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Eventually, he said, “Tell me why you’re here.”
Lowering my voice, I inched backward. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen this part.”
Past swayed back and forth as she removed her hood, revealing the striking face of the new queen.
“Raven? What the hell?”
“It’s a trick. Past will always take the face of someone you know.” I glared at the Spirit. “She’s annoying like that.”
“But aren’t I so pretty with black hair?”
“Stunning,” I answered, hoping the sarcasm was clear. But as she giggled and circled the room, I wondered if she’d heard of the word before. I tugged on Atlas’ arm. “We’re going back to see—”
“This is not your lesson to teach, Marley.” Past whipped around, muzzling me with her magic. “Be silent.”
I threw my hands in the air, glaring until the spell was released. “Fine. Let me go. He doesn’t need me to be here for this. It’s only going to make it worse.”
Atlas grabbed my hand, the trace of worry in his voice jarring. “What are we doing?”
“She cannot say, but you’ll see.”
The whistling of the wind swept through the room until nothing beyond the horrid noise could be heard. Snow whipped and fell, turning the world white. Atlas yanked me to him, muscular arms wrapped around me as he tucked his face to brace for the storm. The last sound we heard was Past’s cackle as everything faded to peaceful silence.
“Please don’t do anything to make me hate you,” Atlas whispered into my ear before stepping away.
The memory unfolded, appearing like a winter painting around us. The rocky ground and mountainside gave a familiar view: the Moss Coven. Several lines of tiny, green canvas tents tied down with cords of rope hid within the growing banks of snow.
“Can you hear them?” Past asked, a giggle in her voice as she clapped her hands, excited for the misery she was yet to bestow.
A chorus of youthful voices grew from barely a sound to shouts of excitement as a crowd of children neared us, emerging from the tree line like a pack of wild animals. Atlas whipped around, his eyes wide as he finally realized what this magical curse would be.
“I remember this place,” he said. “I remember this.”
Walking forward, he bent to peek into a tent, its door flapping in the wind. Looking back at me, he grinned. A genuine, boyish smile. “This isn’t so bad. Is this it then, Past? You’re going to show me some childhood memories and sing campfire songs with us?”
“It’s not that simple,” I warned.
The children, not yet teens, surrounded us in a circle. Past had selected her spot perfectly. Radiant faces grew in anticipation when they swung their arms over their neighbor’s shoulders and swayed back and forth, a single motion.
“All in,” the smallest boy shouted.
“All out,” the rest answered, including Atlas, who’d returned to my side.
“Watch,” he whispered, pointing to the only dark brown tent.
As if on cue, the flap flew open, and Torryn, though much younger, stepped out. His long twists of hair were tied back with a piece of leather, shoulders covered in layers of mismatched furs, similar to how I’d seen him before. He pulled on the hand of a boy, yanking him from the tent before he knotted the door shut once more.
Atlas whispered, “That’s me.”
I knew. Those eyes were unique to only him. It was strange, though, seeing that ashy white hair, messy and wild on a boy so young. I wondered if it was the wolf peeking through.
“Line up!” Torryn shouted.
The children broke apart like tiny soldiers, moving into a shoulder-to-shoulder line across the tiny camp.
“As you know, it’s almost Solstice.”
There was a small shuffle amongst the children, but mostly, they kept their chins high, and their feet planted as they listened to the young instructor. “Every year, the shifters go home for Solstice. You get three days off this mountain before you return to your training.”
