by Tanya Huff
“Nails?” Charlie offered.
“Yeah.”
“What’s it do?”
“Nothing until you lose it. Then you lose everything else.”
“So put it back in the jar and sell it.”
Allie looked disapproving. “That’s a bit irresponsible, don’t you think?”
Charlie shrugged. “Depends on how you’re defining irresponsible. Seems like the responsible thing would be to get it the hell out of here. It’s not like family’s going to pick it up.”
“Tony, your drummer, he builds stuff, doesn’t he? Suppose he came down and bought the jar with the nail in it because he needed some cheap screws and then he took it home and somehow lost the nail and lost his wife and his house and . . .”
“Yeah.” Charlie cut her off. “I get it. It’s dangerous. So what are you going to do with it? Lock it up with the monkey’s paw?”
“No . . .” Allie reached under the counter and came up with a hammer. “. . . I’m going to put it where it can’t get lost.” She turned, lifted the signed photo of Boris off the wall, used the claw to pull the more mundane nail, and slammed the lost nail in about two centimeters higher.
“Gale girls know where the studs are,” Charlie said.
Joe snickered.
“Why don’t you go next door and get coffee,” Allie muttered, hanging the Minotaur’s photo back up.
Kenny Shoji looked up as Charlie came through the door of the coffee shop, muttered something that sounded uncomplimentary even at a distance, then moved to the row of urns behind the counter to start filling the tall red mugs he kept for the Emporium staff.
“So,” he said without turning, “you’re hanging around again. Wasting your life.”
“I like my life.”
“So you say.”
“I don’t feel trapped!”
He turned then. “Who said anything about trapped?”
“No one. You just . . . I mean . . . Look, whatever.” She frowned purposefully at the small TV next to the cash register. The mute was on, but the banner across the bottom of the screen announced CBC News at Noon was showing visuals of the Hay Island Seal Rookery. Why did that sound familiar?
She jumped a little when Kenny set the three mugs down in front of her.
He looked from her to the television and shook his head. “Bad deal that. Some oil company’s been pushing the Nova Scotia government for permits to drill just off the island. All hush hush. Some group that works to protect the seals found out, just about at the last minute, and there were a couple days of protest but they seem quiet now. Lots of oil, the company says, and no one’s arguing that, but too close to shore and way too close to the seals if anything goes wrong.”
“What could go wrong?” Charlie snorted. The visuals changed to an attractive woman speaking earnestly to a reporter. The banner now read Amelia Carlson, CEO of Carlson Oil. She wore the glamour money provided in order to look in her mid-thirties, plumped lips lifted in a smile equally as unreal. “I met some guys up in Fort McMurray . . .”
“Good for you!” Kenny’s face pleated into a thousand wrinkles when he smiled. Even when it was a sarcastic smile. “I hear that’s what happens when you hang out in bars. You should watch the news more.”
“. . . they were from Cape Breton,” Charlie continued, ignoring him. “They talked about Carlson Oil trying to get offshore drilling permits. Said the company’d build a refinery and everything.”
“Lots of jobs,” Kenny sighed. “That’s hard to argue with. It’s always been tough going in the Maritimes. I know money was tight back when I was surfing off the north shore.”
“Wait.” Charlie moved her attention from the television to the very old man behind the counter. “You used to surf the north shore of Nova Scotia?”
“That’s where I met Robert August.” He pointed to one of the framed photographs on the wall of the shop. It was a signed, black-and-white shot of a young man in board shorts, cutting a sweeping line down a wave. “That was in the summer and the ocean was still cold enough to freeze your manhood off. And speaking of freezing . . .” He pushed the mugs toward her. “. . . take these before they get cold. Oh, and the apartment’s free end of September. You can have it if you want it.”
Sleeping in without interruptions. Practicing without silence charms. Still close enough to Allie’s cooking. And bed. Charlie opened her mouth to say she wanted, but nothing came out.
Kenny shook his head. “I’d cut you off if I hadn’t already poured. Your lip is twitching.”
Auntie Gwen, Auntie Bea, and Auntie Carmen were waiting by the counter when Charlie got back to the store. Joe had left. Apparently Kenny’s uncanny ability to know who wanted what coffee could be thrown out of whack by the presence of the aunties. Hardly surprising; whole civilizations could be thrown out of whack by the presence of the aunties. And if some of the stories were true, had been.
Auntie Bea looked stoic, Auntie Carmen looked concerned, but Auntie Gwen’s expression lifted the hair off the back of Charlie’s neck. She shot a silent What’s up? at Allie, who shrugged an equally silent I have no idea.
“We just got off the phone with Jane,” Auntie Gwen said as Charlie put the mugs down. “And we decided you should be told this in person.”
“I should be told?” Charlie asked, licking at the coffee slopped on the back of her hand.
“Everyone here in Calgary needs to be told,” Auntie Bea announced. “We’re just starting with the two of you.”
Auntie Carmen shook her head, concerned expression morphing to mournful. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth . . .
And Auntie Gwen cut her off. “Alysha, your grandfather . . .”
Charlie moved to Allie’s side. Alysha’s grandfather, Charlie’s Great Uncle Edward, held the same position back in Ontario that David did here in Calgary. Allie adored him.
“. . . wavered during the ritual at Midsummer. It has been decided, there will be a Hunt.”
TWO
A HUNT?” Behind the shield of the counter, Allie wrapped her fingers around Charlie’s. “Because Grandfather wavered?”
“Weakness at the heart of the family cannot be tolerated, Alysha.” Auntie Bea’s dark eyes narrowed. “You know that.”
“But there hasn’t been a Hunt for generations.” Allie’s grip tightened past the point of pain. Charlie gritted her teeth. “Why hasn’t one of the uncles just challenged him?”
“Just challenged him?” Auntie Bea snorted.
“David’s tied here,” Auntie Carmen sighed, thin fingers twitching at the hem of her pink polyester blouse. “I’m sure it was the only solution at the time, but no one else is strong enough.”
Auntie Gwen shook her head. “Even if one of the others could defeat Edward . . .”
“And we’re not saying anyone could,” Auntie Bea interjected.
“If they could,” Auntie Gwen continued, “they couldn’t do it easily.”
Auntie Carmen sighed again. “Not easily.”
“David could have,” Auntie Bea snapped.
Auntie Gwen turned on her. “David had a different destiny.”
“Without David . . .” Auntie Carmen’s voice trailed off.
“Without David,” Auntie Gwen continued, “it has to be a Hunt.”
“Without a Hunt, the center will be too damaged to hold,” Auntie Bea pointed out, as though that, at least, should be obvious.
“If the center doesn’t hold . . .” Auntie Carmen’s eyes glistened and Charlie tried not to think of crocodiles and tears.
“If the center doesn’t hold,” Auntie Gwen said definitively, “then the family falls.”
Outside the store, an SUV roared past, bass thumping, two kids walked by arguing about a television show, and half a dozen pigeons muttered amongst themselves as they wandered desultorily around the sidewalk directly outside the door looking for food.
Another moment passed, another SUV, and Charlie realized the aunties were waiting for a response.
They’d finished talking. Good. The three of them had been very close to starting in on the eyeball swapping thing and that never ended well.
“So let me see if I can sum up.” When no one objected, Charlie continued. “Uncle Edward wavered. That makes him weak, and we can’t have a weak anchor. Unfortunately, David was the only male strong enough to take him out without taking the kind of damage in return that would keep him from doing his . . .” It wasn’t exactly a job. “ . . . thing. Duty. Under those circumstances, in order to put a strong male at the center of the family, there has to be a Hunt. That it?”
“That, Charlotte . . .” Auntie Bea folded her arms over a large, glittering image of a gossamer winged fairy distorted into caricature by the shelf of her breasts. “ . . . is what we said. Edward’s replacement will, of course, be temporary. He will be replaced by challenge and that replacement will last for a while longer.”
Charlie borrowed an eye roll from Allie. “Of course.”
Auntie Bea ignored the sarcasm. “As you’ve grasped the situation, we’ll be off. We need to tell the others who’ve relocated.” She made it sound as though the family had relocated to dirt roads, wooden sidewalks, gunfights at high noon, and saloons with sawdust floors. Auntie Bea made no secret of having come west to keep an eye on things.
“You’re not telling David,” Allie growled.
Auntie Carmen reached over the counter and patted her on the arm. “Of course not, dear. You anchor second circle; that’s your job.”
The expected protest never materialized. Allie merely closed her eyes for a moment and, when she opened them, asked, “When?”
Not when should she tell David, Charlie realized, but when was it happening. Second circle made connections. Allie was upset not surprised. She was part of the process now.
“Full moon’s tonight,” Auntie Bea sniffed as she headed for the door. “No time like the present.”
“No time for second thoughts,” Auntie Carmen sighed, following.
Auntie Gwen lingered a moment. “We’ll take to the air and head out beyond the city limits. We don’t want to be on territory David holds when we get caught up. Yes, we will,” she said in response to a sort of cough from Allie. “We spent years with Edward; we’re too connected not to react. But we’ll find something to . . . take the edge off. David will be . . .” She bit her lip and tapped French-tipped nails against the counter.
“In a state?” Charlie offered. “Freaked? In no danger from the three of you but likely to trample you flat anyway?”
Auntie Gwen ignored her. “He’ll be agitated. It might help if you were with him, Alysha.”
“I plan to be.”
“I’ll be there, too,” Charlie pointed out. Allie squeezed her hand a little tighter.
“Of course you will.” Auntie Gwen frowned, sharing her disapproval equally between the two of them, and opened her mouth, but, before she could speak, Auntie Bea stuck her head back in through the door.
“I’m not paying for this cab to sit at the curb, Gwen!”
“You’re not paying for the cab!” Auntie Gwen pointed out acerbically. The aunties needed a cab—a cab appeared. Never the same cab twice, so at least they spread the free rides around. Charlie wasn’t sure if it was a result of the family’s tie to the city or the aunties being cheap, but both were likely. Also, Auntie Bea’s lime-green Capris were terrifying when seen through the door’s clear-sight charm.
Auntie Gwen took a couple of steps away from the counter, paused, and pinned Charlie with a look that suggested a conversation involving the words, we need to discuss your future was in the offing. “Just to be on the safe side, Charlotte . . .” And I shouldn’t have to tell you this, added the subtext. “ . . . stay out of the Wood tonight.”
“I’ll be with Allie.”
Her expression shifted, but before Charlie could define where it ended up, a car horn sounded. “Who tied Bea’s sensible cotton briefs in a knot,” Auntie Gwen muttered. Her rubber sandals made less of an aural impact than she’d probably intended as she stomped out of the store.
Still clutching Charlie, Allie stood in silence. Watched the cab drive away. Watched the traffic pass.
“Allie-cat,” Charlie said at last, “could I have my hand back? I can’t chord with broken fingers.”
“You’re not going because you could put Allie in danger!” Charlie snapped at last, stepping between Allie and Graham and waving a flip flop, first at Graham . . . “Sure, you married in, but the whole seventh son of a son of a thing gives you gnarly powers of your own and you know that.” . . . and then at Allie. “He anchors ritual with you; stop treating him like he doesn’t know what’s going on.” Back at Graham. “You want to be there to protect her.” Back at Allie. “You want him not to be there to protect him. Oh, joy. True love. Stop making me nauseous and consider that we don’t know how Graham would be affected and that could put Allie in danger and so you’re not . . .” She slapped him on the chest with the flip flop. “ . . . going! End of discussion.”
After a long moment, Graham sighed. “If music doesn’t work out for you, you could go into marriage counseling.”
“Music is working out just fine,” Charlie muttered, yanking her crushed flip flop from his grip. “Thank you.”
“No way!” Jack folded his arms, brows nearly touching over his nose. “You can’t make me stay in tonight, that’s not fair! And, it’s totally . . .”
“The aunties are Hunting.”
“. . . totally the night I’m gonna kick Graham’s ass at Madden.”
Hand in the small of her back, Charlie pushed Allie toward the apartment door. “Told you he’d understand.”
Charlie kicked at a chunk of dirt by the boulder that marked a hidden cache of David’s clothes. Nose Hill Park was deserted. At seven, it was two and half hours until sunset, but there were no runners. No cyclists. No dog walkers. No surprise really; the air felt heavy, thick, and hot. Body temperature. Blood temperature. The moon would be full at seven thirty-seven—nine thirty-seven Ontario time. “He’s not going to come, Allie. He knows what’s happening; all the Woods are joined, and he’s going to need to run.”
“Nothing’s chasing him.” In spite of the heat, Allie had her arms wrapped around her torso.
“Even if nothing’s chasing him.”
“I wanted to tell him . . .”
“What?” Charlie suspected Allie wanted to tell pretty lies. I won’t let this happen to you. David probably knew they were lies as much she did and wanted to hear them even less.
Finally Allie stopped scanning the visible acres of the park, and sighed. “He’s strong. So many lives in the city, and I can feel every one of them through him. Not just the bright, clear touch of family, not just the land, but every little . . .” She flicked her fingers, right hand, left hand, right hand.
“That’s weird.” Charlie slid down the boulder, sat with her back against the rock, and repeated the movement. “Because Calgary never struck me as a jazz hands kind of city.”
Allie sat beside her. “You’d be surprised,” she said, tugging the hem of her shorts back into place, her voice tight. “Things are happening here.”
Charlie bumped her shoulder. “Let’s not start that again.”
The grass on the hill was gold, the sky a heated silver blue. Leaves hung motionless on the trees. Charlie could feel the way into the Wood through them, feel the point where Jack and his mother had broken through from the UnderRealm, the ancient site sealed with modern ritual. She felt the city beyond the park only because her family was a part of it now. But Allie . . .
“Every life? Isn’t that distracting?”
She felt Allie’s shrug where their bare shoulders touched. “When you’re listening to music, do you hear every note?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes it’s distracting, but mostly it’s just an awareness. It’s what second circle does. Here, we tend our bits of the city the way the older piece of the family tends their land.”<
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Although, because she’d been the primary conduit, Allie tended on a deeper level than any of the cousins who’d joined them. Her, Charlie corrected hurriedly. Joined her. In fact, Allie likely tended on a deeper level than any of the second circle back east. Odds were, she wasn’t even aware of how often her attention drifted away from conversations, eyes unfocused slightly as she twitched a bit of the city back the way she wanted it. The whole uber connectedness freaked Charlie out a bit. Personally, she needed to have her options just a little more open than that.
Open enough to go all the way to Fort McMurray with a bar band?
Wow. Her inner voice had gotten sarcastic of late.
“You’d know if you crossed,” Allie began but Charlie cut her off.
“Not going to happen, Allie-cat. I don’t care how much the aunties want a seventh son of a Gale. I’m not crossing to second circle—it’s express lane all the way to first—and I’m not splitting Graham’s mystical lineage with you.”
Given the way Gales skewed to girls, producing a seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son in the Gale family meant approximately thirty-five babies. Gales liked babies, hell, Charlie liked babies, but that, that was heading into rodent territory even if Allie’s unusual sibling situation—one brother, no sisters—helped adjust the numbers.
Allie snorted, sounding more like herself than she had at any time since the aunties had dropped the bombshell about the Hunt. “I’m not suggesting you split Graham’s mystical lineage with me. I’m not even starting on Graham’s mystical lineage until Jack’s . . .” She waved a hand. “ . . . resolved and even then, since it’s not the aunties knocking me up, we’re talking four or five tops—not fifteen or sixteen. But that doesn’t mean you can’t cross.”