Chapter 14 #2
I nodded. “Thanks, Ruth. That was the smart thing to do.” But then something else hit me. “What if it doesn’t stop? What if he keeps aging?” My pulse jumped again. Because apparently my brain enjoyed inventing fresh horrors whenever it had a spare moment.
“I thought about that,” said Dolores, moving toward Darian with a jar in her hand. “It’s why I’ve been preparing this since Ruth told me about Darian last night.” She held up the jar. Gray particles that looked like dust sat in the glass container.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“The ashes of her last date,” snorted Beverly. She caught me staring and added, “It’s been a while.” Beverly looked entirely too pleased with herself.
Dolores glared at her sister and then turned back to me.
“It’s Spelltrace. It detects lingering magical signatures.
If there are lingering traces of magic, a curse, or a hex that Addison cast, and since it’s been less than an hour since his...
transformation... Spelltrace will reveal whether any of those magical effects are still active.
” Her voice carried that particular Dolores confidence that usually meant she was either completely right or about to yell at someone.
I raised a brow, impressed. “Do it.” At this point I would have happily let Dolores throw glitter, dirt, or enchanted casserole seasoning at my son if it produced answers.
My heart thrashed as I watched Dolores walk over to Darian. Every step felt too slow. My fingers curled against my palms while a dozen awful possibilities fought for space inside my head.
Dolores twisted the jar’s top. “Darian. Stay still for a moment. I’m going to sprinkle you with Spelltrace. If you feel a tingling, you need to tell me. Okay?” She spoke calmly, though I noticed her eyes were watching him very carefully.
Darian nodded, looking more interested in his banana muffin. If the house exploded right now, he’d probably ask if he could finish breakfast first.
And then, my tall aunt reached inside her jar and tossed a handful of Spelltrace over Darian.
I held my breath, waiting for a glow or a sense of some magical energy. But there was nothing. No sparks. No smoke. No dramatic magical reveal. Just gray dust slowly settling onto my son’s hair and shirt.
“Nothing’s happening,” said Ronin, now standing next to Dolores. “You sure you did it right?”
“Of course I did,” she snapped. “Who do you think you’re talking to, vampire?” Dolores looked two seconds away from using the jar on him.
Ronin raised his beer hand in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.” Smart choice.
“Ronin’s right, though.” I moved to stand next to Darian. “Do you feel anything? A tingling like Aunt Dolores said?” I crouched slightly to meet his eyes, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt.
“Nope,” said Darian, stuffing the last of his second muffin in his mouth. He looked entirely unconcerned by the fact that a room full of adults were treating him like the magical equivalent of a crime scene.
I looked at my aunt. “So? What does that mean?” I noticed Iris kneeling next to Darian’s feet with a piece of tape, pressing it into the floor as it picked up some of the fallen Spelltrace powder. Of course she was collecting samples for Doris.
“It means,” said Dolores, twisting back the top of her jar. “That whatever Addison used to speed up Darian’s growth is dormant. It’s over.” Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she said it.
Thank the cauldron.
“What’s over?” said a deep voice from behind me.
I turned around. Marcus stood in the living room, his eyes on Darian.
He hadn’t even taken off his jacket yet.
One hand still rested on the doorframe like he’d stopped moving the second he saw our son.
The room seemed to go quieter around him—not silent exactly but focused.
Like everyone was waiting to see how Darian’s father would react.
It was hard to figure out what I saw on his face. Shock, maybe. Concern, yes. But something else shone in his eyes. Pride. Good old wereape alpha pride. Meanwhile I was over here having an emotional collapse over lost birthdays and missing toddler years. Different perspectives, apparently.
“Darian?” said Marcus as he strode to the kitchen in three strides.
He grabbed Darian by the shoulders. “Son. Look at you. You got big. Really big.” His hands moved over Darian’s shoulders and arms, checking him the same way I’d checked him earlier.
Only Marcus looked less like a panicked parent and more like a commander inspecting a soldier who’d unexpectedly been promoted.
Darian beamed. “I know.” And then Darian stretched out his arms and flexed, showing his dad his tiny ten-year-old biceps muscles.
The gesture was so familiar that it made my chest hurt. Just suddenly stretched upward like someone had grabbed him by the head and feet and pulled.
Marcus smiled proudly, nodding. “That’s my son.” There was absolutely no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just pure paternal approval.
“Are you serious?” I stared at my husband who looked more proud than worried. “He just gained ten years, and your reaction is basically congratulations on the biceps?” My hands flew into the air before dropping again. Because, apparently, I was now gesturing professionally.
Ruth laughed. Even Iris laughed. Ronin actually choked on part of his beer and had to turn away coughing.
But I wasn’t laughing. “Just a second.” I stood next to him.
“You’re not worried? Why are you not worried?
Is this normal wereape growth?” Maybe I had it all wrong.
Maybe Darian was supposed to skip a few years.
If that was true, a little heads up would have been appreciated.
Maybe a pamphlet. A brochure. Some sort of “Congratulations Your Child May Suddenly Become Preteen Sized” handbook.
Marcus looked at me. “No. Wereape pups don’t grow that fast. We grow faster than a witch’s child, but…
” His gaze was back on his kid. “Not this fast.” He rubbed Darian’s head.
His jaw tightened slightly afterward, and there it was—the concern, small and quiet.
Marcus never wore worry loudly. He carried it the way he carried everything else, deep and controlled.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” I told him.
Marcus looked over to Dolores. “I heard part of your conversation. You said the spell was over. Correct? He’s fine. And I’m not sensing any abnormalities either.” His eyes moved briefly over Darian again. Assessing. Watching. Looking for threats the way he always did.
I knew wereapes had special heightened inner aura senses. He could feel magic and spells and hexes, smell them or whatever. I still wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. Every time Marcus explained it, my brain translated it into magical gorilla radar and stopped listening after that.
Marcus and I were different. When I looked at Darian, at this taller, thicker version, I was sad and angry. But my husband… was proud. Alphas. I’d never understand them.
To Marcus, Darian looked strong, healthy, alive. Those things mattered. To me, all I could see were the years that should have happened first. The fact that somewhere in the span of a few minutes I’d gone from carrying my son to looking up at him while he sat on a stool eating muffins.
Soon, everyone was laughing and teasing Darian about his gangly limbs, and Beverly was saying how she was going to take him shopping to find new clothes that fit.
She was already talking about jackets and boots and how a growing boy needed proper style.
Ronin had somehow convinced Darian to arm wrestle him and was losing.
Ruth kept bringing him snacks every three minutes like accelerated aging required immediate carbohydrate replacement.
Even Hildo had jumped onto a chair nearby, staring at Darian with the intense concentration of a cat familiar trying to determine whether this was still the same human.
It was a relief that the curse or hex Addison put on Darian was over. Gone. But it did nothing to dampen my mood or my resolve. If anything, seeing everyone adapt so quickly made my anger burn hotter. Because they were accepting what happened. Living with it. Moving forward. And I wasn’t there yet.
Addison had done this. I had no idea why, but I was going to find out.
And the next time I saw her, there wasn’t going to be a portal dragging me away before I got answers.