“Do you remember where you drove when you left here last night?” I asked.
“Of course I do,” he said, his voice edged with irritation. “I remember arriving at the orchard and walking until I reached the heart of the sacred acres.”
That was a first for us. Him being bothered gave me permission to be irritated that the Apple Witch was now “Jessa.”
“I just told you,” Tanner continued. “When I left this house you all were still here. I drove to the Pearmains’. No one was at the house, so I walked the property until I came to the burial mounds. Cliff thought some of the trees along the periphery of that area of his property had been brought over from England and other places in Europe as seedlings. If his theory is correct”—he looked around the table—“which I think is plausible, those trees could have been chosen because they’re portals or were grafted off of portals. There’s no reason to doubt the man. He was—is—one of us.”
“Wait,” I said, “are you implying portals can be moved? Like, uprooted and planted somewhere else if they’re a tree or a…a bush? What about rocks?” I reached for the coffee. The carafe was empty, and I needed more caffeine. A lot more if I was going to separate my emotional entanglement from facts and observations.
Rowan stood with me. “I want to hear more about portals and plans,” she said, folding her napkin, “but could you table the discussion until I come back downstairs? I’d like to peek in on the kids. Sorry, the young adults.”
“I’ll come with you. Just let me get another pot going.”
She followed me into the kitchen and whispered, “Overwhelmed yet?”
“Totally.” Portals. Jessa this… Portal guides. Jessa that… I measured grounds into a paper cone and added an extra scoopful for fortitude.
“Stay tight with your sons. They’ll keep you grounded.” She darted a look over her shoulder and bit at her lower lip. “I can see why you’re all over Tanner, but that man has secrets. Proceed with caution, girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. I almost lost it. No woman had ever called me girlfriend in that affectionate way. “Trying,” I said. “But he’s so…”
“Hot?”
I nodded, pouring cold water into the machine and flipping the switch. “And complicated.”
“Those are the worst.” Rowan gently hip-bumped me. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Kaz, Wes, and Tanner kept up a conversation, punctuated by forks and knives butting against stoneware plates. I led Rowan to Harper’s door, gripped the handle tight, and turned it slowly. Matching shades were drawn on the windows. Thatcher, garbed like the other males in the Jones house uniform of sweats and a T-shirt, was sprawled belly-down across the mattress he’d dragged in from his bedroom. The two bodies on Harper’s bed were covered by a sheet. I opened the door further, intending to count three more bodies and finding Sallie spooned into Leilani’s front, with no sign of Harper. I pulled the door closed and slowly released my grip on the handle.
“Harper’s not in there.” I went to the room diagonally across the hall. The bathroom was empty. Both the sink and bathtub were dry.
“He’s not in the other bedroom,” Rowan said, joining me in the doorway. “Did you hear anyone leave this morning?”
I shook my head as the all-too-familiar stone of dread dropped into my belly.
She jerked her head toward the stairs. “Let’s go find him.”
Rising fear grabbed at my collarbones and hauled me to the first floor. I had to keep my hand on the railing and concentrate on my knees not buckling. “Harper’s not upstairs. Have any of you seen him?” I asked. I couldn’t swallow. “Or Christoph?”
“I think your grandfather’s on the back porch,” said Kaz, pushing his chair away to stand. “I noticed him settling there while Wes and I were in the woods. I’ll check out front.”
I stumbled around the table and tugged on the slider door. Warm August air caressed my face. The bird-man was perched atop the corner post of the railing, legs crossed in lotus, spine straight, feathers ruffling in the morning’s breeze. His eyes were closed.
“Calliope,” he said, his voice a strong whisper that mingled with the other sounds rising from the forest behind my house.
“Have you seen Harper this morning? He’s not in the house.”
Christoph pointed toward the fir we’d come to refer as the Bat Tree. “He’s up there. Sleeping.”
The tight knots of maternal worry loosened, and I ducked my head inside the house. “He’s here,” I said, pointing blindly behind me. “In the tree.”
Wes waved. Tanner started to clear the table. Needing space, I shoved the outdoor table aside and stood at Christoph’s side. Stroking his feathers soothed me as I searched the branches for Harper.
“You did that the first time I met you,” Christoph said. “I don’t think you were much older than one, one and a half, and you tried to hide under my wings.”
“I have no memory of wings or feathers.” At that moment, I wanted desperately to give in to childhood’s longing and call him Grandpa.
“What weighs at your heart, my Calliope?”
“I’m unprepared for this thing I’m in the middle of. My sons, my magic, my ex-husband, and all the lies. All the family stuff I didn’t know. Makes me wonder what else is out there.” I gripped the railing with both hands. My knuckles turned as pale as the calamus joining each of Christoph’s feathers to the underlying structure of his wings. “Because I know there’s more coming. People might get killed. On my watch. And I feel woefully inadequate in the role of protector and defender. I mean, that comes with being a mother, but this is protect and defend on steroids. With deadly weapons. I’m not trained, and nobody’s handed me the rule book.”
I felt
