by Lish McBride
She shook my hand firmly, confident enough that she didn’t try to break any bones, but no dead fish, either. “Sam LaCroix, right? What happened to your face?” Before I had a chance to explain away the bruises, she’d angled slightly toward Ramon. “And you…I know you.”
My head snapped over to Ramon, who had gone uncharacteristically silent. He knew pretty girls? Ramon had been holding out.
“You were in my biology class,” Dessa said. “Ramon something.”
“Hernandez,” Ramon said.
I vaguely remember Ramon mentioning a Dessa, though he’d mostly referred to her as “girl of the goddess body.” If Dessa kept Ramon this quiet, I might need to hang around with her more oft en.
Dessa paused, frowned at the bowling bag in Ramon’s hands, then waved us in and closed the door.
Ramon glanced around, trying to take in as much of her house as he could. All the walls I could see were done in earth tones—warm browns and greens—interspersed with photos and paintings. The house looked nice, not in an overly stylized way, but in a lived-in fashion. Dessa lived in a home, not a house. There’s a difference.
We walked through a set of French doors to a small room that looked nothing like an office to me, except for the two heavily laden bookshelves. Lace curtains billowed from an open window, and the walls were what my mom would call a pale, soothing lavender. I didn’t see a desk or a computer, just a small glass coffee table, a teapot, and a few overstuffed chairs arranged around it. In one of the chairs sat a woman calmly drinking tea from an old china cup. Her smile hovered just over the rim of the cup, and she gestured for us to sit. Maya LaRouche looked like a leaner, slightly older version of her daughter, with one exception. She had eyes like new copper pennies. Those eyes shifted her from beautiful to striking and surreal.
She put down her tea and poured some for Ramon and me without asking as we sat down. “I’ll need my daughter to remove your friend before we start.”
I looked at Ramon. “Why can’t he stay?”
“Not that friend.” She pointed at the bag. “That one.” Maya smiled at the look of panic on my face. “It’s okay,” she said, “I know what she is. I’d welcome her, but she’ll muddy my reading.”
Dessa picked up the bag.
Maya motioned at her to unzip it. “You understand, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brooke said.
Maya nodded kindly, and Dessa took Brooke out of the room. Any doubt that I’d had about Maya LaRouche being the real deal completely disintegrated.
Once she came back into the office, Dessa didn’t sit down until her mother nodded at her. More out of respect, I think, than subservience.
“Dessa tells me that you may have a problem that I can help with,” Maya said. Her voice rolled with a hint of an accent that I couldn’t place.
I looked at Ramon. I didn’t know what he’d told Dessa over the phone, or how much I should tell them now. He shrugged at me. I guess he didn’t know how to handle this, either.
Maya followed our back-and-forth with those new-penny eyes, assessing us. “I see,” she said. “Why don’t I do what I do while you boys think it over a little?” She leaned in to refill her tea. “But first, boy, you’re going to have to take off your juju bag. That thing is messing me up as bad as your friend was.”
I blinked at her.
“Your medicine bag. Take it off.”
I reached for it, but hesitated. “How did you know?”
“I’m a seer, boy, not some third-rate carnival psychic, and right now I can’t see anything with your juju blocking me.”
“You can’t?” I pulled my pouch off and set it on the table.
“I’m sorry, I’ve had it forever.” I frowned at the bag, suddenly uncomfortable with it. “I didn’t realize that it actually did anything.”
“Makes you invisible to me is what it does, and probably other things.” She closed her eyes and sat back. I didn’t know what to do, so I took a sip of my tea, which turned out to be chamomile. It’s a little unnerving, being focused on like that. Which made me think that the oh-so-soothing lavender walls, lace curtains, and chamomile tea were strategic. No one likes being dissected.
A few minutes stretched out, filled with the tiny sounds people make when they’re trying to be quiet. I kept my eyes on Maya, examining her face for any hint of what she was thinking. Her brow creased a little and then went flat.
“There you are,” she whispered, mostly to herself, I think. Her eyes opened, and she tilted her head toward me.
“Who bound you, boy?” she asked.
“Huh?” I felt like I’d been saying that a lot recently. My mind seethed with unanswered questions. I hadn’t gotten used to one thing, and now Maya was telling me there was something else? “Does that have anything to do with the dead thing, because—”
“I know you’re a necromancer, Sam,” she said. “That’s not what’s troubling me.”
“It seems to trouble everyone else,” Ramon said.
“Look, Mrs. LaRouche—”
“Maya.”
“Maya, this week’s been full of people who seem to know a lot more about what’s going on than me, and it’s getting old,” I said. “So, if you could just pretend that I have no idea as to what you’re talking about and start over, I would really appreciate it.”
She patted my leg sympathetically and took a sip of her tea. She cradled the cup in her hands, resting them in her lap.
“I know what you are, Sam, because I can see signs of it all around you, and because I’ve seen them before. What I do find strange is that only the outline of your aura is visible. That’s not normal. It’s as if someone has bound you, and all I’m seeing is what’s leaking out.” I opened my mouth, but she stopped me. “It’s exactly what it sounds like, dear. Someone has tied up your magic. A binding is usually done to keep a person from, or from causing, harm.” She frowned at the teacup in her hands. “I’ve never seen it used to harness like this. It’s as if part of you has been locked away.”
Her words echoed in my head. Someone had locked part of me up, and the idea that they might have done it because they thought I was dangerous made the tea heavy in my stomach. You don’t hobble nice beings. I’d always considered myself to be a good person. Was I wrong?
Ramon cleared his throat, drawing Maya’s attention. “Could that be why he didn’t know until now?”
Maya nodded at him. “Yes, it very well could be.”
“Can you tell who did it?” I asked.
Her brow creased again. “No. It’s messy, trying to keep something still that doesn’t want to be. Like trying to wrap ribbon around a river. You understand?” I nodded. She closed her eyes again and concentrated. “When I look, it blurs—almost looks like two different bindings. But I can’t imagine that.” Her face relaxed and smoothed. “Then it clears and I see a necromancer, like you.” She sighed. “I wish I could tell you more, but the binding…” She shrugged.
I stared into my chamomile. “So someone like me did this?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Well, that narrowed my suspect pool to zero. I only knew one other necromancer, and that was Douglas. No way he did it. If he’d gotten hold of me as a kid, he probably would have cooked and eaten me then and there.
“Sam,” Ramon said, “I think you should tell her.” His face seemed very serious. So unlike Ramon.
“All of it?” I asked. He nodded.
“All of what?” Dessa asked.
“I think we’re going to need more tea,” I said.
Ramon filled everyone’s cups as I told the two women about the last forty-eight hours. Telling them seemed risky, but like Ramon, I trusted them, and we needed help from someone. Since they hadn’t yet tried to kill anyone I knew, they were at the top of my list. Halfway through, Dessa got up and pulled a bottle of whisky out of a drawer. She poured a little into all of our glasses, giving her mother a bit extra after she saw Maya blanch at the mention of Douglas’s name. The two did
n’t strike me as heavy drinkers, so I took some pride in the fact that my story had driven someone else to drink, too.
“You’re screwed,” Maya said when I stopped.
Not something you want to hear from a seer.
“Yeah,” Ramon said, “we know.”
Dessa reached over and grabbed her mother’s hand as Maya said, “As bad as it may seem, Ramon, I don’t think either of you understands exactly how bad your situation is.” Her strong voice sounded tired. She stood up and leaned on her daughter. “Let me think this over, Sam, and I’ll see what I can come up with. In the meantime, I’ll make some calls. There is someone who I think can help you.”
I thanked her and made sure Dessa had my number as they escorted us down the hall. At the doorway, Dessa handed Brooke’s bag to Ramon before giving me back my medicine bag. I didn’t want it around my neck until I knew what was going on, so I shoved the small pouch into my pocket. Yeah, it made me sort of invisible, but what if it did something else I didn’t know about yet?
Maya touched my face with her hand. “I wish I could be of more immediate help.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“In the meantime, take care. And, Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d go talk to whoever made that pouch for you.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because whoever it is, they know what you are, too.”
I must have looked surprised, because Maya added gently, “That pouch is built to hide what you are—exactly what you are. It does nothing else as far as I can tell.”
I thanked her again.
We said our good-byes and more thank-yous. I studied the darkening sky as we walked to my Subaru, both of us now silent. Ramon didn’t speak until after we had both buckled our seat belts.
“Are we going where I think we are?” he asked.
“Hell, yeah,” I told him, turning the key in the ignition. I steered the car toward the highway that would take us to my mother’s house. “And I hope she’s got a few good answers.”
“I hope,” Ramon said, “that she’s made cookies.”
I glared at him.
“Don’t look at me like that. If we were going to interrogate my poor mother for whatever, you’d be secretly hoping she’d made you tamales. I’m just honest enough to admit it.”
I didn’t bother to respond. He was right. Ramon’s mother was a top-notch tamale maker, and out of pity she’d come up with a vegetarian recipe so I could enjoy her handiwork. They were amazing. But cookies or no, Tia LaCroix, my mother, and maker of medicine pouches, had a lot of explaining to do.
10
Waiting, For a Girl Like You
Brid knew she’d been out of the cage. They’d cleaned her up, but she could smell blood on her skin. Her blood. And when she was napping she had hazy aconite-fuzzy flashes of things. A steady pull on her shoulders. Sharp pains. The cool feel of concrete on her cheek. Since there wasn’t any in the cage, she could only assume she’d been out. And she’d healed, which wouldn’t have happened in here. Or at least she’d healed on the outside. The uncomfortable feeling on the inside hadn’t gone away. She didn’t like not knowing what they’d done. Or losing time. She wasn’t even sure what day it was now.
Her nostrils flared as she breathed in. She closed her eyes. Meditation had never been easy for Brid. It was hard for someone like her, sitting so still for so long. Which of course was exactly the reason her father had trained them all to do it. Being able to sit still, to control yourself, he said, was just as important as being able to run. Brid didn’t like it, but she could see his point.
She sat cross-legged, hands resting palms down on her thighs. She never felt comfortable doing that weird finger-circle meditation thing.
She slowed her breathing, willing her heart rate to follow suit. Her pulse wasn’t complying. It kept chug-chug-chugging along. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the cage, but she could feel the restlessness growing. Her jog had been cut short by the abduction, and the cage just wasn’t big enough for any real exercise. Sit-ups weren’t cutting it, and there wasn’t enough room to sprint.
And she couldn’t change.
The only thing she could do was bully her pulse into slowing down, force her body to give her more time. She couldn’t do it forever. But she didn’t need forever. She just needed until she got out or was rescued. And if neither of those things happened, then her captors would probably solve her restlessness permanently.
Brid ignored that possibility and concentrated on her heart. Breathing through her nose, she pictured it slowing, moving to a lazy beat. After an unknown amount of time, her mind emptied, and all she knew was that measured rhythm.
Then footsteps.
She kept her eyes closed and listened.
“Success?” That was Douglas.
“There wasn’t much I could do, but I think I bought us some time.” Brid frowned, not recognizing the other voice.
“If it keeps Brannoc off my doorstep, I’m grateful.”
The other person scoffed. “If you’d let me handle it in the first place, instead of involving that idiot—”
“James.” Douglas’s voice held a hint of warning.
The person called James sighed. “I know.”
“Which form did you use?”
“Dragon. They shouldn’t be able to pick up that scent, and if they do, I doubt they’ll recognize it.”
“And you made it look like she went away?”
Brid shifted uneasily. She didn’t like where the conversation was going.
“Yes.”
“Where did you leave her things?”
There was a pause. “The less you know, I think, the better.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No,” Douglas said. “I will see what I can do to strengthen the trail, make them think she went off somewhere on her own.”
Another pause. Brid leaned back on her hands.
“Do you think it will work?”
Brid almost didn’t hear it, James asked so softly.
“We’ll have to wait and see.”
She heard some clanging noises, which made her think that Douglas and his accomplice were in the kitchen. Until now, it had just been Douglas and Michael. With the new voice, the tally was up to three. She didn’t have any use for the information right now, but she made note of it.
Brid uncrossed her legs and stretched them straight in front of her. She leaned down and grabbed her toes, resting her forehead against her knees. Stretching felt good.
She usually checked in with her family before she went anywhere. Usually. But if they didn’t know when she’d disappeared, they might think she’d just stayed the night at a friend’s. Although it was normal for pack members to go days without seeing one another, they generally checked in with the Alpha, especially if they were deviating from any regular schedule. Unless you were rogue, you checked in. Brid especially, but her father would cut her some slack, shrugging the lack of communication off on her busy class schedule. The plan had simplicity on its side. It might buy Douglas enough time to finish whatever it was he was trying to do. Brid didn’t like that at all.
The clanging stopped and she heard more footsteps. She stilled midstretch.
“Your concern is noted, James.”
“Then why not get rid of her?”
“I can’t pass up the opportunity.” Douglas’s voice held a strange mixture of excitement and worry.
“You’ve studied weres before. Find another shifter to guinea pig.”
“Weres, yes, but hybrids? No. Even if the packs didn’t normally keep to themselves, the fey sure as hell do. I’ve never seen anything like her and her brothers.”
“Then take one of the brothers, or one of the other hybrid offspring. Not the tánaiste.”
“What do you think I wanted to do? Even with our precautions, they’ll figure out she’s missing soon. Their guard
will be up, their security doubled. It was a fluke Michael got her in the first place, even I can admit that. No, we’ll have to do our best to make lemonade out of Michael’s idiocy.”
“I just hope the gains will be half as great as your risk.”
They walked away before Brid could catch Douglas’s response. She turned her head and rested her cheek against her leg. She desperately needed something to tip the scales in her favor. In the meantime, she’d have to be patient. Look for an opening. And hope she got to take another bite out of Michael.
11
She Loves Me Like a Rock
My mother is not a big fan of the straight path. She says you don’t learn anything by toeing the line. “Do you think,” she says, “Little Red Riding Hood would have learned a damn thing if she hadn’t wandered off to pick some flowers?” Very popular at PTA meetings, my mother. Good thing they gave her the willies.
You don’t have to really speak to her to discover her preference for the curvy trail. You just have to walk from her gate to the front door. My mom’s cottage sits back from her fence, nestled in the shade of several large pine trees. Between the slatted wooden gate and her welcome mat lies a lot of space that most people would make into a pleasant green lawn. Not Tia LaCroix. She has no use for lawns—she calls them “bland ornaments.” You can bet you won’t find a single eggshell-white wall in her house either. In lieu of a lawn, she planted a garden. But the word garden doesn’t really paint the whole picture. You can’t fully grasp it until you open the gate and walk on the cobblestone path through what one mailman described as the “forests of LaCroix.” The mailman would’ve probably disliked her because of the extra walk, but she always made him cookies on the holidays, or when she decided it was a holiday, and very few people can resist that kind of bribery.
Simple, her garden is not. But beautiful, well, that goes without saying. Mom has a green thumb and perhaps a few other people’s as well. It’s worked well for her. She has that little herbal shop in Fremont, and her online business is thriving.