Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 36
“Who?” Atticus repeats.
“Luna,” I respond along with Aunt Lydia and Mo. Magic tickles down my forearms and across the back of my neck at the innocent act.
With a gentle shake, I rid myself of the feeling. But magic still taints the air, making it thick and uncomfortable to be in. I move closer to Atticus’s side.
“She told me a while back that she could speak to plants and trees,” I elaborate. “Whether or not those trees and plants could remember that far back….”
“You really think she could talk to the tree and get the full story?” Atticus’s disbelief is only mildly softened by the touch of wonder in his voice at the revelation. He looks to me for the answer, but it is Aunt Lydia who responds.
“In most cases, I wouldn’t expect such an ancient being to remember all of the details, let alone any one event, but the circumstances are different. Such a marked experience is not easily forgotten by those who survive it.”
Aunt Mo’s chair squeaks as she readjusts herself. She looks about to speak as well, but one of the three inner circle witches comes back into the room. She keeps a small bundle tucked beneath one arm, only to briefly set it down in the corner of the room in favor of the kitchen broom and dustpan in her hands. Her brown eyes find mine with alarming speed.
“Shouldn’t you be helping your sister and Monica, Bella?” Charity asks, standing and giving the girl a pointed look.
Bella smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t see anything during the ceremony, so they sent me in to start cleaning up. But I did end up amplifying their experiences.”
Charity and Aunt Lydia give an approving nod to Bella as she breaks the circle of brooms carefully on the ground, and then the second drawn circle with her broom. As the dark material scatters across the floor, I realize it is dirt, of all things. Atticus nudges me with his elbow. His eyes draw back and forth between the witches and me.
“Is there anything we can do at the moment?” I ask.
The witches ponder my question, murmuring more fervidly amongst themselves now that the opportunity with Luna has been broached. I let my sights drift back to Bella. She is careful not to stand in the line of the mirrors as she inverts one 45 degrees and breaks their triangular symmetry.
In an instant, the sting of magic lessens. Atticus’s sigh of relief sounds loud, my own mingling in with his. We share a grateful glance toward one another, still waiting for the witches to decide what they will have us do—if anything at all.
Sage, cedar, and a hint of spice begin to taper into the air, dispelling and covering what magical residue remains. Bella walks the perimeter of the room. Her arm is held high above her head, waving the small bundle of smoldering dried plants to smudge the room.
“She could speak to her,” Aunt Mo says quietly. I glance back to the women, who now take to shooting us looks as if we can’t hear every single word with perfect clarity. “Make amends.”
Aunt Lydia snorts, her voice rising to a reasonable level as she acknowledges our regard. “The fairy hasn’t come out of her room since the incident with Zoelle, Maureen. And let’s be realistic, our goodwill with her is fading. You know how desperately she wishes to return to her plane of existence. No doubt, all she sees in us now is false promises.”
The two elders share a meaningful look. Then Aunt Mo’s resolve hardens.
“We must exhaust all other options before resorting to the last,” she says in a firm voice. “Go with them back to the house and tell Diana to expect the Moon sisters and Monica for a briefing. She might say she wants to be kept out of the loop, but it’s important for her to know.”
Aunt Lydia rolls her eyes, hands planting on her hips as she glares softly at her friend. “Fine, Mo, but don’t get in the habit of trying to boss me around, you hear?”
The women smirk at one another.
“Go.”
++
Although the sky begins to turn the horizon a humbler shade of dark blue, the Elder Triad’s home is bustling. Aunt Lydia takes one look at the witches clamoring from room to room and scowls.
“Either something went right,” she says, “or wrong.”
Seeing my struggle with one of the arms of my coat, Atticus helps me tug free from it. I cast a shy glance over my shoulder, unable to stop the way my heart skips a beat at the small action. But I utterly freeze when his hand reaches out to brush away the snowflakes that stick to my hair.
“Thank you,” I murmur. I catch Atticus's eyes and stall further at the calculating slant of his regard.
He nods solemnly, his hand falling away as he directs his attention over to Aunt Lydia who watches our interaction with a raised brow. “Where are they?” Atticus asks.
“Downstairs,” she says and looks pointedly down the hallway to the door located beneath the stairway. He nods and walks off, but I swear the pressure of his hand rests at my hip for the briefest of seconds.
I watch Atticus go, heart stuck in my throat. I don’t understand what has prompted all of the small touches and gestures. I doubt it to be the flowers from last night for he had walked so stiffly away from them. Perhaps it is the magic of tonight?
The need for pack is too difficult to resist in such a chaotic climate.
I make a weak attempt to reach out to his retreating form, but my hand falls uselessly to my side as the door to the basement closes softly behind him.
The witches continue to scamper around us, though now they seem to finally take notice of the most recent occupants of the house. While Aunt Lydia receives respectful nods and shy smiles, their expressions turn slightly darker once they reach me. I sigh, the sting of magic tingling down my throat no more than a mild annoyance by now.
My wolf stirs, shaking itself from its unusual slumber, and its thoughts graze my own. No good magic is here. We are too vulnerable….
Aunt Lydia says something to which I absently nod my head. My eyes drift back toward the basement door. I doubt my wolf and I would feel as vulnerable if Atticus stayed by our side.
“You’ll have to do more than make moon eyes at his back and some flowers to earn your way back into his good graces,” she tells me dryly.
I wear my mortification and anger hotly on my cheeks. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not enough,” she says, an eyebrow cocking pointedly. “Now, I’m going to make up some tea for Atticus and yourself to cleanse you of the negative energy tonight. You head on upstairs and see to Luna.”
She walks away before I can protest. My shoulders slump in defeat as I'm left alone in a house full of witches that despise me… and a fairy who attempted to kill me. I grimace as I tread up the stairs.
“I don’t even know what room is hers,” I mutter to myself with a growing frown. But when I reach the second-floor landing and look down both ends of the hallway, it isn’t hard to decipher which room is Luna’s.
I turn right, toward the door with leafy vines crawling out of the crack at the bottom of the door and hugging the frame.
Make amends, Aunt Mo had said, but what if Luna refuses to see me? What if she tosses me out of the house again?
My hand is poised to knock, but indecision makes me falter.
About a dozen more what-ifs storm through my mind. In the end, it’s Aunt Lydia’s condescending words from minutes ago that brings my hand down against the door's surface in a timid rap.
“Luna?”
Where once a subdued rustling and slithering touched my sensitive hearing, now nothing comes into range. It is a noise I don’t notice until it is gone. Several voices chatter on down below and threaten to steal my focus.
“Luna?” I try again, rapping once more. “It’s Winter… I came to apologize… to make amends.”
The vines hugging the door frame give an agitated rustle. I jump back a step, my heart suddenly racing.
“Luna—”
I stop myself. Instead, I watch with growing disappointment as the vines wind across the door and lock me out. They entwine, curling around each other and forming knots as their leaves quiver with the movement. Upon closer expectation, it isn’t the only movement they shudder at, but the buds hiding behind them that wish to bloom.
The sight of the flowers dry my mouth, as I remember all those passed between Atticus and me.
Holly for hope.
Daffodils for new beginnings.
Chrysanthemums for honesty.
Purple hyacinth for apologies given.
Wallflowers for faithfulness.
I stand before a supernatural creature who had been led on by false promises for too long and preparing to sweet talk her with apologies only to use her once more. I slump back against the opposite wall, staring forlornly at her door. After all I have done, the thought of pressing this task onto her shoulders feels wrong.
My eyes slip closed.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, uncertain if she can hear my words through the door. “I’m sorry for lying to you and scaring you. But I need your help because there’s a chance you can fix… everything.”
When I open my eyes, the vines have gone still. A flower here and there have opened as well, their dark centers eyeing me boldly.
“I know I’m in no position to ask, but I have to… I have to at least try.”
My head knocks rather painfully against the wall as I wait in silence for a response I know won’t—
“Kind of like you had to poison me?” The fairy adds a remarkable amount of scorn to her words.
“Yes,” I reply, unable to cover my astonishment. “I mean, no, but yes. It’s not that simple, to be honest. Maybe I can come in and explain?” I ask, the pitch of my voice rising at the end.
The vines stiffen at my request, and each bloom snaps shut. Well, that answered my question.
“Okay,” Luna says, almost too quietly for me and my lycan hearing to catch.
The greenery retreats back to its position of sentry duty, and the door opens a crack, but no more than that. Curbing my fear, I force my feet forward and enter the room.
Amends
Chapter 21
Luna’s room isn’t so much a room as it is a jungle.
The door closes behind me with a soft snick, but not by my hand. Luna sits in a nest of blankets on a raised platform that resembles a bed.
No, that is a bed.
Only it is shrouded in thick vines—or perhaps they are roots. After all, there is a tree in the far-left corner of the room. It is wedged in place with its branches spidering out across the ceiling and walls with lush green leaves hanging from them.
I take another step forward, examining how plant life covers almost every inch of the room. Almost, because I can still see the frame of the bed, and the dresser and mirror on the opposite wall have been left mostly untouched.
“You did this?”
There’s no need for her to respond, I know the answer is yes—we both do—but I don’t wish to hide my amazement.
“They said it was my room to do with as I wished… for as long as I was here,” she tells me, a hint of steel underlying her words.
“It’s spectacular. I’ve never seen plants like these before,” I breathe.
Losing all sense of former hesitation and fear, I walk over the dirt-laden and gnarled-root floor to the other far corner of the room. What used to be a place to showcase books and knickknacks now proudly houses several dreamy-looking plants, the likes of which I have never seen or heard of.
The flowers are teal with creamy white spots that spear out intermittently along their petals. Each petal flares out and turns back just so at the very end. Several black stamens jut out from its white eye, bobbing gently along a nonexistent breeze, as if they're waving hello. I step closer, entranced by the motion and its citrusy smell.
“They’re poisonous,” Luna comments idly from the bed. I halt in my tracks, unaware as to how close I had come to the plant. “Although, there is a certain justice to you ingesting them….”
Her calm voice trails off from behind as I summon the strength to tear my eyes away from the alluring plant.
“I wasn’t going to eat them,” I tell her, feeling my nerves pulsate behind my eyes. I rub my temples and eyes to attempt to dislodge the foreign ache.
“Weren’t you?”
The sincerity of her question leaves me speechless. Was I? A foreboding sense of discomfort is all the answer I need.
“Thanks for the warning,” I say and step back toward the middle of the room. Luna leans back against the cocoon of blankets and pillows she amasses on her bed, eyeing me with distrust. “I know you didn’t have to,” I add, saddling up to the side of the dresser.
Luna sniffs and raises her chin. She says nothing.
“Why?” I ask, unwilling to keep the silence.
Her dignified demeanor softens a touch due to her curiosity. “Why what?”
“Why did you warn me?”
Luna casts her gaze elsewhere. Her face is carefully blank, but the flora around us react to her emotions. They twist and weave amongst themselves almost in contemplation.
“I don’t like to hurt people,” she murmurs at last, turning her violet eyes my way. “I can’t stand it when people treat each other so cruelly. I don’t understand this war,” she continues on, a frown wrinkling her nose and forehead. “I don’t understand why you would want to hurt me. I thought we were friends.”
Her voice is brittle at the end and incredibly soft. Taking a deep breath, I lower myself onto bended knee, letting Luna take the higher and more dominant position.
“We were… I know after all I’ve done that we aren’t now, but I would like to be again in the future. I am sorry, Luna. I issued the tonic in the hopes of protecting someone I love back home in my old pack.”
“I don’t see how,” she mumbles.
Dropping my gaze to the foot of her bed, I respond. The words come out flat, almost robotic. “My parents wish to see the Adolphus pack ruined." I pause to swallow. They wish to see the Adolphus pack defeated, broken, and eradicated as well as their new ways. "They used me as a means to gain information, and upon sharing my experiences with you, they decided you were a threat. The tonic was meant to subtract you from the situation temporarily and allow the fight between the packs to go unhampered.”
“Who?” Luna asks. “Who were you protecting? Did it work?”
My throat tightens, and I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I did it for my cousin. Her name is Juniper. I don’t know if it worked. I haven’t spoken with my parents or her in days.”
“Why would your parents want something like that?”
“Because they’re scared.” The answer is the closest to the truth I’ve ever gotten.
My parents are scared. They're scared of a newer, stronger pack cultivating the idea that there is more to life than the traditional ways. The Adolphus pack gives wolves hope for a future not strictly dictated by an alpha’s law. But mostly, I assume, they are scared of change.
“I’m worried she won’t wake up,” Luna confesses. She sits up and catches my eye. “The witches tried something about an hour ago, and I don’t think it went well. Xander was shouting a lot, and the witches have been running around like crazy. It woke me up.”
Her words feel like a physical blow.
“Just great,” I mutter to myself, raking a hand back through my hair and wincing when it catches in some knots. “I know they want Zoelle to wake as soon as possible, but if Lucy was telling the truth, then she will be awake in a day or two.” If she was telling the truth, I think dismally. “How can I help wake her if they keep using new magic on her? What if what they’re doing to her now is making everything worse?”
“Do you think they would do the same for me?”
I rock back onto my heel at her question. “Of course they would.”
Luna ducks her head, her colorless hair hiding her face. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes, Luna,” I tell her firmly. The fairy sighs, dragging her gaze back to mine. They are filled with sadness and uncertainty.
“What did you want my help with?”
My mouth opens and closes a few times before I process her question correctly. “You’ll help me?” She nods, and the ability to speak is lost to me again.
“I don’t have to hurt anyone, do I?”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, not at all. I hoped you might speak to a, uh,”—heat suffuses my cheeks—“a tree for me.”
Luna perks up. She edges herself closer to the end of the bed. “I love talking to trees,” she says. “They have the best stories.”
In a reflection of Luna’s interest, the room's plant life swells to be nearer to her. And me. I shift back, trying not to show my sudden fear, just in case they can sense it.
“I bet….” I agree with a nervous laugh. “The thing is, the tree is back in my hometown, in Alma, Quebec, and we need to know a specific story from the tree. A few stories, actually. Ones that took place a long time ago.”
“I see.”
The vines and roots wind together as Luna’s contemplation manifests around her. She begins to nibble on her lip and looks down in thought only to steal glances at me. The movement beneath my knelt form nearly unseats me, but with my grip on the dresser edge, I remain grounded. Somewhat.
“I’ll help,” she says carefully, her eyes hardening. “But I won’t help for nothing. Not any longer.”
Though my gut clenches, I nod. “What do you want in return for your help?”
“I want to leave.”
The clenching sensation releases, but what takes its place is a sickening feeling. “Leave?”
“I want to go home,” she reiterates. “They’ve told me a hundred times they will help me get home, but something always comes up. And when they do try, well, it doesn’t seem like they’re trying very hard at all.”
“I see,” I breathe, taking a dizzying moment to decipher my own plan of action. “I’ll try and help you, Luna, I swear I will, but I don’t know what I can do. I can’t perform any magic.”
