Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Poppy? Are you hearing me?” Gentle hands grip my shoulders and turn me away from staring at the double doors.
Wylder.
Orion’s here, too.
I blink and try to get my mental train back on its track. “How are you here?”
“A nurse called me. You gave her my name.”
I did? I don’t remember that. “It’s my fault… There was so much blood….”
“What happened?” Orion asks.
“It was Tharuzel’s wolf.”
Orion closes his eyes. “He’s so stupidly self-sacrificing.”
He is. Was? The sight of him torn apart is branded into my mind. It’s abhorrent to even think it, but there’s no way he could survive that. His face was torn to shreds and half his neck was chewed off.
“They’ll tell me when he’s dead, right?”
By the horrified looks on their faces, that was the wrong question.
“Poppy…” Orion’s question hangs in the air as if he’s afraid to ask it.
I swallow the acid pushing at the back of my throat. “Yeah, it’s that bad.”
"He's strong." Wylder's thumb brushes across my knuckles. "Stubborn as hell. He'll be okay."
I want to believe him.
I need to believe him.
But the truth is… I know better.
Wylder curses and pulls me against his chest.
I resist, pushing against the comfort he’s offering. “I’m going to get you all bloody.”
“I don’t care about that. Let me hold you.”
And I do. I sink into the safety of his arms, hoping his warmth will chase away some of the icy chill that’s taken root in my bones.
Where Asher is my soul, Wylder has become my steadying force. He’s grounded when everything around me spirals.
And Orion.
Asher and Orion have been flirty and adorably playful for weeks and are becoming something special—were becoming something special.
My hands shake as I reach to grab his arm. “I’m sorry.”
Orion’s ice-blue eyes are glassy, but his gaze is angry. “This is not on you, Poppy. This is one hundred percent Tharuzel. And as much as I hate how Asher’s devotion to the people he loves overrides his survival instinct, that’s who he is. It’s part of what makes him special.”
It is.
"Are you sure you're not hurt? If you’re in shock, you might not realize you’re injured.”
I consider that and shake my head. "No, the wolf was leading me. It attacked Asher because he stepped in to save me.”
For the first time, I notice the waiting room isn’t empty. About a dozen people are dotted around the open room, sitting on hard plastic chairs, and mumbling quietly to the person beside them.
The hum of vending machines, the intermittent announcements, and an old-fashioned round clock hanging on the wall provide the background soundtrack to me being stuck in this purgatory of not knowing.
Now that I’m aware of it, each increment of that second hand ticking forward stretches time out impossibly long.
How long has it been?
The door opens and the nurse I met earlier comes out. “If you three would like to come back, the doctor can speak to you now.”
Wylder shifts his hold on me, wrapping his arm around my back, guiding us along in Orion’s wake.
The room they put us in is small, square, and decorated in solemn neutrals. A family room. How crazy is it that being seated in a perfectly lovely room strikes fear into my soul?
None of us says a thing, but my mind is loud with the crashing of bad news I know we’re about to receive. I close my eyes, and the shaky numbness blanketing me burns off. In its stead sits a tidal wave of grief waiting to burst through the dam of my emotions.
Time moves like sludge.
Finally—finally—the emergency room doctor steps through the door and closes herself in with us.
Her expression is guarded. She sees the blood I’m wearing and speaks directly to me. “I’m told you’re Asher’s only family?"
I stand, and try to swallow past the lump clogging my throat. “Yes.”
Wylder and Orion stand, flanking me.
"His parents passed when he was a kid. It’s just us.” My voice sounds strangely calm despite my soul shattering. "Is he—"
She reaches forward to touch my shoulder. “I'm so sorry. The injuries he sustained were too extensive. Our team did everything possible, but—"
The rest of her sentence fades into static.
My hearing goes fuzzy. Muffled. Like I'm underwater.
No.
“Would you like to sit with him a moment to say goodbye?”
Wylder’s deep, resonant tone responds, and then we’re moving. I don't remember moving. I don’t remember how to move, but a moment later, we’re standing in an emergency room cubicle, and my best friend is lying on the table in front of us.
They cleaned him up. It’s strange for that to be my only thought, but it is. They’ve wrapped his neck in gauze and tucked his arms under a clean sheet. There wasn’t much to be done about the side of his face, but as horrific as he looks, I appreciate their effort.
Orion rounds the gurney and folds over Asher’s chest, crying.
“We’re here, Poppy.” Wylder’s voice is deep and thick with concern. I can’t look at him. I can’t look away from the empty shell of what used to be my other half.
What am I going to do? He is my light. Without him, I’ll never be able to fight the darkness.
“Poppy? You’re scaring me.”
Why? What am I doing?
The cubicle is still. Quiet.
Asher lies on the bed, pale and motionless. His onesie is gone, replaced by a hospital gown.
Machines sit silent beside him.
No beeping. No monitors. No need for them.
Wylder moves into my line of vision and pegs me with his concern. “Hallowind? You need to breathe or cry or something. You’re scaring me.”
He wraps his hands around my wrists and unleashes a rush of healing warmth. Maybe it’s the look on his face, or the warmth of his magic, or just the fact that my soul is obliterated, but the dam holding back my emotions breaks.
Heart-broken sobs take me over as my world shatters. The pain is indescribable. It consumes me and expands out of my body to surround and crush me.
Wylder tries to comfort me, but there’s no comfort to be had. I ache to a depth and breadth of my being that I never thought possible.
I scream. It's raw. Guttural.
I climb onto the gurney and lay down beside him, wrapping my arm over his chest, squeezing my eyes shut until stars burst behind my lids.
Please, Goddess Mother, I beg you. Please let this be a nightmare.
Let me wake up.
Let him be okay.
I’ll do anything…
The golden light comes without warning.
It floods my vision, warm and blinding, wrapping around me like a cocoon. The grief doesn't vanish—but it softens. It dulls enough that I can draw a breath without it tearing me apart.
When I open my eyes, I'm not in my room.
I'm standing in a grotto.
Water cascades down moss-covered rocks, pooling into a crystal-clear basin that reflects the sunlight filtering through emerald leaves.
Flowers bloom in impossible colors—violet, gold, shimmering silver.
Vines drape from ancient trees, their trunks thick and gnarled with age.
Birds sing overhead, their melodies weaving together into something almost hypnotic.
The air tastes like honeysuckle and warm summer rain.
I turn slowly, taking it all in.
This place feels alive.
Not just in the way forests breathe, but something deeper. Older. The magic hums beneath my skin, so pure and potent it makes the Hallowind ancestral power feel like a candle compared to the sun.
My first thought is Tharuzel.
But no. There is no darkness. This is light.
Peace. Safety. Life. Potential.
Did I die of a broken heart? Is this where the ancestors go when the physical plane is no longer able to support them?
A rustle in the underbrush draws my attention.
A small fox steps out, its coat a shimmering burnished copper, its eyes bright and curious. It pads toward me, its little black nose twitching.
After a quick sniff of my outstretched hand, its tongue flicks out, warm and wet against my palm.
Another sound rustles on the warm breeze. Whatever made it darts back into the greenery, disappearing among the ferns.
I exhale shakily.
"Hello, Poppy."
I spin, expecting to see my mother—she’s called me petal since I was a toddler—but it’s not Mom.
Birdie Thompson, our apartment neighbor from Wichita, stands a few feet away. Her silver hair hangs in pigtail braids, her hands clasped in front of her, a soft smile on her weathered face.
She’s wearing overalls with ladybugs embroidered on them, and—as always—a mishmash of mismatched colors. A crocheted shawl drapes over her shoulders, wind chimes jingling faintly at her wrists.
She’s exactly how I remember her, and yet I feel like I’ve never really seen her at all.
"Birdie? What are you—how—"
“It’s been a time for you, hasn’t it?”
She opens her arms, and I don't hesitate. I crash into her, burying my face against her shoulder. The sobs come again, but quieter this time. Gentler.
"He's gone. Asher's gone. He saved me and now he's—"
"Shh." She strokes my hair, the motion soothing. "I know, sweet girl. I know."
Her touch is warm and familiar, but something feels different. I pull back slightly, frowning. “I never knew you held arcane power?”
“You wouldn’t. During our time together, your powers were bound.”
Right. But the longer I stand in her presence, the more confused I become. The magic radiating from her isn't just strong. It's infinite. Boundless.
It feels as if I’m standing at the edge of the ocean and just realizing it has no end.
The pieces click into place. My breath catches. "Birdie?"
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You always were a clever one."
The pure magic. The grotto. The way this place feels like home in a way nothing else ever has.
I step back, my heart pounding against the inside of my rib cage. "You're not… are you?"
Birdie tilts her head, still smiling. "Yes, Poppy."
The world tilts.
Because I know the signature of her magic. I've felt it every time I've called on the ancestors. Every time I've drawn power from the standing stones.
This isn't just Wiccan magic.
This is the source.
"You're the Goddess Mother."