Page 20 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Daddy rapped him on the back. “Valiant effort, my boy.”
“You might want to brush up on your definitions, though,” I suggested. “Just saying.”
Ace chuckled, drawing a censorious glower from Uncle Neel, who continued his slow, measured chant to the cadence of Aunt Aylie’s drumming. My brother sobered, clutching his gut again.
Minutes later, Uncle Neel moved onto the exaltation. There were two expectant mothers at circle that day. Poppy Polkweed was 25 and had married her high school sweetheart two years ago. She beamed with joy as Uncle Neel drew the symbol of the goddess—a triskelion—on her bulging belly. Myrtle Speedwell, on the flip side, was merely 15 and happily oblivious as to who the father of her baby was. It could’ve been any one of the four studs there to celebrate her that morning. Haughty as Uncle Neel blessed her, she cast smug gazes on the many other girls with woefully empty wombs.
I snorted when her conceit found me. Good for her if she was ready to be a mother at 15, but my only goal right then was to find a summer job, so I could buy a car with my own money. Motherhood wasn’t even on my radar.
Once Uncle Neel had finished exalting all the pregnant bellies—including Sugar’s (which he did with a grumble amid laughter)—he raised his arms, robed in rough-spun hemp, and addressed us worshippers. “As our sacred ceremony comes to a close on this holy spring day, let us join with those dearest to us in a communal prayer.” Uncle Neel knelt before his round stone altar and took Aunt Aylie’s hands. Their foreheads touched.
Friendly murmurs sounded throughout the circle as people joined with those they cherished. I switched off who I communed with every time I attended circle. Last time, I’d communed with my father. This time, my sister automatically crawled toward me, setting Sugar beside her in the grass, where the guinea pig devoured a blade of fescue. Maybe shewaspregnant, as Daddy suspected.
A shadow darkened the earth around me. My sister and I gaped up at a breathtaking boy with gelled auburn hair and a kind smile.
“May I?” Briar asked my sister, gesturing to me.
Vi’s brows rose, her lips spreading. She scooped up Sugar and scuttled to my father and brother.
I stared like an idiot when Briar knelt before me on his grass-stained knees, offering his hands. “Amy?” he asked, his hopes laid bare.
Shaking myself, I entwined our fingers. My heart stuttered, and my breath shook as our foreheads met over our hands. I closed my eyes tight to focus on him.
Communing with someone new was like trying to find a radio station. You needed to twist the knob several times before finding the one you desired. But once you found that station, things came through crystal clear.
When Briar found my frequency, I sensed his satisfaction.
The first sensation he sent along was gentle, welcoming, and warm. Friendship. Which put me at ease, made me forget the surreality of our pairing. And once that happened, I sank into his wavelength—so kind, bright, and masculine—without a hitch.
And, man oh man, communing with Briar Hawthorne was nothing like communing with family, no matter their moods. Because before that prayer was over, he had me blushing like a fresh picked rose in full bloom.
Myeyesdartedfromone word to the next. My heart pounded. My breathing accelerated. I reclined in my bed, reading a love scene in the latest novel I’d bought,Sea Temptress.As the temptress had her way with her pirate captor, my fingers alleviated what Briar had stirred up in me while communing.
“Did you see Laurel Woodrush glaring at you after circle?” Vi barged into my room without knocking, banging my bedroom door into my scarf strung mirror.
I screamed and yanked my peach sundress back down my thighs, scrambling to sit up.
“What are youdoing?” Vi squealed, shielding her eyes.
I threw my book at her. “Never mind what I’m doing! Why didn’t you knock?”
“I never knock!” She cackled, skirting my book, then a volley of throw pillows. Having spent many of her childhood nights sleeping in my bed with me, too scared to sleep on her own (she was prone to random seizures until age nine), Vi now denied me all privacy. “Next time, lock your door!”
“What’s going on?” My brother peeked his head around my doorframe.
I eyed Viola. “Nothing.”
She tossed a pillow back at me, keeping quiet.
“Ooo-kay.” Indifferent to the ruckus he’d interrupted, Ace swaggered into the room and over to the canvas armchair beside my bookshelf, now bursting with the books I’d collected over the school year. “What’s the deal with Briar?” He fell into the chair, hiking one of his long legs over a padded armrest. He had yet to wash the grass stains from circle off his knees, but he seemed in no hurry as he grabbed another of my books off the end table beside him. “You two took everyone by surprise.”
Took myself by surprise, too, I thought, squeezing my legs together.
“Everyone was talking about it after circle,” Vi informed me, toying with the floral curtains ornamenting my tufted window seat, where I’d set the small library my father insisted I read. “And Laurel looked like she wanted you dead.”
Having caught a glimpse of Laurel’s sapphire rage before I’d helped Daddy to our car, I gulped.
“Aunt Aylie’s on cloud nine,” Ace said. “I think she’s already booked Uncle Neel for a fall wedding.”
