Belladonna (42 page)

"Are you stewing, brooding, pondering, or just letting a part of your brain float on the water?" Lee asked, settling on the other end of the bench.

"Anything tries to float on that water is going to get eaten," Michael replied. "Doesn't anyone ever feed those fish?"

"Sure. Doesn't mean they won't forage for themselves when the opportunity presents itself." Lee studied him. "Still worried about Caitlin?"

Michael rubbed his hands over his knees. "Kayne seemed a bit too interested in a girl her age,"

"He's interested," Lee countered. "He's also smart enough to know the male who is currently holding Caitlin's attention is small, brown, and fuzzy."

He grunted. Not an eloquent response, but better than admitting Lee was right about Andrew the dog being Caitlin's companion for the foreseeable future. Then he sighed. "My heart aches because someone else is happy. Does that make me a ripe bastard?"

Lee said nothing.

Michael kept his eyes focused on the pond. "I respected my aunt Brighid because she came to help me and Caitlin when we needed her, and I suppose I loved her, but it was a duty love, if you take my I meaning." He glanced over long enough to see Lee nod. "I couldn't hear the music of her heart. Crashing chords and odd rhythms, but not the melody, not the tone that usually gives me a sense of who a person is."

"She wasn't where she belonged," Lee said quietly. He waited a beat. "What do you hear in her now?"

"A grand song. Something I never would have I imagined was in her. Even before I listened for the song, I saw her face when we stepped off your island and she set foot in Sanctuary — and I realized I had never seen her truly happy or at peace with herself and the world around her. That's a hard thing to swallow since I'm one of the reasons she didn't have that peace."

Lee leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "She wasn't happy at Lighthaven either, Magician. She knew she needed the Light, but that wasn't the place for her. And yet she never went up to Darling's Harbor to walk between the Sentinel Stones. I think that's one of the differences between your part of the world and mine. You can avoid a resonating bridge and stay where you don't belong. But it can't be an easy thing to deny your own heart day after day, year after year. And in the end, you can't deny it.

Ephemera won't let you."

"She wouldn't have abandoned two children."

Lee nodded. "Having decided to help, she wouldn't have left you to fend for yourselves — especially while Caitlin was so young. But we're not talking just about your aunt. That's the thing about heart wishes. You might have to travel through several landscapes—and spend time in each one, living and learning and changing inside — before you're ready for the place you truly belong, the place your heart recognizes as 'home.' Brighid has found her place. So has Caitlin. What about you? Do you have the courage to cross over to the landscape where you belong?"

Michael turned enough to look at Lee straight on. "And you're thinking you know where I belong?

Lee shook his head. "Your heart does."

He knew where he
wanted
to belong. Which wasn't the same thing.

"My father left when I was ..." Lee paused. "Well, I was so young I don't have my own memories of him. My mother didn't know if he had crossed over a bridge and couldn't get back to us, or if he didn't
want
to come back to us and had crossed over to a landscape where she didn't belong. It was only a few months ago that we found information that makes us think he was killed because he had learned the wizards who were purebloods weren't human; that they were really the Dark Guides."

"It changed things, his leaving," Michael said, having a clear memory of his father walking down the road, alone, for that last time.

"Yes, it changed things."

"But your mother's heart didn't turn barren of everything but storms and rages."

"My mother was where she belonged, in a house that had been in her family for generations. And my mother has always known the nature of her gift and the way of the world. She wouldn't have stayed in a place where she didn't belong."

"Well, my mother didn't stay either," Michael said, bearing the bitterness in his voice. "Of course, where she thought she would end up by walking into the sea is anyone's guess. Where she
did
end up was a pauper's grave." And it hurt. All these years later, it still hurt.

"She didn't love us enough to stay."

Before Lee could reply, Michael stood up, signaling the end of talk.

Lee rose as well. "Shall we join the ladies?"

"Lucky timing on your mother's part to be visiting Sanctuary today," Michael said as they headed for the guest house.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Lee replied, smiling. "My mother's sense of timing is uncanny — especially if you're a young boy doing something you shouldn't be doing."

"Ah." Michael hesitated, then decided this was good timing too. "Speaking of ladies, I noticed your sister has been absent from the tour of Sanctuary."

"Something needed tending. She'll be back soon."

Where?
Although unspoken, they both knew the question had been asked — and not answered.
Still an outsider,
Michael thought.
And maybe I deserve to be.

As they approached Brighid and Nadia, he tucked that thought away in the far corner of his heart, hoping no one would be able to find it. Including himself.

"You shouldn't be poking around there," a male voice said. "The place isn't safe."

Glorianna turned and studied the man standing a few strides behind her. About Lee's age, maybe a little older. Pleasant face.

Old eyes that narrowed now that he had a clear look at her.

"You came with Caitlin Marie to look at her garden," he said. He wasn't standing in the right place to see it, but he looked toward the meadow. "That strange, rust-colored sand disappeared after you were here." His eyes widened. "You're a sor —"

"Landscaper."
She put enough emphasis on the word to silence him. "And a Guide of the Heart. Be careful of your words.

They have more meaning than you realize."

He hesitated, then moved closer. "I'm Nathan."

Glorianna tipped her head. "You're the anchor." He frowned at her, but she smiled because there was a shimmer of recognition in his eyes. The word itself meant nothing to him the way she was using it, but the
meaning
did. "You remember what Raven's Hill used to be."

"I'm not
that
old," he grumbled. But he also nodded, "My grandfather used to tell me stories. It was a good village, and a fairly prosperous one when the quarry was open. Fishing was better in those years. There was more game in the hills. And people were kinder."

They can be again.
"It wasn't their fault," she said gently. "Michael, Caitlin, and Brighid."

"Of course it wasn't their fault," Nathan snapped. The snap was automatic — a habit established long ago — but underneath there was uneasiness and doubt. "A young girl can't turn a fountain foul beyond any hope of cleaning or ruin a vegetable garden just by looking at it. A boy can't bring someone good luck or bad just by wanting something to happen to someone. That's all a load of —"

"Truth." She watched his mouth fall open, then waited for him to regain his mental balance. He'd known it was true — had known Caitlin and Michael
were
capable of such things, but he hadn't expected anyone to acknowledge what they could do without condemning them for it. "In many ways, it was unknowingly done, unwittingly done, and the legacy of unhappiness was inherited along with this house. But Caitlin is a Landscaper who
can
alter the world to some extent, and since the village was already predisposed to brand her a sorceress, they helped shape her and, in return, she helped shape the world they had to live in. But even she couldn't influence Ephemera beyond a certain point. Because you were here."

He shook his head. "I don't have any magics."

"You love this place. Despite the troubles that plague this village, you love it. And your heart holds the memories of what this landscape used to be. You haven't let go of the memories that were passed down to you or the hope that Raven's Hill will be what it once was."

He looked sad. "So everyone was right about Michael and Caitlin?"

"Yes and no." Glorianna looked at the burned ruins of the cottage, feeling the knot of Dark currents directly under it. Why would anyone have built a home on a spot that must have made all the workers uneasy?

And how much courage had it taken to live in the cottage, even if the people living there had no knowledge of the currents?
Sorrow's ground.
The words came like a whispered memory. She closed her eyes against the pain of it.

"What's the matter? Are you unwell?"

A light hand on her arm. Concern in Nathan's voice.

She opened her eyes and looked into his.
He can change things.

"If you want to help your village and your people, this is what you must do."
Ephemera, hear me.
She scuffed the ground, then picked up a palm-sized stone that matched the stone in the quarry. She made a sweeping gesture that took in the ruins of the cottage and the meadow around it. "Know the true names of things. This is Sorrow's Ground. It is not a place that should be built on or lived on. It belongs to Sorrow, to the hard feelings that plague the heart. It belongs to regrets, to disappointments, to loss. In season, pick a wildflower from the meadow or bring a flower from the home garden, or select a simple stone, and whisper what troubles you as you give your offering to Sorrow's Ground." She demonstrated by tossing the stone into the ruins of the cottage.

"All well and good if people don't think it's too daft to do," Nathan said. "But what is it supposed to accomplish?"

"It's a cleansing," Glorianna replied. "Since there are already hard feelings about this little piece of Raven's Hill, people won't find it that difficult to believe this is the village's dark place."

"If you're not careful, Sorrow could become a mysterious, black-haired sorceress who walks among the ruins or out in the meadow and listens to the grievings and regrets," Nathan said.

She heard the unspoken question, felt the yearning in his heart — and felt a moment's regret that her own yearnings pulled her toward a man whose heart was clouded enough that even though she was drawn to Michael, might even be falling in love with him, she wasn't sure she could trust him.

"Caitlin and Michael won't come back to Raven's Hill. Neither will I. So if you think it will help your people, then tell the story of a sorceress called Sorrow who came to restore balance to this piece of the world. And when the next one like me comes to Raven's Hill, be careful what you name her. A Landscaper keeps her pieces of the world in balance. It is what we do and what we are. If you can accept her, the two of you can build something good here."

"How do you ..." His face flushed.

"The heart has no secrets. Not from me."
Not usually.
Rising up on her toes, she kissed his cheek, then stepped back. "May your heart travel lightly."

She saw the other men approaching, some grim-faced, some concerned. Nathan heard them and looked back as he raised a hand in greeting.

They trusted him. Good. And there were enough of them to stand witness for each other. Even better.

She gave the men one long look that had them hesitating, then turned and took that step between here and there — and vanished right before their eyes.

W
hen It reached Kendall, It slipped into the seaport quickly and moved away from the docks and the delicious stew of hopes and fears — and the hearts that held a guttering Light that could be snuffed out so easily. The docks, and the streets surrounding them, belonged to the male Enemy who had been strong enough to escape being pulled into Its dark landscapes. It did not want to alert that male to Its presence, especially since It still chewed on the kernel of worry that the Enemy had found the True Enemy and had united with her against It.

So It headed away from the docks, flowed beneath the streets that belonged to the merchants and bakers and carpenters who were too stolid to be interesting prey until the mallet of fear had softened them and...

It turned back, intrigued by the fear pulsing from a round little man hurrying down the street, glancing over his shoulder, jumping at every noise.

It followed, lapping up the man's fear, slipping into his mind to learn the shape of the phantoms that rubbed away the satisfaction of owning a thriving business.

* * *

He hurried down the street, knowing it was smarter — safer — to walk as if he were simply heading home at the end of the workday. He didn't dress in a way that shouted "prosperity" — except when his wife made him — so he looked like an employee rather man the owner of a successful business.

But business had been good, very good. Which was why he was so late closing up the shop, why he hadn't been heading home with all other merchants who had shops on Ware Street, why his footsteps were the only...

Another footfall. A scrape of boots on cobblestone. Something sly about the sound.

He didn't dare look around, didn't want to alert whoever was behind him that he was aware of the danger. Thieves lurked in the alleyways, waiting to strip honest men of their wages. Nervous about leaving all the day's till in the shop's safe, especially since someone had tried to break into Wagerson's shop the week before, he was carrying a thieves' bounty home with him to tuck into the house safe.