The Witch's Quest

A tight grip about her upper arm stalled her from taking another step toward apologizing to Kelyn. Valor turned and shrugged out of Trouble Saint-Pierre’s pinching hold. Built like an MMA fighter, the man exuded a wily menace that also disturbed her need to give him a hug. They had once been friends.

Had been.

“What?” She rubbed her arm. He hadn’t been gentle.

“You looking to talk to my brother?”

“Yes,” she said defensively.

Bravery sluiced out of her heart and trickled down to puddle in her combat boots. Trouble was the sort of man who could be imposing even when asleep. The two of them had once been drinking buddies. Now he avoided her as much as Kelyn did.

“I have to—”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted with that gruff but commanding tone that warned he meant business. “You stay the hell away from my brother. You’ve done him enough damage.”

“But I want to apologize. I know I’ve hurt him. Trouble!”

He shoved her aside and strode toward his brother’s car, but as he stalked away, he turned and thrust an admonishing finger at her. And Valor flinched as if he’d released magic from that accusing fingertip.

She would not give up. There had to be a way to get Kelyn’s wings back for him. And she wouldn’t rest until she did.

Two months later

It had now been four months since that fateful night in the forest, and Kelyn had survived the loss with his head held high and his dignity intact. He could no longer shift to small size, nor could he fly. The faery sigils had disappeared from his wrists and chest, rendering his magic ineffective. But he still had his dust and—well, that was about it. His strength? Gone. When once he could beat Trouble at arm wrestling in but a blink, now his brother did his best not to win, even though Kelyn knew he was faking.

And he’d lost his connection to nature, which had once been as if his very heartbeat. Senses attuned to the world, he’d navigated his surroundings by ley lines and had listened to the wind for direction and tasted water in the stream for clues to weather and more. As a result of losing his wings, he now always felt lost.

But he wouldn’t bemoan his situation or complain or even suggest to others what a terrible life he now had. Because he was thankful for life. Such as it was.

Sitting in the corner of the local coffee shop, nursing a chai latte, he scanned the local job advertisements in the free paper he’d grabbed before walking inside. Much as the Saint-Pierre children had never needed to work, thanks to their parents’ forethought to invest for each of the five of them when they were born, he now needed...something. He hadn’t volunteered at The Raptor Center since losing his wings. It felt wrong to stand in the presence of such awesome nature and feel so lacking. And with the proper care, those birds could heal and then fly away. Something he could never hope to do again.

So, what could a faery who wasn’t really a faery anymore do with himself? His utter uselessness weighed heavily on his shoulders. He needed to do something. To move forward, occupy his thoughts and forget about what haunted him every second of every minute of every day.

Lately, he wasn’t even interested in women. Because though he never revealed he was faery to the mortal women he had dated, he still felt different. Set apart. And he couldn’t get excited about going to a bar or dancing or even a hookup when that missing part of him ached.

It did ache. His back, where his wings had been severed, put out a constant dull throb. Always reminding him of the wings he once had.

Closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the café wall, he zoned out the nearby conversations and set the paper on the table. He needed a new start. But he wasn’t sure what that implied or how to go about it. Two of his brothers were werewolves involved with their packs. No faeries allowed. And while his interests had tended toward the martial arts and archery, he didn’t feel inspired.

When a rustle at his table alerted him, he didn’t open his eyes. It was probably the barista refilling his chai. She did it at least twice on the afternoons he parked himself here in the sunny corner away from the restrooms and bustle of the order line.

But when he didn’t smell the sweet spices of fresh chai infusing the air, he opened one eyelid. And sat up abruptly, gripping his empty paper cup and looking for an escape route.

“Kelyn, please, give me two minutes. Then I’ll leave. Promise.”

Valor Hearst sat across the small round table from him, her palms flat on a half piece of blue paper that hadn’t been there before. Every hair on Kelyn’s body prickled in anger and then disgust. And then...that deep part of him that had compelled him to protect her in the forest emerged and he relaxed his shoulders, allowing in a modicum of calm. And desire.

He nodded but didn’t speak.

“Trust me,” she said, “I’ve been wanting to speak to you ever since...” She looked aside, as did he. No one in the town knew what paranormal secrets the two possessed. “But I was scared. And so freaked. And then your brother told me to stay away from you. But I was determined. And now I have it.”

She patted the blue paper. “I know how to get your wings back.”

* * *

“First...” Valor shifted on the metal café seat, uncomfortable and nervous. The blond faery eyed her with a mix of what she guessed was anger and revulsion. Well deserved. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—” he tensed his jaw for a moment, then finished “—say that.”

“But I am. Kelyn, I’m sorry for what happened in the forest. It was my fault. I am so grateful to you. And you shouldn’t have done it. You should have let me die. I’m just...so, so sorry.”

“It was a choice I made. You did not influence me or have a part in that decision one way or another. So stop saying sorry.”

“Fine. I’ll stop with the s word. But listen to me.”

“You have approximately thirty seconds remaining of the requested two minutes.”

So he was going to be a stickler? Again, his annoyance was well deserved.

“I can help you get back your wings,” she said. “I found a spell to open a portal to Faery. It merely requires collecting a few necessary ingredients, and then, voilà! We’re in!”

“We’re in?” He calmly pushed aside the paper cup and leaned forward so they could speak in confidence. Valor smelled his fresh grassy scent and wondered if it was a faery thing or just innately him. Never had a man smelled so appealing to her. And generally a little auto grease or exhaust fumes was all it took for her. She was glad he hadn’t stormed out of the café yet. Which he had every right to do. “Do you think I have the desire to trust you?” he asked. “To work alongside you in a fruitless quest? To...to breathe your air?”

She had expected him to hate her. So his harsh words didn’t hurt. That much. Yes, they hurt. But they could never harm her as much as she had hurt him.

“I think you should do everything in your power to bring me down,” she offered to his question regarding why he should care. “To expose me to humans, if that’s your thing. Whatever you do, you have every right to hurt me in return.”

“I don’t hurt women. I don’t take vengeance against one who has not moved to harm me in the first place. I don’t...want to believe your silly magic can do as you say.”

“My magic is not silly.”

“It got you pinned in the Darkwood.”

“Yes, well, state the obvious. That was my constant need to prove how stubborn I can be, not my magic. I know now to stay away from that place. By all that is sacred and the great Doctor Gregory House, I have learned my lesson.” She tapped the blue paper on the table and leaned in again to speak in quieter tones. “But this spell...it’s ancient. I know its source. It will work, Kelyn. Please, give me a chance to help you get back what was taken from you. I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your restitution, witch.” He stood and grabbed the cup. Turning, with a toss, he landed it in the wastebasket eight feet away near the counter display of half-price cookies.

Valor jumped up to stand before Kelyn, blocking his exit. Yet she stood as a mere blade of grass before his powerful build and height. “That kiss you gave me when I thought I was going to die?”

He tilted his head, his eyes—violet, the color of faeries—showing no emotion.

“It changed me,” Valor confessed. “I can’t say how. It won’t matter to you. But it did. And I haven’t stopped trying to find the answer for you since then.” She pressed the paper to his chest, but he didn’t take it, so she tucked it lower, in the waistband of his hip-hugging gray jeans. “Read it. It’s a list of ingredients required to conjure the portal spell. When you’re ready to give it a try, you know where to find me.”

And she turned and walked out, forcing herself not to look back. To call out to him to please make life easier for her by allowing her to try and make his life what it once was. She hadn’t told him that she hadn’t gone a single night without reliving that kiss before exhaustion silenced those wistful dreams. And that she wished everything had been different, that she’d never entered the Darkwood on her own personal yet fruitless quest. A quest that hadn’t been accomplished, and one she’d not dared to attempt since.

When the universe spoke, she listened.

Kelyn Saint-Pierre was a remarkable man. And she might have blown her chances of ever having him trust her. So she crossed her fingers and whispered a plea to the goddess that he might want to give the spell a try. For his sake.