About twenty minutes later I returned with an armload of texts, dropping them on the table. I picked up the largest of the books, offering Shay a thin smile, and began to read.
We sat side by side, the silence of the library broken intermittently by the scratch of a pencil or the crackle of a turning page. Shadows poured into the room while the large grandfather clock in the corner chimed the passing of another hour.
I blinked at the paragraph I’d been reading about Sabbat rituals. “Hey.” I read it again.
Shay rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Find something?”
I scanned another page of The Great Rites. “Maybe. When’s your birthday?”
He didn’t look up from his reading. “August first.”
I clapped. The noise made him jump.
“What?”
I leapt to my feet, spinning in mini-celebration. “It’s you! You’re the harvest child. They’re interchangeable terms—the Scion and the harvest child are the same person.”
“What are you talking about?” he said. “My birthday is the middle of the summer; wouldn’t the harvest child have been born in autumn, when people are actually harvesting?”
“No.” My grin broadened. “This is where my research pays off. Since I was reading about Samhain, I decided to read about the other Sabbats. The first of August is the witches’ harvest in the Wheel of the Year. You are the harvest child; it has to be you. We finally found something!”
He blinked at me and then looked back at the crinkled page we’d been handing back and forth all afternoon. “So it’s all about me. This passage . . . whatever is supposed to happen at the Samhain rite.”
My smile faded at the sight of his worried face. “Yes, yes, it is.”
“Samhain,” he murmured. “That’s tonight.”
“Yes.” I chewed on my lip. “But nothing’s happening with you tonight. There’s no way. All the Keepers are focused on the union. That’s where they’ll be. It has nothing to do with the Scion—tonight’s ritual is only about the new pack.”
“Well, the prophecy just states the day, not the year,” he said. “And prophecies are about the future, right?”
“You think it’s a far-off event?”
“It must be.” He nodded, but his eyes were still troubled. “At least that’s some sort of progress,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Didn’t you say Bryn was coming over at five thirty to get you ready for your big night?”
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s six.” He turned the watch face toward me.
“She’s going to kill me.” I began stuffing my notes into my bag. “We won’t have time to hang out at Blood Moon.”
“I thought you were getting ready for the union.” He frowned.
“We are,” I said. “But the ceremony is near the site of the ball. Everyone involved gathers at Blood Moon to dance and drink for a couple of hours so they can all toast our health or something. But we’ll leave and go to the Samhain ritual while the humans are still distracted by the party.”
“I see,” Shay murmured.
I didn’t want to leave him, but there was nothing left to say. No shared laughter could dull this pain.
I pulled on my coat and he nodded. His smile couldn’t mask the sadness in his eyes. “Good luck, Calla.”
THIRTY-ONE
“THERE. THAT’S THE LAST ONE.” BRYN turned me around so she could make her inspection.
“Why are there so many buttons?” I asked, wondering how I would ever get the dress off again.
“They’re called embellishments, Calla. Your mother loves them.” She pointed an eye shadow brush at me. “Are you sure you don’t want makeup? I could at least do your eyes. Really make them pop.”
“No. No makeup.” I wondered why I’d want my eyes to “pop”; it sounded grotesque. “I agreed to let you do my hair. But I do not wear makeup.” I was trying hard not to be sick; if anything popped, it was going to be my stomach.
“You’re going to ruin it.” She slapped my hand away as I reached to touch the carefully pinned arrangement of curls she had expertly piled on the top of my head. “No touching. Are you sure about the eyes?”
I smiled at Bryn. She was stunning. More than stunning. Her chin-length ringlets were styled much in the usual way, but their bronze highlights shimmered in contrast to the inky shade of her silk empire-waisted gown, which skimmed her body like it had been spun from the night sky. It wasn’t fair.
Bryn and the other Haldis females would go to the union in subtle beauty, like priestesses of a dark goddess. I looked like a wedding cake, and I was sure it was my mother’s fault.
“No eyes, no lips. Nothing.” I gestured to my floor-length gown. “This is plenty. Any more and I will spontaneously combust.”
“Fine.” She packed her beauty supplies into what resembled a large toolbox.
There was a light knock at the door. Ansel’s muffled voice sounded anxious from the other side.
“Are you guys done yet? Mason’s already called twice. The rest of the pack thought we’d gone into a ditch or something.”
I glanced at Bryn. “Do you have some sort of grand entrance planned?”
“Nah. He can come in.”
“Okay, Ansel. We’re ready,” I called.
The door swung open and Ansel stepped inside. Bryn pivoted on her sharp heels, ambushing him with a devastating smile. My brother stopped in his tracks. He paled, then flushed bright red, and then paled again. His lips parted, but only a strangled sound bubbled from his throat, and he abandoned his attempt at speech for the sake of sighing.
Bryn crossed the room and took his hands. “Thank you.”
She brushed his cheek with her lips and began to turn back to me. But Ansel grabbed her, kissing her full on the lips while she melted into his arms. I looked away, feeling foolish for the biting jealousy that struck me whenever Ansel and Bryn were together. They found each other and they’re happy.
What if I’ve found happiness that I have to leave behind?
After an uncomfortable period where I stared at my shoes, Bryn murmured: “We’ll continue this conversation later.”
“I didn’t hear that, and I’m turning around now,” I said.
Ansel grinned at me, lipstick covering his mouth.
“You need to go wash your face.” I laughed.