Hunter's Moon (The Witch Who Sang with Wolves Book 1) Page 5

  “What was that for?”

  Jasper barely stifled a growl. He was only trying to communicate. More and more it was grating on him that he couldn’t speak. It hadn’t mattered before. The wolf didn’t have a need to explain the intricacies of wolf speak.

  Jasper sat between her legs and arched his back so that he could rest his forehead on hers. At first Mari stiffened but she quickly understood this was his apology for biting her. Skilled fingers snaked their way up his spine, stopping to massage the nape of his neck.

  “Do you want to know a secret?” She whispered next to his ear. “I’m a witch. That’s why I have that tattoo. It’s not a coven symbol. I don’t have a coven, they don’t want me. My inherited gift is tied to the moon, not that know what it is or how to wield it. I’m not powerful enough. I’m what most people would call a green witch. I have basic elemental magic. Useless, unless you want healthy tomato plants. That’s why Gran’s coven won’t accept me.”

  Not that powerful? How could she be so unaware of her own strength? The scent of magic on her was so potent it was intoxicating. Jasper felt the weight of it that first night when she summoned the poppies. Electricity hummed in the air like the gathering of energy before a lightning storm.

  “You probably knew that already, didn’t you? If you’re a familiar or something of the like then I bet you can sense what I am. I can sense something about you but hell if I know what it is. That’s the trouble with being untrained. My instincts and intuition go haywire but I can’t interpret why.”

  Mari stopped to chew her bottom lip. Jasper draped himself over her lap, patiently waiting for her to continuing.

  “My father believes that magic does more harm than good. That’s why he never allowed the practice of it in his household. You see, my mother died during childbirth and Dad is adamant that magic was cause, though he won’t explain any of the details to me. Dad doesn’t do uncomfortable conversations.

  “It took years for him to agree to let Gran teach me our family history and even then, she left out a lot. My grandmother is a practicing witch but she doesn’t agree that I should be. She says I’m only setting myself up for disappointment since I can’t complete my rites. Any real power that I could have is locked away. Only the moon, the sacred words, and a coven of strong sisters could help me claim it.”

  A sad expression pulled her features down. “But even if Gran’s coven was strong, they don’t think I’m worth the effort. I was trying to get over it and live my boring, mundane life. That’s why I went on a date with that jackass you met a few weeks ago.” Her lips twisted into a pained smile. “Obviously that didn’t help. It really stings to be rejected from the coven my family has been a part of for three generations.

  “Gran told me I could join. That’s the worst of it. She said to finish college and then I’d be free of Dad’s rule. Then she saw what I was—or what I wasn’t, really—and changed her mind. They all did.” She rubbed angrily under her eyes to catch stray tears. “People always change their minds about me. They get sick of me and I don’t know why. I hope you don’t get sick of me.”

  Never. He assured with a nuzzle to her chin.

  Now he understood why she didn’t recognize what he was. Mari had an innate ability to detect the magic in his bones. She felt it on some primal level. Yet, without knowing the cause, that sensation might mean little to her. He had no idea what other forms of magic witches detected that werewolves could not.

  Jasper straightened so that he could meet Mari’s gaze as she divulged her not-so-secret heritage. The little witch had good instincts, she simply ignored them.

  “There was this witch on my mother’s side—a long time ago, like 1800’s, I think—who had a familiar. She was the only one that ever did, as far as Gran knows. Ina was her name. She was super powerful and became a luminary of a strong coven so it made sense for her to have one.” She nibbled her lip again. “The thing is, her familiar was a wolf.”

  Mari cleared her throat. “You are special, aren’t you? I know you can’t be my familiar. I don’t deserve one. There’s just no way that—I mean we’d know, wouldn’t we? I should sense it and I don’t. I guess I don’t. What would it even feel like?”

  Jasper prodded her thigh with a paw, urging her to stop doubting and continue with the path her thoughts were following. He wasn’t entirely sure what a familiar was but based on the wonder in her voice, it was closer to what he was than a simple animal.

  Mari squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. “Or maybe I’m just imaging all of this.”

  Jasper grumbled at her vacillation. Her eyes snapped open, startled at the guttural noise. He pinned her with his gaze, willing her to see him, to understand him, to trust her instincts. How did she survive in the world with such doubt of her own intuition? Mari squirmed nervously but she didn’t take her eyes from his. With every moment they stared at each other, her mouth opened more and her heartrate increased.

  “I’m going to find out what you are.” She said resolutely. “And then I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Mari rose and began strolling through the trees, apparently done with the conversation. Jasper followed, tempted to nip at her heels and make her give him a good chase. That would ease the tension building in his muscles much better than walking. Instead he opted for nosing the exposed skin, not wanting to upset her again. Eventually she took off at a slow trot—it was hard for her to move quickly when she couldn’t see in the dark—and let him bound after her.

  Miraculously, Jasper forgot his frustration and was bubbling over with joy when he and the witch settled in the grass later. At least being a wolf meant it was easy to let go of his woes. Mari didn’t release the knotted pain inside of her nearly as easily but she was smiling for the time being. The smile faded as quick as it came once she relaxed into an exhausted doze.

  Twice she opened her eyes and blinked in slight confusion and twice he nestled his head in the crook of her neck, reassuring her and sending her back to sleep.

  Rest, little witch. I will keep watch. He promised as he curled around her.

  Chapter 5

  Mari

  What was Mari going to do about Jasper? All things considered, he wasn’t in horrible shape but he was trapped at Klein Park. She had no clue how he got there or where he came from. It wasn’t like he could walk the streets unnoticed. In the light of day he would never pass as a stray dog.

  Right, but what the hell was he then? Mari chewed on the thought for over two weeks now and had no clear conclusion. For all that he was intelligent, he was untamed. And vicious, when he wanted to be.

  A part of her was still convinced he was a familiar but then the question was, whose familiar? If Mari didn’t deserve a place in the coven then she definitely didn’t deserve a familiar. She was barely a witch. And what was a familiar anyway? Mari believed in a lot of things but demons didn’t make the list.

  There were other ideas that she played with after researching myths and legends but none of them really made sense. He clearly wasn’t a hellhound or a Chinese spirit. The only other common enough myth was werewolf, which she quickly dismissed because obviously Jasper couldn’t change into a person or he would have done it by now.

  She should call Gran. She should have called Gran weeks ago. She should have called Gran and told her everything that happened—the wolf attack, the poppies, the entire situation with Jacob. Dad probably filled her in but it would have been better coming from Mari.

  She was still too angry with the old witch. So unbelievably angry and so heartbroken.

  But, she needed answers and she was never going to forgive her grandmother if she never saw her again. Who else could she ask about Jasper?

  Technically, Gran wasn’t supposed to talk to Mari about such things. Not because they were secrets but because it was part of the agreement she made with Dad when Mari was only an infant. If Gran broke that rule Dad would make sure that she didn’t get to see her granddaughter. Harsh and unexplained behavior on hi
s part.

  Yet there were some things Dad simply couldn’t keep from her. Mari, like her mother, her grandmother, and many women who came before her, was a witch.

  From what little she did know, witch was a relatively broad term used to describe women of magical descent. There were hundreds of variations on witchcraft, each family bloodline holding a unique gift. Many of them were similar, elemental at the core, but depending on the skills and spells passed down in families, some were much more useful and powerful than others.

  Different powers were practiced with different methods. Mari’s magic manifested in song, though she had heard Gran use incantations a time or two. Some witches had strict rituals that included sacred circles, lengthy spells, herbal concoctions, and specific worship days. Whether or not those were necessary or simply symbolic, she had no idea. They were all drawing on Earth Mother or Mother Moon, depending on their brand of magic.

  Certain witches were quite particular about their powers—uppity, if you asked Mari—and founded covens that were exclusive to women of their talents. Gran once told her of a coven on the West Coast made up entirely of witches that had the power to heal. As true witches—women who gained enough magic to practice by completing their rites and taking the power of the goddesses into them—became scarcer, covens like Gran’s formed. They accepted witches of all bloodlines so long as they practiced white magic.

  Unless that white magic was too weak, apparently. Nope, Mari wasn’t bitter at all.

  In theory, Mari’s family had old and powerful gifts on both sides. Or at least they had in days past, before magic folk broke their sacred rules of purity and began taking mundane men as husbands.

  Mostly, her heritage gave her a green thumb. She could sing plants back to life and encourage them to grow faster than they normally would. Among trees, with her bare feet in the soil, she could feel the energy of the earth beneath her. Supposedly she could harness that energy but all she’d ever really been able to do with it was make her vegetable garden lush.

  Sometimes she had dreams that Gran insisted were magical too. They weren’t prophetic dreams per se but they were meaningful. There were faces of people she didn’t know with problems she couldn’t resolve. She dreamt of plants that sang to her in her own voice or the voices of women she recognized but couldn’t place. On rare occasions there were shadowy beasts rending the flesh of animals, ripping out the hearts enemies, and howling in the dead of night. Mari wasn’t fond of those dreams but she always woke from them with a strange and familiar ache of longing.

  During her teens, she embraced witchcraft despite her father’s wishes. It was as much a rebellion against him as it was an attempt to feel closer to her mother. She wore black dresses, started a crystal collection, bought spell books, and even danced under the moonlight a time or two at Klein Park. Mari’s best friend Aubrey watched Practical Magic and The Craft with her every weekend until they knew almost every line by heart.

  Her exploration into the occult didn’t end with witchcraft. When Mari was a teenager vampires and werewolves were all the rage. Aubrey was hooked on the Twilight series and made her watch every episode of Teen Wolf. By the time she was eighteen, Mari’s head was filled with endless stories about witches, warlocks, werewolves, and vampires. How surprising that humans had such a bizarre obsession with magic even though most of them didn’t truly believe in it.

  Then again, Mari did believe in it and that didn’t make her special or improve her life.

  Everything was supposed to change after she graduated from college. Mari could finally bypass her father and join the coven. Gran encouraged her to focus on school, telling her that when the time was right, the coven would accept her with open arms. The few women left in Gran’s once powerful coven were in their sixties or older. Mari was the only witch of her generation within coven member’s extended family. She should have been new blood, reinvigorating the sisterhood.

  It wasn’t like she expected them to perform her rites—most, if not all covens were no longer powerful enough for that kind of magic. Becoming one of the Sisters of the Silver Lake wasn’t even about the magic to Mari as much as it was about touching a part of the world that her mother touched. Their shared experiences were so few.

  Then Gran inexplicably changed her mind. Not just Gran, the whole coven. They didn’t want her. She was useless to them. Powerless and not worth training. Not worth even considering. Except for a handful of times as a little girl, she hadn’t even been allowed to meet them.

  That future in the coven was what kept Mari going most days and it was ripped away from her by one of the only people she trusted. The pain of that rejection, the pain of losing the only place she thought she would ever truly belong, would weigh on her for the rest of her life.

  Mari had to face that again, to face Gran, if she wanted to know about Jasper. Maybe if she knew what he was she could figure out how to help him. He obviously couldn’t stay where he was much longer but every time she considered bringing him home, she talked herself out if. How stupid would it be to squeeze a wolf into her two bedroom house? Yeah, that would be way better than the park. Not.

  “Fine.” Mari dropped her spray bottle on the shelf of plants she’d been watering and fished her cell phone out of her pocket.

  The moment the phone started ringing, she changed her mind and lost her resolve. There was a click and a long sigh, indicating she was too late to hang up. “Mariella,”

  “Gran,”

  “I’m glad you called.”

  Mari pinched her lips together. “Yeah.”

  “I knew you would.” Gran said confidently.

  “Did you?” Asked Mari after an uncomfortable silence.

  Gran let out another tired sigh. “When are you going to come see me?”

  “Soon.”

  “I’m making roast for dinner. It’ll be ready in thirty minutes.” She considered for a moment. “Bring some salad from your garden. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

  Exactly thirty minutes later Mari was walking up four flights of stairs to reach her grandmother’s apartment. This was the real reason she hadn’t called Gran earlier. Talking to her on the phone was hard enough. Seeing her in person was terrifying. And Gran would make sure that Mari came to see her.

  There weren’t many people left in Gran’s life that cared about her. If Mari dropped off the radar because she was upset, the poor old witch was mostly on her own. Dad checked up on her every few weeks and Mari hoped that Samuel called on those rare occasions when he remembered he had a grandmother. Otherwise, it fell on Mari to keep an eye on her.

  “I’ve missed you, chérie.” Cooed the old woman from her place by the stove when Mari opened the front door. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah, me too, Gran.” Mari surprised herself by meaning it.

  She squeezed into the small kitchen and wrapped Gran in her arms. The old witch felt smaller and frailer than Mari remembered but her warm embrace and the spicy herb and chocolate scent of her was as comforting as always.

  “Let me see you.” Gran ordered, stepping back from the stove and studying Mari with her scrutinizing gaze.

  Mari dropped her eyes. For all the softness in Gran’s hug, there was hardness in her expression. She pressed her lips together and waited. She didn’t know exactly what she was waiting for; the inevitable apology, perhaps, or one of the many questions she didn’t want to answer. They never came. Gran only gave a subtle nod and stood on her tip toes to kiss Mari’s forehead.

  “Good, very good.” The old woman sniffed. “But you smell like an animal.”

  “I forgot to do laundry.” Mari busied her hands by opening the plastic packing around a loaf of bread and finding a baking sheet to heat it in the oven. “How have you been, Gran?”

  “I’ve been dreadful, chérie, just dreadful. We are less than a week away from the summer solstice and I haven’t found half the herbs I need for the ritual. Did you know the solstice falls on a full moon this year? Oui, it’s go
ing to be a big one and I have to drive my poor old bones all the way to the twin cities to find mistletoe and mugwort. Next year you’ll grow some for me in your garden. I can’t grow anything in this stuffy place. The windows are too small!”

  Ah, of course Gran was dreadful. The old woman loved nothing more than a good complaint. It was all a show and Mari usually enjoyed it. The more Gran was griping, the more effort she was making to take her granddaughter’s mind off whatever ailed her. It was certainly a unique form of comfort but Mari appreciated it. She’d take grouching over sympathy any day.

  “I’ll grow whatever herbs you need, Gran.” She promised, reaching over the tiny woman to retrieve a salad bowl from the top of the cabinet.

  “You’re a good girl.”

  She tossed homegrown greens in the bowl with a huff. “Funny, you’re the only one who has ever called me that.”

  “Your father is an idiot. What does he know?” Gran waved a bony hand dismissively. “And what of you? Are you well?”

  Before Mari had a chance to answer, Gran began spluttering a slew of curses in French. It wasn’t unusual for her to switch between languages, preferring French for the more emotional expressions. Gran’s father was a French immigrant and she’d spent many years of her life in Quebec. Of course, her father had also spoken perfect English and never required Gran to use French in or out of the household. The old woman clung to the language because, in her words, it was “beautiful and made people wrinkle their noses at her.”

  Mari wasn’t entirely convinced about the nose wrinkling part but Gran was adamant that people looked at her sideways because her dusky skin and native features contrasted with the silky words. According to her, people were always shocked that she spoke both French and English so fluently. That was as close as Gran came to caring about her race and heritage outside of witchcraft. Apparently witches cared much more about the powers that ran in the bloodlines than skin pigmentation.