I wasn’t okay. Whatever valve or switch that regulated the flow of my magic, the one that had clicked to the on position two days ago, was now dialed to four. Or maybe five. The bottoms of my feet tingled, while liquid echoes of the connection to the Pearmains swam up the connective tissue in my legs and swirled around the bowl of my pelvis to gather at the base of my spine.
“Just let me lie here for a sec.” Why was there so much internal movement through my hips and belly? Sharp pains pinged from side to side, like I was ovulating from both ovaries and having menstrual cramps at the same time.
Harper and Thatch kneeled on either side of my torso. “Do you want us to get Tanner?”
“No.” The disturbance on the left side of my belly included itchy skin near the tattoo. I shielded my eyes from the brightening sun and scratched over the layers of my underwear and pants. Rolling my head to the side, I said, “Let me catch my breath. Do you know what you want for breakfast?”
Thatcher let out an exasperated sigh. “Mom, we can get our own breakfast. We should be asking what do you need?”
My body returned to normal in the spaces between a handful of breaths. Harper brushed off whatever bits of grasses and leaves had collected on my back and helped me to stand. As soon as I relaxed from my neck and arms down, my fingers unclenched, and I dropped the short, thick section of branch I must have grabbed as I fell. I bent to pick up the stick.
It was straight, tapered, and the perfect length for a wand. My old one, held together with duct tape and sentimental attachment, was more than ready to retire.
I tucked the length of crabapple wood into a back pocket and hugged my sons. “I think what I need most is to get over whatever just happened. And get myself to work.”
Inside the house, the tap-tap of a toothbrush hitting the rim of the sink beat out the rhythm of a normal morning routine. I was walking toward the bathroom from my bedroom at the end of the hall, where I had placed the branchlet on my neglected altar until I could strip the bark and sand and oil the wood.
“Tanner, are you planning to go to Cliff and Abi’s with me?” I asked.
Tanner had experience with the two other sets of growers, but the incident occurred in my jurisdiction. I wanted to collect soil and water samples, as well as bark, leaves, and fruit from the older trees.
“I’d prefer to have you come along or meet me there,” I added.
He stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. There was nothing underneath the swath of white terrycloth except skin, and the man had gorgeous legs to go with his beautiful feet.
“Now?” he asked, his toothbrush gripped in the side of his mouth.
Sure, Marechal, drop the towel, and let’s go. No one’ll notice the naked Provincial agent in my car.
It took every ounce of willpower to direct my gaze above his waist. But then I saw his chest up close and the pouch nestled between his pectorals, and I turned and practically fled back to the sanctuary of my room. “I need to stop by the office first to grab our collection kit.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
Eight minutes later, Tanner was fully clothed and stretched out in the passenger seat of my car. He levered his seat all the way back before we left my driveway and kept his eyes closed the entire ride, even through the stop at my office.
I parked outside the Pearmains’ gate and cut the engine. Tanner shifted his hips and tapped my wrist as I prepared to step out.
“Calliope.” He was almost supine and turned his head slowly to face me. “I don’t think I’ve said thank you enough for your hospitality and your generosity. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” I ducked and stopped. “And thank you for cleaning up the…the blood.”
He nodded and tugged on the lever, readjusting his body to face in my direction. One arm draped over the back of his seat, and the other rested on the dashboard. His body had that there’s more I want to say coil to it, but the interior of an electric car wasn’t big enough to hold the conversations waiting for us. I slid away, tilted the driver’s seat forward, and grabbed the evidence bag from the back seat.
“I can carry that for you,” he offered, looking up at me through eyes shaded by an errant lock of hair.
I shook my head. I’d been hauling bags across fields in all kinds of conditions since my first day on the job. The weight centered me. “I’ve got it. You deal with the gate. And pay attention to anything that feels off. I’m already apprehensive.”
Big conversations with my kids and out-of-body experiences first thing in the morning did that to me.
Tanner murmured his agreement, his attention on the fence and yard. All traces of the salt circle were gone, as was the collection of assorted trinkets. He pushed and held the gate open and followed me in, stopping to peek into the windows of an older model four-door sedan.
“Do you think that’s River’s car?” I asked.
“River’s. Or Rose’s. I’m not sure. But one or both have been with Clifford and Abigail since they got here on Tuesday.”
No one greeted us as we rounded the curved path to the front entrance of the farmhouse, but classical music wafted on air currents and a peaceful sensation patted my worry down to a mild case of neighborly concern. I was debating whether we should enter the house or continue around when a man with short, salt-and-pepper brown hair opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch. Seeing Tanner, River bounded down the stairs and took him into a back-thumping embrace.
“I’m very happy to see you both.
