Healer's Bane

Chapter One

Chapter One

Savannah

I’m foggy throughout the morning, trudging through what feels like a tar-filled atmosphere. It’s a pretty common side effect after sleeping for a long time, so it doesn’t pose too great a concern.

The concern begins when, while my coven is seated at the breakfast table, Morgana announces, “I’ve been feeling some serious magical sh*t go on in the forest the last few days. According to our witches, nobody’s done any spells that could cause it, and the herbs that grow in the forest are normal, so they couldn’t be giving it off. Sav, you know anything about it?”

I pause with my mug of coffee halfway to my lips. “I’m going to need two more cups of coffee before I’m functional enough to tell.”

As a natural healer, I’m able to sense magic of many different forms. Not just the source magic our coven generates—something that tends to happen when a group of witches bands together and does spells together—but all magic in near vicinity. It’s how I knew Amira was channeling celestial magic that got her killed.

Hyacinth, seated at the head of the wooden table holding various offerings of breakfast foods and drinks, asks, “Have you thought more on praying for a familiar? Could help with the dreams.”

It’s common knowledge around my coven that I can’t sleep without experiencing serious nightmares, though only a select few know the cause of those nightmares or the danger they implicate.

I have contemplated asking our goddess for a familiar—a creature that’s meant to comfort and protect its owner—as is every witches right once they’re of age: 18 years old. My birthday passed several weeks ago, marking the time when a witch is considered capable of caring for a celestially-gifted being. The thing is, I can get… violent during my nightmares. Many times I’ve woken up with gouge marks on my arms from nearly scratching my own skin off and the blankets around me in shreds. I’ve torn apart the stuffed animals on my bed, too. I don’t want to risk actually harming something so sacred as a familiar.

I tell Hyacinth, “You know how I get. I could accidentally harm my creature, which I’d really rather avoid.”

Morgana, now sharpening a dagger against a wet stone beside me, says, “Familiars are pretty impervious to harm. I have a habit of throwing knives in my sleep; never once has it harmed mine. There’s a reason Hecate rarely gifts them to witches; you have to not only be worthy but truly need it.”

Hyacinth says with a scowl, “F*ck you for getting one before me, Morgana. I’ve been praying for one for years.”

Morgana returns, “You’re also the most sane person seated at this table, ergo the least likely to be gifted one. Hecate doesn’t go through the effort of creating and gifting one without good reason.”

Hyacinth leaps to her feet and shrieks, “Take it back! I am not sane!”

Maddy says with a sigh, “Morgana didn’t say you were sane, just that you were the most sane at this table, which doesn’t say much for you—we’re all crazy.” She turns to Morgana and asks, “Where is your feline, anyways? I haven’t seen her lurking around for at least a week.”

Morgana shrugs nonchalantly. “I sent her to gather some peculiar items. To the best of my knowledge, she’s currently in the Am@zon.”

Hyacinth says, “You sent your familiar to Brazil? For what?”

Morgana looks up from her dagger. “Some ingredients for a spell I want to try out. I didn’t have the time to cart my ass down to South America and cut through half a forest to get to a magical plant; Sage can handle it.”

I ask with a sigh, “What form is she in?”

Familiars can take on many different forms and shapes, though they’re almost always feline in nature.

Morgana says, “Cougar, so she’ll be fine. As a celestial she’s impervious to venom and most harm—if she can survive my flying knives, she’ll fare well in the Am@zon. I expect she’ll be back soon. If anything was wrong, I’d be able to feel it, so I’m not worried.”

I finish my first cup of coffee and reach for the pot at the center of the table, pouring myself a second one. I listen to the regular morning chatter produced by a dozen insane witches all seated together and bickering over various things as I drink enough caffeine to clear the fog from my mind and eat enough food so that my stomach no longer feels like it’s cannibalizing itself, exchanging occasional comments with Maddy.

Feeling a telling tingle at the back of my neck, along with a few familiar energies floating through the air, I tell Maddy, “Amira just came through your portal. She’s not alone—I sense at least three people with her.”

A few moments later, Amira strides into our dining room. In her arms, she holds the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen—a beautiful little girl wearing a pink dress, with her little hands tangled up in Amira’s newly-silver hair. She used to have long brown hair, after channeling moon magic, it changed.

I’m out of my seat in a heartbeat, striding up to her. “You look good—are you all better?”

Amira winces as the baby in her arm gives a particularly vicious tug on her hair, then tells me, “I’m back to normal, and then some, thanks to you.” Then, nodding at the girl in her arms, “This is my baby sister, Meda. She’s sort of refused to let go of me since I woke up, so I’m hoping your coven is child-friendly.”

I smile warmly, waving at little Meda. “Most of us are, but Morgana’s scared of small children, so don’t bring the little one to her.”

As if on cue, the other witches seated at the table stand and flock over to Amira, passing on their happiness that she’s okay before cooing over the child in her arms.

Meda’s wide blue eyes settle on me, and she disentangles her fists from Amira’s hair in order to reach for me. I’m used to the reaction from children—like animals, they’re drawn to me, most likely a side effect of being a healer.

I ask Amira, “Can I hold her?”

Amira responds, “Please do. Just don’t be surprised if she yanks some of your hair out.”

I take Meda from her hands and cradle her to my chest, laughing when she reaches up with her hands to squish my cheeks together. I only get her for a few seconds before Maddy plucks her from my arms, proclaiming that it’s her turn and taking Meda to the other side of the room.

Amira glances behind her. “Jason and Derick are lurking around here somewhere—I told my mates to stay behind and catch up on pack work, but they insisted I bring protection with me. Not that I need it anymore, but… well, they’re a little uptight with all the sh*t that just went down."

Pretty gentle way to say that she lost her life while killing an un-killable demigod, only to get brought back when the moon goddess herself showed up and used me as a healing conduit to bring Amira back before her soul departed. I only focus on those words for a moment before my frazzled mind catches onto the fact that her two uber hot kind-of-brothers are on premises with her, and my spine snaps ramrod straight.

“Where are the twins?” I ask, trying to keep my tone calm.

The few times I’ve been near them, I’ve felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to rip their clothes off and f*ck them into next week, which is not by any means a normal reaction for me. I like s3x, as do most witches, but rarely am I overcome with need as I am in their vicinity.

“Probably snooping, as is the nature of a wolf,” Amira responds.

That means it’s time to make myself scarce. I turn back to the table, feeling amusement as I witness Maddy holding Meda up to Morgana, who’s leaned so far back in her chair to avoid the baby’s grabbing hands it almost looks comical. As the single most fearless warrior I’ve ever met or heard of, it’s always entertaining when Morgana shrivels up I the presence of children.

“Morgana, where did you feel the magic?” I ask her.

“By the patch of winter herbs,” She calls back, her voice higher-pitched than normal.

I try to suppress a chuckle as I say, “I’ll go check it out. Have fun with the baby.”

I give Amira a side-hug and tell her once again how happy I am she’s alive before making my way out of the coven, and into the crisp morning air.