Page 1 of Bonds of Blood
1
Laughter tumbledacross the sun-filled verandah, as warm as the afternoon itself. My friends and I had cobbled together a lovely spread for tea, a way to welcome my mother home to the Wispwood. A fun little party, just another in a long chain of parties we’d thrown.
A strong, warm hand closed around my hip. Even at what was supposed to be a family-friendly occasion, my prince of flowers couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself. Sylvain nuzzled the corner of my neck, whispering an innocent question that still sent thrills of pleasure down my spine.
“More sweets for my sweet?”
I gulped. He was talking about the petit fours, or that vanilla-laced black tea that I really liked, the stuff with the lavender and citrus oil. Or maybe he was talking about something dirty after all, trying to get me to crack in front of my own mother. Sylvain getting slutty around my buddies was one thing, but this was too awkward for me.
“Maybe later,” I said, laughing nervously, swatting his hand away.
Prince Sylvain of the Autumn Court grinned as he relented. “You be sure to let me know as soon as you’re feeling hungry, Lochlann Wilde. I’m always happy to help fill you up.”
“Sylvain,” I hissed under my breath. “Not here. Behave.”
But I didn’t hiss it softly enough. From the head of the table, she shook her head and laughed, gazing at me with love in her eyes. The guest of honor. My mother. Marina Wilde, alive and well in the Wispwell all along. I had my mom back. I had my freaking mom back!
Also, I was half undine.
Plenty of things to process, honestly. Lots of things to talk about, to catch up on. How things had gone for me at the Wispwood, for example, how I had actual friends, a proper support group. That stuff was easy enough to convey simply by introducing my mother to all the friends in question.
We talked about the song in the Wispwell, how it took me forever to figure out that it was my mother reaching out from the depths. We talked about the headmasters and how they never once suspected that something — or someone — was asleep in its healing waters. Well, Headmaster Shivers had some suspicions, but Headmaster Shivers was special.
We did not, however, talk about Baylor Wilde. Not yet, at least.
So we discussed everything instead, but especially the foods she’d missed. Her memory was in the process of slowly returning, but my undine mother still remembered enough to give me a solid list. I jumped at the chance to nurture and pamper her, for once. So did the kitchen imps, bless them, thrilled by the challenge of feeding an undine, Cutler most of all.
I loved that we were getting to reconnect while restoring her strength all at once. The imps brought her all sorts of broths, a variety of fruity sorbets, and an international assortment of beverages fit for quenching even the deepest of thirsts. Luckily, liquid diets weren’t actually a requirement for undines, merely my mother’s preference. I wasn’t quite ready to give up solid food myself.
Cutler had tried to offer her a selection of spicy cocktails and soups. Inspired by the prime hells, of course, flavored with exotic peppers and spices, their bases made from strange, rare tomatoes in bizarre and sometimes very suggestive shapes. But Mom preferred to get her fluids in other ways. That included teas, naturally, which was how our tea party even happened in the first place.
Namirah sat closest to my mother, plying her with drinks and desserts. She poured her more and more cups of Earl Grey and oolong as they chatted away, tipping them out of teapots enchanted to always stay at the right temperature. No surprise that they got along, too, a shapeshifter sitting next to an elemental being who could, indeed, change the shape of her watery body with ease.
I liked to imagine that they were trading tips about the art and science of turning their bodies into other forms. The truth was that Namirah was also a delight to sit with at high tea. Trust the English to know all about tea. But trust the alchemist to brew them better than anybody, which was why Bruna was put in charge of preparing everything, not that she had any complaints.
She worked like a whirlwind, sprinkling pinches of loose-leaf teas into perfect blends in their various diffusers, throwing in bits of dried fruit, anise, cinnamon, the works. The woman could make a mean cocktail. It stood to reason that Bru was fantastic at brewing tea, too. I could only drink so much, but I had no doubt that she was blowing my mother’s mind with her tea mixes.
Sylvain had found himself an interesting game to play with Ember, our new fire sprite friend freshly transplanted from the Oriel of Fire. Somehow my sweet fae prince had smuggled a bag of marshmallows into our tea party. Ember was voluntarily roasting them over his lovely head of flaming hair. The scent of caramelized sugar wafted across the table, interlaced with their laughter.
Adorable, really, seeing his face scrunch up as he redirected all power in his tiny body toward his head. Satchel clearly found it adorable, too. My pixie familiar watched lovingly as his tiny boyfriend held each fluffy confection over his head, grunting with effort as he toasted another perfect marshmallow.
That was when I noticed how Satchel kept throwing curious looks at Marina Wilde, glancing immediately away each time their eyes nearly met. It turned out that Satchel and my mom had never actually met. The same had applied to Satchel and me, which was part of the surprise when I inherited him as my familiar.
Grand Summoner Baylor Wilde liked to keep his life compartmentalized, apparently. Keep the familiar separate from the family, his own twisted idea of work-life balance.
“Satchel,” I whispered, leaning closer. “Hey, Satchel. I think my mom would love one of Ember’s marshmallows. She could use some solid food.”
“Solid food?” He frowned at me over his shoulder, suspicious. “But it’s like a block of sugar. That’s what you always tell me.”
“Come on. As a treat. She’s eating plenty healthy, otherwise. She might like it.”
And she might like you, too, I had to stop myself from saying.
He was obviously itching to flit around her head like a buzzing fly, ask her a billion questions, about elementals, about Baylor, about everything. He just needed to take this one tiny step. He sighed dramatically, shoulders heaving as he went up to collect the next marshmallow. Ember handed it over, but not before planting a quick smooch on his cheek.
Satchel blushed, rubbed at the spot, then fluttered lazily up to offer it to Marina Wilde, gasping and exclaiming as he struggled to balance the sticky marshmallow in his hands. “Ouch. Hot. Dang it. Ouch.” My mother saw him approaching, clapped her hands in delight, and eagerly accepted.
Not even fifteen minutes later he was perched on her shoulder, squawking and chattering like a parrot. She passed him bits of cake, the two of them tittering as they snuck glances at me. My jaw clenched, but really, it was fine. I could take the hit. If it meant that my mom and my familiar were going to get along swimmingly, then I was okay with them gossiping about me.
