by Coralie Moss
I had no counter-spell for that.
The wolf rolled to the edge of the grass, and by the time it reached the trio of massive fir trees, Tanner emerged naked, crouched and eyes fixed on Meribah the untouchable.
“Rocks, Calliope,” he yelled. “Get me rocks.”
I ran to the bottom of the porch steps, gathered two handfuls of gravel, and swerved toward Tanner.
“Throw them at her.” He had a larger rock in each hand and held them the way Malvyn held the spinning red wheels.
Ball-tossing was never my forte. I sent out an abbreviated plea for accuracy and threw one handful and then the other.
Tanner slammed his rocks together once, and again, setting up a rhythm. Each time his rocks met, the gravel flew at Meribah and away, toward and away, until she lost her momentum, absorbed her weapons, and ran for the nearest SUV.
“Adelaide, Douglas, Roger, come!” she called.
Footsteps thundered from around the backside of my house. Adelaide’s prone form shot across grass and slammed against the rear wheel of Meribah’s SUV.
Adelaide stood, shakily, the front of her shirt shredded and bloodied. I opened my mouth to use her name against her one more time and froze at the look of malice on her face. She pivoted, hopped into the front passenger seat, and slammed her door shut as her SUV and the one carrying Doug and Roger peeled away and sped down the road.
Whatever Malvyn used on Josiah and Garnet continued to hold. He’d added a collar around their necks, keeping the two mercifully silent even as their mouths moved and they fought against the restraints.
The house lights were blazing. Tanner, naked, disappeared through the front door. Below the deck, figures moved. I had to assume everyone I hadn’t kept track of during the fight was okay. Or would be.
I turned and ran to Abigail. She lay on her side, a bunched up man’s jacket tucked under the side of her head. Clifford was on his hands and knees beside her, weeping. Peasgood and his brother hadn’t been able to do much beyond use their bodies as a buffer between their grandparents and the irate Fae. I dropped onto my hands and knees on the other side of Abigail and gripped the grass with my fingertips and toes until the spaces in between my digits were jammed with soil.
These two elder folk had dedicated their lives to preserving the descendants of Idunn’s apples and so I called to the Apple Witch to show herself, to show me she could be something other than a greedy ex-lover. I called to her to drop whatever she had against me, look beyond whatever selfish needs motivated her pursuit of Tanner, and use her formidable strength to protect the very people who served as stewards of Idunn’s treasures.
Below me, the Apple Witch’s presence lit up the earth, running through the fissures and lighting them with liquid phosphorescence.
I sent one more pulse, one more request, into the ground, praying she would heed my call to protect Abigail and do no more than what I asked. I placed one hand on Abi’s shoulder and one on Cliff’s.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “Help is coming.”
Chapter 23
Abi was so still. She didn’t respond to my voice, but she had Cliff and their grandsons and I needed to see that my sons were safe.
I found them on the far side of my garden. My brilliant vines had taken a different tack than I’d envisioned. Instead of attacking Doug and Roger, they’d attached themselves to Thatch and Harper, weaving a protective cage that pinned the two to the ground. I grabbed fistfuls of vines, felt the adrenaline rush leave my body, making room for tears, shaking muscles, and a torrent of what ifs, and all I wanted was to make sure my boys were okay, that the vines hadn’t cut off their ability to breathe or—
“Mom, we’re okay, we’re okay. Where are Leilani and Sallie?” Harper asked.
Ivy, unbind; ivy unwind. Ivy, unbind; ivy unwind. And thank you.
The vines writhed in my clenched hands. I let go. They unwove themselves and whipped away, leaves waggling like round, green fingers, to the areas we designated as theirs. I grabbed Harper’s face and kissed his cheeks, and Thatch let me do the same.
“I think they’re with James and a couple of the other witches,” I said, as they came to their feet and shook dirt out of their hair. “Belle and Rowan set up a triage area in the living room. I’d appreciate it if you two would check in with them.”
They tried to protest.
I tried to wield the wand of parental authority, realized they’d been through enough, and waved them off. “Go,” I said. “Do what you need.”
Their hugs squished the air out of my lungs. They tore off, passing Wes as he trotted up from the back yard.
“I’m sorry they got away, Calliope,” Wes chuffed, coming to stand beside me. “But now we know who killed the wee trolls.”
“Do we know?” I asked. Because I had the sinking feeling Doug and Roger were in this mess more deeply than I wanted to imagine.
“Sallie, lass, come here.” Wes waved her over from where she’d been waiting under the deck and wrapped an arm around the distressed teen’s upper back. “Tell your cousins’ mum what you told me.”
“I’m so sorry.” Tears poured down Sallie’s cheeks, mingling with the bloody streaks on her face, throat, and the front of her dress. “I’m so sorry I didn’t figure it out earlier so I could warn you.”
“Warn me about what?” I asked, bringing her into a hug to soothe her tremors.
“My parents. It was them. They’ve been going after the hidden folk, threatening them, trying to get them to leave the land so Aunt Meribah could buy up the properties.”
Wes looked at me and nodded. “There’s more.”
Sallie let out a long, shuddering breath. “They’ve been away from the house so much. I got lonely, which was why I started my pie business, and one day, when they’d actually been home for longer than five minutes, I asked about getting apples and other ingredients wholesale. They told me to be patient, that pretty soon I would have access to as many apples as I wanted. I just wanted to have something of my own, Aunt Calliope, something of my own I could be good at.”
I hugged her tight. There was nothing I could say, no more questions I could ask. “Wes, can you take Sallie to Belle and Rowan, please? And Sallie? You can stay here, with me and Harper and Thatch. You don’t have to go back to your parents.”
I hoped I could stick to that promise. With the teenagers accounted for, I went to check on Abigail.
She and Clifford were gone.
I ran into the house, asked Rowan and Belle if they’d seen or treated either of the elder Pearmains or if they’d left with anyone. They hadn’t.
Standing on the front deck, I scanned the yard. Sections of turf had been disturbed in the melee. I took the stairs in one jump and ran to where chunks of sod been had been sutured together, their edges rolled and tucked under. I tried to wedge my fingers into the grass and rip the sections apart, but the ground was not giving up what had been taken.
Tanner had followed me out of the house.
“She took them, Tanner. She took them,” I said, scrubbing at the ground with my flattened palms.
“We’ll find them,” he assured me.
Hyslop and Peasgood were on their backs some distance away and likely going into shock. I had to let go of my grief and help them. Or get them to someone who could. Tanner picked up one of the men, jogged him over to the care of our witch healers, and returned for the other. When he returned the third time, he grabbed a scarf off one of the chairs and wrapped it around my shoulders before lifting me to stand.
He crushed me in his embrace.
“I think I know where she’s taken them,” he said, smoothing my hair, his breath running ragged on its way in and out. “I have to go.”
Tanner released me and gripped the braided cord of his necklace, the very one I had never seen him take off. He pulled the cord over his head and from around his waist and placed both loops around my neck. “Calliope, do not take this off for anyone but me. Can you promise me that?”
He tucked the burnished pouch under my blood- and dirt-stained shirt and pressed his hand against the center of my chest.
“I promise,” I said. “Please, be careful.”
Tanner nodded once, turned, and ran toward his truck.
“And please come back.” I wasn’t sure he heard me.
The emptiness threatening to submerge me in that moment was an emptiness I had known a few times before. When I crossed the threshold into the A-frame house after my mother had died and understood her laughter would never again entice me into her room for a tea party. Again, when Doug walked out of our house after telling me he wanted a divorce—more than a divorce, to wash his hands of me.
And now.
We were so lucky that only two people had been lost in the fray, but those two people were dear to me. They were gone, taken by an entity I did not understand, with motivations that were still unclear, to a place I might not ever find.
“Calliope.”
I didn’t recognize the voice calling me. I scanned the overturned tables and chairs, the matte black silhouette of the Old One, the house lights blazing over the front and back porches.
“Calliope.”
The voice was coming from high in the treetops or the roof of the house.
I looked up. “Who’s there?” I asked. “And what do you want?”
A figure rose to standing at the peak of the roof. The outer garment they wore stiffened and opened out to the sides, and what I thought was clearly a tall man in a billowing overcoat became a tall man with wings. With a repeated, sharp-edged whoosh, whoosh, he swooped down the long expanse of the A-frame’s roofline and landed a few feet from me.
The night had painted his cloak a charcoal black when he was on the roof. Up close, the cloak—his wings—were mostly white with pale gray speckles. His silvery white hair was longish, sweeping across his forehead and covering his ears, and he was old. Not nearly as old as Clifford, but his face was lined and the stubble along his jawline and under his throat shone white in what little light was coming off the torches.
I had never seen this man before. I had never seen a bird-man before. I wasn’t sure he was even real.
He took two steps toward me, tapped the pins attached to my T-shirt, and enveloped me in his arms and wings.
“Granddaughter, I have so much to tell you.”
Chapter 24
Tanner was gone. River, Rose, and Belle had bundled Peasgood and Hyslop into Rose’s sedan and driven off soon after they heard Tanner was going after the Apple Witch. Rose wanted to take the young men to the Pearmains’ farmhouse and continue the search for Cliff and Abi from there. River gave me a knowing look and expressed the hope he might be able to catch up with Tanner.
The bird-man followed me across the lawn and into my house, the tips of his feathers brushing the grass. I stared toward the road; Josiah and Garnet’s limbs were shackled to the exterior of their SUV, and their lips were clamped together through magical means. Inside, Malvyn was at the head of the dining table, ringed to either side by James and Leilani, Rowan and Wes, and Sallie, Kaz, and my sons.
“I am on the Province’s Board of Magical Self-Governance,” Mal said, leaning his weight onto his fingertips as he surveyed the group of gathered Magicals. “Josiah and Garnet Flechette will be remanded into custody pending our investigation into their involvement into the murders on this island and others.”
Sallie’s face paled, and she dropped to her knees, her elbows against the edge of the table and quiet sobs wracking her body. Rowan wrapped her arms around Sallie while Wes bent to lift her into his arms. They walked the young woman to the couch.
I turned my attention back to Mal. “You can take them now?”
He nodded, his face a mask of impassive gravity. “I have not had to invoke my authority in this manner very often. Taking custody of those two means I will be off-island for at least three to four days.”
James drew Leilani snugly against his side. “We’ll be okay, Mal. We have the safe room.”
A quiet hand on my shoulder reminded me my grandfather was in the house. Harper tore his gaze from Leilani and scratched at his upper back. “Mom,” he said, drawing out the sound, “who’s behind you?”
“That’s the bird man I told you about the other night, Harper,” said Kaz. “You picked a hell of a night to show up, Christoph.”
“My granddaughter was in trouble. I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time for all the excitement.” Christoph walked around the table to Harper and Thatcher and studied my sons.
“Are those real?” asked Thatcher, pointing to the wings Christoph had pinned tight against his back.
“Yes.”
“Did you just call our mother your granddaughter?” asked Harper.
“Yes, I did.”
Kaz cleared his throat and stepped closer to me. “Calliope, I had no idea you were related to Christoph. I should have seen the connection the night Harper first feathered.”
I pressed my palms to my face and scrubbed, letting my fingers massage my hairline. A headache of epic proportions was brewing behind my forehead. “It’s okay, Kaz.”
“Granddaughter, do you have an extra bedroom I could use?”
I rolled my eyes behind my hands.
“Can you prove you’re related to our mom?” Harper shouldered his younger brother to the side and planted himself in front of Christoph.
My grandfather—the bird-man—stood taller and appraised Harper slowly, from the top of his head to his feet. “For this moment, you will have to take my word, Harper. You have the gift of flight. Would you like to learn how to use the wings that are waiting to break free?”
Harper’s gaze wobbled side to side. He unbuttoned his dress shirt, slid the shirt off his shoulders to his elbows, and turned. “Are you telling me these will turn into wings?”
Christoph took one step closer to Harper, hesitated, then placed his palms and fingers against the reddened area near Harper’s upper spine and the backs of his shoulders. Harp’s chin dropped, tension eased out of his body, and my grandfather closed his eyes and chanted until the follicles disappeared.
“They will turn into wings when you are ready, great-grandson. The choice is yours to make.” He lifted his hands from Harper’s skin and repositioned the shirt over his shoulders. “You should know you are in possession of a rare gift.”
Harper turned and focused on buttoning his shirt. “I’ll take that into consideration,” he said. “Right now, I just…” He pressed his fingertips against his eyes, unable to stop the tears. He shook me off when I reached for his arm and fled to the stairs and the sanctuary of his room.
“Great-grandpa?” Thatch glanced at the ceiling and back to Christoph. “Please don’t leave. You can have my room. Harp’ll be okay. He’s just really kind of fucked up about our Dad right now. And the feathers.” Thatcher wrapped his arms around Christoph’s chest in a quick, tight embrace and ran up the stairs.
“Dad? Papa? I need to talk to Harper before we leave,” said Leilani.
James and Mal nodded.
“James will help me get Josiah and Garnet in their car. We’ll drive them to our house.” Mal turned to me. “Calliope, your house might be the safest place for our daughter tonight. Might Leilani stay here too? James can pick her up in the morning, once I’ve left for Vancouver.”
“Of course,” I said.
“You need a healer here, Calli. I can stay and help,” Rowan said.
I’d forgotten about Rowan. Her warmth and expertise—and friendship—would be a welcome addition.
“Kaz and I can take the night shift,” said Wes. “We’ll repair and strengthen the new wards. But if the old ones truly were made with Meribah’s blood, they’ll continue to recognize her. We’ll have to make removing any vestige of her presence a priority.”
I moved my gaze across everyone circling the table and those in the living room and upstairs. Four teenagers just coming into their magic. Two druids, two and a half witch
es—one of whom was also a healer—a sorcerer, and Christoph, whose magical category was as yet unknown.
My ragtag collection of Magicals. I had sheets and towels enough for everyone and food to last through the next day at the least.
We would get through this.
River and Rose would find Abi and Cliff, Tanner would find the Apple Witch, and somehow, somehow, I would figure out how to keep my sons safe without dimming their potential.
“I’ll put on a pot of coffee,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”
Acknowledgments
Jeni Chappelle, Editor. THANK YOU for guiding me into a new genre with a steady hand; for believing in these characters (especially Calliope); and pushing this conflict-averse writer into finally blowing stuff up. Let’s do that again!
Elizabeth Mackey, Cover Design. Thank you for bringing an important aspect of Calliope’s story to life and for always finding the right balance.
The Beta Belles ~ Leslie Mart, Diane Castro, Kimberley Kennard: Thank you for answering the call with thoughtful comments and suggestions, and for your enthusiastic support. (The next book should be ready soon, so…?)
Raquel Erbach, Graphic Design. Thank you for answering that eleventh hour DM for a simple silhouette of a tree. Besos!
The divas of Romance Chat: Thank you for being endlessly entertaining and supportive, at all hours of the day and night, and for always being willing to hit that ‘Retweet’ button.
About the Author
Coralie Moss loves everyday heroines and complicated witches, layered magic and earthly moments, and will always believe in the power of love. Whether she’s writing Urban Fantasy or Contemporary Romance, her characters get her up in the morning and Assam tea keeps her going. She lives on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia with her HEA, their son, and two globe-trotting rescue cats.