Reign Of Gods (Book #1 in 'Vampire God Trilogy') [COMPLETED]

Chapter 13

There was no herb garden with its creeping theme and fragrant
rosemary. The pretty knot garden his mother had tended was now a gently rolling span of cropped green grass. It would be a sunny spot when the sky cleared, he knew. His mother had chosen it, though it hadn‟t been just outside the kitchen as was more convenient, so her herbs could bask in the light.

As a child he‟d learned of them from her, of their uses and their beauty while sitting by her as she weeded and clipped and harvested. She‟d taught him their names and their needs. He‟d learned to identify them by their scents and the shapes of the leaves, by the flowers that bolted from them if she allowed it.

How many hours had he spent there with her, working the earth, talking or just sitting in silence to enjoy the butterflies, the hum of bees?

It had been their place, he thought, more than any other.
He‟d grown to a man and had found his place on the cliff in what was now called Kerry. He‟d built his stone cabin, and found the solitude he‟d needed for his own harvest, for his magic.

But he‟d always come back home. And had always found pleasure and solace with his mother here, in her herb garden.
Now, he stood over where it had been as he might have a grave,
mourning and remembering. A flare of anger lit in him that his brother would let this go.

“This what you‟re looking for then?” Larkin studied the grass, then tracked his eyes through the rain, toward the trees. “Doesn‟t seem to be anything left of it.”

Hoyt heard a sound, pivoted as Larkin did. Glenna walked toward them, a stake in one hand, a knife in the other. Rain beaded her hair like tiny
jewels.

“You‟re to stay in the house. There could be more of them.”

“If there are, there are three of us now.” She jerked her head toward the house. “Five as Moira and King have us covered.”

Hoyt looked over. Moira was in the near window, her arrow notched, her bow pointed downward. In the doorway to the left, King stood with a
broadsword.

“That ought to do it.” Larkin sent his cousin a cheeky grin. “Mind you don‟t shoot one of us in the ass.”

“Only if I‟m aiming for it,” she called back.

Beside Hoyt, Glenna studied the ground. “Was it here? The garden?”

“It was. Will be.”

Something was wrong, she thought, very wrong, to have put that hard look on his face. “I have a rejuvenation spell. I‟ve had good luck with it, healing plants.”

“I won‟t need it for this.” He stabbed his sword in the ground to free his hands.

He could see it, just as it had been, and honed that image clear into his mind as he stretched out his arms, spread his hands. This, he knew, would come from his heart as much as from his art. This was tribute to the one who
had given him life. And because of it, would be painful.

“Seed to leaf, leaf to flower. Soil and sun and rain. Remember.”
His eyes changed, and his face looked carved from stone. Larkin started to speak, but Glenna tapped a finger to her lips to stop him. There should be no voice, no words now, she knew, but Hoyt‟s. Power was already
thickening the air.

She couldn‟t help with the visualization as Hoyt hadn‟t described the garden to her. But she could focus on scent. Rosemary, lavender, sage.
He repeated the incantation three times, his eyes darkening further, his voice rising with each repetition. Beneath their feet, the ground shuddered
lightly. The wind began to lift, then swirl, then blow.