Humon Error

Chapter Four

The problem with arguing with someone who raised you was that the other side had all the ammo. Arjenie considered her aunt’s comment unworthy of her, a cheap shot, but if she pointed that out, they’d still be arguing, only about the wrong thing.

Stupidly lovesick. That stung.

Everything kept going wrong. She’d wanted so much for everyone to see Benedict like he really was, to appreciate him and stop worrying about her. And he’d been so anxious, determined to do everything he could to get them to like him, or at least accept him, and then the whatever-it-was forced him to Change and Uncle Clay pulled a gun on him, and she was so mad at Clay, and now she was mad at her aunt, too, and she hated that.

So Arjenie maintained a dignified silence as the three of them put on jackets and went out the back door. Not without a lot of questioning looks—and a few spoken questions—from the rest of the family, but she let her aunt handle those.

The sun was well on its way down. Shadows were long and crisp and the air had a bite. Not yet freezing, she judged, but headed that way, and the breeze had grown up. It was wind now, and a frisky one, suggesting a front was blowing in. Maybe they would end up with the snow the forecast called for. Not that a sixty percent chance meant it was a sure thing, but snow on Yule would be wonderful and . . . and it was stupid to be worrying about snow when she had more important things to settle. Only she’d had this picture of snow outside and the family inside, all warm and together and . . .

Benedict took her hand. She sighed at herself and smiled at him.

“We’ll head toward the barn,” Robin announced as she shut the door behind her. “No, wait. Will Josh and Adam be able to hear us?”

“Josh is on the roof of the barn. He’d certainly hear. Adam is patrolling.”

Her mouth tightened unhappily. “I want to be flexible, but the idea of having people patrolling my land, peering down at me from the roof of the barn, is . . . uncomfortable. When you said you needed to bring guards along, this wasn’t what I expected.”

Arjenie decided to field that one. “I told you why the guards are needed. You know what happened in October. You know it’s not over.”

“That won’t happen here.”

“Maybe you’re right. Benedict needs to know why you’re sure of that.”

Aunt Robin grimaced and started walking—heading away from the barn on the winding stone path that led to Uncle Clay’s workshop and forge.

Arjenie remembered when they’d laid that path. Uncle Clay had done most of the moving of rocks, but she’d helped dig and she’d put the smaller stones in place. Seri and Sammy had been too little to do anything, but Tony had helped scoop out gravel for the underlayment, using a trowel instead of a shovel. He’d really wanted a shovel, though.

She smiled, but it faded quickly. She hated being mad at her aunt and uncle. Or not so much mad now—she never held on to anger for long—but its departure left this whole ache of sad behind.

After several paces her aunt said, “Benedict, Arjenie tells me your people are meticulous about honoring your promises. I’ll need your word that you won’t repeat what I tell you to anyone.”

“I can’t give you my word on that. First, I can’t promise to withhold information from my Rho. I could promise not to offer the information to him unsolicited unless in my judgment revealing it might avert a serious threat. Second, the promise as stated would restrict me from discussing what you tell me with anyone, including yourself and Arjenie.”

Robin’s eyebrows climbed. She glanced at Arjenie. “Meticulous, you said. I didn’t grasp how literally you meant that.”

“Lupi are careful with how they word a promise because they consider it truly binding.” She sounded stiff. She couldn’t help it. “Not binding in a magical sense, but personally.”

Benedict spoke. “If I may suggest an alternate wording . . . I will promise to hold whatever secret you share with me as closely as I hold clan secrets.”

“The way I understand it,” Arjenie said, “that means that torture couldn’t drag it out of him, but in certain dire situations where speaking of it might save people, he might do that. Or he might not. It would depend on the situation.”

“You want me to trust his judgment.”

“Yes,” she said. “I do. And I think you might trust me, too.”

Robin gave her a look freighted with all sorts of things. Disappointment was part of the mix. Arjenie knew why. She knew what her aunt had hoped.

“Very well,” Robin said after a moment. “Do I have your word, Benedict, as stated? You’ll hold what I tell you as closely as you hold clan secrets?”

He answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“This land, Delacroix land, is protected and has been for generations.”

“I’m familiar with wards. Wards wouldn’t stop a Humans Firster from crossing onto your land and shooting one of us.”

“I’m not talking about wards. The land itself is tied to me, as High Priestess. It tells me about all who are on it. If anyone or anything crosses onto my land, I know. If he comes with violent intent—as a Humans Firster would—I will know and take action.”

Benedict was silent a moment. “You would also know if a small dog left your land, then.”

That surprised a chuckle out of her. “True. Havoc’s on his way back. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Good.”

“I would also know if a Native Power showed up in my barn.”

“Would you?” He gave her a sidelong look. “Coyote is called Trickster for a reason.”

“Hiding his nature being a form of trickery, you mean?” Robin considered that. Sighed. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t be possible, but . . . I don’t know.”

“You’ve got a lot of confidence in your ability to read what the land tells you. It sounds like what sidhe lords do. Their power is tied to their land.”

“Several hundred years ago, a Wiccan priestess did a great favor for a wandering sidhe lord. In recompense, she was taught how to link to the land. That teaching came with a price: she had to accept a binding such that she could pass it on to only one person, her successor. Both binding and teaching came to me from Clay’s mother, Belle, when she decided to step down as High Priestess after Samuel died.”

Benedict studied her face, his own expression intent. “You will pass this land-tie on to someone eventually.”

“I . . . yes, of course.”

“Had you planned to pass it to Arjenie?”

Arjenie’s breath sucked in. Benedict was being far too clever today.

“I had hoped to,” Robin said steadily. “She tells me that won’t be possible now.”

Benedict turned that intent look on Arjenie. “What had you hoped?” he asked very softly. “Was this something you wanted?”

It would be easier to tell him no, she’d never wanted to be High Priestess and custodian of the Delacroix land. But you didn’t build a healthy relationship by lying. “Sometimes I did. Sometimes I didn’t. I wasn’t at all settled about it, and some of my uncertainty was because I hoped to find a life partner. If whoever I loved couldn’t settle happily on this land, then I couldn’t, either.”

He studied her face a moment longer. “This is something you thought about before you and I met.”

She nodded.

The corners of his mouth turned up. He touched her cheek lightly, then turned to Robin. “You have reason to be disappointed that I’m Arjenie’s life partner.”

“She was my choice for my successor, and she tells me you can’t move here, that you have to live at your clanhome. So yes, in that sense I’m disappointed. But the most important elements about her choice of life mate have little to do with me and everything to do with you and her.”

He nodded. “I can’t tell you that I’m the best man for her, and there’s little point in my speaking about what I’d do for her. Words prove nothing. You’ll have to judge by my actions. I have some questions about the land-tie.”

The abrupt change of subject made Aunt Robin blink. “There’s very little I can tell you and, of that little, even less I’m willing to divulge.”

“You literally can’t reveal the technique, but you can speak of its existence. You don’t, because you don’t want word getting out that you have an ability some would be desperate to possess.”

“That’s right.”

“You say you would know if someone stepped onto your land, and you would act. I’d like to know what type of action you’re speaking of.”

“I won’t tell you that, but it would depend on the nature of the intrusion.”

“What about when you’re asleep? Is this knowing . . .” Benedict stopped. His head turned, his nostrils flaring slightly.

“It’s Sammy and Seri,” Robin said. “At last.” She gave him a sidelong smile. “Havoc is with them, so you can stop worrying.”

Aunt Robin always referred to Sammy and Seri by name, not as “the twins.” She said they had enough trouble differentiating themselves without her group-naming them. Arjenie turned to look. Sure enough, Seri was opening the gate in the fence that separated yard from woods. Havoc trotted through the gate next to Sammy, who held a pair of burlap bags.

“I’d prefer to wait until they’re inside to continue our discussion,” Robin said. “They know about the land-tie, but they have opinions. About everything. I’m not in the mood to hear their opinions about my revealing it to you. That’s purely my decision.”

Did she mean the twins had opinions about Benedict already? Before they even met him? Probably. Arjenie had talked to Seri a few times since she met Benedict and moved to California, and her young cousin been typically nosy but hadn’t seemed especially upset or worried. Sammy, now . . . he hadn’t been curious enough, had he? Bright and cheery and full of his own news, not asking many questions. Which struck her as odd now.

“Arjenie tells me the stone used in Clay’s workshop was quarried at the same place that supplied the stone for the White House,” Benedict said conversationally.

Aunt Robin took up the topic gladly, talking about other local buildings built from sandstone as the twins approached—Sammy at his usual amble, Seri hurrying ahead with Havoc. “. . . used a mix of lime, rice glue, casein, and lead to seal the stone back then, which is why those buildings were—Seri, good grief.”

Seri had wrapped her arms around Arjenie in a hug—and boosted her right off the ground. “It’s so good to see you!”

Arjenie’s cousin was a full head shorter than her and nowhere near strong enough to pick her up this way—except that her Gift gave her a boost. Telekinesis. “Okay, Wonder Woman, you’ve been practicing. Now put me down.”

Seri did that but kept her hands on Arjenie’s arms. “You look fantastic.”

“So do you.” Arjenie grinned and flicked a strand of Seri’s very short hair—a new look for her, but Seri liked to change things around. So far she’d changed her major twice. “Got that unisex thing going, I see. It’s cute on you.”

“Unisex!” she cried, indignant.

“Now pretend you have some manners so I can introduce you. Benedict, this brat is my cousin Seri. Seri, this is Benedict.”

Benedict had bent to offer Havoc his hand to sniff. Either the little terrier had forgotten their earlier encounter, or she’d decided all that dominance stuff was resolved. He straightened and held out his hand. “Good to meet you.”

Seri let go of Arjenie and smiled to give Benedict the benefit of her dimples as she took his hand. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?”

“Big enough. I hear you like to ski.”

“I love to ski, and I’m good at it. Much better than my twin.”

Sammy arrived with a snort of amusement. “She likes to fall down. Good at it, too.”

“And who broke a leg winter before last?”

Sammy turned to Benedict. “I’m the better skier, but like I said, she falls really well. Much better at falling than me. She’s had so much practice. I’m Samuel, but everyone calls me Sammy.”

He didn’t hold out a hand, but then, his hands were full with those sacks.

“Good to meet you,” Benedict said. “You’ve been collecting holly.”

“For wreaths. Seri got this notion that she just had to make a couple wreaths, and nothing would do for that but fresh holly, so we’ve been tramping around the woods for hours. Not that the wreaths won’t look great, but—”

“They know about Uncle Nate’s dream,” Arjenie told him.

“Oh. Well, in addition to looking gorgeous, they’ll offer some protection when we add the elderberries and a whiff of magic.”

“Hazel,” Seri said firmly, and bent to pick up Havoc, who was panting tiredly.

Sammy shook his head. “Not hazel. I keep telling you—”

“Why reinvent the wheel when—”

“Persimmon seeds worked in the—”

“Which was a totally different—”

“But without the lemongrass. I know.”

“Feverfew?”

“Not unless the North is—”

“I don’t think so. West and Air.”

“Air? Air? Are you nuts? See you inside,” Sammy added to them, and the twins moved off with Seri stroking Havoc, arguing in the abbreviated way that made sense only to them.

Benedict watched them leave, his head cocked. “Are they telepathic?”

“Not in the usual sense,” Robin said. “I wonder what they’re up to.”

“Ah.” Arjenie nodded. “I wondered about the feverfew. Feverfew does not make sense for protective wreaths.”

“Plus they were off the land for about an hour earlier.”

“You didn’t ask them about it.”

“They’d tell me they were gathering holly. Which they undoubtedly did, and if I asked what else they were doing, they’d tell me what they saw on their walk, where they stopped to look at an ant bed or something. Everything that actually occurred except the thing they don’t want me to know about.” She looked at Benedict. “They don’t lie to me, but they are ingenious about avoiding the truth at times.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You think they called Coyote here?”

She shook her head. “They’re up to something, but not that. They know better. Magically speaking, you can mix traditions in a spell if you’re careful, experienced, and knowledgeable. But invocation is spiritual magic. Spiritual magic is accessed through faith, through a particular religious or spiritual practice. Basically, they’re too Wiccan to try contacting Native Powers.”

“You’re sure of this.”

Arjenie exchanged a look with her aunt. “They know better,” Robin repeated.

“Feedback loop,” Arjenie said.

A small V appeared between Aunt Robin’s eyebrows. She looked at the house, where the back door was just shutting behind the twins. “Feedback loop,” she said slowly, “is family shorthand for what happens when Sammy and Seri stop arguing.”

Arjenie could tell Benedict needed more explanation. “When one of the twins gets an idea in his or her head and gets the other one to buy into it, a self-contained reality sets up shop in their heads. It is very hard to penetrate all that certainty. Sometimes,” she added, wanting to be fair, “they’re even right. Like with Amos Brown.”

Robin sighed. “Being right one time in five just makes them harder to convince the other four times.”

Arjenie thought about the summer of the aliens, the “gate” that blew up a small utility shed, and the time the twins decided everyone was wrong and telekinesis really could be used to fly. “They’re older now,” she said, trying to convince herself.

“Even Seri and Sammy couldn’t suddenly believe that invoking a Native Power would work out well for them,” Aunt Robin said slowly, “but an invitation . . .” After a moment she shook her head. “The use of invitation is so basic, so fundamental to Wicca. It’s hard to believe they’d suddenly decide they could use it for other Powers.”

“There’s a difference between invitation and invocation?” Benedict asked.

Robin nodded. “A large difference, actually. An invocation is like tugging on a Power’s sleeve—or even summoning one, if it’s a minor power and you have enough power yourself. An invitation is more like an e-mail. If you address it right, it goes where you intended, and the Power can answer it, ignore it, or act on it.”

“Wiccan rites usually offer invitations,” Arjenie added. “We invite the Powers of the North, South, East, and West to bring their protection to a circle, for example. We don’t compel.”

Benedict’s eyebrows went up. “Your spells depend on the whim of these Powers?”

“Rites and spells are different. Most spells don’t have a spiritual component. In Wicca, the rites do.” Wanting to give him a more complete picture, she added, “Non-Wiccan practitioners like Cullen will tell you that North, South, East and West are fundamental energies, not Powers. That’s because these energies aren’t animate, not personalities or beings, so the spiritual component isn’t necessary. And they’re right on one level. You can cast a circle and practice magic without being Wiccan or of any other faith. But we believe that the spiritual component both enhances our magic and grounds us in the larger reality.”

He thought that over a moment. “Could someone offer an invitation without including the spiritual component?”

“I don’t see how. Unless they somehow convinced themselves they were working with a type of energy and not addressing a Power, but no one who knows anything about it could . . .” Arjenie stopped. Because once in a while the twins convinced themselves that down was in fact up.

For a moment no one said anything. “I need,” Robin said, “to talk to Sammy and Seri. Now.”