When news spread about her soft spot for the wolves, Ben was quick to point out the stone’s ability to protect against poisoning too, something she was more grateful for, now that she’d been bitten. The bite still hurt like hell, and the silver dressings weren’t helping with the infection as much as she thought they would, but at least she wouldn’t be sprouting fur any time soon. She had enough inner demons to contend with.
The bell above Ben’s door jingled as Zelda entered his shop, and the smell of old books and burning incense engulfed her. Shelves reached up to the ceiling, holding rows of leather volumes and wicker baskets stuffed with various goods. A curtain in the back corner had been tied off, giving a glimpse of a small, round table featuring a crystal ball. A psychic rented the spare room and did readings during weekends.
Ben looked up from the front counter, his eyes twinkling over his low spectacles. “Good morning, my dear. Shopping for a new stone today?”
Zelda smiled and fingered through a spinning rack of boxed incense sticks. “Just a few herbs.”
“Are you sure?” Ben found his cane and stood with a grunt. He hobbled over to the display case of crystals and gemstones, keys jingling in his free hand. “I just got a new lump of barite in—a real dandy. The Native Americans used it for shapeshifting, but it’s also good for healing and enhancing memory.”
Zelda bristled. “I don’t need help with memory. But thank you,” she added, noting Ben’s disappointment. “I could use some belladonna though.”
He frowned. “Having trouble sleeping? The amethyst should be helping with that. Maybe it needs a salt cleanse.”
“It’s for a patient,” Zelda said.
As far as Ben knew, she was a run-of-the-mill doctor who dabbled in holistic treatments.
Ben pulled a basket down from a shelf behind the display case and shuffled through its contents, squinting through his glasses to read the labels.
Zelda took an anxious breath. “I also need black hellebore, celandine, and a bundle of asafetida.”
Ben froze and looked up at her slowly. “For your patient too?” His eyes narrowed, daring her to lie a second time.
Zelda shrugged. “My new friends have enemies, and now they’ve become my enemies.”
Ben set the basket on the counter. “There are better herbs for that—if you’re just fixing tea.” He raised a shaggy gray eyebrow. “But you’re not having a tea party, are you?”
Zelda folded her arms. “Do you interrogate all of your customers about the things they buy?”
“Just the ones I care about.” Ben sighed and fished through his baskets until he found everything she had requested. He slid the bags of herbs across the counter toward her. “On the house,” he said, just as she reached for her pocket.
His sincerity stabbed at her conscious, but Zelda refused to spill her secrets. As nice as Ben was, she hardly knew him, and living in Spero Heights meant that he had a secret of his own. Maybe they would eventually sit down over tea and trade tales, but not today.
“Thank you,” Zelda said, taking the herbs. “If you still have that barite next week, I’ll come take a closer look.”
“I’ll do you one better.” Ben twisted his keys in the display case lock, and the door popped open. He scooped up a peach colored stone and pressed it in Zelda’s blistered hand. It was heavier than it looked. She held back a gasp and gave him a pained smile.
Ben’s eyes were still full of questions, but he kept them to himself this time. “Take it for a test drive.”
Chapter Fifteen
Logan woke to the sound of a door closing. He was alone in Zelda’s bed, faint light from the hallway shining down on the spot where she had been. He sat up with a start, his heart leaping with panic, then he heard her stirring in the apartment.
“I brought coffee,” she greeted him as he came into her small kitchen.
Logan blinked at the harsh florescent lights. The studio apartments, having once been projection rooms, didn’t feature windows. The lack of natural lighting made it feel like they were in a basement, not three stories up.
He yawned and trained his eyes on Zelda as she unpacked one of the shopping bags on the kitchen table.
“You’ve been busy this morning. Feeling better?”
“Much.” She smiled, but there was a tightness around her eyes. “Thank you for watching over me last night, Logan.”
He snorted softly. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you say my name instead of Theo’s.”
Zelda’s fragile smile crumbled and her eyes went wide. “I am so sorry, Logan—”
“No, you were sick.” He shook his head. “You weren’t in your right mind. Think nothing of it.”
Zelda smiled again, but it looked even more forced than before. She handed him a paper cup of coffee and turned away from him, digging through another bag on the table.
“I have some things I have to do today, and then Phil is supposed to be coming over to bid the place.”
Logan took a long drink of coffee and then sat down at the tiny kitchen table. His massive frame made the furniture look like it belonged in a preschool classroom, but there wasn’t much room for anything bigger. The studio apartments were functional, not comfortable.
“What can I do to help?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his short hair.
Zelda bit her lip and frowned, as if she was trying to think of a polite way to tell him to piss off.
Logan locked eyes with her. “I’m not leaving your side until this Raymore business is cleared up.”
She gave him a cocky grin. “I can take care of myself, sweetie. I just went out and fetched coffee without a bodyguard, didn’t I?”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “And you Zeused the shit out of that mutant bastard yesterday too. But you also got yourself bit—attempting to do the very thing I’d just told you not to,” he finished with a growl.
Zelda threw her hands in the air. “What was I supposed to do? Just ignore the naked body on my lawn?”
“You should have waited for me to check on him.” Logan slammed his fist on the table, causing her to jump.
Zelda blushed, as if embarrassed she’d shown some sign of fear around him. “Waiting for you to check out every potential patient is not a reasonable option. A lot of these wolves need immediate attention, or they’ll die.” Logan opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “—and so help me, if you suggest I should let them, I will Zeus the shit out of you,” she snapped.
Logan huffed and leaned back in his chair. “I’m still not going anywhere. You’re being targeted, and I won’t feel right leaving you here alone until Phil has that security system in place.”
“Fine,” she snapped.
“Fine.” Logan folded his arms. “So what are we doing today?”
“We aren’t doing anything. I’ll be performing a ritual, in the woods at the edge of town.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Zelda glared at him. “Fine,” she snapped again. “Just stay out of my way and be quiet. This ritual is sensitive. I can’t have you distracting me.”
She sat down across from him, and they finished their coffee in silence. The caffeine seemed to improve both of their moods, and by the time they left, Zelda actually let him carry some of her supplies. Although, that might have only been because she had so many.
“What do you need all of this for? Can’t you just wiggle your nose to cast a spell, like Samantha?” Logan grumbled.
Zelda took a basket of herbs and stones from him and loaded it into the cab of the truck. “I said I was doing a ritual, not a spell.”
“What’s the difference?” he asked, climbing in the driver’s side.
“A spell is like a prayer. A ritual amplifies it.” Zelda climbed inside the truck and slammed her door.
The sun was bright in the clear sky, quickly sucking up the moisture from the storm. The grass was greener and the birds more vocal, as if to say that spring was coming one way or another. Everyone’s problems be damned.
Logan drove them the two miles to the stretch of woods Zelda’s wolves liked to frequent. It was rocky, and there wasn’t a lot of room to cut loose and run. Still, there was a nice creek on the property. It ran past a grassy clearing, where Zelda decided she wanted to have the ritual.
“What should I do?” Logan asked, setting the rest of the supplies in the grass.
“Take a nap?” Zelda shrugged. “I don’t care. Just don’t talk to me, and try to stay out of my line of sight.”
Logan rolled his eyes and backed up to the edge of the woods around the clearing, where he found a fallen tree and sat down to wait. Zelda glanced nervously over her shoulder at him a few times, but he behaved, remaining perfectly still and quiet.
First she walked in a wide circle, several times, humming softly as she sprinkled salt and placed rocks and candles on the ground. She struck a match and lit the candles, setting fire to a small cluster of herbs when she was done. Then she followed the circle again, waving the smoky bundle in the air.
Logan breathed deep and caught the stench of sage, mixed with something even worse. Like someone had wiped out a sweaty armpit with a gym sock. He felt bile rise at the back of his throat and tried to breathe through his mouth. He wasn’t sure how Zelda was still conscious, as close as she was to the source.
When his eyes stopped watering, he watched as she stacked three stone slabs—the heaviest of her supplies—creating a low table in the center of the circle. Then she knelt before it and pulled out a bronze bowl.
Her lips began moving again, but Logan couldn’t make out the words. They whispered over the grass, sounding foreign and threatening as they bounced off the trees and surrounded him. From his angle to Zelda, he caught a glimpse of her left eye and shuddered. It glowed a soft blue, the same color her lightning had been.
She lifted a small knife and slicked it across the palm of her injured hand, letting her blood drip into the bowl. Then she added herbs and other things Logan didn’t recognize, her mouth still moving the entire time.
A high pitched ringing buzzed through the air, growing louder and louder. Logan couldn’t recall when it had begun, but it was starting to split his skull in two. He ground his teeth together and pressed his hands over his ears.
When he looked back up, blue smoke drifted from the bronze bowl. And Zelda was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
Zelda hadn’t counted on the grand jury of the goddess. She should have known better. The cut on her hand stung, and her blood dripped and disappeared into the glowing nothingness that surrounded her.
“You dare to call on us again, oath breaker?” a million voices asked at once, making her head throb.
Zelda swallowed. “Not for myself,” she answered meekly.
“Always for yourself,” the voices replied. “Have you not learned that yet?”
Zelda wanted to refute them, but she couldn’t. In their presence, she saw the truth for what it was. Everything she did was for herself. Even the wolves she helped—it was all done in penance, to pacify her guilt.
“Tell me what to do,” she begged, her eyes burning in the divine light.
“Sacrifice. It is the only way to right your path.”
Zelda took a trembling breath. “I’m yours to do with as you please.”
“You are your own, and time will reveal your altar soon enough. Make peace with it, or never call on us again, Zelda Mae Fulmen.”
“I will,” she promised.
“Then let it be done. Blessed be.”
The voices faded off, and Zelda felt the pull of her ritual circle tugging at her aura. The spell surged forward more easily than she expected.
First, her connection with Hazel released. It was an easy, comfortable detachment, as if the witch had been anticipating her psychic visit and had prepared for it. Then Maggie’s tangle of blond curls flashed through Zelda’s mind, accompanied by a sharp gasp.
Sarah was last. She felt Zelda coming, and she resisted. Steely gray eyes pierced into Zelda’s as Sarah’s hot anger boiled over. A scream echoed through the void that separated them. Zelda’s final tie to the coven broke like a rubber band, and she dropped to the center of the ritual circle, panting until her chest and throat burned.
Her eyes watered and a sob slipped past her lips. Two years, yet the severance ritual left her feeling raw and vulnerable, as if she was really, truly alone now, without a soul in the world to lean on.
“Zee, are you all right?” Logan paced nervously around the circle, looking frazzled and confused. “Do you need help?”
“No,” she wheezed, pulling herself into a sitting position. “I’m almost done here.” She wiped a hand across her face and picked at the grass clinging to her dreadlocks.
“You sure?” Logan pressed a fist into his opposite palm and squeezed it anxiously.
She nodded and used the altar to steady herself as she stood. “Give me five minutes.”
Zelda walked counterclockwise around the circle, thanking the elements and snubbing the candles out. When the circle was open, she invited Logan in, but he refused to enter the formerly sacred space. Zelda rolled her eyes and handed the altar slabs to him. Then she packed up the rest of her supplies, and they headed back to the pub.
The Crimson Moon was closed on Mondays, but it was almost lunch time, and her wolves liked to gather in the big back kitchen to eat together on their day off. Logan never joined them, and Zelda wondered if he even knew about their weekly potluck. He was in for a surprise.
Chapter Seventeen
The kitchen was warm with the aroma of smoked meat and barbeque marinades, making Logan’s stomach growl. He was used to a big breakfast, and the coffee had been a poor substitute, especially so close to a full moon. He envisioned taking down a fat deer later that night, and his mouth watered.
Country music seeped from a beat-up radio on the counter, sputtering static when Zelda walked past it to peek inside the big oven built into the wall. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smells rolling out to greet her.
Violet stood at the stove, wearing a frilly apron over her black skinny jeans and cut-off tee shirt. She waved her spatula and gave Logan a lopsided smile. “Looks like we’ll be settin’ two extra places. Nick’s moving around better today,” she said.
It took Logan a second to remember that Nick was the boy Zelda had patched up a couple of nights before. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the kid, and with the recent events, his suspicious nature went into overdrive.
“What’s all this?” he asked, noticing the plates spaced around the table.
“It’s Monday,” Grant said, coming through the back door with a pot of baked beans. He set them on the table and then held the door open for Charlie, who carried in a cookie sheet covered in bratwursts and meatballs. His bald head bobbed as he hummed what Logan vaguely recognized as a Christmas tune, and his garish Hawaiian shirt looked like someone had barfed up their summer vacation all over him.
Kerri came down the back staircase, taking small, careful steps. The neck brace had been removed, but a thick bandage was still taped over her shoulder, stretching up under her ear. A blue ribbon was tied in her hair, and she cradled a basket of dinner rolls against her stomach.
Zelda gravitated to her, touching the girl’s arm softly. Kerri smiled and then glanced up at Logan. “Thanks for stitching me up.”
He dipped his chin, giving her an indifferent nod. Kerri was a nice enough girl, and she was probably the only one of the rejects who had more than an eighth grade education. Logan still kept his distance. Letting his guard down with even one of them could spell a whole world of trouble.
Selena had explained how pack mentality worked. He recognized it among the rejects all the time—the way they knit themselves together, entangling their lives in a net that seemed to snare Zelda without her even seeing it. He wouldn’t let them trap him too.
A moment later, Pat and Jamie, the two most recent additions to Zelda’s lot, arrived with a green bean casserole a
nd potato salad. Violet arranged three platters of smoked pork and turkey in the center of the big oak table, and the sides and condiments were wedged in between. Then Grant fetched a pitcher of sweet tea out of the refrigerator and began filling glasses for everyone.
Logan followed Zelda to the table, taking a seat beside her. He considered dismissing himself, but he had promised to stay by her side. Any of her wolves would have given their life for her, but it still wasn’t enough for his comfort.
Nick was the last to join them, timidly creeping down the back stairs with his broken arm in a sling. His shoulder was still tightly bound, holding his arm against his body. The kid looked like he’d had one too many sponge baths. He smelled clean enough, but his greasy brown hair refused to lay flat. Someone—Violet, Logan guessed—had helped him get his good arm through a blue flannel shirt and draped it over the mass of bandages holding him together.
“Have a seat,” Zelda said, pointing him to a spot next to her.
Logan suppressed a growl, wishing she had placed him on the opposite side of the table so he could keep a better eye on the kid. His nerves only worsened once everyone else was seated around the table. Their collective aura engulfed him, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Joy and gratitude radiated from every single one of the rejects. Even the new kid. Especially the new kid, his life so freshly spared. The swell of emotions hit Logan hard, and he coughed into his fist, trying to hide the fact that he was choking up.
Violet held her hands out, beginning a chain reaction, and everyone linked together. Logan grudgingly took Zelda and Kerri’s hands and instantly regretted it.
The energy in the room came alive in neon rivers, arcing across his vision. It seemed to flow in circles to and from Zelda. He saw it even when he closed his eyes, and he could tell that it was healing her as much as it healed the others.
Blood Moon Page 6