CHAPTER FIVE
Elysian
Elysian’s mind kept fighting her attempts to concentrate, her eyes wanting to slide back from what she was doing to drink in the bare curve of his shoulder, his light dusting of chest hair, the definition in his upper arms as he crossed them over his chest.
Nudity had never been remarkable to her. It was something that came with the territory of growing up a witch, and even without that influence she’d grown up in a relaxed, informal and entirely female family.
What she wasn’t used to was so much maleness. It wasn’t that she had never seen a naked man before—she had seen what she assumed to be a totally average amount for a woman her age—but none of them filled a room the way that Walt did.
“Here,” she said, slipping the kimono off her shoulders. She didn’t really need it. The night—early morning, really—was cool, but they kept the house warm enough to be comfortable in just the camisole and terry-cloth shorts she’d gone to sleep in. It would cover him up until they could figure out a proper solution.
“Thank you,” he said. He held the robe between them for a moment, rolling the slippery fabric between his fingertips, then shrugged it on.
“Great,” she said, her voice squeaking a little. If anything he looked more naked wrapped in her robe than he had when he was literally naked. It pasted itself to the lines of his muscles, and she couldn’t help watching his hands as he knotted the belt around his hips. “I’ll get you that tea.”
Elysian had a plan. She was going to act like she was completely calm about what was happening until the situation either went away or someone forced her to stop. She practiced her calm as she filled the copper kettle with water and set it on the stove burner.
Here were the facts. She had cast an impulsive and, she was now willing to admit, rather tipsy spell. The very same night Walt had appeared. Walt was a wolf—a werewolf?—and from all appearances a member in good standing of their coven.
That wasn't possible. A coven wasn't a social club, or even a found family. It was a sacred bond between women. The only ones who could join a coven were witches.
And their familiars.
She pulled two cups from the drying rack and set it on the counter next to the teapot. The tea set was one of the few things in the house that she'd brought with her, fine ceramic pieces her grandmother had hand-painted in blue and white. Annette had grudgingly grown used to its presence.
The wall was lined with stacks of little tin canisters in a rainbow of colors. She grabbed them without looking, too familiar with their position to need to waste time reading labels.
First rosemary, for remembrance. She shook a liberal amount into the pot, stopping to smell the sweet fragrance that wafted up from the dried leaves as they fell.
Next the three Gs—ginkgo, ginseng and gotu kola. Also known as maidenhair, panax and pennywort. Elysian loved how things had so many names—from the clinical to the mythic.
She tipped the powders into the pot, and then added a scoop of black tea.
It might not be the tastiest blend she could whip up, but it was the best she could do for Walt's memory loss.
“Remember,” she whispered as she poured the boiling water over the tea leaves. She pressed her hands to the sides of the pot, sucking her breath through her teeth as her palms burned. She took the pain and used it to power the magic, feeling the energy flow back into the pot and turn the tea from a simple herbal remedy to something that might give Walt the help he needed.
Footsteps thumped on the kitchen tile, and Elysian looked up to find him leaning on the other side of the counter. “Your friend disappeared,” he said.
“She does that,” Elysian replied, pouring the tea into his cup. “It takes a lot of concentration for her to, you know, be. Big changes can be draining.”
“I'm sorry,” he said. It wasn't sarcastic or bitter—he was genuinely concerned that his arrival might have troubled Annette.
Elysian couldn't help smiling. Whoever this man was, he had a sweet soul. “Here,” she pushed the cup across the counter.
He hesitated. “What's this?”
She kicked herself. Of course he wouldn't rush to drink a mystery brew from a self-confessed witch. “Memory tea,” she said. She grabbed a second cup and poured herself one. A memory draft wasn't something to take lightly, but the way his shoulders immediately relaxed when he saw her pour her own drink from the same pot was worth any possible side effects.
“Thank you,” he said, sipping the tea gingerly. “I don't know why I came to your door, but clearly it was the right one.”
She took a gulp of her tea to cover for the wave of guilt she was sure was all over her face. She needed to tell him that it was her fault—and she would—but first she needed to be sure that was true.
The tea's magic worked its way through her, sharpening her memory. The events of the previous day came flooding back in Technicolor—the miserable twist of the editor’s face as he made the announcement, the faint sobbing she could hear while packing her desk that she never managed to trace to a specific person, the long walk home.
Walt sucked in a breath, dragging her out of her own problems. His knuckles were white around the cup, and she was worried it would shatter between his palms.
“I think someone is after me,” he whispered in a frightened voice.
“Who?”
"I don't know for sure," he said, looking down at the steam floating out of the cup. "It's all a jumble. But I remember running, and someone shouting at me."
"The wards will keep them away," Elysian said firmly. "You don't have anything to be afraid of here."
Annette chose that moment to pop into existence at Elysian’s elbow. “There's a truck outside with Montana plates.”
Walt yelped. He'd already been visibly on edge from whatever memory the tea had dragged up for him, and Annette’s sudden appearances and disappearances still sometimes spooked Elysian when she wasn't expecting them, so she didn't blame him for being jumpy.
His cup shattered on the floor, spilling hot tea all over the tile, and she let out a soft “Oh!” at the loss of one of her precious belongings.
Walt dropped to his hands and knees and his whole body seemed to move at once, like there were waves breaking beneath his skin.
Then he was gone, and there was a wolf standing in her kitchen.