“I’m sorry.” Lillian’s voice broke. She
swallowed and tried again. “That was stupid, so stupid. But it felt natural, so
right. Forgive me. I’ll always listen in the future.”
Gregory snorted with humor. “You’re
forgiven. Though, I doubt you’ll obey that last oath. You’ve never been very
good at listening.”
She didn’t rise to his baiting. Her
thoughts were too guilt ridden, and he worried for her. If he released the
block he’d put on her memories, all the knowledge and skills she’d learned in
her past lives would return, and she could wield her magic safely. But the
memory of what the Lady of Battles had done would return as well. Gregory
couldn’t risk it. He wanted his Sorceress restored in a way that ate at his
resolve, but it would have to wait for now. The healing of her hamadryad hadn’t
confirmed anything. While he hadn’t detected any evil tainting her magic, she’d
acted in a dangerous manner and that was something the Sorceress would never
do. But Lillian had no memories of being the Sorceress. Instead, she’d reacted
like a child with a new toy. Her loss of control could have been an accident
due to inexperience. Or it could have been the Lady of Battles’ influence.
There was only one way to know for sure.
Once Lillian trusted him absolutely, he would risk the deep merging that would
allow him to learn what had been done to her. By the grace of the Divine Ones,
he would be able to reverse the damage and go home.
Lillian tugged on his hand. “If we’re done
here, I’d like to go help Gran with dinner.”
“Go. I’ll be along after I’ve had a word
with the unicorn. I’m appointing him guardian of the maze. I’ll only be a few
moments.”
“Sure,” Lillian whispered, like she barely
heeded his words.
After she had gone, he sat, troubled by his
thoughts.
After an awkward dinner, where Gregory was
the only participant with an appetite, Lillian hung back to question her
grandmother.
“So?” Lillian asked, as she deposited
another pile of plates on the counter.
Gran looked up from loading the dishwasher
and gave her a questioning look.
“No one has told me where we’re going
tonight. By the way everyone bolted after supper to go get ready, I assume this
isn’t the usual trip to the neighbors for coffee and cards.”
“No, not exactly,” Gran said. A smile
crossed her lips and faded a moment later. “The magical community has many
different celebrations. While most are private and solitary, once each month we
must come together to raise magic, reaffirm the bonds of kinship, and to strike
fear into the hearts of our enemies. Tonight is the Wild Hunt. Even the threat
of attack will not stop the Hunt, for without the Hunt all magic shall wither
and die.”
“I’ve heard the legends.” Lillian tucked a
few strands of hair behind her ear, then smoothed it in place. It was a
telltale nervous gesture she’d been trying to ditch for years. Oh, well. She
didn’t care if Gran knew she was edgy tonight. “The Hunt; isn’t it supposed to
be dangerous? And by that I mean evil. I thought people were the chosen prey.”
Gran released a long drawn-out sigh. “In
this age, the Hunt is no more evil than one of those swords hanging over the
mantle. It’s a tool. One we use to raise and gather magic so we may survive. A
tool can be used for good or evil. That depends on the heart of the wielder.”
Gran resumed loading the dishwasher. “And yes, in centuries past, the Hunt was
dangerous. It was used to hunt down sacrifices or to kill oathbreakers. Some of
our rulers had an unnatural streak of cruelty deep in their hearts. During
those earlier times, humans with the misfortune to run into the Wild Hunt
didn’t survive to report the encounter. Later, when we were ruled by more just
rulers, we would take the human’s memories but leave them alive. Upon occasion,
a fae would find a mortal interesting and return with the human.”
“You mean abduct the poor person, right?”
Gran cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“And you want me to go with you on this
Wild Hunt?”
“Lillian, I don’t want to put you in undue
danger, but the Hunt is needed for everyone’s survival. I won’t leave you
behind after what happened yesterday. Just stay close to me this evening and
all will be well. I’m more concerned about how your gargoyle will react to the
rest of the Clan and the Coven. Now you should go get ready. The dryads have
constructed something for you to wear.” Gran patted Lillian’s shoulder, and
then walked away.
* * *
With her wet hair wrapped in a towel,
Lillian sat on the bed and fiddled with the belt of her terry robe, which
covered the new forest-green bra and panties. Her eyebrow had wedged itself in
her hairline a while ago. There wasn’t much else she could say or do except
wait for the other three women to finish with the gown.
She had never before seen a garment made
from moss, fluffy Maidenhair ferns, and large sweeping fans of Bracket ferns.
The gown’s individual parts were held together by a fine webbing of magic.
There was a first time for everything. Of late, she was witnessing new “firsts”
every other hour.
The headboard creaked as the bed shifted
under her. Her brows scrunched together. Unless there had been a minor
earthquake, the room held one occupant too many.
“Out,” Lillian ordered.
The three dryads paused in their work and
looked up at her like she’d sprouted horns. Well, horns
were
part of the
problem. Twisting to look behind, she scanned the empty bed and frowned. “Nice
try, but I’m not indulging you in a free peepshow. Out now, or I’ll braid some
pretty flowers into your mane.”
A snort and more shaking of the bed marked
Gregory’s position. Unfortunately, it came too late. A warm damp tongue washed
across her face. A moment later the invisible gargoyle jumped down, landing
with a thump. He materialized next to where the dryads worked. Butting his nose
into the pile of greenery, he pushed their hands away from their work and
sniffed every petal and leaf. Presumably happy with his findings, he padded
from the room, the tip of his tail flicking gently. The dryads watched him go.
The youngest released a sigh, her expression bordering on enraptured.
Oh please.
Lillian rolled her eyes. She was still wiping gargoyle kisses off her cheek
when the others brought the dress over to her. The skirt, woven of moss so soft
and refined it looked like lace, fell to the floor in graceful folds. Over the
green lace was a sheer skirt of interwoven ferns. When they gestured for her to
try it on, she eyed it with suspicion. Magic gave the greenery a lushness the
natural plants lacked, and the entire gown gleamed with a faint shimmer, as if
silver dusted the fabric. With a sigh, Lillian shimmied into the hip-hugging
skirt and marveled at the silky comfort. Slits ran up both sides for ease of
movement.
A form-fitting green blouse made from the
tiny leaves of meadow rue and the flowing Bracket fern blended with the moss
lace, creating the prettiest gown she’d ever seen. It might be beautiful, but
it didn’t seem practical.
“If I remember correctly, this didn’t work
out so well for Cinderella.”
The dryads blinked at her.
Lillian sighed. “Magic made this. If I’m
left with only my undies at midnight, I’m
not
going to be happy.”
“But Gregory might,” Kayla said with a smirk.
Lillian flashed the other woman a twist of
her lips, more fang than smile. But she let the dryads fix her hair with cream
ribbons and white flowers. Around Lillian’s neck, Sable fastened a necklace of
silver and what looked like tiny drops of dew. Matching earrings completed the
look.
“You are a striking creature,” Sable said,
circling Lillian to better view her work. “No wonder the gargoyle hovers near
you like a lost lover.”
Lillian decided to let the silence speak
for her. It was better than trying to come up with a reply to that loaded
comment.
Sable smoothed her fingers along Lillian’s
hair and tucked the last stubborn strands in place. “Thank you for allowing us
to attire you in our way. There are so few of us left, we must preserve as many
rituals as we can.”
“Sure,” Lillian mumbled, her thoughts
elsewhere. At first, the gargoyle hadn’t done anything to make her think his
emotions went beyond the relationship of long-standing ward and protector. She
laughed at her own reasoning—a day and a half wasn’t anywhere near enough time
to become acquainted with another person’s dreams and longings. But even then,
she swore she’d detected a recent change in the gargoyle. There was now
something in his manner toward her: a gentleness which was sometimes accompanied
by a lingering touch that hinted at a deep, unacknowledged yearning. What would
she do if there was truth to Sable’s comment and Gregory did see her as more
than his ward?
A new thought saved her from having to
answer that question.
Maybe he’d always had those emotions, and
it was her outlook which had changed. That was her most disturbing thought yet.
She poked at her own emotions, examining them.
Yes, if she was truthful with herself, her
view of him had changed the moment she’d seen him walk down the stairs, his
bare human feet making no noise. From the first moment he’d awoke from the
stone sleep, she’d cared for him. He was a part of her, embedded in her soul,
but she’d seen him as a male, not a man. She’d been blind, but she couldn’t
fool herself anymore.
Not that it mattered. She’d never get the
truth out of him. Any attempt to get answers led to more evasions. If she
wanted to know his emotions, she’d first have to find a way to loosen his jaws.
Right.
A rock was as talkative.
* * *
The others had left her to prepare
themselves. While Lillian waited, she gazed out the window, straining to see
the darker silhouette of her tree against the black sky. Ah, there it was: a
towering shadow, surveying her domain. Close to forty feet in twelve years. Even
for a redwood that was fast. Unnatural. She should have known something was not
right. But she had grown with it and the tree didn’t seem supernatural to her.
It was simply a part of her life, like the statue of the gargoyle. Whether she
liked it or not, she
was
a dryad, and she didn’t have the first idea about
how to be one.
One problem at a time. She went through her
mental checklist again.
Survive the Wild Hunt.
Don’t do anything foolish.
Pretend it wasn’t jealousy that tightened
her stomach when one of the other dryads fawned over the gargoyle.
Simple.
Right.
With a rattle and a slight creak of hinges,
the door eased open. She knew the intruder. She was attuned to him, linked by
some strange magic she didn’t understand and didn’t want to question. He walked
up behind her, his bare feet silent. She turned to face him. He stood so close
the corner of her shawl slapped his arm. Her human-formed gargoyle had
dispensed with his invisibility magic and revealed all his fierce beauty. Even
though he wasn’t in his gargoyle form, he was still taller than her, and she
had to crane her head. Unblinking dark eyes returned her gaze. The gargoyle
bowed his head and inhaled a deep breath, his eyelashes dark against his skin.
A wave of self-consciousness tightened her
stomach and dampened her palms. She smoothed a hand over her hips as she
checked for bulges or wrinkles in the strange fabric. There were none. The
dress fit perfectly.
With his head down, she hadn’t realized
he’d opened his eyes. He shifted positions to better take her in with one look,
which raked the length of her body. If he’d been much of a talker, she’d have
called him speechless, but his silences were normal. She’d come to recognize
nuances in the silence, like it was another form of communication to him. One
he was fluent in, and she was still learning.
“Beautiful.” He whispered the one word like
it hurt him to speak. Then he spun away, gone in the next heartbeat.
She could feel him retreat, heading down
the stairs to the main floor. When she turned her focus inward, she could see
through his eyes as he headed out to where the vehicles waited. His one word
still hung in the air, and a strange heat swelled under her heart. He thought
she was beautiful. The other dryads were far more elegant, but he thought her
beautiful. She smiled and hugged her shawl closer as she left the room to
follow in his footsteps.
* * *
The road divided two worlds. On one side of
the winding gravel road, a deep wooded ravine waited, calm and mysterious, and
on the other, the metal ribs of a derelict sawmill jutted up into the
star-speckled night sky. The moon illuminated the land around the mill. The
area had gone wild again, forest creeping back in, ready to reclaim the land.
The contrast was eerie, like the surreal footage of a post-apocalyptic world.
She shivered, cold down to her core. Instinctively, Lillian looked in the rear-view
mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gargoyle riding in the truck bed.
Her eyes found no sign of him, but she
could feel him in her mind, his legs braced to hold him in place and his wings
cupped to catch the wind. He loved the speed and the cold air. Lillian’s lips
turned up at the gargoyle’s joy.
Lillian heard the heavy pulse of drumming
before Gran turned into an overgrown driveway. The chain-link gate was thrown
wide, tilting off to one side, partially unhinged where rust had eaten its way
through the metal. Other cars were already parked, and more arrived from other
directions as she took in the scene.
“All this is ours.” Gran swept her arms up
and out, the gesture encompassing the mill and the surrounding forest. “The
Coven and the Clan pooled resources and bought it from a logging company back
in the seventies. It was one of our first joint acquisitions. It didn’t look
like much then, but it came cheaply. As far as anyone knows, we’re an
environmentally minded company specializing in rehabilitation, restoration and
sustainable forestry.” She smiled. “While it’s not the whole truth, it isn’t a
lie, either.”
Lillian grunted. That sounded like her
life. There certainly hadn’t been a lot of truth telling there, either. If
anything, the gargoyle was the most honest with his long silences.
Smoothing her skirt over her legs, she
wiggled as she tried to get out of the truck without flashing everyone. Lillian
silently damned all trucks to hell, and double damned skirts with slits up the
sides. And then triple damned clothing made out of ferns, moss and ivy. At
least by the look of things, they were meeting in an old saw mill, so she hoped
that meant she wasn’t going to be tromping around in the forest at night in a
damned dress.
Before Lillian could blink, Gregory was
next to her, shapeshifted to look human once again. He gripped her around the
waist and lifted. With a squeak, she slapped her hands down on his shoulders
for balance. Even after he’d set her on her feet, his hands lingered a moment.
She stood there staring, unable to think of something to say even when he
captured one of her hands and ran his thumb over the back.