Chapter 9
Trish
“Just like old times,” I muttered to myself as I finished unrolling my bed of furs and arranging the little wash sink next to my clothes.
Jaxon had made a big deal about helping me put the whole tent together. He was just like the rest of them, acting like I was a danger to myself and everyone around me. You’d think if that was truly the case, they’d let me live out the rest of my days alone as a bog witch like Gram in the woods.
(Which I still one day aspired to do).
I can get on board with that.
But noooo…
Everyone kept trying to swoop in and save me like I was some damsel in distress.
I was a witch. A powerful, wolf-shifting witch. Okay, maybe I was lacking on the powerful stuff lately, but I was not the princess in some fantasy story.
And I knew I was being extra grumpy because the last few days traveling with my sisters had sucked. Meg would not stop bossing us all around, and Alec had snapped at both of us any time we said anything.
Thankfully, I was out of telepathic range. I’d tested it as soon as I’d hiked over to this field. I was sure they were watching with binoculars—Meg took her assigned role as backup from Alpha Kera seriously—but for the first time in my adult life, I didn’t have to deal with their voices in my head.
The taste of freedom was intoxicating.
Too bad Jaxon was going to ruin it.
I’d sent him away so I could freshen up, whatever that meant, but he hadn’t gone far. I could still feel him pacing just outside the tent. Being this far from my pack and this close to him was setting my wolf on edge.
That’s because something is off.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Not you too.
Honestly, I was probably safer here than I was at home. I’d sensed it the moment I walked into the field. There was strength in this gathering of magic. I felt it ripple through the grass, sing through the trees, and dance on the breeze, calling to me.
My fingers itched to reach out and touch it.
Maybe this was just what I needed. Immersion therapy to shock my system into fixing itself. The surrounding magic was grounding. Inviting. It could be safe to call on my own and test it out here.
But I’d never be able to do that inside this tent. It was time to face the… magic.
Jaxon was right where I’d left him. I hated how that lazy grin on his face made my heart skip a beat, distracting me for a moment until I realized he wasn’t alone. The twins flanked him, whispering something that stopped the moment I zipped up my tent.
I could’ve eavesdropped, but I didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know it was about me.
“Hey Trish,” Amir said, glancing at his brother. The beads in his long black hair gleamed in the light of the setting sun. “When did you get in?”
Technically, we were distant cousins by mated pairs, but we hadn’t gotten along in years. The age difference, gender difference, and then later our magic difference separated us by miles.
Oh, and they just didn’t like me.
“Obviously she just got here,” Ahmad chuckled, nudging his brother. “Do you see any flames yet?”
“Ha ha.” I let the insult roll off my skin, used to it by now, as I stormed past the two giggling hyenas and Jaxon’s warning growl. “Where are we supposed to check in?”
“I already gave the Ossory ambassador your name,” Jaxon said. His long legs ate up the distance I tried to put between us and he slowed to match my pace. “There are food vendors set up before the bonfire at dusk. That’s the big festival kickoff event.”
I squinted at the setting sun on the horizon, breathing a sigh of relief.
I was starving.
Jaxon turned, walking backwards as we made our way through the paths laid out between the tents. “What do you want to eat?”
“I’m not that hungry.” I brushed off his easy concern, ignoring the tug in my chest. He’d do this if I let him. Hover and keep me in his shadow, acting like I was his little sister that he had to protect.
I don’t think he sees us like that.
Keep dreaming.
I didn’t fault my wolf for chasing after him. She’d always had her little crush. He was the only single alpha wolf I’d ever met, and we’d grown up together. Plus, Jaxon radiated power. Any wolf in her right mind would want to sniff in his direction.
Even now, as we came to the clearing where the vendor tents were set up, females cast glances at Jaxon, doing double takes.
I shrank further into myself, but my stomach chose that moment to growl… loudly.
Or maybe it was my wolf.
“Let’s get some meat,” Jaxon said, stepping into the closest line and blocking my view of the festival with his large chest.
I blinked up at him, dangerously close, and took a step back. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”
His lips twitched. “You lied.”
Gods, he was so frustrating.
“But I’m hungry, so you might as well eat too.” He winked.
I could eat. My wolf licked her chops.
I took another step back. It could’ve been my exhaustion or the fact that I’d volunteered to come here in the first place or the magic thrumming through the air, but I felt bolder than I had in ages.
And I had an idea.
“Actually, meat sounds good. Would you mind standing in line while I poke my head around?” I smiled sweetly.
“Don’t…” Jaxon frowned. “Don’t you want to pick out what you’d like?”
“I’ll be right back.” I kept inching backwards. “Or you could just grab me something spicy?”
Please… Please…
Jaxon’s eyes darkened, but he nodded.
I didn’t wait for him to change his mind.
The crowd thinned further away from the food stands, but there were still plenty of witches and warlocks moving in and out of the vendor tents. All the scents—bodies, incense, and cooking smoke—had my wolf’s nose twitching.
There are… so many.
I know! I almost squealed.
What I thought would be a nightmare was really a colorful kaleidoscope of magic wielders from everywhere. Women in long skirts sat sprawled on the grass near the unburnt bonfire structure, forming a patchwork quilted picnic blanket among them.
Nearby, a group of musicians strummed lazily under the late afternoon sun. Bubbles danced in the air as magical little children ran through the crowd, and laughter mixed with vendors calling their wares. Shoppers stepped into tents, admiring crystals and tinctures and little carved ornaments.
I couldn’t stop smiling as I took it all in.
Hair color as varied as my own weaved through the crowd. Young and old, male and female, human and a few other wolves, mingled with a common purpose.
And I didn’t know a single other person, which meant they might not have heard of me either.
I could blend in here. Disappear. Relax in anonymity. I could shop to my heart’s content. Be surrounded by others like me, who’d maybe dealt with what I was dealing with. Their magic called, begging to be embraced and welcomed.
I could get lost in it.
But first, I wanted to check out the market.
A pair of malachite stone earrings were calling my name, but a flash of something shiny drew my attention.
A silver bangle on a wrist. The swish of long skirts. Beads on graying braids clinked together as the woman weaved between two stalls.
My heart stopped.
No. It’s not her. It can’t be.
Time seemed to slow as the colors from the festival blurred.
“Gram?” I whispered.
The woman disappeared behind the canvas flap of a tent. Time came rushing back at full speed, along with the rapid beating of my heart.
“Gram!” This was crazy. I’d helped bury her body. I knew she was gone, but some part of me—the not-broken part that still believed in magic—had hope.
My feet were running before my brain caught up. “Gram!” I called again, louder this time as I hurried through the maze of stalls. I stopped to open the canvas flap I swore she’d gone underneath.
You saw her too, right?
My stunned wolf just nodded.
She might’ve been a ghost. An omen.
The back room of the tent held crates and packed boxes. I pushed past a fabric flap that served as a divider, sure I’d lost her and this was about to be a wild goose chase.
“There you are.” An old woman smiled.
The bangles on her wrist were gaudier, crusted with jewels, and the beads on her hair were brighter gold than I remembered. The eyes that looked at me from across the tent were deep brown, like mine. The color I’d gotten from my mother. Not the glacier blue of Cerberus blood that Lisa had.
The old woman who was decidedly not my great-grandmother shuffled a deck of tarot cards on her table. “Sit, child. I’ve been expecting you.”
Not Gram, but her aura is familiar. My wolf sniffed as I glanced around the darkened tent with light filtering in through the worn fabric and the scarves that hung as backdrops.
She’s a seer, like Gram and Calla.
Numbly, I moved to take the chair opposite the old woman while my wolf growled at hearing Calla’s name.
The old woman arched a white eyebrow. “No one is forcing you to sit. You can leave if you want.”
I sat. “Sorry. My wolf is all riled up. We thought…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t know what I was thinking.
“You thought I was your grandmother.” The woman kept shuffling the cards.
I blew out a breath, relaxing for the first time today as I remembered how easy it was to ask Gram questions when she always seemed to know the answers. “So, you’re legit?”
“Of course I am. You think they’d let me here if I wasn’t?” She smirked. “But it doesn’t take a psychic to hear you calling me Gram.”
My cheeks flushed a little, but I brushed it off. You didn’t become the embarrassment of Cerberus pack without learning to roll with the punches.
“Will you read for me?” I watched as she shuffled the cards faster than seemed possible for her aged hands. They weren’t my gram’s tea leaves, but the vibe was the same.
“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” She abruptly stopped.
I didn’t bother pointing out it was coincidence I’d entered this tent. If I’d learned one thing from Gram, it was that fate loved to play games.
“Cut the deck.” She slid the cards to me.
I studied the face-down purple cards with knotted silver border before lifting what felt like half and letting a few flutter back to the deck. Then I passed the top portion to her.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Frances.” Her fingers drummed against the table, eager to snatch the deck back up, but she waited. “What’s your question, Tisiphone?”
I didn’t let her knowledge of my name unnerve me. Any Seer worth their salt was bound to have a disarming trick or two up their sleeve. Gram knew things too. And if she was still alive, there was one burning question I would ask.
“Will I ever get my magic back?”
A breeze ruffled the scarves hanging on the wall of the tent. Frances grabbed the deck, frowning. “What do you mean? Your magic never left.”
“Just look at the cards.” I rested my elbows on the table and rubbed my temples with my thumbs. “It’s hard to explain what happened.”
She didn’t ask for more details as she laid out four cards face-down and I was grateful for it. I’d told my story way too many times without solving anything. Honestly, I was getting sick of my own trauma.
Over the years, we’d spoken to a bunch of witches, but no one really understood how my magic had been so powerful one day, and then went haywire the next.
Mom had tried every potion and spell and piece of advice she’d been given.
Nothing could bring me back to normal. I could still work little common spells without life-altering disaster.
Like my hair. But bigger things, and anytime I tried to use my innate skills, it blew up in my face or didn’t do anything at all.
I wasn’t sure what was worse.
Frances was still frowning as she flipped over the first card. The Devil stared back at me.
“A curse?” I cried.
“It could mean that.” She shook her head. “Or dark forces gathering. Ones of your own making, perhaps?”
“I still think it’s a curse,” I muttered, even though I’d been tested for that.
Frances flipped the second card.
A heart pierced by three swords and the dark storm clouds gathered behind had me leaning closer to inspect the card.
Frances nodded. “Three of Swords.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” It was my turn to frown.
“A separation. Pain. Heartbreak,” she explained.
I folded my arms across my chest. “See? This is why I don’t like tarot. The tea leaves always come out more clearly.”
Frances glared at me as she flipped the third card. Our eyes both dropped at the same time, and she muttered a soft protection spell.
“The Tower.” I licked my dry lips. “That’s not good. But wait, are these backwards? I thought the third card is supposed to be the future. I already went through the horrifying event.”
Frances inhaled a calming breath. “That’s not…” She exhaled. “The third card can be the outcome of what has already passed.”
“Oh… Yeah, being magic-broken is horrible.” I nodded. “So how do I fix this outcome?”
“The Tower isn’t something that has already come to pass, but will.” Her voice took on a foreboding tone. “The Tower is yet to fall.”
“Look, I appreciate a good ominous warning as much as the next witch,” I said. “But what does that fourth card say? Isn’t it supposed to be advice?”
Frances’s eye twitched, but she still flipped the card. “The Lovers.”
Great. I leaned back in my chair, blowing a breath through pursed lips. It couldn’t mean real lovers. Cards were never so simple, were they? It probably was a play on words. “So, self-love will get me through this?”
“I take it back. This was a bad idea.” Frances sighed. “Maybe you should stick to the tea leaves.”
I was keen to agree with her, but the tent flap was pushed open before I could get another word out, and there in all his pissed-off-Alpha-glory was Jaxon, glaring.
Frances made a girly little noise, fanning herself. “Hello there, handsome.”
My wolf barked out a laugh.
I quickly stood so Jaxon couldn’t see the spread of cards on the table and judge me worse than I was judging myself. “I was just coming to find you.”
“Be careful of the Tower,” Frances called after me as I started pushing Jaxon out of the tent.
“What did she say?” he growled.
“Nothing.” I grabbed the meat on a stick from his hand, skipping into the noise of the festival as the anxious energy for the coming event rippled through the crowd and everyone hurried to find a seat. “Oh look, the bonfire is about to start.”