Chapter 25
25
THE DAY BEFORE Samhain dawns with the sweet rarity of Zander still in bed with me when I finally decide to wake up. Usually he’s already off at the ferry, taking those early shifts with Jacob or Frost accompanying him.
Today he’s here. The morning outside is gray and drizzly, and he pulls me into him. Warm and steady. We don’t say anything. We just hold on to each other for a little bit.
When my stomach demands we get up, we head downstairs into the kitchen. It’s clear Emerson and Georgie have already been down here, magicking breakfast feasts and leaving them on magical warmers for those of us who prefer to stay in our beds until a more reasonable hour.
Before Zander and I can even settle ourselves at the table, Elspeth Wilde walks in. She doesn’t seem surprised to see us here, the way we certainly are to see her. Sure, Jacob mentioned she’d be at the ritual, but I’m not emotionally prepared for awkward breakfasts with this woman who’s never liked me.
Something she’s made all too clear over the years.
I brace myself as she stands there, looking at us both with that cool gaze of hers. Then I notice that her hands are clasped tight...an odd sign of something that on anyone else I would call nerves.
Maybe I’m still asleep and dreaming.
“Good morning, Zander. Ellowyn.”
She says this without her trademark sniff of disdain. I look up at Zander, expecting to see a similar befuddlement. His expression is blank.
That’s not good.
Elspeth clears her throat like she knows it. “It seems congratulations are in order,” she says, and though she sounds stiff, the way she nods toward my rounded stomach seems surprisingly genuine. She even attempts a smile. “A child is a great blessing.”
I think not that long ago I would have found something really scathing to say to that, but my hand is in Zander’s, and I can feel his tension. I’m not sure being my usual snarky self would help this situation.
“I...brought a gift,” Elspeth continues, letting the shocks keep coming. She holds out her hands, palms up, and a small box appears. She makes as if to hand it to Zander.
He doesn’t take it.
There’s a beat where I can’t tell if Elspeth is hurt or angry, or if I might want to jump in and do something to make this moment less awful, but then she simply lifts the lid off the box herself. “When we were girls, Zelda and I used to make each other things. Flower crowns, bracelets, rings. Your mother was always better at it than I was, Zander.”
She tilts the box so I can see a delicate crown of violet blooms. All braided together by the stems. Clearly enchanted, so the flowers remain living all these years later.
Zelda’s work, I think, even as Elspeth confirms it. “She made this for me many years ago, and it was one of the few things I kept all these years, even though we didn’t...” She breaks off. “I’d like the child to have this.”
I glance at Zander. His gaze isn’t exactly friendly, but he doesn’t turn away or look too thunderous. So I take the box from her.
“Thank you,” I offer. I don’t know what else to say. It’s very kind and sentimental—two things I would have told you Elspeth isn’t.
The fact our daughter will have something made by Zelda’s own hands, back when she was a girl herself, threatens to make me so emotional my eyes might fill up again.
Elspeth doesn’t leave the way I expect her to, now that she’s bestowed her gift. She keeps her gaze on Zander. “I suppose I haven’t been a very good aunt to you, Zander.”
“You suppose ?” he returns, his brow raised.
Elspeth’s mouth firms, but she doesn’t back away. She also doesn’t let loose with one of her lectures. It’s like she’s possessed.
“I will endeavor to take my role as great-aunt more seriously.” She really, truly smiles at us both then. It’s a tight, frigid kind of smile, sure, but it’s real. “Tonight, I’m not standing only for my daughters and their coven, or my nephew, or my grand-niece, or even my community. Tonight, at the ritual, I’m standing for my sister in a way I should have when she was alive.”
I’m struck absolutely silent. Almost more than when Elspeth stood up for us at Litha. If you’d asked me ten years ago what adults would be only too eager to sign our death warrants, I’d have put Elspeth pretty high up on that list.
Zander still says nothing. Elspeth gives a little nod, then turns to go. She’s almost out of the kitchen before Zander finally speaks again.
When I thought he wouldn’t.
“She’d forgive you, you know.” His voice is raw. “I don’t know if I can, but I bet she already has.”
Elspeth turns back. Her eyes are bright, but she doesn’t cry. “Thank you,” she says, a lifetime of emotion there in her voice. Then she does leave the kitchen, her back straight, and I blink back as many tears as I can.
“Don’t cry,” Zander mutters gruffly as he pulls me in close, resting his chin on the top of my head.
I clear my throat. “Who, me?”
He kisses my temple. I lean into it, to him, to us , and then we both make a concentrated effort to have a normal breakfast. We talk about eccentric customers and the gloomy weather outside. We talk about people we knew in high school who buy love potions and sensual aids from the tea shop like I don’t know them. We talk about things people tell each other or say into their phones out on the low, flat ferry platforms that they think no one can hear.
The things we don’t talk about are so loud we have to lean in close, breathing each other in, to keep ignoring them.
When Frost enters, ready to head to the ferry with Zander, I give Zander a kiss and my best attempt at a smile.
We don’t say the word goodbye . We don’t talk about what will happen next.
Because the Joywood aren’t the only ones who can plan. We have Emerson for that. Tonight we’ll have so many versions of ourselves running around St. Cyprian that the Joywood won’t be able to figure out who’s us and who’s a projection until the ritual is over.
We hope.
Rebekah and I walk over to Tea & No Sympathy. I recount the flower crown story on the way, and she’s as blown away as I was. Once we’re in the shop, she settles into her usual seat with her tablet while I wait on the steady stream of customers. I play music loud enough to fill the store and spill out into the street every time the door opens. I enjoy the feel of the way my baby girl moves inside of me like she’s dancing, her movements a little more pronounced every day.
I even enjoy refereeing a fight between Zachariah and Elizabeth about those damn crows. Again.
“They’re important,” Zachariah insists.
“Maybe they are,” I say, trying to sound soothing. “But not today.”
He lets out an affronted sort of sound, but by the time I’m closing up shop, the ghost couple is back to hand-holding and warm gazes. But then, I know better than most that a tempestuous thread through a relationship isn’t the end of the world.
Rebekah and I head down Main Street in that inky fall dark that comes so early, ghosts trailing behind us, the town full to the brim with people ready and eager to start the celebrations a night early. The humans are hyped for the Halloween trick-or-treating in all the shops. There are little kids in their costumes, lining up outside stores. Tomorrow there will be a gathering of humans dressed in witch costumes, and a costumed parade.
Meanwhile, witches from all over the world come to St. Cyprian for Samhain even when it isn’t an ascension year, because the veil is so thin and magic is heightened this close to the powerful merging of the three rivers.
You can feel all this in the air, thick and complicated.
You can see it in the shadows down every alley, all a little too deep, too dark.
We walk down to Confluence Books, where Emerson is locking the door while Georgie waits patiently on the sidewalk with her face in another book. Emerson links arms with me, so I grab onto Rebekah, who takes Georgie’s book from her and magics it away. After a brief moment for Georgie to frown about it, we walk toward the ferry, arm in arm.
The ferry isn’t our destination though. Before we make it to the dock, we veer off onto the path that ambles along the riverside before delivering us to Nix, the bar that’s been in Zander’s family almost as long as the ferries have. The bar itself is a long, low, unprepossessing affair that seems eternally this close to toppling straight into the Mississippi, but the sparkling lights that are threaded all over everything make it seem magical, even to unmagical eyes. The patio closes for the season on November 1, but tonight it’s merry with Halloween revelers and Samhain celebrants alike.
When we enter the bar, it’s also packed, but my gaze finds Zander immediately. Like there’s a light that shines down on him that only I can see, and I like that idea so much that it takes me a moment to see what he’s doing. Just now he’s smiling at a human couple while making their drink. Midway through, he looks over at a human dressed as Catwoman who’s leaning very provocatively over the bar, trying to get his attention with more than her gaze.
I wait for this to bother me, to send me into a rage as it might have before, but nothing really sparks.
I realize two things at once.
Something I never realized before—and probably couldn’t when I was young and full of doubts and fears and insecurities wrapped up in armor and edges and fear—is that the flirty smile for all and sundry is different than the smile he gives me.
Only and ever me.
Because the other thing I realize, which maybe I’ve always known deep down, is that Zander is loyal. He’s a Guardian through and through. A Rivers. He might have been with more than his share of human women, but he never juggled multiple ones at the same time. Not to mention, he was dabbling in only humans because of me. Because of the hope of me.
The point being: he’s not Bill.
We’re not my parents.
I understand something else from there. The way a man chooses to betray a woman is never about the woman. That shit is theirs and theirs alone. I should have known that all along. My mother said it enough.
Maybe it takes a love of your own to heal that last, secret fear inside of you.
As if he can hear me think this, Zander looks up, and his eyes gleam, thunder and need, and all for me.
It’s better than a love letter.
Emerson tugs my arm, and I let her pull us toward Jacob and Frost, who are standing down at the end of the bar. We all nod our hellos, but it isn’t really a small talk kind of moment. Zander finishes behind the bar, saying something to his cousin who’s come to fill in for the night.
No one says, or after tonight too, if necessary .
Zander winds his way toward us. He greets me with a kiss, then lifts a hand toward his cousin. “Thanks for the help, Zeb.”
Zeb nods from behind the bar. “Good luck, Riverwood. We’re rooting for you.”
We all pause for a moment, taking that in. We look at each other. Then Emerson grins and offers what I hope is only the first fist pump of the evening.
As her younger sister, Rebekah is duty bound to roll her eyes. Georgie laughs. Then the Riverwood coven is out in the October cold again.
We walk away from the bar, letting the dark swallow us whole. We pause for a moment, there where the trees seem like mere suggestions and the river rushes past, singing its songs of power and portent. The stars and moon are hidden behind clouds, but that suits us for right now because we’re doing a spell to create as many different versions of us as we can.
We gather into our circle, and I sense our familiars drawing near to lend their power to ours. Ruth hoots in the trees I can barely see, it’s so dark.
We don’t have to see to start the spell though. Together in unison.
“Confluence, strong and ours. Moon, bright and mighty. Hide us in plain sight. Protect our purpose this important night.”
The magic spills out from the center of us, creating versions of ourselves. The Riverwood at Wilde House. The Riverwood back at Nix. The Riverwood up at Frost House again. Decoys of us meant to distract and confuse the Joywood so they can’t track us or figure out what we’re really up to.
Once that’s taken care of, we walk over to the ferry. Zack and Finn are there, but Zack is ready to leave the ferry in Finn’s hands tonight and come with us this time.
Finn guides us over the river like the newly minted Guardian he is, and I stand with my coven, my friends, watching the confluence with all its gold, good magic sparkling through. Even in the dark.
Because of us .
When we get to the other side, we walk up the trail from the river to the cemetery on the hill, where Jacob’s family have already set up for the ritual. Not far from the grove of redbud trees that figured so prominently in bringing Emerson back to herself last spring.
To me, this feels like coming full circle. She fought off adlets here so she could live and do all the miraculous things she’s done so far. Now I will sacrifice what part of me I can, so that even more witches will live, and who knows what they’ll do?
Elspeth and my mother are already there, standing next to each other in what no one with eyes would call a friendly sort of silence. It’s Maureen and Evie and a few of Jacob’s other relatives who are carrying the conversation and acting like they don’t notice the strain between Tanith and the current Wilde matriarch.
But it doesn’t matter what ancient feuds they’re still prepared to fight. What matters is that we’re not on our own anymore.
It means more than I ever thought it could.
We’ve all gone over (and over and over) the order of what’s going to happen. What I need to say and do. That doesn’t mean I’m not nervous. Not that I might fail, but that it might not go the way we want. That any number of irritating spell things might happen, because spells are tricky, and rituals like to make you work for them.
And there’s always the possibility that the Undine might call us in the middle of it.
Yet I know there’s nothing more to be done. No amount of thinking changes what will be—good or bad. I try to think only about what needs to be done and when.
Here, Jacob is in charge again. When everything is set and the time is right, he leads me to the center of the cemetery. Everyone else takes their places, as planned and exhaustively rehearsed. Our familiars and Jacob’s family in a wide circle around us. Our parents in four points within the circle.
Me, in the middle, with my coven lined up in front of me.
The ghosts that still only Zander and I can see take their places too. Elizabeth on my right. Zachariah on my left.
Jacob begins by lighting a candle, murmuring words of incantation and invitation alike. Then everyone in the circle and our compass points light theirs, echoing him.
Until we are all dots of flickering light against the dark night. With me at the center. I blow out a slow breath.
“We are here tonight to counteract the dark, the poison, and those that would hurt the Summoners among us,” Jacob intones, calling in the spirits and the spells, all powers and portents alike.
I feel as if a new wind kicks up, but only I seem to feel it. Rushing through me, wrapping around me.
“It is a Healer’s spell,” Jacob continues. “A Healer’s ritual.” His gaze meets mine, gold and bright. “But you are the center, Ellowyn. The blood. The choice. The cure.”
I pull in a breath. I don’t look at Zander.
I try to remain strong and centered as it all begins at last.
First up, the protections from my coven.
Jacob holds out his hands, and a crown of flowers, much like the one Elspeth gave us this morning, appears. “For your bravery, a crown of borage.”
The plant has been woven into a ring and infused with Healer whispers of protection and healing. The pretty purple blooms resemble stars. Jacob carefully places it over my head, his smile warm and kind, before he gives way to the next in line.
Emerson approaches. Her eyes are shiny with pride. “For your strength and determination.” She slides a ring of iron on my finger.
Frost and Rebekah follow, together.
“Hold out your hands, Revelare,” Frost intones, in that Praeceptor’s voice of his.
I do as I’m told. It doesn’t even occur to me to offer one of my usual snarky remarks. The moment is too big, the meaning of this too important.
They each slide a bracelet over one of my wrists. On the right, Frost’s offering is a tangled brown and gray—tumbled petrified wood. “To strengthen your connection to the past. All that was, all that you came from,” he says.
Rebekah’s bracelet is made of rose quartz. “For your inner voice, your connection to all that can be, may it be clear and good.” Then she gives me a hug and whispers, “You’ve got this.”
Georgie approaches, her head burnished red in the candlelight. She looks more like that princess from the fairy tale than ever. She hands me a tiny book, no bigger than my palm. “To protect what you know, in your heart, in your mind.”
Then it’s Zander’s turn. I am already emotional and far too close to tears, but the silver of his eyes makes my whole being shake.
He holds Zelda’s necklace, which I’ve only taken off before this ritual, for this ritual.
“From your Guardian,” he says, strong and true. That scent of his magic, woodsmoke and the power of the rivers, wraps around us.
Mine , I mouth, hoping to make him smile.
Not quite, but close. I’ll take it.
He puts the necklace over my head. “So the rivers and the mighty power of the confluence protect you from all that would wish you harm.”
He leans down and presses his mouth to mine. I know he wants to linger, hold me tight, do more , but he steps back. Because love and protection and duty are difficult concepts to balance. His honor, that deep-seated need to be noble, struggles to overwhelm what needs to be done, risked.
We’re working on it.
Together.
Before he releases me, though, Elizabeth is whispering at us.
“If you let me in, accept me, I can be another layer of protection. For you, for the child. You only have to accept me.”
“And you,” Zachariah says to Zander. “Accept me.”
Zander and I look at each other. It’s weird request, but they haven’t led us astray yet. Who would turn down extra protection in this moment?
“Say it,” Elizabeth says, a little more urgently than feels comfortable. “In your heads, as one.”
I breathe out, lock eyes with Elizabeth, and hear Zander utter the same words I do, like we’re an internal chorus.
I accept you.
I feel something cool and fizzy, almost. Like drinking carbonation, but with far more energy. Warmth follows, and then something curls around inside me. Like another layer protecting the baby from the outer world.
I know Elizabeth will protect her in whatever ways she can. I look at Zander. His silver eyes are slightly different, like I can see Zachariah’s shadow in there. Looking out for us both.
Zander nods at me, then steps back, but only a little. While the rest of the coven forms an inner circle around us, Zander takes each of my hands. It reminds me of months ago, when we did a ritual in Confluence Books and I sat knee to knee with Emerson while she tried to find answers.
I try not to think of how, thanks to Skip’s mark on Emerson, it didn’t go as planned. Because it still turned out okay, and everyone was all right.
Eventually.
I swallow and focus on Zander. On the feel of Elizabeth protecting my child. Zachariah protecting Zander.
We kneel, as we are meant to. Me on one side of Zelda’s grave, Zander on the other, our hands linked over the stone.
More protection.
Then Jacob begins in earnest.
“By Earth. By Air. By Fire. By River’s Confluence here. With the power of birth, of death, of life, give unto us the magic to heal, to protect.”
His eyes glow, deep and powerful. His gaze meets mine, magic in the air, in our hearts. “Ellowyn Sabrina Good, do you consent?”
Part of the danger of this ritual is that I have to go under a kind of anesthesia spell so they can carefully and correctly collect my blood. It requires giving myself over fully, and since I’m still me , that isn’t easy.
But it’s right. “I consent,” I say, loud and clear.
“With the Revelare’s consent, take care of soul, while we collect from the body the blood of life, of power, of protection, of good and right and hope.”
I let the words lull me, then float away, separating soul body from physical body. Not in a scary or wrong way, because this is what needs to happen. A separation of sorts. My body below—me above.
So that Jacob can take the blood he needs in that good, clean way only Healers can do. With consent. With good intentions.
I’m not separated from my body fully, and my soul is its own body. Both parts of me are tethered together by the ritual, by Zander’s hold on me, by all of these protections I wear and carry inside me. All the same, my soul, my essence is in a kind of magical waiting room. Not fully aware of what’s happening around me.
Until something cold slithers up my spine, causing me to shiver. I try to open my eyes before I remember I’m not supposed to do that. So I squeeze them back shut.
Elizabeth?
Don’t let go , she says, there in my head. But I’m not letting go. Am I?
Then I hear Zander’s voice. Booming, tinged with worry.
Ellowyn. Where are you?
Here. I’m right here , I say at once.
I don’t feel my physical body. I don’t feel him.
And he clearly can’t feel me.