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"You just couldn't get it right, could you? You always fucked up." I hadn't cried when I found her dead, and two years later, I still couldn't cry. There was just a void--a hole filled with dark smoke.
I glanced at the picture again, then sighed. The past was gone. There was nothing I could do to change it now, and in truth, despite the problems of my childhood, I liked myself. And if I'd had it easier, who knows who I would have turned out to be?
After a moment, I propped the photo against the lamp on the desk and carefully laid out a soft black cloth, rolled and tied with a ribbon. Thanks to my nomadic childhood, I'd kept my magical tools to a minimum, too, making each item multitask.
I untied the ribbon and spread out the cloth to reveal a stiletto athame--my ritual dagger. Double-bladed, the silver hilt was engraved with an owl motif, the blade highly polished. Next to it, wrapped in tissue paper to keep it safe, was an owl feather. The very possession of the feather could land me a hefty fine and/or time in jail since it was protected by wildlife laws, so I kept it out of sight. As I touched it, it hummed.
Whoa. The feather had never done that before.
I waited, but it didn't do anything else and, after a moment I shrugged and laid it down, then set out the few other assorted tools I had: a smudge stick, a quartz crystal that I'd attuned to myself, a ritual fan . . . that was the extent of my magical goody bag.
But with what I inherited from Marta, my stash of magical tools and components would drastically increase. The thought of being able to practice on a regular basis, with enough supplies to really delve into my wind magic, made me all shivery in a good way. Even though it came all bundled up with Heather's disappearance and Grieve and the Indigo Court, I couldn't help but smile.
First, though, we had to do something about Rhiannon. Stifling up all that magical energy couldn't be good for her.
My cousin and I had been born on the same day--the summer solstice--twelve hours apart. Rhiannon was born at daybreak, a daughter of the sun, when the year was still waxing, I was born at dusk, a daughter of the moon, when the year had shifted over to waning. We grew up calling ourselves twins, even though we didn't look anything alike. She took after her mother; I took after Krystal.
Amber and jet, Aunt Heather called us when we were little. Fire and ice.
Rhiannon had always been the quieter one, more intent on thinking things through before acting. She wasn't exactly timid, but she seemed delicate to me--almost like a hollow reed.
Reeds are strong, you know, Ulean whispered to me. They bend during storms, rather than break.
I blinked. Yes, but reeds won't hold up a house.
They make a good raft, so don't write them off so fast.
Shaking away the thought of Rhiannon being a life raft, I headed downstairs to find her finishing up on the kitchen. It looked spotless.
I yawned as I slid into one of the kitchen chairs.
"So what next? We . . ." I stopped, realizing that we had no idea of what to do after we warded the house. At least as far as finding Heather. "What the hell are we going to do next?"
"Yeah, I know," Rhiannon said, softly. "I've been thinking the same thing. My mother's gone, and I may never see her again. I love Heather. I know we had our differences, but she stood up for me and I love her. I'm not sure what I'm going to do if she's gone for good."
"Don't say that! We'll find her, we'll bring her back." Even as I said the words, I didn't know if I believed them.
"I can't think about this right now. Everything's too much to take in. So tell me what happened with Grieve."
I shook my head. "What can I say? He's dangerous and I love him. The two are mutually exclusive, aren't they? I guess I never stopped loving him. No man in the past nine years has ever meant anything to me beyond being a one-night stand. Or a friend. Now I know why."
Rhiannon wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tight. "I know it hurts to hear, but Cicely, if he warned you away, there must be a reason." One look at my face and she slipped into the chair next to me. "You've got it bad."
"I wasn't ready to stay when I was here before. I wasn't ready to commit myself to him, and Krystal needed me. But now I am. And now it's too late. He belongs to the enemy."
She rubbed my shoulders. "Let it be. What will happen, will happen. And maybe . . . maybe he's still who he was. Maybe he can shake the turning somehow--it's not like he's dead, if what the book says is correct."
There was a sound, like knocking. I glanced at my cousin, who shook her head. "Don't," she said.
I'm here, Ulean whispered.
Slowly, I made my way to the front door and opened it. There was no one there. I stepped out onto the porch, looking right and left, and almost immediately felt someone's gaze focused on me from the ravine. A look over at the trailhead showed that a wolf stood half-on, half-off the path.
Grieve.
He padded toward me through the snow, and the next thing I knew, I was on the lawn, then halfway across toward the thicket with the wolf approaching me, eyes brilliant emerald, fur a silvery gray.
I reached out and he touched his nose to my hand. A spark ricocheted up and down my spine, then spread through my stomach where my wolf's head tattoo was located. A resonance tingled across my lower abs, singing through the ink. I gasped as the wolf jumped up, its forepaws on my shoulders, and gazed into my eyes. In another flash, the animal was gone as Grieve pulled me into his arms and pressed his lips against mine.
