Enchantment Emporium

She couldn’t find a matching pair of rubber boots that fit in the jumbled pile on the back porch, so she pulled on a green boot to go with the black one she already wore. Saturday’s unseasonably adjusted warm temperature had already begun to cool but hadn’t fallen far enough for Allie to take yet more time to find a jacket. Skirting the edge of the pasture where the new green was just beginning to show, she reached the point where she’d seen the stag and pushed her way in under the trees.

“Granddad?”

“Over here, Allie.” He was sitting on a fallen log, in an old, stained pair of work pants and a quilted plaid jacket. There were caches of clothing all around the county, the girls taking turns to maintain the protective charms. Above his head, the air shimmered; antlers still very much evident.

Allie frowned and tried to remember the last time she’d seen him without them. Or for that matter, the last time she’d seen him up at the house.

“Is that face for me, little one?”

“Sorry.” He smelled wonderful, like the woods and the wind, and, when he hugged her, his grip was strong, his arms sure. If he’d taken any damage the day before, he wasn’t letting it show. No one really wanted to replace him, but when their blood was up, Gale boys—from Uncle Richard to Zachary, who’d only just joined the circles—tended to act first and think later.

“Worrying too much, Allie. Just be.”

Dropping down beside him on the log, she rested her cheek on his shoulder. “It’s hard to just be when you’re out in the world, Granddad.”

“Good thing you’re here, then.” He kissed the top of her head. “I can’t protect the ones who wander. Off to school. Off to jobs.”

She wondered if he ever wished he could leave, if ever he wanted to roam farther than the land the family claimed. If that was even something he could want after being the family’s tie to place for so long.

“We always come home, Granddad.” It was all she could offer him. For herself, well, it wasn’t coming home she objected to. Home and family defined her as much as it defined any Gale. It was the failing at having a life thing she found less than stellar.

“Not everyone comes home.” His snort had little humanity in it. Allie wrapped one of his callused hands in both of hers, skin to skin, to hold him in this shape a little longer. “There are always those who make other choices,” he said at last and, from his tone, she realized he wasn’t talking about her.

She’d expected Gran back for May Day, expected her to appear and demand to know just what, exactly, everyone thought they were doing. She hadn’t been the only one.

“Be just like Catherine to show up at the last minute,” Auntie Jane had muttered entering the Grove. “Make us shift the whole first circle to accommodate her.”

But she hadn’t come, and Auntie Muriel had anchored the day with Granddad. It would have been wilder with Gran there. Allie was old enough now to know that wasn’t always a good thing. This part of the world had storms enough and no one appreciated a rain of frogs.

Especially not the frogs.

They sat quietly together as dawn shifted to morning, and then Granddad drew his hand from hers.

“Your brother is on his way. We have to talk, he and I.”

“David’s not…”

“Just talk,” he told her as he stood. But the shimmer had grown more pronounced, and she could see the point where the antlers grew up out of bone. “We aren’t controlled by what the old women think is likely to happen.” When Allie couldn’t control her expression in time, he grinned. “Although it’s easier to maintain that belief out here in the woods—and you didn’t hear me say it.” He bent, carefully, to kiss her cheek. “Come and find me again to say good-bye before you go.”

“Where am I going?”

“That choice, little one, is yours.”

Somehow she managed to keep her reaction to that bit of Yoda philosophy from showing on her face.

David met her halfway across the meadow and they adjusted their paths to leave a little more room between them, knowing the steps of the dance without having to consciously consider them. By tomorrow or the next day they’d be fine, but this morning, with David still showing an impressive rack of horn, better to be safe than sorry.

“Your boots don’t match.”

“It’s a new style.” She pointed at the red curve cut into his cheek, centered within a purpling arc of bruises. “Tell me that wasn’t Dmitri.”

“It wasn’t.” When she continued to stare pointedly at him, he rolled his eyes. “Uncle Evan.”

“How’s he?”

David shrugged one broad shoulder, as though the information wasn’t worth the effort of moving them both. “He’ll live.”

“Good. Granddad’s just inside…”

“I know.”