by Elsa Jade
Not that she’d been to many of those.
She set her bag on one of the flatter rocks that tilted just enough to make her feel even more anxious, as if everything could slip out from under her hands.
Thor hunkered down beside her. “What can I do?”
“Fill this with water from the strongest part of the current.” She handed him a crystal vial about the size of her thumb. It looked tiny in his hand—though not as small as her practical magic up against an entire wildfire…
Rummaging through her bag, she found her long silk carry-case. She unrolled the case, whispering her meditation chant to calm herself, and revealed the dozens of pouches. Eyes closed, she trailed her fingertips over the tiny buttons that sealed each pocket, feeling her way. As her intuition pinged, she opened each pocket. An aquamarine pebble, luminous blue under the flashlight glare. A fossilized seashell she’d found while gardening in the Victorian’s backyard, a remnant of a long-lost time when the Four Corners was a shallow sea. In a thick-walled marble mortar, she mixed dried waterlily, lotus, and papyrus—all water plants—into a powder, and then added eye of newt—which was actually wild mustard seed because no witch she knew was okay with maiming small amphibious animals. Water, water, everywhere.
She added a cast iron bead in the shape of a fish to protect the creek’s fauna from the spell. Last, her hand went unerringly to the newest addition to her portable spellatorium. The white berries were cool and waxy under her fingertips, and she crushed them along with her misgivings.
“Snowberries,” Thor said as he knelt beside her.
“I picked them before our picnic, wanted to do more magical studies with them.” She shrugged. “But snow makes water in the spring, so…” When she reached for the vial he’d filled, she realized he was soaked up to his thighs. “Did you fall in?”
“I waded in.” He dried his hands on his hips. “You wanted the flow at the heart of the creek, right? To capture the spirit of the water itself.”
She slanted a glance at him, surprised. “You’ve been listening.”
“I like to hear you.”
Gah, now her heart was captured…
She forced her focus back to the spell. “Then here’s what I’m thinking. While I’ll finish the spell to draw more of the lake water this way, you get a shovel from the truck. We need to open a pathway to send the water over the spires, down to the fire.”
Frowning, he rose. “Will it be enough?”
She’d already decided she wanted more. “So mote it be.”
As he jogged back to the truck, she poured the creek water he’d brought into the mortar. The aquamarine pebble and the fossilized shell grated like boulders under the pestle, but they’d share their sympathetic water energy with the spell. When the powdered ingredients had become a thick paste, she used the shell to scoop all of it, including the aquamarine, into a fine raw muslin sachet the size of her palm. She knotted it tight with blue silk thread, binding each loop in time with her chant.
When Thor returned, a shovel and a pickax slung across his broad shoulder, she rose. And tilted almost as badly as her impromptu rock altar when the mesa seemed to list to one side.
“Whoa.” He grabbed her arm, holding her easily. “Rita—”
“Come on. We need to dig a spout in the edge of the mesa. That’s where I’ll hang the spell bag.”
“Take my arm.”
“I was just dizzy for a second.”
“I don’t need you falling in the creek.” He stood unmoving until she crooked her elbow around his. “I’m not sure how much good I can do. I don’t think even bear claws would make much of a dent in the basalt.”
“We don’t have to do much,” she assured him as she grabbed the flashlight. “Just enough to show the magic where to go.”
But when they got to the edge of the cliff and looked out over the plains below, her throat tightened, with a curse or scream or sob she didn’t know. It had only been a few minutes, hadn’t it, but the wildfire was lapping at the base of the mesa like a lethal incoming tide. Worse, the spires here were jagged, broken, so that the creek water seeping between the stones just disappeared down the rock face, not even a leaky-faucet trickle much less the waterfall she’d pictured in her mind.
“We’d have better luck peeing over the edge,” she groaned.
“If you think that would help…”
She slammed one crutch into the ground, and the hollow clang off the volcanic rock made the bones in her arm shiver. “Get those rocks off. I’m going to tie the charm bag in the flow.”
While Thor picked his way toward the cliff, she swept the flashlight beam across the creek, pausing on two rocks midstream that had trapped a broken branch between them. A perfect place to tie the sachet.
With the flask in her pocket, she started across the stepping stones of slickrock toward the center of the flow. Her knees wobbled. The spell and the late hour and adrenaline had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit. Couldn’t admit to Thor, or he’d try to stop her.
She glanced over her shoulder at him where he wielded the pickax with a fury against the edge of the cliff. He’d already notched a toothed vee in the basalt. When he swung again, the heavy steel chipped some iron occlusion in the volcanic stone, sending up a spurt of red sparks out of the water into the night. A good reminder what she needed to do, as much as she loved watching the flex of his strength.
He paused, the pickax poised above his head. “You’re making me nervous. You need me to come over there?”
He was nervous? “Keep digging,” she commanded, even though, yeah, she kinda wanted him, like, right now. “I got this.”
Luckily, for once her crutches gave her an advantage, a way to steady herself over the rocks. The water wasn’t that deep—probably she wouldn’t even get her knees wet if she stood in the middle—but the current was fast, and the beam of her flashlight bounced off the ripples so that the water right under her stepping stones looked like a mirror, like if she slipped off she’d break through and fall into bottomless darkness…
But her sensible, thick-soled shoes clung to the rock, and she crossed to the oak branch without incident. The sharp sticks scratched at her knuckles as she tested the wood. If the limb broke apart and the charm bag washed over the cliff before the spell brought a rush from the lake…
But the branch resisted her tugging, trapped good and tight by the rocks. She dug the sachet out of her pocket and plunged it into the water. For a heartbeat, the flow was icy-cold, far colder than the lake where they’d played even though the shallow creek had been making its way across the mesa under the desert sun and should’ve been much warmer. Gritting her teeth, she knotted the silk thread by touch alone since she’d set down the flashlight and anyway it was too damn dark under the water.
Her pulse skittered at the thought of what else might be lurking in the shadows she couldn’t see…
“Rita.”
At the note of unease in his voice, she forced her numbing fingers to move faster. “Almost done.”
“The fire jumped past the scree slope. There was nothing to feed it, but it just flew.”
“It wants to burn.” Silver tinged with blue glimmered under the waves, mesmerizing her. She swayed. “Like the water wants to flow.”
A strong grip at her elbow spun her around, sending the flashlight beam dancing. “We’re out of time.”
Shaking off the charm’s glow, she centered herself with a damp hand on his chest. “No, we have to stay in case I need to boost the spell.”
He put his hand over hers, pressing it close, and the thud of his heartbeat was like the rush of the water, the heat of the fire, and the steadiness of the earth, all at once. “Do it now.” He edged her hand off-center. “How about a lure? An enticement that calls like to like.” Under the weight of their linked fingers, the rose flask popped out of his shirt pocket.
Her lips curled inward, she stared at him a long moment. “If we use the charmed water now, the rose will dry up.
If your bear doesn’t come back before it does—”
“It’s not coming back. And I’m done waiting for it.” He curled the cool crystal of the flask into her palm. “If this is all I can do to help, then it’s the most I’ve done so far.”
She swallowed hard. He was giving up everything, and damn if she didn’t think more of him because of it.
But when she realized how well she could see him—not because her night vision had suddenly improved, but because the edge of the cliff was limned in an ominous red—she knew he was right.
Closing her fingers around the flask, she surged upward to crash her mouth over his. He tasted so good, his warm lips a contrast to the mineral tang of the creek. The low huff of his breath, half laugh, half groan, sent a storm of sensation seething through her veins. She longed to tell him his sacrifice would make the difference, but she couldn’t know that. Instead, she pushed herself back and uncorked the flask.
The quicksilver flash of the charmed water was like moonlight on the crest of a tidal wave. Ah, it had been a good spell…
With one fingertip, she fished out the tiny diablo rose, its petals still bejeweled with silver, and passed it to him. “It won’t wilt right away. Hold onto it.”
He nodded, but his gaze was on her, not the rose. When he tucked it into his breast pocket, and the droplets soaked through the thin cotton flannel, leaving a shining silver crescent above the shirt’s pearl buttons.
She reached for his hand, and for a heartbeat the charmed water on his fingers bound them together.
“I’m going to pour it over the sachet to boost the signal.” She bit her lip. “For all the good that did with the rose…”
“It’ll work,” he said with all the assurance of a king bear. Of course, he wasn’t a king bear because her spell had failed. He held out an imperious hand. “Give me the flask. I’ll pour wherever you need it.”
She shook her head. “I have to do it. Maybe some other time I can teach you the incantations, if you’re interested.”
He cupped his hand under her jaw. “I’m interested in anything you want to show me.”
At his touch, the blood in her veins rushed and danced like the creek in streamers of scarlet and silver. Taking his hand, she leaned far out over the rushing water, murmuring the elemental incantations she’d learned at her aunt’s knee almost before she could walk. She tipped the flask, and when the stream touched the creek, silvery droplets burst like shooting stars across the dark water.
She tightened her grip on Thor and he hauled her back. “It’s already rising.”
“Yeah, that’s not just a pickax in my pocket,” he murmured, his dark gaze fixed on her mouth, the silver sparkles glittering in his eyes.
“The water,” she reminded him breathlessly. “I meant the water. The spell is working.”
“I knew it would.” He kissed her, hard and fast, and swung her around on the stepping stone. “Now let’s get out—”
Suddenly, he stumbled, his great strength and inborn grace failing him so they almost slipped from the rock.
“Thor?” She clung to him. The moss and algae that had grown over the stone during the spring runoff and dried up in the summer heat was turning slimy again with every splash of the rising water. Maybe it’d be better to just wade back…
“Rita, whatever you do, don’t scream.”
“It’s just water. Witches don’t really melt.” She looked up at him, but he was staring toward where they’d left his shovel and her messenger bag, and she followed his fixed glare.
If not for the red haze of the creeping fire, the darkness there would’ve been complete. Instead, the fitful ruddiness caught and reflected in twin amber embers.
Eyes in the night.
She swallowed hard. “Is that—?”
“Rex ursi.” Slowly, he edged his shoulder in front of her, nudging her back toward the far end of the stepping stone.
Her hand clenched on the still-full flask. Instead of the rose water amplifying the firefighting spell, had the like-calls-to-like water charm enhanced the summons to the beast? “Your bear.”
“Not mine,” he rumbled. “My father.”
Chapter 14
Impossible. He’d looked everywhere for his sire, and now the monstrous bear returned, with the town and mesa at risk and Rita in the way?
Thor wanted to push her farther back, but the creek was rising fast. Still just above knee deep, but he couldn’t carry her, not while standing against the murderous creature between them and the Domingo truck. And even if he sent her to the opposite bank, any grizzly could cross that water in a few leaps, and if she slipped…
The current might be just strong enough to tumble her, and the edge of the cliff was far too close.
The glow of the fire was higher now too, not high enough breach the spires, but the red light was a warning. In the baleful gloam, his father paced toward the water.
“Stay here.” Thor flattened one hand behind him—as if he could hold her in place—while he stepped down into the creek. The cold water wicked up his jeans but couldn’t even touch the heat of his anger.
No beast, no man, would threaten everything he loved.
“Thor,” she breathed, the sound of his name cutting out when the grizzly rose onto its hind legs, easily eleven feet tall, its jaws parting as it exhaled a menacing huff.
His throat tightened, remembering those teeth around his neck, choking him into submission, killing his bear, ending his chance to be king.
Leaving him free to be with the beautiful witch behind him.
He stopped, the creek tugging hard at his legs as if urging him back to Rita. “Leave,” he told the beast as he eased the pickax off his belt loop. “There’s nothing left for you here.”
A deep rumbling rattled his bones, but he refused to be intimidated by… Wait, that wasn’t his sire’s growl. It came from much lower.
“Thor,” Rita repeated more urgently. “The spell. The water is coming. You have to widen the crack in the rim.”
He glared at the bear. “I can’t leave you—”
Her hand settled lightly on his shoulder as she stepped up behind him, elevated by the rock. “Save us.”
He shuddered under the grip of her fingers. “I will…” And then he realized she was talking to his father.
“You made a terrible choice,” she said to the beast, her voice carrying over the distant thunder that wasn’t dying away. “A wrong one. And you ruined your clan and your heir. Do the right thing now. And it’s a simple thing. Dig. As if everything depends on it.” She nudged at Thor’s shoulder. “Go. Hurry. Before the wave gets here.”
He took a slow, sidling step toward the edge of the cliff. The pulsing glow of the fire was matched by gusts of heat, but his legs—and every vertebrae up his spine—were so cold.
To his shock, the grizzly matched his steps along the shore, away from Rita. He strode faster, kicking up a bow wave in front of him, and the bear followed.
Jogging through the water, he kept one eye on the lurking bear and the other on the edge of the cliff. The ragged rim of basalt spires ranged like broken teeth against the backlight of the encroaching fire—the mouth of a vicious beast with hell in its throat.
He found the notch he’d already made, now obviously too trivial. Imagining the spout of the flask when Rita had poured the charmed rose water, he swung the pickax hard, knocking away a chunk of basalt. The creek poured eagerly through the widened path, but the hole let a crimson gleam shine back into the flow.
Which meant the flames were leaping ever higher.
On the other side of the stream, the grizzly watched him a moment before coming closer. Close enough for him to smell the heavy musk of its fur even over the competing scents of water and burning desert. Its amber stare met his as it reached forward with huge, curving claws. Claws that had been poised to gut him—
The bear ripped away a chunk of rock. Bigger around than Thor’s chest, the hexagon column tumbled away into the red-tinted d
arkness. Together, they smashed at the stone until the water was gushing over the cliff.
The creek was above his knees now, pushing hard, and since he wasn’t quite sure where the edge was anymore, he waded toward his father. Although he kept the pickax balanced in his hands. “Thank you, but if you think—”
A deep roar interrupted him.
“Thor!” Rita’s voice was a tiny cry in the maelstrom.
As he whirled to face her, she gestured wildly upstream. Where a crescent of gleaming silver swung toward them like a scimitar.
The charmed water was answering her call with a vengeance.
While he’d been digging with his sire, she’d slid down from the inundated stepping stone where she’d tied the spell bag and had crossed the creek. But now he was on the wrong side of the swelling stream from her. He strode toward her, but the bear growled, even its great voice barely loud enough to rise above the rushing groan of water over gravel and slickrock, reverberating through the crystalline basalt.
The beast jolted toward him, clearly intending to cut him off from a fool’s run across the churning foam. But he couldn’t let her wait out the flood in the desert darkness, not by herself.
She waved at him again—gesturing for him to stay, like a bad dog—both hands off her crutches as if she could push him back physically. Of course she’d be fine. The water would go down and he could cross over to her. She retreated from the restless surge of the rising waterline, leaning down just long enough to grab the shovel he’d left on the bank in favor of the pickax.
Reluctantly, he stepped back too, watching her. The crest of the wave was almost upon them. Though he and his father had chipped an impressive chunk out of the basalt rim, the creek bed was still relatively shallow; before the wave could funnel down the cliff face toward the fire it would wash over the slickrock, and they needed to be out of the way.
The silver scimitar swung toward them.
He’d seen flashfloods before, every spring, but this one wasn’t anything like that. Instead of brown muck thick with debris, this wave was pure water, the bow touched with glimmering magic. Pride flashed in him, brighter than the charm—his Rita had conjured this.