Ethereal

38 - Sentimental Musings

𝓓𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓬

Kieran was drained, and so we decided to leave the questions and explanations for later in the day. After all, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting the living room in a hazy, mist-tinted glow, and yet we'd all barely slept. The air felt fogged with muted fatigue.

Logan frowned down at the fox. Wren. Kieran's familiar. The little guy was filthy, his fur caked in mud and damp from the rain — he'd been out in it longer than we had, given he couldn't run nearly as fast — and he had tracked dirty paw prints on the hardwood floors. Little looping trails of intrigue.

Now, after giving the room a thorough once-over with his nose, he'd taken a special interest in Nox. He sat patiently gazing up at the bookshelf, tail swishing idly. Waiting for the cat to come down. Nox, meanwhile, looked traumatised. Fur bristled, tail bushy. She kept yowling and making more odd noises that wouldn't be out of place in a haunted house, but Wren wouldn't let Olivia get close enough to rescue her.

He was wary of us.

That didn't surprise me. Familiars often were wary of vampires; an unshakeable instinct from bygone days when witches and vampires were at one another's throats.

With a touch of amusement, I thought how much things had changed in this world. And I thought of Kieran and me, at one another's throats for an entirely different reason. Paradise made manifest.

"What shall we do with this one?" Logan asked, not looking too keen with the idea of leaving Wren alone down here, free to wreak havoc.

"He could sleep in Dominic's room," my father suggested, going to great efforts to keep his features nonchalant. But the expression was full of cracks and delightful humour seeped through.

"Absolutely not," I refused at once. "He's filthy."

Wren paused in his staring contest with Nox to glare at me as though saying, 'you're not exactly spotless yourself'.

He'd be right. Kieran and I were dirty from kneeling in the mud out in the woods. But at least we could shower and change.

I realised that Kieran wasn't giving us his insight because he'd fallen asleep in my arms. I didn't panic; pressed so close, his breaths were slow and heavy against my neck, and I gently reached up to press two fingers against the pulse beneath his jaw. Idly monitoring.

He was fine— just exhausted.

That meant the decision of Wren's sleeping arrangement was up to us.

"He'll be out of the rain on the porch," Olivia mused, rising with a nod. "I'll leave him a blanket. And he can come back inside later."

Logan did not look at all happy with that last bit, but he assented. When it came to familiars, Olivia knew best.

I decided to let the others herd the unwilling fox outside. I got up with Kieran in my arms and retreated upstairs.

I knew why he was fatigued, why he'd passed out in the woods and gave us all a heart attack. I'd spent my life learning about the occult, and as far as I could recall from my research, the bonding process between a person with magic (either a witch or a descendant) and their familiar was taxing at the best of times, when the person in question had full control over their abilities. It was a process involving magic, and since Kieran couldn't summon the energy he needed from nature, his magic had no choice but to use his own reserves, leaving him burnt out and exhausted. Plus, he hadn't slept for long before waking up to wander out into the woods. Right now all he needed was peace and quiet to recharge.

The thought of what had happened out in the woods brought forth another idea. A whisper. I recalled the way his eyes lit with jaded fire, his unwavering, trance-like focus on the woods even before we knew anything was out there, and, most importantly, the swirling dark clouds above him when he and Wren bonded. The impromptu rain clouds. The vortex of leaves around him.