Eternally Yours

  “You and me both,” Reyn murmured. He sat close to me, solid and warm, and I remembered how strong he was, how capable he was to deal with anything, even crazy cops.

  Asher remembered about Molly and Jasper in the barn and got permission to go put leashes on them so they wouldn’t interfere with the K-9s.

  “Where’s Dúfa?” I asked Reyn.

  Reyn pointed at his feet, and I saw the familiar white head, the pink-rimmed eyes. She was peering through his legs, growling softly at the cops.

  “This is so weird,” said Brynne, huddling for warmth. She’d drawn her long, bare legs up close and tried to wrap her coat around them.

  Several bad thoughts crossed my mind at that point—like, What if Incy had killed someone and buried the body somewhere around here? Stuff like that.

  It took almost two hours for them to go over every inch of the property. Finally, after conferring with the woman, the man came over to River, much more conciliatory. “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he said. “Obviously this was a nuisance call.”

  “Can you find out who it was?” River sounded calm and dignified.

  “Believe me, we’ll be looking into it,” he said. “We know it came from a cell phone in the area. We’ll be triangulating its position.”

  “So someone called up and said we were killing people out here?” I still couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes,” the man said. “Not only us—they called the FBI, too.” He nodded to the woman, who was talking into a cell phone. “Can you think of anyone who would want to cause you harm? Someone who would set you up for something like this?”

  Slowly River shook her head. “I actually can’t think of anyone. We’re just a school—an organic farm. Nothing controversial. We’ve always gotten along with everyone in West Lowing.”

  The man nodded. “I’ll ask around. We will investigate this—these were serious accusations. You could sue someone for defamation. And we could prosecute him or her for filing a false claim.”

  River nodded. “Can we go inside now?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m really very sorry, but you understand that we had to investigate such a serious claim.”

  “Yes, of course,” River said, standing up.

  I thought, after all that excitement, I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, but in fact as soon as my head touched my pillow I was out heavily, dreaming weird, dark dreams that I couldn’t remember when I woke up.

  CHAPTER 19

  With Ottavio back, he and River amped up their quest for answers, and we often saw them poring over old books, maps, and charts of various kinds. I was curious about what they were looking for, but at the same time reluctant to get sucked into it. I was committed to facing hard things now, but that didn’t mean I had to face every hard thing all the time.

  My adjunct project was coming along. Of course there wasn’t a plant nursery in West Lowing. I had to go twenty miles away to Wintonville to get some kind of shrubbery situation that would survive these heinous winters. I started to direct Harv and crew about where to put what, but he was itching to create an urban oasis with, like, rhododendrons. So I left him to it and went back inside, where it was warm.

  But on the surface I was pleased with my shops, now almost complete. This had been a good project for me. And it would be good for this benighted town, too. I had made all this possible. It had been my idea. And though I loathed in-person displays of gratitude, this had been a good thing. I had done it for myself, but it wasn’t bad that it had helped out a bunch of people.

  And what was stopping me from doing this somewhere else? There were other abandoned buildings around here—and in the neighboring towns, too. And even in big cities—I could gentrify the heck out of any number of places.

  A worker standing in front of me, his thumb running blood, broke into my happy reverie.

  “Yuck. What happened?”

  “Caught my thumbnail on the table saw. Pulled it off. First-aid kit is out of Band-Aids.”

  “Ew. Okay…”

  “Pavel.”

  “Okay, Pavel. You go wash it off—with soap—and I’ll run across the street. Hang on. Have you had a tetanus shot lately?”

  Pavel, already on his way to the sink, nodded.

  “And don’t drip blood on my floors.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I trotted across the street to MacIntyre’s. A glance at my watch showed it was only two thirty—Meriwether would still be in school. In the first-aid aisle I got an assortment of Band-Aids, the good kind that really stay on, and went to the back. There was no avoiding it—Old Mac would have to ring me up.

  And there was Mrs. Philpott, standing at the back counter, talking to him. As I approached I heard Mrs. Philpott murmur something, laughter in her voice, and then… Old Mac smiled. Smiled sincerely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I stopped where I stood, staring. He looked so normal when he smiled. It was amazing. He himself was like an eyesore of an empty lot that Mrs. Philpott was renovating.

  He didn’t look thrilled to see me, but he didn’t scowl quite as hard as he’d used to. Mrs. Philpott said, “Hello, dear,” and I said hello back. Then he checked me out, and I skibbled back across the street, where I helped Pavel stick his thumbnail into place and then carefully put several Band-Aids over the whole thing.

  The next morning I was on egg duty. When I blearily ducked under the low doorway of the chicken coop, I almost stepped on a chicken, still and cold. Quickly I looked—several other chickens were dead on the ground, and some were dead in their boxes. There were no signs of struggle, like from a fox or a snake. Just dead birds. I went to get River.

  “I’ve called the vet,” she said quietly as we surveyed the coop. I’d put on rubber gloves and was picking up the dead birds and putting them in a cardboard box. The vet would check them for disease or parasites, but I didn’t think she’d find anything. I thought they’d been killed by magick, and I was pretty sure River thought so, too.

  “I can’t believe the spell didn’t work,” I said in frustration. “It seemed so powerful—”

  And it came back to me, how it was probably my fault that it hadn’t worked because I had joined without receiving a real signal. I stopped, my hand holding the fourteenth chicken over the box. It was one thing to think it might be so; it was another to see the effects of it, all these birds, needlessly dead. Slowly I put the bird in, stacked on the others, while I tried to keep my face as blank as possible. I turned around as if to look for more chickens and walked to the back of the coop, peering at the ground as my cheeks burned.

  “I’ll go wait for Sharon in the driveway,” River said, and went out. I leaned against the old wooden wall, my mind racing, my chest tight. I wanted to get back out into the fresh air and away from chicken poop, chicken feathers, and chicken death, but I had to face it: I was the reason the spell of protection hadn’t worked. We’d all been floating around, confident that the amazing, powerful, beautiful spell that River had created was keeping us wrapped in a cozy cocoon of safety.

  Except. Except I had been there that night. I’d stepped forward, adding my voice to the others, forcibly melding my magick to theirs.

  My magick. That I had channeled through my amulet.

  I slid to the ground, my heart pounding. My magick hadn’t felt dark to me, but I’d made so little in my life—would I be able to tell? River was sure my family’s tarak-sin could be used for good or bad. It seemed so much more likely that it was designed to be dark, destined by a Terävä craftsman to create Terävä magick, always.

  I hadn’t gotten a sign, I’d forced my way in, and I had ruined the whole spell of protection, all of River’s work, all of everyone’s effort. Until this moment it had just been an idea, a nebulous fear. Now, in this chicken coop, it seemed horribly real. That beautiful, ambitious, awe-filled experience had been for nothing.

  I felt sick.

  Breathing fast and shallow, I picked up the box of dead chickens and left the coop. Sharon the vet’s car wa
s coming down the driveway, her truck tires crunching on frost-heaved pebbles. My fear and dismay made my hands shake as I stood there.

  Still, River was mostly concerned with the chickens. If she saw or felt anything odd about me, she probably thought I was also upset about them. She took the box from me, and I escaped.

  I was hugely relieved to hear that none of the other animals seemed affected—the horses, cows, goats, and few sheep that River kept all seemed fine. The vet would check them out, just in case.

  I saw Molly, her remaining pups scampering about her, and Jasper, the corgi mix that helped herd the smaller animals, but my heart stayed in my throat until I caught sight of Reyn’s tall, rangy figure and the gawky, long-legged white puppy getting underfoot.

  Thank God my darkness hadn’t killed Dúfa.

  Several of the farm vehicles wouldn’t start. Solis blamed it on the last cold snap we’d had. This late in the year, maybe the antifreeze had quit working. Yeah, it sounded lame to me, too.

  I couldn’t face anyone and didn’t want to hear all the possible theories. I needed to figure out what to do, how to tell River. Finally I got the little beat-up car started and I drove to town—everyone else was staying at River’s Edge to try to figure out what was happening.

  When I saw Bill waiting for me at the curb, his face grim, I thought wildly, What now?

  “What is it?” I asked, bracing for, like, half his crew to have fallen and broken their necks, or someone to have accidentally sawed off an arm or something.

  “Upstairs,” he said.

  One of the four apartment doors had been jimmied open, the shiny new brass lock and doorjamb broken. With my heart about to beat out of my chest, I pushed the door open and stifled a gasp when I saw a body lying on the floor. Then the body groaned and shifted slightly. That’s when I noticed the beer bottles, the empty cans, the cigarettes that had been stubbed out on a floor that had just been sanded and refinished.

  Filled with fury, I strode forward, finding two more people sleeping it off in the empty dining alcove. Bill followed me down the short hallway to the bedroom, where a couple of fully dressed girls had passed out on sleeping bags.

  One of the girls was Dray.

  I turned around and stalked out, wanting to shout and kick them and yell in their hungover faces. I closed the apartment door behind me and leaned against the railing, trying to control my anger.

  “Stupid-ass punks,” said Bill, his voice filled with disgust.

  I thought about how Dray had been making that cool jewelry that she was going to sell at Luisa’s shop. How dare she bust into one of my new apartments—one of the shiny, fresh, totally cute and fixed-up apartments! With her loser friends! Feelings of betrayal and hurt made my stomach burn.

  And I recalled with piercing shame how I had done the exact same thing more times than I could remember, just for fun. My friends and I had had money, we could stay in any hotel, but sometimes it had seemed funny to break into some place, a friend’s place, and party there. It had felt naughty and daring and humorous. They had seemed like stuck-up, materialistic assholes for caring and getting angry.

  I had just joined that club. Karma was such a bitch.

  I put my shoulders back and headed down the balcony to the stairs. “Where’s a bucket?”

  Yes, karma was a bitch. In my day I had experienced the distinct horribleness of being woken by a bucket of cold water in my face, and that morning I shared the lesson with Dray and her party pals. It was pretty damn satisfying. I don’t even remember the stuff I yelled at her, the angry words she yelled back. She knew she’d screwed up, so that put her a step ahead of where I had been the last time I’d done this. I hadn’t recognized my own culpability until… um, perhaps this morning.

  She was embarrassed and furious, I was furious and furious, and I actually planted my boot on one of her friends’ backsides as he clumsily headed down the stairs, cold and sopping wet. The five of them might have been even more hostile, but having to exit in front of a pissed-off construction crew whose work they’d just damaged took a lot of wind out of their sails.

  I was glad the next day was Saturday.

  CHAPTER 20

  A day when we woke up and found no animals dead and no charred circle around the house was a good day. I didn’t even mind being put on horse duty—my dread at having to deal with horses didn’t compare to my dread of finding them dead.

  Once Sorrel was clipped to the crossties in the barn aisle, I got the hoof pick and stood by her near shoulder. Gently I ran my hand down her leg and tapped the back of it, and she obediently lifted her foot. I’d done this countless times, so I barely had to think as I skimmed my hand over the sensitive part of her hoof, then began cleaning dirt and debris out from under her horseshoe.

  Yesterday the knowledge about the spell of protection had really hit me in the gut.

  Today, doing this mindless, repetitive work, my brain again bloomed with the regret of knowing that I had put everyone and everything here in danger. It was awful.

  Here’s the thing: I hadn’t done it on purpose. I mean, I had joined the spell on purpose, knowing that I’d had no signal to do so. But I hadn’t set out to ruin it. I pictured myself telling River, pictured the dismay that would come into her clear brown eyes. Then I pictured the understanding, the forgiveness. After all these months, I now knew that I would be forgiven. I knew she wouldn’t kick me out.

  But she would be disappointed in me.

  I was embarrassed—more than embarrassed. I hated proving her brothers right. I was scared of being proven right myself, about how my tarak-sin could create only dark magick.

  A small wet nose poked up through my knees, followed by a white head.

  “Dúfa, you silly,” I murmured, unable to let go of Sorrel’s hoof to pat her. “Get away from these horse feet.”

  “Dúfa,” Reyn called, and gave a short whistle. Immediately she ditched me and raced to her beloved. She’d gotten a lot bigger all of a sudden but was still gawky and awkward on those long, straight legs.

  Looking up, I saw Reyn holding a pitchfork to muck out the stalls. He was wearing beat-up gray cords tucked into wellies and one of his plaid flannel shirts. I saw a bit of blue T-shirt beneath the shirt collar. I realized his skin was a light tan—obviously I knew that. But it just occurred to me that it was the end of winter and he was light tan. So that must be his regular skin color. All over.

  I bent over my task, but this hoof was done and I was forced to let Sorrel have her leg back.

  Reyn leaned the pitchfork against a stall partition, then bent down and stroked Dúfa between her ears. Her eyes melted with adoration.

  My own heart swelled in a frightening way. The sight of the gorgeous man, the homely puppy, the love between them—I felt like I’d been punched in the chest. Swallowing, I tapped on Sorrel’s rear leg and she lifted it. I was grateful to have this excuse to hide my face.

  I was really falling for him. What a frightening realization. A montage of Reyn-filled scenes popped into my head—our old-fashioned dance in the empty shop, making out in his truck, making out in the hayloft, sword practice, eating Mexican food… Reyn angry, cold, playful, light, graceful, demanding. I gave a little cough to smother the moan building up inside me.

  “Watch.” He’d managed to sneak up on me as I writhed around in my reverie.

  I let Sorrel’s hoof down. “What?”

  He pointed at Dúfa, standing alertly in the barn aisle. Her floppy ears were cocked, mouth open in what can only be described as a smile.

  “Yes,” I said. “The cuteness, it hurts.”

  “No, watch.” Without saying a word, Reyn made a fist with his right hand, holding it horizontal to the floor. Dúfa sat, her eyes intently on him.

  Reyn opened his fist and held out his hand, palm down. The puppy dropped to the ground, belly to floor. When he made a little motion she flattened herself further, laying her head on her front paws, eyebrows raised so she could keep her gaze on him.
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  When Reyn turned to me and grinned with pride, the barn seemed a bit brighter.

  “Very nice,” I said. “I can’t believe she’s learned all that—she’s so young.”

  Reyn beckoned Dúfa to him, curling his hand upward. She leaped up as if on springs and ran to him, wagging her long tail. “She’s a smart girl,” he said, rubbing her head.

  I waited for the inevitable comparison to me, where I came in second, but I didn’t get it this time. The wonderfully familiar scent of his shirt drifted to me, and as usual I fell under its sway. Dark gold eyes met mine, and I tried to keep at least some of my hunger out of my face.

  “I like to see you with horses,” Reyn said.

  I made a face. He knew how I felt about horses.

  “You learned to ride when you were little.” A statement, not a question.

  I looked away, not wanting to talk about it.

  “Saddle or no saddle?” Reyn? Annoyingly persistent? Why, yes.

  “No saddle.” Then, of course, I was thrown into memories of me and my sister Eydís, standing up, balancing on the bare backs of our running horses, seeing who could stay up the longest. (Me.) We’d had races across the flattish place close to the steam geysers, holding on to our horses’ manes, clutching their sides with our legs. I was a better rider than Eydís, and when she turned twelve, right before she died, she’d decided she was too old to ride like a boy, with her long skirts hiked up.

  But I’d loved it. Always loved horses. Wished I could have had an immortal one.

  Reyn reached out and drew his hand softly along my back as I tried to keep my lip from trembling. I drew in a deep, tightly controlled breath, not looking at him.

  “We share the same history,” he said very quietly. “I understand you, who you are. And you understand me.”

  I kept my lips pressed together. To my right, one of the barn kittens was sneaking up on Dúfa’s softly swishing tail. This should be good.

  Then Reyn was holding my chin lightly, and I helplessly closed my eyes as his lips met mine. We were standing in the middle of the barn aisle—anyone could see us if they came in. But I was drawn into his warmth and comfort, all disquieting thoughts fleeing.