“I see.” She well understood what it meant to feel obligated. “I came to live here to escape unwanted obligations and be independent.”
“I envy you.”
She leaned away and laughed. “Me? No. You’re a king. I’m not even sure what I am, whether I’m a witch or a faery.”
He smiled. “We’ll find out. I’ll bring one of my sibyls, a wise woman, to visit you tomorrow. How does the leg feel?”
“Good.” She lifted it out of the water, bent the knee, and wriggled the foot and toes. “Pretty stiff, but I’ll try to stand. Even the twisted ankle feels better. The tooth marks are still there. Will those go away?”
“Slowly.” He stood and supported Esme as she stood. “I’ll have a healer faery woman join the sibyl to visit you. She can speed the healing.”
“Cool. I’ll look forward to learning what she does.” She tested the leg with some weight. “Stiff and tender, but much better.”
“I need to get you home and warmed up,” Thayne said, “before a chill sets in from that cold water.”
Cyril reared up on his hind legs and inspected the injury. “Good. Good. If you need to come back, just holler out my name. Trees will find me.”
She reached a hand to ruffle one of his white ears. “Thank you, Cyril.”
Thayne bowed to The Raccoon King, who returned the gesture, snout lowered to the ground. “Esmeralda, I’ll carry you again because I don’t want you to land with that injured leg.” Thayne bent low and cradled her to his chest.
Esme realized the same incredible feeling as when they sat together on the bank. His energy passed into her, a whirl of dizzying emotions. She tried to distinguish them, but a giddy euphoria spun through her.
Thayne’s legs raced and the forest whizzed past. Colors of the sky, orange, pink and purple with the setting sun, streaked before Esme’s eyes like a vivid impressionist painting. They reached Holly Cabin, at least six miles away, in a couple minutes.
He slowed and placed her gently onto the front porch.
Under the darkening sky the shed light flickered on and illuminated several Winter Court guards who stepped forward along the hedgeline.
“I didn’t see them when I walked home from Gertie’s. I assumed they were there, just invisible.” She pulled her house key from her dress pocket and unlocked the door.
“They were assigned to do that.” Thayne rubbed his temple. “I need to find out what happened on that trail where you were attacked.”
“It was on Autumn Court land. Were they allowed to go there?” she asked.
His chest heaved as if weighted by concern. “They’re trained to defend themselves accordingly when passing through other courts’ territories. Shouldn’t have been an issue.”
She hesitated and touched her talisman. “I see.” Fears of danger she couldn’t understand or anticipate threatened to move in as soon as Thayne left.
“May I check the interior, so there is nothing to fear here?”
She nodded and stepped aside as he pushed the door open.
He roamed through rooms and waved her inside. “No sign of fae magic. You’re shaking. Let me start the fire.”
She was shaking but less from cold than nerves, plagued by unknown dangers and unanswered questions. Cyril said Gram had willed Esme this property to make certain she met with her dad’s spirit. But why? And how was she to contact him? Did any of that connect to whatever Raclaw wanted from her?
Teeth rattling, Esme sat on the loveseat and drew a crocheted afghan around her shoulders.
Thayne used the magic in his hands to light a crackling blue blaze and then took a seat beside her. He gazed into her eyes. “You’re frightened. Of me?”
“No. Of being attacked by Raclaw. Of High Priest Logan and Rowe not finding evidence to charge Councilman Burnhard for the murder I saw. Of Burnhard coming after me for speaking up as a witness. Not knowing if I’m a witch or a fae. Or whatever deviant sort a wayward is.” She nodded to a stack of references on the kitchen table. “Grammy’s books say bad things about waywards.”
He took her hand. His long fingers engulfed hers, and his touch eased her worries. He leaned closer, then pulled away slightly. “I and my court are here to keep you safe.” She could feel the magic on his breath, opening her to things she’d never seen as if a sense existed other than the five she knew.
She moved forward toward him, desiring to know that new sensation.
“I have to go.” He jerked his hand free, stood, and moved to the door. “If you need anything, anything at all, call out to the patrols. I’ll hear your call as well.”
She followed him to where he paused, his hand on the knob. “What does it feel like to be fae?”
He faced her and a smile quirked over his beautiful face as purple lights glittered in his eyes. He pulled her into his arms and bent his head to hers. His lips were close enough she felt the rush of his magic in his breath as he spoke each word. “I shouldn’t do this—”
“I want to know.”
“It feels like this.” He closed the slight distance between their lips and kissed her. A rush of wind whirled around her, followed by the soft drape of what felt like wings across her back. Beneath her feet she felt a softness, like the leaf litter and moss of a forest trail. He held her tighter with both arms and wings, his tongue gently pushing past her lips. A velvety touch laced with exhilaration and desire but also tinged with fear and panic that tried to surface.
She attempted to push away, but fought with herself to cling to him. A heady mix of scents infused the kiss. She gave a quiet moan at their beauty. Her senses became so acute, she could separate fragrances from the alluring bouquet. Each traveled with pulses of Thayne’s energy that registered in her with a new perception. Strength paired with patchouli, sensuality with sweet sandalwood, peaceful resolve interwove with whiffs of mint, darkness with bitter myrrh, and an apprehensive tang bit with tart cranberry. She heard the tinkle of each holly berry on the other side of the door, and a parade of northern lights flashed behind her closed eyelids.
He broke the kiss and murmured against her lips, “I feel your fear deep inside. I can make you safer, if you’ll give me the talisman.”
She leaned back slightly and, fighting the euphoria, struggled to grasp the black crystal. “No, I can’t. It connects me with my father. Using it, I saw him today in the woods.”
“But it’s putting you in real danger.” He trailed a finger down her cheek.
Alarmed by the proximity of his hand to the talisman, Esme jumped back and shook off the magic of his kiss. His perseverance to take the witches amber rattled her ability to trust that he acted on her behalf and not his own. “I lost my father as a child. I won’t lose him again. You took the icicle memories, and I understood why, but you’re not taking this.”
Thayne gave a single nod, though his eyes went dark and his face contorted as if he’d been wounded.
He opened the door and left.
She regretted the effect of her words too late. Her heart sank.
Chapter Fourteen: Adder’s Tongue
Esme leaned her back against the closed front door, eyes shut, mind focused on the lingering traces of Thayne’s energy on her lips. Her longing for the complexity and sweetness of him opposed her thirst for independence. She needed to stand her ground and make decisions for herself: to connect with the father she’d never known, to establish her new career, and honor her heritage through Grammy of being a root doctor.
But the elixir of his kiss clouded her determination. Like her ex, Thayne wanted something—her black amber—for reasons that had nothing to do with her. The cost of giving that up was great. She wiped the back of her hand across her lips, as if removing the taste of him from her could erase him from her mind. Frustrated that her attempt failed, that he remained woven into her thoughts, she realized something new. Unlike her ex, the Winter King opened to her a world of new and amazing sensory experiences. He offered her something truly amazing.
She lif
ted the talisman to eye level. Had she made the correct choice? She twisted the silk cord around her finger.
The answer still lay in knowing what type of fae blood Erebus possessed and also whether she’d inherited his tendency as a wayward.
Panicked, she rubbed the witch’s amber’s smooth surface and eyed every corner for a sign of her father. “Daddy, please talk to me. Please visit me.” Room by room, she tried to no avail until she came to the hearth room.
There, she surveyed Gram’s bookcases again. Her gaze landed on a row of journals, which she removed and set before the fire Thayne had been so thoughtful to make. Preparing to read for the evening, she created a nest of throw pillows, the crocheted blanket over her legs and Dove nestled against her back.
Esme focused on the fact that Gram had willed Holly Cabin to her in order to connect her with her father. She perused recent entries for validation. Skimming Gram’s scrawled handwriting proved difficult, but Esme persevered and located mention of notarizing the will. Gram clearly stated she wanted Esme to learn the old ways, although nothing supported a connection to her father.
Cross-eyed from the tight cursive, she added logs to the fire and made a cup of tea.
Renewed, she flipped backward in the journals to the time of her birth and when Erebus must have been in the Hollow. There was no mention of him or of her mother being pregnant.
Although one unusual entry caught her attention for a different reason. It explained how Holly Cabin gained its name:
My grand old cabin, that Earl had built for us decades back, never had a proper christening even though there were plenty o’ times he called it words like “Money Pit” and “Cash Gobbler.” But today a young man came calling with a load o’ holly bushes in his pickup, asking if I’d be wanting any planted. I laughed and told him planting time’s months away. He had a smile bout him that wasn’t gonna be denied, so I let him plant a row across the front foundation. Thought he were a fool the way he spaded the frosted ground for hours. But soon as them plants were in, the berries started to talk and sing all through the night with magic like I’d never seen, calling The Cousins in close as if I’d hung out a welcome sign. Found all sorts o’ fine healing barks and mosses on the doorstep the next morning.
The story of the young man and his unusual magic intrigued Esme. The passage answered why Gram had such a good rapport with the winter fae, and why the holly berries talked. However, the man’s name hadn’t been mentioned. She reread the passage and looked for any follow-up entries but only found amusing conversations between Gram and the berries. Nothing about him. Could he have been Erebus? Gram’s entry, dated in late December and after Yule, was before her mother’s pregnancy.
Esme hopped up and went to the kitchen phone. Maybe her mom could tell her something about the young man. She checked the time. Darn, too late. The machine showed no messages. Esme’s heart dropped, hoping to hear back from the message she’d left Mom earlier. Maybe she’d been invited out with friends to Thanksgiving dinner.
A scent of lavender wafting from the bedroom hall caused Esme to yawn. She moved to the hearth and spread the fireplace coals. The lovely fragrance still lingered. “How strange. That scent has called me to bed before,” she said to Dove, who trotted after her into the other room.
***
In the morning Esme worked in the porcelain kitchen sink preparing products for tomorrow’s market when a sharp rap sounded at the front door.
She peered through the peep hole to find a pair of fae women. With their pale skin and fine bones, she assumed them to be from the Winter Court. Though she wondered why Thayne didn’t accompany them as he’d said, she opened the door.
“Esmeralda?” From under a braided crown of metallic dove-gray hair, the younger one’s large almond eyes searched Esme’s face. With delicate, long fingers the woman touched half a dozen crystals that rested against her chest. She gestured toward her shorter companion. “This is Cryptic, a wise woman, and I’m Halcyon, a healer.”
Cryptic leaned her stout body into something of a bow, and murmured an unintelligible greeting from a twist of her flat lips. Her coarse black tunic dress laced with thongs of gray leather hung loose. Her wild hair mirrored the coloring, steel gray shot through with streaks of black. In contrast to the distinct markings of dress and hair, her lipless mouth and eyes shadowed with clouds rendered her expression unreadable. Esme guessed that inscrutable appearance might help the woman safeguard her clairvoyant readings, or at least give her an air of mysticism.
Esme opened the door wider, eyeing the strange pair. “Please come in. Thank you for coming. Have a seat at the table.” She trusted Thayne that these women could help her, but it required a real leap of faith.
Halcyon rested a large canvas messenger bag on the top, then swept with grace and poise into a chair, her diaphanous pale gray dress tinkling with ice crystals. She motioned for Esme to sit beside her. “I’ll tend to your ailments first, which may put you more at ease for the ways of my sister fae.” Her fluid motions reminded Esme of Thayne.
Cryptic gave a single nod and flashed onto a seat across from them with ease, then slunk without the elegant posture of the other faery.
“May I see your bite wounds?” Halcyon bent her lithe frame low to inspect where Esme lifted her skirt to reveal her outer thigh. Skin around the marks had rippled as though unable to close across the punctures. “The general healing is progressing fine with normal color returning, all but at the bites. You used water from the enchanted forest pool. Anything else?”
“Witch hazel and honey dressings. That reduced the swelling.”
“Good. I’ll apply a healing to remove the last traces of poison.” With nimble fingers, she dug into her bag and withdrew a small tin box from which she removed several large, flat leaves. These she pressed onto the wounds. When she released her fingers, the leaves adhered like adhesive bandages.
“Those look like adder’s tongue leaves.” Esme twisted to get a better view. “But how? That’s a spring plant.”
The prim faery’s slanted eyes twinkled. “Preserved with fae magic. We’ll leave those in place while Cryptic works, then finish my treatment after.” She nodded to her companion.
With a cracked hand of curled, split fingernails, the wise woman reached across the table. She took hold of Esme’s hand and said in a raspy voice, “Tell me what happened from the time you came home after market day till you fell prey to the icicles. All you remember. Leave nothin’ out.” She cast her gaze beyond Esme.
While the younger faery smelled fresh with woodsy herbs, the acrid odor emanating from the older churned Esme’s stomach. Her answer tumbled out in spurts. She relayed the dream of her father, how she consulted Gram’s books on altar prayers, and the ill feeling that resulted from the consecration ritual.
More clouds drifted across the seer’s unblinking eyes. The formations flattened and billowed, lightened and darkened, in no apparent pattern, while Esme spoke. When she finished her account, Cryptic pulled her sandpapery hand away. “Show me the altar.”
Careful to not let her skirt swipe the adder’s tongue leaves, Esme rose and motioned to Gram’s altar. “Nothing’s been moved.”
The old woman turned her back to them and stooped so that her nose was level with the display. She waved open palms above the sacred items. “These dried blossoms and holly berries? Which did you use?”
“Both,” Esme replied.
“Hmm,” the wise faery groaned from low in her throat. “Was one of these cloaks on the rod used?”
“Yes, I think. I’m not sure. I think I used the green. Does it matter?” Esme’s voice cracked.
With her back still turned, Cryptic raised fisted hands in the air. “Feather, oil, water, stone, lavender, and mystic holly berries. Correspond to air, fire, water, earth, ether, and spirit of winter fae. You called equal upon powers of both witch and fae. A dangerous mix. If you’d used the red cloak, the color of our Winter Court, the lavender wouldn’t have voiced. Even with t
he green cloak, the holly berries, so tied to this property, spoke in equal measure…in fae language. A confused mix of magic, it corrupted icicles with delusions.”
Esme shuddered and squeaked out a question, “Was that consequence only from the items I chose?” She wondered if wayward blood she’d inherited from her father might’ve contributed.
The wise faery woman lowered her arms and turned toward them. Clouds parted from her eyes, and black irises bored into Esme. “Both fae and witch rest at this altar. Whether from natural correspondence of the items or something induced, I cannot say. That’s only something you will know.” She slowly pronounced the last words, her sinuous lips contorted into a fearsome grimace.
Had Esme’s own deviant wayward magic created the icicles? The frightening question remained unanswered and squeezed on her ribcage. “Please, can’t you tell me what to look for? How I’ll know?” Esme implored. Was she fated to be neither witch nor fae but a combination that produced unspeakable magic? Could healing potions she infused with her powers backfire and harm people? Luckily, she’d not attempted charming products for clients, and only dabbled in things for herself.
Cryptic huffed, “Still enough mortal in you to be inane and a waste of my time. It’s not my job to describe what only you will know.”
“Let me now see to your wounds.” Halcyon’s gentle voice soothed Esme’s ears but did little to ease the turmoil inside her. The healer faery used a touch soft as a butterfly’s to peel away the adder’s tongue leaves, though her shaking hands revealed an understanding of the potential danger in Cryptic’s reading. Halcyon opened a second tin and pressed the used leaves into what looked like damp earth. “In short order, Earth will detoxify the poison and you’ll be healed.”
As Esme watched, the puckered wounds drew closed and only thin scar lines remained. “That’s amazing. Thank you. Can I use that healing on others?”
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 Page 79