Aimee Easterling's Blog, page 5

Ideas for celebrating Samhain

Halloween was second only to Christmas as my favorite childhood holiday. (Yes, even though my family didn’t eat sugar, so I had to give away all of the candy I collected.) Dressing up as something else and carving jack-o-lanterns scratched the same creative itch I now pour into my books.

 

No wonder adult me was intrigued to discover Samhain — the Gaelic festival that Halloween sprang from. The flip side of the Imbolc coin, Samhain is a cross-quarter day marking the coming of the dark instead of the light.

 

Celebrated on sunset October 31 through sunset November 1, the holiday was traditionally considered a time when the borders between the worlds of the living and the dead were permeable. I used this worldbuilding element in my Samhain Shifters series and enjoy thinking of the ancient roots of the kids currently ringing doorbells dressed up as monsters and ghouls. Back in the day, costumes were believed to protect the wearers from being kidnapped by fairies. Adds a bit of danger to the night!

 

Modern Samhain celebrations

In addition to the costumes and jack-o-lanterns, those of us who regularly sink our fingers into the dirt might focus on the harvest facet of the Samhain celebration. One website suggests celebrating this day by gathering dead and dying plants from your garden and using the debris to construct a person. The result can be a scarecrow-like figure, or perhaps a green man like the one in Susan Cooper’s The Dark is Rising series (and the legend the books are based on). I had great fun last year inviting the neighbor kids down to help me out with this task and our plant creatures protected the garden for several weeks.

 

Bonfires are another traditional aspect of the Samhain celebration, welcoming winter. Any size fire can be used to symbolically burn away things you want to let go of. Just write the discarded emotions/habits/whatever down and feed the paper to the flame.

 

Or perhaps you’d rather honor lost loved ones. One method is to build an altar with photos and mementos of the dearly departed and set them a place at the table. Other options include switching traditions and veering off into ideas spurred by the Mexican Day of the Dead tradition.

 

No matter how you observe Samhain, I hope you take a moment to notice the days getting shorter and the first fog of your exhale on a chilly morning. Nibbling on the first persimmon of the year is perhaps my favorite Samhain celebration, eating carefully to make sure I find no bitter with the sweet.

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The Lost Spells

The Lost Spells by Robert MacFarlane and Jackie Morris is a really lovely book that transcends genre. It feels a bit like a children’s book for adults, with the suck-you-in illustrations and the admonition that it’s best read aloud. And, at the same time, the book reads as a combination of going out into the woods and stumbling across something you see seldom enough to be magical plus chanting “When the Dark Comes Rising” at the top of your lungs in your city backyard when you’re too young to realize the neighbors are going to think you’re a witch.

Highly recommended even by this non-poetry lover. (Yes, poetry is the genre the publisher chose for all of this awesomeness.)

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Fae Wolf now live in audio!

http://aimeeeasterling.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/5MinuteRetailSample.mp3

Want to listen along to the adventure of a changeling werewolf finding her way outside Faery for the first time? Fae Wolf is now live in audio on all retailers!

I also have a surprise ebook launching in one short week. Stay tuned for details!

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Charmed Wolf now live in audio

I’m excited to have a new audiobook to share with you today! Here’s a teaser in case you want to listen before hopping over to your favorite retailer site:

http://aimeeeasterling.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Charmed-Wolf-Retail-Sample_.mp3

As usual, the audiobook is available on all retailers. So you can use your Audible subscription, can check out (or request) a copy at your local library, or can head to Author’s Direct for the lowest price. All relevant links are compiled here.

Happy listening…and stay tuned for the third book in the series, coming out in audio within the next month (I hope).

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Fae Wolf Sneak Peek

Although Fae Wolf is the third book in the Samhain Shifters series, it can be enjoyed as a standalone. So feel free to dive right in!

Chapter 1

“Friendly, my ass.”

The stranger’s deep rumble carried through the double library shelves before curling around me like a sun-warmed puppy. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t quite hold the obvious rejoinder in check.

“Your ass is friendly?” I shot back. “How do you know? Has it been butt dialing again?”

My jokes, I’m well aware, aren’t exactly funny. But I wasn’t prepared for such a violent response.

The peace of the library was broken by a clatter of falling books from the opposite side of the shelves. A huge hand thrust through the second tier of hardbacks to rake those in his direction also. Then a single tome clenched in strong fingers slammed down flat on the shelf, a face pressing through the gap to rest on the plastic-lined cover.

The stranger was my age or a little older. Appealingly stubble-jawed. Boasting an intriguing tattoo that curved out of his t-shirt and up one side of his neck.

But his eyes were what caught my attention. Startlingly blue, glinting with interest…and shadowed by something wild and furry and entirely familiar.

He was a wolf, like me.

My breath caught. Aiti and I had chosen this town thinking it was on the contested periphery of two werewolf territories, a location unlikely to be visited by either potential owner. We always skirted territory interiors where werewolves were likely to wander.

Apparently our research had proven wrong.

Backing up—one step, two steps—my butt hit the shelf behind me. Right. Library. Shelving. Exits were to the sides, not behind.

“Um, my mistake,” I muttered, trying to heft the massive bag of discards I’d set on the floor while browsing the stacks. I had to stock up when I could since visiting libraries was a rare indulgence. Still, I really should have left after achieving that goal.

But Aiti liked to take her time scavenging goods to bring back with us to Faery, so I had time to kill. And the plastic-sleeved hardbacks on the shelves, the ones I couldn’t actually check out since I had no address here on earth, tempted me with their diversity.

Now, my overloaded pack caught on the sleek wooden paddle—glamoured with a sheen of Faery magic to look like a walking stick—clasped in my other hand. The pack thumped to the floor, the paddle’s handle caught between my legs, and I would have fallen onto the shelf in front of me—the one I’d been trying to scramble away from—if an arm hadn’t shot out of that gap to hold me up.

The stranger’s fingers were warm on my skin but entirely impersonal. They set me on my feet then retreated. The face, when it returned to the gap, no longer had interest sparking in its pupils.

There was now no wolf behind his eyes.

“Hey,” the shifter soothed, “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t realize you were a kid.”

I wasn’t a kid. Still, the stranger’s words settled me. They meant my cloak was working, helping me blend into whichever setting I wandered through. Given the backpack and library, I wasn’t surprised my cloak had glamoured me into the form of a rather tall child.

A child with no wolf inside her. I wasn’t about to be slapped with a werewolf territorial battle while boasting no home base of my own.

Grinning from sheer relief, I couldn’t resist a rebuttal. “I’m older than I look.” The sentence amused me because it was both what every kid imaginable proclaimed…and the honest truth in my case.

Meanwhile, my heels settled back onto the floor. This werewolf was safely on the other side of a double-shelf barrier and he thought I was an underage human. Perhaps I could do what I’d never done previously—quench my curiosity about my own kind.

I had to give the other shifter a reason to stick around and chat, however. So I scanned the title of the book beneath his chin. “Pixies,” I noted, “are friendly. Mischievous maybe. Definitely likely to keep you up all night with their revelry.”

He tried to cock his head…and ended up knocking one ear against a book, which promptly collided with another book and created a second mini-cascade of library materials. I considered a joke about bulls and china shops, but the guy’s wince prompted me to let the moment pass.

He, on the other hand, didn’t ignore his blunder. “This kind of thing is normal for me,” the stranger observed after the clatter ceased. He nodded at a librarian who’d poked her head in to check on us. “I’ll pick it up,” he promised. “No worries.”

Proving his good intentions, he stooped, disappearing for a moment then reappearing with books in his arms. His voice lowered to more library-friendly levels as he repaired the damage he’d created save for the gap that let us converse.

“But,” he continued while swapping two titles that were, presumably, in the wrong order, “windstorms don’t usually come out of nowhere and knock my bike off the road. I don’t usually walk into holes that weren’t there the day before. Mosquitoes never used to like me but now when I go outside I get eaten up.”

He frowned and I got the distinct impression he hadn’t meant to spill his guts to a random not-really-kid in the public library. To distract him, I provided information he wouldn’t find in the book beneath his chin.

“Could be spriggans,” I suggested. “Or a curse. But, most of the time, things like that are just our brains trying to make sense of a string of unrelated bad luck….”

I trailed off as the paddle in my hand started moving across the floor without any help from my muscles. It was trying to stroke water…which meant Aiti’s canoe was leaving port.

And all thought of learning about my heritage faded as a pure shot of adrenaline coursed through me. I hadn’t taken a single step, but I was already out of breath when I made the barest of excuses. “Gotta go.”

This time, I managed to get the bag’s strap over my shoulder and myself turned toward the exit without falling over. I was home free, except….

“Wait.” The stranger’s voice had gone gruff. Lupine. It tried to snag my feet…

…But the cloak’s fae power rebuffed whatever werewolf magic he was spinning. Freed, I sprinted toward the exit, craving the stranger’s presence even as I left it.

I didn’t peer back over my shoulder though. Werewolves were intriguing. This particular werewolf was particularly intriguing.

But my Aiti was my life.

***

Unfortunately, Aiti wasn’t at the canoe. And our vessel wasn’t bottom-up on the bank the way it should have been. Instead, the boat rested in the water, straining against the rope we’d moored it with just in case the vessel developed a mind of its own.

The tether should have meant we were fine, but the rope was fraying. As if whatever force had pulled the canoe away from this human shore was stronger than braided unicorn-mane—patently impossible.

“Freakin’ fiddlesticks,” I muttered, grabbing the rope and heaving it toward me until there was a little slack to work with. A quick knot to bypass the weak area and I could trust the tether again…for a while at least. But I needed to find Aiti and get her back to the canoe before another strand snapped.

Because if the canoe left without us, we’d be stranded on earth. And while I might be suited to this environment by reason of my birth, Aiti wasn’t. A fae outside Faery was forced to turn to mortals for sustenance or fade away entirely. Of the two options, I knew which my adopted mother would choose.

Meanwhile, the danger shouldn’t have been an issue. Her paddle would have provided the same warning mine did. Why hadn’t she hurried back?

Dropping my books and paddle by the canoe, I spread the cloak over top even though going without was a risk. Wasting time lugging around burdens when the canoe was acting strangely seemed like an even worse bet.

My feet were loud on the pavement as I headed back to town, nothing like the muted whisper they would have made in Faery. “Farmer’s market,” I called to a shopper emerging from a grocery store. When he didn’t reply, I stood taller and made an effort to mimic the brusqueness of earth dwellers. “Where’s the farmer’s market?”

“Crazy hippies.” The man made a face, proving I hadn’t gotten the local intonation down. Still, when I flashed the barest hint of wolf at him, he muttered something even less complimentary then pointed to his left.

The name of the game was to blend in while on earth, and I’d thoroughly blown that. But the human in front of me probably had no idea why his heart rate had picked up when my inner wolf growled.

I could only hope fear hadn’t made him ornery. Hope he’d sent me the proper way.

He had. Colorful tents. Happy chatter. Relief flooded me like helium as I caught sight of Aiti in front of a booth of cheeses.

She was cloaked, which meant she seemed to possess a rather hooked nose instead of a bird beak in the middle of her mostly human features. Wolf senses meant I heard her long before I reached her, and her conversation came across as perfectly ordinary as well.

“You’re worried.” She reached across to pat the hand of the proprietor, a tiny woman who was almost as bird-like as Aiti without the cloak.

The farmer nodded. “Clover is so old. I didn’t mean to breed her, but the bull got in last year. She’s due to calve this week and I don’t think she’ll make it.”

The untrained eye wouldn’t have caught the spark of magic, not in broad daylight. But I was used to Aiti giving away what other fae would have charged an arm and a leg for (possibly literally). So I knew she’d passed over a parcel of good luck along with her second hand pat.

Her gentle words activated the magic. “She’ll make it.”

The farmer smiled, worry easing off her shoulders. “You know, I think you’re right.”

Then I was close enough to grab my adopted mother’s arm. To breathlessly spit out the honorific I used to address her. “Aiti. We need to go. Now.”

Aiti didn’t move. Instead, the farmer was the one who smiled at me as if she and Aiti were old friends rather than strangers who couldn’t have spent more than half an hour together. “This must be your daughter. Skye, right? Try a sample.”

There they were. A row of earthly foods free for the taking, toothpicks at the ready for mess-free handling. Each selection smelled delicious…and if I ate a single bite, Faery would no longer be my home.

My eyes widened. Was that why Aiti hadn’t noticed the canoe’s tug at the same time I had? I’d thought fae could eat whatever they wanted. That my changeling status—not really one thing or the other—was why I had to be so careful about consuming only the food of Faery. But maybe I’d been wrong….

No. I saw her paddle—glamoured to look like a cane—leaning against the table leg. Aiti shouldn’t have set it down. That was the very first rule she’d imparted when she’d deemed me responsible enough to be separated from her during our trading trips. In the decade plus between then and now, our roles had reversed.

Because Aiti was growing older. Her mind, I’d noticed in the last year and a half, was prone to wandering. Especially when faced with another’s pain.

I softened my tone. “Aiti, your cane.”

“Yes?” For a moment, her eyes were confused, empty. Then her mouth rounded. “Oh!”

The moment her fingers closed around the paddle, her urgency exploded. “Be sure to pat your cow tonight,” she called back to the farmer as she ran toward the exit. “And enjoy your new calf!”

Behind her, Aiti left peace. She always left peace wherever we traveled.

She herself, however, was frantic. The moment we emerged from the mass of seething shoppers, she panted out an explanation. “The borders are closing!”

“Closing? What do you mean by ‘closing’?” I grabbed her bag and paddle to speed us up, wishing that I could lift my Aiti and carry her as easily.

I couldn’t, though. It would have offended her dignity.

So I let her move under her own volition as she panted out explanations. “The last time the borders closed. Oof”—her clawed foot caught on a crack in the pavement and she nearly fell before steadying herself and continuing—“earth and Faery were separated for centuries.”

We rounded a corner and came within sight of the river. For one split second, I couldn’t see the canoe. My breath caught.

Then it bobbed back into view beneath a wooden dock. My knot had held.

Closing the distance between me and the tether while letting Aiti hop along more slowly, I yanked on the rope to draw the vessel to shore then heaved gear into its roomy bottom. Bag of books. Cloak. My paddle. Aiti’s pack.

By this point, my adopted mother was close enough for me to urge her: “Get in!”

But Aiti didn’t hurry into our craft the way she should have. Instead, she took my hand.

Her fingers, I noticed, ended in feathery tufts instead of the human-style nails that had been present last week. Reversion. I winced, shaking my head. Aiti couldn’t be reverting. We’d just spent too long away from Faery during our current trip. That was all.

Unaware of my worries, Aiti peered into my eyes and spouted words that made no sense at first. “Maybe this is for the best, Skye. You’re grown. Earth was always meant to be your home.”

For a long moment, I didn’t understand what she was saying. Then I did and I hated it. “What are you talking about? Earth is for visiting. You draw your sustenance from Faery. If the borders are closing, we need to get back.”

“And be stuck in the Unseelie Court for the rest of your life? It’s not safe for you there.”

“Less safe for you alone.” I couldn’t physically throw my Aiti into the boat, I didn’t think. But I could toss in her paddle and steady the side to make it easier for her to enter. “We need to hurry.”

“We can spare thirty seconds for you to consider your options.” Now Aiti didn’t look lost and abstracted. She looked like the mother who had raised and protected me, teaching me right from wrong and introducing me to the wonder of two worlds. “Think about the decision you’re making. This might be your only chance.”

“It’s an easy choice,” I answered.

And, despite the werewolf in the library, it was easy. Aiti was everything to me. She could only survive in Faery.

I leapt into the boat.

Chapter 2

Six months later….

The master of ceremonies was supposed to open the door and announce me. But he was too busy manipulating one of the serving girls like she was a puppet on a string.

“Pick it up.” His voice was fae, which meant it was musical. But the words tinkled like broken glass rather than sparkling with the ease of wind chimes. He was enjoying causing pain.

At first, I couldn’t see what was so pain-inducing about the stooped young woman his maliciousness was focused on. But as I came closer, I made out a long-legged being on the ground in front of her. The fuzzy spider—nearly as large as her palm—tried to scuttle up the girl’s sleeve and her entire body quivered in reaction. She slammed her free hand down around the fabric but didn’t attempt to shake the spider loose.

Didn’t because she couldn’t. The master of ceremonies was grinning so wide his words were distorted: “Now open up your mouth.”

Melissa. That was her name. I remembered the young woman arriving a month ago, pink-cheeked and happy and seeming more like a being of earth than of Faery. Now, she folded in on herself as she tried to cringe away from her own hand. “Sir. Please. Don’t make me.”

Her tormentor shook his head as if she was a recalcitrant child refusing to eat her Brussels sprouts. “Melissa, Melissa, Melissa.”

And the young woman’s mouth gaped open. She had no choice other than to obey since her true name was known by one and all.

The master of ceremonies, in contrast, hid his true name the way all strong fae did. Which meant getting him to back down would require a different approach.

On earth, I would’ve kicked the guy in the balls then called the cops on him. Here, I couldn’t afford to make quite so many waves.

Still, I wasn’t about to let Melissa be terrorized in front of me. So I cleared my throat then launched into diversionary tactics. “You do realize your shoelaces are untied?”

The distraction worked. The master of ceremonies relinquished his control over Melissa as he glanced down at his own footwear, which was pretty stupid of him since his knee-high boots were held in place with copper zippers. “I don’t think…” he began before snapping his mouth shut.

The instant he realized he’d been tricked, a flash of something fiery surged out of him. The heat singed my skin and it wasn’t even aimed at me.

It was aimed at Melissa and the impulse wasn’t restricted to making her eat spiders either. The master of ceremonies intended to follow in his Queen’s footsteps and resort to physical torture.

He intended…but he didn’t succeed. Because Melissa had already skittered away down the corridor. Zip Boots couldn’t leave his post to go after her. And his attention span had proven short in the past.

Problem solved.

Without giving him time to turn his maliciousness in my direction, I yanked open the door for myself and entered the presence of a Queen who made the master of ceremonies look like a plush teddy bear. Still, spunk was my only armor against the fae, so I waved as if the Unseelie Court’s monarch was a random acquaintance.

“Hi,” I started. Then, once her perfectly chiseled eyebrows dropped into a glower, I added “—ness. Silent G and H. But you heard them. Right, Your Majesty?”

Last time I’d been this insolent, the Queen of the Unseelie Court had threatened to string me up by my toenails. But we’d both known it was an idle threat. Unlike everyone else in the vicinity, I was a mortal. If the Queen broke me, I’d stay broken. My changeling status made me too entertaining to waste in a fit of pique.

I waited for the flash of anger as the Queen worked through that well-worn mental pathway. Instead, she simply shook her head.

“I don’t have time for your antics, pup.”

Yes, here in Faery I was considered a child, and not because of any cloak magic. After all, if you live forever, twenty-five years is the blink of an eye.

I wanted to make the most of my remaining eye blinks, so I dropped into a genuflection so deep it was almost parody. And…my nemesis ignored that also. Something had to be going on.

“You’re certain you saw it.” While my head was down, the Queen had turned away to address a fae who didn’t look familiar to me. Not a Court fae. Or maybe a Court fae who’d donned a different glamour. It was confusing hanging out with beings able to change their physical aspects at will.

Which, I mean, I could also. Just in a slightly different way…and, for the last six months, only with the Queen’s consent.

“I’m certain, Your Majesty,” the fae answered. His voice was so soft I could barely hear it. He was terrified of the Queen, and I realized why when she spoke next.

“You’re certain…or you think bringing false information will save you from punishment? I didn’t grant permission for you to leave last Samhain.” The Queen crooked one finger, waiting until the guy shuffled three minuscule steps forward. Only then did she purr out an ice-loaded order. “Tell me again what you saw.”

“I”—he gulped, a tremor running across his face then down his throat—“I saw your son pull a sword out of the ground. One moment there was nothing but pavement. The next moment a gleaming weapon was present. It had to be the Kingmaker.”

“Soon to be known as the Queenmaker,” our covetous monarch murmured. Then, louder: “We’ll see about that.”

She snapped her fingers and Mr. I-Forgot-My-Boots-Zip stopped hovering in the doorway so he could roll a vast silver mirror away from the wall. Until two seasons ago, this is what the Queen had used to spy on the human realm. Now….

I scrambled up out of my genuflection and inserted myself into their conversation. “In case you’ve forgotten,” I told the Queen unhelpfully, “you sealed the borders after your son fled.”

“In case you’ve forgotten,” she countered, “I have ways of boosting my reach.”

So that’s why I was here. For one split second, I closed my eyes and dropped deep inside myself to where a wolf waited.

“Skye.” My name on the Queen’s tongue was harsh.

But I wasn’t fae so I was able to ignore her. To whisper to my other self: Hide.

The wolf’s ears twitched once. A searing pain shot through me, as if someone had stabbed my kidney with an icicle. Then my fur form was gone, hidden so deep inside that I couldn’t have shifted if I wanted to.

“Skye.” The Queen’s temper had always been short, but today her repetition of my name was redolent with something darker. Where her lackey had turned hot in his annoyance, she instead seemed to suck all oxygen out of the air.

Perhaps it was time to stop playing games.

I opened my eyes and bowed my head. “Your Majesty. I choose my left shoulder.”

Shoelaceless was pushing up my sleeve, hands rough, when the Queen’s voice slapped both of us. “Did I say you had a choice in the matter?”

The resulting silence was deafening. My sleeve dropped back down over my wrist as the Queen’s lackey stumbled back.

For an endless moment, we all waited. Then, deciding that the Queen wanted an answer to her rhetorical question, I provided one.

“No, Your Majesty.” Deep, apologetic bow. “My mistake.” Deeper bow, which ended up cracking my forehead against the throne arm. Ow.

The Queen’s smugness cupped me. She hadn’t cared what I answered. She just wanted to prove she could make me kowtow.

Well, mission accomplished. Turning away, she addressed He-Who-Didn’t-Know-What-He-Was-Wearing-On-His-Smelly-Feet. “Tattoo her cheek.”

I winced. That would be painful…and would also make it harder to blend in during trading missions.

If, that is, the border ever reopened.

But I knew when to cut my losses. I tilted my head and waited for the needle to push into the thin skin over my left cheekbone. My wolf’s steadfastness would have proven handy at this moment, but I’d told her to hide.

So I gritted my teeth and bore the pain as a fae only a quarter as evil as his mistress tattooed strength and energy out of my skin.

***

My tattoo channeled energy into the Queen’s mirror, turning the formerly reflective surface back into the visual portal it had once been. With the borders closed, none of us could physically cross over to earth. But a little boost was enough to morph an already magicked mirror into a window into the past, present, or near future.

Sure enough, the mirror shimmered awake before Copper-Zip-Or-Was-That-Zit? had finished. The surface swirled to display an alley lit by human lampposts. Bodies wove in and out of the half-light so quickly it was hard to distinguish them. All I could tell was that a battle was taking place.

No, that wasn’t all. The scene settled and I saw the fae who the Queen had been questioning, the wound on his cheek present as a fresh cut rather than the scab it was now. If I had to guess, this vision occurred sometime in the recent past, half a week ago maybe.

“Now,” the Queen purred, “we’ll see whether your story is enough to save your skin.”

Here in front of me, the fae in question shrank in on himself. In the mirror, the past aspect of the same fae found himself at the center of the melee.

He and two others fought with nothing but glamour and kindergarten trickery. Having crossed over without the Queen’s permission, they were unbearably weak.

Weak by fae standards, but strong compared to the mortals trying to best them. My gaze caught on one of those enemies, a man as rough around the edges as the Queen was perfectly polished.

He was surprisingly familiar. Tattoos. Stubble. Startlingly blue eyes….

The werewolf from the library. My heart rate sped up.

And a sword sliced so close to the side of his head that hair sprayed out like a halo. Rather than growling, the shifter grinned.

“Did you hear the one about the guy with a sword in his ear?” he asked nobody, the sound not coming through the mirror but his lips easy to read. He waited a beat, during which he parried and attacked before completing the joke that no one other than me seemed to be paying attention to. “Well, neither did he. Hard to hear through a sword.”

I stifled a smile, both because of the awfulness of his joke and because I’d been partially successful. Hiding my own inner animal had done that much, at least. The Queen had stolen enough energy from me to power sight but not hearing.

It was almost as if the shifter was privy to my pleasure. His eyes rose until they met mine through the mirror and his mouth quirked upwards even further. Our gazes locked and something warm tugged at my belly.

Then another fae leapt up behind him and I couldn’t help myself. I pointed….

And the burly shifter twisted away just in time. Twisted and skewered his attacker, who poofed out as all earth-based fae did when run through with steel or iron. The fae wasn’t dead, just sent back to the world in which I now stood.

“Those are mayfly swords.” The Queen broke the moment that had to have been in my imagination only, using the insult fae often threw at mortals. Mayflies—we lived for a mere season. We weren’t worth bothering with.

And now the Queen was growing bored with watching mayflies; I could tell by her voice. Nobody was bleeding in the scene on the mirror, which meant someone in this room would bleed soon. I could only hope the someone in question wasn’t me.

“The Kingmaker hasn’t arrived yet,” the fae who was both in the mirror and here told her. His voice trembled, but he was incapable of lying. All fae were. Likely, he was just scared to death.

“Then why…?” the Queen started.

Before she could finish her query, we saw it. Every one of us saw it—those in the audience chamber and those in the alley. A silver sword with a copper handle popping into existence like something out of an Imbolc glamour show.

But Imbolc glamour shows didn’t happen on earth. No wonder the rough-around-the-edges shifter emoted. Silently yet perfectly understandable.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“What did he say?” the Queen demanded.

“Perhaps you should take a course in lipreading,” I countered.

Which was stupid. I needed to learn to hold my tongue before I lost it. Because my insolence had fixated the Queen’s attention on me. Never a good thing.

Her eyes narrowed. “This vision should be stronger. You disobeyed me. You shifted.”

“I didn’t.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Eight months ago, I’d been unable to resist the glow of the moon above foggy waters when my adopted mother and I paddled our canoe through Faery waters, back when crossing over was something we did monthly. I’d donned fur and swum alongside her for fifteen glorious minutes….

But releasing pent-up energy three seasons in the past wasn’t why the Queen’s scrying had only half-worked this time. The reason was my wolf, hiding so deep inside even I couldn’t find her. The coldness in my belly overtook the warmth from the shifter’s grin and self-preservation kicked in.

Turning the conversation back to the Queen’s original question, I told her: “He said, ‘well, will you look at that.’”

Unlike the fae, I could lie. And I was lying…but only to keep the peace. The Queen didn’t allow expletives in her presence and the shifter had actually said, “Fuck a duck.”

“Hmm.” The Queen returned her attention to the mirror. There, her son—one of her two sons, actually, the younger one who was fully fae but who had willingly left Court to live on earth—drew the sword out of the alley’s pavement. The gesture should have taken extreme effort, but he made it look as easy as picking a cookie up off a tray. “And what,” the Queen continued, “did my mayfly-loving son say next?”

This one was easier. “I believe, Your Majesty, that Erskine’s response was, ‘Huh.’”

Then Erskine was using the Kingmaker to swipe through fae who’d frozen into place. Fae who didn’t even try to dodge as he skewered them one after the other, cutting short their jaunt in the human world and returning them here, to the Unseelie Court. Home sweet home for all of us ever since the borders had slammed shut.

Erskine should have been exhilarated at the success. After all, gossip in Court had it that he’d chosen mortals over fae, had chosen to work with the group known as the Samhain Shifters to send fae back to Faery. A selfless gesture, one intended to protect those who had a hard time fighting back against the magically endowed.

And he’d succeeded. As of today, there were no recently crossed over fae remaining in the human realm.

But in this particular vision, Erskine wasn’t elated. He didn’t look like the playful fae prince who’d once blended in with the beauty of Court without ever turning malicious either.

Instead, his eyes were sunken into his head. Lines I didn’t remember bracketed his mouth. And, as the final fae invader faded out of the alley, the Queen’s son turned to the rough-around-the-edges shifter and said, “I can’t do this, Ryder. I don’t want this.”

Ryder shrugged. “Throw it away then. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“The Kingmaker isn’t rubbish.”

A shiver spun through me. Erskine knew what he held, and soon the Queen would ask me to translate….

But she’d seen everything she needed to see. The Kingmaker existed. Her son had the sword. She no longer cared about earth-based conversations.

Turning away from the mirror, she jerked her chin at Zip-Boots. “Peel him.”

“Your Majesty?”

“This faithless courtier. Like a grape. Remove the skin.”

It would grow back. We all knew that. But the pain would be unbearable, the regrowth worse as skin itched back into existence.

The fae being sentenced collapsed into a quivering heap at her feet. “Your Majesty, please. I promise….”

The scene in the mirror had begun lightening back to silver as the Queen’s attention turned to more sadistic pursuits. But there was just enough residual magic to let me see what the Queen did not.

The sword—the Kingmaker—had just changed hands.

“Really?” the rough-around-the-edges shifter said. “When I asked for a heartfelt gift, I thought you’d give me something useful. Blood maybe. Get it? Heart? Blood?”

I choked on my laugh. Not at the joke, but at the look on Erskine’s face. He might live among mortals now, but he was fae at his core. Earthly humor was beyond him.

Only, my laughter was a mistake just as it had been before. It drew the Queen’s attention back to me…and to the mirror.

My breath caught. But the scrying surface now shimmered silver and impenetrable. The Queen’s stare, in contrast, was as tangible as a slap.

“You think this is funny, pup?” She took a step toward me…which just so happened to grind her heel into the fallen fae’s fingers. He whimpered, but she didn’t even glance downward. Just twisted her foot to deepen the pain then continued pacing forward until she was in my face.

In my face, stinking of flowers and Queenliness. My wolf wanted to rise up and protect me, but I couldn’t risk it. Not if another tattoo was imminent.

I clenched my fists and stood my ground, no stronger than a human. “No, ma’am. Nothing funny here.”

“What will be funny,” the Queen murmured, voice so low I could barely hear with my wolf hiding, “is when I peel someone else alongside this traitor. Someone who can handle enough pain to be entertaining.”

Her foot shot backwards, right into the fae’s chin. As if she knew without looking where all of his weak spots were.

Just like she knew the location of mine.

“You might consider pleasing me,” the Queen continued, “for your Aiti’s sake. Or should I say…for the sake of your Mom?”

Chapter 3

I somehow made it out of the audience chamber on autopilot. Looked tough enough so I wasn’t messed with by any of the fae I stalked past on the way to the quarters I shared with my mother.

But my brain was a mess. Aiti. I’d picked the honorific off a list when I first grew into my human skin over a decade ago. I’d thought no one would ever guess what it meant.

“Why can’t I call you Mom?” I’d asked, my mouth contorting as it tried to work itself around sounds I’d heard spoken all my life yet had no ability to spit out of my lupine snout. Newly two-legged, I finally had the requisite human anatomy…and the words still had trouble emerging from my flexible lips.

My adopted mother understood though. “It’s not safe for either of us to let the world know the depth of our connection.” She’d pulled me into her side, turning the wooden spits we used to cook campfire dinners out in the Between where few fae traveled. One turn to her vegetables, an endless gentle spin to my hunks of meat to make sure there were no burnt spots.

“The Queen,” she continued, “could take advantage when we’re at Court. She thinks affection is a weakness. She’s wrong…and she’s right.”

We had to go to Court to sell our goods, so I knew what my mother meant. Court-dwelling parents sent their children off to be raised by others for everyone’s protection. The one set of fated mates I’d met—fully bonded and unable to live apart—were constantly terrorized. Caring, in the Unseelie Court, was like displaying an open wound and begging for it to be poked.

Still, before the border closed, the time we spent in Court was short and infrequent. My mother’s argument had seemed irrelevant at the time. “I could call you Mom when we’re traveling. I just won’t use a name when we visit the Queen. That’s not strange. Fae dance around their true names all the time.”

In lieu of a reply, Aiti cradled my face just like she used to when I was four-legged and she was the center of my tiny universe. She’d found me as a pup when I’d been tossed aside by shifter parents unwilling to raise a bloodling—a wolf-form baby. Ever since, she’d nurtured me even though I wasn’t fae or even the right kind of werewolf.

Despite our differences, it had been the two of us against the world from that moment forward. I fully expected her to accept my naming compromise.

Instead, she’d murmured: “And if you slip up? What then?”

So I hadn’t called her Mom. Instead, we’d agreed upon a better solution. So many cultures, so many languages. It wasn’t hard to find one where children addressed their mothers with a name that sounded nothing like Mom.

I’d thought we were clever. A few times during Court visits, I’d twisted Aiti until it sounded like “Cruel Mistress, must I really obey you?” Fae had tittered. I’d known word of my antipathy would travel to the Queen.

But what had proven effective during short stays in Court hadn’t stood up under a six-month travel ban. The Queen was as clever as she was cruel. No wonder she’d sniffed out how much I loved this fae woman and how much Aiti loved me back.

Had sniffed out our weakness and understood how to use that formerly hidden chink in my armor against both of us. Aiti wasn’t mortal. She could be tortured without risking permanent loss to one of the Queen’s useful tools.

All of this went through my head as I rushed down the corridor. Thrusting open the door to our quarters without knocking, I found my Aiti curled up on the window ledge reading one of the books I’d snagged out of the discard bin. Reading wasn’t quite travel, but losing herself in story was close enough.

Any other day, I would have curled up beside her, offering the comfort of my presence while taking the same from my Aiti. It was hard on both of us being cooped up in Court.

But snuggling wasn’t going to fix this problem. So I closed the door and padded closer. Then, speaking quietly so no one in the corridor could hear, I told her, “We have to cross over. Tonight.”

***

Aiti didn’t answer at first. Instead, she stuck a brilliant blue feather she’d molted out of her crest between the pages in lieu of a bookmark. Pierced me with eyes lacking irises. Cocked her head.

Just like always, her silence pulled words out of me. “The Queen knows what ‘Aiti’ means. Court is no longer safe for you. I know the borders are closed to fae, but I’m from earth. I think I can get us across.”

“And then?”

I’d put a lot of thought into this over the last six months. Back then, I’d hopped into the canoe because I’d thought Faery was the only place where my mother could survive. But here at Court, nosing into places that were none of my business, I’d learned about alternatives.

“You wouldn’t have to steal energy to live on earth. You could just soak up overflow when humans are exuberant. It would be enough for survival if not for major magic tricks. The feeding method is entirely benign.”

She hummed for a moment, the vibration both soothing and musical. Then: “Leaving will be dangerous.”

My mother wasn’t trying to talk me out of it. The ache in my chest loosened despite the pang of knowledge about what we’d both be losing. Spring flowers that sparkled like jewels. Bird song that rivaled earth orchestras. Faery’s beauty was profound…and leaving was easy if it meant my mother would remain safe.

So I grabbed my traveling bag—dusty from long disuse—and started stuffing essentials inside it. “Not more dangerous than staying here.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noted that Aiti hadn’t picked up her own luggage. Instead, she remained still in the way only fae could. My hands slowed, then stopped.

“Aiti, please.”

My mother’s face could be hard to read for those unaccustomed to her increasingly bird-like features. But the wateriness of her eyes suggested she was sad. “Does your gut say this is the right thing to do?”

Aiti was big on intuition. I nodded.

“Are you sure? Look deeper.”

We didn’t have time to waste, but I obeyed her anyway. Closed my eyes and felt into the darkness of my psyche as if I was walking blind through a cave.

I wasn’t actually going anywhere, just seeking out my wolf and her instincts. A waking dream, maybe. Whatever it was, within seconds, my immaterial fingers brushed against the fur of my lupine half. The knot in my stomach eased at her presence. I fisted her ruff and let her act as my guide.

As always, my wolf was ready and willing. Tugging me forward, we left behind both Court and the land of Faery. Passed through darkness into light.

On the other end was an unshaven shifter with a smirk on his lips. “Knock, knock,” Ryder said, tapping on my head by way of greeting.

The touch—completely unreal—sent a tingle up my spine anyway. Meanwhile, my brows drew together.

Was that why I wanted to cross over? Animal attraction? If so, Aiti was right. This was a fool’s errand.

“Hmmm.” My mother’s breath feathered across my forehead right where the shifter hadn’t actually tapped. Opening my eyes, I expected to find her intent attention spearing me.

Instead, she was across the room, filling her own sack with oystershell for her beak plus clean pairs of spider-silk underwear. “Alright then,” she told me. “Let’s go.”

***

Our canoe was moored in a watery cavern, deep beneath the hallways of the Queen’s palace where no one else ventured. Water dripped from above, Aiti’s faery light barely illuminating the way forward. I expected to be stopped at any moment, but no one leapt out of the shadows and into our path. So I passed the time debriefing my mother about the Kingmaker and the Queen’s new threat to her person.

Aiti stiffened as my reasoning for fleeing Faery became apparent, muttering something I couldn’t quite make out. Then, as we approached the canoe, she shook her head as if to clear it before waving me forward. “You’re the one with ties to earth. You take the stern.”

This was new. The person in the back of a canoe steered the craft and Aiti had always been our guide previously.

Still, I nodded. Clambered into the wooden bottom and waited for Aiti to follow. She was lighter on her feet than I was, barely making the water slap against the sides as she settled herself. Our paddles dipped in tandem. We shot forward into the dark.

To cross from Faery to earth wasn’t an easy matter, but Aiti had made a career of it. Always before, she’d let her faery light wink out, traveling by what, for all I knew, was smell. But this time it was my job to guide us. I closed my eyes and drew my paddle through the water. Faster, harder…and the prow slammed into a stone wall.

Aiti’s laugh was a squawk of humor. For some reason, it reminded me of the rough-around-the-edges shifter even though there was nothing lupine about my adoptive mother.

“Thoughts?” I asked once her laughter faded.

“Nary a one,” she answered. “Since the borders closed, I haven’t been able to make it even this far.”

She’d tried? That was news to me.

We floated in total darkness for one long moment. The water was so still I could barely hear it lapping against the canoe sides. There was no current to pull us backwards or forwards. No indication which way we’d need to travel to reach earth.

“A tattoo,” I said at last.

“No.” Aiti’s answer came so hard and fast I almost lost control of my paddle. “I promised to never take from you. Not even to fuel our crossing over. You are my daughter. Not a…a…battery.”

I waited until her words stopped echoing off the walls of the cavern. Then I answered. “You’re not taking if I give you the energy as a gift.”

As I spoke, I dug into my satchel, wishing I’d thought ahead while packing. Housewifery wasn’t within my skillset so I didn’t own a mending needle. The closest I came to tattoo equipment was a pen plus a knife.

The faery light winked back on. Aiti had turned her whole body around to face me, never once making the canoe sway. That’s what it meant to be fae. Perfect grace, no matter what the pressure. “Skye, escape isn’t worth that. We’ll find a spot to rusticate in the country.”

I shook my head, shaking the canoe more than I should have. I wasn’t fae and, with my Aiti, I didn’t have to hide my emotions. “Everywhere in Faery answers to the Queen. I won’t let her hurt you.”

Aiti was silent. So I unscrewed the pen—a human-made ballpoint picked up off an earth street a year ago. Snapping the ink cartridge in half, I let darkness ooze onto the point of my knife.

“I won’t let you do this for me.” Aiti’s hand covered mine. Her fingers were feathered up to the knuckles now. Was the stress of Court speeding her reversion? If so, hopefully she’d settle back into her normal self once we reached earth.

“I’m not doing it for you,” I lied. Then, strong as a wolf, I shook her off and stabbed the knife into my ankle.

Chapter 4

It didn’t work. Tattoo or no tattoo, our canoe was dead in the water. I swallowed down the lump of desperation in my throat and felt like a child as I turned to Aiti, expecting her to solve the disaster we found ourselves in.

And…she did. She always did. Her fingers came up to my throat, unbuttoning my shirt. “Take this off.”

My eyebrows drew together as I shed clothing. “And shift?”

The Queen had been annoyed when I hid my wolf, but she’d gotten a good dose of my energy anyway. Post-shift, there’d be no magic left to channel out of my pores for days or even weeks. If I went wolf now, we couldn’t risk returning to Court, not for a good long time.

Aiti knew that as well as I did, but she nodded anyway. “If you swim with a rope between your teeth, it’s just possible you’ll be sucked back to earth and the canoe will go with you.”

The plan made a fae sort of sense, and my beast wanted out. So I let my wolf and Aiti guide me. Shed everything except the locket that hung on a chain around my neck, the one that matched my mother’s and was infused with the closest thing she had to a fated-mate bond.

Aiti and I were nothing alike physically, but in that moment, we were one being. She steadied me as fur pressed through my skin. She soothed the ache as my spine elongated into a tail for balance.

Then, before I could leap out into the darkness, she grabbed my furry cheeks. “Promise me, Skye, that if something goes wrong you’ll let go of the rope. I’ll drift back to Faery. Find a spot so remote even the Queen can’t find me. I’ll be fine.”

I nodded even though we both knew I was lying. I wouldn’t leave Aiti alone in the Between. With the borders shut, she might be trapped there forever. Even if she made it back to Faery, the only places outside the Queen’s influence were far too dangerous for one lone fae trying to survive.

So I snapped up the lead rope between my teeth and splashed into the dark water. I’d pull Aiti to earth. Now that I’d shifted, there was no going back. My plan had to work.

First, though, I needed to catch my breath. Frigid water had slammed all air out of my lungs the instant I left the boat. The liquid was colder than ice, even though that wasn’t scientifically possible. Insidious, invading my fur and pressing against skin far faster than real water should have.

I gasped for oxygen and a trickle of water seeped down my throat in the process. The liquid tasted foul. Like rot and roses, the scent of a funeral…or of the air around the Queen’s throne.

And none of that mattered. Rope in my teeth, I started paddling in the direction my gut told me was the right one. Tugging the canoe into motion, I nearly foundered as a wave came out of nowhere to break over my head.

“To your left!” Aiti shrieked.

I spun, but I couldn’t see what had scared her. Couldn’t see anything, actually. Aiti’s faery light had winked all the way out.

Then the rope went taut. As if something was yanking us backwards just as fast as I tugged us forward. Aiti squawked out something that wasn’t quite a word, her paddle slapping hard against the water.

I splashed in an awkward circle, heading toward her. Didn’t matter that the Queen would fillet me if I showed up without any shifter magic to be harvested. Nothing mattered other than the sounds of struggle. Aiti was in danger. Aiti was…

…silent now. And the rope had gone lax.

I shifted, using up even more of the Queen’s precious battery power in an effort to regain human abilities. “Aiti?” I called.

No answer. No matter. I’d tread that awful water while tugging on the rope with both hands until we met in the middle.

The rope slid through my fingers easily. So whatever had grabbed onto the canoe was no longer fighting our forward progress.

Right hand. Left hand.

I’d reassure myself Aiti was still in the boat, then I’d shift—I had maybe one shift left in me before I collapsed from exhaustion—and pull us to the land where I’d been born.

Right hand. Left hand.

Yes, I was aware something was wrong. My Aiti wasn’t answering, and she always answered. But, on earth, I’d have time and energy to tend her. We’d….

Right hand. No left hand.

The end of the rope slipped through my fingers. Tattered. Torn. As if someone had sawed through it with the knife I’d left in the bottom of the canoe.

“Aiti!” This time I screamed her name.

And, somewhere very far away, my mother answered. “Swim forward!”

She meant toward earth, but her voice was as good as a compass. I struck out toward her…

…And a massive wave swept up underneath me, pulling me so quickly in the opposite direction that I expected to be slammed against the cave wall. Instead, the wave peaked. For one split second, I thought I saw a sky full of stars.

Then the wave slammed down, down, down, pulling me with it. Tumbling me into sand and rock that scraped raw patches in my bare skin. Into water—not foul, but algae sweet—that thrust itself up my nostrils and made me gag.

Into warm arms that encircled my waist and pulled me upward until we both broke the surface.

“I’ve got you.”

His voice was honeyed gravel. I knew who I’d see before I opened my eyes.

 

Download a copy of Fae Wolf to keep reading!

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Moon Glamour FREE as ebook, live in audio

The amazing RR Cummings made Moon Glamour my favorite audiobook yet with her exciting read. Don’t believe me? Check out the sample below and decide for yourself:

http://aimeeeasterling.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/retail-sample-x-final.mp3

To celebrate, I’ve marked Moon Glamour’s ebook down to zero dollars for a limited time. You can find both audio and ebook here.

If you’re low on cash but prefer to listen, you can request a copy at your local library or check the audiobook out immediately if your system uses Hoopla. Alternatively, if you have an Audible, Kobo, or Scribd subscription, the audiobook is available in all three places. (They also all have free trials if you’ve never given those services a shot.)

Finally, if you want to buy a copy at the very cheapest price, Author’s Direct is the way to go. You can nab the audiobook there for only $6.99.

Once you listen, I hope you’ll consider taking a minute to review wherever you tracked down your copy. Thank you so much for helping ensure I have the funds to bring audiobooks out in a timely manner in the future.

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Charmed Wolf sneak peak

Charmed Wolf is book two in the Samhain Shifters series, but unlike most of my series you can dive into any installment you want as your introduction. Keep reading for a special snippet to tempt your taste buds before next week’s launch.

Chapter 1

There are few things more amusing than growly, dominant werewolves coated in glitter. No wonder my friend Ash raised a hand to cover his grin as Willa stormed into my office without knocking.

“Alpha,” she addressed me, ignoring Ash as irrelevant, “you have an appointment in half an hour.”

And she had a streak of glitter that started below her right eyebrow and arched up wildly toward her buzz-cut hairline. As if she’d tried to apply mascara and had her elbow jiggled at just the wrong moment.

Which, knowing the fifty-something, ramrod-spine Beta that I’d inherited from my father, was nowhere near the origin of that smear of cornstarch-based metal-mimic marring her forehead. When you run a glitter factory, sometimes sparkles end up in the wrong place.

“Should we tell her?” My words were silent, sent down the pack bond that connected me to the closest thing I had to a brother, the guy who just so happened to be the bringer of the snacks scattered across my desk.

Yes, I’d worked through lunch again. Yes, Ash had fixed my error. No wonder I let him make the call.

“Not quite yet, Tara,” Ash replied. “It’s always good to have an escape hatch when dealing with Willa.” His tone was mischievous and I got the impression that he enjoyed being the devil on my shoulder.

If he was the devil, Willa was the angel. The one always reining me in to the reality of my new responsibilities. “Alpha,” she repeated, eyebrows drawing together.

“I have a name,” I told her mildly.

“I know you do, Alpha. Just like your father did and his father before him.” Her smile turned grim. “The pack doesn’t need to know that name, however. You were Heir. Now you’re Alpha. And if you don’t get a move on, you’re going to be late.”

I reached around a baggie of baby carrots—Ash sometimes arrived with strangely healthy food for a shoulder devil—and clicked over to the screen with my calendar on it. “I don’t recall any meeting. Did you find contact info for Greenpeace’s purchase agent?”

Willa scowled. Since Father died and I inherited both my role and her help as interim second-in-command, she was perpetually scowling. But the lines in her forehead deepened now in response to my question. “They are prey. We are predators.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” I slammed the laptop shut. Straightened and let my inner wolf growl at her. “Biodegradable glitter would make glitter bombs more sustainable. Greenpeace is in the business of sustainability and protest. They’re an obvious partner. You’ll call them tomorrow.”

The words reverberated with Alpha power I hadn’t possessed until six months ago. No wonder Willa fought against my compulsion.

First she tried to wrest her gaze away from mine. Then, when that failed, she called up her own inner wolf to snarl behind her eyeballs. A glint of fangs, the scent of fur, a warning that she had a strong beast just waiting to get out.

The attempt at intimidation didn’t work though. I was Alpha. She was only Beta. Inch by inch, Willa’s head bowed downward until her eyes latched onto the sustainable bamboo flooring I’d installed to attract the right sort of client. The flooring she’d argued wouldn’t stand up under lupine claws.

Her words now came out more like ground glass than glitter. “Yes, Alpha.”

Teeth sharp, I nodded. Willa would call Greenpeace and we’d make a sale.

I hoped. Because this factory—this crazy, unwolflike glitter factory I’d let my best friend talk me into building—was all that stood between the Whelan clan and insolvency. I refused to be the Alpha responsible for the decline and fall of our pack.

***

We told Willa about the glitter smear after that, which sent her scurrying home to shower off the offending particles. What we didn’t tell her was that I’d received a heads-up from the glitter-bomb-testing committee that they were waiting at the second-floor window just above the entrance in preparation for a stealth attack.

“I mean, she’s going to shower anyway,” Ash observed as he pushed a platter of chocolate-cranberry cookies in my general direction. “Might as well….”

Willa’s roar cut through his words and I couldn’t resist. I swiveled my chair around and pushed open the window so I could see the aftermath.

The air was so full of swirling sparkles that I couldn’t even make out Willa for a moment. I could see the glitter bombers, though, their entire torsos hanging out the window beneath me. The scientists’ eyes were wide, their mouths opening to form words I couldn’t hear but which I suspected were: “Oh shit.”

Willa was the very last werewolf they would have chosen to test their glitter bomb on.

They were frozen, but I ran through scenarios at the speed of Alpha. Could Willa shift to wolf form and make it all the way up the stairs before the glitter-bombers fled the premises? Just in case, I dropped another alpha command on her: “You will not tear anyone’s throat out.”

Amidst the subsiding sparkles, one glittery fist curled tighter. The other opened out to reveal a single finger. But Willa didn’t make a move to retaliate against the throwers of glitter.

They, in contrast, had curled in on themselves as the shockwave of my command rolled downward. The stronger of the two coughed out an apology. “Alpha, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see who was coming….”

My lips twitched, but I firmed them back up. “Perhaps next time you’ll confirm your test subject’s identity before launching.”

“Yes, Alpha. Of course, Alpha. It’s just that no one is willing to be glitter bombed….”

“I wouldn’t mind it.” I let a smile break out across my face. Five minutes of glorious sparkle followed by thirty minutes of relentless scrubbing? Sounded like a much-needed break from the spreadsheets, letters, and bills on my desk.

The silence below was deafening. The glitter bombers’ eyes grew so wide I might as well have suggested tap-dancing naked in Times Square.

Willa’s response was more understated but also more powerful. She met my gaze and shook her head. Once. Hard.

The gesture dislodged a cloud of sparkles, which should have been hilarious. Instead, it struck me like a punch to the gut.

No, my Beta was saying, that was inappropriate behavior for an Alpha. Especially one who’d only held her position for six months.

Behind me, Ash hummed commiseration. But I didn’t need to be patted on the back, literally or verbally. I was Alpha.

So I straightened my spine until I resembled Willa, only significantly less sparkly. “Just kidding,” I told the glitter bombers.

Then I closed the window more quietly than I wanted to before retreating to my desk.

***

Ash left after that. He always knew when to make himself scarce. And the factory gradually emptied out as the work day ended.

Which didn’t mean I was off the hook. As long as a single wolf remained in my vicinity, I remained on call.

For example: “Do you need anything else, Alpha?” asked the ten-thousandth shifter to intrude upon my day.

I didn’t glance up this time because the speaker happened to be the lowest wolf on our totem pole. Perpetually terrified, he tended to pee his pants every time I made eye contact. “No, thank you,” I answered. “You can go home.”

Another two minutes of typing, then another voice: “Alpha, it’s quitting time and the pups are antsy.”

The spreadsheet in front of me contained far too many red cells. Negative income since we’d yet to find any buyers for our product, the product I’d dreamed up to replace my father’s outdated but fiscally responsible tobacco-growing enterprise. I wanted to tear my hair out and scream.

Instead, I graced this pack mate with a smile. He could handle eye contact. Craved it, actually. My attention proved there was an Alpha in charge even though my father’s body had been reduced to ash then returned to the forest.

“Take the pups for a run then,” I suggested, although I shouldn’t have had to state the obvious. “No one will see you. The humans left an hour ago.”

The pup minder backed away bowing, as if I was a medieval ruler. “Thank you, Alpha. I’m sorry, Alpha.”

Drat. Must have let a little annoyance seep into my voice.

I tamped down stray emotion, or seemed to. Because the next two pack mates didn’t prostrate themselves on the floor with their bellies exposed. They left, instead, with bounces in their steps and the smiles of wolves content in their pack.

For my part, I fell deeper into my spreadsheet as the litany of “Alpha”s faded. Such relief to have half an hour of solitude before I needed to prepare for an evening of challenges.

But, no. Challenges weren’t the only item remaining on my to-do list. An email from Willa dinged in my inbox. Inside was the information we’d both forgotten while I was letting the devil on my shoulder guide my actions.

My industrious Beta had set up an appointment with a potential Consort. A mandatory part of my transition to leadership. One I didn’t relish.

And, yes, I was going to be late.

 

Chapter 2

He’s beautiful. My wolf and I cocked our shared human head as we stared in the plate-glass window of Fluff Enough Bakery. The other potential Consorts I’d considered over the last six months had been powerful wolves with excellent heredity, but they’d lacked this male’s chiseled cheekbones and lanky vitality.

They’d also watched me with greedy eyes. Their wolves had been alert, ready to fight or fuck. Maybe fight and fuck in the same moment.

Not this male. He sat cross-legged on the bench seat of a half-booth, eyes closed and back straight. His hands rested on his knees, thumbs touching middle fingers. But even though he appeared to be meditating, his nostrils twitched ever so slightly when another diner rose to drop off a dirty plate at the counter. He was 100% alert.

And he matched the scanty description Willa had left for me. Biracial with some African component to his heritage. Six foot four inches of lean, muscular beauty. Close-cropped, jet-black hair.

So I opened the door, letting myself in. Watched out of the corner of my eye to see how he’d respond to my heady chocolate aroma.

This was the first test…and also one of the reasons I met potential Consorts in a human-run bakery. Usually, my signature scent was lost amid fumes from brownies, dark chocolate tarts, and homemade truffles. In the midst of all that created sweetness, even shifters didn’t tend to notice that I smelled like a pack princess—a cossetted alpha’s daughter—rather than a gritty pack leader. I wouldn’t have to take no-longer-wanted interviewees out back and break their arms before they’d take no for an answer.

Only, the venue didn’t work this time. The potential Consort’s eyes remained closed but his head turned toward me. He’d smelled something, although I couldn’t quite discern his reaction at our current distance.

“The regular?” Megan asked from behind the counter, reminding me that I’d made other advances in my interview technique since the arm-breaking fiasco.

I nodded. “Every bit of it.”

“Are you sure?” Megan leaned in closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. The volume wasn’t, of course, low enough to keep shifters in the dark. Megan was totally human and unaware that her shop currently hosted not one but two werewolves. “This one’s pretty.”

She waggled her eyebrows. The male’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

“Certain,” I growled.

And Megan shrugged, ringing up two meals and paying for them—plus a 100% tip—out of the credit card I’d left on file. The tip was sufficient to ensure we’d receive her undivided attention…and that she wouldn’t balk at the required cleanup.

Because we had a deal. The moment I crossed my fork and knife on my plate, Megan would dump something foul and liquid all over me. Here amid humans, the potential Consort would have no choice but to bow to social standards when I stormed out to change my clothing. Willa would deal with the unenviable task of letting failed applicants down over the phone the following day.

After thirty-five times through this process, I already knew how today’s “date” would end. Still, I straightened my spine and pasted on a human smile.

After all, I might as well try to enjoy the process. This was the closest I’d ever come to bonding with a mate.

***

The thirty-sixth potential Consort, though, continued to act differently than expected. His eyes didn’t open until I set the tray down on the table between us. Even then, there was no leering, no foul language. Just a restrained nod.

Time for his second test, then. Would he accept food a woman had picked out for him? To get a good gauge of the applicant’s personality, I’d gone full-on girly with the menu. Quiche, a skim latte, and a bright pink cupcake with piped yellow rosettes on top.

The potential Consort didn’t even glance at the food. Instead he spoke my name in a voice so deep and liquid I wanted to swim in it. Not Alpha but: “Tara Whelan.” His eyes smiled if not his lips.

Meanwhile, he rose, opening up both seating options—the bench he’d been meditating atop and the two normal chairs on the table’s other side. Sidling out of the way, he made space for me with the elegance of a wolf hunting. Each foot was placed so carefully it made no sound against the tiles.

“What a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he continued. “Please choose a seat.”

I frowned. I should have been the one speaking. Guiding the conversation. I couldn’t afford to let a Consort wannabe gain the upper hand.

So I pulled upon the arrogance of Alpha. “What does it matter where I sit? We have business to attend to.” Then I dropped my gaze to his file on my phone as an additional power play.

The gesture had only been meant to prove my wolf’s ability to rip out our enemy’s throat without watching him every second. But I found myself frowning as I skimmed over the scanty data.

Why had Willa arranged this meeting when the potential Consort had filled in so few of the application questions? He hadn’t bothered to submit a DNA sample. Hadn’t listed his ancestors. Hadn’t even put down a surname. Just his first name….

“Butch?” I looked from the phone to the stunning specimen of masculine beauty before me. “What kind of name is that?”

The applicant’s eyes were closed. As if he’d decided to take advantage of my pause to finish up his meditation. But long lashes fluttered back open as I addressed him. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Then he waited. For what? For me to choose a seat? Perhaps this was Butch’s return power play. Whatever. I sank into the closest chair, expecting Butch to slide back onto the bench on the other side of the table.

Instead, he pulled out the other standalone seat, folding his long body into it. Now he was so close that his presence warmed me like summer sunshine. My entire face heated. I knew from experience that my cheeks had turned a brilliant red.

And…Butch scooted his chair back a precious four inches. Murmured an apology. Picked up his latte, took the tiniest sip, then set it back down in its saucer with a gentle clink.

“I understand you’re looking for a mate.” His words were a quiet rumble, almost gentle. I found myself leaning forward, then caught myself and shook my head.

“No, Whelan Alphas don’t bond with mates,” I corrected. “We hire Consorts, a temporary, paid position. Please allow me to explain the logistics before you speak.” It was easier, I’d found, if I just spat it all out in one go.

Well, easier for me. Most male werewolves took offense halfway through and interrupted. If they did, the fork and knife crossed and the interview ended. Thinking ahead, I dropped my left hand to the butter knife. Then I returned my attention, to the phone in my right hand.

“I’ll just run through the entire checklist,” I told him, before proceeding to do so.

The once-a-generation job was simple, especially when the Alpha—me—was female. The Consort would be on call until I hit peak fertility. During the subsequent twenty-four hours, he’d do everything in his power to ensure conception, after which he’d receive his first stipend. If necessary, both job and payment would be repeated for up to six months.

“Then you’ll receive a smaller weekly retainer to make yourself available,” I informed him. I should have been gauging his reaction, but just saying the words made me slightly queasy so I kept my eyes on my phone as if I needed a cheat sheet. “First pregnancies have a 25% chance of miscarriage, so we might be forced to circle back around to the beginning. That will be determined at the discretion of both parties, using the same structure of recompense. At the time of birth, your job will be complete.”

I paused, expecting him to say something. But he didn’t. Shrugging, I continued on to the legal side of the equation. Butch would be expected to sign papers asserting his total lack of rights to the child. “They’ll hold up in human court,” I informed him. “But that’s unlikely to be necessary. If you attempt to use the child to gain a foothold into our pack, I will personally rip out your throat.”

His chair leg scraped against the floor. That had gotten a reaction.

Meanwhile, air currents promised Megan was passing close to check on the state of my silverware. Her human ears couldn’t overhear my murmured threat, but body language must have clued her in to the intensity of the conversation. No wonder she thought our meeting was going badly.

Only…she and I both thought wrong. When I looked up, I saw that I’d misread the chair scrape. Rather than preparing to leave, Butch had worked his way through the quiche while I was speaking. He hadn’t touched his latte after that first sip, but he now consumed the entire cupcake—rosettes and all—in two voracious bites.

When my pause lengthened into a third second, his mouth quirked. There was the tiniest dot of yellow frosting on his upper lip and I had the oddest inclination to reach out and touch it. “May I speak?” he murmured, gaze lowered.

I closed my eyes for half a second, disappointed. Butch’s wolf must be very weak to so easily accede when I insisted upon laying out the ground rules. I hadn’t put a hint of alpha compulsion behind the demand. He shouldn’t have obeyed.

Which made our interview easier, but also meant Butch was an instant reject. A weak father would mean a weak child. Even with my familial ace in the hole, the secret boost that promised Whelan Alphas were always able to bark down anyone within their territory, neither Heir nor Alpha could afford to start out weak.

I set down my phone and picked up my fork, preparing to stop wasting our time. But before I could cross the silverware, my wolf rose up through me. She’s smelled something. Or seen something. Whatever the reason, she was there, glaring through my eyes at someone I thought was weak but she thought was a threat to us.

And Butch’s wolf responded. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. Smell it. The energy, the wildness of fur seeping out of his human body….

His wolf wasn’t cowering the way I’d assumed it would in the face of my dominance. Nor did Butch’s beast fight then submit the way Willa’s had.

Instead, the intensity of his inner animal set chills running through my entire body. I was the one struggling, chiding my wolf when she would have retreated. I was the one who gritted my jaw and ignored the sweat beading at my hairline.

Never since my father died had I met a wolf so powerful. In six months, no one had given my wolf any reason to stretch her muscles, let alone cave before them.

And yet, here I was unwillingly lowering my eyes.

 

Chapter 3

Guardian, I begged, wriggling my toes in shoes that sat atop a concrete floor and had no way of contacting the soil. Was that why the unthinkable had happened? Our pack’s secret weapon couldn’t reach me through the veneer of human civilization?

Whatever the reason, Butch’s dominance was so great that my fingers refused to cross silverware over my untouched plate of quiche and cupcake. Couldn’t change their trajectory and reach for one of the half dozen razor-sharp knives I had secreted about my person either.

I could, however, speak.

“If you’re refusing my offer, you may go,” I ground out. “You don’t have to prove your point by overpowering me.”

“Your offer,” Butch countered, “although intriguing, is not why I’m here.”

I shouldn’t have felt disappointed. After all, the role of Consort was a business transaction. One of the less appealing ones involved in the transition of power…or it had been unappealing until I’d set eyes on this unexpected specimen of a wolf.

“Then why did you let me make a fool of myself by telling you all the details?” My cheeks were hot again, which made me furious. Almost furious enough to break Butch’s hold over me…but not quite.

His dominance really was greater than mine. Also his patience. He waited until my wolf stopped struggling then shrugged. “You asked me to let you speak. I let you speak.”

And now he’d challenge me. Why else would another dominant werewolf jump through such extreme hoops to get me alone? Within my clan, politeness dictated that challenges wait until moonrise. But there was no politeness when dealing with dangers from outside the pack.

I tried again to beat back Butch’s hold over me. As before, there wasn’t even a ripple of strain on his features. Instead, he spoke as easily as I had when laying down the Consort ground rules.

“Your pack refuses admittance to outsiders,” he continued, telling me what I already knew. “There is no publicly available contact information for any of you besides this one application.”

There was one other available contact number, but to argue that point would be hairsplitting. Butch was right—the Consort application was the primary chink in our armor.

One I should have paid more attention to. After all, while few outside the Whelan clan understood our centuries-old bargain with the fae, those who did could have read the signs and known we were presently at our weakest moment in a generation. I hadn’t allowed any of our wolves to attend mate-seeking Solstice gatherings last December. Had put out the call for a Consort even before that.

I might as well have ordered a billboard stating that we were unprotected by our hereditary fae Guardian until I had the Heir issue sorted. It had been naive of me to think I could drag my heels until the last possible minute just because I found the task distasteful.

Well, I was Alpha. I would fix this.

“The honorable way to challenge is to meet away from humans. Away from coffee shops,” I growled.

Or, well, I tried to growl. To my disgust, the words came out closer to a whine.

No wonder. My inner wolf had given up, rolling over and showing her belly to the stronger shifter. I clenched my eyes shut, hoping Butch hadn’t noticed the transition from threat to submission in my pupils. But the warmth of his proximity heightened. He’d leaned in closer until his breath slid across my skin.

This wasn’t even going to be a challenge. He’d leave me frozen while he vanquished me. Killed me perhaps.

I couldn’t allow that. My pack needed me alive. Even if I was no longer Alpha, I could find a way to help them survive Butch’s coup.

So I did it. Hating myself, knowing Father’s ashes would be rising up out of the forest floor at this disgrace to his bloodline, I tilted my chin upward to reveal my neck.

Then I waited, teeth clenched and lungs frozen. Most wolves wouldn’t bite a submissive. Most wolves. Not all.

“I’m not challenging you.” The whisper of his breath flitted across my unprotected jugular. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

I opened my eyes. I couldn’t help it. Butch’s face was so close I could see that his irises were brown rather than the black they’d appeared from a distance. The color of fallen leaves soaked for half a week in pooled rainwater.

There was no longer wolf visible in them either. Instead, his pupils appeared to have turned human and kind.

“Nice trick,” I told him. My fingers still refused to budge, but Butch’s compulsion appeared to be fading. I was now able to shift my torso the tiniest bit.

As I flexed the only muscles that would move at the moment, the knife at my hip slid a quarter of an inch out of its sheathe. If Butch lost the rest of his hold over my will for even a second, I could grab the weapon, stab him, and run.

Then what? Would Megan call the human cops? Would Butch tail me as I fled to pack central? Attack wasn’t much of a solution. My chin dipped downward as I gave up on the plan.

“Tara.” My name on his tongue pulled my face forward. “You’re not listening.”

Of course I wasn’t listening. The dominance behind his eyes had said everything, even if he’d hidden it afterwards. My pack was in imminent danger. I needed to think of something unbelievably clever so I could overpower a much stronger wolf.

Too bad the only thoughts in my brain related to Butch’s scent—a deep, woodsy baseline sweetened by persimmon. The focus I required slipped through my fingers every time I tried to grab for it. My inner wolf refused to even consider a fight.

While my brain whirred, Butch humphed deep in his throat, a lupine sound of put-upon annoyance. But when he spoke, there was no overbearing beast in his voice. Instead, his words were bell-like, musical.

“I swear that I mean no harm to you or your pack, Tara. As proof, I give you my true name—Rune Pelletier.”

***

A true name meant…. “You can’t be fae,” I countered. “You have a wolf inside you.”

His lips pursed, somehow managing to remain beautiful in the process. This time his eyes were the ones averted. “Half fae. Half wolf,” he murmured, as if he didn’t want to share the information. “Now will you listen?”

A true name wasn’t given lightly. With that knowledge, I could do more than freeze his muscles. I could force him to obey.

I cleared my throat. “May I test it?”

His muscles tensed but he nodded. “Of course.”

“Rune Pelletier”—I whispered the words, not wanting them overheard—“leave me.”

It was the obvious use of his true name. The one thing he clearly didn’t want to do.

But he rose to his feet. Half-bowed. Turned toward the exit.

If Rune was pretending, he was doing a fine job of it. His scent had dropped from dominant to disappointed. Plus, an Alpha learned when it was worth going out on a rickety but useful limb.

That, I told myself, not Rune’s beauty, was why I let him off the hook. “I release you.”

The traditional words were almost musical. Not as melodic as Rune’s had been, but still redolent with something more than humanity.

Rune turned, one eyebrow raised. “You realize your inability to move will fade within minutes if you send me out of here.”

I nodded. “If what you have to say is important enough to trade a true name for, I’ll listen.”

He half-bowed again. Then he subsided into his seat.

I expected him to release me from his compulsion now that I’d agreed to stay, but he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t trust me not to run, or maybe he was too intent upon his own goals. Either way, he leaned in until my wolf whimpered then backed up a millimeter. Finally, he breathed out a story about beings I’d seldom heard mentioned outside my pack.

“Last October, fae came through a node two hundred miles from here.” His voice was as seductive as the trail of a buck scented when my stomach was empty. “Many of them crossed over, but only three made it past our swords. Three is a powerful number for fae. If all three survive until next Samhain, the devastation could be….” He closed his eyes, his voice trailing off.

I cocked my head, detecting something personal in his reaction. But the momentary lapse disappeared so quickly I almost thought I’d imagined it. Rune’s voice hardened as he returned to the point.

“I’m one of the Samhain Shifters tasked with finding those fae and expelling them back to Faery before they can wreak further havoc. We suspect one has settled within your territory.”

I’d been nodding along until the final sentence, but now I cut him off. “Not possible.”

“No?” He raised one perfectly formed eyebrow.

I didn’t answer the unasked question. The Whelan Bargain wasn’t spoken of outside our pack. Instead, I just nodded. “Thanks for checking, but we’re good.”

It was a dismissal, but Butch ignored it. “You don’t understand. You may think hungry fae are just stories, but they’re not. I’ve seen what they can do. How they invade, feed on pack bonds, break strong clans apart like kindling.”

He leaned in closer, and this time my body didn’t respond to his proximity either with fear or attraction. He cared about this story, but it was irrelevant to me. Still, I gave him the same courtesy he’d provided and heard him out.

“I formally request the opportunity to walk through your territory seeking fae, Tara,” Rune continued. “It won’t take long. A few hours. If there’s an issue, I’ll inform you. As I said, I will take every precaution to prevent harm to your pack.”

“Are you finished?”

He nodded once, a slow dip of his chin.

“Then it’s your turn to listen to me now.” I enunciated slowly to make sure he got the message. “There are no fae here.”

None but the one my grandfather had made a deal with. The Guardian, who slept…mostly.

Rune didn’t lean in closer, yet his persimmon scent consumed me. “You sound certain, but you had no idea I bore fae blood until I revealed that fact.”

Even when I’d used his true name, Rune hadn’t released me from his alpha compulsion. But now his agitation did what the true name hadn’t. Tingles of feelings shot back into my fingertips. My hands continued their earlier aborted trajectory before I could freeze them into stillness.

Fork crossed over knife atop my plate. And Megan must have been hovering right behind me, waiting for the signal.

Because something cold and gloppy poured over my back, my front, my head. I was drenched in milkshake, rich and sweet and full of chocolate. Curls flattened, clinging to my jawline. I swiped one hand across my face to clear it of the dripping mess.

I hadn’t heard him move, but Rune was standing by the time I pried my eyes back open. The kindness was gone from his face now. Instead his features had frozen into a mask, pure beauty so perfect it was horrible.

This time, he didn’t use my name. Just my title. “There was no need for evasive action, Alpha. I get the picture. I’ll take that as a no.”

***

Keep reading in Charmed Wolf!

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Snow day book recommendations

It’s cold and white outside. Our wood stove is raging. The cats are lazing. The perfect time for a book!

It felt a little decadent, though, to start my evening reading right after lunch. So, instead, I dug through my notes and pulled out some must-read recommendations for you.

I adore Maria Vale’s The Legend of All Wolves series, and Season of the Wolf is no exception. Vale does an astonishingly good job creating a world so vivid you can almost taste it. Her shifters are wolf-rough but also so lovable you can’t put the book down. Unlike some of the other installments, though, I feel like this isn’t the best entrance point. So, if you’re new to Vale, start on book one.

If you need something lighter and sweeter, T.S. Joyce’s A Shifter for Christmas will hit the spot. The sure antidote to family holiday difficulties (or, in this year’s case, the antidote to holiday-without-family difficulties). 99 cents at the moment or free in Kindle Unlimited.

I didn’t realize Seanan McGuire’s In an Absent Dream was book four in a series when I picked it up…and it didn’t matter. This is a tearjerker of a beautiful, richly written book about visiting the Goblin Market and deciding whether or not to stay. It feels like the old fantasy I grew up with — Five Children and It and Narnia and the Wizard of Oz — but written so sparely and tightly that I wanted much more. Read it!

Olivia Atwater’s Half a Soul is a great combination of light magic (fae) and a Regency romance. From the unique and interesting setup to the lovable characters, I was hooked. This is a little heavy on mystery, though, so you might not be as pleased if you’re looking for pure fantasy romance.

Michelle Diener’s novella, The Rising Wave, is the prelude to The Turncoat King and really, really should be read first. As long as you do so, this is a great fantasy romance series. I especially enjoyed the worldbuilding, based on sewing spells into fabric that then has to touch someone’s skin in order to work. The anthology and standalones are all free to borrow with Kindle Unlimited.

Heidi Heilig’s The Girl from Everywhere has a different feel from the books above, but is equally delightful. Time travel! Sailing ship! Problematic father! Unlikely crew of found family! Fun history of Hawaii! You wouldn’t think all those things fit together, but they really do.

I hope that’s enough to fill a few snow days for you. Happy reading!

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Celebrating Imbolc

As a gardener and nature-lover, I’ve always been drawn to the cross-quarter days. These holidays are important in my Samhain Shifter series (and in the Celtic belief system that series is roughly based on), so I thought you might enjoy hearing more about them.

Less well-known than the solstices and equinoxes, the days halfway between often feel like the true start of each season. And this week marks one of those cross-quarters — Imbolc, aka Brigid’s Day, aka St. Brigid’s Day, aka Là Fhèill Brìghde, aka Groundhog’s Day!

Astronomically, the cross quarter falls on February 3 or 4, but it’s sometimes celebrated earlier. Brigid’s Day is generally listed as beginning at sunset on January 31 or sunset February 1, while  Groundhog’s Day (more on how that crazy holiday came about next) is on February 2.

I’m not a stickler, so I celebrate whenever the whim strikes me within the relevant week.

 

Weather divination

I’ll start with the part of the holiday Americans have probably heard the most about — forecasting the severity of the rest of winter. Twenty years ago, during a visit to Australia, I tried to explain that Americans “believe” (or want to believe) that a groundhog coming out of its burrow on February 2 foretells the future. The Australians thought I was a nut.

When I learned the Celtic origin of the belief, though, it made more sense. Cailleach is a goddess known as the Queen of Winter in Scottish folklore. Like us, she tends to run low on firewood around the beginning of February (oops!), on the day the Scottish call Là Fhèill Brìghde. So she heads out into the woods to collect more.

Unlike us, though, Cailleach both knows what the weather is going to be like for the rest of the winter and can change the current day’s conditions. So, if it’s going to be a hard late winter, she’ll make Imbolc bright and sunny to allow for plenty of firewood gathering. On the other hand, if winter is pretty much over, she’ll let the day be gray while she sleeps in.

Now, doesn’t that make more sense than a divinatory rodent?

 

Celebrating Imbolc with Fire

The goddess Brigid is Cailleach’s counterpart, associated with homes, livestock, milk, and the coming of spring. There are lots of ways to celebrate her return, but I chose a couple that particularly spoke to me.

Fire is an obvious choice for Imbolc since it symbolizes the return of sun and the coming of spring. My husband and I took down our mini Christmas tree to celebrate the turn of the seasons and stuffed it in our woodstove as a symbolic gesture.

If you plan to follow suit, be aware that conifers burn hot. We wouldn’t have put more than our one little limb in an indoor stove. I’ve seen folks throw full-size Christmas trees on outdoor bonfires though. Or, if you want to play it safe while keeping the same symbolism, how about burning a paper snowflake instead?

 

Celebrating Imbolc with Water

Another facet of Imbolc is the beginning of a new year. Ritual spring cleaning is one way to celebrate, but that sounded more like work than play to me. Instead, I’ll visit a holy well (which I translate broadly as any body of water that feels particularly powerful) and walk sunwise (clockwise) around it to celebrate the turn of the seasons.

How are you celebrating the cross-quarter? I hope you’ll click through to facebook below and let me know!

 

As a gardener and nature-lover, I’ve always been drawn to the cross-quarter days. These holidays are important in my…

Posted by Aimee Easterling on Monday, February 1, 2021

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Of Wolves and Men

Of Wolves and Men was written shortly before I was born, and small parts of it are dated. However, the overall theme of the historical human relationship with wolves stands the test of time.

My favorite sections involved the intersection of Native American and wolf culture. Both two-legged and four-legged hunters would stalk antelopes in Wyoming by lying low in tall grasses, twitching their tails to draw in curious prey animals. Elsewhere, both wolves and people hunted bison by chasing them out onto lake ice where they’d slide around and become easy to kill. And Lopez suggested that deer responded similarly to both wolf and human territories, sticking to the disputed space along borders where neither hunter was likely to go.

Another favorite part of the book was when the author recounted an experience tracking a wolf and a fox. The former had made a kill alone and was preparing to cache the meat it couldn’t cram into its stomach for later, but the wolf knew a fox was hanging around waiting for scraps. So the wolf traveled in crazy loops, hopping through puddles and generally going to great lengths to hide its trail before digging a super-secret cache.

The fox got the meat anyway.

Other tidbits: I was intrigued to learn that the metal spikes on dog collars were originally envisioned as protecting dogs against wolves. And howls may be used, among other things, as a “mood-synchronizing activity.”

I’ll let you dig deeper into the book yourself but will provide one warning. The third section is about human attempts to eradicate wolves and it’s a tough read. You might skip straight over that and head into the folklore near the end.

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