future trespassers and thanked the vines again for answering my call. That seemed to cool their root
s.
And it was time to go to work.
Kerry was probably wondering what all had gotten into me. I hadn’t left her much to do, and she was prone to adding her opinions to any gossip passing through the office. All the men traipsing through the office were giving her plenty of fodder, and I couldn’t fault her wanting to self-entertain. Certifying farmers wasn’t the most exciting work on the island. For now, ongoing projects and rounds of reviewing applications would have to keep her busy.
I was so tempted to stay home and putter in my garden. My plants and I, and the surrounding trees and undergrowth, were deepening a relationship initiated over thirty years ago. This feeling—that we had just started to settle into reminiscing about the past and making plans for the future—was a hard pleasure to set to the side.
The darkly patterned fabric of my dress absorbed and held the summer sun; the heat soothed my crampy belly and warmed my inner thighs. I dropped the empty bowl onto the bed of chamomile for the bees to explore and gave my mind over to a short replay of the times Tanner and I had kissed.
I could do that again.
And again. I scrubbed the heels of both palms down the sides of my belly and pressed into my thighs. The action plumped my breasts, and through half-closed eyes I could imagine my hands were Tanner’s.
Only, his would be broader. And warmer. And he would take his time sliding my dress up my legs.
Arousal kept me hanging on the rise of an inhale and a shudder and a crack from the ground underneath the chair dropped me into fear on the exhale. I looked straight up to see the branches of the crabapple trembling. Tiny, early fruits swayed like baubles on a jeweler’s display, and a voice rose from somewhere beyond the edge of the woods.
Mine.
She was here. And I was alone. I gripped the splintery arms of the old chair and pulled myself out of my heat-soaked slouch, feet on the ground and sun splotches blurring my vision.
MINE.
Whatever Kaz and Tanner had worked into the slabs of rune-carved wood made the wards light up. A curtain of shimmering slivers of green and silver wavered from the ground up to the topmost sections of the fir, oak, and arbutus trees that circled the perimeter of the house.
I straightened my legs, not knowing if I should hightail it inside or holler at whoever was out there.
Two steps later, a new sensation rose up the backs of my knees, an invitation to be lifted up and carried on a broad set of shoulders, high off the ground, and I heard young Calliope giggling, felt rough fur gripped in my hands. I rode the memory through one breath, and another, and steadied my feet when the wards flickered off high alert.
I scrabbled to the porch stairs and into my kitchen without falling or bruising any body parts. I even had the wherewithal to pull my phone off the charging stand before I crumpled to the floor.
“Working from home,” I texted Kerry. “Call or text if you need me.”
“Will do,” she answered. “Dead as doornails here.”
I crawled to the bathroom and changed my soaked pad. My office, with the cozy futon and a stack of old books, was right across the hall. I could nap, or I could do what I told Kerry I was doing and work.
The phone vibrated against my breasts. Tanner.
“Are you okay?” He was huffing.
“I am now,” I answered.
“She was there, wasn’t she?”
Oh, shit.
“Calliope?”
“I’m here.” I paused. “And yes, I think she was here. Someone—something—was here, and when it said ‘mine’ it sounded a lot like the same presence saying ‘mine’ when I was in the tunnel that first time.”
Tanner’s huffing slowed down. “I think she’s found a portal to your property.”
“A portal?” This was news to me. “Can you give me a crash course on portals?”
“An object—often a specific tree or rock or even something manmade—becomes a means of transport between two places, and these places can be near one another, they can be a continent apart. They can even cross dimensions…”
“Tanner. Stop. That’s too much information. Keep the lecture local, and one of these days, I’ll be ready for the global picture. But today is not that day, so…”
“Got it.” I heard him suck in air through his nose and chuff it out through his mouth. “You first heard the voice in the tunnel, at the Pearmains’, and that’s also where we were forced into kissing, so I’m assuming there’s at least one portal in the orchard.”
I pinched my forehead and lowered my chin. “Actually, the first time I heard the voice was here, Thursday morning. But it was laughter, just laughter. She didn’t actually say anything.”
Tanner choked on whatever words were trying to exit his mouth first and took in an audible breath through his nose. And another. “I was at your house Thursday morning, and you didn’t think to tell me you’d heard a voice?”
I was slack-jawed and stuck at Tanner expressing our first kiss was forced, and he was getting hung up on reconstructing a timeline. “At the time, it didn’t seem related to the investigation.”
“Calliope, what if she’s trying to eliminate you on her way to me?”
“Okay, okay. So how do I identify a possible portal on my property?”
“Don’t even think about looking for it until I’m there,” he said. “Calliope? Did you hear me?”
“I take it you know how to drive those things?” He laughed. Finally. Serious Tanner was one step away from Bossy Tanner, and I wasn’t in the mood.
I was getting fed up with his old girlfriend trying to trim my branches.
“Yes, Calliope,” he said. “I know how to drive between portals, though it’s not called driving. Can you keep your curiosity contained until we’re done here and I can join you?”
I nodded, knowing he couldn’t see but willing to be obedient. “I’ve got another project I can work on. I promise I’ll stay out of the woods.”
“I’d feel even better if you’d promise to stay in the house.”
“I promise to stay in the house.”
“And one more thing. If you hear the voice again, call me.”
I stared up at the edge of the kitchen counter. Where I was seated on the floor, I was blocked from being seen by anyone looking in the doors or windows. Which also meant I couldn’t see anyone at the doors or windows.
I scrambled to my knees, plugged my phone back in the charging stand, and plopped down. The crumb-covered floor seemed the safest place to be.
Bear fur. Big fish. Herb plants, berry canes, and invasive vines—these were my allies, and though I couldn’t remember ever having ridden on the shoulders of an actual bear, I knew I was in the ocean the same time my mother had swum past me and into the deep, hand in hand with a man sporting flippers.
Real flippers, not the detachable kind.
I shook my head. No one would believe me. Well, actually, I’d recently met a number of people who would—might?—believe me. I felt for the Telfa pad on my lower belly and picked at the Band-Aid doing a half-assed job of protecting the cut on my thumb.
I had to do something.
I came out of my crouch slowly, circling, scanning the rooms and the areas outside of the windows and doors. Everything looked normal. The wards were off high alert. Cars and trucks passed by just as they did every week day, and I knew if I listened hard, I’d hear prop planes buzzing overhead on their way to the harbor.
Sliding my feet along the floor, I turned the lock above the handle on the front door and continued on, closing and locking every window and door on the ground floor. I kept repeating, This is my house; this is my house, and after I extracted my new crown from the jumble of things I hadn’t unpacked from the weekend, I owned the words the next time they issued from my mouth.
This. Is. My. House.
I giggled and wedged the crown more securely atop my head. Forty-one years old and still playing dress-up.
Bear fur. Big fish. The trunk with my mother’s things was in
my office. I kneeled in front of the dusty thing, lifted the top section of the latch and the lid, and surveyed the contents before I pawed through them.
There! I parted two stacks of pinned-together quilting squares and felt for my mother’s Witchling sash, the one I’d seen her wearing proudly in photographs displayed on my aunt’s mantle. I smoothed the faded fabric, straightened the rows of round, enameled pins, and brought the entire thing into the kitchen.
I snapped a photograph so I wouldn’t forget the order in which the pins were arranged; I had no idea if it made a difference or not. I didn’t know if the Witchling Way still even existed; my aunt had signed me up for the human counterpart, the Canadian Girl Guides. But the once-colorful pins were grimy, and I wanted to wash and polish them and imagine my mother’s pride as she worked toward collecting as many as possible.
Because the sash was so filled with round reminders of magical milestones, I decided my mother would have been the accomplishing kind—maybe even a little competitive—and she would have placed each pin onto her sash very, very carefully.
There were creatures on the buttons, along with trees, leaves, and flowers; esoteric symbols; and tools of the magic trade.
Three pins kept rolling away from my cleaning operation: a bear, a seal, and an apple.
I dried the pins, stashed them in an empty sweetgrass basket, and placed the basket and the sash in the trunk. The three errant buttons stayed in my palm until I placed them on the altar in my bedroom, next to the branchlet from the old crabapple tree. I slipped the crown off my head and placed it on the altar with my new wand and the three pins inside its circumference.
What was I doing? I glanced at what little I could see of my reflection in the mercury glass mirror. Its usefulness had ended decades ago, but my aunt and my mother and maybe other female relatives, other witches in my lineage, had searched its oxidized surface for signs of their own hidden beauties or latent skills.