by Coralie Moss
My hair.
I looked down the front of my body. My hands travelled over my skin, found my waist, rounded my hips and my breasts. Maybe no one else would notice, but I did. My skin was smoother, more taut. My waist nipped in, not to its pre-babies circumference, but missing a little of the layer of fat that had arrived on the heels of my fortieth birthday.
I patted my cheeks and breasts again. Still full and maybe sitting a tad higher. I walked naked from one side of the bathroom to the other, chin lifted, hips swaying, feet confident as I landed, heel to toe, heel to toe, on the firm tile surface. Assaying the front of my body again, wanting to make sure this was really me, even my pubic hair was more lush.
I hadn’t thought to check my appearance in the mirror. The reflection would confirm one of two things: either I was crazy or the ritual in the apple tree had laid some serious consequences on my biological processes. My bathrobe hung from its hook on the back of the door. I slipped my arms through the sleeves, folded the halves across my chest, and tied the belt snugly at the waist.
Curious, I spread the robe open to look at my belly one more time. The remains of the tattoo were completely gone.
Tanner said it was time for dinner. I had the sense I was forgetting something. Something more important than clothes. Patting the thick fabric so it would soak up the last bit of water from my body, I opened the bathroom door and paused.
Rose said I had to put the dirt back, that I was to blend it with the soil in the most sacred spot of my property. I couldn’t very well sprinkle it over the floorboards of the house that provided a safe haven for me and my sons. While my head deliberated where the soil should go, I followed my feet down the hall toward the busy part of the house and out the door, passing Tanner, Harper, and Thatch without them stopping their debate.
The basket with the pots and trowel was parked at the bottom of the porch steps. My clean, pink toes took me there, waited while I picked up the basket, and walked me around the house to the crabapple tree. I crouched. Loosened the soil. Tugged at clumps of dried grass and needled them into giving up their hold. They did, eventually, leaving patches where I could mix in my blood-nourished contribution to the health of the old tree.
Satisfied I’d done a decent job, I whacked the back of the trowel against the trunk. The metal rang out a high, clanging note.
“Mom? What are you doing?” Harper said, Leilani by his side, elbows on the railing of the porch. Lei-li waved to me when I glanced up.
“I had to put the dirt back.” Wasn’t that obvious?
Harper quirked his head to the side. “Oh. Well, you know there’s a party in your honor tonight, right?”
Huh. I snugged the belt tighter, leaving a few muddy smudges on the white cloth. “Guess I better change.”
Chapter 21
Hallway, bathroom, bedroom. The bureau had been my aunt’s, and the mirror had known generations of faces. These everyday objects were familiar—and foreign, like someone had cleaned my house in my absence and replaced everything slightly askew from where it usually resided. I faced the chest of drawers, pressed my belly against the edge, and searched for myself in the mirror.
Calliope Jones. Earth witch. Daughter, mother…I couldn’t hold my own gaze.
My gauntlets had been polished and were draped over the corner of the cluttered bureau. I patted the leather, smoothed my fingers over the roughed up spots. The skin on my arms was unblemished, but the gauntlets told a story. I could hope to recall it later, when I was out of this off-kilter, in-between state.
The red dress Rowan gave me was clean and folded and placed on the spindle chair sitting beside the bureau. I wasn’t sure I should wear the same dress for the evening’s festivities. The red had served its purpose.
“Calli?” Tanner’s low voice came to my ears from the end of a long tunnel. His body arrived at my door, followed by an animal-like presence that positioned itself protectively against the solid panels of wood.
“Come in.” I could enlist his help picking out something to wear for the party. I wasn’t making sense of anything on my own, and I was far more drawn to calling on the beast in my hallway to curl up with me on my bed than making small talk with guests.
Tanner opened the door and paused at the threshold. He wore snug white jeans and a silk shirt the color of antique turquoise. His feet were bared. I slid my gaze between each and every one of his toes, followed the upward arch at the bottoms of his feet to the inward curve of his ankles. The pant fabric cupped his calves and gathered a little around his knees before stretching taut over the sculpted muscles of his thighs and the tumescent bulge of his cock.
My druid was aroused. I lifted the damp hair off the nape of my neck, noted its luxurious weight, and turned, every cell of my skin aware of Tanner’s gaze clocking my movements.
He undid the belt to my bathrobe and separated the front halves of the garment. I hissed when the rough terrycloth grazed my nipples.
“You really should be getting dressed,” he whispered, cupping my breasts and testing their fullness.
I nestled my head underneath his chin and closed my eyes. This was where I wanted to be. This was the man I wanted to be with. And nothing, not a surprise appearance from my ex—or his—was going to take this moment away.
“Calliope.” Sensitive bundles of nerve endings throughout my body throbbed at his voice. I wanted Tanner to finish removing my bathrobe, take me to bed, and spend the rest of the night drawing his magic on my skin.
Voices reverberated from the far end of the hallway. Inhabitants from the world outside expressed the opinion I’d been gone from sight too long and tapped on my door.
“Calliope, are you ready?” asked Leilani.
Tanner tightened his arms around my chest, opened his mouth wide against the side of my neck, and bit gently.
“Almost,” I answered.
The druid pressing his length into my buttocks laughed silently. I joined him.
“So much for my sexy goddess routine,” I said, ridding myself of my bathrobe and walking naked toward my closet. “I don’t suppose you brought me something to wear?”
Getting dressed took longer with Tanner’s help than it would have had he left me to fumble in the closet by myself. The gladiator-style sandals he gifted me survived the Blood Ceremony none the worse for wear. Those could go on my feet. And pushed to the far end of the clothes rod was a hippie-chic dress with colorful flowers embroidered across the bodice and straps.
Tanner insisted on lacing my sandals and managed to run a series of kisses and nips up my inner thighs as he crossed and re-crossed the leather around my ankles. He landed more kisses and licks on my belly and up under my breasts in what I took to be approval for my night’s attire. More likely he was casting his vote that I forego wearing a bra.
He won, but I insisted on wearing underpants.
Tanner also helped with lip-plumping, deploying his special brand of bites. He denied being part vampire, but suckle marks high up the inside of each thigh presented a counter argument. I was just about to swat him away when another yell from the kitchen signalled my delay had been noted and I should expect an escort if it extended much longer.
“You and I have a date, Calliope Jones.” Tanner kissed his invitation across my forehead and along my jaw. “Once the party’s over and everyone’s gone home, it’s our turn.”
“Are you asking me or telling me, Agent Marechal?” I asked, running my hands over his ass and giving a proprietary squeeze, when what I really wanted was to shut the closet door and wrap my thighs around his waist.
He held me at arm’s length and gave me a slow once-over. “Ms. Jones, I’m telling you I want uninterrupted hours of your time, and I’m asking you to grant them to me at your earliest convenience.”
“Ooh, so formal.”
He dropped to his knees, grabbed my hips, and planted another kiss right on my prominent mons. His voice husky, his fingers digging into my flesh, he murmured, “I’m on my knees for you,
Calliope.”
I brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Then you have my unequivocal yes, Tanner.”
He slid his body up the front of mine as he stood, fixed his pants, and tucked his hair behind his ears. I preceded him out the door and down the hall, giving an extra sashay to my step. The soft groan behind me had me wishing the party was over and we were heading back to the sanctuary of my room.
My kitchen was in an uproar, and from what I could see through the windows and doors, the activity had spread into the living room, out the front door and all across my property. Harper and Thatch were hovering around the dining table, stabbing at platters of hors d’oeuvres with knives. New knives, from what I could see of the carved handles and the telltale swirls of hand-forged blades.
“Mom,” said Harper, folding and pocketing his knife at my entrance, “did you see we hired caterers?”
That explained the three people clad in server aprons bustling figure eights around my kitchen and living room. “I do see some unfamiliar faces and I would love it if you’d make introductions,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’d also love to hear about those shiny knives hiding in your back pockets.”
“Oh, you mean this?” asked Harper, showing me his blade. “They’re gifts from Kaz. He gave them to us the day we carved the runes for the wards.” He folded his knife in half, pocketed it again, and tugged on a cord around his neck. “The handle of each knife is made out of the same wood as our amulets.”
Thatcher stood closer to his brother and pulled out his knife and the amulet attached to the cord around his neck. “Kaz had us choose which one felt right. It was pretty cool, Mom.”
“I’m glad you have these,” I said.
A surprise wave of apprehension washed over me. Not one of those cold, heavy waves weighted with dread. More the portent-filled variety that accompanied those moments when I saw my sons as the young men they were becoming, with all the waiting joys and possibilities and challenges.
“How long was I in the bathroom?” I nudged Harper and took a longer look at my oldest son. “And where did you find an iron?” His flat front khaki pants were pressed, with a crisp line down the center of each leg, as was his shirt.
“Mom, we have an iron and an ironing board upstairs. Thatch presses all our shirts. Didn’t you know that?”
Huh. “Who’s here?”
“Lei-li’s parents would like to meet you. Let’s start with them.”
The entire outdoor area of the property had been utterly transformed while I was soaking, dressing, and being distracted by Tanner’s attentions. Garlands of herbs, leaves, and wildflowers looped around the rails fronting the deck and alongside the stairs, and little glass jars with votive candles glowed along the risers and the deck’s perimeter.
“Mom, this is Malvyn Brodeur and James Brodeur. Mal and James, my mother, Calliope Jones,” Harper said. Leilani unlinked her arms from her fathers’ elbows, her eyes twinkling with pride, and stepped behind Malvyn to embrace Harper.
“Malvyn, I’m delighted to meet you,” I said. “Especially now that we’ve figured out we have a few things in common.”
Both men greeted me in the European fashion, a kiss on either cheek, and both smelled absolutely divine, a citrusy scent that could have been custom-blended.
“Congratulations on making your Blood Ceremony, Calliope,” said Malvyn. “Sorcerers have something similar, but we are tied to an object, not a place.” He leaned in and undid one more button of his immaculate shirt, revealing a collar of linked metallic pieces. The collar sat low enough to hide underneath a regular T-shirt. “This never comes off.”
“And I studied botany,” said James, “bolstering my half-witch status with a great deal of science and an intuitive approach to plants and propagation.” He wore a similar collar under his open-necked, caftan-style shirt, only his links were delicately tooled renditions of leaves. His sleeves were folded to above his elbows, and a hammered gold cuff wrapped each wrist.
“May I?” I asked, gesturing to his adornments. “Do these have a specific function?”
“Simply to show my affection for my husband,” said Malvyn. “And I might have added a little something to ward off overly inquisitive men.”
The husbands shared a quick kiss and a heated private look.
“Your daughter has a very intuitive approach to her baking,” I said. “But you knew that already.”
“We did know Leilani has a gift for imbuing. The most obvious transference occurs when she’s in the kitchen; she can’t seem to keep her emotions out of the ingredients as she’s mixing them,” agreed Malvyn. “We’re working on helping her moderate that, and we’ve also been at somewhat of a loss as to how to educate her further.”
“It’s a question we knew would need addressing come her eighteenth birthday,” added James. “Given she’s nearing eighteen-and-a-half and with the recent revelations happening under your roof, we need to begin her magical studies as soon as possible.”
While we were chatting, Harper and Leilani wandered over to another section of the yard, and Tanner had made his way over to me.
“You’ve met Tanner Marechal?” I asked, slipping my arm around his waist.
“We have, and earlier today we were reviewing his material for the mentorship program. I suspect Leilani will be enrolling for this September. We would like to make ourselves available in some capacity as well,” said James.
“I would be honored to have both of you as mentors, and as it happens, we’re low on male witches,” said Tanner.
“Malvyn, I wonder if I might turn our conversation to a different topic?” I asked.
“Certainly.” He redid the button that would hide his collar. “Would you mind if we chatted while James and I filled our plates? I came over straight from the ferry, and I’m famished.”
“I was told you work in the financial sector,” I began. He nodded and distributed plates to the four of us. I kept going. “Would you happen to know anything about the Flechette Realty and Development Group?”
“I know quite a lot about the Flechette Group,” he said, filling his plate with savory puff pastries and assorted tapas. “Very little of which I can share with you.”
“Then let me ask you this—is there anything you can tell me about their current property acquisition plan?”
“I can only share with you that which is already in the public domain, which is the founders, two sisters and a brother who worked their way west from Toronto, were known to have snapped up parcels of land that should not have been for sale in the first place, and they essentially built their empire on a foundation of stolen goods. I will also add—and you may not quote me on this—that same ethos appears to be guiding the current Board of Directors.”
“Can you tell me what their magic is?”
Malvyn stared at me a good bit longer than was comfortable. “Fae,” he answered, “and not the hidden folk-type you’ll find in pockets here and there throughout the Gulf Islands. Fae from the Old Countries, with the ability to hide their true visages and weapons using glamour. As an officer on the Province’s Board of Magical Governance—and as a new friend—I would advise you to tread very carefully around any organization bearing the Flechette name.”
The bite of spinach and feta pastry heading toward my mouth went back to my plate. “Douglas Flechette is my ex-husband and Harper and Thatcher’s father. I’m afraid he’s been the cause of some of the challenges we’ve had this past week.”
James spoke up. “Leilani mentioned there was tension between Harper and his dad, but we didn’t put all the pieces together. I’m feeling rather guilty at the moment. My research has had me practically sleeping in my greenhouses, and Mal’s had to spend a lot of time in Vancouver.” His shaking hands underscored his concern. “I don’t want to go so far as forbidding our daughter from seeing your son, but…”
“James and I have not had to call on our magic for much of Leilani’s life,” interjected Malvyn. “But if a storm is gatheri
ng in the Magical realm, we would appreciate being brought up to speed.”
* * *
“For a celebration, this party is starting off on a low note. At least for me.” I pulled Tanner aside after we parted ways with Mal and James, who had offered to host a gathering the following night at their house for us and any other druids and witches we saw fit to invite. “Although I’m dying to see what a sorcerer’s home looks like.”
“Probably much bigger than yours,” said Tanner, “with a tower or a widow’s walk and at least one room dedicated to his collection of objects and one to his books. They’re the crows of the magical world, with an innate pull to acquire shiny things.
“Shiny, magical things,” he added.
I scanned the crowd. More people had arrived while I was speaking with Leilani’s fathers, most of them witches I remembered from the full moon ritual and from the Blood Ceremony.
“I’m going in,” I informed Tanner, patting at the sides of my dress and straightening my spine.
I stopped at the drinks table, picked up an alcohol-free mojito, and made my way to Rose, hoping to pay homage and dispense with my rising case of performance anxiety-related nerves. Rose was standing with L’Runa, not far from where River was sitting and chatting with Abigail and Cliff.
“Rose, L’Runa,” I began, “thank you so much for coming by tonight.”
L’Runa ran her hands down my free arm and took my hand in hers. “Calliope, what a powerful ceremony that was last night. For all of us. How are you feeling now?”
“Honestly, I feel different,” I said, laughing lightly, “which I’m sure everyone says, but also like I’m slightly…off center.”
She kissed my forehead and tightened her grip on my hand. “Entering the Mother Tree and taking the journey with Her is a profound experience of being out of body and out of time. Give yourself at least another twenty-four hours for your missing pieces to find their way home.” L’Runa’s smile was genuine and kind.
And I was still in awe of her palpable essence, some of which was circling its way around my left arm and over my shoulder, a snaking sleeve of invisible protection.