The Soother (7 page)

Her blue eyes narrowed to slits. “My blood is not a commodity that can be purchased.”

“I’m sorry,” Krystoff said with a slight shrug. “You must be confused. The only thing of value being exchanged here is the crimson fluid coursing through your veins. There is no need to purchase what I can simply take.”

“How Mistropan of you,” Calliope spat.

Krystoff smiled. “If that was meant as an insult, you have a lot of work to do.” But her dig hit the mark. Mistropans by definition were outcasts, misfits. The beings of Mistropa should have welcomed him with open arms. Instead they’d bound him to a pole and sliced him open, leaving him to die. That they —
that Scout
— had only followed direct orders from their queen — his mother — mattered not. If he didn’t fit into that realm, where did he fit? Maybe he’d join a gypsy caravan. Krystoff the Wanderer. Actually, the moniker had a nice ring to it.

“Soulless idiot.”

“Soulless, yes. As far as being an idiot?” He winked. “Depends on the day. I can assure you today is not one of them.” Crossing paths with this witch had been far more rewarding and beneficial than he could have imagined.

“That’s a matter of opinion, and in these woods, my opinion is the only one that matters.”

The woods, in fact, remained silent. Anticipation hung in the air like a vacant noose awaiting its next victim.

“Ah, love.” Krystoff brushed his lips over hers. “You protest because you ache as well. I can ease your pain.”

Calliope turned her face away from his mouth. “I do not ache. Unless you count the pounding in my head. And that,
love
, is entirely your fault.”

She attempted to back out of his embrace. Krystoff held tight, enjoying the feel of her squirming against him.

After stomping her foot, Calliope stilled. “This conversation grows dull. There’s a party going on, and I do believe only one of us is on the list of attendees.”

“Then I shall be your date.” Yes. He liked the idea of that. He’d need to change clothes first. Should he wear a suit, all black, jeans? And what would his date wear? Something gothic and sparkling, he hoped. Distracted by the promise of Calliope on his arm, he realized not only that she was talking, but that she’d drawn his attention away from his awaiting meal.

“ … Stag, solo, solitary. Just me.”

“How pitiful.” Pitiful that she wanted to go alone, but more pitiful that she’d been right. Krystoff wanted her blood in the worst way, but he wouldn’t take it without her consent. Time to formulate a plan. One word sat at the top of his mental outline. Seduction.

“It’s not always necessary to have two to tango,” Calliope said, her tone matter of fact. No doubt she would have folded her arms in front of her if he hadn’t locked them against her sides.

Krystoff scraped his tongue across a fang. “So, you’re comfortable with your own company?”

Calliope nodded once. “Absolutely.” She nodded again.

“Let me know how dreaming works out for you tonight. You know, you flying solo and all.”

A chaste kiss to her full lips, and then Krystoff pulled another vanishing act, distancing himself from the witch and her silent beckoning. Waiting was no longer an option. He needed sustenance and he needed it now. In the form of blood. Either that or waste away to ashes, since he wasn’t willing to force himself on Calliope.

Krystoff flashed to a clearing, marked a circle with large stones before lining up branches to form a five-pointed star. He shed his clothes, stood in the center of his makeshift pentagram completely nude, wholly open to the earth and the skies. With the sharp edge of a fractured stone, he sliced his wrists open, turned his palms face down and waited for the blood to be absorbed by the ground within the circle. Lightning flashed as thick clouds rolled in, covering the sky with a sheet of grey fluff.

His eyes slowly closed as magickal words flowed from his lips. Krystoff turned a full circle. Once, twice, three times. He stopped, breathed deeply and slowly opened his eyes. A buffet of sorts appeared before him. A bloodthirsty Krystoff smiled and pounced.

The delectable scents of freshly baked bread and pies clung to the air, floating through the streets of the village where many of the witches offered up their goods to honor the Harvest Mother. The Lammas celebration was now in full swing, which said a lot considering the exorbitant amount of carousing that had gone on over the last few days. Calliope was doing her best to be cordial and upbeat with her fellow — and mostly hungover — witches, but her latest confrontation with Krystoff weighed heavily on her mind. The soother in her had wanted to acquiesce, to let Krystoff take what he needed to ease his obvious pain. She’d never been bitten, and she’d certainly never allowed another to drink from her. The act seemed a little too intimate. While she loved being a soother and helping those in need, the energy this magick required took a lot out of her, and Calliope worried she had little remaining to give. If she allowed Krystoff to violate her in that way, her deepest fear would come true. She would have given so much of herself away, there would be nothing left. She’d rather perish than ever let that happen.

Calliope drifted away from the crowd of hard-core partiers, feeling completely out of sorts and angry with Krystoff for distracting her from her purpose. The dwindling line of brightly colored, steepled tents marked a path for her to follow. Each tent was stocked with a Lammas offering of some sort. Handmade jewelry, satchels and cloaks were only a few of the wares on display. Witches were nothing if not crafty and talented.

The majority of the festival took place in the center of town, but some had chosen to set up their booths in the outer regions of the village, not only to pay homage to the Harvest Mother, but also to cater to the elder witches who couldn’t get around as easily as the others. While the vibe was more subdued, it was no less jovial and Calliope made it a point to stop and chat with her sistren. Normally, she would have created an array of star trinkets and baubles and decorated her own tent to trade her wares. The fact that she hadn’t taken the time to do so had guilt churning in her gut like a meat grinder.

An unexpectedly cool breeze blew in from the north. Calliope shoved her hair away from her face and conjured a jean jacket to throw on over her T-shirt. It seemed as though autumn was attempting to make an early entrance. The wind rustled the streamers adorning the booths and Calliope caught the faint, but soothing sound of wood softly thumping against wood. Spinning on her heel, she spotted a pair of must-have wind chimes.

“These are awesome, Tia,” she called to the witch who had crafted the whimsical ornaments.

Tia, a creative and musical genius, flashed Calliope a wide smile and walked over from a nearby booth. She’d braided her long dark hair and tied it off with a string of bells. Each step she took produced a unique tinkling sound.

“Thank you, Miss Brennan.” Tia wrapped her arms around Calliope and pulled her in for a warm hug.

Calliope returned the embrace. “If these aren’t spoken for,” she said, running her fingers along the two moon and stars chimes. “I’d love to add them to my collection.”

Tia clapped her hands. “Oh! I’d like that. They’ll look great on your front porch.” Tia stretched on tiptoe to remove the chimes from her display.

“Wait.” Calliope tapped Tia’s arm. “I don’t have anything to trade.” She chastised herself again and mentally shook her fist at Krystoff. Had he not turned her world inside out, she would have been prepared. She would have contributed to the festival. Really, she shouldn’t blame him. That was unfair. She alone was responsible and made her own decisions. Rather than dwell on
should haves
, Calliope vowed to get her life under control.

Bright green eyes twinkling, Tia said, “But you will. I’m not worried.”

Yes, she would. “Thank you. I’ll think of your kindness every time the wind blows.” She hugged Tia again and felt better than she had all day. “I’ll come back later and pick these up.”

“Sounds wonderful. Enjoy the rest of the festival, Calli.”

“You too,” she said and set out in search of more treasures.

At the end of the street, Calliope turned the corner. The sight before her had her stomach grumbling and her mouth watering. She’d passed booth after booth full of delicious food, yet she hadn’t eaten all day. Wandering through the small orchard at the west end of town, she eyed her choices before fixing her gaze on the winner. Plucking a ripe, red apple from a tree, she rubbed it on her shirt until it shone like a queen’s ruby, took her first bite and nearly moaned. When juice trickled down her chin, she swiped it away with the back of her hand. The sweet fruit had her taste buds cheering. Calliope gobbled it up before snagging another apple from the abundant tree. Was this what her blood would taste like to Krystoff? Sweet, tangy and irresistible? No wonder he stalked her like a wolf chasing a rabbit.

A beautiful song caught Calliope’s attention. She smiled in spite of the mixed feelings she had toward the crooning witch. Her mother had the best singing voice in the coven. Sadly, that was the only voice Ambra Brennan used anymore. No one really knew the reason, though Calliope suspected it had a lot to do with having given her eldest daughter away. She’d done it to protect Meera. Everyone knew and understood that, but Ambra had never been quite the same and with each sequential year, she’d drifted a little farther away from reality. Explaining that Meera was fine, and would visit soon had made no obvious difference. Calliope the Soother could help anyone, but she’d never been able to help her own mother.

She followed the sound of the soprano voice until she found Ambra watering the flowers behind her cottage. The rings adorning each of her fingers clanged against each other when she moved her arm side to side, sprinkling a cluster of yellow peonies. Calliope watched her for several moments before calling out. “Hello, Mama.”

A slight hesitation was the only acknowledgment Ambra gave. Her fluid movements reminded Calliope of a ballerina as a barefoot Ambra quickly moved to the other side of the garden, her white dress flowing behind her like an ethereal apparition. Calliope tried to put her shields up to protect her feelings, but her shield had holes in it because the armor surely didn’t protect her heart. It ached to the point she found herself massaging her chest.

Today’s song was about the fragility of glass. Calliope knew that all too well. Once shattered, the pieces could never quite match up again, no matter the amount of glue. Her mother’s world was either full of broken mirrors or foggy windows. Either way she couldn’t see what was tangible and real. She couldn’t see Calliope.

The easy thing to do would be to turn and leave, but Calliope wasn’t a coward. She lifted her chin and picked her way through the garden. Crouched next to Ambra, she carefully pulled weeds and stuffed them in a nearby bucket. Using magick would have been quicker. A little razzle-dazzle and the flowers would sprout while the weeds wilted. Better yet, she could turn the weeds into sunflowers, Ambra’s favorite annual. She couldn’t explain why she didn’t do it, only knew that moments like this, when her mother would allow someone to be near, were few and far between. She’d replant the damn weeds and start over again if it meant more time in which Ambra wouldn’t shun her presence.

As if sensing her youngest daughter’s thoughts, Ambra stopped and tilted her face toward the sky. The sun picked up the red streaks running through her wavy hair. The rusty color reminded Calliope of a flickering jack-o-lantern on Samhain. A long sigh, and then another song broke the somber silence. “Crystal tears glowing, while the wind is blowing. Storms cover up the sun, casting shadows on what’s done. Look away from what it makes. Look away before it breaks.”

Calliope listened to her mother’s ballad, the melody so haunting it nearly hypnotized. “That’s beautiful, Mama,” she whispered.

Ambra turned, her smile vibrant, her green eyes shining with pleasure. Calliope’s heart skipped. “Hi,” she said and waited.

Nothing.

Calliope tried again. “Your garden is really coming along, I see.”

The smile never wavered. She cupped her mother’s cheek but received no response for her efforts. The world went on around them, but Ambra remained stuck in another place, perhaps even another time. Leaning in, Calliope kissed her forehead before backing away. Still, Ambra sat, smile wide, eyes unblinking. Wherever she was, at least it was a happy place.

• • •

With dusk came a sense of cautious reassurance. Calliope tossed back another drink, straightened her shirt and joined the dancing parade. Blaring, hard and heavy club music made it nearly impossible to do anything other than dance. All Calliope had to do was make it through the rest of the night and then she could go back to normal … with some help from her friend, Liquid A. Courage
.
Tonight’s drink special, of which she’d already slammed two, featured steaming glasses of sour orange bombs. Quite delicious and more than a little dangerous. Her off-kilter dancing had everything to do with the alcohol and nothing to do with her lack of rhythm.

Shoulders swaying, head bobbing to the beat, Calliope squealed when a wicked hip bump sent her careening into Isabelle. The young soother giggled and bumped Calliope’s other hip. Isabelle, sporting neon-green sneakers and hot-pink and black striped tights, quickly grabbed Calliope’s hands to steady her. Isabelle then winked, leaned back and proceeded to spin the two of them in a circle. The dizzying effect had both witches laughing and spinning faster, knocking down anyone unfortunate enough to be standing in their path. Tears streamed down Calliope’s face, and it was in that moment she realized Isabelle’s soothing magick had grown. The time to take her under her wing and help her to hone her craft was now. Maybe that time-intensive task would be enough to distract her from disturbing thoughts of her mother and the ever-annoying Krystoff.

And maybe frogs would start flying on brooms.

The gothic song faded just as another started up. Calliope took the opportunity to park her butt on the curb. If it were up to her, she’d do nothing but get sloshed and witch-watch ‘til dawn. She should video the show. This drunken material would be good for a laugh or two the next time she needed an energy boost. An excellent idea, if she did say so herself, which she did, she thought, giggling under her breath. After shoving off the ground and waiting for the lights to stop flickering and the thick air to stop spinning, she selected another drink — the steamiest of the bunch — and concocted her exit plan. She’d have to be stealth. If anyone caught her sneaking away, or with the video camera in hand, she’d have no way to blackmail should the need ever arise. Her goods would be confiscated. Not that she’d totally set out to mock and embarrass, but having a little fun with a bargaining tool wouldn’t seriously hurt anyone. Conjuring a camera would be faster and she’d be sure not to miss out on anything. She considered it briefly before coming to the conclusion she was in need of an adventure and a couple minutes of alone time.