Page 117 of A Wolf in the Garden

Lylia leans back in her seat, her eyes roaming over the vineyard for a moment. I do the same, spotting Maeve over on a far field approaching a shifted wolf —Seth— caution radiating from the body language of each of the very different wolves. It’s always the same, I’ve found; it doesn’t matter that I’m half werewolf. To my mother’s people, I will always be a shifter first and foremost; an outsider, an oddity, and someone to be wary of. Maeve’s the most relaxed of the bunch, but her nervousness aroundshiftedwolves is obvious, a direct result of House Maheras’ closed-minded policies and their unwillingness to mix openly with shifter packs.

“In the grand scheme of the human population there’s not that many fae descendants like Ellie,” Lylia says, drawing my attention back to our conversation, “and up until very recent times, these people were only occasionally abducted by the Unseelie. Now that the Unseelie Court is purposefully attempting to upset the balance of power in the First Realm, times are changing. It wasn’t necessary for these types of wards to be common knowledge until now. And they only apply to the descendants of high fae.”

“Have you done this for others, then?” Ellie asks.

“Yes.Veryrarely over the last two centuries, and now in the past year alone, I’ve done this three times, all for humans like you who are mated to wolves. One was completely pre-emptive; when the couple came to visit Maheras lands I immediately picked up on the fact that their mate was part-fae and offered my services. The other two times I used this spell were after similar incidents to yours — attempts made by the Unseelie to take someone, which were thwarted. And this is a trend that is happening across multiple species; I’ve heard similar stories from every House within the First Realm.”

That comment makes me remember something Mom said earlier. “My mother called you House Maheras’ secret weapon.”

Lylia nods. “It pays to keep a fae around, and in these circumstances,” she gestures between Ellie and I, “House Maheras knows it’s better to help rather than allow the Unseelie to grow more powerful;everyfae changeling they capture makes a difference. And…every House knows this.EveryHouse has at least one part-fae in their core coven — the orcs, the elves, the dragons, even the mothpeople. We’re all in glamour, us hidden mixed-species fae, so people never know who it is. On that note,” she adds, taking a sip of water, “all of this is highly confidential, and I have NDAs for you both to sign. You two and Maeve, along with the other couples I’ve helped, are the only ones in your generation who know what I really am. Everyone else thinks I’m twenty year old Bree Maheras, who has just recently been inducted into the coven.”

“You’re using Non-Disclosure Agreements in the First?”

“Signed in blood, and magically bound,” she replies with a nod. “We’re keeping with the times, Evander, more than you would think. Those medieval-style castles are just for aesthetics these days.” She smiles at Ellie. “You will have to get him to bring you through, sometime. It’s all very different to here.”

I don’t miss the way Ellie tenses at that comment. “Maybe someday,” she says with a polite smile, Ellie-speak fornever. I don’t blame her one bit; I don’t like the First that much, even less now with the fae threat that has come from there.

We sit in silence for a moment, a gust of wind blowing from offshore, making the heavy-duty umbrella above us rattle precariously. The weather is changing, dark storm clouds on the horizon promising rain. “What does it look like, when you do this spell?” Ellie asks, her eyes also on the approaching weather. “Where does it take place?”

“It’s best done outdoors, after sunset.” Lylia holds her hand out to Ellie across the table. “Here, let me get a good read of you.”

If Lylia notices the slight hesitation before Ellie offers her hand, she doesn’t say anything. “Is it a form of palm reading?” Ellie asks.

“In a way,” Lylia murmurs, fingertips dancing over Ellie’s hand and wrist. “What is your name? Your full name.”

“Ellie Hinewai Harding.”

“Is Ellie short for something?”

Ellie shakes her head. “Not for me, no. My nan… my mother’s mum, she died not long before I was born. Mum was alreadyhapu— pregnant, I mean — with me, and the nameElliewas a way to honour Nan. Her name was Ellen. It meansshining light.”

“And Hinewai, what does that mean?”

“It’sthe female personification of misty rain. The direct translation is ‘water maiden,’ but it’s more than that. Hinewai was —is— that light mist that falls.” As she speaks, the stiffness in Ellie’s shoulders melts away, and the underlying stress I can sense through the bond eases significantly.

I feel easier about this, too, and I know this is probably part of Lylia’s usual routine, the same way a therapist might ease a new client into a session with small talk, but I can’t deny that it works. “It suits you,” Lylia tells Ellie with a warm smile. “Sunlight and soft rain… Bronte told me you’re a garden designer by trade?”

“I am, I’ve always loved gardening.”

“That makes sense,” Lylia nods. “A lot of high fae do.”

“Do you?”

“No, not really. I can perform spells regarding plant life, but it’s not my passion. My magic more closely aligns with the skills needed for conflict — both defence, like wards, and offensive measures.”

Ellie frowns, her free hand playing with the pounamu around her neck, and I place a hand on her knee under the table. She flashes me a quick smile. “I’ve always loved gardening,” she tells Lylia, “long before I ever knew I was fae. It seemed to skip a generation with my mum, but my Koro has always been an avid gardener, and he learned those skills from his parents, and they learned them from theirs… it’s Maori knowledge; many of the things that I do are techniques steeped in Maori tradition. It’s notfae.My family may have lost the language in Koro’s generation with those awful policies that existed when he was a kid, but there’sknowledgethat we held on to;matauranga Maori. It’s not just because I’m faethat I like to garden,that’s all I’m saying.”

Lylia nods. “Of course. And you’re right, your fae ancestry may not be of any true influence at all, in terms of what you like. That traditional Maori knowledge is yours, I absolutely acknowledge that. When I talk about your fae magic, it is not with the intention of erasing the other aspects of your heritage. I’m simply saying that your fae abilities do lean towards plant life. Youarefae, and there’s nothing wrong with that, although I know that sounds very hypocritical of me when I choose to live my life cloaked in glamour.”

Ellie shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “But what do I even call myself? Humans don’t know that fae exist, and I don’t feel like it’s wise to go around telling everyone I’mfae.”

“Hmmm. Changeling? Fairy? Keep it generic, be purposefully vague. That would be my advice.”

“I said garden fairy,” I interject. “It’s a concept that humans will understand.”

“Yes! That’s a perfect descriptor. Plus it sounds harmless, and that’s what you want. At least, from what I know of you, that’s my assumption,” Lylia says, leaning further across the table towards Ellie. “You don’t want to appear to be a threat to anyone here.”

“I don’t. I mean, IknowI’m not a threat. I don’t want to be perceived as one, ever. I just want us to get on with our lives, but new things keep happening, and I have no idea what I’m doing with regards to my magic.”

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