When Rory gave the dowsing rod to Rosemary, her eyes widened and drank in the magic it contained. Mention was made of how long it’d taken them to gain it, and Rory received a knowing smile and wink.
The older woman turned the artifact on herself, and the signs of age melted away under auric white light. Time-worn wrinkles eased and smoothed. Silver hair refreshed and vivified like she’d spent hours in the salon. Once finished, the youthful beauty who stood before Rory beamed with health.
At breakfast the following morning, the assembled friends uttered shocked words of disbelief over Rosemary’s changed visage. And made still stronger exclamations over the transformation after they clarified for themselves the spell was no illusion. Not only did Rosemary appear to be the youngest at the table—she was, in fact, the very embodiment of sweet youthful fullness.
The older woman turned younger, swept her arm and revealed she possessed the dowsing rod. Rory and Asher feigned shock at her revelation, glancing at each other. From the confused look they shared, neither expected how transformative the artifact would be on the ancient elementalist.
“Things will change soon,” Rosemary said in an absent tone. “Some of us have already grown past who we were only a few short weeks ago.” She peered at Asher and gave him a warm, one-way proud exchange from a mother to her son.
He scowled back at her and crossed his arms.
Undeterred, she continued, “Bonds have formed between us all. Strengthening our resolve.”
Seated at Rory’s left, Doc glanced sideways and met her eye. The right corner of his mouth twitched upwards. He took her hand under the table and gave it three quick squeezes.
Rory’s heart skipped a beat and her face mirrored his own, rubbing her thumb across his palm. Worries slipped from her mind, restored by a wonderful calm. A thought came to her, and she searched his eyes, wondering when her own feelings for him evolved into something deeper. Or were they always there? I need to tell him what I did. Worst timing of the year, but he needs to know everything. Why did I fuck Asher in the first place? Guilt replaced the ecstasy of budding love and she withdrew.
There was enough to worry about. They weren’t just gathered around the table for breakfast like any normal morning, the vampires sitting with them were sufficient evidence. In a few brief hours, they’d head to Alma.
Molly, who Billie had invited in the house yet again—much to the beleaguered dismay of the witches—yawned and motioned for a conclusion. Less talking; more action. That was the vampire way.
Rosemary chortled at her and agreed, banging the rod against the floor three times for adjournment to the sudden formality of breakfast.
Molly rolled her eyes before running her fingers through Billie’s mussed hair. “Thanks to your pick-me-up last night, I could take on half of Alma.”
Billie reddened but grinned at her, shrugging and holding back a giggle.
Things looked to be brightening in Billie’s little corner of the world. The nerdy vampire who had introduced himself to Rory as Travis playfully chomped his teeth at Billie.
Rory rolled her eyes. Why not let all the fiends in?
“Not sure to be delighted for the bloke or sick for him makin’ us watch all that,” Sven said. His nose wrinkled in disgust.
“But, we’re happy, Mr. Sven,” Billie said and shrieked as Molly tickled him.
“Good on ya’ for findin’ a threesome just as weird as you are, Billie. But, yanno, fuck off with the foreplay at the dinner table. And perhaps quit lettin’ em have free rein of the place. One of these times, you’re bound to let the wrong one in.”
“Yes,” Rosemary said. “We’ll be at war soon and any distractions are asking for death. If you’re not able to compose yourselves, you owe it to the rest of us to stay behind.”
The vampires immediately straightened. They weren’t about to miss the coming battle.
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Movement through the plate-glass window grabbed their collective attention. The Black Heron who once waited for the witches at the gates of Alma, the same who led them to Mara’s domain, and in her human form guided Byron back to the realm of the living, swooped and entered the barn. Moments later, the otherwise nameless servant of Mara walked towards the front door.
“Is she one of yours too?” Rory asked through numb lips.
Rosemary shook her head. “Her transformation is through other magics and, while she’ll aid those who require it, never forget who holds her loyalty. If she’s here, that means Mara is watching.”
“If she works for Mara, shouldn’t she have the same freaky eyes the rest of her servants do?” Rory asked, watching the mysterious woman’s progress to the house.
“All I can say is that she’s different from the others.”
The Lady of the Black Heron entered the room and gave Rosemary a curt bow of her head. “The Blueskins are in formation. Is everyone prepared?”
Grim anticipation edged the faces of all, and a collective nod fell from each. The situation was dire. How many would still stand after the dust settled? Would there be any of them left?
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Rosemary and the Black Heron excused themselves to speak in private. Tension ran high as the gathered witches waited. Rory pulled Doc aside; safe from prying ears and eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to form words while pushing at a cuticle.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked.
“There’s a few things I want to tell you and I don’t know where to start.”
Lines drew across his forehead. “It’s important enough to bring it up now?”
“I think it is. If something happens to either of us, you should know.” She rested her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, his right-hand drawing ghost circles on the nape of her neck. “Thank you for everything. No matter how shitty things get, you’re always there to lift me up. Hell, you’ve been there for me since I opened my eyes in this shithole.” Her fingers found the knot on his back where he carried his stress and kneaded. “I guess I’m trying to say I need you here with me.”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” His arms tightened in a hug and he rested his head on hers.
So, instead of saying all the things she probably should have, they held each other and let everything else disappear. It was too perfect a moment to spoil.
Only when they heard Sven and Nadine calling for them did their bodies part.
“We should go,” Rory said with regret.
He nodded and his mouth found hers. Their kiss lingered until they spilled over with more words left unsaid between them. Forehead to forehead, he sighed. “We should.” He secured a few of the lower buttons on his jacket and took her hand.
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Rosemary drew a doorway in chalk on the side of the barn and opened it. Behind sat a vast army of Blueskins well on the outskirts of Alma. All twitching for a fight. They formed tight clusters. Rory assumed even here they stuck to their own camps. Some held battle standards with framed prints of people from her own time and before. The red ink on the posters faded from time and—when there’d been one—the sun, so the skin tones in print were blue. Gus’ camp raised a standard with a blue-skinned Albert Einstein. His sad, knowing gaze peered out from the glass. Rory fought the urge to laugh.
Sven didn’t. After the eyes of the witches in attendance fell on him, he gathered himself and tugged at his jacket. “It’s nothin’, just thought of a joke. Carry on.” He glanced at Nadine apologetically.
She tsked at him and straightened his collar.
Another doorway opened and the shifters of Inboco streamed through. At first they gasped at the sight of the Blueskins and then halted after spotting the vampires. But the steady stream pushed them along to move and the line continued.
Molly gave them a show of her fangs and licked her lips.
“They’re scared enough. You don’t need to add to it,” Rory scolded her.
“Buzzkill,” she said, but her demeanor eased.
The ranks from Inboco shifted in both preparation and protection. Soon tigers, lions, wolves, and more surrounded them.
A group of the Blueskin army made to run in the opposite direction, but their fellows laughed and jeered at them. Gus snapped at his men in agitation.
Rosemary called for the delegates to converge, along with a growing number of servants of Mara.
There were men and women in their ranks. All bearing serene faces, with the same glowing eyes and maroon robes. Rory searched for one face in particular amongst them.
Mara probably wouldn’t send him here. But if she had, would Rory even be able to look at him? She tried to imagine Byron with the eyes of a servant and couldn’t. Or, she just didn’t want that image in her head. She preferred the images of him leftover in her mind. The one who chased the wind and loved her despite the multitude of flaws. He was also the one who left her when she needed him the most.
Doc, whose own face was ashen, put a reassuring arm around her and she returned the favor.
He’ll never admit it, but this has to be a waking nightmare for him. After seeing enough war to last him three lifetimes, he still battled with its lingering effects. And yet, he stood tall and without a single complaint, offering what little strength he had to her.
Rosemary finished her speech, but Rory hadn’t heard a word of it. She gripped Doc’s waist and hoped he’d live. She’d meant every word she told him and more.
When the delegates returned to their factions, Doc held her tightly. The air left her in a Whoosh. “Sorry.” He traced a finger down the curve of her cheek to her chin. “Be careful out there and come back to me.”
“Come back to me too.” She made him promise before they both turned to walk in opposite directions. Her to Rosemary and he to the vampires.