Page 40 of The Sirin Sisterhood (The Sons of Echidna #2)

Lucy

The next morning, Lucy followed the song of a bell across the tiny village to a building shehadn’tvisited yet.

It was another wooden structure made from crossed-over logs, painted with snowy scenes of the surrounding forest. She was unsure about entering it but lost the choice as someone scooped her under their arm and pulled her inside.

“Come.It’sa boring lesson, but an important one.”Freya smiled at her.“I loathe cross-stitching, but my sisters insist I need to get better at it.”

“Cross-stitching?”Lucy repeated, taking an empty seat and looking around. The space was snug and crowded, filled with seats and standing wooden frames that stretched out various items of clothing, ready to be embroidered.

Lucy had done it before, as a fleeting fancy.

She remembered buying the hoops, a mountain of thread, and Aida cloth, filling her basket at the craft store with grand plans of selling her spectacular tapestries at artesian markets.

That dream had quickly followed the same path as every other hyper-fixation in her life; she had completed one design, framed it, andthen made another one with a funny quote for Xim.

Then someone offered her money to make them a custom piece, and suddenly, her love for embroidery dropped dead.

She buried the hobby in her hobby graveyard, aka the hallway cupboard, and moved on.

Itwasn’tall for nothing, though. She maintained the skill, the muscle memory to make tiny, tidy stitches and how to tie the invisible knots...This class should be a piece of cake. How did it relate to magic, though?

“Intent.”Agata stopped before her, changing her language to English when she addressed Lucy. She handed her a small, white handkerchief.

“Each stitch is filled with intent, entwined into the fabric. This is the best way to do protective spells, weave love, ensure safe passages, and alleviate pain. Your intent and magic stay in the stitches. If you are angry, the cloth will attract negative forces. If you fill it with care, it will guard the recipient from harm. You must not let your mind stray into dark places, or your time is wasted.”

Easier said than done. ToLucy’ssurprise, she was familiar with the concept behind the lesson; her mother had taught her the same one long ago in the family kitchen.

She’dalways said to add love to baking, and her muffins and cakes were always fluffy and sweet, while Lucy, who was frustrated and angry at the sticky dough, found that hers inevitably collapsed into dense, ugly, unrecognizable lumps.

Intent .

Lucy still felt the warmth ofKlein’slips on her skin as she stretched the thin cotton over a hoop. His touch and voice always carried his intent, soothing and caring. Protective.

Could she stitch the same feeling into the cloth?

Threading the needle with green thread, Lucy began to embroider the plants she remembered from his garden: delicate rosemary leaves, marijuana bushes hidden in a planter at the very back, a thick, overgrown pot of mint, and his small patch of strawberries.

She remembered his excitement ashe’dinvited Lucy over to enjoy a couple of the berries the momentthey’dgot enough sun to ripen.

Care.

Love.

Her minddidn’twander until the sun floated towards the horizon, taking away the light.

The handkerchief was done. Maybe not perfect, but done.

More importantly, it was filled with the best memories Lucy could come up with.

It was embroidered with early morning coffee,Klein’sbaking, and the fresh, crispy sheets he made her bed with.

A powdering of flour on a dark apron, their silent evenings in the garden.

Freshly cut flowers in her room and the feel of his reassuring fingers on her shoulder.

The caramel sauce on her pancakes after she mentioned having it with her parents once.

Each stitch was a prayer to keep him safe.

“That’scute.”Freya leaned over, completely ignoring any personal space expectations. She was so close that Lucy could smell her sweet perfume.

“Thanks... umm...”She scooted away from the invading closeness.“What did you make?”

Freya freed a white shirt from the hoop and gave it a shake.“You thinkhe’lllike it?”

“Who—Oh.”Shedidn’tneed to ask who it was for. The collar and chest of the garment were embroidered with peacock feathers. It was masterful, each stitch placed with effortless precision.

“Yeah,he’llprobably love it.”She gave a heavy sigh, her chagrin hard to hide, and a niggling feeling of worry gnawing on her. Maybe she should have been doing something for Lai after all she had said to him.

Lucy was glad she had already finished the handkerchief because the familiar feeling of her own jealousy tainted everything it touched.

Lai quickly focused his interest on Freya,especiallyonce his face had healed.

He’dspent the last two evenings with her, returning to the cottage under the cover of darkness with a cigarette and a grin.

He promisedthey’djust talked last night, and she believed him, but she was still jealous of him.

He was Lucy’s friend. Freya wasnice, and pretty, but shedidn’tknow him—not like Lucy did.

“I’mgoing to give it to him,”Freya grinned, getting to her feet.“Are you going to give yours to someone?”

Lucy traced her fingers over the design and nodded.

◆◆◆

Gathering her handkerchief and her thoughts, Lucy followed Freya outside, only for her focus to clumsily scatter as she saw Lai waiting for them.

“You two were there a while.”

She noticed the genuine smile he offered to the woman beside her, but it faded before reaching Lucy.

“Made you something!”Freya beamed, presenting Lai with the shirt.

“For me?”He held it out to study the design, his face perfectly conveying surprise and delight. He made all the right noises and raised his voice just enough when he thanked Freya to sound genuinely joyful.

He held it out to admire it some more, and despite being so close to him, Lucy realized with a strange lurching feeling that shecouldn’ttell if he was acting or not. She could usually read his thoughts in his eyes, but he refused to so much as look at her.

“What did you make?”He asked Lucy, tilting his head to the side. He was usingthatvoice. The Mean Girl voice.

Oh my god.That’sso cute. Lucy shuddered, remembering the intonation that every one of her school bullies had used, thepopular, skinny girls standing over her sketchpad at lunch,‘complimenting’her art.

Did you draw that? Can you draw me?

Lucy used to think they were genuine until she heard a laugh from a gaggle of girls at the end of the hallway.

Lai had just used that exact same voice.

“Something for Klein,”Lucy answered, immediately wishing shehadn’t.

She should have walked away, ignoring his shitty attitude.

Or slapped him. She was the head of the family; she deserved more respect than that.

Butshe’danswered. She felt like a sophomore again,answeringto theschool’sapex predator, hoping shewouldn’tbe devoured.

“He’sdown in the village somewhere. Found something to keep himself busy, I guess,”Lai offered magnanimously, leaning on one hip.

Lucy had already started walking, holding the piece of cotton to her chest, when she heard the giggling.

Freya and Lai had found something incredibly amusing to share.

Shamefaced, Lucy tried to believe that it was nothing to do with her, but deep down her high school self wascertainshe was the butt of their jokes.

◆◆◆

Klein was outside one of the wood sheds, swinging a double headed ax like achild’stoy.

Each move looked effortless; each log split with just one strike, one swing, and the pine fell apart like it was made of butter.

Lucy knew for sure if she tried that, the ax wouldjustget stuck.

The mountain of firewood was pretty impressive, too.

He must have been chopping for hours, but his shirt was barely damp.

“Klein.”Lucy approached him and got a fright when he flinched, startled by her voice.

He sunk the ax into another log and jerked away his hand, hiding it behind his back, but the glimmer of red on the iron was a dead giveaway thathe’dslipped at the sound of his name.

“You’rehurt!”She rushed to him as he tried to act like it was nothing.

“Just a small cut. I was clumsy.”He forced a laugh, looking in his vest for something to wrap around it. Lucy still had his snot-and-tear-covered rag in her pocket from her crying episode last night.

“Give me your hand.”She reached over and closed her fingers over his wrist, lifting the injured palm. It was just a nick, short but deep, making the bleeding look much worse than it really was.

She unfolded the giftshe’dmade and pressed it against the cut, closing his fingers over the embroidered cloth.

“Just hold it tight. Don’t move it,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ididn’tmean to be startled.”Klein smiled at her.“What’sthis? Did you make it?”He examined the stitches on the piece poking out from under his fingers.

She nodded a little sheepishly. She was proud of her work, but it felt a little awkward presenting Klein with a handkerchief, like some medieval token of her appreciation after everything he had done for her.

He had saved her life once, and here she was, bestowing a favor like she was starring in some flamboyant period drama.

“It’sbeautiful. Forgive me for bleeding over it, but I bet I can wash it. If I soak it in some cold water soon, it should come out looking brand new.”

“Got a lot of experience washing out blood?”She asked, and he smiled, the knowing smile that offered to share if Lucy really wanted to know.“Your family does seem like a bunch that bleeds a lot.”

“Iwas born and raised on a ship, and my fatherdidn’tmake a living by any honest means,”Klein offered as an explanation.

“Pirates? You know, I guessed about as much, but that lake seems pretty small for high-sea adventures. There was so much to digest in that house, Idon’tthink I ever asked.”

“The lake just serves as a dock. TheArtemis has had more than her share of adventures, andI’msureshe’snot done yet.

Gaia opens a way out where father needs to go, you see, and off he sails.

It’sbeen a while, though. Hehasn’ttaken her out since mother died.

”Klein sighed.“Forgive me.It’sdifficult to discuss family history without stepping on an emotional land-mine. ”

“Don’tapologize. I get it.It’shard to talk about my childhood without hitting the whole‘orphanedteenager’pothole.Could’vedone without that bit of character development; if I ever meet my writers,I’mgonna kick their asses.”

She pulled his hand close again, now that the red stain had stopped spreading. She lifted the fabric and wiped away any leftover mess to examine the cut, only to find it completely gone.

“Wait...”

Klein winced as she jerked his hand toward her face, fingers running over the completely unmarked skin.

“Lucy,it’sreally not...Oh.”He noticed it, too, wiggling out of her grip to study the injured spot. The cut was healed without so much as a blemish.

“Ididn’tfeel you use your magic.”He muttered, examining the spot with a surprised frown.

“Ididn’tuse it. Maybe it was this?”She lifted the bloody handkerchief and stretched it out between her fingers.“This was the lesson; a protective spell is woven into it,”she explained, staring at the stained stitches.

“Klein! It worked!”

“Iwish I understood, but I suspect congratulations are in order?”Klein looked down at her with an unmistakable, fierce look of pride.