by D. Fischer
Dyson abruptly stands and moves to snake his arm around my waist. The swing bumps against the siding of the house, and together, Eliza and I cringe. Paint chips break away from the siding and tinkle to the ground, and at the same time, the front door swings open, and Erline gracefully falls in line behind my mother as they make the short distance to us. I take a quick peek at the two women I idolize despite the odds. Erline’s expression is carefully blank while my mother sweeps Aiden’s length, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
“By who?” Dyson asks.
“Katriane?” my mother squeaks. “What – What’s going on?”
The four of us turn to my mother’s frightened face. She softly clasps her hands in front of her, matching Erline’s posture while eyeing the children. Does she think Aiden’s going to eat them? I almost chuckle. Aiden’s been around two babies since we came back to the Earth Realm and hasn’t once harmed them in any way. In fact, there are times I catch him staring adoringly at them. He and I may have gotten into a little spat, but I’d never, in my wildest dreams, think Aiden was harmful to children. He may be a demon, but he’s not as sadistic as he believes himself to be. A demon with morals. A demon who still dreams of the future and what it could hold for him. That’s what I see.
“This is Aiden and Eliza,” I introduce quickly. “They’re friends.”
“He’s a demon.” She points to Aiden with one hand, grasping the pendant draped around her neck with the other. The old, worn metal is in the shape of a half-moon with a strike through it, the coven’s crescent. I told her not an hour ago what that shape truly means and why. The half-moon was what I found in Myla’s home above her barren fireplace, and it was I who struck the line through it. I had dipped my fingers in the cold ash when the first-born witch had fallen by those she protected. It was I who had witnessed it and felt the loss as great as her own twin daughters surely had.
Until that discussion, my mother, and the coven didn’t know about the twins and how Erline had cared for them, hiding the girls from Kheelan and Corbin while tucking away her daughter’s spirit for a day of revenge against her fee brothers and sisters. The news had struck them silent, and Erline had hung her head in shame. I did not mince words to ease Erline’s past decisions. What she did was wrong. Not the caring for her grandchildren, nor the safety of her daughter’s spirit, but her intentions. Her failure to save her daughter. Her first act of war that we’re preparing for at this very moment. Now, I understand why she did it, but there are so many ways the realms could have been saved differently.
“He is a demon,” Erline confirms, placing a hand on my mother’s shoulder. “But he’s not what you think. You can trust him.”
“Like hell we can,” Astrid barks like a seal on land, hobbling from inside the house and jabbing a finger at Aiden and Eliza. Eliza visibly flinches at the gesture.
“For the love of,” Dyson says, cursing under his breath and pocketing his hands in his jeans.
“Hold your prejudices,” Erline barks at the coven’s lead witch. “I will not tolerate it!”
With a barely concealed glare, Astrid reluctantly lowers her hand back to her side and wobbles to my mother’s other side. With a few muttered words, she falls silent.
“Why have you come, Thrice-Born?” Erline asks gently.
“We were told to.” Aiden’s voice rumbles deep, and my mother bristles at such a low, demonic tone.
“Yes,” I say impatiently. “But by who, and why?”
“By Fate.” Eliza shrugs, twirling her hair around her hand and tucking the locks under her chin in hopes of keeping her unruly hair at bay. She looks around and then peers up at Aiden’s dark, sparkling face. “I don’t see any troubles though.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TEMBER
EARTH REALM
Jaemes sits at the pack’s granite island, his nose level with the surface as his hand travels the length of the smooth rock. “How is this even possible?” Jaemes whispers to no one in particular. I’ve learned that when not in battle or on the hunt, Jaemes doesn’t know how to truly whisper.
With a mug of steaming coffee between her hands, Kelsey lifts one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him then directs her enquiring look to me. I huff my continued annoyance with the guardian, toying with a mug’s handle that Jaemes accidentally broke off moments before, and then turn to her mate.
“Jeremy,” I call to the shock of red hair fiddling with the coffee machine. “Would you get Jaemes a coffee please?” The mug they had given him was empty, per request, so he could study its make . . .and then break.
Slowly, Jaemes lifts his head from his task and blinks owl eyes at me. I nod toward the cup Kelsey places in front of him, and with a lick of his bottom lip and a hint of a smile, Jeremy obliges. When the steaming brew is placed in front of him, Jaemes sniffs the vapor as it travels to his nose, taunting him as something sweet. I internally grin, knowing it’s anything but.
“Try it,” I say pleasantly, urging the reluctant elf.
Glaring in suspicion at Kelsey’s carefully blank face, Jeremy’s knowing grin, and my rare sweet smile, he grasps the handle with awkward, fumbling fingers and brings the rim to his lips.
“This is one of those concoctions that smells better than it tastes, isn’t it?” he asks the brew.
“Absolutely not,” Kelsey says, defending the caffeine’s honor. “Coffee is my reason for waking.”
“It’s your reason for everything,” Jeremy mumbles. “If it wasn’t for the coffee pot, you’d never wander into the kitchen, and we’d never eat.”
I grin wider at the couple mocking one another. Such an interesting relationship the two have. With the snide remarks mixed with loving adoration, it’s hard not to stare. They say opposites attract, and with these two, I fully believe that hypothesis.
Smart enough to allow the steam to stop completely, Jaemes finally brings the rim to his lips. His top lip twitches like a horse reaching for a treat in his owner’s hand. When the wait becomes almost too much, he finally slurps the dark liquid. I grip the edge of the stool, anticipating. His slurp was bigger than it should be for someone’s first taste of straight black coffee, and immediately, the liquid is expelled from his mouth and sprayed across the counter he was just stroking minutes before.
We roar in laughter while Jaemes wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as a dark set of warrior eyes glares a promised revenge.
“We should give him a beer next,” Jeremy says, hiccupping between a handful of words.
Despite everything that’s happening, everything we can’t fix that sits heavy on our shoulders, it feels good to shake off some of the burden with laughter. After all, I was the butt of his jokes on our realm. It’s only right the teasing is shared when we’re on a realm only I am comfortable in.
When the laughing ends, I look out the window, anywhere but at Jaemes’s scolding gaze. Inadvertently, I seek Aiden and Eliza who had stood there when we wandered into the kitchen. Laughter booms from somewhere in the house, but I push the abrupt noise aside and stand from my stool.
“What is it?” Jaemes asks, rising with me. The legs of his stool squeal against the hardwood floor.
“They’re,” I begin, and then I rush to the sliding glass door, hand on the handle. “Gone.”
Jaemes curses in his native tongue. His language startles Kelsey. I don’t believe she nor Jeremy was aware the elves had their own language.
“Sia domeo jost?” he asks with a growl.
“I have no idea,” I whisper recognizing the words. Having spent some time with the elves, I’ve discovered their language has begun to be easier to pick up. I slam my hand against the metal rim of the glass door. “Why does everyone keep disappearing?”
Jaemes clears his throat. “Where would they go?”
I swipe my hand down my face and tuck my wings tighter against me, anxiety churning my stomach. “I don’t know. Where would a powerful demon disappear to with the wife of Kheelan?”
“Vega
s?” Jaemes jokes.
“You’re sure they’re not in the house somewhere?” Kelsey asks.
“Positive,” I growl again, crossing my arms over my chest.
Jaemes’s eyebrows fly up into his forehead, twisting the dark tattoos surrounding his face. “Do we really want to know where they went? Perhaps we should just let them -”
A gust of breath leaves my nostrils in a harrumph. “They wouldn’t have disappeared without a word or evidence of their departure. Aiden wouldn’t have been so senseless at a time like this.” And I believe he fully wouldn’t, but Jaemes doesn’t understand that. Elves live simple lives. Everything they do is repetitive. They hunt, they gather, they eat, they survive, and they fight if they must. Aiden is a demon. Eliza is partially a fee by marriage. Both are wanted by the opposing side.
The rest of the pack enters the front of the house. Our laughter must have trickled out the front door, often left open, piquing their interest. Earlier, they were weeding and seeding and caring for the lawn together. It was touching to see them work as one as true packs do in the wild. None are lone wolves, and everything they do, they do together.
Rounding the corner, Brenna appears, face smudged with dirt while she scowls at her grinning mate, and Kenna and Evo each hold a toddler hand in their fingers. Coleman’s chubby little fists grasp both of their fingers, and he toddles along with a look of concentration with each wobbling shuffle. Flint and Irene are the last to enter, placing the gardening tools on the dining table before each circle an arm around the other’s waist. The pack quiets as they take in our makeshift circle by the sliding glass door.
“What is it?” Kenna asks, picking up on my insecurities. It’s a nifty little gift she has, and for a moment, I envy it. Many things could have been done differently if I had the raw gift of empathy.
“The demon and Mother Queen of Death are eloping in Vegas,” Kelsey jokes, crossing her arms.
I rustle my wings. “We don’t know where Aiden and Eliza went.”
“Is there a problem?” Evo asks, bending to gather his little blond mini-me, and props the child against his chest. “Maybe they wanted to be alone?” But his actions deem his thoughts otherwise, cradling his child protectively against him. I chew the inside of my lip, thinking and thinking about their abrupt absence, my thoughts churning with the worst.
“Do we follow them?” Jaemes asks quietly.
Under his breath, Flint corrects, “Can we follow them is more like it.”
I pull a hand through my curls. “I’m not sure. This isn’t my realm. I can’t mentally search the lands. There are billions of people here.”
“Katriane,” Irene begins. She fidgets when we swivel our attention to her. “What if they went to Katriane?”
“Why wouldn’t they just tell us then? How do we know they didn’t go somewhere private to be on their own?” Kelsey asks.
“There could be trouble, Kelsey,” Kenna murmurs. “I think that’s what Tember is thinking.” I bite the inside of my lip as the words are laid out before us, the exact words that twist my stomach into knots.
“Then, we follow them,” Irene huffs.
“I don’t know if I can,” I sniff. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
“Well,” Jaemes says, cocking his hip and crossing his arms. “If anyone is in trouble, I’d bet my own matua that Erline is close by. If Kat’s in trouble, and they went to her, Erline will be lingering. Can you search for her instead?”
ELIZA PLAATS
EARTH REALM
My hands are shaky, tingly almost, as my nerves flex with power below the skin and anxiety courses through my veins. Fate sent us here because of some sort of brewing trouble, but with my own eyes, I see none. It’s frightening to be told there’s trouble when there is none. It makes the shadows dance alive and the wind chime with voices. Standing before the porch of a powerful witch coven, I feel someone, something, watching, tracking with sick and twisted intent. Eyes lingering without a thirst for death.
I’m offered a cup of tea but decline with a grateful few mumbled words to Katriane’s mother. Her irises, shifting between brown and solid white, dart to the forest, sensing it too. I can feel magic radiating from the woman, power that trumps the rest in the coven.
Earlier, she had commented on the power I’m able to wield, the strength it has and how it could just as easily turn the tide of this war, or do the exact opposite. “You could either be a great weapon, or the greatest threat,” she had whispered to me with a sense of knowledge. “There are some here who think you need to learn how to control your power,” she had flicked her gaze to Dyson who bristled to the direct attention. “Perhaps by seeking wisdom of witches.”
I had twitched under her heavy, all-knowing gaze.
“But I don’t think I have to tell you that you have full control over them,” she had continued before I could speak. “The magic isn’t the weapon or threat, but your marriage is. It is important that you kill Kheelan at the first chance, no matter what he does to you or might do to those you love, because he will, Eliza. He will rip the world under your feet to keep you unsteady, to keep you under his thumb. You mustn’t let it.” Her eyes had gone white again as she had spoken, shaking me to my core and causing me to worry over the future. “You must endure it. Use it to fuel you.”
Perhaps she’s right – I don’t need to seek the instruction of witches. Perhaps she’s not. It doesn’t matter. The time for that has passed.
Along with her advice on the future, Janine had been continuously flicking her attention to Aiden. The attention was overbearingly obvious at first but grew more subtle. It’s hard to miss when her eyes transform to a solid white. It’s unnerving, and even now, after the initial shock and under her motherly and welcoming hospitality, I try not to watch the oddity. To peer inside whatever she sees behind that milky film is probably more than I can handle, surrounded by the impossible at all angles.
Witches. Witches exist. I mean, I’ve known they existed. I’ve been in the presence of Katriane, but she’s so different than these witches. She dresses differently, talks differently. Her entire demeanor isn’t tentative and mousey like some of her old coven sisters. In my dreams, I’ve even met Janine once, but standing before her isn’t the same. She’s still a stranger. A powerful stranger. And even though these witches hide behind plain clothes and blank faces, they still seem . . . otherworldly. They don’t blend with the beats and blurs of humanity.
Erline is a solid silhouette behind Astrid and Janine, dress floating like water. She visually probes the forest, perhaps magically as well, hiding her fear with a hundred lifetimes of a practiced poker face. The young witches on the lawn quietly talk, leaning over to discretely whisper in the other’s ears, and Erline’s eyes pin them for but a moment, her nostrils flared.
“You need to calm down,” Aiden whispers in my ear.
Lightly hissing at him, I huff out a breath, desperate to relieve the crippling pressure building in my chest and turn to face the lawn. How can I calm down when Fate said there was trouble? In this odd world, I never knew existed, trouble always lurks in the shadows.
Darker clouds fill the sky, a storm eager to pummel the lands where moments ago, it was a beautiful evening. It splotches out the sun with inky gray, and a chill sweeps through the trunks in a tender draught and circles my exposed ankles like chains. I rub my arms, wishing I hadn’t warned capris and short sleeves for this endeavor. Not that I had time to plan accordingly or anything.
The witches have moved from herb lessons to potion brewing. A fire was lit shortly after they grew accustomed to our arrival, which honestly didn’t take as long as I thought it should. If someone arrived at my home, looking like Aiden, having popped in from nowhere, I would have been screaming at the top of my lungs until every emergency team in the city was at my front door. At least, if I was human and hadn’t witnessed the secrets of this realm and all of the others. But, I suppose, they’re not human. Not really. And they know of all of the othe
r beings and things that exist. They know they co-exist with them. They know they’re otherworldly, or they wouldn’t dress to be invisible among the arrays of bright colors and slim-fitting outfits.
I study my own hands, electricity pulsing to each nerve. It makes me wonder if I look human anymore, and the thought pulls something away from my heart, a chip or chunk of my soul because I know, deep down, my humanity died the day I did. There’s no salvation for the twice dead, for the queen of death. For the things I’ve done.
A boiling pot was set atop the flames, hovering over it with the help of a metal device. The cauldron is old, marred with black smudges of staining smoke and forever tarnished marks where potions had bubbled over and burned the outside of the rim.
I can’t hear what their elder is saying to the young witches, but watching the magic, feeling it creep like the light breeze, brings goosebumps to my skin. I can feel the intended power behind each stream of steam, feel the whispered words call to me on another level. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the cauldron, minutes or mere seconds, but I snap from my stupor when Aiden rubs my elbow.
At some point, I had taken a seat on the step, and he with me. Was he watching in as much fascination as I was, warning and fears forgotten? Murmuring behind us, Katriane, Dyson, Astrid, Erline, and Janine try to work out the reason for Aiden and me being here, the divine reason behind it. I glance back, seeing them hover around Janine whose eyes are milky once more as she searches the future’s uncertainty on the porch swing.
Aiden chuckles, a lighthearted sound I rarely hear from him, and it brings me back to the young witches. I grin, watching them and their faces etched in awe and delight as the pot’s brew brings about hues of bright green and purple rays. The streams of magic shoot to the sky before hitting some kind of invisible barrier the witches had cast to keep the curious from their activities. I remember that barrier of magic, felt it when Aiden punched through it as we shimmered. If he can find it, get through it, so can other creatures. My bet is it was more for humans than the supernatural.