by Barb Taub
“Make sure he stays away.”
•●•
She hadn’t seen Peter or the sun in three days. No big deal for a girl raised in the woods north of Seattle. But that included Peter’s smile, and he’d made her look for that smile. The bastard. Jeffers called to say he’d delivered her letter. She waited and finally, he sighed. “I told the boy you wanted…space.” She could almost hear the air quotes. “He just nodded. Then he asked for leave to visit his family in Bellingham. Haven’t seen him since.”
“Thank you.” She disconnected.
Bygul hadn’t gone into the woods since the first fight. Each night, whatever was still in those woods went on the attack. That first sensation of a blackboard-scratching itch in her brain had intensified until it now felt like claws slashing inside her head. By the time the sun finally rose on the fourth day, the first tentative scrapes had escalated to shrieks slashing against her consciousness. Bygul would stretch out next to her, Claire’s hand automatically stroking her sleek head as the motored purring made a barrier against the assault. She poured through the old family records for clues, waiting to see if Bygul had any further information. But the cat only swept a paw over that last record from her mother.
That morning as Claire was dressing, Bygul had jumped to her dresser and knocked aside the contents of her underwear drawer to reveal the photo buried there. It was a blurry cellphone shot Carey Parker had taken of Claire coming back from a morning run at the Academy. Just behind her was Peter, his face focused on her. The cat gave an inquiring burble.
Claire picked up the photo and ran her finger lightly over his face. “It’s not safe for him here until we figure out how to get rid of…whatever is out there. You know he won’t be able to fight what he can’t see.”
Bygul growled.
“Look, I know you want some little witches around here. But it was probably better this way. Peter would never willingly walk away from me, let alone any future daughters.” A huge paw grazed the edge of the photo, and then Bygul was rubbing her head against Claire’s chin. Claire returned the photo to the drawer and pushed it closed.
She and Bygul circled the fence line around her yard, reinforcing wards left by Nana. They were old wards, and she didn’t have any power to channel new ones. But she did share Nana’s blood, so drops of hers would have to do.
The shrieks dropped off when the sun came out, although they never completely disappeared. During a rare sunbreak on the fourth day, she decided to risk a run into town for supplies. The sky was already clouding as she raced the lengthening late afternoon shadows back to her house. Instead of leaving her old car at the top of the lane as usual, she pulled up to a hinged section of fence and opened it. Parking the car next to the porch, she ran back to close the gate section.
The shrieks were almost at full strength and it wasn’t even totally dark yet. The noise increased as she stomped back to her porch, arms full of groceries. She shrugged, turned back to face the woods, and sucked in air to power her bellow. “And she’s baaaack. Did you miss me, boys?”
She froze as a step sounded on the porch behind her. “I don’t know about them, but I missed you.”
As she swung around, Peter took the bags from her and stepped aside. Staring at him, she backed across the porch. Before she could touch it, the door swung open and Bygul trilled a greeting. The cat swept out, tail held high, to wreathe Peter’s legs. For a heartbeat, nobody moved. “No!” Claire fell to her knees to face the giant feline. “We talked about this.” Bygul’s purr filled the silence. “I know you like him. But I don’t know if we’ll be able to protect him.” The purr changed to an insistent growl, and the cat pushed Peter’s legs toward the door. As Claire rose to follow him across the threshold, anger finally gave her words. “You can just set those bags down by the door, Peter Oshiro. I don’t want you here. Get out.”
“Your cat invited me in.” He carried the bags to the scrubbed wooden farm table. Rooting through her shopping, he held up two fifteen-pound packages of salt.
“They go in the tall cabinet next to the oven. Then leave.”
He opened the faded yellow cabinet and stared at the bags of salt already stacked there. “You use a lot of salt. That can’t be good for your heart.”
“You leave my heart out of this. I told you I changed my mind. I can’t do a relationship, and you’re not up for a one-nighter.”
“Well, that’s the problem.” He put down the salt, and prowled toward her, his soft-soled tracker boots making no sound on her old floor. “I think my heart is connected to yours. So we’re just going to have to find a way to take better care of both of them. You didn’t really think that note was going to keep me away?”
“No, I didn’t.” She closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped. “But I hoped.” Straightening her back, she put up her hands to hold him off. “And don’t even try…” Too late. He smiled, and there was just nothing she could do about it when he reached for her. No way to stop herself from reaching back.
He helped her put away the rest of the groceries, ignoring her grumbling about men who won’t go away when they’re not wanted. Then he sat down to wait while she called Director Jeffers. “If you’re missing a Warden, I’ve got him. Any chance you could tell him to get out of here?”
“Would it do any good?”
She looked over at Peter, who shook his head.
“Sir!” She winced at the whine in her voice.
His chuckle came over the line. “He’s a big boy and I’m guessing he’s made his choice. Do you good to have some company. Living alone out there in your woods with Catzilla—hell, you’ve already got the Crazy Cat Lady starter kit going. I expect you both back at work by Monday. Tell Peter I’m proud of him.”
“You’re really not helping.”
By the time the sun set, the voices from the woods were shrieking in her head, deafening claws tearing at the mental barriers that only her lifetime of training was keeping intact. Sinking onto the couch, she buried both hands in Bygul’s fur, but even that couldn’t fully block the screaming. Her blue eyes met slitted golden ones. “There are just too many of them.” Bygul considered Claire then rubbed the silken fur at the top of her head against Claire’s chin. Closing her eyes, the cat began a meticulous wash.
Peter couldn’t hear the attacks, but by the way he stomped around instead of his usual graceful prowl, she knew he was angry about their effect on her. He stopped in front of her. “Too many of what?”
“I don’t know. The Black Hounds for sure, and probably lots of other things too. My theory is that after Bygul and I spanked their first assault, they put out some message about a chance to take down a goddess’ power. Bygul and I barely beat that first group, but now there are…things…out there that I can’t begin to fight. So all I can do is hold them off.”
His frustration was almost physical. “So we tell Jeffers to send help.”
“Peter.” Her voice was gentle as she went to him and his arms automatically wrapped her. “They’ve been trained to stop a physical assault. But here they wouldn’t even see what was ripping them apart. How could I ask them to fight it? How can I ask you?” She stepped away and wouldn’t meet his eyes.
When she drew her athame across her arm and dripped blood into a huge bowl, his lips clamped into a line so tight and hard she worried about his teeth. She took a bag of salt and mixed it with the blood. Then she poured it, along with all the remaining salt bags, into a black garden trash bag. After mixing it together for several minutes, he helped her carry the heavy bag to her wheelbarrow outside. He and Bygul followed as she scooped a line around the entire yard, just inside the fence.
Leaving a small gap near the lane, she knelt in front of Bygul. “We never thought they would bring so many or be so strong. If you’re going to go for help, you have to leave now. I’m not strong enough to channel your power to fight them with spells, but I’m pretty sure you’re the prize here. If you…” She paused, and stared at the huge cat. “When you
get back with help, I’ll be here. But for now, on behalf of all my family, I honor you and thank you for your favor over the generations. It has been our privilege to serve you.” She pulled her amber necklace from under her shirt and leaned forward until it flared as she touched it to the cat’s head.
The cat narrowed slanted eyes at her, and swatted a paw against her cheek. Claire laughed, despite the scratch along one cheekbone. “Okay, and you’re gorgeous but a total bitch and a pain in the ass. Now get.” This time Bygul rubbed her head against Claire’s chin and licked the scratch before walking toward the fence. Peter was watching the scratch disappear from her cheek as she tucked her necklace back under her shirt. She didn’t think he saw Bygul cross the fence line and grow to her full avatar size before vanishing.
Claire stood, finished the line of salt, and headed back to the porch swing, her hand in Peter’s. “Tell me about your life. Start at the beginning.” Her voice was a little deeper but her face still emotionless as he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped her grandmother’s quilt around them both. “Your voice…it helps.”
So he told her about his earliest memories of growing up in a huge family, their wartime sacrifices, his military service. He talked about instructors she knew from the Academy, practical jokes, and other students. She knew he was skipping over anything that wasn’t quirky or amusing, but lacked the energy to tell him that she wasn’t really listening to the words. The affection he didn’t bother hiding wove through his voice to—almost—shield her from the worst of the assault.
Twice that night, she re-salted the fence. She stood to make a third pass, but hesitated. With the barest of sighs, she took the bag and began to circle the outside of the wraparound porch. By the time she’d salt-lined the house and lined each window and door, she was swaying. Peter set the bag of remaining salt by the door and carried her inside as the sky was just starting to lighten. When he laid her on her bed and spooned behind her, she was already asleep.
Claire woke to the smell of heaven. Coffee, and bacon, and…pancakes? Tugging on a hooded sweatshirt and still finger-combing her hair, she stumbled into the kitchen. A shirtless Peter was flipping pancakes on Nana’s old griddle. A pan of bacon sizzled nearby. She stopped in her tracks, caught by the play of muscles and ink. He followed me home. Can I keep him? Then he turned his smile on her. “I was planning on breakfast in bed.”
“Where did the food come from?”
“Brought it with me yesterday. I was tired of the sandwiches. Plus…” He shuddered. “Your coffee is the stuff of nightmares.” He waved his spatula at the table. “Fighting invisible monsters is hungry work. Sit down and tell me how you like your eggs.” He held up his free hand to stop her automatic protest. “I know it’s after four in the afternoon. I’ve dreamed of having breakfast with you Claire.” His voice was soft. “Please.” She sat.
Finally pushing away her plate, she shook her head at his attempts to give her more food. “We have to talk.” He held up the coffee and she nodded. Curling her hands around her filled cup, she stared into her coffee as if she could divine their future. “My mother died trying to cast what should have been a routine business curse. Nana said she was still pretty young, so Mama wasn’t the most powerful witch yet, especially for a Danielsen. But this should have been an easy assignment. Only something went wrong, and she died. We never found out what happened, but even if her curse came back to her in threes since she didn’t complete it, she shouldn’t have been working with anything involving death. Normally, she would have added the Name of whoever she was cursing to our books, but all she left was a drawing.”
She went to her briefcase, still on the spare chair and pulled out the old bookkeeping record, turning to the page with her mother’s sketch. “Right after this all started, Bygul and I had a fight with their advance team in the woods, and she brought back a ring with that crest.” She looked up. “Plus the finger still wearing it.” She pointed to the drawing. “The Latin says herald with serpent rampant.”
He nodded. “Makes absolutely zero sense to me. What does this bit mean?” He pointed to a label beneath one of the extra snake drawings. “Ra maledictum?”
“Ra’s curse. I looked it up, and the ancient Egyptians believed the enemy of the Sun God Ra was an evil worm or snake called Apep, who stood for darkness and chaos. Greeks and later Romans called him Apophis. Nice family crest material.”
“So you think this is about your mother?”
“No. Worse.” She looked back at the coffee. “I think it was about power. And Nana used to say power is how evil keeps score. When a witch dies before she comes into her full strength, sometimes things pass to her daughter. I can cast spells no witch my age would normally be able to attempt. If my mother opened a connection to the Name of whatever is behind that crest, they might have some of that connection to me.”
Peter frowned. “Why wait twenty-five years to follow up?”
She shrugged. “Could be I have something they didn’t need until now. Or they’re just getting down to Danielsen on their to-do list. Or maybe they think I can open a channel to our goddess for them.” She waved her hand. “Take your pick. Maybe all of the above. Or something else.” There was silence in the little kitchen. She took a breath and her eyes met his. “But the point is that you aren’t involved in any of those scenarios. You can’t help me—you can’t even hear them yelling at me—and you might distract me. Last night was bad. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold them off. Peter, I couldn’t stand it if…” Her voice caught, then strengthened. “Please leave now. While you still can.”
“It’s funny.” He reached for both her hands and smiled into her eyes. “You’re one of the smartest women I’ve ever met, but sometimes you say the stupidest things.”
“Peter!”
“Now I have a question for you.” His grip on her hands tightened. “That day on the porch when you first kissed me…”
“You kissed me back.”
He ignored her interruption. “I started to ask you something about witches, but it wasn’t exactly about one night hookups.” Her shoulders stiffened and her hands jerked in his. “What I was trying to ask is if it’s true that a witch loses her powers if she gets pregnant.”
She snorted a surprised laugh. “Old wives tale. Mostly because witches are usually old wives themselves before they come into their full strength.”
He smiled at her, tugging her hands to pull her up from her chair and onto his lap. “That’s very good news.” He pushed her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck. “Now, if you don’t mind…” His kisses worked around to the spot below her ear, the hollow of her throat, and up her neck. “If you don’t mind, I have a few other questions that need answers.”
She forced her eyes open on a moan to see him smiling as he bent to kiss her mouth. “What… questions?”
“This might take a while, so maybe we should get comfortable. In bed, say…”
The hardest wave yet of blackboard scraping screams hit her.
Chapter Four
Even Peter looked startled to hear the doors and windows taking blows. In his arms, Claire’s spine bowed and she screamed. She saw his head jerk around trying to spot assailants, but there was nothing to fight. “Claire!” She felt his arms tighten around her, heard the desperation in his voice. “Tell me what to do.” She was rigid, sweat pouring down her white face. Gasping for breath, she slowly focused on his face.
“Salt inside. Windows. Doors.” Each word was a gasp.
Carrying her into the living room, he laid her on the couch before picking up the salt. “Do I have to say anything?”
“Already…spelled. Just pour.”
The house was small, and it only took a few minutes to finish. “What next?”
She sat up and thought she must have a little color back in her face because he looked relieved. “They can still get in from below. We’re going to need our own circle. How are we doing for salt?”
He held up the bag. “It’s ge
tting low, but we should have enough.”
She watched as he pushed the furniture to the sides and pulled up the braided rug in the center of the room. He raised a brow at the sight of a large circle painted on the floorboards. She shrugged. “Not our first rodeo, pard.”
He came and sat next to her on the couch. “How bad is it?”
“Not as bad as it’s going to get. They’re already to the porch, and it’s barely dark.”
“Why don’t we leave?”
“They’re locked onto me. They only know my human name so far, but if they make it through the salt circles, they might be able to make me tell them my Name. So they’ll just go wherever I go, and they’ll go right through anyone in their way. But Peter, you…”
“No. We already talked about that. I’m staying.”
“We may not have a choice. Listen to me. Somehow they’ve blocked our cellphones so we can’t call out. Bygul is trying to bring help, but I have no way of knowing how long that might take. So you may have to make a run for it. My car is warded and sprayed with silver so you should be okay as long as you don’t get out of the car. I’ve left the keys in the ignition. Get to Director Jeffers and see what ideas he has. I’ll stay here and hold them off.” She didn’t have to look at his face to know he had no intention of agreeing.
“One more thing. Before we close the circle, I want to add a little of your blood to the door wards, so you can go in or out. Please, Peter. At least don’t argue about this right now. We haven’t got much time.”
He pulled her into his arms, his lips hard against hers, before pulling back to hold out his hand. Her knife trembled against his arm, and she shook her head.
“It’s okay.” Now it was his voice that was steady, his hand that made the small cut on his arm and squeezed a few bright drops onto the door handle.
Claire piled couch cushions into the circle while he gathered the remaining bottled water and fruit. Without meeting his eyes, she brought in a lidded trash can and a roll of toilet paper. They each used the bathroom, and returned to the painted circle. She saw him looking puzzled as she poured a line of salt and then another line just inside that one.