And tonight, my hands carry only death.
TWENTY FOUR
Wisely and Slow
DEREK
Wisely and slow, they stumble who run fast.
— William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
THE NIGHT OF a new moon was always a calm affair at my house. The energy of a full moon built our power like a raging fire, but the new moon soothed us, causing a more reflective journey.
My dad used these nights to meditate and hone his gift of Seeing.
On this particular night, I hadn't heard from Rose since I told her I loved her, but my mom and sister both suggested that this time I give her a bit of space before pursuing her more aggressively.
So when my dad invited me to join him in his meditations, I surprised myself by accepting.
We sat, knees crossed, in the rose garden, allowing the power of this sacred space to enhance our ability to channel. I'd always liked the unpretentious nature of the new moon. It didn't flaunt itself; it just went about its work in silence, invisible to everyone, not at all showy. But under such moons, new creations were strongest, new journeys encouraged.
It was a night of new beginnings, and I hoped that this meditation could help provide me the answer I needed to bring Rose into my life permanently.
We'd been sitting in silence for an hour, me mostly trying not to scratch at random itches, when my dad's eyes popped open and he stood. "We have to gather the whole family. The witches are planning to attack tonight. They're coming for the rose bush."
Blood bumped faster in my veins, and my wolf side howled to come out and attack. "We can finally crush them and get them out of our lives for good."
"No, Son. That's not our way. We will defend and protect, we will offer healing to anyone who is injured—including the witches, but we will not engage in violence. Violence only creates more of the same. If we want a world of peace, love and true harmony, we have to practice that ourselves."
He walked out of the garden before I could point out that, throughout history, any true revolution that affected change for the better had begun in bloodshed. He may not want to fight, but for my brother, my family, and for our sacred duty to defend this power, I was ready to rip every single witch's throat out and drink their blood.
The magic of the roses, the magic of the moon and my ancestry, filled my veins, coursing through me as part of my flesh. It bent the core of my DNA, reshaping me into something new. Bones broke and mended, organs repositioned, skin turned to fur and my senses heightened.
The pain, extreme but fleeting, gave way to the crash of sensory overload as I adjusted to the sounds and smells of the night.
Bugs scurried under the boulder, their legs grating against the ground, filling my ears with their sound. Moss grew on trees, its odor distinct and musty.
Leaves rotted and decomposed under the fresh fall of snow, but my wolf nose didn't interpret this as unpleasant, just a natural extension of the earth's cycle.
I embraced the power, howling at the hidden moon, and stood guard over the roses while I planned my attack.
Each of us had distinctive markings, and I was the only all black wolf in the pack, so if I went against my father's orders, he'd know it was me.
I paused and reflected on my choices. Was I really willing to risk losing my family for a chance at revenge?
In that moment, I'd have given anything for revenge.
TWENTY FIVE
Another's Anguish
ROSE
One fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.
— William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
WE'D MADE IT to the Druid's property when we heard the wolf howls echoing through the forest. Standing on the edge of the vast estate, but far enough out that we couldn't be seen by anyone at the house, we formed a circle with Blake in the middle and pulled our black cloaks around us so that our faces were shielded from even each other.
He needed more magic from us than he'd ever taken before, and that required blood magic.
Mother cut her arm and dripped blood into the circle as she chanted in another language. I didn't know this spell, but when she handed me the knife, I did the same and passed it on to Ocean, who stood at my side.
My arm stung as the blade bit my flesh, aching deeply as blood dripped onto the cold ground.
Once the knife returned to Mother, she completed the spell, and light from each of us moved through the circle toward Blake, filling him until he glowed as if he'd swallowed a rainbow.
We reformed the circle after he left, and I could see what he saw, as if through his eyes.
A sense of vertigo threatened to undo me, but I held on to Ocean's hand, and Mother gripped my other hand with iron force.
The numbness from Sandy's death hadn't entirely left me, but Derek's confession of love had broken the dam that I'd raised around my emotions, and for several days after that I'd cried my heart out.