“Not that I know of, Rose, but I didn’t know I had a grandfather who was a gyrfalcon until a few days ago.”
“Well. I look forward to meeting him. And L’Runa would like you to know the first reading she has off the sample is definitely bear. But…please wait, Calliope.” Rose returned after moment. “There are traces of an ursine presence in the soil, not in the blood. I’ll leave it to you to decipher what that might mean.”
I had no idea, and I didn’t bother saying goodbye to Rose. I knew better. As I went to tap my phone, Rose asked, “Calliope? Are you still there?”
Color me shocked. I removed the corner of the sandwich from my mouth and responded, “Yes.”
“Your sons are going to be fine. We will see to that.” She hung up before I could choke out a surprised “Thank you.”
I managed to finish the rest of my lunch without interruption. Balling up the waxed paper wrapper, I winced when one of my father’s rings pinched my skin. I couldn’t forget that if the situation warranted, I could summon Christoph to me with the feathers he’d plucked for that purpose.
Summon. I could summon a gyrfalcon, and I could summon vines. Could I do the same with my sons?
I held my breath as I opened the driver’s-side door and tugged off my left boot. Taking Wes’s admonition to pull out all the stops and use my heart, I stuck my toes into the fertile soil of Abigail’s flower bed and sent out a call to Harper and Thatch.
Where are you?
I pictured the smiling faces I had seen this morning. I pictured the warm, pink light I had been surrounding my boys with since they were babies. I pictured that light traveling through the mycelial layer, fungi to fungi, strand by strand.
Where are you? I asked again, strengthening the cords of light, making their color denser, more concentrated. Like blood.
Mom!
Thatcher! My leg jerked in surprise, severing the connection. I growled at the loss. Pivoting in the seat, I tore off my other boot and knocked my elbow against the door in my hurry to get to my knees. I dug both hands and all ten toes into the turned soil and sent every ounce of magic I had into images of Harper’s and Thatcher’s faces connected to me through ropes of pink, vibrant, blood-borne light.
Boys, I’m here, I whispered. I’m here.
Confusion. Rows and rows of fruit trees. A roar of frustration. Not sure if it was mine or Doug’s. I opened my eyes to the sight and scent of coreopsis as bright yellow flowers bumped my cheeks. Bees, startled by my shout, backed away from gathering nectar and buzzed off.
Doug had taken the boys to another orchard. I’d been coming to the Pearmains’ long enough to distinguish the layout of their apple trees from others’. The trees in my vision were stone fruits, probably plums and apricots. Who on the island grew lots and lots of plums and apricots?
Still on my hands and knees, I let my spine sag and my head hang.
“We’re not ones to mandate supplication.” A feminine voice came from my right.
I growled again, this time loud enough that anyone in the kitchen should have heard me. I ducked and peeked under the bottom of the car’s door, debating whether I could ignore the rose-red toenails connected to the voice.
“Please, do stand,” she continued.
I sat back on my heels, wiped my mucky hands on the broad leaves of a nearby comfrey plant, and fumbled for my car’s opened window. Footfalls in the house had me glancing toward the screen door as I stood. I tried to not gawp at the two unfamiliar magic-infused beings.
“Mama! Papa!”
Némophilie and Silène skidded to a stop at the top stair and quickly composed themselves, curtsied, and fluttered the eight steps to the ground. They did not acknowledge me.
I turned, closed the car door, and beheld two ridiculously beautiful adult Fae.
The most striking difference between these Fae and Meribah’s version—aside from the fact they did not seem intent on killing me, at least not yet—was the hue underlying their skin. Under Meribah’s pale white skin were currents of icy, distant blue. Underneath the dusky surface of these Fae, the veins and lighter-skinned areas ranged from pale green to the palest lavender-pink, like liquid tourmalines.
“Are you ready to return home?” asked the mother.
The young women shook their heads and pointed to me. “Calliope Jones, Earth Witch, we recognize we owe you our lives. Mama, Papa, this witch needs to be rewarded.”
“Is this true?”
Both Fae looked at me.
I nodded. “I had help from a necromancer and a cat, but yes.”
“Name your price.”
If ever there was a time for me to pull the drama card, this was it. I might not ever have another chance. “I found your daughters and delivered them from certain death. Help me rescue my two sons from those who dared to capture your daughters, and I shall consider the debt paid.”
No one lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Or coughed. Or laughed. The two sisters and their parents turned their heads as one, toward the path leading to the older section of the property. A squad of twelve similarly hued Fae materialized, marched close, and stopped.
“If you would follow me, I would like to wash up.” I swept arm toward the farmhouse. “We can speak over lemonade or iced tea?”
I was acutely aware of the contrast between these Fae and my grubby work pants, dirt-caked soles and hands, and the exposed part of my lower back. My shirt had come untucked—surprise—and stuffing it in my waistband would only spread more dirt.
Belle met us at the screen door and held it open. Before crossing the threshold, Mama Fae raised her arm and signaled to her squad. They turned as one and moved toward the back side of the farmhouse.
My savior and Plant Witch proceeded to exude an excess of charm. The way Belle poured her verbal ministrations over the newly arrived
