by Lisa Ladew
And in the center of the spiral, what looked like another stump. This one was flat and appeared almost polished on top, as if centuries of rain and wind had worn it smooth. Winding green vines wrapped around its base.
Gemma cleared the awe from her throat and smiled. “Flint? I think you’re going to want to see this. Something followed you home.”
Chapter 33 - A Riot Of Color
Hours later, Gemma looked out the window to one side of Resperanza’s front door. It was almost sunset. Almost showtime.
Goldie turned to Gemma with a worried look. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Cora elbowed Goldie. “That’s my line.”
Gemma broke in. “No! It’s nobody’s line! No puking!”
Goldie looked green, and it wasn’t from any glow. “I can’t believe we’re going to do this. What if we make a mistake?”
Gemma sighed and smiled at her anxious switch sister. “Nobody will know, Goldie. Not even us.” That strange truth seemed to chill Goldie out. She rested her hand on her stomach and turned back to face the front door.
Meanwhile Gemma wasn’t so much in need of a barf bag as she was a mountain of tissues and a large tub of cookies-n-cream ice cream. He’s not going to make it.
They’d kept busy all day, delaying the ceremony, Jameson still texting Riot and calling him every hour, trying to get him to come back to the coven in time. Nobody wanted to do this without him. Even Flint hadn’t said a bad word about Riot all day, though he had growled a few times when the big cat’s name came up.
But they couldn’t wait anymore. Everyone had started to feel the same urgency the lower the sun got, until finally they had all looked at each other and agreed: It was time to become a coven, with Riot or without him. But despite the logic of the choice, Gemma felt like she was abandoning Riot, leaving him behind in a vital way. Her stomach gave a sickening roll at the thought. Maybe I do need that barf bag after all. I bet it’d look fierce tucked next to my knife.
The smile soured on Gemma’s lips. She had been so sure he’d make it back in time. There was a whole shifter ceremony after theirs, and he wasn’t going to be part of it. Maybe we can do it again later, she consoled herself. Regardless, now was go time.
The three switches stepped out the front door and headed for the clearing. Nobody had gone inside the magical spiral until now, but it didn’t appear to have changed. While the whole coven had rushed to get ready, the green magicks had simply hovered, even as their few guests had started to arrive.
Carick had come, of course, and Darby and Bryce had both stomped up from the barracks to sit together. Shiloh sat with Molly, who was beaming with pride. Gemma guessed that Hernando and Ryder, whom she’d yet to meet, had stayed behind at the Bear Claw.
As they walked in a line, one behind the other, it struck Gemma how much this felt like a small backyard wedding. Except three women, not enough men, and no wedding night, she remarked to herself. Not for me, anyway. Her eyes drifted towards the gate and the driveway, hoping she’d see Riot’s bike blazing towards her. No such luck.
When she, Cora, and Goldie reached the clearing, Gemma could see how the magicks that lay just above the grass wound around in a spiral. The three of them followed it, parading with bare feet in smaller and smaller circles. On the last pass they walked by three small boulders placed close to the center, two of them occupied by Jameson and Flint. Gemma couldn’t look at the third.
One last turn and the three of them surrounded the polished wood of the central stump. The base of the wood was so covered with vines, wound tight and close, that Gemma couldn’t see anything but the exposed surface at the top. She gently placed the Keeper’s Book on it, opening to the pages with Cora’s poem. Gemma had written it in English on one page, then on the facing page she’d painstakingly translated it into the language of the Keeper’s Book, which she’d privately started calling Switchish.
She pressed the pages flat and sucked in a breath as she raised her eyes to her sisters’. Goldie and Cora were both smiling back, excitement reflecting in their gazes. Gemma released her breath and smiled back. “Here we go.”
The three of them joined hands and, as they’d agreed, began reciting the poem:
Surest feet and fullest lungs
Sweetest language on our tongues
Covenmates, we'll never part
Joined as sisters, home and heart
Gemma locked eyes with Cora, then Goldie, as they spoke. She felt the energy in the clearing grow, zapping with electricity, the scattered magicks in the grass tickling her bare ankles as Gemma’s voice rose with her sisters’.
Breath of Hope for all the Cause
Snatching fate from fiery jaws
Bound to fight with soul and blade
Beasts that slither in the shade
Sacred mission we embrace
Aiding one still in the race
Once again by blood and spell
Find the treasure of the Well
Gemma had to admit, that bit made her nervous. Fiery jaws? Beasts that slither? Can we not? And all of them agreed they had no idea what the “treasure of the Well” was, much less how to find it.
But as she looked at the two women chanting with her, lending their breath to the fight, Gemma was filled with hope. A tangible hope, pushing at her ribs and lungs with the desire to break out, to fulfill its purpose. We can do this. Correction: Only we can do this. Gemma smiled and squeezed her sisters’ hands as their voices rose, and her hope soared with the final lines.
Trained to strike a savage blow
Fate would have our numbers grow
Calling all our sisters home
Bond, Belief, Blood, and Bone
Their chanting stopped and there was absolute silence in the clearing as Gemma, Cora, and Goldie held their hands cupped together in front of them, touching at the sides, and gently blew into their upraised palms.
Gemma’s fellow switches had shown her how to make the little balls of Breath magic that they used to knock vampires off-balance or, in Goldie’s case, bounce her clumsy self back to standing. But what they created now was unlike anything Gemma had seen before. And by the looks on their faces, neither had Cora and Goldie.
It was big, first of all. Big as a beach ball and steadily expanding, filling the space of their joined hands. It was also the most beautiful blend of their three colors; from Cora’s sage green to Goldie’s shamrock, and Gemma’s lime green swirling in to greet them. They moved and danced, like visible air currents, staying separate from each other but so closely entwined, it was hard to see where one color ended and the next began. Gemma could feel the power of it, the buzz in her fingertips that made her want to grab the ball of magicks and bounce it, play with it. She smiled and glanced to Cora, saw her grinning back, then at Goldie, who had tears in her eyes and a soft smile on her face.
Then, as if responding to their joy, the ball swelled. As Gemma watched, the sphere of green electricity grew so much that it passed the barrier of their hands and started to move up their arms. Gemma watched it come closer in fascination. Surging past her elbows, and so tall now that it was right in front of her nose. What will happen when it reaches my head?
She got her answer, the swirling translucent wall of color feeling like a tickle when it touched her nose and then like warm water splashed all over her face. Soothing her, energizing and delighting her. Gemma laughed out loud and heard it echo inside the bubble of their magicks.
She took her first breath inside the sphere and Gemma’s eyes shot wide. Is that me? Is that what I smell like? Riot had told her she scented like green apples and lime, and that was what Gemma smelled. Sweet and tart, sour and bright; it was exactly the sort of fragrance she would pick for a body wash at the drugstore.
Gemma turned towards Goldie and breathed again. She smelled herbs. Basil, rosemary, thyme; like the corner of the courtyard where Flint picked stems to add to dinner. Another breath, in Cora’s direction, and Gemma smelled green meadow grass fro
m the highest peaks of the mountains, where it’s just you and the clouds. She smiled at her sisters, at their joined hands. Magic.
A surge of power entered Gemma. It started behind her breastplate and pushed her shoulders back, making them feel broad and sturdy, though a glance to either side proved that nothing had visibly changed. Her neck seemed to lengthen, her chin to raise, her lungs to fill with life-giving breath.
Gemma recognized the feeling. She’d felt its pale shadow twelve years ago when she’d fought her way back from the effects of Shain’s attack. She was becoming a warrior. But deeper this time. Harder. Through and through and forever.
And it wasn’t over yet. Their ball of Breath magicks had grown large enough to contain all three switches as well as the stump holding the Keeper’s Book. As Gemma watched, the stump began to transform.
Tightly-wound vines loosened, peeling back from ancient wood and exposing some of the most elaborate carving Gemma had ever seen. Eyes, claws, paws, knives; she couldn’t see much from her angle but she could see enough to know what it was. It’s us. The Covens. Switches and shifters tangled together in a fight we won’t ever surrender.
Vegetation gone, the stump wasn’t a stump at all but a podium, ceremonial and sacred. The green magicks from the grass started to crawl up the carved wood, seeping into the spaces and valleys, wrapping themselves around the whole of it and even to the edges of the pages of the Keeper’s Book. Gemma didn’t know why, but she had the sudden urge to snatch the Keeper’s Book from the magicks’ grasp.
Green light shot from the center of the book, right through it without causing any harm at all. Wind blew the center pages, the two translations of Cora’s poem, tight together, so they almost appeared fused. The vellum whipped this way and that so wildly, Gemma was scared it would be ripped out.
And the wind was whipping at them, too. Inside the bubble of their magicks the three switches were enduring a tiny hurricane, hair and clothing snatched with the currents in shades of lime, shamrock, and sage that raced around them. Their cupped hands were still joined over the Keeper’s Book. Gemma couldn’t tear her eyes away.
The pages started flipping, back and forth, front to back, stressing the binding as Gemma watched. The writing inside started to glow. All different colors. Green, blue, purple, pink, orange, with swirls of black that seemed to float to the surface before being pulled back into the pages again.
Gemma squinted. Were the letters… changing? It was hard to see in all the movement, but she would swear they were. Morphing and moving and rearranging and how was she ever going to know what it used to say if it didn’t say it anymore? How was she going to get back everything she hadn’t translated yet? Sudden panic rose up again. No! We have to stop this!
And quick as that, it stopped itself.
The winds stopped whipping and the ball of electricity receded, and in what had to be less than a second, far too fast for Gemma to react, it was all gone. Just like it had never been there.
But the book! Gemma pulled her hands away from her sisters’ and snatched at the Keeper’s Book, checking familiar pages to make sure they still said the same thing they used to. By this time Gemma knew the translation so well it practically read to her like English.
Goldie peered over Gemma’s shoulder and gasped. “I can read it!”
Gemma glanced at Goldie in confusion, then back at the book. It’s not just me? Cora came in from the other side. “Holy shit, I can, too!”
Before Gemma could blink, Jameson was at Cora’s side, his eyes wide as he stared at the book. The Keeper blew out a breath through puffed cheeks, and Gemma could swear she saw a century’s worth of worry leave his shoulders. Without a word Cora wrapped her arms around his middle, tucking her head under his chin.
Gemma glanced at the empty third boulder beside where Jameson and Flint had been sitting, then turned her attention back to the next matter at hand. No sense delaying a pain you know is coming. She cleared her throat and met Jameson’s eye. “You and Flint ready for your part?”
Jameson’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. “Only Aven can get through.”
Aven was watching the gold mine. Which could mean they were all about to go stick some vampires. Which could mean Riot gets another chance! Gemma was exhilarated, and terrified, at the idea of taking on a whole nest. How many bloodsuckers could they take out? Would anyone get hurt? How could she make sure that Riot heard in time to join them, and how on earth could she want him in harm’s way? That Gemma’s feelings were extreme didn’t make them less true, she would much rather kill vampires with Riot than hold this ceremony without him.
All eyes locked on Jameson as he swiped the screen of his phone and put it to his ear. “What’ve you got?” Piercing blue eyes sharpened. J looked at Cora. Nodded somberly.
Cora’s fingers drifted to the weapon at her waist and she turned to Gemma and Goldie with fire in her eyes. “Ladies,” she said, and smiled wickedly. “Looks like it's time to put on our killing shoes.”
Chapter 34 - The Riot Police
Riot finished hanging the new screen door on his mother’s front porch and stood back, slapping his hands on his jeans to brush away the dust. “All done.”
Blossom Cofield stepped out onto the porch with a tray in her tan, well-worn hands, two glasses of a light purple, iced liquid and a plate of cookies resting on it. Her long black hair, generously shot through with silver, cascaded over the shoulders of her blousey blue dress. “Lovely, dear. Now come sit down, you’ve been working nonstop since you got here yesterday.”
That was the idea. Do some good for once. He sat down next to his mother on the porch swing and picked up a glass, looking at it sideways. “What the hell, Ma? Purple?”
His mother waved a hand at him. “Try it, you'll like it. It’s lavender lemonade. Might even calm your nerves.”
Riot took a sip and grimaced. “I don’t need to calm my nerves, Ma. I’m fine.”
Blossom sipped her own glass with a knowing look. “Mmmhmm. Because you always show up and fix everything in the house when you’re doing fine.”
Riot flushed with guilt. So much for not being a disappointment. “I’m sorry. I know I should come around more.”
His mother sighed and changed the subject. “Any news from Faith and Baker?”
Great Cat. Riot shook his head. “Not that I know of.” Blossom looked at him with raised eyebrows. What? He mumbled a white lie. “It’s not like I see them around town, Ma.” Because he didn't. I only see them at their place.
Blossom made a thoughtful noise and sipped her lemonade. “Is that right?”
Riot froze. What is she getting at? “Yeah, why?”
His mother’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, but her eyes gleamed with gotcha. “It just doesn't explain why I always hear Baker asking his mother if it’s you when I call them every Sunday.” Her mouth curved and she joked, “I’m surprised the poor child even knows your name, the way you tell it.”
Riot’s mouth went dry. “Every Sunday, huh?”
His mother just pinned him with that shrewd smile, the only thing Riot had ever feared from her as a teen because it meant he was about to get his ass handed to him. Shit! How much does she fucking know? He cleared his throat and stuttered out an explanation. “Okay, so I… I help them out, but…“
Yeah. Awesome job. That’ll throw her right off the scent. But Blossom seemed to take it all in stride, winding her hand in a circle as if moving him along. “But it’s illegal, so you’re covering everybody’s ass but your own. Uh-huh, I get it. How are things going with The Cause?”
Another sip of lemonade and a piercing stare from his mother’s green eyes, and Riot knew beyond a doubt that he was busted. Why did I even come here? I should have known.
But that was bullshit. He knew as well as Blossom did that her dogged digging was exactly the reason he had come. Whenever Riot was knee-deep in shit, nobody called him on it like his mom. And nobody else had ever stood the stench long enough to help hi
m clean it up, either.
Except Gemma. She helped. And you walked out on her for it.
And that was the thought that broke him. After more than a week of holding it in, turning it off, Riot couldn’t do it anymore. He set his feet on the ground to stop the swing, put his glass on the tray, and let his head and shoulders hang. “I fucked it all up, Ma.”
He heard the clink of Blossom setting her glass down, too, then her cool hand on the back of his neck. She didn’t say anything, just kept her hand there until Riot took a deep breath and sat up straight, his legs pushing the swing into motion again. “I left the Cause.”
Blossom’s voice was all confusion. “You what? But Faith said…” He looked at her with raised eyebrows and she stopped, looking momentarily embarrassed. Oh yeah, what did Faith say? What’ve I been busting my ass to keep secret that you’ve known all along? But then Blossom just shrugged and kept on, as if invoking a mother’s right to be a busybody. “Faith called me the other day and said The Cause had shown up at her doorstep, offering to help.”
Riot ground his teeth some more, pushing the swing a little harder than it needed. “Technically.”
His mother made a tetchy sound. “You are worse than your father, you know that?”
Riot whipped his head around to face his mother, her mouth pursed with impatience as she lit into him. “You think just because you’re a cat, that everyone believes you can only be one kind of man, and you’re so busy fighting that you don’t see that nobody could ever accuse you of it, anyway!”
Her expression turned pleading. “You’re a good man, Riot. More than good enough for The Cause. Why don’t you see that?”
Riot couldn’t answer. His mother might be right about The Cause, but she didn’t know about Gemma. Didn’t know how badly it hurt him to be around her, to be fucking heartbound to her, knowing that he could never be who she wanted or needed. Riot could never make Gemma as happy as he wanted her to be, but he was dying at the thought of watching her be happy with someone else.