Mind Over Magic by Lindsay Buroker

10

As Morgen trailedAmar deeper into the woods behind the barn, the fog thick among the trees and a creek burbling off to their left, she worried that coming out here alone with him hadn’t been wise. He had such a short temper, and that warning in Grandma’s letter not to irk him kept coming to mind.

Lucky didn’t seem concerned. He trotted through ferns alongside the well-worn trail, sniffing at whatever critters scurried about under the dew-damp fronds.

The woods themselves weren’t eerie, though the evergreens, with curtains of moss hanging from their branches, might have felt more welcoming in sunlight. It was her guide who set her on edge, and she didn’t get too close as they walked, letting him lead and simply watching his broad shoulders and the thatch of black hair that hung partway down his back. A few wood chips were tangled among the strands—even under the best of circumstances, he didn’t look like someone who used a hairbrush—but there was no way she would presume to pluck them out.

“Do you think Christian is working for or associated with the Loups?” she asked, finding the silence uncomfortable, even if it probably didn’t bother Amar.

“Werewolves do not work with humans. Christian knows what they are and nuzzles their jowls.”

“Is that a wolf expression? Like kissing up? Or kissing ass?”

He gave her a long look over his shoulder, as if the expressions were beneath him. Or maybe he wasn’t familiar with them? His English was as precise as anyone’s, but who knew how long he had lived here?

“It is wise to treat the packs with respect,” he said.

“Does that mean I should be nuzzling something of yours?”

His brows rose in surprise. “Witches and wolves do not nuzzle.”

“Right. You’d want to avoid interspecies cooties, I imagine.”

He shook his head slowly, as if she were a very remedial student toddling after him on a field trip, and looked forward again.

Well, at least she didn’t have to worry about him hitting on her. Not that she truly imagined there was much chance of that. She knew she wasn’t hideous, but she’d grown older and didn’t put much effort into fashion and makeup. Even before she’d gotten married, that had been true. She’d rebelled against the idea of going out of her way to dress to attract a man, feeling that anyone who might become her soulmate ought to be able to see through such superficiality.

But she hadn’t found a soulmate, had she? She’d found someone to be comfortable with, or so she’d thought. But she’d been wrong, and now, she had nobody.

Not for the first time, she wondered if it had been a mistake not to have children. Since she and Jun had been dedicated to their careers, and since she didn’t fit many definitions of maternal, they’d always put it off, saying maybe later, though she wasn’t sure either of them had truly dreamed about it. But sometimes she wondered if she’d made a mistake, if deep down, she might have enjoyed taking care of more than a dog.

But if they’d had kids, the divorce would have been more complicated. Maybe it was for the best that they hadn’t.

The trickle of water grew louder as the trail veered down a slope. The creek came into view, as well as a deep pool with mossy green rocks all around it. Old-growth trees grew close, many of their gnarled roots visible above ground. A weathered cement bench rested in the shadows, the legs almost as coated in moss as the rocks. Here and there, patches of mushrooms sprouted from soil dusted with fir and pine needles. The moss and mushrooms were so vibrant they almost seemed to glow.

There was a serenity to the place that made Morgen forget about her ex-husband and lose her concerns about Amar. After all, he’d cooked her dinner. He couldn’t be that bad of a guy.

“Gwen called this the Mystic Pool.” Amar stepped aside so she could walk closer. “It’s fed by a spring as well as the creek. She proclaimed it was magical and drank regularly from it.”

“Without a filter?” Morgen wrinkled her nose but, when Amar frowned at her, refrained from pointing out that it could be rich with arsenic and other toxic chemicals. Grandma had lived to ninety—and who knew how long she might have gone on if not for that accident—so there probably wasn’t anything terrible in it. If it truly was magical… too bad Mom and Aunt Alys hadn’t visited more often for sips.

Amar knelt by the edge, scooped water into his cupped palm, and drank from his hand.

“Well, you have that beard,” Morgen said. “That probably filters things.”

“Are you always so irreverent?”

“Yes. Are you always so surly?”

“Yes.”

“I bet there’s nobody nuzzling at his jowls,” she muttered to Lucky, though he was busy snuffling under a log.

Amar sniffed at the air and gazed off into the fog.

“Do other wolves come into these woods? Wolf Wood, you and Grandma both called it.” Morgen knelt to wash her hands in the water. She wasn’t ready to commit to drinking from the pool, but she rubbed some over her face. Even though it was midsummer, the morning was cool, and the water was icy.

“Many animals come here. There are signs that inform human hunters that it is private land and not to trespass. I help enforce the rules.”

“But it’s okay for you to hunt here? And leave deer carcasses on the driveway?” Morgen grimaced, reminded that the carcass might still be there. The deputy had said something about having it removed, but if he hadn’t, or if the service that handled that took days to come, she might have to do something about it.

“I had her permission. And nature is not a vacuum. Scavengers of all sorts feed on carcasses and they are soon gone, only a few bones and blood remaining to nourish the earth.”

“Nothing like blood nourishment.” She hoped Bellrock didn’t have any vampires lurking around. She could only deal with one fairytale coming to life at a time.

“A tradition long favored by gardeners in the area is to bury fish heads in the soil. As they decompose, the nutrients feed the crops.”

Morgen made a face as she remembered the carrots and radishes she’d eaten the night before.

“I’m not always able to stop all trespassers,” Amar admitted. “There is a woman who comes—I’ve caught her scent—but for some reason, she is difficult to track. I believe she’s a witch.”

“There are other witches in the area?” Morgen didn’t know why she was surprised. If there were packs of werewolves, why not packs of witches?

“There is a coven,” he said in a clipped tone, as if he didn’t want to speak further about them.

“And wolves don’t like witches?”

“No.” His tone was even more clipped.

Though she ached for information, she let it go.

As she knelt back from the water, Morgen noticed a patch of mushrooms with blue caps hunkering in the shade of the bench. They didn’t look like any she was familiar with from the stores, and they truly did seem to glow, especially there in the shade. They were so striking that she couldn’t resist reaching out to touch one. She would have to poke around in Grandma’s library to see if there were any books for identifying mushrooms.

A buzz of electricity zapped her finger, and she jerked back. “What the—”

“Many of the plants—and fungi—that grow around the spring are magical,” Amar said, as if there was nothing strange about being electrocuted by mushrooms.

“Does that mean I better not touch any trees or ferns as I’m getting up?” Morgen planted her hand carefully in dirt devoid of vegetation as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Likely. Or you could start wearing a witch amulet.”

“Which is what exactly?” Morgen thought of the star-shaped medallion she’d used to open the root-cellar doors.

“I am not certain I could identify one, as werewolves do not sense magic the way those with witch blood do, but I’ve been told they nullify the effect of positive magical charges meeting negative.”

“Magic is like a battery?”

“Those with magical blood emanate a different kind of energy field than magical things found in nature and items crafted by witches. Perhaps if you study further about that clip, you will understand more.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Morgen had time enough before dinner to do more research, but after spending hours down there, she was starting to question if the answers were in the root cellar. “Are the other witches from this coven in town?”

Maybe the real-estate agent wasn’t the only one who might have useful information.

“Some are. Gwen interacted with a couple of witches on occasion, but she tended to be solitary by nature. A lone wolf.” Amar lifted his chin, as if he approved.

Maybe they’d connected over that.

“If you see any when we go to town, will you point them out to me?” Morgen thought again of the woman who’d peered through the hotel window at her.

Was it possible that had been a witch? And she’d somehow sensed that Morgen was related to Gwen? That they’d shared blood?

If so, the menacing aura that person had given off didn’t bode well for future relations. Morgen didn’t know why witches would care one way or another about her, but she was beginning to get the feeling that everyone in town resented that Grandma had owned this land—and hadn’t been willing to sell it.