Howl (Witches & Warlocks Book 4) (11 page)

“I can just see her out here,” I say in response to Noah. “Sitting under one of the trees. Crouching near the pond.” I stop near the stone benches and though I desperately want to touch Noah, to do anything in my power to make him feel better, I wait until he speaks again. I don’t want to crowd him if he’s too overwhelmed.

He smiles. It’s weak and it’s sad and it breaks my heart. “She’d sit right here on this bench and watch the koi in the pond. She’d play with the light reflecting off the water, cast a spell and lift it into the air so it would dance for her.”

Tears spring into my eyes. Months ago, after I lost control of my dark magic and hurt that guy in the coffee shop, made his nose bleed because I was mad at him for pushing me down, Noah took me to the stream and helped calm me by making the glinting light over the stream near Windsor dance for me.

I don’t know what to say to him. Don’t know how to take away his pain and his grief. It’s his to experience. It’s his to work through. All I can do is be here near him while he does it.

“Was this courtyard as beautiful as I think it was?” I finally ask.

“It was.” Noah swallows. “This was the place she deserved.” His voice cracks and he drops his elbows to his knees and looks at the ground. Swallows again. “Not … not in there.” He gestures towards the ranch. “She was such a good person. So caring. So kind. She only ever deserved to be in a place as beautiful as she was.” Noah falls silent and a tear makes its wandering way down my cheek. Nothing I think of to say makes any sense. And so, as usual, I choose silence.

“Do you want to see it?” he asks after a bit.

“See what?” I wish I wasn’t confused, but I am.

“The courtyard. The way it used to be.”

“Yes. I really would.”

Noah stands and closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath and his magic crackles to life, running across the surface of his skin like fog rolling over a field. His tiger appears beside him, calm and stately, a vigilant protector. It sits at his feet. All the while, Noah’s lips are moving in a silent incantation. He opens his eyes and they glow in the fading winter light, a brilliant, unseeing blue. His incantation speeds up, still silent, and he closes his eyes again.

Wind rustles in my hair, lifting it from my shoulders and blowing it back from my face. And then everything that’s broken is whole again. The benches are standing, white rock against green grass, ornate carvings running down their sides. The pond is clean and clear. Koi meander beneath the surface, little sparkling flecks of white and gold. Leaves bloom on the trees and the lightning strike mends itself. Birds sing in the branches. Butterflies flit around flowers lining the stone wall.

I can so imagine Celine in this place. The one happy place in the whole facility. The only place she truly belonged. Did she climb up into those trees? Try to hide from the other kids? The ones who turned to the darkness so easily? Or did she sit out in the open? Brave and strong? In this instant, I’m sorry that I wasn’t here. That Daya hid me. Kept me separate and safe. I’d have been here with her, her protector. The tiger at her feet.

The image of the courtyard falters and breaks apart. Bits and pieces of the image flaking away, letting the cold reality seep back through. Noah’s breath catches in his throat and he turns away from me, his magic disappearing, tears filling his eyes.

I know he needs to experience this grief. That he needs to be here and work it out. Let the tears flow. Feel the sadness and loss so that he can move on. But I wish I could take it all away from him. Wish I could feel it for him so he doesn’t have to. Wish I could give him everything he needs to be OK.

Thing is, I think what he needs is to grieve. And so, I can’t take away this pain because it’s part of the process. That doesn’t mean I can’t be here for him, hold him in my arms and let him know he’s not alone. And I do just that. Wrap my arms around him, fold my body into his. He stiffens for a moment, uncomfortable, but then he softens into the embrace, puts his forehead to my shoulder and falls still. We stay like that for a long time.

Finally, he lifts his head and runs a finger down my cheek. “Thank you.”

“I got you,” I say, repeating his favorite phrase and am rewarded with a smile.

“So, this might sound weird,” he says with an apology dancing across his face. “But do you mind if I have a moment to myself? To say goodbye?” He rushes on to try to explain, to try to take away any hurt feelings. I love him all the more for worrying about me in his time of need.

“It’s OK,” I say, interrupting him. “I understand. Totally.” I press my forehead to his and send him a little surge of magic to help him see how completely OK I am. How thoroughly I understand. Hell, if anyone ever understood the need for alone time, it’s certainly me.

“You keep your eyes on your mirror, your cellphone in your lap, and your magic ready and waiting until you get safely inside your house, you hear me?” Noah asks, suddenly serious and very clearly beginning to doubt his need to stay here.

“I’ll be smart.”

“I know. You always are. I won’t be long. I’ll be at your house before you know it.” He smiles, trying ever so hard to cover up the sadness. “The way you drive, I might even beat you!”

I kiss him again and start heading towards the door. “Be safe, he says,” I mutter, loud enough for him to hear. “You drive too slow, he says.” I turn around and keep walking backwards, throw my hands up in the air and hit Noah with a very overplayed look of exasperation. “Make up your mind, will ya?”

He laughs and I make my way to the cars. Climb in mine and lock the doors. Check my surroundings and put the car in gear. Hit the road, keeping my eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. Shudder when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Despite all my bravado, I hope Noah makes good on his promise to beat me home.

Chapter Thirteen

I’d like to say that I handled the ride home like a champ. That I pulled into my driveway and walked into my house with a level of decorum that only royalty could muster. But that’s not what happens. The feeling of being watched intensifies as I drive. I get itchy. Sweaty. Nervous. My cellphone is sitting in my lap and my magic is at the ready and I’m afraid I’m paying more attention to my rearview mirror than I am to the road ahead of me.

Thing is, each time I look back, there’s nothing behind me. Not one tiny little speck of a thing. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be this nervous. None.

So, why do I feel like throwing up? Like I want to ask my tiger to sit in the passenger seat and keep me company just in case? ‘Cause
that
wouldn’t draw attention. A tiger in the front seat.

This is just another example of me overthinking something. Getting myself all worked up over absolutely nothing at all. I mean, I’m a witch for God’s sake! So what if there’s someone behind me? Just goes to show that a lifetime of experience can’t be overridden by a sudden change. Just because I’m a badass witch now doesn’t suddenly make me feel brave in the face of adversity. It should. But it doesn’t. I should totally work on that.

Desperate to get my mind off my stalker problem and my eyes off the mirror, I let myself feel the disappointment I’d been holding back when I found the empty file cabinet. I knew it was a long shot, going to the ranch. I knew that if people were desperate enough to rip pages out of the witch lineage books that they wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave a bunch of files hanging around an abandoned building for anyone to find.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t hope for something different. Doesn’t mean I didn’t hope to find a big pile of information that explained my real parents. What happened to them? Where they came from and therefore where I came from. Then, I could understand why Becca’s parents knew I was adopted when I never did. And, more than anything, I might finally be able to understand myself.

I mean, I understand the basics of who I am and why things have gotten so crazy. I’m Zoe Tate. Born of Tara Archer and Malichi Dalton. Raised by Helen and Joseph Tate. I’m a witch. One of the more powerful ones of this generation. Maybe of several generations. Hell, maybe the most powerful witch born in a really, really long time. Capable of using both light and dark magic in equal measure. Capable of changing life to death and death to life. I’m a game changer. A serious crimp in the cool factor for the vampires, able to neutralize all their power with one life-bringing spell.

I was created as a weapon. Raised in the best possible environment to forge my weapon-ness. My powers and personality were cultivated. Hell, if I think about it, my shyness and lack of confidence were probably more on purpose than I originally gave everyone credit for. I mean, I’ve just assumed they were spells put on me by Becca in order to help keep me hidden, but now that I think about it, that delightful side of my personality might have been part of Daya and Barnabe’s plan all along. I mean, what better way to deal with a weapon that might end up more powerful than you are than to make her eager to please and unsure of herself?

I laugh and the sound is out of place in the quiet car. I turn on the radio to keep myself company. Check the mirror again. It’s snowing for real now, visibility is low, but I see a car behind me now. How long has it been there? I squint at the reflection. Is it a car or is it a truck? Is it Ty?

Dang it, Zoe. Get a grip. If it’s Ty, it’s no big deal. I mean, it’s a really scary deal, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve got the genealogy to burn that sucker to a crisp if he tries to lay one hand on me.

I take a deep breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth. Redirect my thoughts back to my parents and try not to berate myself too much when I can’t keep my eyes out of the mirror. It definitely looks like a truck now and I’m definitely not going to let my guard down. But I’m also not going to let myself spin up into a catatonic ball of nerves.

After one more look through the rearview, (truck is still there, closer now) I bring my thoughts back to my parents. Why do I care so much? Why isn’t it enough just to know these things about myself and build a life around what I already know? What more could I possibly want? And, honestly, what good can come of it? I had a lovely childhood with loving parents. What if learning about my birth parents sullies that somehow?

And then there’s the question I hate to ask.

What if the Tates knew the truth about me?

Oh, God. What if they knew what I am the whole time? What if they’ve been in on all of this and that happy childhood of mine was yet another lie?

I’m definitely not a fan of that thought. Of learning that one more set of people I trust didn’t deserve my trust. My stomach’s already churning over the truck in the rearview and the goosebumps I’m trying to ignore. Now, with that thought bouncing around down there, I might end up actually having to pull over and get sick. And given the whole possible stalker who wishes me harm who might be behind me deal, pulling over is just not an option. But neither is throwing up on my new leather seats.

I take a breath. Work on a spell to calm my nerves. Something soothing, like herbal tea on a cold day. The spell needs to be subtle, built from light magic. Nothing that will tire me out or take the edge off so far that I let down my guard too much.

With the magic flowing through me, the nausea is dissipating. I’m tempted to cast a protection spell over the car, but if that is Ty back there, I don’t want to give away the fact that I know he’s following me. I
want
him to make a mistake so I can catch him in the act and have a reason to hurt him. ‘Cause if I hurt him, there’s gonna be a summit. And if I’m up on that stage with nothing other than “I thought he was following me” there’s gonna be hell to pay. And I’m tired of paying hell.

I’m back in familiar territory now. Close to home. Which is good because the snow’s really starting to stick on the road. Things are getting slick and it’s gonna be hard to drive in another couple minutes. I hope Noah’s not too far behind.

Great. Like I needed another reason to worry.

Finally, I see my driveway up ahead and as I slow down and turn on my turn signal, I check the mirror one last time. There’s the truck, looming large behind me. Not slowing down. Maybe speeding up.

OK, definitely speeding up.

I turn the wheel and hit the gas. The tires spin in the slush and the rear end of the car fishtails out behind me. I turn, no need to look through the rearview in order to see the truck now because it’s beside me now. Coming straight for me. And it’s definitely Ty in the driver’s seat. Grinning as the huge front end of his vehicle bears down on me.

I mutter a spell, so much a reflex that I don’t even know which one. My tires catch and I lurch forward into my driveway as Ty barrels past me without hitting the brakes. There’s the roar of his engine and a rush of wind, and he’s gone. Me? I’ve stomped the brakes and stopped my car and my heart is racing and I can’t catch my breath. My cellphone is on the floor and I bend down to pick it up.

So now what? I should get the hell out of my car and into my house where I’ll be safe, but I’m not so sure my legs are ready to carry me yet. I check the mirrors again, try to peer through the cloud of white smoke pouring out of my tailpipe. Is Ty coming back? How close is Noah? How safe is my house? How safe am I, sitting in my locked car in my driveway?

With effort, I calm down. I think the worst place for me is my driveway. If Ty turns around, he’s got access to me here, but there’s no way he can get to me if I’m in my house. Not with my wards up. And then there’s the whole Becca situation. She can get through my wards because she’s a witch, but there’s a chance she might not be able to get into my house because she’s also a vampire. So, that’s settled then. Time to make a run for my front door.

So, why am I still sitting in my car?

I lose a long breath that fogs up my front window. Gather my house keys into my hand. Slip my phone into my purse and my purse onto my shoulder. Take one last look around before I get out of my car. And then I sprint for the door. It’s not pretty. It’s me running for my life. Scared out of my mind, totally not caring that I’m strong enough to take care of myself.