“Now, I thought you might like to see this.” He pulled out a large dusty book, opening it across his lap. “And after I have something for you, Rowan.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, but let’s look at this first,” Willard insisted, clicking his tongue and licking his lips. “I think it’s time you girls know where you come from.”
Win watched him closely, the way his little eyes narrowed; she wondered if he could see at all in this dim light. She reached for a small lamp perched precariously on the side table next to her. “Shall I?”
“NO, NO!” he snapped. “Oh, please don’t—my eyes!”
Ben jerked in fright. “I’m so sorry! Win, don’t touch it!”
“Sorry!” she spluttered, but Willard gave her a pat on her knee.
“No, I’m so sorry dear, my fault…it’s my eyes. The light burns.”
When he had calmed down, he set out the book again, scooting his rocker a little closer to them. “This, girls, is your family tree. Had John ever shown you? No, I don’t suppose he did. He wasn’t one to look back to the past.” He flipped the pages of the book open. They were stained and yellow. “It all began here.” His finger, oddly misshapen, pointed to a faint line of script. It had been scrawled long ago in neat italic writing, the ink long since faded. Win tilted her head.
“Your ancestor, Delilah Hickory, formerly Johnson, sailed to Boston in 1789 to join her husband Joseph John Hickory here in Cedar Wood. He was a military captain, you see, in the King's Army. He had been charged with taking this land from the Native Americans already here. She sailed here from England on her own, with two servants and two children in tow.” He slid his finger down the line. “Vivienne and Louisa. They were only toddlers. Can you imagine being at sea for all those months with two children?” he marveled. Ben shot Win a worried glance but smiled in good humor.
“Now you see, two more daughters were born here in America, Eliza and lastly Mary.”
“Mary was young when she died, only thirteen,” Ben commented, his throat tight. Win wondered what he might be thinking. Was he trying to ignore Alice’s name on the chart?
Willard stopped and licked his dry lips. “Yes,” he sighed. “Terribly young. We can follow Eliza’s tree all the way down to you two. You see, we are all descended from her.”
“What happened to the other girls?” Rowan asked, leaning forward in fascination.
“Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you should know what happened to poor Vivienne. Louisa was older, shot and killed when she about forty, though it wasn’t reported that way, townsfolk made up some story she was mad and ran away.”
Win shivered, remembering her book, Jennifer Riley’s book of grim sketches. They were all signed G.R, Graham Riley, her father, the man who’d drawn them. Louisa’s sketch had been in the book, along with Vivienne’s and others.
“And, what about Mary?” Ben asked, breaking the silence.
Willard coughed up some dust from the pages of the book. “No one really knows what happened. Though what my mother always told me was it had something to do with the stone in the woods…have you had any experience with this?”
Rowan’s eyes flared open. “Grandpa never once told us about it, but yes, we know what it does.”
“Then you stay away from it,” he urged quietly. “It’s dangerous and powerful.”
“What is it?” Win pried, and he shrugged his slim shoulders.
“I’ve never seen it, never got within an inch of it. Not that I would have ever found it if I went looking. It hides, you see…if you’ve found it once, I doubt you’ll find it again.”
“It nearly killed us,” Win recalled.
“And it would do. You must not go looking for it,” he insisted, his beady eyes shining. “Nothing good can come from it. From what I was told, it was the end of Mary Hickory.”
Ben swallowed. “But how did it get there?”
Willard bent lower, running his finger along the dry parchment. Outside, the storm had arrived. It beat at the brickwork as though it could huff and puff straight into the small room. The wind roared in the chimney.
“We can’t know for sure when the curse was cast, but around that time, there were many strange happenings. In a village nearby, a woman was accused of witchcraft and later hung. It was a dangerous time to be alive, especially for women. Some of our family believed the stone was linked to witchcraft, and others the devil….”
Words hung in the air, and Win shuddered. “So, it's powerful?”
“Dangerous and old, from a time, long forgotten.”
Win slunk back, recalling what the stone’s light had done to her body—ripped through her, exposing the animal underneath. It left an unsavory taste in her mouth.
“And the stone, did someone build it?”
Willard lifted his tired gaze to the two girls. “I don’t know a great deal. Only it’s been there in the forest ever since I can remember. No one knows how it got there. My father talked of it when I was young, said it had the power to heal. But it can be dangerous. It can tear us apart, the light…comes from another world you see, another time, far more powerful than us.”
“I think we’ve taken up too much of your time.” Ben rose from the couch, clearly tired and unsettled. He didn’t like any of this; Win could feel it washing off him in waves.
“Oh, no, please don’t leave,” Willard begged, his tone tugging on Win’s heartstrings. She wondered at how lonely he must be, on his own, for his entire life. “It’s been so long since I’ve had visitors. Your grandpa did used to visit; he’d bring me pictures of you all, I have them…somewhere.”
“Didn’t you say you had something for Rowan?” Ben prompted, and the older man’s eyes twinkled. He reached for a blue binder at his feet, pulling it onto his lap.
“The deeds.” He thrust the binder at Rowan. “He left it all to you.”
Rowan swayed, her face drained. “What?”
“John visited me months ago, said he knew his time was nearly up…though I think he hoped for a much less violent end. But he had me draw up the deeds, transferring it all to you. You are the family, Alpha. Hickory house is yours in its entirety.”
Win gasped. Rowan sat still as a stone. “I kind of figured he would eventually, but I thought we had more time. Not so soon,” she whispered.
“This is what I don’t get,” Win said. “And I mean this with all due respect…but how did he know his time was coming? And you’ve outlived him. How is he gone….”
“…and yet I’m still ticking on?” he chuckled. “I only wish I knew. I often wondered if it’s something to do with my species. I’m not a fighter; I’ve lived out here all alone and bothered no one. My grandfather used to say you knew when your time was coming; it was a sense, a feeling. John knew. He wanted to prepare.”
“And you don’t have that feeling?” Win probed, much to Ben’s chagrin, he glared at her profile.
“Win, don’t be so nosey,” he said.
Willard chortled. “Quite alright, it’s a good thing to be curious, though not too curious.” He narrowed his eyes at her; she blushed. “But no, I’ve got a terrible theory. I’m afraid I’ll still be here when you’re driving around in flying cars.”
Ben shifted in his seat, itching to leave. There was only so much he could take, and it was so much information to take on. Willard patted Rowan’s knee.
“Do you understand what it truly means? To lead this family? It’s more than being a matriarch. Did John ever explain it to you?”
Rowan’s complexion drained, weighted by the new knowledge thrust upon her. “Not really.”
Willard tutted, clicking his tongue. “That man was useless at times. It means they, your family, have to listen to you. It’s a physical thing, Therian in nature. We bow to our alpha…what you say goes.”
Win recalled the day in the forest when her grandfather had been confused and angry. You have to submit.
Ben clear
ed his throat, motioning for his daughters to join him when he stood. “You’ve been really helpful,” he was saying.
“Now listen!” Willard looked intently at the girls. “Number one, I’ll arrange the call to the coroner my end and set a date for the wake. It’ll be in three days. Make it as quiet or lavish as you choose, whatever you think he would want. Number two, you need to burn the body, set him free of the wolf. I suggest you do it soon, before the wake, preferably. And number three, do not go looking for the one who shot him, for your own sake, and do not ever go looking for the stone. Forget it exists!”
“Thank you!” Rowan clutched at the binder. “Thank you so much.”
Ben was hurrying to the front door, saying a rushed goodbye. Win went to give Willard a hug, an overwhelming need to hold him. He laughed and slunk away, giving her a polite tap on the hand.
“You might break me,” he joked. She smiled, instead squeezing his hand. Rowan and Ben were out the door, heading to the truck. Win’s foot had crossed the threshold when she was held back; darting her eyes back, she saw Willard clutching at her shirt sleeve. He pulled her closer.
“There is so much you still need to learn,” he whispered harshly, his warm breath in her ear. “About what you are.”
“I don't understand.” Win tried to edge away, but he shook his head fiercely. “I haven’t gone through my calling yet.”
“Oh, you will. The reason I showed you the book is you need to know who you are. I think you could do it.”
“Do what?” Win saw Ben watching them from the cab; she smiled back at him and
waved.
“Break the curse,” he said, his eyes imploring. “You could set us free.”
“I can’t. There isn’t anything I can do….”
“You’re wrong,” he insisted. “You are the last of us. Like it or not, you are different.”
Win gently pried his fingers off her shirt, careful not to hurt him, but he was gripping her so tightly his nails had gone white. “I need to go.”
“Wait!” Claws indented her forearm. When she gaped at his hand, half-covered in soft fur, he snatched it away. But something in his expression was pained. “Do you understand how it’ll happen to you? How you’ll change?”
She swallowed, folding her arm behind her back. Her father revved the engine of the truck. “I—I don’t know….”
“I don’t blame your sister for not speaking about it. Like most traumas, we tend to block these things out—but you ought to know what will happen to you,” he said sadly.
Win blinked rapidly. “What will happen?”
“When we go through the calling, it’s not like going to sleep and waking to find yourself renewed. It's death—do you understand?”
Her bottom lip dropped open. “I die…”
Uncle Willard shook his head, amazed at her ignorance. “In order to become fully Therian, you have to die first.”
Twenty-Three
“IT’S TOO WET to burn anything,” Luke said, armfuls of hay and twigs under his arms. He followed Ben across the yard, where the older man had begun a makeshift pyre. Luke couldn’t tell if he was crying or if it was the rain tracking down his face. Ben looked older and weathered, more so in the last few days. Not that Luke had ever really studied Win’s father, but he had noticed the new silver shades of grey streaking through his normal thick dark hair, gathering at the temples by his ears. His skin was drawn, he looked thinner. Luke guessed he must be exhausted.
The falcon watched them work, the small bird of prey’s tiny eye never leaving them as they tracked back and forth from the woods. Armed with dry branches, leaves, and twigs, they worked in the rain, building the pyre and covering it with waterproof sheeting.
Luke had arrived home after finishing his shift when Ben had cornered him in the kitchen. He’d been making a sandwich, still trying to configure the chaos of the cupboard system. He’d seen the truck pull up in the drive, sploshing through puddles, and the two girls had slid out, followed by Ben. Win passed him in the hall, her face ashen, lips tinged with blue. She met his eyes only for a second before they filled with watery tears. Luke backed away awkwardly, knowing he should do more. But he got so fidgety. He’d say something smart, something he thought sounded funny in his head, but it would come out acidic, and there would be the look in her eyes. The dreaded look of disappointment made his guts churn. Instead, sparing any confrontation, he backed away, watching as she trudged up the stairs, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other.
“I need your help,” Ben asked him as he poured a coffee. “I can’t ask the girls. They’ve been through enough.”
Luke bristled, not used to ever being asked for help. Usually, it was money people wanted, or if someone could borrow his car or home for a party. The older man was taller and broader than him, and he was such…a dad. You could see it written all over him; he was racked with worry, with guilt. Luke had seen Ben, watching them, his daughters. Heard him curse under his breath, seen him rake his hands through his hair as though he could tear it out in chunks. He worried so much it had colored his hair grey. Luke folded his arms, leaning against the worktop. “Sure,” he mumbled.
Ben tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you. We have to….”
Luke’s stomach churned, knowing what was coming. “Burn the body.”
“Hmm.” Ben stared out at the sheets of rain pinging off the rusty trucks, dotted around the yard like discarded toys. “It’s pretty wet out there. You know, when I was your age, I met Alice. I never dreamed I would ever be doing this for her father.”
Oh, he wants to talk. Luke crumpled, slinking back, feeling prickles of awkwardness creeping up his neck. Luke made a noise in his throat, the panic of not knowing what to say, the cringe worthiness of polite conversation. He scratched at his head. “Shall we get started?”
“We had the perfect life in Boston, but nothing lasts forever, does it? Poor Alice, she would give anything to be with us now,” Ben continued talking, sounding so far away. He lifted his gaze, caught Luke standing rigid, like a spider, knowing it’s about to be trapped under a glass. Ben smiled. “Sorry, I’m waffling on…it's hard being surrounded by women. I mean, John was here, but he wasn’t approachable, you know? I miss him, though.”
Luke cleared his throat. He wished he could be more. He wished he could give the way Win did. The way she was so open, body and mind. Even though she irritated him, pestered him, teased him, she was present and reachable. Luke knew he was none of those things, he couldn’t be more, and it made his heart heavy.
He followed Ben outside in the rain. They built the pyre and covered it with waterproof sheeting. Standing back, Ben looked cagily at the sky. “It’s supposed to be a dry night once this passes over.”
“First light then,” Luke suggested, sweating under his jacket.
Ben grunted in agreement, throwing him a look, wiping rainwater out of his eyes. “You’re not much like him, are you? Your dad?”
Luke stiffened. Ben hadn’t mentioned he knew his father well, but this was Cedar wood. Everyone knew everybody. He hadn’t mentioned it at the court hearing. He had noticed the filthy look his father had shot Ben, like he was something he’d tracked in from the street, but Luke hadn’t thought much on it. Jake looked at everyone that way. “I didn’t realize you knew him. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
Ben chuckled sadly, looking skyward. “Oh yeah…I knew him. Jake Fraser. And yes, you should take it as a compliment…you look like him, almost the image of him at your age. He was a sports star too. But—”
“I’m nothing like him,” Luke bit, a red streak crossing the bridge of his nose. He despised the comparisons, the sideways looks, and the ill-thought comments; he’d put up with that shit his whole life. You look like him, but you’re nothing like him. Like it made him lesser. “Are we done?”
Ben threw the shovel down and didn’t say another word, not even a thank you. He trudged indoors, h
is head bent low between his shoulders, his feet barely making the steps. He looked beat, defeated. Luke gave him a pass.
Luke’s hair stuck to his head, bending to pick up the discarded shovel, his gaze roamed the back of the dilapidated old house falling on Win’s bedroom window.
There she was, sitting propped up on the window seat, arms folded across her knees. Luke lifted his fingers to wave, steam fogging his glasses. She wasn’t looking at him. She was staring out at the woods, lips parted, expectant, her gaze sweeping the canopy. Luke’s temper flared. He gritted his teeth and stalked inside the house.
Embers drifted into the air, ash falling like toxic flakes, settling on the grass like snow. Win huddled into the warmth of John’s frayed, worn sweater. It had been strewn across his laundry basket, something he’d intended to fling in the washer but had forgotten. It smelled thick with engine oil, spots of grease spreading in inky splodges across the hem. Win didn’t care; it smelled of him; she’d sleep in it.
Ben had lit the fire. Rowan moaned into her hands, collapsing to her knees at Evan’s feet. The grass was wet, seeping through her jeans; Evan struggled to get her on her feet. Luke and Ben pulled out the wolf. Win couldn’t look. She had been too busy dry heaving into the toilet upstairs, her empty stomach acidic with bile. Eventually, they’d gathered at six in the morning, the sun was coming up, and the air was fresh and cool.
Evan brought out the wooden box, and Win hadn’t given any thought to its whereabouts since her grandfather was shot. Evan handed Rowan the box.
“I found the bones by the foot of the stone after Iris disappeared,” Evan confessed. “I thought this is where she ought to be.”
Rowan tried to smile through thick tears, her lashes wet and spiky. She hugged the box to her chest. Win took her hand, and they walked together to the pyre. The wolf lay under the sheets. Rowan made a terrible, strangled noise in her throat as she laid the box beside him. Win wrapped her arm around her shoulders as they walked back to a safe distance, catching sight of Ella and Luke sitting on the bottom step of the porch.
Wild Spirit: Huntress Page 24