I loved him. I'd always loved him, but when he wanted me to stay, I'd still been too young to commit myself . . . too afraid of what it meant to bind myself to someone so strong and so different. Now, at twenty-six, nine years distance had put a lot of mileage on my soul. I'd seen the worst of the worst. I was ready to come in out of the cold, to build a hearth fire. The only question was: Did I still have a chance with him? Was he even still around?
The room was just like I remembered it, in shades of violet and ivory, which seemed out of place for my junkie mother, but then again, she'd just been starting down that road the last time she was here.
Deciding to leave the unpacking for later, I pulled my tank top over my head. The room was cool and I shivered as I exposed my skin to the air.
Banding my upper left arm, a pair of blackwork owls flew over a silver moon with a dagger stuck through its center. A matching tat banded my upper right arm. The owl was my familiar, though I didn't have one, and never had. Owls responded to me, though, and I was drawn to them. I gazed at them, and once again, it felt like they were there for a reason, but I didn't know why.
Every tattoo inked on me had a meaning. My fingers trailed down my left breast, lingering over the gently raised skin against which blossomed a deadly nightshade plant. A feral, wild girl peeked out from behind the glossy leaves and drooping violet blooms, with her shadow creeping along behind her. I didn't know what she stood for, either, but she was there for a reason.
Slipping out of my jeans, I traced the vine, dappled with silver roses, that trailed up my left thigh, across my lower stomach, ending near my ribs under my right arm. Entwined among the roses glimmered a trail of violet skulls, and right above my navel, a wolf stared out at the world through emerald eyes.
Grieve . . . the wolf was for Grieve, though I couldn't remember why I associated him with the animal. I'd had it inked on me when I was fourteen. As I gazed at the tattoo, a shiver raced through my stomach, and the wolf let out a low growl, his breath light against my skin. My body was hungry, and the feel of his soft breathing made me ache.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Time to get moving. We had no time to waste--Heather could be out there, hurt. Or worse. Practical possibilities raced through my mind--she might have fallen and hit her head, or broken a leg and found it impossible to manage the walk home. Any number of things could have happened. And yet . . . and yet . . . I knew that wasn't the case.
After jumping in the shower to rinse off, I towel dried and dressed in a clean pair of black jeans and a black knit turtleneck. Shrugging into my leather jacket, I took another look in the mirror.
"Right on." I might be Value-Mart chic, but I had the goth rocker chick look going on, and I wore it well. Turning sideways, I patted my abs. Tight, but not concave. While most women angsted over their weight, I didn't mind packing an extra twenty pounds. At five four, and one hundred-forty pounds, I was solid and muscled from my workouts and life on the road.
My hair was straight, draping just past my shoulders, jet-black and in need of a trim. I pushed the long bangs back behind my ears and stared at my face. The smooth, straight-as-silk strands contrasted against my green eyes and pale skin.
A gust blew against the window, startling me out of my thoughts. Welcome back, Cicely. Aren't you going to come say hello?
Cautiously, I opened the sash. The inner radiance I'd always associated with the copse had faded. The welcome mat had been pulled. As I stared at the forest, a shadow covered the wood. I leaned on the sill and stared out at the thicket, fat flakes of snow drifting down to blanket it in a lacework of white.
"Are you really still out there?" I whispered. "Are you waiting for me? Do you still want me? What happened, Grieve? The light's gone from the trees."
Grieve . . . You never forget your first love. I'd been six years old when we first met, but it was on a visit when I was seventeen that he took me in hand, laid me down, made love to me, and stole my heart. And I'd broken his.
Grieve . . . Was he still out there? My wolf told me he was. Was he waiting for me to find him again? Time would only tell. And did he know what happened to Heather? That . . . I could only hope.
There was only one way to find out the answers to my questions. I headed downstairs.
Leo Bryne was in the living room. I wasn't sure what I'd expected a day runner to look like, but whatever my expectations were, Leo didn't meet them. He was in his late twenties, tall with tawny hair and a crooked but sweet smile. Lean and a little gangly, the Windbreaker he wore made him look younger. Rhiannon introduced us.
"What's your specialty? Were? Magic-born?"
He grinned. "Witch. Herbs and healing." Then, sobering, he added, "Your aunt is training me in advanced studies. I can't believe she just upped and walked away without telling anybody."
"That's because she didn't. You know it. Rhiannon knows it. I know it. The only people deluding themselves are the cops. So, tell me, what does a day runner do?"
He blushed. "I run errands for Geoffrey and his wife that they can't do during the day. Pick up dry cleaning, personal shopping, mail off stuff at the post office, things like that."
"They pay well?" I knew I was being nosy but it didn't hurt to find out my options. Marta might have left me her business, but I doubted it brought much in the way of money.
"Eh--not bad. I get benefits, which helps." He caught Rhiannon around the waist with one arm and she rested her head on his shoulder. It was obvious they'd been going out for a while--they seemed so comfortable together. "And benefits will be important over the next few years."
Blushing, she swatted him off. "I haven't set the date yet, and until we find my mother, I can't even think about it. So shoo, pest."
Staring at the pair, I noticed then that Rhiannon was wearing a thin silver band on the right fourth finger of her hand. It had a diamond in it--minuscule, but a diamond nonetheless.
"You two are getting married?"
She smiled softly. "We're engaged to be engaged. But yeah, Leo is the one. We've been dating for three years now. Cicely, can we go look for Heather? It's getting colder out there and if she's caught somewhere . . ."
"Yeah. She could die of hypothermia. Bring a blanket, just in case we find her." Blankets were bulky but better safe than sorry.
I slipped out onto the back porch. Down the steps, a narrow stone path led into the backyard where the kitchen garden and herb gardens sprawled. There was no lack for privacy, that was for sure.