by Sara M Zerig
Lee snorted. “Witches do not miscarry.”
“Rarely, but it can happen.”
“No. I will not be a part of this.”
“Think of the possibilities, Lee! We can raise her ourselves.”
“Where?” he sneered. “Earthen Realm?”
“Yes! I’ll cloak her with my magic.”
“Your magic?”
Now she was just being delusional. Char’s “magic” largely relied on herbs and crystals. Her spells were no match for a shifter’s magic, let alone a witch’s or warlock’s. He half-expected her to defend her talents, but she didn’t.
“I have enough to obscure what no one is looking for.”
“And if she is sensed?”
“The Earthen Realm is a big place,” Char pointed out. “But we can sense other magic people, too. If they find us, we will know.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll handle it.”
Lee shook his head resolutely. Her lust for power was diminishing her common sense. “No.”
“Think, Lee! We can use her powers to reclaim what our ancestors lost!”
“Our ancestors? I am a shifter. I have a home.”
“You are a commoner!” Char tossed back at him. “You cannot walk away from us now.”
“You return the witch, or I will. Choose.”
Char lifted her chin at that. “You think you can just waltz into the Coven Realm with a stolen baby and keep your head? They will kill you on sight. Seth too.”
Seth’s eyes went wide. “Mom?”
Lee hesitated. “He is a child.”
“Your child. Not theirs. You think they will have the presence of mind to take pity on him, after their own child was just taken? And after we are all gone, what will this do to the peace between the realms?”
“I had nothing—”
“And why should they believe that?” Char taunted.
“Then I will take you and the baby,” Lee threatened, taking a menacing step toward her.
Char stood her ground. “And I will take you and Seth down with me. I’ll have nothing left to lose.”
“Mom?” Seth prompted again.
“Quiet, Seth,” she quipped, pushing the basket with her foot toward Lee in a challenge. “Your move, wolf.”
Lee gritted growing fangs as he seriously contemplated killing the woman where she stood. As much as he hated to admit Char was right, the St. Cyrs would want to know who had brought her to their realm. The only way to convince them it wasn’t him would be to give up Seth.
When Lee said nothing, Char snatched up the basket. “Come, Seth.”
“Seth stays.”
It was a terrible idea; Lee knew it the second the words left his mouth. Seth showing up out of nowhere would arouse suspicion. His people would want to know who the mother was and where they had been all these years. There would be more questions than Lee had answers.
Char picked up on Lee’s instant regret and bowed her head in mock deference. “Suit yourself.”
Char transferred away without so much as a hug, a touch of the shoulder, or even a simple goodbye for their son. Heartless bitch, Lee thought. He found Seth silently observing him, no doubt guessing at Lee’s misgivings over taking him in. He was a bright kid.
“The band of realmless in the Earthen Realm—the one you told me about last year—what was their leader’s name?”
“James.”
That’s right, Lee recalled, James. A good male and an accomplished carpenter, James and his crew toured the world taking odd construction jobs. Always looking to grow the group, the realmless leader would no doubt take Seth in. Being separated from his mother and constantly on the move in the Earthen Realm was the safest bet for Seth now.
“We will find him. He will take care of you.”
“Can’t I just stay with you?” Seth asked, the slightest of quivers in his young voice.
“No. It is not safe.”
“What if they come looking for me?” Seth probed. “The St. Cyrs?”
Lee thought on that. He hadn’t the gift of eloquence that Char had. Even if he could find the perfect words to reassure him, he could not in good conscience tell the child that he was not in danger. He waved toward the bed, and Seth sat down.
“Keep away from your mother, always. Keep moving in the Earthen Realm. It is the best way.”
Seth seemed to understand. He nodded sadly, but there were no tears. “You can sleep here tonight,” Lee told him. “We will look for James in the morning.”
Seth scooted into the bed and pulled the covers to his chin. Lee paced the inside of his cave long after the boy fell asleep. If the St. Cyrs did believe the loss to be from miscarriage, there was still a chance that Seth could avoid the consequences of his mother’s actions. There would be no inquiry into his or Lee’s role. No friction between the otherwise amicable realms … for now.
He moved to the small wood table and pawed at the skin he kept filled with liquor. Thank the ancestors, there was plenty left. This was a day Lee was ready to forget.
Chapter One
Twenty Years Later
Scan the files, shred the files, show the new guy his temporary desk … Chloe could probably knock all that out within the next hour and leave on time. She was just a volunteer at the youth center a few times a week while she attended the local college. No one expected her to put in extra hours, but Chloe didn’t like to leave until everything on her list was done. If the new counselor showed up on time, it was all doable.
At a population of about 400,000 people, Mountain Springs was a respectably sized city in Colorado that prided itself on its small-town feel. It was a short twenty-minute drive from the outskirts of “the Springs,” as the locals called it, into the winding roads of the Rocky Mountain range. Chloe had been raised here, and like the other citizens, she was concerned with the recent wave of teen suicides in their community.
The county had an aggressive outreach plan to provide enough counselors to talk with families and friends of the victims. They needed all the help they could get. The new guy they were expecting, Mr. Carter, was a counselor from a public high school in Arizona. His school had agreed to loan him to their neighboring state mid-semester.
Chloe thought it was admirable that he would come all this way to help. She hoped he’d be comfortable in the tiny office he’d been assigned on the top floor of the three-story building, where Chloe assisted the counselors and office manager. There was nothing remarkable about the structure of the youth center, inside or out. It was a square, tan-brick building with zero curb appeal. Fluorescent lighting in rectangle panels along the ceiling revealed the heavy traffic stains of the gray carpet. The taupe walls sported an occasional public announcement poster.
As if kids aren’t already depressed when they get here, she remembered thinking on her first day. But it wasn’t the building that would reach these kids; it was the people. People who wanted to help them, even before they had met them. People who understood that no human being could survive without the care of others. People like Chloe.
Charitable work had been a core value in her home. Her adoptive parents, the affable Alan and Margie Saville, were always doing something to help the community. They hadn’t the wealth to throw money at their favorite charities, but they had taught Chloe that planting trees, collecting canned goods, and donating one’s time could go a long way.
Volunteering at the youth center was a push-pull, love-hate endeavor for Chloe. She was equal parts drawn to help and overwhelmed by it all, so she limited her schedule to two or three days a week, taking on the menial office work so that the counselors could focus on the kids. She wasn’t a counselor, but she could see things the counselors couldn’t see.
It wasn’t that Chloe could read minds, but she had more than an instinct when it came to people in emotional pain—maybe a limited sixth sense. Visions of the suffering person’s past would pop into her brain. She experienced the memory from their perspective and could
feel their emotions. The severity of the event and the clarity of the images varied, but the underlying message was essentially the same: This happened to me, and I just can’t let it go.
She could also probe for the visions, if she wanted, but given the seriously messed up stuff she had seen over the years, she didn’t, as a general rule. As it was, she was physically and emotionally affected by what she was shown. The accompanying nausea and headache usually subsided within an hour or so, but the emotions took longer to shake. Chloe’s post-vision “medicine kit” was a playlist of upbeat music and a stash of romcom DVDs.
Chloe figured out early in life that the visions weren’t normal and never confided in anyone about them. Partly because she felt strongly that she shouldn’t and partly because she just wanted to blend in with everyone else. That wasn’t too hard to do, unless someone looked too closely into her eyes.
To the casual observer, her eyes looked deep green, but up close, they were all black with emerald flecks. The pediatrician thought it unusual but determined her vision was fine. In grade school, kids who got too close asked her what was wrong with them. By middle school, the rumor started that she wore colored contacts, and it was easy to let everyone believe that.
Chloe’s best friend and roommate, Nikki, was of the opinion that Chloe should own her unusual eyes. Double up the mascara and work those psychedelic bad boys, Nikki had said. This from someone who commanded attention by merely breathing.
Chloe wasn’t an attention seeker. She kept her circle small: Nikki, her parents, and a group of friends she mostly saw on campus. She couldn’t help that her eyes were strange, and she couldn’t control the visions, but she could keep the rest of her life ordinary.
A thwump sound drew Chloe’s attention from the stack of folders to a chair in the reception area. Dante situated himself in the chair closest to the desk but kept his eyes on the off-brand MP3 player in his hands. A loner among loners, Dante needed more than someone to talk to. He needed a shower, clean clothes, and a good dentist. Chloe hadn’t had any visions on his story yet but could guess that neglect was at the heart of it.
“Hey, Dante.”
Dante nodded, turning up the music so loud that even Chloe could hear the techno tunes coursing through the earbuds. She knew he wasn’t a bad kid. If the visions had taught her anything, it was that most people were just dealing with their own mess the best way they knew how. Dante stopped the music then, as if she’d voiced her thoughts. There was a hint of an apology in his bloodshot eyes.
“I just feel better when I sit here,” Dante announced loudly, even though it was only the two of them in the reception area.
“I’m not tryna bug you,” he went on, talking into the space before him. “I don’t want nothin’ from you. I just … I feel better … when I sit here.”
Usually people felt better after talking to her. Chloe didn’t understand how he could feel better, with everything bottled up inside him. He really should talk to someone, she thought.
The image of a man flashed in her mind. Dressed in a worn-out suit and tie, he was looking away from her, tired, disengaged … ill. Dante was small by comparison, looking up at the man from the ground. Chloe felt sadness wash over her—a longing for the man’s affection that she somehow knew she would never receive. An image of a tombstone surfaced and then vanished.
The vision was gone, and Chloe realized Dante hadn’t returned to listening to his music. His eyes were fixed on the wall across the room. She made a concerted effort to move on from what she had seen and felt.
“That’s fine,” she assured him.
Dante nodded to himself and started the music again. They sat in a companionable silence for a half hour while she worked. Then, without a word, he got up and left.
“Bye, Dante,” Chloe called behind him, knowing he wouldn’t respond.
The elevator doors pinged, Dante stepped on, and a man stepped off. Chloe’s pulse quickened. Her feet felt rooted to the floor.
There he is: your soul mate.
The whispered declaration in her mind was startling. Visions she was used to, but hearing voices was new, and that was not her conscience. She was certain of it. Her conscience would speak in the first person.
Pacing forward with a box of supplies in his hands, the man was busy taking in his surroundings. Chloe took advantage of being unnoticed and drank in the sight of him. He was just over six feet tall and in his late twenties. Thick black hair fell in waves away from his tanned face. He had a strong jawline and high cheekbones. His frame was leanly muscular. The white polo shirt he wore displayed well-defined biceps.
When he spotted Chloe, he stiffened, staring back at her with deep brown eyes.
He feels it too, the feminine voice whispered.
“Shush!”
His mocha eyes turned quizzical.
“Oh no, not you, I was—”
What could she say? She was shushing the voice in her head that said he was her soul mate? The absurdity of that made her want to laugh, which would only serve to embarrass her further. Chloe closed her eyes a moment to regain control and then stood to introduce herself.
“I’m sorry. My mind was somewhere else. You must be Mr. Carter?”
He shuffled the box to secure it under one arm and reached a hand out to hers. “Call me Ritt.”
His hand was warm, calloused. It slipped over hers easily. His voice was low with a mild edge to it—not quite raspy, not totally clear.
“Chloe Saville,” she introduced, trying to ignore the fact that he was holding her hand. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “I’m the show you around.”
Wait. No, that wasn’t right. His eyes lit up in amusement, but he said nothing. And he was holding her hand.
“I mean, I’m supposed to volunteer.”
Nope. That wasn’t it either. He raised an eyebrow, was still holding her hand. Chloe stammered, “I don’t—that’s not what I meant.”
Finally, and probably out of sheer pity, he said, “You’re the volunteer who’s supposed to show me around.”
“Yep.” She pulled her hand from his. “Yes—you got it. That was a test. You passed.”
He chuckled. It was a comforting sound she instantly wanted to hear again. And it put her at ease, a little. “I’ll show you to your desk.”
Chloe admonished herself silently. What am I, twelve? Even at twelve I had more control over myself than this!
Told you.
SHUSH!!!
Ritt followed the petite, athletically built blonde back to a coat closet-sized office. She chattered and gestured to a couple of doors as they went, telling him who worked there. But only one name stuck with him: Chloe.
When Ritt was approached about going to Colorado, he had every reason to decline. It wasn’t as though there weren’t plenty of counselors and counselors-in-training in Colorado. This was more about the principal at his school being good friends with the director of the youth center here. A magnanimous gesture on the principal’s part, without the old man having to lift a finger himself.
Ritt was content in Arizona. His family, blood and non-blood, lived there. He enjoyed his job, even though it paid next to nothing. He didn’t need much. There had really been no good reason to leave, however temporarily. Now, though, Ritt couldn’t shake the feeling that Chloe was the reason he was here. And that was … complicated.
Chloe paused her speech, meeting his gaze again with those unreal black-green eyes of hers. Then she stepped away and looked to the floor, as if she didn’t want him to notice—as if he could somehow not notice, standing so close to her. Ritt attempted to make conversation.
“Are you attending school here?”
Chloe nodded.
“Did you grow up in Mountain Springs?”
“Born and raised.”
“Where are your parents from?”
“Here. Why?” she asked, as though she thought the question was odd.
Because you’re not like me, and you don’t s
mell human, either, Ritt thought. He held himself in check. He couldn’t just interrogate the young female. He kept his tone mildly curious. “Who did you get those eyes from?”
Chloe blushed, and Ritt realized too late he had embarrassed her by asking.
“Contacts,” she muttered, uncommitted to the lie. “I’ll let you get settled. Let me know if you need anything.”
Chloe made a hasty departure, and Ritt tracked her by ear: down the hallway, a drawer opening and closing at the reception desk, the ping of the elevator, the elevator door closing. He heard her heart pounding the whole way. Ritt sat back on the desk, feeling like he’d just been ambushed. Fucking greeeat.
Chloe had steadfastly refused to put on mascara or curl her shoulder-length, platinum hair. She only did those things when she went out, and today she was just volunteering. The fact that Ritt would be there didn’t matter. Well, it did, but it shouldn’t. The black, slim-cut pants and peach, lace-trimmed, cap-sleeved blouse she wore was a flattering outfit but one she had worn to the center before. That was acceptable.
Three days had passed since she had first met Ritt. She spent those days thinking of him or wondering about the voice in her head that she hadn’t heard since. The voice should have been the more disturbing part of that whole experience. It wasn’t.
Her internal struggle was annoying. At least it was a private struggle, unless that other voice in her head was listening in. Chloe hadn’t shared any of this with Nikki. She knew what her bestie’s advice would be: Go for it!
Chloe had already decided that would be a bad idea. A relationship with Ritt was sheer fantasy. He was, for all of Chloe’s intents and purposes, unattainable. There would be no lasting relationship with an older man that lived in another state. And Chloe was not a one-night stand, or even a multi-night stand, kind of girl. She was technically still a virgin, although she had come close to giving it up to her high school boyfriend a few times.
So standing near Ritt made her pulse race, so what? He was hot. She was likely one of many girls who got all starry-eyed and loopy at the sight of him. Probably, half the students he counseled in Arizona were love-sick teenage girls with fictitious problems. Chloe’s crush on Ritt was nothing special.