Salmon Fit for a Sophisticated Grizzly Bear

CHAPTER 6

Lucas. Sweet Lucas. Poor troubled Lucas who works so hard and suffers so much with his alcoholic father and dead mother. The one with the adorable little sister and the glasses and library card. Is my Watcher. The person, I have just been informed, I must trust with my life.

I may actually kill him.

He seems to know that because once the aunts climb into the two Ubers they’ve summoned, he keeps his distance.

“I’m sorry,” Nana says. She sits at the table looking too tired to move.

“About?”

“Sorry that I didn’t tell you all this sooner. But I really did hope that it would never be necessary, that you could just live a normal life - as normal as we have anyway. If I could have kept this from you if I could have.”

Being powerful doesn’t strike me as having many down sides - well maybe the Ripper thing - but otherwise, I’m pretty sure it’s all plusses. Why not teach me to use my powers to their maximum potential? Our whole life could change. Instead of struggling to get by, living with cast offs from the rest of the family, working long hours, we could live like the aunts in their posh surroundings. And what couldn’t I do to help people? If I was able to make Nick so happy with just a simple spell, there’s no end to what I might do with real power.

They are lying to you and in doing so, denying you untold power and strength.

Was this what he was talking about?

I push the thought away and ask why she seems to think this isn’t a total win.

“Because there are complications that come along with power like yours, complications that may make your life very unpleasant, that could put you in danger.”

“It seems like that’s already happened,” I point out, “except now I have no idea what to do.”

“Because we’ve kept you in the dark.” She sighs and wipes a hand across her face. “Tristan, I truly regret what we’ve done but please understand that we had the best intentions.”

Nana adopted me, raised me, loved me. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known. There is not a single doubt in my mind that she kept all of this from me because she wanted me to be happy, to be safe. I’m not trying to make her feel more guilty than she already does, but I can’t help feeling pissed about all this. And Lucas. Don’t even get me started on him.

“Did you know about him all along? Was all that with the wallet and the sad stories something you worked out together?”

“We knew no more of him than you did. How could we? Until this evening, we didn’t even know you had been in contact with the...with them. Aoife let me know after you’d gone to bed and the whole thing took off from there. It was my intention, my very adamant request, to tell you on my own, just among the three of us, but I was forbidden.”

I spin a leftover tea spoon on the table. “I’ll just have to take care of him on my own, then.”

“I’m afraid there is nothing to take care of - well, accept for a binding spell. He is your Watcher and his job is to help keep you safe. You must make use of his services, Tristan. It is imperative. Without him...there is no without him. On this, you must be obedient.”

Telling me I have to be obedient about anything is a big mistake. But Nana knows that, so the fact that she says it anyway only serves to point out how important she thinks it is.

“It would seem to me that if I’m so powerful and all, I should be able to take care of myself.”

Nana raises an eyebrow. “Lions are powerful. Eagles are powerful. But both of these creatures are mere babies at one time and as vulnerable to destruction as anything else.”

“You’re saying I’m a lion cub? A fledgling?”

Where’s Miranda with that tea when I need her?

“I’m saying that you are very inexperienced and much like a newborn animal, you can be the extremely vulnerable prey of those who would take from you what you are.”

“He lied to me.”

“The truth was not his to give.”

Right on cue, there’s a shuffling of feet. Lucas clears his throat somewhere behind me.

“The sun will be up soon,” Nana observes, “and there’s a binding to be done. I’ll go get Miranda. You two talk.” She stands slowly and heads toward the kitchen. “Talk, Tristan,” she says over her shoulder. “Do not hurt him.”

I fold my arms on the table and bury my head. It’s juvenile, but there’s no escaping upstairs. I’m not going to talk until he says something I want to hear.

“I’m sorry, Tristan,” he says. “Truly.”

He even sounds different. More mature. More formal.

“But as your grandmother said, the truth was not mine to give.”

No doubt. Apparently my entire existence has been some sort of carefully constructed lie designed for my protection. Why should he be any different? But then why do I feel so angry at him, so angry that tears threaten to spill over? I squeeze my eyes shut and lower my head completely onto the table.

“Tristan.” Lucas lays a hand on my shoulder. I jerk it away. A couple of hours ago, a touch like that wouldn’t have been so repulsive. “Please.” His tone is sincere enough, but I’ve believed everything he’s told me up to now, the whole sad story. I felt something.

“I’m a good Watcher, Tristan, a very good one, but not a particularly good liar. Knowing that, I was provided with my story by your aunts so that you would be willing to accept me into your presence. Your adversaries had already made contact, so they needed me to be close to you. Knowing about your distaste for boys…”

I snort into the table, making a note to be more discreet in the future.

“You’re a very good liar,” I say into my arms.

“You only believed me because you’re kind.”

Not exactly the description I would have given of myself, but not entirely inaccurate.

“Don’t insult me,” I answer. Lucas chuckles. “You’re a dick, you know that?” I wipe my eyes on the sleeves of Miranda’s dress and sit up.

“As you say. But I am at your service.”

The Lucas in front of me even looks different from the one I rescued from his fake dad. This one seems taller somehow, broader, but maybe it’s just his posture. He has a sweater on over his crappy baseball t-shirt and his hair is brushed back out of his face. I sort of miss the gentle, slightly messy guy I left sleeping on our couch.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I answer.

“As you are not a child. But you are very important and such a person is to be guarded carefully. There is no room for negotiation here.”

“I would think such a very important person could take care of herself.”

“Soon. But you have literally known about your extreme power for about 20 minutes. Surely there are many things for you to learn before we leave you on your own. I have a great deal of experience in this area, Tristan, with many other Seekers before you. I feel rather sure there is something I can offer.”

I make a skeptical noise.

“You don’t have to like me,” he says, “but I’m not going away. I can’t. That would be…” he hesitates, “disastrous.”

“Great. Because I hate you.”

“As you say,” he repeats. It’s like talking to a fairy tale prince all of a sudden. How old is this guy?

The door opens and Nana and Miranda return. Nana carries a large, leatherbound book.

“More surprises?” I ask.

Miranda has her arms behind her back and I don’t even want to guess what’s going on there.

“It is time for the binding,” Nana says.

That’s the second time she’s mentioned it, and I still don’t like the sound. Am I getting tied up? Locked in a tower for my own protection? If anyone around here needs to be bound, it’s Lucas. At least that way I could get him off my back for a bit while I figure this all out.

“Which is what - exactly?”

“You and your boyfriend here are about to become one.” At least Miranda is back to normal.

Lucas makes a slight bow, his eyes on the floor.

“Meaning?”

“We need to perform a ceremony,” Nana explains. “It will connect the two of you - bind you - in such a way that Lucas will know where you are and when you are in danger, when you need him.”

“And what is involved in this ceremony?”

Miranda places what she’s been hiding on the table. It’s a rectangular, blue velvet box with an antique latch. She doesn’t open it

“You’re not going to like this,” she assures me.

“I don’t like any of this.” I reach out a hand to touch the lid, but Nana swats me away.

“We need to complete the ceremony before the sun comes up. Only the night can hold our secrets.”

Lucas steps forward, positioning himself in front of me. He pushes up the sleeve of his sweater while Nana positions the book in the center of the table.

She lays a hand on the cracked, red leather cover. “This,” she begins, “is the grimoire, the spellbook of our sisters. In it is collected our history and the spells of generation upon generation of our family. It is our most precious possession. Today, the book is yours, Tristan. I know you understand what a responsibility that is, so I won’t insult you with speeches and threats. Before it comes into your possession, however, I will use it one final time in order to seal the connection between you and your Watcher.”

Magic hums from the cover, from between the pages, the supernatural residue of enchanted words written by dozens, hundreds maybe, of my relatives. I reach out a finger to touch it. A jolt of energy flows along my arm and into my body.

The ride we’re on has left the gate and is heading down the track. There’s no getting out of this.

“You’re sure this is the only way?”

“I’m afraid so,” Nana says.

“Mom,” Miranda urges. “The sun…”

Outside, the faintest edge of gray tints the sky in the east. In an hour, the sun will be up and the shop will be buzzing with Saturday morning regulars expecting caffeine and breakfast.

“Fine,” I answer. “What do I have to do?

Miranda pushes the box across the table and flips open the latch. Inside, two knives with wickedly sharp blades sit on a bed of black satin. “I said you weren’t going to like it,” she repeats.

I swallow and back away. “Who, exactly, is getting stabbed?” The rapid pounding of my heart makes it difficult to talk and breathe at the same time.

Miranda snickers and even Lucas smiles into his boots.

“No stabbing, Tristan,” Nana assures me. “But...blood magic. It is the most powerful of all magic and required in this case. You will mix your blood with Lucas’ as I recite the words of the spell. A small cut, just a bit of blood, and the drops entered into the book to create the seal. After that, you will be bound.”

“Bound, meaning?”

“Meaning that my life is yours. It is my duty to serve you, to protect you, to be beside you until it is time for me to go.”

“And when would that be?”

“When there is no longer a danger to you.”

I feel myself being backed into a corner. I am powerful. People want to rip that power from me. I must bind myself to Lucas - who I’m not even happy to be around anymore - who, in turn, has to be attached to me in a manner that implies danger to himself. I’m not too cool with putting someone in that position.

My knees start trembling as the reality of the whole thing washes over me.

“I can’t,” I try to explain. “I can’t accept that from you.”

“There’s no choice, Tristan. It is our way. It is Lucas’ job. These things are as they are, as they always have been.”

“We must begin,” Lucas urges. He steps up to the table.

“Tristan?” Nana asks.

I’m not ready, but waiting until I am doesn’t seem like a choice.

“Yeah,” I mutter, breathing fast, “yeah. OK. I’m ready.”

Miranda steps up next to me and folds back the sleeve of her dress, no doubt worried about stains when I start gushing.

“Lucas?” Nana asks.

He nods and offers his hand, palm up.

I do the same.

“Let us begin,” Nana says. She lifts open the cover of the book, a trail of magic streaming into the air. I watch it curl into the dim light of the shop, swirling up against the ceiling watching over us.

Nana arrives at what looks like a blank page and slowly intones the magic words. They are in ancient Irish and I only catch a word here or there. Together. Always. Protection. To death.

Nana opens her eyes and calls to my aunt.

Miranda steps forward holding the daggers.

“You’ll need to cut his palm,” she whispers to me. There’s a glint in her eye that makes me wonder if she’s enjoying this. “He’ll do the same to you.”

I stare at the blade without moving, imagining the searing pain coursing through my hand.

“It’s not that bad,” Lucas tries to assure me. “I swear. I’ve done it many times.”

I blink at him. “But you’re a liar.”

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards in the way the old Lucas would have.

“Yes,” he says, “but not about this. Again, I swear it.”

“The blades are enchanted,” Nana explains. “It’s impossible for you - and only you - to be cut too deeply.”

Miranda runs a finger lightly along the point. “Also sharp. Very sharp.”

Absolutely none of this is reassuring, but it’s not optional either. I call up the magic inside me, willing it to gather in my core, to extend itself out through my limbs, into my fingertips.

I nod. Move forward. Do it. It is my destiny. Power is my destiny. I nod again and take the blade Miranda offers. Lucas does the same.

“You first.” He offers his palm. His hand is steady, his breath even. His gray eyes look at me, reassuring me, letting me know he is OK with this.

I lift the blade and touch it to his palm.

Slicing someone with a knife does not come naturally and I hesitate.

“Consider it payback.” He says it low so only I can hear, a touch of amusement in his voice.

The prospect of revenge doesn’t motivate me, but my guilt is relieved by his tone. I take the knife, wrapping my fingers around the oak handle, pressing into the Celtic symbols carved into the sides. The spells it’s laced with mingle with the magic I generate on my own. The power makes me feel a little drunk, a bit unsteady on my feet.

I take a deep breath and swipe the razor sharp blade across his palm. He doesn’t so much as wince. Blood flows to the surface, spilling between Lucas’ fingers onto the table.

“I guess this means it’s my turn.” Crying doesn’t seem like an appropriate way to embrace my newfound power, so I thrust out my hand - and just as quickly close my eyes.

A second later a white hot pain burns across the surface of my palm forcing out a gasp. The magic is magnified a hundred times, a thousand, rushing through me so quickly I’m sure I’ll throw up. I force down the sensation and raise my eyes to look at Lucas.

“Give it a minute. It will pass,” he assures me.

And it does, ebbing away like a wave. But the power remains.

“Join hands,” Nana instructs.

I’m still a little stunned, but Lucas reaches over and takes my hand in his, palm-against-palm. He squeezes and shudders once, twice, as my blood mingles with his. Nana pushes the book beneath us, open to a blank page.

Drops splat down onto the paper forming a scarlet splotch. The liquid leeches into the page, moving out toward the edges. As we watch, the blob of vermillion refines itself into something with defined edges, a distinct shape, Awen, the symbol of harmony of opposites. It’s hard to imagine harmony between me and Lucas, but here we are.



“Now we are bound,” Lucas swears his oath, “and with my life, I will protect yours.”