Page 30 of The Beginning (Covert Moon, #1)

Marigold

The Human Realm

* * *

“A dog, you say?” the doctor asked again.

“Yes. A big black dog. Long fur. I was hiking, checking out the old church.” I gave a nod to the left, as though I was trying to share the location.

Then I closed my eyes, taking a breath. “It came out of nowhere and pounced on me.” My voice trembled, the tears that had been spilling over since I'd made it to the car making a comeback.

“That sounds terrible. We can get an officer out there,” the doctor said.

Oh, sweet hell. I didn't need the police. Their first call would be to the manor. “If you think that's best,” I said. It didn't matter. I'd be long gone before any policeman showed up.

“We haven't heard of any dog attacks in that area, or anywhere nearby recently,” the doctor said. “Certainly not as bad as this. You can stay the night here,” he added. “To give you some time to recover from this attack.”

I nodded, unsure how else to describe what it had been.

I could tell the doctor didn't entirely believe me, and wasn't thrilled that I was clear about not staying the night.

I didn't mention the priest or the way my magic had failed me.

There was nothing that the doctor in the ER could do about any of that.

I sucked in a breath as he shot another needle full of numbing medicine into my hand.

It was swollen now, but at least the bleeding had stopped.

I could feel my magic humming just beneath the surface, but I couldn’t summon any of the spells to heal the wounds on my own.

I had driven a few miles from the church, bleeding all over the place, casting all kinds of medicinal healing spells as I drove.

Normally, when I got hurt, I could heal it with simple magic, but nothing I had tried worked.

Not even the rudimentary spells I’d been taught as a child.

The doctor eyed me. “When they brought you in, you were delirious. You'd said something about witches and curses and a man with glowing green eyes.” The doctor looked at me over his glasses, his eyes larger than they appeared through his lenses.

I shrugged. "I remember thinking that I was going into shock, and it was so strange, because I was completely calm when I was thinking about it.

" I'd apparently passed out behind the wheel and crashed my dad's car into a ditch.

The local police had found me, and they were lurking around, waiting to question me.

Best to just keep my mouth shut and pretend I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Well, there's nothing broken. The bone in your finger had been torn completely away from your knuckle, right here, at the joint.

It's unfortunate you weren't able to bring your finger with you because we probably could have reattached it considering it happened so recently.” He pursed his lips, contemplating my injury.

“I will be able to stitch it up though. Your other fingers seem uninjured.

You shouldn't lose mobility.” The doctor looked at me, his blue eyes full of kindness, and concern.

“You sure you don't want to stay? You look like you could use the rest.”

“Thank you,” I said, holding my hand up in front of me, waiting for the numbness to take hold.

Later, he inspected the wounds on my stomach, and declared those to be just flesh wounds that did not warrant stitches.

He gave me an ointment, and dressed my wounds.

“I'm in that place where if I don't have to stay, I really want to be home.”

“I understand that,” the doctor said, his face smiling and kind still.

“But you have to promise me that if anything starts to get red, especially that finger, you'll head into the hospital. I’m not kidding. An infection would be serious.” He gave a nod, and then his tone turned professional.

“This bite on your shoulder is pretty nasty, though. I can see where the fangs had gone in, and started to tear. Can you move your arm like this?”

I followed his motion and put my arm out to the side, as if pretending to be an airplane. I hissed as the pain shot through my shoulder. But it didn't feel like there was actual damage to the joint. I was able to move in every direction.

“Well, the x-ray shows that this one is also clean. There are no bone fragments, nothing torn. It looks like a clean puncture. I'll suture those up for you, and dress them before you leave.”

While I was being put back together, and waiting, I met with the cops, told them what little I could share, and had the doctor confirm I was not under the influence of any illicit substances.

An hour later, I walked out of the hospital, a prescription in hand, a bag full of wound dressing supplies to get me through the night, and a seething rage burning inside me.

Thank goodness I'd thrown a fit when the cops found me.

I'd insisted they have the car brought to the hospital.

Otherwise, I'd be stuck here without wheels.

Not that I remembered any of that. One of the nurses told me about it in minute detail.

I ignored the headache blooming behind my eye and got back on the road.

Once I got home, I'd work on healing myself. It was troubling that I hadn’t been able to call my magic to heal myself.

Maybe it was the shock? What was even stranger about it was that my power to cast spells seemed enhanced over the past week, leading up to my birthday, even this morning.

So why hadn't anything worked to heal me?

And why hadn't I been able to blast the priest and the damn dog who used me as a chew toy? I had no answers and even worse, there was nobody to ask for insight on any of it. Not like dear old Mom would offer answers.

I had to find out who the priest was and what the hell he wanted with me.

I drove back down the country roads to where the church stood.

I parked the car where it had been before on the shoulder.

It might sound stupid, returning to the scene of the crime, but I felt compelled.

I'd learned, early on, not to ignore the strong feelings.

There were no lights glowing in the church now.

The moon had set. Everything about the scene changed from one of eerie curiosity to darkness and shadow.

I had to think. I had to make sense of all this.

I let the car idle, turning up the heat and pushing out the chill in the evening air.

I had to find Calyx. I had to get her back.

She might have thought she was running away with Silas, but something told me she had no idea what she had run into.

My mind replayed what the priest had said, how this whole thing with Silas and Calyx had been a trap. A trap for what? It couldn't be for me. What was the Original Vessel? Was there something I didn't know about our family?

The Blaine family was out in the open. We were prominent in both the human and witch society, and now, thanks to my mother, we were political, too.

Granted, my sister was the more famous of the two of us.

That was just fine with me. I could walk around in the world and not be noticed everywhere I went, despite my head of bright pink hair, whereas Calyx thrived on people whispering and elbowing each other, spotting her in public.

But the fame came from the family name, not from anything we sisters had done.

Our family had founded Hazelton. We owned the newspaper there, and the railway, and the quarry, and lots of the land.

We were fixtures in the town, among the humans, and the witches.

Of course, no humans knew anything about our witch status, though there have been conspiracy theories through the years that we must be charmed in some way for all the luck to continue to spill in our direction.

I wondered if I had asked Mother now, in the state that I was in—covered in blood, and missing a finger—if I would get any kind of straight answer from her about what the priest could possibly want.

I shivered as the wave of revulsion moved through me.

A god damned dog had torn my finger off! How does that even happen?

It could've been worse. I looked at my hand, disbelieving, more curious than anything else.

It was funny looking and swollen now and covered in a huge white bandage.

The doctor had said it would take at least a week for the swelling to go down enough to move my remaining fingers.

It was a good thing I was a lefty as far as spell casting went.

I could at least defend myself should it come to that again…

assuming my magic ability returned. And magic healing.

Hopefully.

Seeing nothing that might help me, I eased the car onto the highway, ignoring my phone as it buzzed with text messages and voicemails from Mother. I needed to think. I needed to get my bearings. I needed to go home. Not to the crazy that was the Blaine Mansion, but to my apartment.

The painkillers kicked in, and I floated down the highway in a haze, grateful for the lack of traffic.

I glanced at the wooden box on the seat next to me, a niggling thought tickling the back of my mind.

I moved the car along the highway, the scenery blowing by in a blur as I passed, and the moonless sky like a palette of black with pinhole stars twinkling through.

I let my thoughts turn to Aunt Beatrice.

My aunt's round face filled my mind. She had red hair that she wore long and often teased up into a big ole 'do, as she called it. She smiled at me in my mind, and suddenly I was ten years old again, sitting in her solarium, drinking tea and eating scones.

“Did you know, Marigold, you were named for my great-great-great-grandmother?” she'd said, pouring tea into our teacups.

My eyes had gone wide as I licked the clotted cream from my fingers, thinking only about shoving more of the delicious warm scones into my mouth.

I shook my head, unable to speak with my mouth so full.

But I questioned her with my eyes, begging her to continue this story I had never heard before.

It was nice, this tea time with just me and her.

I didn't know where Calyx was–with Mother, maybe?

“Yes, indeed.” Her southern drawl reminded me of milk, and comfort, and warm embraces.

“Grandmother Goldie, Lord she was a pistol. She used to race around town, causing all kinds of scandal.” Aunt Beatrice leaned in and put her hand against her mouth as though she was going to whisper a secret to me.

“Your mother would have a heart attack if she had been around to see that back then.” Aunt Beatrice winked at me, and smiled, clearly enjoying herself.

I swallowed some more tea. “You can't stop there,” I said. “Tell me more, Aunt Beatrice. Did you know her?”

Aunt Beatrice laughed at my question. “Well, I may be old, darling, but I am not that old.” She crinkled her eyes as she smiled even more. “But I do have something in common with Grandmother Goldie.”

“What is it?” I asked, already enthralled.

“Well, Grandmother Goldie was a Vessel Witch. Do you know what that means?”

Driving down the road, my skin tingled at the memory.

I'd forgotten all about this conversation we'd had so many years ago.

Mention of the Vessel Witch awakened something in my chest. It was as though a flame had been lit behind my heart.

It filled me with a sense of peace and understanding. Acceptance.

My ten-year-old self continued talking through my memory. “A Vessel Witch?” I'd asked.

At that moment, Mother arrived, wearing her coat and clutching her purse. “Marigold, it's time to go.” She barely glanced at Aunt Beatrice as she ordered me through getting my shoes on and gathering my things.

Aunt Beatrice's eyes looked sad for a moment. I rushed over and gave her a gigantic hug, squeezing her tight and nuzzling her neck.

“Go on now. We'll finish our talk another time, lovey.” She patted my arm and smiled again, this time without any sadness at all.

Sadly, I'd never gotten to finish that talk with her. Strange that I hadn't thought about it until now.