Kaz’s silhouette came closer as he walked the path from the older trees.
“Calli,” he said, stopping a good ten feet away.
I waved and held out the plate with the untouched half of my sandwich. “Hungry?”
“Yes, thank you.” His smile lines softened when he looked at me. “You look worried. Care to walk with me to the house and fill me in?”
I probably over-explained all the voices in my head and what had transpired over the past couple of hours, and I was sure I talked too fast. By the time the farmhouse came into view, lunch had been cleared away. The wide steps and faded rocking chairs were covered with resting bodies and farm tools consigned to weapons duty.
Wes interrupted what he was saying to wave at Kaz and me. “Néne and Sil received word from their parents that we should expect them to arrive here in the hour before dusk, which at this time of the year is…” He made a mental calculation. “Eight forty-five, giving us just under two hours to digest, rest, and recharge. Druids, to the woods. Witches, do what best serves your powers. Fae and hidden folk, same goes for you. I expect us to be alert and ready to move—with weapons and whatever else you deem necessary to be at your best—an hour before the Fae are expected. Any questions?”
“Have you decided where we’re going from here?” asked the imposing Fae I’d begun to regard as their de facto leader.
“To the burial mounds.”
Chapter 23
My gauntlets composed the entirety of my battle dress. Oh, and the cargo pants with dirt ground into the knees and the sleeveless shirt, once pink-and-white-striped, now forever stained. I reached into my front pocket and patted Christoph’s three feathers. In a back pocket I found a hair elastic then grabbed sticky strands of bothersome hair away from my face and pulled it all into a high ponytail.
We had each followed Wes’s instructions to the extent we could. I had chosen to stick close to the farmhouse, lingering in Abigail’s flower gardens where bees and sweet scents lulled me into something resembling a nap.
Now, we walked, and when the burial mounds came into view, my breath caught in my chest. With the angle of the sun growing lower and the cloudless sky overhead, the light hitting the grass-covered mounds set them to glowing a supernatural shade of emerald green.
I veered to the right, down a slope between the mounds and the forest. In this section of the property the trees made a ninety-degree turn, creating a squarish plot. The uneven land was dotted with lichen-splotched rocks and a handful of circles where the soil had been turned in preparation for planting more fruit trees.
“The portal is there,” said Wes, pointing to one of the largest and oldest of the Pearmains’ apples trees, trunk bent and twisting, near a corner of one the rectangular mounds.
At the tree’s base, I could see an area filled in with pebbles.
“And the underland is over there.” He waved toward the distant line of cedar, fir, and arbutus trees, where the property line ended and the ground went from farmland to foothill. I made out a grape arbor, dense with vines and leaves, perhaps fifty feet in length.
“Calli, gather round.” Wes continued to hold the role of commander. “Hyslop, Peasgood, Néne, and Sil. The four of you position yourselves close to the portal tree. Place your luggage at your feet and be ready to play your roles the moment your parents arrive: you are shocked that your escape has been thwarted.”
Four heads nodded. The Fae sisters primped and preened and made minor adjustments to their boyfriends’ attire. They had gone to some effort to dress as though they really were intent on eloping, adding to the surreal quality of the evening.
“Guards, glamour yourselves as farmhands, as discussed.”
The eight Fae, long-handled rakes and hoes in their hands, nodded and dispersed.
“Calliope, our ultimate goal, once they are here, is to grab your sons. Until the action starts, I think you should stay back toward the tree line, maybe over there.” Wes pointed to his right.
A sharp yip sounded from the path we’d walked. Trotting into view, tail up, was a large wolf with patches of light and dark cinnamon brown fur. He stopped yards from any of us, lifted his nose, and sniffed.
I’d forgotten I had asked Jack for help. My knees went weak with relief.
“Wes!” I yelled, waving my arm. “That’s my friend Jack. The police officer.”
Wes jogged to the wolf and went to one knee. Jack lowered his head, yipped again when Wes finished, and loped in my direction. He slowed, planted all four paws, and shook his head and shoulders. The movement traveled down the imposing animal’s spine to its tail.
Keeping an eye on the portal tree, I crouched. Jack took a tentative step forward, and I opened my arms. I hadn’t felt Tanner’s fur when he was in his wolf form, except for a brief, reassuring touch, and curiosity won out over propriety. Jack nuzzled the side of my neck and licked my cheek.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulder area and slid my fingers through his coat. The primal sensation of fur on skin allowed me to drop out of my head and into my body. “Thank you for coming. I feel better with you here.”
Jack stayed at my side as I made my way to the wooded area indicated by Wes.
Settling next to me in the clump of salal, the wolf grazed his muzzle along my jaw just as the portal burped out a traveler. Jack gave a low growl, the fur along his spine rising, his hindquarters pressed against my side.
Wavering next to the ancient apple tree was a slightly hunched woman, covered in a ratty blanket. The unexpected traveler tossed a small object on the ground and unwrapped herself. As she let go of the blanket its four corners
