The Witching Hour: 11 Enchanting Novels Featuring Witches, Wizards, Vampires, Shifters, Ghosts, Fae, and More!, page 145
What was I supposed to do? Panic began simmering as I ran my fingers through his fur. Who could help me heal a seriously wounded fox? It wasn’t like I could take him to the vet.
Even as I thought about it, I knew there wasn’t anyone to turn to. It was just him and me. My mistake had brought this down on us. Boone was going to bleed out, and it was all my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, tears burning my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Behind us, the bloodied remains of the craglorn began to sizzle and spit, but I didn’t care. Placing my hands gently over the jagged wound in Boone’s side, I called on my magic.
“I’m going to heal you,” I whispered. “I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to save you.”
He was too weak to respond, and I could already feel his life slipping away. I’d faltered… It was all my fault. Everything was my fault.
Ignoring my tears, I focused on the ball of golden light in my belly and willed it into Boone.
I imagined his flesh knitting back together, veins repairing themselves and blood flowing along them. I begged his muscles to meld and twine, bridging the gap the craglorn’s talons had rent in his side. I asked his bones to join hands and become one. I asked him to live because I needed him more than anyone.
Come back…
Heal…
Be well…
It’s not your time…
Come back to me…
There was golden light everywhere. It warmed my belly, spreading through my heart and into my limbs before filling my fingertips. Boone whimpered softly, his feet twitching, but I didn’t stop.
Heal, I thought. Heal and be well.
I had no idea if it was working, but my hands were hot, my magic pouring from me into him. Something had to be happening because I felt like fainting. My vision blurred, but I forged on, desperate to bring him back.
Finally, I faltered, my hands slipping and my body slackening. The world spun, and the golden light dimmed, then…
Darkness.
I fell through time and space.
There was no beginning or end, no pain or exhaustion. There just…was.
I was standing in a garden, but the light was weird as if I were looking at the world through a yellow filter. The sky was orange, the grass was purple, and the flowers were pink. The path I stood on was bright yellow, and I began to wonder if I’d fallen through some kind of portal to OZ, and I was off to see the wizard.
The athame was heavy in my hand, and I held onto it like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was. Maybe it had been the key all along. The key to what, I didn’t know.
“Boone?” I called out, my voice muffled. “Are you here?”
“He is not.”
I turned sharply, holding out the athame to protect myself.
I came face-to-face with a woman, and my breath caught. She was as tall as I was, slender with big green eyes and black hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Her dress was a brilliant green, its style medievalesque, but it bore no lace or beads.
A sense of déjà vu washed over me, and I lowered the blade, my mouth dropping open. Was it her? Was it Aileen? I hardly dared to hope.
“Aileen?”
“She is not here,” the woman replied. “She has not arrived.”
“Arrived where?” I frowned, not understanding a single thing about this place.
“It is too soon,” she said with a smile. “You must go back. You don’t belong here.” She wrapped her hands around mine and pressed the athame flush against my chest. “There is still much to be done.”
“I don’t understand,” I murmured, my head spinning. Her hands were cold as ice. “Where am I?”
“You will understand in time,” the woman replied, letting my hands go. “Now go. Your friends await.”
She turned, her black hair fluttering and her dress twirling. I watched her walk away, already forgetting the image of her face. It was fading along with everything else.
“Wait!” I cried.
The woman glanced over her shoulder. “You must go back.”
“I don’t understand…” I moaned as my knees buckled. “Who are you…”
You must go back…
20
I gasped, my eyes snapping open.
“Skye?”
Boone was beside me, his fingers combing through my hair.
“You’re…” My throat was dry, and my head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool…and ached, to boot.
“I’m here,” he murmured, smoothing my tangled hair back off my face. “I’m fine.”
It was dark out, though the room was filled with a warm orange glow. Lamplight. A soft pillow was under my head, and a warm blanket lay over me. Turning my head, I saw the athame on the bedside table.
“Where am I?”
“You’re at the cottage in your bed,” he said. “You’ve been sick.”
“Sick?” I screwed up my face. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”
“You’ve been asleep for three days. You had a fever,” he whispered. “Everyone’s worried about you, you know. That’s a sign.”
“For what?”
“That you’re one of us. Derrydun has claimed you, I’m afraid. You’re stuck with us.”
“Great.” I was stuck the moment I’d arrived, but now it wasn’t such a burden. Now it was home.
I screwed up my eyes, my mind still clinging onto the strange dreams I’d had. Images appeared and dissolved into nothingness, the details fading the longer I was awake.
“I…” My throat was dry. “I placed my hands on you and… There was… The craglorn… She…”
I shook my head, trying to reach for a memory I knew was there but was forever out of my reach. I was beginning to understand how Boone felt about his unknown past now. He lived with this?
“You healed me,” he murmured. “I was able to change back, but you collapsed. ’Twas foolish, but I’m glad.”
Magic took a toll. He’d told me the day I made the talisman in the shadow of the tower house. I’d only taken a nap then, but I must’ve used a great deal of power to bring him back.
“I don’t care,” I said, trying to sit. All my joints were stiff, and my stomach rolled, making it a difficult endeavor. “Okay, maybe I care a little.”
“Careful… You still need to get your strength back.”
“What happened to the craglorn?” I remembered stabbing it, the death throes, and… After I’d laid my hands on Boone, I couldn’t remember anything.
“It melted away,” he replied. “It’s gone.”
Of course. Saeclum naeniam was an incantation for the subiit deserta. A spell to dissolve the forlorn. Turned out it was a very handy trick when it came to the body disposal part of the to-do list.
“I didn’t know it would be like that,” I said, sorrow creeping into my heart.
“Like what?”
“It used to be a person. It had a face and a name just like you and me.”
“It was a fae, Skye,” Boone replied. “But that was a long time ago. Whoever it was wasn’t inside anymore.”
I suppose he was right, but I still mourned its passing and the life it had before the doorways were sealed. To think it was once a creature of beauty. A fae, clear and bright as a summer’s day, mysterious and magical.
“It’s been quiet ever since,” he said, preempting my thoughts. “Nothin’ stirs. Nothin’ watches.”
“Maybe I scared them all away.”
“Aye, I think you have.”
“So, you can leave the boundary now,” I said. “Nothing came for you.”
“Nothin’ came because I was with you,” he replied. “I see it now.”
“You seem so certain,” I murmured.
“Of what?”
“That I’m some powerful savior come to set you free. I’m just a woman.”
He grinned as if he knew a secret I didn’t, his lip pulling up on one side more than the other. It was his other trademark to go along with his red and black checkered shirt. His roguish smile.
“You are a woman, Skye, it’s hard not to notice, but you’re much more than ‘just.’ You aren’t a Crescent Witch. You’re the Crescent Witch.”
“Stop trying to flatter me.” I rolled my eyes. “I stink, my hair is all knotted, and I need to pee, like, really bad.”
“Would you like a hand?”
“I can pee on my own thanks.”
He snorted and shifted his weight on the mattress. I was glad he was here even if his devotion was starting to scare me a little. So much had happened since I arrived in Derrydun, and most of it I still didn’t understand. Not really. There was still a long road ahead of us, and it would take a lifetime to traverse if we ever reached the end at all.
“You know,” I began as I sat up, my head swimming. “I didn’t really believe it all until I stood face-to-face with the craglorn. Not really.”
“Even after I accidentally fell asleep on the end of your bed?” He bit his lip, trying to stop a devilish smile from spreading across his face.
“Stop it.” I slapped his arm. “I’m serious. It’s all so…fantastical, and I kind of accepted it as logic. I went along without questioning and…” Got us into a heap of unnecessary trouble.
“Deep down, I think you knew,” Boone declared. “That’s why it was so easy for you. Your heart knew who you were even if your mind took some time to catch up.”
“That’s deep.”
“It’s what I believe.”
Sighing, I leaned my cheek against his shoulder. When he kissed the top of my head, I shivered, remembering his declaration in the clearing. My heart belongs to you, Skye Williams. Whether you want it or not.
Oh, I wanted it. Bad.
“This is just the beginning, isn’t it?” I murmured.
“Aye.” His arm circled my back and held me close.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
The battle with the craglorn was a skirmish on the edges of a brewing war. The mysterious witch Carman was the beginning and end. If I was going to do anything, I would hunt down her ass and hand it to her on a silver platter. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, but a girl could hope. Magic was deceptive, its illusions and twists and turns were never ending. It was a harsh lesson to learn, but I knew it was better to face it now rather than later when it mattered the most. There was more to be revealed, but in the meantime, I hoped there would be a little peace and quiet in Derrydun. We’d earned it. Last thing I wanted was chaos when I felt like a pile of…
“Irish Moon!” I exclaimed, kicking my legs free of the blankets. “Mairead’s going to kill me!”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Boone said with a chuckle. “Mairead stepped up and took charge.”
“She what?” I stared at him blankly.
“She might try to trick you and negotiate for a bigger bonus,” he added. “But I’ve already taken care of it, so don’t listen to her.”
“What do you mean, you took care of it?” He did have a million jobs and nowhere to spend his money. I would have to pay him back. There was no way in hell I was going to owe money to a tabby cat.
“I know she has a crush on me,” he said sheepishly. “So I let her make a bargain.”
“You knew?” I gasped. “All this time? And you played dumb?”
He nodded and scratched his head, his curly hair falling into his eyes like a shield, but it wasn’t going to save him.
My mouth fell open. “Boone, tell me you didn’t… You better not have…”
“Aye,” he said. “I gave her a kiss.”
The last sound anyone heard at the end of this crazy story was my scream as it tore through Aileen’s cottage, bounced around Derrydun, and echoed across the hills of Ireland.
Boone was in so much trouble.
21
A Little More…
Deep in the woodland west of Derrydun, the earth began to stir.
Something had happened during the night to unsettle the forest and the creatures that lived in it. Deer huddled closer to their mates, badgers trod gently, birds retired to their nests, mice stayed in their burrows, and foxes ceased their hunting. They all listened to the moon, the first crescent of a new cycle hanging overhead.
The air had changed because something had arrived. Something they’d been waiting for.
A fat, brown toad hopped across a clearing and settled on a rock, its beady eyes watching. The earth was moving, the mass of brambles in the center of the hollow shuddering.
The toad’s throat expanded and contracted as it croaked, waiting for whatever was on its way to arrive. It was hungry, and a big, juicy worm would fill its belly.
The ground heaved once more, and among the twisting roots, the surface broke, but it wasn’t a worm. Not at all.
The toad let out a loud ribbit and leaped from the rock, hopping into the forest and away from danger.
The ground stirred one last time, and something appeared—a finger—clawing its way to freedom.
The series continues with Crescent Prophecy.
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Bloodsick
Melissa F. Olson
1
Sashi
It is seven-thirty in the morning on the first Monday of summer break, and Dr. Stephanie Noring, world-renowned oncologist at the most prestigious cancer clinic in the world, is screaming up the stairs for me to get out of bed. “Sashi!” my mother yells for the third time in as many minutes. “Hurry up! We’re going to be late!” Dr. Stephanie Noring is never late.
I yawn, rolling out of my very rumpled four-poster bed in the loose jersey skirt and simple black scoop-neck tee that I put on the night before. I step into a pair of sandals and stagger out of my bedroom, leaving my long dark hair a rumpled tangle down my back. “Coming, Dr. Noring,” I mumble. “Right away, Dr. Noring.”
“That’s not funny,” Mum snaps as she watches me stumble down the stairs. She is perfectly put together, of course, her glossy black hair tied in a neat ballerina bun, her blouse coordinated with the polish on her nails and the gemstones in her chunky gold necklace. The only jewelry I am wearing is a wristwatch and a belly button stud. “You look terrible,” she lectures. “You better not be hungover on your first day, Sashi Noring.”
I didn’t even drink last night, but Mum wont believe me if I say so. It drives her crazy that I am twenty-one and get to control my own alcohol intake. “But my second day, I can be hungover then?” I say hopefully, and she swats my bottom.
“Look at the wrinkles in that skirt!” Muttering under her breath, she clucks and checks her watch to see if there’s enough time to make me go change. Happily, there is not. “Car! Now!” she barks.
The ride to the clinic is mostly silent, like most of our car rides have been since I first left for Northwestern three years ago. At a stoplight Mum hands me the hairbrush from her purse, and I dutifully run it through my hair a few times. When we are two miles from our destination, however, my mother can no longer contain herself. “You understand that you have to be subtle?” she says to me again. There is real anxiety in her voice. “If anyone finds out, I could lose my job. Or worse.”
I think the Mayo Clinic would relocate to the moon before they fired my mother, but she is so obviously worried that I take pity and do not mention the many times we have already had this conversation. “I understand, Mum. No weird, lingering stares. No mumbling spells,” I recite. My mom glances over to see if I am being sarcastic, then nods tightly.
“And don’t embarrass me,” she adds.
The name “Mayo Clinic” sounds innocuous enough, but it’s really the size of a small city, with three different campuses and a huge system of tunnels and skyways here in the Minnesota location alone. I have been to the clinic hundreds of times. When I was in middle school, my mother would often have the housekeeper pick me up from school and drop me off at the massive, labyrinthine Gonda building, where I would roam around for hours waiting for Mum to be done with her patients. I know which family lounge has the best collection of YA novels, and which of the underground tunnels is typically deserted, in case one has a sudden urge to break out some cartwheels. I could find Mum’s office in the oncology ward blindfolded, but today I am actually a little nervous, because this time I am here to contribute. To the public, I am a volunteer, here to read books to pediatric cancer patients. To my mother, however, I am here to fulfill my birthright. The next step in her ultimate goal of turning me into Dr. Stephanie Noring 2.0.
Yeah, right.
After dropping off her purse in her office, Mum drags me straight to the first patient room. My mother starts work every morning at eight on the dot, but my volunteer shift doesn’t begin until nine, so I am supposed to shadow her for an hour, learning how she masks the real methods she uses to treat sick people. Mum introduces me in the doorway, and after the patient, Susan, consents to my presence, my mother drags a chair over to the bed, takes the woman’s hand, and asks how she feels. Susan immediately launches into a stream of details about her head, stomach, and bowel movements. Partly, she wants my mother to have every bit of knowledge that will help with her treatment. Partly she just wants someone to listen to her.
Mum nods very seriously the whole time, looking exactly as though she’s listening, and Susan eats it up. Then, although her expression never falters, there’s a flutter of pressure in the air, signifying the use of her magic. I have to admit, I’m impressed by her subtlety. I know exactly what’s happening, though, because I can do it too.
It’s quite literally what I was born to do.
My mother, the witch, is telling this poor woman’s body to push on, to keep fighting the cancer. She can’t actually heal the woman, but she can nudge, suggest, encourage—like an expert gardener coaxing an exotic flower to bloom. It only takes a few minutes, and I am particularly impressed with how Mum manages to simultaneously chat with the patient about her treatment plan. I can’t hold an active conversation while I channel magic, not yet anyway.
