by Elsa Jade
She’d had to poke him. The spell to save Aster needed the blood to create a magical sieve that would strain out the bear and leave her little boy alone.
Except…the bear was so much a part of Mac. Was it too late for Aster?
Brandy swept him into her arms and straightened her spine against the squirming, heavy weight of him. She’d never stop fighting for her child, never abandon him like she and her sisters had been left behind. “We’ll go to the county park. It’s close, but Aunt Tilda said it’s quiet. Nobody will be there this time of day.”
They bundled into the vintage lemon-yellow VW bus—also left behind by their mother. The cliché vehicle had been just another humiliation of Brandy’s childhood, but she had to admit the roomy insides and tinted windows made hauling a bear cub much easier than if she’d had to call a cab in NYC.
While Gin drove and Rita held onto the spelled amulet, Brandy sat on the floor with Aster, rolling him over to tickle his belly. He growled, all playful cub, but she heard the tremor of a lower note in his little throat.
After discovering her pregnancy, she’d done her best to forget about Mac, since wishful thinking wasn’t any use to a single mother. But now that she’d seen him again, she couldn’t help but wonder what part of him Aster had inherited.
Besides the bear, of course.
The dark, unruly hair, for sure. And when he was walking on two legs instead of four, his crooked smile was a match for his unknowing father. Would Aster grow as big as Mac if he didn’t have the bear?
She curled her lips inward, as if she could swallow her uncertainties. She knew this was the right thing to do. Aster should get to choose what he wanted to be, not literally be forced into a shape just because of his blood. He would have the normal childhood she’d never gotten. And no magical mayhem or blustering bear could stop her.
***
When they got to the county park, the gravel parking lot tucked among the ponderosas was empty, and they poured out of the bus into the pine-scented afternoon sunlight.
“It’s awfully hot for June,” Gin grumbled.
“It’s the summer solstice,” Rita reminded her. “Also, you’re wearing all black.
Brandy walked a little ways away from her sisters, following Aster as he trundled toward the towering pines. “No climbing,” she called after him. Even before this unexpected shape shift, he’d been a fearless climber. She’d found him on the wrong side of his crib bars on more than one occasion as soon as he could crawl. That meant he’d be fine without the animal invader, right? She steeled herself. He’d forever be the little boy she adored.
He galloped over to a nearby bush and squatted to relieve himself.
Brandy rubbed her forehead. “I’ll be glad when he is not peeing on the plants anymore, anyway.”
Gin snorted. “You obviously don’t know many human males either.”
That was true enough. Between the witchy rumors that had haunted the triplets through high school and her diligent studies to escape it all during college, and then her one wild encounter with Mac that resulted in her present dilemma, she’d not had much chance to pursue a real relationship. But after this, everything would be normal. Or at least as normal as a renounced offspring of the circle could expect.
She marched over and grabbed Aster who was already waist high up the nearest Douglas fir. “What did I tell you, bub?” She nestled her cheek against his furry, rounded ears. “No climbing until we finish this chore, okay?”
He bawled a protest, reaching his stubby arms toward the tree. Apparently the terrible twos were a cross-species phenomena.
She hauled him back to the bus where Rita was assembling the tools of their trade. She raised a troubled gaze to Brandy, her lips pursing.
But Brandy gave a shake of her head against another repeat of her sister’s concerns. Despite her leery rejection of all things witchy, she hefted the green velvet charm bag so Rita could maneuver her crutches over the gravel. The healing sigils stitched in yellow thread scratched against her reluctant fingertips, and the dusty fragrance of clarifying sage sprigs tied to the outside made her want to sneeze. “Come on. Let’s follow the path a little ways, away from the road.”
Once they were moving, Aster was happy enough to frolic along beside them, sniffing at the grasses and threading between their legs and around Rita’s crutches with happy grunts. At one point he froze, his dark hackles rippling to expose the lighter fur underneath.
Gin, who was closest, veered toward him and gave him a little nudge. “Coyote scat,” she reported.
“One of the local shifters?” Brandy wondered snidely. “See, this is why we need the spell.”
“We have the spell,” Rita reminded her.
“I know that,” Brandy shot back. She ignored the look her sisters exchanged.
She knew she was being crazy. But she was the daughter of a witch and the mother of a shapeshifter. Excuse her if she just wanted a normal life for her baby.
The afternoon was cooler in the shadow of the pines, but it was quieter too, almost eerily so, as if they’d entered a cathedral, although there were no walls or stained glass. The trees seemed to tower higher than any man-made spire, and even bold Aster didn’t make an attempt to climb these behemoths.
When the space between the trees opened to form a small clearing, Brandy halted. “This is it.” She put her hands on her hips and stared up at the blue circle of clear sky above. “If any place will siphon out the animal, this is it.”
Aster had found a giant puff of wolf lichen and was zooming around in circles with the bristling green mass in his mouth, growling and tossing his head. Brandy called him, and he raced toward her. When she knelt, he threw himself into her lap, dropping the lichen and lolling back with his mouth wide open.
She stared down at his sharp teeth. The white canines seemed longer than before. Was this going to work?
“This won’t hurt him, will it?” she whispered.
“All change hurts,” Rita said. When Brandy made a soft noise of distress, she added, “But it shouldn’t be worse than a bout of colic or teething, or the growing pains you get in your knees.”
Gin frowned. “I don’t think these reassurances are helping much.”
Brandy held Aster tighter. And maybe he knew something major was afoot; while he was usually too active to cuddle for long, this time he nestled closer to her.
She held him too tight and buried her face in his ruff. “I love you with all my heart,” she whispered. “In any shape, you’re my son.” She handed the charm bag to Gin. “Now. Do it.”
Laying aside the crutches, Rita stood tall in the center of the clearing. In the bright sunlight, the threads of red in her auburn hair gleamed with fire. Gin opened the charm bag and handed the amulet they’d made last night to Brandy.
The bear-shaped talisman was roughly carved, but somehow captured the essence of bear in its blunt yet graceful lines. The sacred wood seemed to pulse with the strange warmth in Brandy’s palm, as if it were alive, as if it were a beating heart.
“Hold it between you and Aster,” Rita murmured. “But make sure it’s exposed to the sky.”
Brandy did as her sister ordered, her heart pounding faster than the beat she’d surely imagined in the bear talisman
Aster gazed up at her, his dark eyes shiny and trusting. Praying to every known god and a few she was making up on the spot, Brandy held her son and the bear amulet where they planned to send the animal energy close to her chest.
As Rita started to chant half remembered words from their childhood, Gin joined in with a lower note. The rays of golden light pouring down through the pine needles seemed to slow and thicken, like honey. Brilliant, golden firecracker sparkles glinted at the end of every pine needle, in her sisters’ hair, and from Aster’s half-closed eyelashes.
And the bear talisman in her hand was brightest of all. The heartbeat in it quickened and her pulse sped to keep pace. She knew Gin had used Mac’s blood along with who knew what all else to
paint the sigils carved into the wooden bear. With the right incantation, the spirit in Aster could be captured in the talisman and then set free. And then she and her son would be free too, free to go back to the life she dreamed for them.
She half closed her eyes, like her son, putting all her intentions into the change. She might not have studied magic with Aunt Tilda’s circle, but she had a mother’s power, and that was stronger than anything. It had to be.
Her sisters’ chanting deepened, not louder but all-encompassing, as if the words were sinking into the trees, the light itself, and Aster.
He wriggled in her lap, breaking her concentration. His soft whine broke her heart. She soothed him with one hand down the hunch of his back. It would be over soon.
The honey light was so thick she couldn’t breathe, and her chest heaved with effort. Aster’s mouth was open too, the bear’s fangs exposed and glinting in the almost painfully bright light.
She gathered him closer, making sure not to cover the talisman.
Aster arched backward, his little spine straining, as if he were reaching for a tree branch too high. Brandy’s throat ached with the need to breathe, to cry, but the chanting seemed to force its way backward down past her lips, swelling her tongue.
The talisman seemed to smolder in her hand, hotter than the feverish flush that swept through her. She almost dropped the carved wood, sure it was about to burst into flames. But she didn’t let go—for Aster’s sake, she’d hold it until the damned sigils melted into her flesh, tattooed her bones, marking her forever.
Oh God. Forever… What if she failed? What if Aster was a bear forever?
Then…she still wouldn’t let go. She loved him, and she’d never let that go. Aunt Tilda and her mother were right—it could only be what it would be.
She clenched her fist on the bear talisman, her fingers cutting off the pulse and its connection to the light. The chanting faltered. She didn’t have the physical strength or the circle training, it was impossible, but with one hard flex of her biceps, she pulled Aster closer and crushed the talisman to dust.
One last flash of golden light, even more blinding than the sun, knocked her over backward, and her sisters cried out in shock.
But she kept a hold of Aster as the lights and sparkles swirled upward out of the clearing in a cyclone of honey. She curled tightly around her son, shielding him from whatever vicious backlash would come because of her ending the magic.
But instead of some eldritch scream from the thwarted spell, a little voice she hadn’t heard in far too long whispered, “Mama?”
Disbelieving, she peeled herself away. “Aster?” She hauled him upright in her lap to face her. “Baby… Are you okay? Do you hurt anywhere?” She ran her hands over him, sturdy limbs still rounded with baby fat, dark eyes wide and bright and baffled. “You’re okay! You’re fine!” Except for his palms and feet, which were dirty from his run through the forest.
She hugged him so hard he squirmed in protest. “Mama, up.”
He’d been behind on his words before he shifted, although she’d read that boys sometimes lagged, and his pediatrician said everything was normal. Normal! Wouldn’t that doc be shocked today? Brandy had never been so happy to hear his short, blunted syllables.
When he strained away from her, she let him go—reluctantly, her arms aching as if she’d carried him for another nine months. As he popped up, she realized he was naked. Bare, but not bear!
A laugh burst from her, pitched high with borderline hysteria. She pressed her fingers over her lips to muffle it when he turned to look at her. His brows furrowed, the dark fuzz a little too heavy for his small face, as if a bad makeup YouTuber had gotten ahold of him, but then he swiveled his head to peer at the trees. “Up?” He pointed.
How much did he remember of his time with claws? “Sure, bub. You can climb again. But not right now.”
Gin knelt beside them, a Batman T-shirt in her hands. “Gotta get dressed, bub. Can’t be running around the woods naked, right?”
He chortled, and Brandy wrinkled her nose. Hmm, apparently he remembered something…
With a bit of prodding from her, he put his arms up for the shirt, exclaiming, though the words weren’t clear. He patted his chubby palms over the batwings spread across his chest.
“Thanks, Aunt Gin, for bringing his favorite shirt.” Brandy gave her sister a lopsided smile. “I wasn’t even thinking about…afterward.”
Gin squeezed her shoulder. “We told you we’d help you raise Aster.”
She grimaced. “I’m pretty sure this wasn’t on the developmental milestones chart.”
“True.” Gin dropped the Batman shorts in her lap. “But getting him to put on pants will be harder, so you’re in charge of that.”
Rita joined them. The fire in her hair had gone out, and her cheeks were pale.
Still clutching the shorts, Brandy jumped up. “Oh no. Aster is fine, but you look terrible.”
Her sister arched one brow with a sour look. “After all I’ve done for you…” But she wobbled on her crutches.
For a moment, they clung together, the three of them, like they had when Brandy told them she was pregnant.
Gin pulled back first and guided Rita to the trunk of a downed pine. They settled on the smooth bark where obviously other backsides had rested before. “Damn, Ree. You did it. I can’t believe it.”
Rita raised her other brow for double saltiness. “What did I do to deserve such supportive sisters like you two?”
“Didn’t keep your zygote to yourself.” Gin grinned.
Rita tried for a snort, but it sounded weary. “I can’t believe it either.”
“Well,” Gin said with exaggerated patience, “it happens when a man and a woman love each other very much—”
“The spell,” Rita clarified. “It shouldn’t have worked.”
Brandy froze. Every nerve screaming in tension, she twisted slowly to look at her son. And let out an explosive breath, not quite a swear word. “He’s here. He’s back, just the way he’s supposed to be.” The relief at seeing him still human drained out of her, leaving her knees weak.
And leaving behind a stain of niggling guilt. She’d told herself she loved him in any shape, but then she’d put him through this? How was that any better than her mother claiming to love them and then abandoning them?
Rita shook her head. At some point, her sleek bob had apparently gone through a fight with a whirlwind and stuck out in every direction. But the frantic hairdo only made her somber expression more alarming. “That’s why it shouldn’t have worked. Aster was the way he was supposed to be.”
“He was a bear,” Brandy hissed.
“Because he’s a bear shifter,” Rita said. “At least half. I thought the spell would show you that.” She raked her fingers through her hair, which only made it worse. “Something else triggered the change. But it wasn’t the spell.”
The quiver in her nerves made Brandy want to scream. “Then what—?”
Aster had his hands up, like he was going to grab one of the tall trees, so she cut herself off to go retrieve him.
But she only made it two steps before she realized he was reaching up to something else.
Her gaze tracked from the little butt-naked boy to the man standing between the trees.
Not man.
Mac.
Who looked down at the child as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Oh sh—” Gin hissed.
“Quiet,” Brandy shot back. “Just…act normal.”
Yeah, and that had worked so well for her in the past. But this time, she had to make it count.
Chapter 7
Mac stared down at the pantless creature reaching up to him.
He was a shifter, so nudity didn’t shock him. But most folk didn’t run around without their clothes either, whether they were shifters or common.
The boy—Mac could tell it was a boy, even though the T-shirt was long enough to hide incontrovertible evidence—widened his a
rms more imperiously. “Up!”
“Aster!”
A flurry of females surrounded the tyke, grabbing him away. Which was fine with Mac. He wasn’t interested in kids. Someday, sure, maybe. But he was struggling to support the whole clan right now, so focusing on one brown-haired kid…
The boy evaded the tangle of arms and latched onto one neck, pulling himself higher. “Mama, up!”
Mama? Mac met Brandy’s narrowed glare.
Geez. What had he done? He hadn’t touched the child, hadn’t even had a chance to acknowledge the demand for lifting. He quick-checked her sisters, but they were glaring at him too. He sidled one step to the side, opening up an escape route. He knew better than to mess with protective females.
“What are you doing here?” The demand in her voice was more insistent than the kid’s.
Mac squinted, an appeasing gesture. “Nothing. I—”
“Are you following me?”
“What?” He reared back in shock. “No. Why would I—?”
“I told you I didn’t want to see you again.”
Okay, now he was pissed. “Actually, you didn’t. You just ran away. Twice. But if you don’t want to see me again, just say so and feel free to avert your gaze while I—”
This time it was the kid who interrupted him with a loud bawl.
Brandy’s jaw snapped shut, and she switched the boy to her other hip. “You’re right, Aster,” she said stiffly. “People shouldn’t yell. They should use their indoor voices when they want to talk about something important.”
“Good thing we’re outside,” Mac said through equally gritted teeth.
The boy laughed.
Though he wasn’t inclined to look at people’s half-naked children, Mac found his gaze dropping to the kid. He was cute enough, clearly had vocal chords and a general sense of his directions, seemed normal, maybe a couple years old…
Brandy handed the child to her goth sister behind her with all the fierce finesse of a center lineman on Superbowl Sunday and squared off to him, dusting her hands. Reddish flakes drifted away and he caught a whiff of burned wood and…blood?