Dreamer’s Web

LaKirk stumbled to his feet and, fixated on Xi and Klaus, who were curled up in a recliner, began tottering toward them at breakneck speed. It had never crossed my mind how fast toddlers could move, but this kid could win the Indy 500. With some innate sense of impending doom, Klaus and Xi woke and bounced off the sofa to race away. LaKirk screwed up his face and let out a wail.

“Oh, dear,” Ari said, jumping up to scoop him up. She tried to soothe him, as well as scolding him to leave the kitties alone, but it wasn’t working.

“The nanny will be here in ten minutes,” she said to me, an apology in her voice.

“Not a problem.” Actually, it was a problem, but I didn’t want Ari to feel unwelcome. The shrieks of toddlers triggered my migraines, like most high-pitched noises that went on for too long. Emily looked like she was debating on whether to join LaKirk in his distress, or to return to the show. I decided to help her decision along and walked over to kneel beside her.

“So, you like Bluey?” I asked. I never talked baby talk to kids, because it felt awkward and weird. I did use it on the cats, but that was entirely different.

She glanced up at me, her blond curls bobbing. Both kids had that golden brown skin the often came from an interracial couple, but Emily had inherited her father’s blond hair and blue eyes, and LaKirk had his mother’s dark kinky hair and dark eyes. Their parents had emigrated from France a few years before the kids were born, and they had no relatives in the US, and in fact—none who were interested in them over in France, either.

Emily apparently decided that talking was better than screaming, so she nodded. “LaKirk likes Bluey better than I do, though.”

“What’s your favorite show?” I asked, as Ari carried LaKirk into the kitchen.

Scrunching up her face, Emily thought for a moment. “Beat Bobby Flay,” she said. “He cooks circles around his ’ponents.”

Beat Bobby Flay? The kid liked a cooking show over cartoons?

“Well, that’s a surprise,” I said. “I’d never have guessed that.” I wasn’t sure where to go next, so I finally asked, “Do you want to be a cook when you grow up?”

“I want to have a cooking show on TV,” she said. “I want to host Top Chef.”

“Well, you have big goals.” When I was her age, I barely knew what I wanted for breakfast.

“Mo… Meagan is teaching me how to cook,” she said, proudly puffing out her chest. But I had caught the slip. She had almost called Meagan “Mommy.”

The kids had lost their parents during a home invasion. The robbers had gotten away with a thousand bucks. Ari and Meagan were their designated guardians and they were in the process of adopting the children formally. I didn’t mention the slip. The less we focused on it, the more natural it would be for the children to transition over to new parents, in a new home.

“Oh yeah? What are you learning to cook?”

Emily brightened. “I can make toast and we make cookies together,” she said.

At that moment, the doorbell rang and I left Emily to watch the show while I answered the door. It was Donna, the nanny. Ari brought the kids to work with her several days a week, and she and Meagan used some of the funds the parents had left to care for the kids to hire a nanny. It was easier than Meagan trying to take them into her job as the dean of women’s sports at Bellingham Technical Community College.

“Come in.” I opened the door, letting Donna in. She was in her twenties, a bear shifter like Meagan, and she had graduated from a one-year intensive course at the college preparing nannies to take care of children. That was how she had come to work for Ari and Meagan—she had been in one of the phys-ed classes that Meagan oversaw.

“Morning, January. Are they—there’s my girl!” She knelt so Emily could run up to her and throw her arms around Donna’s neck. “How are you this morning?”

“Good. I had waffles for breakfast.”

“Well, that sounds good. Where’s Ari? Where’s LaKirk?”

“LaKirk was throwing a fit so they’re in the kitchen,” I volunteered.

Emily brushed her hair back. “Can you ponytail me?”

“I will in a moment. I’m going to go talk to Ari.” Donna headed for the kitchen.

Emily looked at me, an uncertain look on her face.

“Do you want me to put your hair in a ponytail? I wear my hair that way a lot,” I added.

She handed me over the hair tie and turned around. I smoothed her hair back and carefully wrapped it into a ponytail, cautious not to pull the strands.

“There. How’s that?”

“Thank you!” She hugged me, then went to pick up her hot pink backpack. Within moments, Ari and Donna returned, Donna holding a weepy LaKirk. Ari gathered up the diaper bag. LaKirk had been almost potty-trained, but since the death of their parents, he had regressed. So, Ari and Meagan still carried diapers with them. Ari gave me a hug.

“It was good to see you. Drop over for lunch, if you like. I don’t have any clients between noon and one.” She reached for Emily’s hand.

“I’d like to, but I’m headed in to work today. I’ve been able to resume about 80 percent of my normal schedule, thanks to the meds that Dr. Fairsight has me on. Unless I’ve got a migraine, I’ve been going in five days a week, from ten until five. Have a great day. I’ll peek in if you’re still there when I get home.”

Ari and Donna led the kids out the door, heading across the driveway to my old house. She had turned it into a salon and, with the help of the insurance money from Emily and LaKirk’s parents—which came through faster than we expected—she had kicked the construction into high gear. Last week, she had been able to open the doors and escort her first client—me—in for a color and cut. The upstairs was still the same, and Donna entertained the kids up there during the day until Ari was done and could take them home, come evening.

As I shut the door, I had to acknowledge that I missed being able to hang out without the kids, but at least Ari was still in my life. And the kids really were cute, for kids. I turned around to find Xi and Klaus back in their favorite chair. They shot me accusatory looks and I grimaced.

“I’m sorry. You have to give them some slack—” I stopped as my phone rang. It was Rowan, my grandmother.

“Hello?” I walked over to the window, staring out into the front yard. It was mid-January, and a few snowflakes had started to fall. We were heading into a deep freeze over the next week. A blast of arctic air was sweeping down from Canada through the Pacific Northwest and we were on the front line.

“First, I wanted to confirm that we’re voting on the full moon on the new members for the Crystal Cauldron, so we need everybody there.”

My grandmother was the High Priestess of the Crystal Cauldron, our coven that was the local branch of the Order of the Moon. The Order of the Moon was a paramilitary branch of Crown Magika, the ruling society over the witchblood in society. While we were bound to laws of the land, we were also bound to the laws of Queen Heliesa, the Queen of Witches, and the heart of witchblood itself.

“I’ve got it on my calendar. The twenty-fifth.” I paused. “So, what are you up to tomorrow night?” I was being as transparent as a window, but I couldn’t help it. I was never sure about surprises, and Killian knew it. But I also knew he liked to make me happy, and I hadn’t thought of anything for my birthday that I wanted to do.

Rowan laughed. “You’re fishing, my dear, and the pond is empty. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up before I could ask a different way.

I pocketed my phone with a chuckle. Rowan could read me like a book, and she wasn’t going to budge. “Fine,” I said to the silent phone, and headed into the bedroom to finish getting ready for work. I was wearing a pair of black gauchos. They might not be in style, but they suited my body and personal look. I paired them with a cobalt blue sweater and knee-high black leather boots.

After touching up my makeup, I swallowed my morning meds—an herbal concoction compounded for members of the witchblood against severe migraines—and shrugged into a leather jacket with a fleece liner. Slinging my purse over my shoulder, with keys in hand, I made sure the stove was off and locked the door behind me as I headed to work.

***

Conjure Ink was on the move again. We’d moved out of a mini-mall that had ended up with a major plumbing/flooding problem, into a house that my boss bought. Now, we were looking for a new space again. The house was fine, but since Caitlin and Tad had finally proclaimed their love, she was moving in. Obviously, they wanted a private home in which to begin their relationship and that meant either they looked for a new place together, or the business moved back into its own space. Given we already had jury-rigged offices and storage, it seemed easier to return to an actual office. It would also free Tad from living at work.

But, for the moment, we were still here. I parked, grabbed my drink—a triple-shot latte with sugar-free caramel, whipped cream, and a sprinkle of cinnamon—and hustled to the door.

Wren was at her desk. “Hey, good to see you.” She was smiling, which meant that Walter was having a good day. Her husband had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis not all that long ago, and the disease had progressed rapidly. He had good days and he had bad days. And the bad days were bad. Luckily, Wren had help with him, a home health care aide to watch Walter during the days when she was at work. It gave her a little break as well.

“You too. How’s Walter?”

“He’s hanging in there,” she said, accepting the doughnut I handed her from the pastries I’d bought at the coffee shop. After chatting some more, I headed into the living room that we used as a main office.

Tad, Caitlin, and Hank were at the round table where we held our meetings. As I dropped off my purse and jacket at my desk, Wren followed me, sitting at the table. I settled in and pulled out my tablet, taking another sip of the latte.

“It’s nice to have you back, January,” Tad said. “While we can manage without you, it doesn’t feel the same.”

I flashed him a smile. “Thanks. I’ve missed being here.” I had gone down to three days a week, and sometimes not even that. But the new drugs were working wonders, and the herbs and regular magical practice had driven the migraines back to a handful of days a month. “What have we got this week?”

“There were a string of UFO sightings near Bloedel Donovan Park on Lake Whatcom. It’s a twenty-minute drive from Moonshadow Bay, so we’re making arrangements for later this week to interview people who were there,” Hank said. He texted us the information. “I thought I might drive over and spend an evening staking out the area. It appears that the sightings have all taken place between one to three a.m., over the lake. There’s no guarantee I’d see anything, but I’m willing to try.”

“Isn’t it a little cold for a stakeout?” Caitlin asked.

“Yeah, but I have a warm truck and I can always sleep in the back in a sleeping bag.” Hank shrugged. He was a hearty man, with years of camping out and roughing it behind him. “I figure I might as well get out there tonight, while we’re still getting reports.”

“Take your phone and make certain you keep alert. We don’t want somebody beating the crap out of you for your vehicle.” Tad pulled up his calendar. “What about Saturday? It seems to be the day that’s best for most of our interview subjects.”

“Works for me,” I said. “Depending on whether I’m able.” I sighed. Everything depended on whether I was feeling okay. I felt so unreliable, it wasn’t funny.

ERS—energy reflux syndrome—affected those who were born with witchblood who hadn’t been allowed, or able, to use their magic regularly enough. I hadn’t even seen an Aseer until a couple years ago, when my mother should have had me tested as a child.

She hadn’t been ashamed of my blood, but afraid that the curse on our family would catch me sooner somehow if I used my magic more. We’d never know if she had been right, but now I had to cope with a chronic illness. At least the doctor had helped me manage it now.

“We’ll play it by ear,” Tad said. “Oh, are you going to be in tomorrow?”

Surprised, I frowned. I hadn’t expected that question. “As far as I know. Why?”

“Because it’s your birthday and I thought you might have plans.” Tad rapped his knuckles on the table.

“Not that I know of,” I said. “Am I supposed to?” I wondered if Killian had gotten to him. But I didn’t want to be a broken record and interrogate every person I knew. Come to think about it, on the off-chance I was wrong, I didn’t want to sound like an idiot, either.

Caitlin laughed. “Are we done with the meeting? I need to update the website.”

“Have we found a new office yet?” I asked.

“We’re close. In fact, we’re going to see it this afternoon. I want you guys to be comfortable there, and I want your input, January. The office building is old—historical, you might say, for Moonshadow Bay. It’s near our old office, but in a separate building. It’s not a bad price, either.”

“How much is the rent?” Hank asked.

“No rent. If I like it, I’m buying it,” Tad said. He was rich—or rather, his family was. But he loved his work and his family appreciated that he had found his passion, so they had signed over a part of his trust fund early and he used that to help the business thrive. We brought in enough to cover mortgage and salaries, usually, but Tad made sure that we were able to go deep into the research that was our primary focus, rather than the clientele side.

“If we move on the weekend, Killian will help—unless he’s on call at the clinic.” I picked up my tablet and coffee. “We’re done, then?”

Tad nodded. “If you’d start writing up the articles for the website, I’d appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.” Tad had assigned me the task of writing some articles about the urban legends we’d investigated and discovered to be true. Since my background was in writing and publishing, it was the most fun I’d had in ages. I loved my job, but it was nice to have a break from fighting ghosts and running from beasties.

As I settled myself in front of the keyboard, I whispered a prayer of thanks. Even with the migraines, I had a wonderful life. And though I knew that everything could change on a dime, I wanted the universe to know I was grateful.