A numb, seeping cold held Lillian in its grasp. Her world was built on a hundred thousand lies. Who am I? She remembered the blood running down her tree, and the sensation of her life force weakening as blood leached from the wounds. What am I?
“You called me Lillian after a dead girl—why? No wonder Mother was so cold to me.”
“My daughter-in-law never got over that night. It broke something within her. Don’t blame yourself. Perhaps it’s for the best she’s with Lily now.”
“But why name me after her? Surely it created painful reminders.”
“Pain, yes, but sweet, too. It was my way of honouring her for leading the gargoyle to us and saving her brother.” Gran sighed and looked at the gargoyle where he crouched next to the bed. His empty plate lay on the floor next to him. “We were new to this place. No one knew Lily. They wouldn’t know you were not the same girl. So you became Lillian.” She sighed. “I have kept my promise to the gargoyle as best I could, but now there is an enemy beyond my ability to defeat. Yesterday they came here to destroy my coven, and found you here alone. I am sorry. We had no idea they were ready to move on our territory.”
“Who are they?” Lillian asked. “And why don’t I know any of this? Why keep the truth from me?”
“Forgive me for the lie, but the gargoyle told me to say nothing of magic. So I thought it best if you believed you were Lily. Your uncle came up with the idea about losing your memories in a near drowning—a half truth is easier to accept than outright lies. And brain damage explained why you would need to learn our language and details about our world.” Gran paused again, and looked down at her hands. When she looked up, she gave the gargoyle an intense look. “I’m interested to hear the reasons why the gargoyle wanted you to know nothing about magic. That was a curious stipulation.”
Lillian followed her grandmother’s gaze. Gregory balanced on his haunches, one hand braced against his bent knee, muzzle bowed until it touched his chest, eyes focused unseeing on the ground. At the moment, he looked about as talkative as a stone.
“Right. Better luck next time.” A cold sweat broke out along Lillian’s back. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the gargoyle’s reasoning—her gut told her there was more amiss then just bad guys trying to kill her. She returned her attention to Gran. “What do you know about the creatures who attacked me?”
“Not enough. They call themselves the Riven. We don’t know their agenda, but they are a gathering of evil tainted magic wielders. Before, we speculated they were led by vampires. Now after your attack, we know that to be true.”
“Why attack me? Why now?”
Gran broke eye contact and glanced out the window. “This isn’t the first time they’ve made a move against us,” she said, her voice strained. She took two deep breaths and when she spoke again, her voice had smoothed out. “Six years ago, we were caught unawares. There had been rumors of a dark underground movement, one that could unbalance our community and expose us to the humans, but no evidence was found to back up our theories. Then the disappearances started. At first, we thought a blood feud had broken out between the Clan and the Coven.”
“Wait,” Lillian interrupted. “So the Coven is made up of your people—the witches. But this Clan, who are they?”
“We of the Coven are descendants of the few ancient human bloodlines gifted with magic. The Clan is a mix of the other magical races, many of which were once enemies. But our diverse peoples banded together for one simple reason: survival. The Clan’s numbers were always less than ours, but now they are many, many fewer. While they may not age, the dwindling magic has killed many of them. If they don’t find a way back to the Magic Realm, all the Clan will perish in time.”
Lillian rubbed at her temples. “So the unicorn is Clan, and my brother is Coven. And the Clan and Coven are allies?”
“Now we are, but that wasn’t always the case. At the thought of another blood feud, members of both Clan and Coven became paranoid and defensive. The Council gathered to put a stop to this, for a blood feud would expose us to the humans. The last time such a thing happened was long ago and ended with members on both sides burning at the stake. The Council ordered an investigation. The order was barely three hours old when we were attacked. The Riven showed us how woeful our defenses were against them. We lost eighty percent of the Council in one night.”
Lillian waited while her grandmother gathered herself.
Both grief and anger glinted in Gran’s eyes, the two emotions melding into a steel-hard resolve. “Nothing like this had ever happened before. Individually, we didn’t know what to do against such a powerful new enemy. For the first time in recorded history, the entire membership of the Clan and the Coven came together, like a herd seeking safety in greater numbers. When we did, we saw how many were missing. At first we thought those absent were dead, hunted down by the Riven. But later we learned the truth. Better had they been dead.
“Some old and trusted friends, ones we never thought had a speck of darkness within them, were serving these Riven. It became clear later what the Riven’s true motives were: they shall consume all the magic of this realm and rule over what remains. I fear some of the traitors may not have had a choice. We caught one of the traitors, a dire wolf. He seemed relieved when we put him to death. It was as if he was at last freed from intolerable servitude.” Gran shook her head. “I don’t know what was done to that poor creature, but granting him death was the kindest gift he’d received in many years.”
“What is a dire wolf?” Lillian’s head was full of cotton.
“Ah,” Gran cleared her throat. “You’ve heard the legends of werewolves, no doubt.”
“Yes. You’re saying a dire wolf is a werewolf.”
“No, and don’t ever call a dire wolf one.” Gran started to chuckle. “That’ll make them cranky. Like many of the fae-bloods, dire wolves are shapeshifters, but their natural shape is that of a large wolf. Instead of a human changing into a wolf, it’s the other way around. The fae-blood wolf learned to shapeshift into a man.”
“Oh.” There was so much Lillian didn’t know, and by the set of her grandmother’s shoulders there was more to come. “Tell me the rest. My parents…” She stopped and chewed her lower lip. “The two I thought were my parents . . . they didn’t die in a car accident, did they?
Gran spun her wedding band around her finger in slow, measured turns. “My son and daughter-in-law were on the Council, members representing the Northern branch of the Coven. They were at council when it was attacked.”
Lillian glanced down. The glossy hardwood floor reflected the morning light. Her gaze tracked the stream of sunlight back to the window, and beyond to the beauty of the world outside. The sight of her favourite tree usually brought a sense of peace, but today it couldn’t fill the hollow ache in her heart. So much of her life was a lie, and much of what was real felt like fantasy. She glanced at the gargoyle. At least he hadn’t vanished into the shadows. “Why bring me here?”
He remained silent.
“Even fed, you’re still not much of a talker.” Lillian crossed her arms over her chest and glowered.
Gran patted her shoulder. “I think he wants me to tell you the rest.”
“There’s more?”
“Lillian, by now you must realize you’re not what you thought. You’re Clan, not Coven. You’re not human.”
Lillian wanted to deny her grandmother’s words, but after all that had happened, she knew there was something different about her. She inclined her head to her grandmother and asked as calmly as she could, “If not human, what am I?”
“I, too, wondered that at first. Your gargoyle was injured, as were you. I think he used a lot of his power to heal you, and didn’t have enough left over for healing his own injuries. His time was limited. He was already turning to stone, and he couldn’t tell me much about you beyond the fact he didn’t want you familiar with magic. I didn’t even know what race you were at first.”
Lillian nodded her hea
d. “Go on. I can handle this.”
“I found a clue clenched in your hand—a small cutting from a tree, its leaves still fresh like it was newly picked. I put it in water and within a day it had sprouted roots. That it rooted at all would have been enough to signal that this was no ordinary cutting, but there was also a trace of magic in its leaves. You are a dryad. A tree spirit. Guardian of the forests. I didn’t know enough about dryads to know how to look after one, but I knew a sick child when I saw one. There was an unhealthy look about your skin I didn’t like. Your little tree sickened until just a few needles remained. Fearing I’d lose you, I contacted the sisterhood of the dryads and told them about you, your tree, and your gargoyle. They were here in less than a day. You’re alive because of them. I don’t think I would have thought about giving your tree gargoyle blood.”
Lillian absorbed what her grandmother said. She couldn’t accept everything now. It was too much. Later, when she was alone, she’d replay this conversation in her head and maybe then it would make sense.
Trapped in her memories, Gran continued like she was unaware Lillian was there with her. “The first night he came to us at the edge of the lake, he’d been injured, and his blood was splattered across the grass and leaves. That magic-laced substance shimmered under the moonlight—I remember seeing it, and in my state of shock I’d thought it beautiful like the stars in a cold winter sky. The next morning, my senses returned, and knowing the power locked in an immortal’s blood, I gathered up all I could find and kept it safe.”
The gargoyle stood, his sudden movement interrupting Gran’s story. He made a short coughing bark as he glanced out the window. His tail lashed, and his ears snapped forward. Someone was coming, judging by his body language.
Lillian eased off her bed and came up behind the gargoyle. Her viewpoint was all wings, mane, and flicking tail. A small thrill of gratitude flowed through her veins when he shifted a wing out of the way and made room for her to stand next to him.
Through the open window she heard a vehicle coming up the lane. The boulevard trees blocked her line of sight and obscured the vehicle until it turned up the main driveway. Her brother’s car came into view.
The gargoyle’s lips pulled back from his muzzle. Jaws parted slightly and nostrils quivering, he sniffed at the air. She touched his arm—and his thoughts came to her. No, not sniffing the air—tasting it to search for magic.
“Ah, the Sisterhood has arrived.” Gran said. “I sent Jason to pick them up from the airport.”
“The other dryads?”
“Yes. They’re the closest biological family you have in this world, but don’t be fooled for a moment. They are a dying race and have an agenda of their own. They saved your life, but I think they did it more to curry favour with the gargoyle than out of actual concern for you.”
“You think they’re dangerous?” Lillian meant it as a statement but Gran answered anyway.
“No,” Gran said, then paused as if selecting her words with care. “I don’t mean to poison you against them. They serve the Light, not the Shadow, but they are not human. They don’t think like us. And as much as you’re biologically like them, you were raised as a human, with a human’s view of the world and our moral concepts ingrained in you from a young age. You may not like what they have come seeking.”
“You’re sure they’re not evil? I’ve seen too much nastiness—I don’t want to face more today.”
“Yes, I’m certain. Do you think your gargoyle would stand there watching them if they were?”
“No,” Lillian replied with a glance at the gargoyle. He was now silent, unmoving. Only his eyes showed any life in them. They glittered like black ice, a predator’s stare directed down at the women exiting the car.
All three strangers had the tall thin grace of swans. Each wore a sleek, elegant dress, had smooth, waist-length hair, and long legs that ended in delicate, old-fashioned slippers. “That’s so not fair. I thought you said these women were the same species as me. I fail to see the resemblance.” Apparently, not all dryads were so lucky as to get the chic gene. Instead, nature had given her the curvy, but slightly plump gene.
“Oh, they’re just half-starved. Their trees didn’t have the nutrition of nice gargoyle blood to make them big and strong.” Gran chuckled. “Don’t worry, dear. They’d blow over in a storm. Do you still regret you’re not like them?”
“If you put it that way, no, not really.”
“Well, we can’t hide up here all afternoon. Shall we introduce you and your gargoyle to the dryads?”
“Sure.” Lillian couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. She didn’t want to meet them, not when she was feeling like the poor, uneducated cousin.
Gregory remained silent as he padded to the door. He held it open for them. Not seeing any other choice, Lillian followed Gran out.
The gargoyle vanished into the shadows, but he trailed along behind, his heat and magic a reassuring presence. Up until the moment he’d awakened and saved her, she’d always felt alone and hadn’t known why. Now she knew the reason: her gargoyle belonged at her back. She smiled and reached a hand out behind her as she descended the stairs. The warmth of a muzzle bumped under her hand. A moment later, a tongue licked at her fingers. She smiled as contentment warmed her heart.
Chapter Eight
Lillian took the curving stairs in a slow, measured step. More to make sure she didn’t trip than to make an entrance. The living room stretched out below her. She craned her neck for a better view of the three strangers, but their backs were to her. Her brother was already below, attentive as a servant. Poor, beguiled fool. While she wasn’t familiar with dryads, these ones looked capable of eating her brother alive.
Her grandmother sailed past Lillian on the stairway, showing no signs of weakness or age as she flowed down the steps, her floral-print dress billowing out behind her. She moved as a queen or matriarch would, quietly assured of her right to rule her domain.
Gran tilted her head in Jason’s direction. “Be a dear and go help your uncle. The gardens are a mess.”
A smile tugged at Lillian’s lips as she took in her brother’s look of disgruntlement. Jason grumbled something as he left.
At Gran’s approach, the palest of the dryads stood. The newcomer made the simple motion one of slow grace. A long-fingered hand swept sable-coloured hair off her shoulder. The sleek locks looked like they had never seen the abuse of a blow dryer or hot iron.
Sable-hair’s ladies-in-waiting, as Lillian decided to call the two flanking women, bowed to Vivian and then stepped back.
Like two queens meeting to negotiate a treaty, Gran and Sable-hair regarded each other with hard gazes.
“The gargoyle is awake and remains in this realm? He hasn’t returned to his own yet?” Sable-hair’s voice tightened with worry on the second question.
Lillian’s jaw tensed. What did these dryads want with her gargoyle? What was so important they couldn’t take the time to exchange names first? She didn’t like the implications already.
Gran nodded at the dryad’s words. “He is here, and he will remain here as long as my granddaughter does. He shadows her every step, awaiting her command. Whatever his purpose, if you wish to speak with him about your problem, you’ll need to communicate through Lillian. The gargoyle is shy, reclusive, and disinclined to speak to us folk of lesser magic.”
Lillian’s jaw tightened. Gregory wasn’t like that. Sure, he didn’t have much to say, but he’d never done anything to make her think he regarded the rest of them as lesser beings. Gran caught her eye and shook her head the slightest bit. That one motion told Lillian all she needed to know. If her grandmother wanted to keep these strangers guessing, she would play along. The gargoyle remained silent, hidden in the shadows. Apparently he agreed with Gran’s plan.
The soft-spoken, brown-haired lady-in-waiting turned her attention to Lillian. “This gargoyle is your servant?” Her sculpted brows rose in question. “He awaits your commands?”
Li
llian’s stomach soured. Her grandmother’s plan suddenly didn’t look so appealing. This new sense of authority, where others looked to her for answers, was not something she wanted. Reluctantly, but seeing no other choice, she answered. “If anyone is in the other’s debt, I am in his. He saved my life twice. First from the monsters who attacked me, and then later he used his own strength to heal me. I was dying.” Her words drifted to silence as she remembered those moments of horror.
“But he does remain at your side?” Sable-hair interrupted.
“I’m not his master.” True. But he had said, ‘I am yours,’ whatever that might mean. She didn’t think she’d share that piece of information.
Sable-hair gritted her teeth, a noticeable change compared to her earlier serene expression. “Tell me how you came to be in this realm in the company of a gargoyle.”
Gran cleared her throat. “Perhaps introductions are in order.” She glanced in Lillian’s direction. “The dryads, like many of the fae races, don’t give their true names freely. This is a dryad Elder of the North American sisterhood. You may call her Sable.”
How creative, Lillian thought to herself as she smiled at the dryad in an attempt to seem friendly. When she held her hand out to the Elder, Sable hesitated.
Gran gave the dryad a frosty smile. “Elder Sable, this is my granddaughter. As you have said, she is in the good graces of a gargoyle.”
After a brief pause, Sable returned the handshake, the dryad’s soft, unblemished skin completely different than Lillian’s own garden-roughened hands.
Lillian grinned at the implied “play nice or else.” While the Elder returned Gran’s frosty smile, Lillian peered at the dryad to Sable’s right. With her waves of golden hair and pixie face, she wouldn’t have been surprised if this one called herself Goldilocks. Lillian rolled her eyes at her own folly.
The Avatars Series: Books 1-3 Page 7