The Soother (8 page)

Unless, of course, she happened to run into Krystoff. Alone time would turn into something else entirely. Calliope didn’t doubt for a minute he was still in the area. Maybe that was wishful thinking on her part.

Chewing on her straw, she made her way down the street, trying to look as innocent as possible. She knew she was being slightly dramatic, but making a mad dash back to her house would take some of the fun out of it. Better to be coy, she thought while dragging one toe along the ground.

“Going somewhere?”

Talk about a major fun sucker. Calliope managed to keep her sighing to a minimum before she turned around. Typically, she loved Carrine, but these last few days had seriously tried her patience. Carrine had turned into an “er” witch.
Watcher. Lecturer. Downer. Judger.

“Not for long,” Calliope answered, flashing a smile. “I just need to grab something from home.” Keeping her foot from tapping proved to take a lot of concentration. Maybe Carrine would think she was dancing rather than visibly displaying her impatience. The former was natural, the latter completely disrespectful.

Carrine eyed Calliope’s foot, then lifted her head and smiled, too. “I’ll keep you company,” she said, one sculpted eyebrow stretching toward the stars.

Fantastic
. “Oh, that’s okay. I won’t be long at all.” Calliope stirred her drink and then sucked on her straw until all she heard was a loud slurping sound. How sad. Another one finished way too soon.

“I insist,” Carrine said, grabbing her elbow and steering her toward the woods.

Calliope calmly snatched her arm away. Figuring she wouldn’t be losing her chaperone anytime soon, she gave up the sly technique and settled for what would be a fast tuck-and-grab. Neither said much during the brief trip. Carrine was like that sometimes. She had a way of making one feel guilty even when there was nothing to be guilty about. That wasn’t the case though. Not this time. Usually Calliope was considered the good witch, and Bevva the one to watch.

Calliope paused.

Guilt in fact did manifest but not for the reason she’d originally thought. Bevva hadn’t made it back for Lammas. While her absence wasn’t necessarily a bad omen, it was odd.

Bevva loved a good party and had never missed a Lammas celebration. How could it have taken so long for Calliope to realize her sister/best friend may be in trouble? Why else wouldn’t Bevva be partying like a witch gone crazy? Consumed with cryptic thoughts, Calliope zoomed into her house, grabbed a small black bag from her bedroom and raced back out the door.

“Have you heard from Bevva?” she asked, barreling down the steps while stowing the small camera.

“I’d planned to ask you the same question.” Carrine frowned. “Did she mention where she was headed?”

“I don’t think so.” Truth was, Calliope really hadn’t been paying too close attention. At the time, she’d been preoccupied with thoughts of Charmer. “You think she’s okay?” She didn’t give Carrine time to answer before saying, “I’m gonna call her. Wait. Should I call her?”

Pursed lips gave way to a forced smile. “I’m sure she’s fine. But go ahead and make that call.”

Calliope pulled her cell out of her back pocket, hit the star under Bevva’s name and put the phone to her ear.

“Yo! I’m busy. Do what you gotta do.”

Calliope snapped the phone closed and willed her nerves to settle. “It went straight to voicemail.”

“I see. Let’s let it rest for tonight. Tomorrow, after morning clean-up, we’ll put out some feelers. You know Bevva. She’ll turn up.”

Calliope tried to offer a smile, but the effort came across as more of a scowl. She did know her sister. Better than anyone else, and this wasn’t like her. Not at all.

They silently made their way back to the party. Maybe it was Calliope’s mood, but it seemed to her as if the energy had shifted. She’d always been very in-tune with the vibe of her coven, and while excitement still coated the air, an underlying current of something, perhaps apprehension, had settled like a thin haze on an otherwise sunshiny kind of day.

With blood came power. Right now, so much power coursed through Krystoff’s body, he had to jog in place to work off some of his energy before he passed out from an adrenaline overload. He hadn’t meant to drain the wolf … or the fox … or the rabbit, whose carcasses he would have added to a mass grave had he not remembered he could also breathe life back into those he killed. Calliope had him so starved, he could have, and probably would have, drained the entire forest had it not been for the owl he’d stumbled upon. That was where he drew the line.

Was it possible to actually grow a new soul? Before he’d met Calliope, he’d been consumed with dark thoughts. Now? He quickly glanced at the owl, which stared down his beak at Krystoff from a branch high above, seemingly casting judgment.

The appearance of the owl symbolized many things, and to kill one would be akin to sticking his head in a guillotine and slicing the rope himself. Krystoff wished for many things. Death was not one of them. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck to exterminate the feeling of the invisible sharp blade. Owls were not only death omens; they were also bringers of prophecy and he had every intention of discovering what message this one foretold. Just as soon as he revived his meal.

Krystoff lined up the wolf, fox and rabbit head to tail. He pricked the tip of his finger with his fang, then pried their jaws open and allowed one drop of blood to fall on each of the animals’ tongues. The magick within his blood would work its way through their bodies, ultimately bringing them back to life in a slightly altered form. If the wolf had been beta, he would no doubt return to his pack a leader. A vampiric transfusion of sorts. He wondered if the scoffers of blood magick would see any redeeming qualities now.

His task completed, Krystoff slid his gaze to the trees.

The mystical bird appeared to nod, then took flight, wings gliding effortlessly through the air. Ready for the pursuit, Krystoff smiled to himself and relaxed his muscles, preparing his body to follow. Keeping up with the owl proved to be an easy task. He flashed from one spot to the next, all the while keeping his eyes on the tail feathers of the grey bird as the forest blurred around him.

Eventually, the owl slowed and silently landed on the bough of a large oak tree. Golden eyes appraised, then directed with a swivel of his regal head. Krystoff stepped closer, peering through the foliage into an open area. The owl had led him to the ruins of a sacred circle. Whoever had cast the circle was long gone. He sensed no lingering magick, which meant anything here was his for the taking. He’d have taken it anyway. The lack of claim simply made the process easier. The caster had been sloppy, bordering on disrespectful. Either they were new to their magick, or they were scornful. Neither was acceptable amongst most magickal beings. Nonetheless, there, amidst the haphazard salted outline and the discarded stones was where he found what would quickly become his personal magickal treasure.

A long twisted branch, its color as dark and rich as bold coffee, lay just inside the circle. His fists clenched as he imagined how the stick would feel in his hands, to mold it into a rod full of power and knowledge, to aim it toward his enemies while they ran in fear. It would take years to instill all the magick he’d had in his last staff.
Damn Eron
. But for now he’d fortify this new one with a heavy dose of copper. Krystoff knew just where to find that valuable metal. Hopefully Calliope wouldn’t mind too much when he took her entire stash.

The energy reception capabilities of copper, along with its ability to heal and protect, made it a favorite component in wizardry. Calliope would understand that. And she would forgive him. His lips curved just thinking of all the things he could do to entice her to excuse his thievery.

“I think I’m overdue for a dance with my angel,” Krystoff said, nodding to the owl. He picked up his new staff, twirled it between his hands to test its weight and finally gripped the wood with his right hand. The staff immediately became an extension of his person and Krystoff vowed to destroy anyone who attempted to take this new weapon from him.

His shadows slithered around the staff before settling beneath his skin. Yes, a dance would be nice, but he had something a little more intimate planned for his next meeting with Calliope. Time to find his little witch.

• • •

Calliope stood smack dab in the middle of the party. She’d foregone secrecy and was now blatantly videotaping the Lammas celebration. Stars filled the black sky, twinkling overhead like the lights of an enormous disco ball. Yet another drink tray floated by, but concern over Bevva kept her from reaching for another cocktail. Come tomorrow, she’d contact the council herself to form an all-out search party. The more she thought about it, the darker the scenarios playing out in her head became. Something was up, and whatever it was wasn’t good.

Someone slammed into her from behind, propelling her forward. Barely managing to stay upright, Calliope swiveled on her heel to investigate. Tia lay at her feet, unmoving. The wind chime maker wasn’t much of a drinker, but festivals had a way of making even the most innocent dabble in the forbidden. One look at this footage and Tia would be shoving free chimes at her for the next year. After capturing her blackmail shot and then pocketing the camera, Calliope bent to help her friend.

“Hey, girl.” she said, laughing. “You okay down there?”

Tia moaned, the sound weak and guttural, and turned over with a flop. Calliope’s lips parted on a gasp. A broken arrow was lodged in Tia’s shoulder, blood seeping steadily from the wound. Calliope whipped her head to the left, then the right, scanning the crowd but seeing nothing out of sort.

“Shhh,” she crooned in Tia’s ear, and smoothed the hair away from her sweaty face. “I’ll help you.” A barrage of questions flooded Calliope’s mind. Nothing like this had ever happened within the boundaries of the village. Violence simply did not exist amongst the peaceful coven. Any squabbles were handled between the conflicting parties. Those that couldn’t be quickly resolved were presented to the council. Calliope couldn’t remember the last time the council had had to be called upon.

Soothing cerulean energy transferred from Calliope to her injured friend, the magick like a calm sea gently licking at the shore. Tia quieted and Calliope went on full alert a moment before everything twisted into madness.

A mental war cry sounded, warning Calliope that a storm like no other was brewing on the horizon. She looked up just as a weapon-wielding gang broached the top of the outer hills surrounding the village. Her ominous feelings from before gave way to a real-life nightmare. Shifters transforming from men to beasts, demons with scaly skin, spiked tails and twisting horns, fae, hovering inches off the ground, swords in hand, marched toward the center of town. She screamed for help, yelled to alert the others, but the deafening music drowned out her voice. Only Tia heard, who nodded, silent tears sliding down her alabaster cheeks.

Calliope studied the arrow, trying to get a feel for just how deep it was embedded into Tia’s shoulder. The way the skin bulged around the entrance made her think it hadn’t gone too far. At least she hoped it hadn’t. She wrapped her hand around the shaft of the arrow as close to Tia’s skin as she could get. Placing her other palm directly beside it, and with her heart pounding, she pushed hard with one hand while pulling straight up with the other. The arrowhead quickly dislodged, ripping pink, blood-tinged muscle and skin on its way out. While pressing on the wound to staunch the blood flow, Calliope called for her healing magick to extract any toxin coating the tip. Black poison leached from between her fingers, spilling onto the street and mixing with Tia’s blood to create a muddy mess. Tia stared up at her, never vocalizing her pain.

Another witch fell, landing at Tia’s feet. Fear clogged Calliope’s throat, searing, choking, even as she reached to soothe the fallen. The witch’s face was hidden by a mass of gray hair, but Calliope recognized the tattoo of the elder witch. Sarah the Seer had matching eyes permanently inked into each of her hands. If only she’d been able to see this, but her gift of sight had begun to fail some time ago.

A spray of magickal embers illuminated the surrounding areas, shedding light upon the shadowed creatures and the alarming number of injured. A line of witches formed their own version of an army around the perimeter, their arms locked, their stance wide. Calliope needed to be standing with them, doing what she could to help protect those who were still unaware of the attack.

“Can you stand?” she asked Tia while eyeing the intruders. Who were they? The shadows, wrapping and slinking between them like black serpents, reminded her of Krystoff, but she immediately dismissed the idea. These horrid beings were nothing like him.

“I … I think so.”

Calliope pulled Tia to her feet and gave her a gentle shove. “Warn everyone, Tia. Warn and then run. Blessed be, my friend.”

Tears welled in Calliope’s eyes when she saw it was too late to save Sarah. The arrow had found its target, piercing the weakened heart and promising death. She blinked to keep her tears contained.
Fight now. Mourn later.
Mentally chanting her mantra, she took deep breaths to center her magick and fight off the wispy stems of fatigue threatening to take over.

A hand on her shoulder had Calliope whirling. She came face to chest with a massive, hulking man. She shifted away, taking two steps back to look up. Dark eyes stared down at her, reflecting madness with the potential to stop her heart and paralyze her mind. Though he smiled, she had no doubt this man was malevolent to the core. His long, black hair fought with the wind, tangling behind him like sea grass caught in an undertow. Smeared blood decorated his chiseled chest in morbid fashion, almost as if he wore the crimson fluid with pride.

A flicker of familiarity, but before she could place him, he wrapped his hand around her neck and tossed her away like a rag doll. Calliope hit the ground, her bones jarring and rattling on impact.