Page 10 of Wolf's Providence

“You’re not selling the whole ‘drink the funky potion, Willow’ thing.”

“I’m not selling it, as I don’t expect you to buy it, but I would prefer you drink it. I feel It would aid us all.” He had my tumbler, using the water I had left over from lunch to make his concoction. From one pocket, he produced a knife and from another, there was a brown cube of something unrecognizable to me. I watched him deftly cut thin slices off the cube and addthem to my tumbler. He stirred the liquid vigorously but didn’t spill a drop.

As he held it out to me, I peered into the cup at the thick sludge-like substance. “Do I want to know what’s in it?”

“I would say it’s not needed.”

“Right.” Taking the cup off him, I sniffed it and then wished I hadn’t. “Jesus Lord, what the hell?”

“Drink.”

I could already feel my stomach roiling as I put the tumbler to my lips, and then with my eyes fixed on the shaman’s, I took a gulp, fighting the urge to spit it out.

“All of it,” he encouraged. “Don’t think about it, just swallow.”

That’s what he said.The joke made me grin, but I drank faster, and then with a triumphant gasp, I placed the empty cup on the table.

“Done.”

“Excellent.” He scooped the cup up and peered into it. “Nothing left, very good, Willow.”

The praise made me blush, and then I realized I was being an idiot. “Now do you tell me why?”

“We have a situation, it’s one you’re familiar with. Your illness, your dreams, your tie to Caleb, they are all connected.”

“I don’t think I needed a foul-tasting concoction to know that,” I muttered. “I know it’s all connected, excluding my ME.”

“You developed a sickness at the same time that a great evil was done on shifter land. A terrible wrong was done to Caleb and his pack. I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say it’s connected.”

“Werben Hills is nowhere near Shadowridge Peak.” The potion aftertaste was almost as bad as the original taste, and it was distracting me from the conversation.

“It doesn’t matter where it is located. What matters is when you first got sick.” The shaman poured some water from the jug and handed me the tumbler. “It will remove the bitterness.” After I took several gulps, he continued. “The act of the Cristone Pack that day leaves a scar on the land.” His fingers tapped off his thigh, and I decided he fidgeted after all.

“You are weak?—”

“Whoa, thanks.”

He smiled tightly. “Your body is weak, your mind is strong. Now.” The shaman stroked his chin as he watched me thoughtfully. “But as a child, after losing your parents, you would have been weak in body and mind.”

“Foster parents,” I corrected him. “They never adopted me.”

The shaman waved that off too. “The lack of a piece of paper making something formal does not make their love for you any less real.”

“True.” Chewing the inside of the corner of my mouth, I was almost afraid to ask. “What does this have to do with Caleb?” Saying his name sent a pang through my chest.

“When you started drawing him, how did you feel?”

“I felt normal. I didn’t know that I was drawing a real person at the time.”

“Cannon tells me that you referred to it as an awareness of Caleb?”

“Yeah, I…” I blew out a breath. “I just needed to draw him,” I added lamely.

“Landscapes, flowers, meadows, that’s more your preferred scene?”

“I sketch my friends, my parents,” I clarified.

“People known to you?” He didn’t wait for me to confirm. “You didn’t think it strange you started drawing a man you’d never seen?”

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