The bite of pizza got all cardboard-y in my mouth. How could Doug be one of the few people able to afford to move into Vancouver? Lack of money was his chronic lament. I wanted to spit out my mouthful of half-chewed dough, pick up my phone, and harangue my ex, but that had never worked in the past.
“You have someone to cover your shifts at the farm and the market?” I asked. The brothers nodded in tandem. “Then make sure your father pays for the ferry and see if he’ll cover your lost wages.”
Tanner focused on eating. Harper and Thatch discussed the logistics of getting to a concert they wanted to attend later in the summer, while the sounds of rhythmic chewing and swallowing filled my ears. Splaying my bare feet against the cool maple floor boards, I connected with my house and, below that connection, with my land.
A quiet burp, followed by an, “Excuse me” and chairs being pushed away signaled the teens were finished. They cleared the table, rinsed the dishes, and disappeared upstairs, plates of pie in hand. Following their movements, my heart clenched, wanting to hold on to the little boys inside the young men they were becoming.
Tanner shifted his left knee and made contact with my leg. “Good kids,” he whispered.
“Mm-hm,” I agreed.
He tapped the side of my knee again. “We should talk.”
“Let’s sit outside.”
A heavy three-seater swing took up one-third of the narrow deck off the back of the house. I placed my glass of lemonade on the low table and nestled into weather-hardened cushions. My house abutted a heavily wooded area, and when the sun dropped behind the hill that shouldered the long side of the property, the temperature shifted rapidly. I unfolded a shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders.
Fir trees were shrouded in summer-weight capes of light and dark greens, their edges decorated with ripening cones. Faint whisperings within the overlapping branches pricked my awareness, while an argument raged between the resident raven couple and a flock of interloping crows.
“Do you encounter a lot of witches in your work?” I asked Tanner once he settled in the opposite corner. “Or shifters and other Magicals?”
“Here and there. I’ve collected a core group I trust, including the two you met at the Pearmains’ and the two you didn’t, River and Rose.”
“Are they druids as well?”
“The three men are. Rose is River’s sister, and she’s a witch.”
“I know almost no one,” I confessed. “And today has been very unusual compared to most Tuesdays or any other day.”
A handful of persistent crows now had the full attention of the raven pair, and a storm of dark wings and sharp calls shattered the cozying twilight.
Tanner’s gaze went right to the section of woods off the deck, honing in on something I couldn’t yet see.
“What is it?” I asked.
He curved his left palm over my thigh, stilling my urge to stand and move closer to the railing. The birds flew off, taking their argument elsewhere and leaving behind falling feathers and a large splat of guano near the corner of the deck.
I picked up a low growl.
No, not a growl, a chant or incantation, and the sound was coming from Tanner. This day was getting more unsettling by the second. Darting my gaze from his face to the edge of the woods, I found the upside-down, bat-like creature that riveted his attention. Like a flag unfurling in a slow breeze, the animal unfolded one wing, smoky black and opaque, from where it wrapped a fir tree.
Behind us, the house shook with the pounding of teenage feet and bodies hurling themselves down stairs.
“Mom, something weird is…” Harper hurried the sliding screen door open and stopped, his brother plastered to his back.
Tanner kept chanting while the creature separated its other wing fully from the tree. Only the hold of its claws kept it from plummeting to the ground.
“What is that?” I whispered.
The boys froze. Tanner rose from our shared seat and vaulted over the railing. I bumped my shins against the table, toppling my glass in my rush to see if he’d injured himself on the eighteen-foot drop to the ground. He strode to the tree without limping or trailing a broken leg, his right hand aimed at the creature’s head with its pointy ears and elongated snout. The bat’s scrawny body wobbled as it climbed backward down the tree.
Thatch bent down closer my ear. “Mom, what is going on?” he asked, his voice quiet but harsh.
His natural curiosity fought against the palm I pressed to the center of his chest. “I’m not sure. Give Tanner a chance to deal with whatever it is he’s got there. Then we’ll talk.”
“You bet we’re gonna talk, Mom, because this is seriously weird shit.”
“It’s been a Seriously Weird Shit kind of a day.”
With his left hand, Tanner pulled a section of binding rope or vine out of the air and looped it over the creature’s neck. Harper backed out of the doorway and took the more traditional route to the yard. He slowed his approach to a stop when Tanner extended his arm behind him. Harper then crept forward when beckoned.
I was on the verge of hollering at him to stay away.
Low, masculine voices rose from below, their steady timbre punctuated by high-pitched keening. Harper knelt and touched the bat. The whimpering stopped, and the tension in its body released. Tanner raised both hands, palms up. Harper paused then straightened from his crouch. The creature used its claws to climb up his leg, and once it was high enough off the ground to extend its wings, it wrapped them around my son’s ribs and chest, blending the two into one in the gloaming light.
I covered my mouth
