Wolf Sirens Fever: Many are Born, Few are Reborn (Wolf Sirens #2)

by Tina Smith

  As a peculiar child, she became shy, mainly in response to other people’s reactions to her. Loud noises frightened her. She had big intelligent eyes that read through the smoke screens adults erected to the point where she unsettled, frightened or offended them. She always saw things other people didn’t. Even as an adult she could see spirits from the other plain. Her mother had told her she had been here many times before and that her soul was wise. That despite the distance it put between her and the world, she was here to give and receive as it may be presented for a higher purpose; because the goddess had bigger plans for her than she could imagine. “The taller the tree the harder the wind blows.” Mother told her this and made up stories, tales of the forest about gods and goddesses.

  Her mother understood many things the average person would be unable to fathom until they reached the other side. These things Tisane came to understand and know to be the real truth, from a very early age. This gave her insight. When her mother encouraged her to embrace her talent, she became ostracized from the general population. After some run-ins with disgruntled teachers and confused classmates due to her predictions and strange behaviour, she learnt to keep quiet, the way her mothers had done before her. She had always been taught to be mentally self-reliant. She did not need approval.

  Her hair was thick and wild. Pillow marks on her face this morning showed she never slept long but she slept soundly. Today was the eclipse, a partial cover of the moon. Tisane had no plans but something in the moist summer air of this overcast morning made her heart thump a little harder and her senses awaken in the still house.

  Tisane hadn’t always lived there in serenity. When she was young she had run away and played the part of the Type 'A' Personality, got a job she was far too intelligent for and even fallen in love - and was hurt. Even when she tried to force herself to play the part of someone she wasn’t, she knew no one ‘got’ her. But after her mother’s death she had returned, breathed in the air and only returned to her flat in the city to pack her things. She quit her job, threw away her pencil skirts and rekindled a love of nature she had traded for mundane society as she taught herself to cook from her grandmother’s recipes, while more important thoughts troubled her and fears for her sister woke her in the night. At that time in Summer Solstice, on the evening of the full moon, she had asked for her sister to leave the religious institution she had abandoned her family for. Powerless to save her half sister, she prayed and meditated, open-palmed to the Goddess, to find a way to destroy the Cult in their midst and ‘return my sister to me’. She said to the universe she would wait for a sign from heaven and would remain open to all avenues of possibility to bring a demise to the Cult. She imagined it crumbling. Symbolically she poured water over sand then closed the circle and put out the candles with a brass hood and swept the area clean. So mote it be.

  Perhaps she had evoked the goddess. As Tisane quietly rinsed a fork in the sink she saw a vision in her mind’s eye. The image flashed before her of a girl covered in sand. Her hair was dark, wet and she was panicked. Tisane knew she was lost or looking – yes looking. She dropped the fork with a clank and grabbed a bag and cardigan, left the front door ajar and sped off in her old Ford station wagon down the dirt road in a hail of dust. It would seem she knew what she was doing, but she did not. She knew only that she was going to find this apparition of a girl, alive or dead, for she wasn’t able to know if it was a spirit, a ghost or a living girl that unknowingly called to her from a beach somewhere, on a frequency only she was able to hear. Perhaps she had created her. But she had to follow the call as clear as the wind blowing branches and the water flowing down rivers to the sea.

  In the back of her mind she knew it was a crazy and insane thing to do, but the curiosity of her purpose led her on, not negative thoughts. She had her own theories - secret ones - that she had devised in the back of her mind. The Divine Goodness had called on her for this task to stop a death, to solve a murder, or to find a body, related to the Cult. To bring the families back, the sisters, wives and children taken in by the brainwashing Cult, and to save more from being taken - something the police were powerless to do. She had made up her mind. Taking them down could be done illegally, if need be, as all other avenues had been explored and discarded. She knew this vision had to do with her spell. She had asked just this past waxing moon for a way to help her sister leave the Cult. She did not know her destination, but she drove like hellfire to find this apparition. She knew from the old ways her feelings never lied and her intuitions never misled her. It was her purpose for the greater good of the life she was living and all her sisters here on earth. As Wiccan religion says, go with the flow.

  She was in a town all too quickly, looking for signs from the divine looking for the girl, wet and pale, perhaps walking by the road? But she had seen her on the beach, so to the water she went. She parked the car in a parking lot overlooking the ocean on the largest beach and looked out at the morning surf. The wind was picking up and the sky was overcast. The waves weren’t high, but were threatening to become more aggressive under the patchy grey sky. No one was around and the water was empty of anything foreign. Footprints left in the sand had been washed away by the rain earlier that night, leaving softened hollows. Tisane’s hair whipped about her face. The girl was not here. She drove then downward to more secluded areas of the coast. She tried to remember the vision and thoughts she’d had surrounding it. Mangroves, it had to be mangroves. Tisane called to her and saw again the vision. She was hiding or running away, perhaps escaped from the Cult compound. She climbed back in the car.

  “Where is she?” Tis whispered to the air, addressing her spirit guide for the first time today: her mother, who was on the other side, helping her and guiding her through this life. “Mother, where is she?” Her eyes scanned the lazy winding roads. Few cars passed hers heading to the town. She passed a campsite. She considered staying in one place in the hope the girl would appear. Then she thought she saw something in the corner of her eye flash past the passenger side window. She knew better than to think it was nothing - or just her imagination. She indicated, turned and swung back the way she had come, travelling slower this time, scanning just the bush, but she couldn’t see anything. When she thought she’d gone too far she slowed and stopped on the edge of the road and left the engine running.

  “Damn it,” she whispered, feeling silly. She considered for a moment going home and then sighed and clanked open the old Ford door.

  She stepped out onto the gravel and glanced around. Immediately she felt frightened as her heart thudded, though nothing had changed. The edge of the mangroves brought back a foreboding sensation from childhood. The breeze, which was less fierce away from the open coast, rustled the leaves and blew dried ones across the gravel and they danced over the grey road. All was quiet - too quiet even for Tis. She had a thought and opened her mouth to call out, as her eyes searched the thick mangrove forest for the – whatever she was looking for, only to hear the engine rev and her car speed off, tyres spinning in the gravel, with the door open, so fast it fishtailed before fleeing out of sight. It was definitely a girl driving and spirits didn’t drive. “Damn it!” she cried and crouched over in the road before squatting in defeat with her face in her hands.

  The goddess brought me here so that I can have a wet teenage girl steal my car? She flung her head up after a few deep breaths, flipped her hair out of her eyes and started trudging back towards the town, stopping to swear once more when she realized she didn’t even have her bag with her. Everything was inside it. Why in her hurry had she forgotten to bring her bag?

  Tis walked the three kilometres into town. Several cars had passed her by this time but she declined a lift from what looked to be surfers and a concerned gentleman who seemed to be from the nearest campsite, decked out in holiday beach gear as they were. A few horn beeps unsettled her nerves. She didn’t tell them her car had been stolen and wished she’d worn better shoes than sandals. But not wishing to entrust her lif
e to strangers she walked the entire way back and perhaps would have gone straight to the police station if the town had a station. No, though, even then she would not. Her instincts told her to lie low. Even neglecting that, she could hardly explain what she was doing on a Tuesday morning stopped on the side of the road near a mangrove forest a half hour’s drive from her house. And besides, she didn’t like to lie or argue her illogical point to people who failed to see the intelligence of it.

  I tipped the bag on the passenger seat and rummaged through it with my left hand as I drove - pens and papers mostly. I pushed them around and felt amongst the crumbs for a purse. Crunching the gears; unfortunately it was a stick shift. My hand felt a book - maybe a passport? Holding it up, steering wildly with my right arm - just notes. I almost threw it aside when I spied a picture of a bow and arrow. It must be a coincidence. I skipped through a few paragraphs as I navigated the winding road that lead out of the valley to the next Shire, deciphering the handwriting ‘L or Elle’ scribbled on the page. Various paragraphs noted a dream about wolves and a girl. It sent a shiver down my spine. My hand searched for more from the pile - a wallet. I flipped it open. The licence read Miss Hunter – hunter - another interesting coincidence? I panicked, thinking I must have unwittingly taken the car from someone affiliated with the pack - or worse - someone Cresida knew.

  I squinted at the address as I drove along the narrow country road. On the right was a sign for the street listed on the licence ‘Hunters Road’ as though it had just magically appeared and I instinctively slowed the car and turned to follow it, oddly feeling little trepidation with my decision. The I.D read Miss, so I hoped the woman would most likely live alone. There were no pictures of kids or any family in her wallet and I needed food and water. Up on the right at the end of a long road and dirt driveway stood an old wooden house. The door was ajar and my initial response was to reverse and flee, but then I turned and looked again, assessing the house, which seemed otherwise quiet and empty. The old blue door shifted in the breeze and my pupils zeroed in on the curving shape carved into the wood and I pulled the park brake. I approached the cabin door and the deep lines etched in its surface became clearer. I climbed the two old wooden stairs and crossed the creaky verandah. The image became clear – a bow and arrow - the ghostly eyes of the woman who held it, soft and hollow. I swallowed dry. I felt my skin prickle as I gripped the edge of the door with my dirty fingernails as if to check it was solid and stared with disbelief at the similarity between the image on my wrist and the one carved on the door.

  24. Opposing Worlds

  By this time Tis had managed a lift home from an annoyed neighbour and was dropped off in her driveway. She walked along the winding dirt road lined with trees, which stretched for over 500 metres, up to the still house. Her car was there. She baulked. She was surprised when she saw the door to the house open but remembered it was she who had left it ajar in her haste this morning. She casually sauntered into the house bumping the screen door closed and fixed herself a glass of water, only to notice the drawers were out and a cabinet door open and various papers moved completely. She saw that she had unsuspectingly startled her uninvited guest. The girl was either here or had been. Tisane saw the TV and DVD player sat as always, so it seemed she hadn’t been robbed.

  “Are you here? It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” She wondered if the girl would hurt her. “I'm frightened, would you please come out if you are here…and speak to me?” she said into the air and waited but there was still nothing but the sound of the trees. Her heart pounded but as she listened, her fear subsided. Eventually Tisane went into the bathroom; the drawers there were open too. She saw the girl had rummaged through her medicines - all herbal - and not known heads from tails of what was on offer. There was no Panadol or prescriptions here, only herbal extracts. Tis smiled a little and huffed under her breath. She casually thought as she washed her hands and splashed her face how she could have helped her unexpected visitor to put the right medicines on her cuts and stings. The water from the sink was warm, the weather was hot and overcast. It was heading into a wet summer and Tisane thought about how the last two summers had been unbearably dry. As she came up to face the mirror with her moist face she half expected the girl to jump out, from behind her. She walked back into the living area as she had a paranoid thought that the girl might pounce down from the rafters. But all was quiet and she set about tidying the papers pulled from the draws.

  “What on earth could you have been looking for?” she mused aloud.

  Tisane went into the kitchen pulled open the fridge and scanned the contents. She saw a half eaten piece of bread and the lid was off the pickles. She sighed and bent down to pull out a packet of cheese that she noticed was now only half full and laden with tell-tale human teeth marks. She returned for eggs, mushrooms and cherry tomatoes – that were picked from the garden. She set a small fry pan on the stove and began to cut an onion.

  She sat and observed the mess of papers trying to see if anything was missing and shook her head again. Though she was used to unusual things, this was strange even for Tisane. She contemplated the situation as she sampled her meal. Maybe she should do a spell? She checked the car, nothing. All her things were strewn about the passenger seat and on the car floor. The contents of her bag on the seat. She realized how dirty the car had become, noticing the dust on the dash and the gravel and sand on the floor. Only a ten-dollar note was missing along with the change from the console. The keys were gone, and she didn’t have a spare set.

  In the coming days Tisane felt her presence as surely as her own. Tisane knew the girl was nearby and the feeling wouldn’t leave her. The day continued silently. One night passed and the feeling that the girl was there became stronger and stronger until she could hardly stand it anymore. Her nerves were rattled. During the day she swept the house, shook out the rugs and did a clearing spell and then after some thought, she scoured her books for a fruition spell, as her patience was wearing thin. She woke at every sound in the night and most disturbingly she dreamt vivid dreams of Artemis creeping around the house, in the little time she slept. When Tisane awoke, she knew she wasn’t done yet. Her grandmother had pointed to the old book in her dreams. In the morning she pulled it from the pantry. Her Grandmother’s Grimoir of recipes was written before certain legalities came to pass. In the good old days before regulations had banned certain natural medicines.

  She picked up the plate of food and with a deep breath walked steadily to the back of the cabin, tentatively. She approached the river behind the house for the first time since her mother had been found deceased in the little creek that branched from the Artemis River: the spot where she had played for hours as a child. Hesitating she bravely stared towards the clear water as it rippled and pooled innocently before her. She sat down the plate with a knife and fork and walked away. At the top of the bank she called into the trees.

  “It’s here if you want it, hot and good, not to go to waste or I will not be making another meal for you. Because I’d sooner eat it myself!” Tisane walked away, back to the house. The trap was set.

  She couldn’t see it from the back windows of the house, but she anxiously waited, watching the clock, trying to estimate the time it would take. Wondering if the girl had heard her, and if she had taken the bait. Whilst waiting she cancelled with clients, for three upcoming appointments. She glanced nervously at the pots and saucers and the offending herb on the kitchen sink. She hated to do it but the idea had come to her in a dream. As a younger girl she had fantasized about it in her more bitter and twisted youth, but until now had never considered it, because it took away free will and had the potential for harm.

  She uttered a sigh of surprise and relief as she viewed the girl barefoot slumped over on the ground in the dry grass on the other side of the river. This saved searching and more uncertainty. Good.

  Tisane turned her over, and was suddenly frightened as she gazed upon her fair, unconscious face covered in dirt. She hurriedly
checked for a pulse, touched her clammy skin but she wasn’t chilled, despite wearing only a short black dress and cardigan. She felt the faint throb of a heart beat. She would be too heavy to carry all the way to the house. Tisane ran to get a wheelbarrow from the shed. With a great deal of effort she managed to first lift her into it and then push and drag it up the river slope to the house, only spilling her twice which made her heart beat so wildly she had to mentally steady it. Her grandmother’s sleeping herb potion seemed to work almost too well, and much to Tisane’s surprise the girl did not awaken. She put a heavy plank of wood pulled from the shed, against the front verandah, and with yet more physical effort managed to get the wheelbarrow up the plank and onto the verandah. She reached a stop as the wheelbarrow became wedged in the front doorway. Tisane paused to rest momentarily. Her hands were shaking, and she wiped the sweat from her palms on her long skirt. The distinct whirr of an engine could be heard approaching fast. Tisane panicked and tried to think what on earth to do. Before her lay an unconscious teenager in formal wear in a wheelbarrow on her welcome mat. Shit, of all the times to have visitors, or was it the police?

  She felt the blood drain from her face. Hurriedly she pulled the wheelbarrow from the doorframe, dropped off her long skirt and tucked it around the body, pulling the unconscious girl’s legs up and pushing the knees down, to conceal her, before turning to see a car come over the crest of the dirt road. She tried to think how not to look jumpy and steadied her breath. If she didn’t look at the wheelbarrow maybe her guest wouldn’t notice.