2. Chapter 2
Arlo
“Dear, that wolf is in the garden again!” Mum calls.
A smile lifts the corners of my mouth. Beyond my alchemy shed, the spring morning is bright, blue, and gorgeous. I love my flat in New York City, but I’ll never tire of the English countryside.
“Leave him be,” I shout back without taking time to consider. If he meant any harm, he’d have acted last week when Dad first glimpsed him. He’s hardly subtle. That gray and white coat sticks out at night like a ninja in an orange jumpsuit.
I grind up the dried chamomile and dump it into a jar. I’ve got the chamomile and all the other ingredients the recipe calls for. All but one.
The petals of a lunar flower. I’ve reached out to botanists in what feels like every corner of the globe, but none of them knew where to find the elusive blossoms. Some even speculated they’d gone extinct.
I’m so close to creating my magnum opus. This potion could change the lives of so many in the paranormal community, and only for the better. If I could just find the bloody flower!
“Sulking does not befit you!” There’s a tugging on my apron. Truffles, my boar familiar, snorts at me. The golden torc around her neck glows bright against her coarse dark hair. Just being near her makes the magic in my soul stir in response.
“Ugh. Don’t tell me I’m getting wrinkles.” I rub my forehead.
“Crisps packets have fewer,” she says.
I slam my recipe book shut. “That’s it. I’m making bacon out of you.”
“Try it, bitch.”
Of course, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. Truffles has been my familiar since I was a boy only just beginning to grasp my magical powers. I hang up my apron and step out into the sunlight. My back cracks when I stretch. I must have been hunched over that book for a while.
Truffles sniffs at the ground, foraging for leaves to eat. “Patty wished to see you.”
“Nan? Did she say what for?”
“Dunno. She just asked me to fetch you from that abysmal little shack of yours.”
“She did not say that. Nan loves my cute little shack.” Reaching down, I twirl her tail, laughing when she stomps her hooves impatiently. Truffles sets off at a brisk pace across the garden. It’s about ten minutes from the shack to Nan’s garden.
The massive estate my family has called home for generations has everything a coven of witches could ever want.
It’s secluded and away from the hustle and bustle of London with libraries full of grimoires containing the knowledge of our ancestors, and my favorite spot, Nan’s sprawling greenhouse.
I love to while away the hours with Nan in her greenhouse, learning about the alchemical properties of every plant.
Truffles leads me past our family’s shrine to Freya, the Norse goddess of fertility, war, and magic, among many other things.
Falcon feathers have been left on the altar.
I touch the torc around my neck in silent gratitude to the goddess and her gifts.
When Truffles stops, I almost trip over her.
She looks toward the woods, ears and snout twitching.
“What is it?”
“Wolf,” she answers with disdain.
Within my soul, my magic stirs like ripples in a lake, reaching, reaching. I don’t have to search for him. With no effort at all, my eyes find the yellow gaze of the wolf within the trees. Our eyes meet, and my feet itch to move toward him.
Go to him, my magic whispers. He is ours.
I won’t.
He means nothing to me.
Not after what he did.
“Ignore him,” I say. “He’s not even supposed to be here.”
“You should report him to the Council,” Truffles huffs, prancing ahead.
She isn’t wrong. As an enforcer for the Time Traveler Agency, it is within my jurisdiction to ensure no one violates traveler law.
Namely, never travel without authorization from the Council of Traveler Affairs.
Time travel and the existence of the paranormal community are secrets that must be safe-guarded.
Gunnar never received proper documentation for time travel. His being here, especially in his shifted form, is a direct violation of traveler law. I should report him. I should… but…
Ours.
I swallow the sour taste in my mouth.
“Begone, wolf,” I call, hoping he doesn’t notice the crack in my voice. “Unless you want me to report you!”
The wolf huffs, lips parting around pointed fangs.
He knows I’m a liar. If I had wished to report him, I’d have done it by now.
I turn my back and force myself to follow Truffles. The wolf’s eyes burn into my back with every step I take.
What is he even doing here? What does he want with me?
He made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with me. So why won’t he just let me be? And bloody hell, why don’t I want him to?
I’m still feeling rattled when we arrive at the glass doors to Nan’s greenhouse.
Ivy grows over the gate, so thick it would be impossible to open even if it could be opened from the outside.
She’s warded it up tight to protect her precious plant babies.
Not even I can enter without Nan’s approval, and the magic only responds to her.
Before I can call out to her, her voice comes from beyond the door. “Come in, dear!” The ivy recedes, and the doors open. Nan flashes a bright smile, sunlight glittering in her silver curls.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Of course. Come, look at these new poppy seedlings!” From her excitement, you’d think she was about to show me a basket of kittens.
She leads me inside the warm, sweetly scented greenhouse.
Off to the side are several boxes, one of which is already open.
“Aren’t they just darling?” She coos, squatting to caress the leaves of one of the flowers, still in its planter box.
“Going to make opium?”
She swats my ankle. “Oh, hush. These aren’t even opium poppies. Have I taught you nothing?”
Chuckling, I kneel down beside her to appreciate the red petals up close. “They are adorable. What else did you order?”
The apples of her cheeks flush with excitement.
“Let’s see…” She hefts a box down from the stack and opens it.
“I’ve got some more aloe vera. That box there has bonsais all the way from Hokkaido!
Oh! But you must see my favorite of them all!
” She scurries over to another box, much smaller than the others, propped on a bench.
Nan opens the box and squeals with delight. “It’s beautiful!” She reaches in and lifts out a glass container.
My jaw goes slack. “Is that—”
“It is, indeed!”
Within the glass is a moon-white flower with an indigo center.
“A lunar flower!” I practically squash my nose against the glass to get a better look. “Where in Freya’s name did you find this?”
She beams. “A witch in Bosnia sold me his very last one from the harvest this year! He is a very secretive chap. If Frank were still alive to see how much money I spent on this flower, the shock would have killed him. Or maybe not. Perhaps he would have understood.” She caresses the wedding band on her finger, as if in apology.
I carefully lift the glass lid. The sweet scent reminds me of orchids. “Incredible.” I run the tip of my finger along one of the white petals.
“Careful now,” Nan says fretfully, closing the container so fast I almost get my finger caught.
Goddess, I can’t believe it. A lunar flower, the very last ingredient I need for my potion. I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking if I can keep it—but I have to anyway.
“Nan, could I possibly, maybe—and this is just a question!—buy that off of you?” I give her my most charming smile.
Truffles stomps her hoof. “You look constipated.”
Nan looks as scandalized as if I’d just asked to eat it. “Arlo Tenanbaum, if you so much as try to use this flower in one of your potions, I’ll write you out of my will!” She scoops up the lunar flower and hugs the case to her chest.
I raise both hands. “Sorry, sorry!”
She huffs. “Goddess! Why would you ask such a daft question? You know how long I’ve searched for this flower. It was Frank’s dream to see one for himself.” Her eyes grow watery.
Truffles snorts. “Bloody good job, you git.”
“Sorry, Nan.” I put my arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “I’m sure Grandpa would have been very happy to see it himself. I only asked because it’s important.”
Nan frowns. “Why?”
I plop down on the bench, chewing my inner lip.
She won’t like my reasons at all, but I’ve always been honest with her.
She was the first person I came out to. It was easy, what with her being bisexual, whereas my parents are straight as arrows.
Well, maybe my mum’s a crooked arrow. She did snog quite a few girls in high school.
“Arlo?”
I clear my throat. “So, it is for a potion.”
Nan’s eyes narrow. “What kind of potion?”
I shrug, trying to appear blasé, though my racing heart tells another story.
“The Norse people used them in many rituals. They bloomed only under a full moon, so they were sacred to the wolves. Supposedly, the wolves consumed many of them, so they built up a tolerance for it. That’s likely why the flowers went extinct. Or almost extinct.”
“Arlo, what kind of potion are you making?”
Shit. I don’t like the accusatory tone of her voice.
I hold my head high, refusing to cower. If I can let go of my grudge against shifters, so can my family.
“Ulfhednar from an Alpha bloodline are at risk of going berserk if they can’t find a mate.
For so long, our society believed it was an unavoidable fate.
So many berserkers have been put down over the centuries, but this potion could change everything! ”
“How?”
I lurch to my feet, too antsy to stay still.
“The calming properties of the lunar flower, when combined with other ingredients and administered in the proper dosage, could cure berserkism! Archaeologists have found traces of such potions in the ruins of Norse villages. The Council recently published a paper with notes from ancient alchemists that potions were used to calm those in a berserker state.”
“And you think you can make it?”
“I know I can!”