Chapter 20 - Lara
The pack hall is the busiest place I've been to since I came down off the mountain. If I thought the alpha’s house was busy after the meeting, it has nothing on this.
It’s obviously the hub of the entire pack with people coming in and out, deliveries arriving, and kids running past the door on their way to and from the nursery that’s attached to the side of the building.
Wilf reckons it's just a normal Wednesday morning in Silvercreek, but it feels livelier than I was expecting—though I don’t know what I expected, not really.
Anya is sitting across the table from me with both her hands cupped around her coffee and a smile on her face that I want to like more than I actually do.
That’s not true; I do like her. She's pretty in a way that witches often are; her stunning dark red hair is pinned up, and silver rings on most of her fingers, with a voice that makes you lean toward her without realizing you’re even doing it.
She's been talking for about twenty minutes, and I've understood maybe half of it.
The other half is full of pure magic terminology, and Luna keeps gently translating.
I appreciate the translation. But I don't appreciate the growing feeling that Anya is carefully choosing what she says.
"So you don't know what it is," I finally ask.
"I know what it isn't," Anya tells me. "It's not the kind of magic I deal with. It's not anything in the books I grew up with. I know the general mechanics of it, but it overlaps with dark magic, which is ironic because I feel like it was built off protective intentions."
"Right," I say.
"Lara," Anya goes on, "I just don’t want to give you any false information before I’m sure.
But the strongest read I'm getting off you is that this isn't something you developed all by yourself.
This is something that was placed on you, very young.
A protection spell. Old, powerful, and made specifically for you. "
I sit with that for a moment, feeling my cheeks burn for reasons I don’t understand.
"Placed on me," I repeat.
"That's what it feels like to me," Anya says.
"It reads as magic that's been sitting with you since childhood.
It was probably placed on you before you were old enough to ask questions.
A parent, most likely. Or a grandparent?
Someone who loved you enough to find a witch who could do this kind of thing, which would not have been easy. "
"My mother died when I was four," I tell her. "I don't really remember her. My father never said anything about a… a spell, or a witch. He wasn't religious or into any of the crafts, except for the wards in the huts he maintained. He wasn't into anything like that."
"Maybe he didn't know," Anya offers gently.
"He might not have known," I agree. "I think he would have told me if he’d known. He wanted me to be safe, so he would have told me how to use this? Perhaps my mother did it, but I don’t know why I wouldn’t have known about it if she had."
"Some folk can be funny about magic. Perhaps she didn’t want anyone to know.
Anyway, we don’t need to know the why, just the how," Anya tells me.
"I'm going back to my coven this afternoon.
I'm going to look into protection spells of the kind that fit with what I felt today.
Specifically, the ones strong enough to override shifter compulsion, because that narrows it considerably.
I have sisters with far greater knowledge who may be able to shed some light, and I'll be in touch with Luna when I've got something. "
"How long?" I ask.
"I don't know," Anya admits. "If it's in our books, days. If it's not, longer. I know it’s important. All I would say is that be careful when you use it, like in the garden. Even if you didn’t feel it, it’s going to cost you something whenever you do.
Your energy, your reserves. Mafic like this is never free. "
"Okay," I say, because I don't know what else to say to a woman telling me that my dead mother might have paid a witch to put magic on me when I was a baby, and it might drain me somehow whenever I use it.
“Sorry, I couldn’t give you anything more definitive,” she says.
"You've given me plenty," I tell her, and I find it's true, mostly.
I think she is being honest, but I can’t shake the undercurrent that there are some things that she’s not saying.
Luna clearly trusts her, and Wilf says she’s been a great help to the pack.
Perhaps I’ve just spent far too long being suspicious of strangers, so I no longer know whether to trust my gut or not.
"Right," Luna says, looking at her watch. "Lara, did you say you've got lunch with Skylar and Fern at twelve?"
"At the cafe by the river," I confirm.
"You should head down because Anya and I are going to stay here and keep working through the talisman residue while we've got the chance. She has to be on the road back to the city by three."
"You can both come if you like," I say, feeling bad about leaving them to do the work.
"We'd love to," Luna says, "but we won't be done in time. Honestly, go ahead and make the most of the sunshine today."
We say goodbye, and the hug Anya gives me feels genuine, which confuses me even more. Perhaps I am seeing things that aren’t there after all.
Wilf came to the meeting but left to talk to Connor halfway through, and he was in the corridor outside Nick's office, still talking to Connor. He sees me coming and breaks off.
"How did it go?" he asks.
"Good," I say. "I think it was good. She thinks the…the magic…might have been given to me as a baby. A protection spell. From my mother, maybe, or someone who knew her."
He watches me for a moment and then nods.
"That's a lot," he says. “How do you feel about it?”
"I don't know," I admit. "Ask me later."
His lips twitch briefly. "Ok. You going for lunch? Do you remember how to get there from here? Just cross the road, and it’s right by the entrance to the park."
"Yeah, I’ll find it. I'll come back here when I'm done, if that’s ok?" I ask.
"I've got some things to do in town," he tells me. "I'll be in and out. Come back here when you're ready. I'll either be here, or someone'll know where I am."
"Okay," I say.
He hesitates, like he's about to say something else, but then doesn't. He just nods, and I force myself to walk in the other direction.
Wilf had pointed out the café as we drove in, and it's literally straight across the road from the pack hall. I agreed to meet them there, which sounded like a sensible plan at the time, but now I’m standing here alone on the streets of Silvercreek, and I suddenly feel exposed.
I’m not sure if it’s because of the lingering threat from the rogues or that I’m surrounded by shifters in a strange town.
But as I cross the street, I realize that no one’s paying attention to me, and I feel grateful for it.
Maybe they really are more used to humans here, like Luna said.
Skylar and Fern are already there when I arrive at the counter, and Fern waves me over to place my order. Skylar grabs a table by the window and pulls over an extra chair when we walk over.
"How was Anya?" Skylar asks once we sit down.
"Good," I tell her. "She thinks my… my voice thing might be some kind of protection spell that was put on me when I was little. From my mother, maybe."
"Oh, wow," Fern says.
"How are you feeling about that?" Skylar asks.
"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "It's nice to know a bit more. I don't really remember my mother. She died when I was four, and I don’t know any of my other family. Anya said it would have taken a lot to find a witch to put this kind of protection on me, so that’s nice, I think…"
"That is nice, it’s lovely actually," Fern says. ”That she wanted to protect you.”
"Yeah," I say quietly, surprised at some of the long-buried feelings all this is bringing up for me.
Neither of them pushes it further, and I’m grateful for that.
The food comes in time to distract us, and the conversation drifts to other things for a while, like the new initiative at the library Luna’s been wrangling everyone into helping deliver, and the extension Skylar wants to do at the clinic.
The food is good, and the conversation feels more and more natural as it flows.
I watch the river moving slowly out the window under the cool, crisp sky, under the backdrop of the mountains beyond.
It’s beautiful, and I have to force myself to remember that I’m just a guest here, just passing through.
The thought sits uncomfortably, and I try to concentrate on my food and push it away.
"Can I ask you something?" Fern suddenly asks.
"Sure," I reply, grateful for the distraction.
"It's about Wilf." She says, glancing at Skylar in a way that tells me they’ve already talked about this. “Tell us to mind our own business, but how's that going?”
I take a breath. My initial reaction is to brush off the question, deflect, or deny it.
But something stops me. Perhaps it’s the kindness on their faces, or the fact that I’ve never been in this situation and certainly never had anyone to talk to about things like this before.
Suddenly, I’m talking before I’ve even thought it through.
"Good, I think. Complicated," I tell them, and saying it out loud is somehow worse than I expected but also a relief.
"I'm in his cabin every day, and we…there's something there.
I'm not pretending there isn't. But I can't see him wanting anything permanent.
He's been on his own for a long time. He's not…saying anything. I know he doesn’t talk much to anyone, but I doubt he wants me to stay. He hasn’t said, and… "
"Lara…" Fern starts.
"And even if he did," I tell her, before she can finish, "I don't think I could. I can't see myself living in a town of shifters. I can't see myself never going back to my cabin. My whole life is there, and I don’t belong here, I…”
I stop, completely running out of words, and look down at my plate.
"Lara," Fern says, gently.
"Sorry," I tell her. "I don't know where all that came from."
"Don't apologize for it." Skylar says, “We did ask.”
"I don't know either of you well enough to dump all that on," I laugh
"Yes, you do," Skylar tells me. "You've known us a fortnight, and that’s long enough for us to decide we like you well enough to be at this lunch. We’re friends now."
"Okay," I reply, a lump in my throat preventing me from saying anything else.
"Lara," Fern says, "You don't have to know what you want yet. You're allowed to have feelings for a Wilf but not know if you want to live in his town. You're allowed to want him and still want to go home. You don't have to have a whole plan right now."
"Yeah, but he…" I start.
"He’s a grown man," Fern goes on. "He seems very invested from what we can all see, and what you’ve said confirms that. It sounds like you two just need to have a chat about what you want."
“Easier said than done,” I groan.
“Well,” Skylar laughs, “that’s why it’s easier to give advice than to take it.”
I laugh despite the situation, but feel grateful when the bill comes because I’m not sure I trust myself not to keep spilling.
I’ve never had close female friends, and the thought that these two women already consider us friends makes my heart swell.
Wilf insisted on giving me some money for lunch, but Skylar won’t take it, declaring that it’s her treat and we can take it in turns for the next lunch.
Stepping out of the café into the sunshine, I feel slightly lighter, perhaps spilling about Wilf was actually what I needed.
We’re still talking as we begin the walk through the park toward the clinic.
Skylar and Fern declare it the best walk in town, and I can see why, with the river flowing alongside, benches and fitness equipment line the path, with people jogging or just out walking like us.
I know I don’t have to walk the entire length of the park, but it’s so lovely out, I do anyway, and soon we’re almost in front of the clinic doors.
Stopping at the gate, Skylar turns to me. "Come in for a drink before you head back? Wilf can pick you up from here." She offers.
"No, thanks," I tell her. "I'll walk back. I told Wilf I'd meet him at the hall, and I don’t even have a phone yet to tell him. The walk's nice anyway."
"Alright," Skylar says. "If you’re sure."
We hug goodbye, and I watch as they both head into the clinic before turning and heading back the way we came.
The river park is the same path, with the same benches, the same crystal blue water.
But the wind has picked up now, and the clouds have rolled in.
There aren’t any joggers now, and I realize the path is completely empty.
I'm halfway along when I spot three men by one of the gates that cut down toward the river. For a moment, I feel relief. More people are exactly what I want because with the path empty, I’d started to feel a bit nervous.
But as I watch them approach, my gut starts to twist. They’re not talking, they don’t have coffee, they’re not out for a run.
They’re walking, staring straight at me.
I realize they’re picking up their pace.
I slow down without meaning to and see the exact moment they clock it.
They’re closer now, and as they approach, I notice something around one of their necks glistening in the pale sunlight. A small dark disc on a thong.
A talisman.
The world goes hard around me, and I turn, walking back the other way, hoping it comes off as natural, but I quickly hear them approaching fast from behind, so I break into a run.
It isn't a decision; my body just reacts. I run as fast as I can the way I came toward the clinic, but it’s no use; they’re far too fast. When they’re almost on me, I spin around and scream. "STOP."
It comes out hard. I feel it leave me the way it left me in the garden, only sharper, aimed now right at them, and I feel the word tear from my chest just like it did at the camp when it floored the wolves.
Nothing happens.
Nothing at all.
The talismans.
I keep running, but there’s no more path.
One reaches for me and grabs my shirt. I twist and turn, elbowing him in the face the way my father taught me, but another hits me from the side.
I go down hard on the path. My knees' skin hits the gravel, and my palm tears, and the third one is on me before I've even finished falling, his weight across my back, his hand over my mouth.
"You’re magic won’t work this time," he snarls in my ear. "Not while we're wearing these."
I scream into his hand and struggle to get free.
He’s not taking me like this. I kick him hard where it hurts and struggle from under him, but one of them grabs me by the neck and slams me hard into the ground.
I see stars and feel nausea welling in my throat.
My last coherent thought is that Wilf doesn’t even know I’m here, and then everything goes dark.