Why was I flirting with him? And why was I fluttering my hands in the air like a puppeteer?
“Yes. No. It’s complicated.”
Harper and Thatcher appeared to be enjoying this exchange.
“Let’s leave that discussion for another time,” I said. “My point is, before you go filling their heads with everything this mentoring program could be, I’d like you to fill me in.” I looked at my sons and back to Tanner. “And tonight’s as good a time as any, unless you two…?”
“Mom, no, we’re good,” Thatch assured me. “And I agree, you need to know. And then maybe you can tell us what you did this weekend.”
Boys. I still wasn’t giving them enough credit for how well they knew me. “Deal,” I agreed. “Tanner?”
He folded his napkin and dropped it on the table. “The program was formed about ten, twelve years ago, in response to a growing need for teens and young adults to have a place they could go for answers to the changes happening in their bodies. For some, it was the very first time they had any kind of explanation for what they felt or perceived or could manifest.
“What we’ve discovered—actually, what’s been confirmed—is that individuals with magic who don’t have a strong family or tribal unit, or a coven, have a much harder time harnessing their magic when it begins to show up. The most challenging years appear to be between ages fourteen and twenty, twenty-one.”
I waved my hand and interrupted. “As an aside, why do you think Harper and Thatcher’s predilections didn’t show up until now?”
“I’m going to make a stab in the dark and suggest it’s due in part to their bonds with you. As you embrace more of your magic, theirs will grow stronger and more differentiated.”
“That sounds pretty cool, Mom,” said Thatch.
“And we’ve recruited adults across a variety of disciplines, for lack of a better word,” Tanner added.
“You mean different branches of magic?” I asked.
“That, and from clans of shifters. We’ve set up a system of checks and balances, been attentive to the potential for abuse or manipulation of any kind.”
“I’m pleased to hear that.”
“And when something unusual or rare occurs, we have others around the world we can call on for consult.”
Toward the end of Tanner’s explanation, the itchy tattoo on my belly began to burn. I discretely pulled away the waistband of my pull-on pants to see if I’d gotten a bug bite or worse during my hours in the forest. All around the edges of the faded black ink, my skin was reddened, and the area was puffy, like I was having an allergic reaction. I touched it with my fingertips. The spot was hotter than the surrounding skin.
“Can you hand me some of that ice?” I pointed to the pitcher of mystery drink the boys had concocted.
Harper reached in and dried the cube on his tee shirt before handing to me. “What’s up, Mom?”
“My tattoo, it’s getting kind of itchy. Painful itchy.”
“May I take a look?” Tanner asked.
I stood and rolled my pants to the widest part of my hips, lifted my shirt with one hand, and pressed the other to the soft part of my belly.
“Anybody got a flashlight handy?” Concern raised my voice a quarter of an octave. I was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. And staying self-conscious enough I kept trying to suck in my abdomen.
Tanner blew out a low whistle. “Othala,” he said. “It’s a rune.”
Thatcher scooted the table holding the remains of our dinner out of his way and kneeled in front of me.
Harp joined us. “What’s happening to our mom?”
Tanner cleared his throat and sat on the swing. He patted the cushion next to him. “Calli, I think you should lie down in case the pain gets worse. Harper, go get a washcloth and a bowl with clean pieces of ice. And Thatcher, if you could bring me my backpack, I might have an ointment in there that’ll help with the itching and the pain until we can deactivate the spell.”
“This is a spell? What the f—” I flopped onto the cushions, my belly exposed to the trio of curious males, and stared up, way up, to the darkened beams at the top of the A-frame.
The night sky beyond wasn’t as sparkle-filled as the remote provincial park, but it was beautiful. And calming. And right now, I needed to stay calm, because pathways in my brain sizzled at the implication that the tattoo my ex had insisted we get—together, designed by him—was actually a spell.
A fucking mystery of a spell, inked onto my body without my consent.
Tanner’s comforting voice broke into my frustration. “Calliope, we can fix this. Runes are a kind of ancient alphabet and a means of divination.” He gently folded the bottom of my shirt up and away from the affected area. “This particular rune has a few meanings, and depending on how it’s placed, it can impact the bearer positively or negatively. Or the wearer, in your case.”
“Tanner,” I started.
“Yes, Calli?” he answered, his voice gentle as his fingers smoothed aloe vera gel over the reddened patches on my skin.
“Doug has the same tattoo. Except his is the opposite of mine.”
He stopped spreading. His fingers hovered above the mark. “And where on his body is it?”
I pressed my lips together. I was beginning to feel like a fool. And an idiot. A gullible, foolish idiot. “Same place as mine but on his right side. His is a little smaller.”
“I think this is a clear indication your ex-husband has access to magic, and right now, I’m most concerned with how to break whatever connection he may still have to you and your magic.”
I tried to keep my breath steady and not freak out. Or beat myself up. I thought matching tattoos were an indication of…partnership? Of working toward a mutual goal? Love, even?
“Why now?” I mused, more to myself and the sky. My ex’s gesture of bonding had become a modern-day, proprietary branding.
“I
