Chapter 29
let her win
Callie stared out the window of the sandwich shop. Not looking at anything in particular, she was remembering the tone of Jess’s early morning voice. The words she’d said had resonated deeply. A tear sped down her cheek, and Callie ducked her head, holding her breath, praying she wouldn’t start sobbing in the middle of lunch.
Beyond happy—ridiculously so. Nothing should have interrupted her thoughts of Jess, of their future together.
Yet Callie gasped, putting her hand to her mouth to quiet herself. It took a minute to calm herself, and she tried to be subtle about dabbing her napkin to her eyes. Janice will have a field day if my eyes get all puffy.
Looking away from the glare of the street, Callie saw the condiment tray, then the salt shaker. There had been two more episodes of Callie seeing something: brief but intense flashes of light that faded. The second one of the morning had left her disoriented for a moment. “Isabel,” she thought, “She will know what to do.”
Digging in her bag, she took Isabel’s card from the pocket of her journal. After a not-too-obvious tap of the shaker, she set the card on the table.
Tears were brimming again as she leaned down to the tabletop and tapped the card to see the gold sigil appear. “Shield seeks counsel,” she whispered, her throat tight. Thinking she hadn’t been clear, she tried again, “Desperate shield…seeks-”
“—Behind your tea shop,” Isabel’s steady voice interrupted in her head—too present to be imagined, “At six. There’s a lovely garden.”
Callie jerked upright. The words, while in Isabel’s charming accent, had been absurdly present—clear as if they’d been spoken aloud.
Looking around to see the other patrons calmly enjoying their meals, she slipped the enchanted card back into her journal. It was going to be a long afternoon.
That early evening, Callie walked along the tall fence that bordered the tea shop. She’d never noticed anything other than the quaint interior where she and Jess had first met for tea. Now, the building had more meaning than ever. Walking into the shop, there was no direct public exit to the back. Callie turned around and left, then rounded the corner.
The brick wall of the building ended, giving way to an eight-foot-tall fence. It wasn’t new, but it still didn’t allow anyone to look through the slats to see what was on the other side.
Callie caught a scent, sweet and alluring. She looked up to see branches of a honeysuckle vine peeking over the fence line. Then, there was a latch. Callie stopped and cleared her throat. She knew it hadn’t been there a moment ago. Regardless, she lifted the latch and stepped inside.
Where the scent outside was a subtle invitation, inside, it bloomed into Callie’s brain almost too much. She took a few steps into the wild and tangled landscape and grinned, “My secret garden,” she said wryly, “is smooth pavers.”
The ground crunched under her boots. Soft-edged flagstone, set in an imperfect path of tumbled stones and shredded mulch, drew her across the back of the deep city lot. At the back was Isabel. Sitting on an old bench beside a sculpture, an archer mid-draw, woven entirely of vines and twigs. Poised forever in perfect tension, the archer’s gently feminine shape was tipped, her arrow pointed skyward.
Expecting an ever-flamboyant witch, Callie couldn’t help but comment on Isabel’s outfit. A plain and straightforward tunic, a wrapped cardigan, tapered trousers, and sensible knee-high boots that had seen some miles.
“Looking very woodland guidance counselor today,” she smiled, “I was feeling a little bogged down myself.”
“Glad you rang me up,” Isabel smiled and pointed to the bench, “Sit. Take a breath.”
Wary and already contrasting Isabel’s usual style that night at the bar. Callie, indeed, took a breath. Isabel stayed on her end of the bench, waiting patiently. “So,” she began, “what do you need right now?”
Surprised by Isabel’s opening question, Callie began to talk. She told Isabel everything.
Callie sat hunched forward, elbows on her knees, fingers laced so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. She hadn’t cried…not yet. Her voice had wavered once, maybe twice.
Isabel hadn’t interrupted once.
Now, they sat in silence as the sun dipped lower. Only the arrow of the woven archer was bathed in sunlight.
The telling was done.
Isabel was still. One hand rested on her thigh, the other lightly pressed against her temple, fingers brushing along her hairline like she was trying to keep a thought from slipping out. Or maybe force one back in.
“Your magic’s evolving quickly,” she said at last, though the tone lacked its usual lightness. “Too quickly, maybe.”
Callie looked down the garden path, now shaded, “It’s not about the magic,” she murmured, “It’s the ending that I keep not seeing. I’m not in it.”
Isabel’s brow furrowed, the weight of Callie’s dilemma landing heavily. Her lips parted, but she said nothing.
Callie drew a breath, “I know I am here for her,” she said—and the words came more confidently. “Whatever happens…whatever this is. I know I’m supposed to get to Jess. I don’t know if I’m meant to go past that.”
Isabel’s gaze flickered toward her, sharp and searching. But Callie didn’t flinch.
“I’m not afraid of dying,” she added, “I’m afraid of not being there when she needs me. That’s the only thing that scares me now.”
Isabel’s expression softened, and she had yet to comment on Callie’s dire predictions. She reached out and clasped Callie’s hand. Her hand was warm, her grip firm. But Callie could feel the tremor underneath.
“I will protect her,” Isabel said. “I promise.”
Callie nodded.
“And Camden,” Isabel added, “of course. All of you.”
Callie didn’t react. Just the faintest nod. She was grateful.
They sat a moment longer. Then Callie stood, not abruptly but with purpose, “When it starts to happen. I need you to reach out to Jess.” She turned to Isabel, “Not me. If it gets worse, or if something changes. She can’t know.”
“She’ll ask why it wasn’t you,” Isabel said as she stood, brushing her hands to smooth her trousers.
Callie smiled faintly, “Tell her I wanted her focused on the fight. Not on me.”
“You’re asking me to lie.”
“No.” Callie’s eyes locked onto Isabel. “I’m asking you to let her win.”
“One other thing,” Callie shrugged, “for whatever it’s worth, the night of the fight—the night I keep seeing…the moon is full. When I’m in the forest with Jess, with all of you. It's big and bright.” She sighed, “If that helps at all.”
The silence stretched between them, and then Isabel stepped forward and embraced Callie, brief, tight, the kind of hug that has no flourish, only weight.
They parted, and Callie didn’t look back. She walked to the gate, lifted the latch, and stepped onto the sidewalk.
The scent of honeysuckle trailed after her.
As the gate clicked shut behind Callie, Isabel took a deep breath but didn’t find comfort after.
Callie had told her everything. And hadn’t asked to be saved.
She had only asked that Jess and her son be protected in the aftermath of her visions. Isabel, a seasoned, powerful witch in her own right, shuddered with the power of Callie’s words.
“With all of you,” she whispered, repeating Callie’s words. It meant she had seen the gathering. That her visions were valid and far-reaching.
Isabel stood at the edge of the path, hands loosely clasped, and stared at the space where Callie had been. The garden seemed to exhale with her. The fragrant vines shifted on their trellises, and the shadows woven into the archer’s sculpture deepened as well.
Callie’s strength under the circumstances was startling. At that moment, she knew why Jess had been drawn to her. Other than the obvious, it was as if two opposing titans had joined forces.
Callie’s irreverent humor and flirtiness had given way to a solemn agony, but Isabel knew that Callie would keep it hidden from Jess and anyone else.
Jess, the deadly Raven before? Or the current infatuated and deserving lover? If something happened to Callie, Isabel knew that neither iteration of Jess would forgive them.
Jess’s grief would be ruinous. She would tear the world down with precision. “I pray we are not in her crosshairs,” Isabel whispered, seeing the archer’s twig-entangled bow reaching for the coming twilight.
“So..what are you aiming at, little archer?” she asked, looking to the sky. “What thread in the tapestry are you trying to cut?”
The archer didn’t answer, but the shadows deepened anyway.
Above them, the waxing gibbous moon hung. Fat with knowledge and only a few days shy of its whole light. A shy presence. In short, a lunar-influenced countdown.
Isabel raised her hand and whispered into the growing dark. A soft voice, thick with her native tone.
“Come then, aye…Come now, ye who remember.
Believers, blood-bound and bone-sworn.
Rise, witches. We’ve but three nights ‘til the Veils thinning.
Three days until the bastard starts carving the worlds apart.
Come wi’fire
Come wi’ faith.
Come, for the Raven calls and pray we’re not the ones she buries.”
Isabel sat back on the bench and closed her eyes to fend off the tears she’d been holding since Callie’s quiet, devastating confession. She looked at the little archer sculpture and took the motif literally.
“Where, oh saint of love,” she said bitterly, “is my arrow? Did you miss? Do I have a heart sturdy enough to take the blow?”
She sobbed once, then admitted the truth, “Your aim is true. I was the one to dodge your effort. Callie committed her heart. In the face of such horrific odds, she didn’t flinch.”
She looked away, ashamed of her own precision. Distance was another kind of armor.
“Callie…” she murmured, voice steadier now, “Callie gave her whole damn heart. In the face of death. She hasn’t flinched.”
Isabel cursed, then shook her head, “I would’ve.”
Isabel looked up at the twilight, her tears catching the glint of the rising moon. “I committed to magic.”
She swallowed, “And, until now, I have never regretted it.”