Thatcher dropped to his knees.
“Mom!”
My eyes fluttered open. I rolled to my side and dry-heaved into the tire track next to my face. Sharp barbs of grass poked into my nose and against my cheek. I tried lifting my head higher; shaking fingers held my hair away from my face until I was finished. Both sons were on their knees, to either side, worry firing the lights in their eyes and the determination in the sets of their jaws.
“I’m okay,” I croaked, planting my hands and lifting my head. “I’m okay. Help me up.”
Thatcher’s shoulder was bloody, and he cradled that arm tenderly with his other hand.
“Did Doug get away?” I asked.
“They both did,” Harper said, spitting for emphasis, his eyes ablaze. “And we need to have someone look at Thatch’s shoulder. I think Da—Doug almost pulled it out of the socket.”
I turned to Thatcher. “You in pain?”
He nodded, made it to his feet. “You better check on Tanner, Mom. He was out cold.”
“Harper, you come with me. Thatcher, make yourself an ice pack and call Kaz and Wes. Tanner’s cell phone’s probably in one of his pockets or his bag. See if any of them can come and help. Or if they know what we should do.” I brushed off my bruised knees and held out my hand to Harper. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 15
Harper was able to assist Tanner up the porch steps, into the living room, and onto the couch. Tanner’s face was paler, the brown of his skin a shade I’d never seen on him before. A large, splotchy, red contusion covered the side of the damaged leg. I palpated the area as gently as I could, relieved to see the skin was unbroken and the bones intact.
I hoped.
“Did you call Kaz?” he asked, his voice faint. “Wes is still at the other orchards.”
Thatcher piped up from behind my shoulder. “He’s coming.”
“Good. Listen for him, please.” I turned to Tanner and cupped his jaw, not liking the way his eyes were moving back and forth.
“Calli, I don’t know what went wrong. I know that spell inside out and in a dozen languages, and whatever he did—” He sighed, wincing when he shrugged. “Whatever he did packed some punch. I should have known. I should have—”
I pressed my thumb to his lips, shook my head, and finally got him to focus on my face. The dazed and vulnerable look in his eyes softened a notch. “I was married to him, Tanner, and he fooled me for fifteen years. At least now we have a better idea of what we’re up against. Wait. What are we up against?”
“Those two were disguised, probably by a glamour spell,” Tanner said. “They’re Fae.”
I rocked back and sat on my heels. “Fae?”
Tanner closed his eyes and nodded.
“Do you think they’re mixed up with what happened at the Pearmains?” I asked. Doug and Roger were the most competitive set of brothers I’d ever met. If they were in cahoots, whatever they were doing had to have some powerful reward at the end. As in money. Or land. Or both.
“Considering their strength and the fact that the orchardists have all been under strong spells, I think we have to consider that Doug’s connected to the…” Tanner left his thought unfinished as Thatch returned with a bag of crushed ice.
“Mom,” Thatcher whispered, as I wrapped a dishtowel around the plastic. “We need to see you upstairs.”
I shoved a throw pillow under Tanner’s injured knee, pressed the ice against his outer leg, and assured him I’d be back. Hustling up the stairs to Harper’s room, I ran down the list of possible injuries and came up empty. Neither Doug nor Roger had touched Harper.
Thatch opened and closed the door and moved to stand in front of me, his hands on my upper arms and his chest blocking my view of the room. “Mom, you can’t freak out, okay?”
When did my baby become such a tall, take-charge young man? And when did my baby get so good at calming me down?
“Thatch, sweetie? After the week I’ve had I don’t think anything could freak me out.”
“This might.” He held me in place and turned his head.
Harper’s eyes were wide and wet along the outer edges. He nodded, took hold of his T-shirt in the front, and pivoted.
“Help me out, Thatch?” he asked, his voice muffled underneath the cotton.
Thatcher released me and pulled the cloth away from Harper’s back as he lifted it enough to expose his shoulders.
“What the hell are those?” My knees jellied, and my back slid down the door until my butt hit the floor.
Evenly-spaced bumps ran alongside Harper’s spine. The largest were close to the vertebrae, and the vertical parallel lines grew less noticeable as they approached his sides and lower back. I wanted to believe it was a rash, a reaction to the stress of everything happening in our lives, but no rash I’d ever seen rose off the skin in such an organized and purposeful pattern.
Curiosity got the better of me. Harper flinched when I pressed one of the large bumps in the middle of his back. “Gentle, Mom. They kinda hurt.”
“Thatcher, get me a light,” I said.
A switch flicked, and a beam of white light hit Harper’s back. Thatcher said, “Found my camping headlight. You want to wear it, Mom?”
“What I really need are my reading glasses.” Fingertips tentative on my son’s back, I paused while Thatcher slipped the wide elastic over my head and adjusted the light. Leaning closer, I sucked in a breath. “Sweetheart, these look like feather follicles.”
“Feathers, Mom? Really? Feathers?”
“I could be wrong, I—”
“Fuck, I hope you’re wrong, because…feathers?” Harper pulled the T-shirt all the way off and flung it to the floor. The pain in his eyes went right to my heart. “But Tanner said we weren’t…I’m not— Does this mean I’m a…a bird?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t a fan of lying to one’s children to shield them from life’s challenges, and I wasn’t going to
