by Cecy Robson
Despite how I steel myself, it’s not enough to mask my annoyance. Christie doesn’t miss a beat, and I don’t think Gemini does either. Not that he shows it. “They’re new to their power and position,” he says, motioning to the witches dressed in black. “Perhaps our Pack can aid you in the hunt.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Christie tells, him, her smug smile widening. “The Whisperer of the Dead is our kind, and our responsibility. And, may I add, my sisters beside me were among the best in their graduating class. I’m certain our most distinguished Head Witch will assure you when you meet.”
“All right,” he says, although he doesn’t seem happy.
She gives him another subtle nod, joining her besties as they hurry toward the parking lot, but not before tossing me a very predatory leer my way. It’s something I could have done without, the digs over how chummy Gemini and Vieve are were enough. Speaking of witch.
“Good morning,” the most distinguished head hag calls.
Vieve glides down the steps, her long silver gown sweeping behind her. I’m not sure if her feet actually touch the steps, or if her gown is an actual dress, or the nightgown she was wearing when Gemini left her last night. At the moment, I don’t really care. Between the connection they share and how stunning she appears, sweating my ass in a field while donning pilgrim-wear is far more appealing than having a front and center view of how hard she’s falling for him.
Or maybe how hard they’re falling for each other.
She’s smiling. I’m not.
“Welcome, Taran,” she says.
You don’t mean that.
“Thank you,” I say, not really meaning it either. Especially when I catch how close she inches to my wolf.
Her attention skims over his broad chest because, hey, I’m not paying attention or anything.
“You set up a hunt without my knowledge or input,” he says, not bothering to greet her or bend to her charm.
Weres have this thing about needing to know anything and everything pertaining to saving the world from evil. As the liaison between the coven and pack, she should have given him the heads up.
But then if she had, she couldn’t have discussed the matter over a nice cozy breakfast, now could she?
Her smile fades as if she’s upset she might have hurt his feelings. “I didn’t want to disturb you during the early morning hours, Gemini. I’ve already burdened you enough with my troubles.” Her smile returns, the warmth and affection behind it as obvious as my damn bonnet. “But now that you’re here, I’m more than happy to share our intel and how we’re proceeding.”
“Good. Based on her experience with one of our own, she’s not someone we can take lightly,” he says. His attention travels to where the witch party are assembling by a vehicle. “The Whisperer tried to sacrifice Bren, a Warrior. If she’d succeeded, given what she can do, she could have raised more dead. But if she sacrifices a witch—”
“They won’t be sacrificed,” she says, cutting him off. Her voice loses its warmth, gathering a slight edge. “They’re prepared for what may come.”
He’s not so sure. “It might not be too late for my Pack to be of use.”
“No. And if the circumstances surrounding the Whisperer’s capture require it, I will certainly connect with you.”
Oh, honey, I have no doubt.
She motions to the front door of stained glass. “Shall we?”
His focus returns to me. “In a moment. I want to ensure Taran makes it to the field.”
“Taran will make it just fine without you,” I assure him. I don’t mean to sound so angry, but their exchange was like watching a play from the audience, both of them making it clear I’m not part of the show.
He lifts his brow, likely wondering what could have possibly pissed me off this time—
as if I shouldn’t be bothered by how close they’re standing, or the late hours that they’re keeping, or that I look ready to churn butter while Genevieve floats on her cloud, or whatever the fuck, polishing her halo. It’s all I can do not to hurl my box of garlic at them.
I stomp away, stumbling slightly when the skirt of my long dress catches on the buckle of my pilgrim shoes.
“You won’t need your garlic today, Taran,” she calls sweetly.
I toss the box on the sidewalk, storming toward the field. “Awesome,” I yell. “Totally psyched for anti-possession class!”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” she tells Gemini. I haven’t quite reached the end of the walkway, but I know her response is because he’s lifting the box from the sidewalk. I don’t know what’s worse, how I continue to look bad, even though I don’t want to, or these mixed signals he’s sending me about the possibility of us.
Our supernatural world maybe changing, and evil is constantly afoot. But we’re no longer at war. He doesn’t need to spend the time he seems to with Genevieve unless there’s something more going on.
“It’s no trouble,” he replies.
“My dear Gemini,” she says. “I’ll have another Lesser house it in her room for storage.”
After breakfast, but not before we have sex, she doesn’t add. I know that’s what she’s thinking, her alluring tone is one that hungers for the taste of a sexy male. I know because that’s how I feel when I’m with him, when we’re not hurting or angry, or—
“Taran,” he calls, reaching me and stepping in front of me. “You’re reading more into my relationship with Genevieve than what’s there.”
“Relationship?” I repeat.
“You know what I mean,” he answers.
He searches my face, frowning and appearing insulted by my response. Seriously, is he that blind to what Vieve wants from him, or how much his choice of words and hers hurt me? “My dear Gemini,” she called him. She knows he claimed me. But that doesn’t stop her from calling him hers.
“I know what I saw back there,” I tell him. “And it’s not the innocent exchange you’re making it out to be.”
He releases a long dragged out breath, his attention dropping to the ground. “Every time I feel we take a step forward, you run us backwards as fast as you can.”
“You’re putting this on me?” I say. “Really? After that little display of affection between you?”
“All we did was discuss the hunt.”
This time. I don’t want to go there, but it’s difficult not to.
I glance away, unable to stomach how horrible things are between us.
A few feet past the garden, a line of witches return from the field to fill their buckets at a spout. That’s how late I am. They’re already starting round two and I haven’t even stepped foot on the field.
“I’ll be here all day,” he says, trying to lure my attention when I remain silent.
“With Genevieve,” I say, not bothering to look at him.
He doesn’t deny it, worsening the betrayal I feel. “When you’re done,” he says. “I’ll take you home.”
Maybe he’s trying to give me a peace offering. But it feels more like pity.
I shift away from his hardening stance to where she stands waiting for him to return to her. “Don’t bother,” I say, wishing I could hide the pain gutting me open. “You’ve already done enough.”
Chapter Fourteen
I start to walk away with what little dignity remains. “Don’t forget your bucket, Taran,” Vieve calls, because no one can kick someone in the balls like she can. “You’ll need it to complete your tasks.”
I double-back, lifting a large wooden bucket from the top of a carefully arranged stack and somehow toppling the rest over.
So much for dignity.
“Don’t,” I say, when Gemini tries to help me stack them. “Just go.”
“No,” he insists. “At least allow me this one thing.”
I keep my stare averted. I wish I could yell or scream at him. Let him know everything I’m feeling and what he does to me every time I’m with him. But I don’t have it in me to fight him. It’s the last t
hing I want to do. And after this morning . . .
“Just let me help you, Taran,” he says, sounding as weary as I feel.
“All right,” I answer quietly.
We work quickly and in silence. But as I set the last bucket in place, I hurry away from him and the awful tension between us.
I reach the spout, forcing a smile and a small wave to the witches who approach. “Hey. I’m Taran.”
The ones filling their buckets pause, whispering quickly, eyeing me and my arm closely, and not bothering to wave in response. Okay, so far we’re off to a banging start. The next few Lessers do the same as well as the ones who follow.
I edge to the rear where only a few witches remain in line so I don’t cut in front and risk accidentally challenging them. But it’s only until a short distance separates me from the spout that I hear what all the whispers are about.
“Give me fluid so you may drink. Drink so you may grow. Grow so I may strengthen.”
Ah, yes, I skimmed through last night.
“Hey, there,” a meek voice calls out. “You’re Lesser Taran, right?”
The little witch I met before, the one with the red braid inches closer, smiling.
“Yes,” I answer. “And you’re . . . Pauline?”
The two Lessers in front of her laugh. “It’s Paula, actually,” she explains.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not just because I screwed up her name, but because of the petty way the other two responded.
“It’s okay,” she replies, struggling to hang onto her smile as she looks at the two who laughed. “People forget it all the time.”
The way she says it makes me think she’s used to being ignored. But she doesn’t have to worry about that with me. “Nice to meet you, Paula.”
I try to take her hand when she extends it, but then her stare falls on my hand. “I suppose you’ve heard about this thing,” I ask, pulling it back.
“We all have,” she says quietly. “But I wasn’t offering to shake your hand.” She points to the bucket. “Give it to me. I’ll help you. The elements can be persnickety and I don’t want them giving you problems, especially on your first day.”
I pass her my bucket. “Persnickety?” I question, wondering why someone so young would use such and old term, at the same time also wondering what the hell she means.
“You’ll see,” she responds.
Paula motions for me to follow when she backs away from the spout. The witch who laughed the hardest at her reaches for the lever, resuming her chant as she pumps. But the moment the water hits the bottom of the bucket, a watery arm flies up and grabs the Lesser by the throat. It drags her down, plunging her into what’s somehow now an overflowing bucket of water.
“Son of a bitch!” I say, jumping back. My first reaction is to call my fire, but fire isn’t what this young woman needs. Regardless, my arm gives an involuntary jerk, sending a twinge of pain shooting up the length. All eyes are suddenly on me, not the Lesser having her ass kicked by the bucket of water.
“I didn’t do that,” I say, watching as the Lesser flails and an overabundance of water soaks the ground around her. “I swear I didn’t.”
“Shhh,” Paula says, shaking her hands out nervously. “Remember, they’re persnickety.”
The water releases the Lesser abruptly, dropping her in some seriously thick mud. She lands with a splat, her soaked clothes coated.
Paula wrings her hands nervously. “It probably thought she was insulting it or the chant,” she explains.
“Hmm,” the others agree, nodding.
The other Lesser who laughed, isn’t laughing now. In fact, she seems terrified to pump the water in.
“You might as well get it over with,” her friend tells her. She stands, albeit wobbly, swiping the mud from her face. “Come on, or we’ll all be late.”
Her friend walks carefully forward, reaching hesitantly toward the lever. She slaps at it nervously, releasing a drop. I don’t think anything will happen, but like with her buddy, that small trace of water becomes so much more, swirling as it rises into another watery hand.
This Lesser gets off with a watery, if not insolent, slap across the face that sends her spinning into the mud pile.
I gape with my mouth dangling open. This is supposed to be my easy day!
“Do you want me to help you?” Paula offers. “I’ll pump, you chant, and then we’ll switch?”
No, I’d rather go home and munch off my toes. “I’m not sure I’m going to be very good at this,” I admit.
“Oh, of course you will,” she insists. “Just think positive thoughts, otherwise the elements and the plants will react in a not-so positive way.”
“Um. All right. Thank you,” I say, hoping the water doesn’t think I was calling it a son of a bitch. Is it a wonder everyone seems skittish?
I place my bucket beneath the spout. “Ready?” she asks.
“Ready,” I say, even as I prepare myself for a possible H2O ass-whooping.
She brings the lever down. “Give me fluid so you may drink,” I say.
My nervousness makes me forget the rest. “Drink so you may grow,” Paula whispers.
“Drink so you may grow,” I repeat.
She smiles, pumping hard so the water spills in slow steady streams. “Grow so I may strengthen,” she says.
“Grow so I may strengthen.”
I switch off, pumping while Paula chants, watching in amazement at how quickly the bucket fills. I wait until she’s done and follow behind her, trying my best not to spill, and, I don’t know, insult the water.
The water swirls in my bucket, but although I’m pitching from side to side through the uneven soil, it appears to stay in.
“It’s the magic,” Paula says. “The elements respond to our chants and give them life.”
“Wow.” I’m starting to understand why the witches feel so akin to the earth, not that I’m certain we’ll share that connection.
I stumble over a stone sticking out from the field. How the hell does anyone get around in these shoe things?
As the earth evens out slightly more, I tug on my collar. I’m already sweating and high noon is still a few hours away.
“Here,” she says, reaching into her bucket splashing me in the face.
I start to ask her if she’s nuts when the coolness from the water spreads from my face to my shoulders, giving me a chill. “Better?” she asks.
“Yes. Thank you. How did you do that?”
“The chanting helps, but don’t expect it to last.” She makes a face. “And don’t let the Snapdragons we’re tending to see you take their water. They’re a nasty bunch.”
“The plants are a nasty bunch?” I ask.
“Oh, yes,” she adds. “They have nothing on the water. Unless you dump it aside out of anger. You’re not going to dump the water in anger, are you, Taran?”
“That wasn’t the plan,” I assure her. Not that I don’t see why someone would do that given the conditions these Lessers work under.
“Lesser Dina did that,” Paula says thoughtfully. “She was frustrated with the program and with our instructors. One day she had it and kicked over the bucket.” She shudders. “Let’s say it’s not a mistake you want to make, and that your breasts look better positioned on your chest.”
“Sure. Let’s just say,” I reply, slowly, wondering if they somehow ended up attached to her knees. Magic is some freaky shit. Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse.
I look ahead as we reach a small path leading through the woods. “You seem to know a lot. How long have you been studying?”
“Too long,” she says, glancing down. “The magic I come from isn’t very strong. Most of my family has never reached Superior witch status. They belong to Lesser covens composed of women who sell charms and herbs at fairs.” She shrugs. “My mother thought I’d be different, that I’d have a better chance. So far, it’s not working out. If I can’t pass in these next few years, I’ll never be a Superior witch either.”
“If you have a few years, you have a shot,” I say, ducking beneath a low branch.
“I wish I could believe you,” she says. “But if I did I would’ve graduated by now.” She tries to smile. “But let’s think happy thoughts, okay?” Her voice lowers. “Don’t want to anger the seedlings or disturb the surrounding vegetation.”
No. Heaven forbid we get attacked by irate pine cones.
We push through the small path, and when I say, “push”, I mean it. Paula maybe more used to the shoes, but she’s not exactly skipping along. We trek up another small incline and end up on the opposite side of Vieve’s mansion where a small field stretches out, partially surrounded by a forest filled with tall sweeping trees. Below us is another larger field. It’s rectangular in shape and runs behind the house.
Vieve’s laughter drifts in the air as we step onto the smaller field. I turn in that direction, watching as she and Gemini venture out onto a stone terrace. He’s a good distance away, but I can see he’s wearing a shirt, likely one from the spare pieces of clothing all weres keep in their vehicles.
Or maybe it’s a spare set he keeps in Vieve’s room.
My mind wanders to when we first met and how things sped ahead once he started spending the night. He started with leaving some things behind, a change of clothes, a toothbrush, a razor, but within a couple of months, he’d moved in everything he owned.
I follow Paula blindly when Vieve laughs again. If he was upset. I guess he’s over it now.
She sighs. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”
“What?” I ask. It’s not that didn’t hear her, but I’ll admit seeing Gemini and Vieve is not an easy thing to watch. They take their places at a table. But even though they’re already very close, the moment Gemini sits Vieve moves her chair closer.
“Sister Genevieve’s lover,” Paula explains, smiling.
Her lover . . .
“Oh, yes, he is,” someone else purrs.
I glance up at the group of Lessers giggling as they pass along the rows of seedlings.
“He’s the best thing about Plant Day,” a petite young woman says as she adjusts her bonnet. “Every time I need more water, I know that I’ll at least get to see him.”