CHAPTER TWELVE
Walt
“Follow my finger,” Praneeta said.
Praneeta was not what he’d expected. From Elysian’s description of her circle, he’d imagined them all as middle-aged women in layered skirts and silver bangles. Instead Praneeta had arrived, early as requested, in a crisp white button down and navy pants, her thick dark hair tucked in a bun at the base of her neck.
“You’re tracking fine,” she said. “Pupils are normal. Speech is normal. Breathing is normal. You said that you slept?”
Walt blinked. It took him a moment to realize she’d asked him a question at the end of her rapid-fire assessment. “Yes, from two until around ten.”
“Any nausea? Headaches? Sensitivity to light?”
He shook his head. “I feel fine. I feel amazing, considering that I was up half the night and slept on a couch.”
“That makes sense. You’re a wolf shifter, no?”
He startled. “How could you tell?”
“Because twenty minutes after she asked me to come early, Elysian followed up with a text that said “Also he’s a werewolf, wtf, did you know there were werewolves.””
“I’m not a werewolf,” Walt said.
Praneeta laughed. “I know. I have a cousin who’s married to a wolf shifter, she goes nuts if you call her a werewolf.”
“Really?” Walt leaned forward. “Do you think she could help?”
Praneeta’s face grew grave. “If you’re a wolf shifter, and you’re vulnerable, the only people you can trust are your own pack, Walt. My cousin Shikha is one of the nicest people I know, and I would still be wary of telling her about you. Pack loyalty runs deep, and there are a thousand secret wars going on in the shifter community.”
Walt nodded. Run, Walt, run! echoed in his head.
“Now,” Praneeta said. “I want to be clear that I’m not a doctor. I’m an EMT, and my skills are better suited to assessing immediate dangers, not diagnosing medical conditions. But you’re not showing a single sign of traumatic injury, and as a wolf shifter you should be protected by your wolf’s rapid healing.”
“Really?” Walt asked.
You didn’t tell me that, he chided the wolf.
I was worried about you doing something stupid if you knew, the wolf said mildly.
“Really. It’s not impossible that you could be injured. But the only way you could still be suffering from an injury is if you were attacked by an alpha wolf- one who intended to hurt you. Do you think that happened?”
Walt held his hands out, palms up. “I can’t rule it out.”
“There’s no sign of bruising. No head injury. This isn’t a medical condition.”
Praneeta twisted in her chair, looking toward the door to the living room. “Elysian, can you come in, please?”
Elysian stepped in, a little too quickly for her to have been doing anything except hovering just outside the door waiting for the news. Walt didn’t mind—if anything, the thought of her waiting anxiously to hear that he was fine warmed his chest.
“My professional opinion as an EMT is that you’re in excellent health, and my professional opinion as a witch is that you—” She jabbed a finger into Elysian’s shoulder. “—Are an idiot.”
“I know,” Elysian said miserably, sinking into the chair opposite Walt.
At that, the last traces of his anger drained away. She wasn’t the big bad witch. She was a good person who had screwed up, and now was doing her best to put it right.
He pushed his foot against hers under the table. She looked over at him, her mouth an “O” of surprise, and then smiled shyly.
“This is a magical problem,” Praneeta said firmly. “We’ll need to confer with the rest of the circle, but with five adult witches here, and your power boosted by your new familiar—” she chuckled, “—we should be able to attempt a curse breaking.”
“This isn’t a curse,” Walt said immediately.
“I agree with Walt,” Elysian said. “I’ve never cast a curse in my life. Curse breaking won’t work, it’s a lot of danger for nothing.”
“If it’s dangerous then you’re definitely not doing it on my account,” Walt said firmly.
“We should be focused on getting Walt’s memories back.” Elysian said. “Which means we need to focus on figuring out who he really is.”
Praneeta made a dismissive noise. “Can you show me the spell? It wasn’t in there when we last compared grimoires.”
“I said the same thing,” Annette announced, popping into existence in the chair at the head of the table.
Walt jumped. He didn’t think he would ever get used to a person who was just suddenly there.
Now it was Elysian’s turn to press a comforting foot against his. He mirrored her smile.
Elysian nudged a book across the table to Praneeta. Walt frowned—he hadn’t noticed it sitting on the table when they were setting out the food, and he didn’t remember Elysian carrying it in either. But there it was.
He leaned forward with interest as Elysian paged through with Praneeta gazing eagerly over her shoulder. It felt strange to see it, the apparent source of all his troubles. It was smaller than he would have guessed—about the size of an A4 notepad, bound in soft leather. The word ‘grimoire’ had conjured up images of something heavy enough to knock someone out with if swung right, bound in cracking black leather and smelling of sulphur. But this was a friendly-looking book, one that invited you to crack it open and explore the contents.
Praneeta pulled a similar-looking book out of her canvas messenger bag, although hers was bound in hide dyed a rich scarlet. It wasn’t standard leather. He was fairly certain it was kidskin. He’d have to touch it to be sure—kidskin’s most obvious feature was its softness—but something told him that reaching out to touch one of the books would not be well received.
That was another item he could add to his list of things he knew about himself. He could apparently identify different types of leather on sight.
She flipped to the last page, and started copying the spell. “I’ve got a few new ones since we last did a swap. Remind me before the end of the weekend.”
To his surprise, Annette also laid a book down on the table. Hers was covered with cream fabric, and despite the fact that it had to be at least forty years old, it was in pristine condition.
“You have a grimoire?” he asked. “I thought they were passed down?”
“I don’t have an heir,” Annette said. She thumbed through, searching for a blank page. “With no children of my own, it should go to a sister or a niece. I had only brothers, who have all had only sons. Three of them now have grandchildren, fine strapping boys every one.”
Walt met Elysian’s eyes. Is that why...? he mouthed, and she nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Annette. “I feel like I’m fumbling around in the dark. I never know when I’ve stepped on a landmine.”
“It’s fine,” Annette said in a voice that wasn’t entirely kind. “I’m sure I’ll say any number of offensive things about wolves before this thing is done.”
“For the love of everything, girls, copy the LATIN!” a new voice interjected. The new arrival was a stout older woman, dressed exactly as Walt had imagined, in layers of jewel-toned cotton, a fringed scarf and with a straw hat ringed in fake flowers pinned to her hair. She carried a baking dish wrapped in foil, filling the air with the distinct smell of freshly cooked turkey.
All the seats at the little table were occupied so Walt jumped to his feet, but she waved him off, taking her dish into the kitchen area.
“I don’t speak Latin, Julia,” Praneeta said, in a tone that suggested this was a long-running argument.
“That’s curable,” Julia said, in a tone that said the same.
“How about you learn to write and speak Punjabi?” Praneeta shot back.
A little girl dressed in a white knitted dress dashed into the room and plastered herself to Julia’s leg like an octopus. Julia beamed down at her, petting the girl’s hair, which was in little tufts tied with glossy white ribbons.
“Tila! Tila, no. Mommy said not to run ahead of her.” The newest arrival jogged into the room, then stopped short when she saw Walt hovering next to his chair. “Elysian,” she said accusingly. “You were really specific that this was circle only. If I’d known you were bringing a date I could have invited Dash.” She was breathing heavily from the exertion of her run, and pressed one hand to her round belly. Walt knew it was dangerous to assume a woman was pregnant, but she was clearly expecting a spring baby.
He gestured toward his recently vacated chair, and got the same dismissive wave he’d received from Julia. Like mother, like daughter, he supposed.
“Oh, girl.” Praneeta looked up from her rapid scratching in her grimoire. “Are you in for a story.”