28. Candles
Candles
T he scents in my bedroom made me stop right at the door. It smelled just like…
Homemade Southern soul food.
Freshly washed hair ready to be plaited.
Nail polish on a Sunday night before work the next day.
Hot summer evenings, beginning with the sound of cicadas.
It smelled like home .
I inhaled long and deep, tears tickling my eyes. I never would get used to this. It took me aback every time. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to linger in memories that would remain just that for a little while. When my curiosity finally couldn’t take it anymore, I opened my eyes to take in the room. I had to blink tears back for the umpteenth time tonight.
Cleo bathed my bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, enhancing the glow from the full moon and sparkling stars outside my windows. On my nightstand, the grimoire lay open of its own accord. A warm gentle breeze from nowhere swept through the room and turned its pages past the ones with my mom meeting my pops, but well before the ones… Well, from the other night. From where I stood at the door, I could see ink begin to color the pages.
Abandoning my previous plan to put on my bonnet and do my nightly routine, I jumped into bed. I pulled the thick book into my lap. The pages were warm with magic, matching the warmth radiating from my necklace that I could feel through my hoodie as it rested there. On the left page was a sentence etched already in thick black ink and my mom’s unmistakable handwriting:
When I was at my happiest and most at peace, I realized far too late that we had gotten too comfortable for our own safety.
Color spilled onto the right page as the story Mom was telling unfolded. She appeared on the page first. Her curls were pulled into a low ponytail to really show off her face. She was absolutely radiant , like she had never been before. I could only guess that her swollen belly was the cause of the glow that made her look like she had swallowed the sun. As she walked to her destination, her hand rested on her stomach, caressing it lovingly without even realizing. A parking lot covered in colorful fallen autumn leaves in front of a red brick building with banners declaring “Go Thunderhawks!” and “Ravenwood Spirit!” I recognized it then as the middle school where Mom used to work. So, she must be pregnant with me then.
I was due any day with Forrest’s and my first child—a little girl! We were so excited!—and I had been put on bed rest until she arrived. So, I stayed late at school to ensure everything was ready for the substitute and that the assistant volleyball coach had everything they would need while I was on maternity leave. I would miss my students, but I was excited to focus on preparing for the arrival of my baby girl.
Oh, and for Maxie and Everett to pester me with baby names, even though I told them I was waiting to see her before I decided on one.
I was so deep in thought, imagining putting my swollen ankles up and eating my weight in sweet potato fries, marshmallow fluff, pickle juice, and barbecue sauce—my pregnancy craving that I just couldn’t stop thinking about.
I cringed at the weird food combination, but Mom smiled down with all the love in the world in her eyes. I couldn’t help but smile, too.
Then the next sentence made my heart sink:
I never saw them coming.
Mom on the right page looked up and stopped in her tracks at what she saw before the page turned. Mom’s car was surrounded by at least six men and four women. They were all white from what I could tell, maybe in their late 20s or early 30s, and dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts, looking completely innocuous. But there was something about their body language leaning against Mom’s Toyota Camry, how their eyes scanned every corner of the empty parking lot, their muscles stiff and taunt as if they were ready for anything.
No good came from a group of strangers waiting at a woman’s car.
The woman leaning on the hood of Mom’s car pushed off of it to approach Mom. She was tall with an athletic build. When she opened her mouth, no words came from it. Mom’s words wasted no time in materializing as if knowing I was all too eager to read on.
I should have sensed them somehow. I should have smelled or heard them. We had been so at ease. The idea that they would appear had been the last thing on our minds.
But here they were.
Their leader asked me if I was Eleanora Dorianna Pierce. They asked if I was married to Forrest Pierce. They asked if my husband had taken my name. They asked if I was from the Pierces based in a tiny town not far from here hidden in the mountains. They asked if I knew of any other reason why a Griffin-shifter and Hellhound-shifter would be so interested in protecting my family if not because of what we were.
Every question she asked, I answered with silence and a rising feeling of rage and fear. No one asked questions like that. Except for a certain group. One who had no goodwill. One who asked questions like this as a threat instead of out of curiosity.
Bile rose in my throat as I bristled. My obsidian stone grew hot against my chest. I could feel my nostrils flare, my sinuses heated with my powers surfacing. My teeth lengthened in my mouth, and my vision sharpened. My nails bit into my palm as they became talons. Usually, controlling my shift was as easy as controlling the volume of my voice. But I was pregnant. Shifters were notoriously more aggressive and out of control while pregnant because we were protective of our young. I was angry and scared for my own life, but they were threatening my daughter and mate. I couldn’t allow that.
I wouldn’t .
When the leader realized Mom wasn’t going to answer any of her questions, she lifted her shirt and unsheathed a long dagger. From hilt to tip, it was the length of a machete. It was bright silver with a faint shimmering light that I knew could only be magical. It was just like Quinn’s dagger, but it wasn’t as beautiful or unique. Aside from the glow and the length, the sword was plain. Well, as plain as a freaking sword could be.
All of the group’s entire demeanor changed. They went from casually leaning on Mom’s car to crouching and gearing up for a fight. They each pulled out their own weapons: daggers, guns, and even a bow and arrow. Mom roared at the group baring her mouthful of fangs. It was hard and loud enough that I thought I could feel it through the pages. It was ten against one, and they had weapons. Sure, Mom was a shifter of some kind, but she was vulnerable. I clutched the cover of the grimoire tightly. I knew Mom survived this and I did too, but that didn’t make this any less terrifying and anxiety-inducing.
The group lunged at Mom, with the leader hanging back. What happened next blurred on the page, it happened so fast. Mom hit one woman hard enough for her to land on the pavement, unmoving, with her head turned at an unnatural angle. Mom blocked stabbing attempts from another man before catching him by the throat and using him as a shield from sprays of bullets. An arrow flew past the dying man’s body and nicked her arm. Mom watched the blood blossom from the scratch before turning to the group. She snarled as she tossed the human shield back at the group. The body slammed into a woman with a gun. Before she could get up, the pavement around them bubbled, melting and turning into?—
“Is that fucking lava ?” I asked the grimoire as if it could answer me. Where had that come from? Had Mom done that? The lava consumed the pair, melting them and turning them into human obsidian and ash. What shifter existed that could shift into a being and control fucking lava? That is insane .
Oh, and badass as hell.
What was Mom?
What was I?
The remaining members of the group backed up from the lava pit that had formed so close to them. They were obviously shaken, but six of them still remained. Mom was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat dotted her forehead, and it was clear that even though she was powerful, showing all of that had taken its toll on her. She was growing my lungs, after all. More writing appeared on the left:
I couldn’t take them all. If I wasn’t pregnant, I would have been able to without breaking a sweat. But I didn’t have the energy right now. That was why they attacked when they did, I’m sure, knowing I was at my weakest. I could feel my daughter kicking, and I knew she could sense my anxiety. I didn’t know what to do ? —
Then I felt something tugging on my heart and mind. It was my and Forrest’s mating bond. Like a cellphone connected to our feelings, he must’ve felt my distress and thought to reach out to check on me. Immediately, I tugged back and told him that I was in trouble. He sent back calm, but I felt him getting closer.
The page turned again. Now, Mom backed away from the group toward the school, her face etched with worry. The armed group had managed to get past the lava and approached, closing the distance between them. Suddenly, a massive gust of wind blew them to the pavement, knocking their weapons away. When they scrambled after them, it was like they were choking as they struggled to breathe. Their faces turned blue, along with their lips, before they finally collapsed to the ground.
Still.
Dead.
Mom’s handwriting narrated: With a roar, my husband, my fated mate, my Forrest landed and proved that he was my knight in shining armor, too.
Well, a knight in a detective uniform and shining badge.
Pops appeared on the page. In one stride, he embraced Mom, holding her close and tight. He showered her head, face, shoulders, everywhere he could reach in kisses. It was as if his lips had to ensure she was safe and whole before he held her face and seemed to ask if she was okay, if I was okay. When she nodded to both, he pulled them into a passionate kiss and held her again. I couldn’t help but smile. Mom and Pops had always been so affectionate with each other. I couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t holding hands on the couch while we watched TV or saying “I love you” and kissing before leaving. They were my model for the perfect relationship. Seeing them caring so deeply for each other made my heart ache with longing.
Forrest and I had killed them. Ten people.
They had threatened our family, tried to kill us, even gotten a shot in although it had healed already. They paid the price.
It wasn’t a burden I took on easily, the loss of their lives. Even if it was out of protection and self-defense, no one deserves to be forced to cross over. It should be their choice or when their time comes naturally.
But my daughter had done nothing wrong.
She wasn’t in the world yet, and they wanted her.
They wanted the three of us dead for their own profit.
She hadn’t taken her first breath yet. She didn’t even have a name.
And they wanted her for their own nefarious purposes.
They wanted to destroy us for their own glory.
No, for that, they deserved what they got.
The page turned again, and Mom continued.
Forrest held me close as if he was afraid they would try to snatch me away again if he let go. His arm remained wrapped around me and the baby, as he called Everett and Max to handle the bodies. He rubbed my back as he asked me again if I was okay while they were on their way. He wiped the tears away from my cheeks as I said I just wanted to go home. Forrest carried me to the car, placed me in the passenger seat, and drove me there, holding my hand the entire way. He lingered close as I showered and tried to wash the past hour away.
On the right page, Mom sat at her vanity in her favorite robe, rubbing lotion in her hands like she always had done when I was a kid. Her vanity was decorated the same way I remembered. Large crystal pillars, geodes, and stones sat all over with jewelry draped on top of, across, or inside them. Books like The Color Purple by Alice Walker, The Coldest Winter by Sistah Souljah, All About Love by Bell Hooks, and Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice were stacked between the crystals on the shelves. Pictures of her mom were in front of the mirror, along with my ultrasound pictures and pictures of her and Pops. Before her, I even recognized the grimoire, something that I hadn’t remembered seeing when I was younger. It was open to one of the old inkless pages, Mom’s hand resting on its open page.
Growing up, I remembered Mom would speak under her breath while sitting at her dresser after her shower or in the morning after she did her hair. I never knew what she was saying, but it had felt special. I was always too nervous, for some reason, to ask Mom about it. I had asked Pops about it once out of curiosity. Aunt Max was the one who had answered that day while Pops was contemplating how to answer: “I don’t know for sure, treesong, but she might be praying.”
“Praying?” I had asked with a frown. “But we don’t go to church like they do in the movies. Why is she praying if she doesn’t go to church?”
“You don’t have to go to church to pray.” Aunt Max chuckled. “You don’t have to just pray to the Christian God, either. Prayer doesn’t have to be some form of worship. Prayer can be… Well, prayer can just be vocalizing what you hope happens or speaking things out loud to seek understanding. It is complicated, but it can come in many forms. Your mom may not be religious in the same way your Pops and I were as kids, but she is spiritual in a different way.”
“So, it’s like she’s making a wish all the time, but without a star or birthday cake? Or maybe like talking to grandma?”
Aunt Max’s eyes had twinkled then as she smiled. “Could be, love.”
I loved the idea so much, I had started collecting my own crystals and pictures of Mom to talk to at night and in the morning before bed on top of my own vanity. I hadn’t known what to say at the time, so I wished to ace a test or talked about how I thought Claire Hardy’s lip gloss smelled really good that day or wondered what tomorrow would bring. It felt silly until it became a habit.
That night, I saw Mom’s handwriting continue from the corner of my eye, taking me out of my reverie. I sat at the dresser like I did every morning and night, and I did one of the few things I still carried with me from the Enchantment.
I never told Byrdie this, even when I saw her pick up the same habit without even understanding it—it’s amazing what kids absorb without even realizing how important it is. I should have told her. It always gave me peace. Maybe it could grant her some, too?
Where I’m from, we believed that those we bonded closest with never left us. Their energy was too great to disappear forever from this world, so it lingered near those who remembered and loved them. The passed-on were always so close to us that you could speak to them, but only when your energy was the most vulnerable to connect to them, which was when you first woke up and when you were getting ready for bed.
So, after my shower at night and getting dressed in the morning, I would sit at my dresser and treat it like an altar. I would speak to Mama and open myself to her presence, love, and direction. It helped.
This particular night, I voiced for my daughter, my eventual Baby Byrdie’s safety. Forrest must have overheard me.
Pops appeared behind Mom on the right. He massaged her shoulders and kissed her damp curls.
That night, he tried to reassure me. He said that we will keep our baby safe always. Everett and Max would always protect our little girl as her guardians. He said they would lay their lives down for her. Our daughter would always have someone to protect her.
Mom turned around to look up at Pops. Her eyes were teary, but there was a fire blazing in them that was as mighty and fierce as the lava from earlier that day.
We needed to do more. Our daughter, our Baby Byrd. Her safety and happiness were all that mattered.
With the period at the end of Mom’s handwritten text, the image of Pops holding Mom faded. The color seeped away from the page until it was blank once more. Only Mom’s words and my thoughts were left behind. I had so much to consider, so much to think about. My brain wanted to pick a question and pull on it like it was a stray thread on a fraying sweater.
But my heart had a greater priority.
I held the grimoire close to my heart as I readjusted on the bed to be closer to the window’s ledge where my crystals sat. The pictures I had pulled from the old moving box that kick-started this were there as well. Smiling versions of Mom, Pops, and Aunt Max looked back at me at various points in their lives. I allowed the tears to fall this time, surprised I had any left. I sat the grimoire in front of the pictures, crystals, and moonlight. I placed my hand on the page, still covered in Mom’s handwriting. I closed my eyes.
I still remembered the day I had stopped this ritual. It was the night I had found out Mom had been murdered. I had sat at my dresser, sobbing for hours after my shower. I had begged for it to be a nightmare that I woke up from. I had bargained everything I could think of, swearing to never eat another sweet, promising to never curse again, vowing to follow whatever sign I needed for her to walk through the door alive and well. I had cried so hard that the tears had warped the wood. It hadn’t worked. My Mom was still dead, and so was the magic of wishes.
But it had never been about wishes.
“Mom?” I called out. Without thinking, my other hand that wasn’t in the book reached for the pendant around my neck, the same stone that had once been Mom’s. “I don’t know if this will work. I don’t know much of anything right now. I’m just not sure… I don’t know what to say or ask right now.”
I considered it all for a moment. I had so many questions, so many thoughts, so many unknowns. Where do I even start?
I swallowed hard. Then I opened my eyes. The world was blurry from the large tears that ended up flowing down my cheeks, but I could still make out everything in the delicate light. I followed my gut, allowing it to speak what my heart desired an answer for most.
“Give me a sign, Mom, Pops, Auntie Max, any of you. I need to know I’m doing this correctly and on the right path. Am I on the right track? Am I doing this right? Can you just… let me know? Please? Give me a sign from you that can only be from one of you. Like… I don’t know … Something you loved? Or… No! A memory! Send me a sign from a memory that the four of us shared that no one else would know! Yes! That way, I know it can only be from you. Please, let it be obvious. Gods, I know I sound like someone making a wish to a genie, but… I just need to know that I’m where I’m supposed to be and… that I’m not making a series of mistakes.”
I waited for a few moments.
Then it hit me how ridiculous this was.
Why did I expect a response immediately? Why was I rushing? Hell, who’s to say this would even work? Who’s to say it was a literal thing and not just symbolic?
I sighed, releasing the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding and closing the grimoire softly. I held it as I sunk into the covers, still in my girlfriend’s hoodie. The warmth of it and her scent mixed with those of home from the grimoire that still hung around the room. The different scents danced together, making me feel settled in my own bones.
As I closed my eyes to get the best night’s rest I had had in weeks, the scents of Quinn and home mixed together, and I couldn’t get enough of it.