by Lish McBride
“Tia,” she offered.
“Tia.” He gave her hands another squeeze. “This is going to sound harsh, but you have two choices. If you want to stay with him, you’re going to have to hide what you are.”
Tia pulled her hands away and sank back into the chair. “I can’t.” She smoothed her skirt over her knees. “I don’t want to live that way.”
Nick leaned back into his own chair. “I don’t blame you. The other option is to leave. Take that baby and go your separate ways.”
Tia felt the blood leave her face. Then panic fluttered in her chest, her fear of losing Kevin tangible.
“I’m sorry. You come in here, make me dinner, and I scare you.” Nick studied the stew in front of him, poking it absently with his spoon.
She straightened up, pulling herself together. “Apology accepted.” They both went back to their food for a moment, Tia turning things over in her head. She hadn’t told him she was pregnant. She’d begun to show, but only a little. Most strangers didn’t realize when they saw her. “How did you know?” she asked.
He blushed and looked away. “When I accidentally read you, I could tell.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I hate to be so abrupt, but it seems to be that kind of day. May I ask?”
He nodded slightly but didn’t make eye contact. “I’m a necromancer.”
Tia became still.
Nick turned toward her. “That scares you?”
It did scare her. Not a lot, but enough to send a small shiver up her spine. She knew necromancers were just a different kind of creature, much like herself. That it was a power given by the goddess. But somehow she could only see its attachment to the darker side of things.
“No,” she said, “it doesn’t scare me.”
Nick laughed, surprising her. “So sweet of you to lie,” he said when he recovered.
She sighed. “Fine, a little.”
“Most people are scared.”
“Some of you have given us a reason to be.”
His eyes narrowed. “There are bad apples in every bushel.”
She felt herself flush. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Tia smoothed her skirt again, even though it didn’t need it. A frightening thought came to her. “Nick.” She felt her mouth go dry. She started again. “Nick, is it dominant? I mean, does Kevin…”
“You’re worried about the baby?”
She didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded. “Kevin never manifested,” he said. “It’s not like lycanthropy, where every kid gets it. But that doesn’t mean he’s not a carrier.”
“So there’s a chance?”
“Yes.” His eyes flicked back and forth, searching her face. “Don’t take it like that. Who knows? Maybe witch trumps necromancer.”
She tried to smile and failed.
“If not, Tia, you might need to move.”
“Will Kevin take it that poorly?”
“No. Kevin is…angry. If he finds out, he will most likely cut the baby out of his life and move on, but he’s not dangerous. Douglas Montgomery is.”
“From the Council?”
“Yes. Look, Douglas is territorial, paranoid, and strong. And his vote goes a long way.” Nick’s gaze landed briefly on her stomach before it returned to her eyes. “If your baby manifests…” Nick sighed and rubbed the crease where his shoulder met his neck. “Let’s just say you don’t want Douglas paying attention to him.”
“Why not?”
“Best-case scenario? You leave, like me. Douglas doesn’t like to share space. My talent isn’t worth the effort to hunt me down, but if I’d stayed, I would have been considered an annoyance. Enough to be a decent scuffle should he take me on, but not so much that I keep him up nights. And I didn’t want to hang out until I became a temptation.”
“Worst-case scenario?”
“There are rumors as to how he got his power. Like I said, you don’t want Douglas Montgomery taking an interest in your child’s talent.”
Tia raised her eyebrows. “You’re suggesting that a member of the Council can steal talent?” She frowned. “Even if that is possible, the karmic debt alone…it’s unthinkable. The Council is supposed to protect us.”
“Yes, it is. But I suspect Douglas has begun to dominate the other members. Pushing them toward his desired direction.”
“Unthinkable,” she said again, softer.
“I know. Normal people complain about their corrupt legal system, but even the most crooked cop can’t take your soul.” Nick scratched his chin. “Look, I didn’t mean to scare you. Like I said, worst-case scenario.”
They sat silently for a minute. “I should go,” she said, standing. “Do you want me to let Kevin know where you are? Maybe he’s gotten past whatever happened between you?”
“I was born,” he said with resignation. He stood and stretched. “And Kevin’s never gotten over it. It’s best if you just let it go. Thank you for all of this.” He gestured around the cabin and smiled, but it was weak, sad. She was pretty sure that smile was the one Nick used the most. “I haven’t seen…people in a while. It was nice.”
He pulled a notebook and pen from one of the piles and scribbled something. “My number,” he said. “Just in case.”
“You have a phone?”
“I know,” he said, “it doesn’t look like it. But there’s one in here somewhere. If it hasn’t been shut off.”
She folded up the piece of paper and stuck it into her pocket.
He turned to the door.
She reached out her hand and then pulled it back. “Would you like a blessing?”
He turned back to her and blinked. Without a word he dropped to his knees and bowed his head.
She whispered the spell under her breath and lifted his chin with her hands. She kissed both of his eyelids before drawing a symbol of good fortune on his forehead.
He stood up and gave her a gentle hug. “Thank you.”
“It’s weak,” she said.
“I haven’t been practicing.”
“It’s still more than I had before.” He let go of her. She opened the door. “Nick, why don’t you challenge Douglas if he’s so bad?”
Nick examined the sky as if he’d find his answers there. “Because I wouldn’t survive it.”
She let the screen door swing shut behind her and made her way back to her car. Though she didn’t look back, she knew that Nick watched her the whole time.
I stirred what was left of my hot chocolate with my cinnamon stick. Some of the melted whipped cream clung to the stick, following in its wake. I wasn’t really sure how to take everything my mom was telling me. She’d known I was a necromancer and hadn’t told me, which stung. She’d also never mentioned she was a witch, but I was more amazed that I hadn’t figured that out than I was hurt by it. Or maybe all my other anger and frustration was eclipsing that little nugget of information. And lastly, I had an uncle who was just like me. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, either. We didn’t have much in the way of extended family, so a hidden uncle was a bit of a blow. That he was another necromancer just made the secret worse. I felt like the part of me that had been cut away had just grown back. And now a madman in pressed jeans was hunting that small cluster of relatives and friends. I let go of my cinnamon stick.
“So you guys always knew that I’d be”—I stopped, searching for a word that sounded better than what I was—“different?”
My mom refilled her mug. “No. Well, yes. The odds of you being straight human were small.” She smiled. “I was hoping you would take after me. But I guess most parents wish that.”
I struggled with my thoughts. Would I want to be different? “How?” I shook my head. “When did you know?”
She held her mug up, breathing in the scent of the chocolate. “Right after you were born, I gave you a test.”
“Like a blood test?”
She shook her head as she took a sip.
Tia brought everything she needed with her to the hospital. After g
iving her baby a kiss, she grabbed her overnight bag and felt inside the small inner pocket for the bag of dried herbs that she had prepared at home. Mumbling the words of the spell, she sprinkled them on her tongue. The taste was pleasant, a sweet, green flavor. She placed a few on her son’s tongue. He grimaced. She smiled and took a steadying breath. Then she placed her lips against his forehead and closed her eyes.
At first she saw nothing. Perhaps she’d done the spell wrong? But then she felt it, that whisper of arctic chill. The cold died for a second, replaced by the green smells of early spring, the taste of sunshine and growing things. But the cold came back a second later.
He would take after his uncle.
Tia pulled away and opened her eyes. With a finger, she wiped the herbs out of her baby’s mouth. She curled up on the small bed, her son held close in her arms, and cried. The chemical smell of the pillowcase and sheets overwhelmed her, and she cried harder, wishing for the familiar smells of home.
The nurse came in a little later and handed a clipboard to Tia. Then she took the baby. “I’ll bring him right back,” she said. She nodded at the clipboard. “You want to wait a bit to fill those out? See if your husband gets here?”
Tia shook her head. For all his talk about wanting a family, Kevin had been surprisingly detached from her pregnancy. It was like he was waiting to find out what the baby would be before he decided to love it, the way some dads hold a baseball mitt all through the delivery, only to throw it away when they discover their bouncing baby boy is really only the first two Bs. He didn’t say any of this to her. As far as she could tell, he had no idea that she knew. But it had hurt to watch him going through the motions.
The nurse left with the baby, and Tia started writing. An uncharacteristic flare of anger burned through her. If he couldn’t get here in time, then he’d just have to deal with the consequences. She filled out the first and last blanks easily: Samhain Hatfield. But what about the middle name? Tia had brought a list of possibilities, feeling that she really couldn’t choose until after she’d met her baby. Names were important, and nothing on the list fit.
Tia took a sip of her water and turned to gaze out the window, thinking. An enormous crow sat on the window ledge and stared back at her. Crows were ambiguous creatures. Many saw them as ill omens, some as omens of change. Others thought them messengers to the gods or guides to the other world. Everyone seemed to agree that they are sacred in some way. Tia wasn’t sure how to interpret the birds but felt in her heart of hearts that the goddess left evil out of most creatures. Humans being the exception, of course.
This particular crow, however, gave her a bit of the willies. It was so big, and it just kept staring. Tia focused on her paper again, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the black blob of crow waiting patiently.
The nurse brought Samhain back in, cooing at him and making faces.
“He sure is a cute one.”
Tia smiled at her in thanks and took the baby back. The nurse glanced at the clipboard. “Need a few more minutes?” she asked.
“If you don’t mind.”
The nurse seemed to support Tia’s indecision. “Name’s an important thing,” she said. “Nothing more disturbing than people just filling out these forms without hesitation. Child’s going to carry this for the rest of his life. Some thought should go into that.” She reached over and gave Samhain’s nose a little tug. “You take all the time you need.” She said good-bye and shut the door behind her.
Tia set the clipboard aside and held Samhain instead. A blur of black caught her eye and she looked back at the window. The crow had brought friends. Many, many friends. The ledge was cluttered with them, and they were all staring at Samhain. The birds were an omen; whether good or ill, she couldn’t know. Either way, she wouldn’t ignore them. Samhain was already starting out at a disadvantage, and he certainly didn’t need angry omens on top of that.
She settled the baby into the crook of her left arm and completed the form. When she was finished, she read it over. It felt right. She rang for the nurse and handed the clipboard to her. If the nurse found the name strange, she didn’t say anything. Either she’d gotten used to oddly named babies or she’d developed the manners to hide her dislike.
After the nurse left, Tia clambered out of the bed and headed toward the window. She held the baby up so the crows could see him. She felt a little silly standing there, presenting her child. But she’d rather feel silly than not show them enough respect. She straightened her spine. The crows continued to stare, unmoving. Tia stared back. “I’d like you to meet my new son, Samhain Corvus Hatfield.” She said the words softly, but she knew the birds heard her because once she was done, they took flight. All except that first crow. He let loose a loud caw, then settled down to watch over the baby well after Tia had climbed back into bed.
I looked at the family tree, very detailed except for the blanks. All those empty roots stared back at me.
“You never gave it to him?”
She traced a whorl in the grain of the table with her finger.
“I took Nick’s advice. I never told Kevin about what we were, but it was like he knew somehow anyway. The marriage crumbled after that.”
“Because of me.”
She looked up sharply and gave me a stern look. “Absolutely not. Don’t ever think that, Sam. The marriage failed because there were too many secrets, too much keeping us apart.”
Even though I believed her, my heart still hurt as I pushed the family tree away. I felt like I’d been scooped clean and had my insides replaced with brambles. Every time I twisted around to think, a new thorn would bite into me. So many fresh pains, and I hadn’t even sorted out my old ones yet. So far being a necromancer sucked. Or maybe it was just being me.
The silence stretched between us. Questions bubbled in my head, but none I felt like asking yet. I cleared my throat. “You told me Corvus was a family name.”
“It is. Family Corvidae.” She tilted her head at me. “You never looked it up?”
I’d never felt the need to. I had been operating under the assumption that I was named after some long-dead great-uncle or whatever. Laziness had gotten the best of me. Laziness, and my belief that I could trust my mother. If only I’d Googled my name, I would have found picture after picture of the big, black bird. Still, there are worse things to be named after. I grimaced. “Good thing the hospital didn’t have a pigeon problem.”
She gave me a tiny smile and raised her mug to her lips. “If you’d seen the size of that crow,” she murmured, “you’d have done the same thing.”
13
I Put a Spell on You, Because You’re Mine
“So how did the whole binding thing happen?” I asked. She got up and poured what was left of the hot chocolate into my mug, whether I wanted it or not. She seemed calm, but I could tell that this was hard for her.
I wrapped my hand around the newly warmed cup and thanked her.
“You don’t have to tell me this all now if you don’t want to.” I knew it would be better if she did. Right now, any clue as to what was going on would help. But I couldn’t force any more out of her. Even though I was angry, I didn’t want to hurt my mother.
“No, it’s best to get it all out now.”
It was late at night when Tia woke. She threw back the sheet and slid out of bed. The floor felt cold on her feet. She slid into some slippers and pulled her robe tighter around herself.
The hallway was quiet except for a few rustling noises from the nurses’ station. Tia avoided the station and went straight to the nursery. She should have been surprised to see Nick there, but she wasn’t. He looked a little healthier. He’d gotten some sun, though he was still too pale, and he’d put on a few pounds.
“How’d you get in here so late?” She smiled to soft en the question. “Visiting hours are long over.”
He turned toward her, shoulders relaxing when he saw who it was. “You’d be surprised what talking can accomplish. One quick story
about driving all the way from Portland to see my only nephew, and I’m right in.” He ran a hand through his short brown hair. “I guess I’m just not very threatening.”
“I’m sure it helps that the story is true.”
He nodded. “That it does.” He looked her over quickly. “How are you holding up?”
She walked up to the glass and looked in at little Samhain, who was sleeping, one fist shoved into his mouth.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Now, why don’t I believe that?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “He takes after me, doesn’t he?”
Tia didn’t trust herself to speak. Her eyes filled, and she let the tears come. They answered for her. Nick pulled her into his arms, squeezing her against him. She should have protested. After all, she didn’t know him well, but she was tired of facing this alone, and she needed that small gesture. She listened to his strong heartbeat and thought only of the rhythm of it, the warmth of another person, and closed her eyes. He smelled like trees, cloves, and sweat. It wasn’t unpleasant.
Nick loosened his arms and stepped back but kept his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down to look her in the eye. “Hey, it’s not so bad.”
She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Not so bad? You can’t even live in the city because of what you are, and your brother has disowned you. He will do the same to his baby if he knows.” Panic suddenly gripped her. “And what about Douglas? We have to do something.”
He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Calm down.”
“I can’t! He’s in danger. What if I can’t protect him?” She eyed Nick’s face, searching for any solace. She found none.
“Tia, he’s going to be in danger his whole life. Even if he was normal, you’d feel this way, I’m sure. Your baby’s just going to have…more specific problems, that’s all.”
She pulled away from him. “How can you be so cavalier?” He went back to looking through the window. “What do you want me to say? That your baby is doomed to live a life of fear and isolation? That there’s nothing you can do?”