Go.
“Go where?” I whispered, passing the kitchen island on my way to the front door. I was on the top step of the porch before I thought to stop and question what I was doing. The dolls’ button eyes—serious, bottomless, and black—reflected the diffused light of the cloud-shrouded moon. Rain was coming—if not tonight, then tomorrow or Sunday—and not a day too soon.
Find water. I glanced skyward again. Could they feel the rain?
Ground water. I scooted back up the stairs for my pull-on leather boots. The dolls resisted me setting them on the boards. Slipping my feet in one-handed, I snagged the bandage atop each foot and winced.
“Ouch.”
Go.
There were no ponds or creeks on my land, not even a vernal pool or dried-up wetland. At least, not that I knew of. “Go where?”
My night sight sharpened as the moon disappeared. I was on my driveway, unsure which direction to take next, when the first droplets of rain landed on my upraised face.
High beams flashed as a vehicle turned onto Fortune’s Folly Road. Tires smacked against the macadam. A flatbed truck passed. I didn’t think the driver noticed me.
“Go where?” I asked again. Garbled words flew past my ears. Blurry-edged images filled my head and body.
The rain began to dampen the heads of the dolls and the socks I’d stuffed them into. The shoulders of Tanner’s T-shirt were soaked, I was getting cold, and it dawned on me I might be losing my grip.
Tanner found me on the couch, under the crocheted afghan, my hair still damp and the dolls clutched in my arms. “You okay?” he asked, crouching next to me. Behind him, the sky had cleared.
“It rained last night,” I said.
“And you needed to experience it firsthand?”
I glanced at the dolls. They remained mute, like whatever had animated them during the night had run out of power. “They wanted me to find water.”
“Did you?”
“No. Only the rain.” I made no motions to move. Tanner asked if I wanted something hot to drink, and when I thanked him and asked for tea, he covered my legs with an additional quilt.
I closed my eyes, heard him fill the kettle, set it on the stove, and light the burner. I opened my eyes when the druid placed a mug of tea and a plate of toast on the table. “Let me know if you want anything else,” he said. “I’m going for a run.”
Warming my hand over the steam rising from the mug, I gave him my thanks and a weak smile. “I’ll be ready to start working by the time you get back.”
With the dolls back on my bureau and more toast in our bellies, Tanner and I took the big jumble of papers we’d carted out of my office and created a dozen smaller stacks on the dining table, each stack devoted to a single property. “Off the top of your head, do you know which of these farms and orchards are owned by Magicals?” he asked, dropping one of the directories on a side chair.
“I’m certain of a couple, yes. The ones owned by humans probably employ one or more Magicals. Some, like the Pearmains for instance, might have longstanding relationships with Magicals unlike themselves.” I surveyed the piles and groaned. “So much work.”
I made a first pass through each property and added names and statuses to our list: current owner, previous owner, and whether they were Magical.
“I’ll also start a list of our questions,” I said, shifting my focus at the clang of dishes and utensils meeting the countertop. “Clifford and his grandsons would be the ones most knowledgeable about the tunnels, right?”
Tanner suggested it was the two hidden folk who tended the tunnels—and who had died—who would have best known the details of the underground network. He voiced his uncertainty about how much Peasgood and Hyslop had been taught prior to the ten years they were away from the orchard, following in their grandfather’s footsteps by training to become druids. “We can ask Cliff next week, once they’ve settled in.”
I seconded that idea, adding how relieved I was to know he and Abigail were finally coming home. I desperately needed to see them in person. “I’d like to table this for tomorrow, after you’ve left. Let’s go outside and celebrate the arrival of autumn.”
“Good idea.”
Another round of seasonal rains was hunkered on the horizon. The rain in the middle of the night was too fine to make a difference to the grassy areas of my yard, which were still bone dry. I suggested we put votive candles in canning jars as our fire element and for illumination, adding, “I think we should just use the circle Maritza made yesterday.”
I moved to where I’d spun my dance, lowered myself onto my hands and knees, and listened through my skin.
You steward the land, Calliope.
Syllables rumbled against my kneecaps and finger bones. This was not the voice of my mother, or of the Apple Witch. I pressed my forehead and sternum to the ground, straightened one leg, then the other, and listened through the front of my body.
Tanner walked out of the house with a tray of jars filled with lit candles and paused when he saw me. “You okay?” he called.
I waved him over. “I heard a voice.”
“Was it a kindly voice?” He set the tray on a flat rock and moved with studied efficiency to place the eight candles evenly around the periphery of the circle.
“Yes.”
“Good. Can you stand to take off your clothes? Because we can start our ritual right now. And it’ll be better with nothing between you and the earth.”
“Okay. I think I’m ready.” Lavender oil from shredded plants wafted into my nostrils. “Tanner? I really am okay. A little weirded out by the dolls, but okay.”
“I’m worried about you and these episodes.” He stroked my
