Marked By Magic by Christa Wick

Chapter Eighteen

Feeling Tanner'steam on the move again, Esme relaxed a little, the easement a single layer of anxiety peeled away from the many layers that constricted her flesh. She longed for just an hour when all the moving pieces came to a stop, with everyone safe so she could sleep or concentrate.

But that would never happen. Even when the wolves and latents weren't pulling at her, the creature did. Abby, as she was called in Quentin's diaries, was always there, scratching at Esme, poking around her brain, eager for memories and sensations.

Feeling Denver's approach in the hall, she slapped a little color into her cheeks and slipped on a hopeful mask even though she knew it could not fool him.

He knocked before opening the door a crack. She waved him in, her throat too tight to speak as emotions swarmed through her.

Their days together were numbered. A handful or less remained. The plan for infusions was a Band-Aid. And, with the days Esme had left, she had to use them doing everything she could to protect the clan after she was gone.

She would rather spend them in Denver's arms, giving him memories that would outshine the pain to follow and all the pain that had come before.

"Tanner's team is on their way back," he said, despite almost certainly knowing the information was in her head before it ever reached him. "Not a total success. We'll still be eating MREs and whatever we can forage for a bit, but they did get the medical supplies, plus some antibiotics."

She nodded, knowing he had omitted the reference to baby formula. As for the antibiotics, shifters seldom needed them to heal or ward off internal infections, but it was a stopgap for teams taking heavy damage when they were far from a healer. It was of use to the latents, though. As were the painkillers.

"Seth hasn't reported in yet," Denver continued, his brow furrowing.

"They're okay," she assured him. "Nearly here. He's irritated but not worried. And Lana is calm. Radio problems, I suspect."

"We're running through equipment faster than we can replace it," he agreed, his brow creased.

Esme looked away, not wanting to see the retreat in his gaze. She understood recent developments were a lot to process. She also understood the pressure he was under as clan leader.

"I still don't know exactly why Seth and Lana are coming," he continued.

There was a faint trace of a huff in his tone. He was the New York clan's leader. As the appointed guardian of the Witches' Council, that made him the most important clan leader in the country—the most important in the world if any of the clans outside the country had survived the last decade.

His wolves weren't supposed to be cryptic in their discussions with him, weren't supposed to approve their own missions, even a wolf as strong as Seth who also was married to the most talented latent discovered so far.

Denver's gaze remained on Esme.

"Do you know why?" he asked after a few more seconds of silence passed between them.

She rubbed at her cheeks, closed her eyes. Her lips moved as she tried out a few explanations without giving them voice.

"I feel Silantra is with them," she said, her shoulders shrugging at the impossible.

"Her corpse?"

Not waiting for Esme to answer, Denver started pacing. When he made his second circuit around the room and she still hadn't answered, he stopped and stared at her until she looked at him.

"Silantra is dead, right? That's what they told us. That's what you saw."

Esme nodded. "I don't know what I'm feeling, just that it's attached to her and feels alive. Feels bigger than just alive. It's a different voice from hers and I've never felt anything like it."

His gaze slid toward Abby.

"That is also a completely different feeling," she said before he could ask. Tears began to fill her gaze, her exhaustion overwhelming. "One I don't want to talk about right now."

Feet hurried along the corridor in a jog. Denver turned to face the door, his body blocking Esme's line of sight. His hand closed firmly around the grip of his ever-present 9mm until he recognized the energy of the wolf rushing toward Esme's chamber, something about the walls below ground interfering with the wolves' senses.

"Mathis," he growled, then barked out an order for the shifter to come into the room.

The door slowly opened inward. Mathis flicked a glance at Abby, his skin paling. Esme knew that Mathis, like so many of the wolves protecting the compound, questioned why the creature was allowed to remain in existence. For most of them, the argument always came down to the cub. They could tolerate Abby as long as she had a cub in her. Few at the compound realized just how intertwined Esme was with the creature.

"What is it?" Denver rumbled.

Mathis dipped his head. "Radio contact with Tanner's team. Michelle sensed a roadblock. They diverted. Turns out it was a three-car pileup. Fire department had to bring out the jaws of life. Anyway, they're another twenty out but everything looks clear for them."

"Fine," Denver answered. "Anything else?"

"Gate radioed that Seth's van just passed checkpoint."

"Bring them here," Esme said.

Denver looked over his shoulder at her. She nodded, agreeing for him to leave and greet the Gladwins before they entered the old mansion. He mirrored the nod, then left.

Before the door finished closing behind him, Esme drifted to sleep and into a dream.

* * *

Fresh blood soileda pale cream handkerchief. Esme folded it, dabbed it once more against the All-Mother's lips and the corners where they met. Riya's gaze remained shuttered, her breathing like a steel nail file being dragged back and forth across the most unforgiving stone.

Another cough sputtered, the blood dotting Esme's hand and the cuff of her long sleeve. As if she sensed the trespass, Riya opened her eyes and fixed her starry gaze on Esme. The young witch stared at the lights still dancing in her pupils. Day by day, those stars grew dimmer.

When Esme had first been given the honor of tending to the dying wolf queen, staring into Riya's eyes had been like viewing the night sky from the desert floor, no city for hundreds of miles, with the Magellanic Clouds spread out like cotton candy, their light and colors so vividly bright it felt like they were close enough to touch.

Now, the stars were cold and distant, only a few remaining. Sometimes Esme thought she saw more, but it was a trick of the lights.

"Would a…gift…make you happy sweet girl?" Riya asked, each word as ragged as her breathing.

Esme noticed the pause in the question, noticed the way Riya's brows knitted together for an instant in a way that was different from when pain pinched them.

"The only gift that would make me happy, All-Mother, is for you to be well."

It was the right answer, especially for a young witch serving the most revered of all shapeshifters. But Esme meant it. Every time she looked at Riya, she felt her heart swell and her lungs squeeze. The only thing she could equate the sensation to was how she had once felt looking at Denver, before and on that last day of their friendship when he had made her the grass crown.

Her chest swelled, her heart ached for Riya. It was a love of sorts. Maybe what she had felt with her own mother before the naive hope of receiving Camille's affection had finally faded.

"There is a box beneath my bed," Riya said, her chest spasming as she suppressed another bloody cough. "Pull it out."

Esme gathered up her skirt and got on her knees. She patted about, peeked under the edge of the bed skirt that swept the floor. Feeling nothing, she got on her stomach, lifted the skirt and willed witch light to the tip of her index finger.

Blue luminesced in the black beneath the bed. Still, she saw nothing.

Was the All-Mother correct? Was there a box under the bed? Riya moved in and out of consciousness and sometimes in and out of context. Constant exhaustion plagued her, but her words gave no clue that her mind had lost its edge.

"Stop looking with your eyes and feeling with your hands, child," Riya whispered.

Right, Esme thought. She was a witch. She needed to use her magic for more than conjuring a little light. Concentrating, she shoved both arms beneath the bed skirt, splayed her fingers, and calmed her mind. A draft caressed her skin, the air cold at first, then warming on her right hand. Slowly, she swept that hand toward where the headboard met the wall.

Her fingers brushed wood. She patted at it, certain she had merely hit one of the bed frame's legs. It wasn't a leg, although it was taller than it was wide. Gripping it with one hand, she pulled.

It wouldn't budge.

She tugged again then patted the top to reassure herself it wasn't attached to the bed frame.

It wasn't.

Frustrated, Esme reached both hands beneath the bed and tugged harder.

"You'll never move it that way."

Esme paused her efforts, sat up, and stared at Riya. For one magical moment, the galaxy returned to the All-Mother's gaze. Esme blinked, hot tears splashing her cheeks as she prayed that Riya got better, her magic restored, and a place remaining at her side for the silly little witch who had struggled so hard to make her comfortable.

"Try again, child."

Esme dropped her gaze to where her hands remained listless in her lap. She stretched her fingers out, tried to feel the magic surrounding the box. It existed within a sphere she couldn't see, could only feel. She wiggled her fingers like she was gathering wool, turning the sphere into a string that kept growing thicker. Slowly, the box scraped across the floor.

When it finally reached her, it weighed no more than a feather.

"Here," Riya said, her hands appearing from beneath the blankets.

Esme gave the box to Riya then stepped back. The sides fell away like petals on a dying flower. Then they turned to a fine dust that lifted in the air with a soft, but fading, glow.

All that remained was a gold cylinder encrusted with jewels.

Not daring to presume the cylinder was the gift, Esme just stared at the wondrous object. If she squinted, she could see faint lines etched in it. The lines crisscrossed along its height and around its circumference.

Even the jewels seemed etched.

Riya began to turn the cylinder along one of the lines. A vision of a crystal cave filled Esme's mind. The slightest movement within the cave caused the crystals to vibrate. The vibrations led to more visions and began to sound like words.

The sensation of the cylinder speaking to her was so strong, Esme didn't realize at first that the All-Mother was whispering, weaving a spell.

"You must take this and keep it safe from everyone until you are older. Even then, once you've learned its lessons, you must be very careful in trusting another to know the secret," Riya said, her frail arms shaking as she extended the gift to Esme. "It will not reveal itself to you all at once. But I have another gift to help you interpret it."

Hugging the cylinder to her chest, Esme glanced around the room in search of what and where that other present might be.

"Not yet," Riya said. "Just know the cylinder is not the only pearl of wisdom I will place in your protection. First I must rest my magic—and so must you. You'll return with your mother at the next full moon."

Footsteps sounded in the hall, then a light knock landed against the door. Esme opened her eyes to find she was no longer with the All-Mother, but back in the damp hell that was Quentin's mansion. Reaching into the deep pocket of her skirt, her fingers caressed the cylinder.

There had been no second gift from Riya. The All-Mother had died that very night, leaving Esme with an artifact she had never fully unlocked.