Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

I looked Larry over. If he was armed, it was in an ankle or spine holster, hidden under his church-made jeans or his church-made, starched, ironed, cotton plaid shirt. “We’ll see what he has to say. But he’ll be talking to the business end of the shotguns.” I opened the door. Stepped out, shotgun at the ready. Mud moved out beside me. Larry stopped, his eyes going wide.

He swallowed, the sound rubbery, and he wilted like the flowers he carried. “I …” He swallowed again. “I come to call on Miss Mindy.”

“Mindy’s daddy told you no.”

His chin went up. “I’ve been led to understand that you’un had taken custody of her, so I don’t rightly think it matters what her daddy done said.”

I hadn’t been expecting that one. But he had a point. “No. Not now, not later, not ever.”

“I’d like to hear it from Miss Mindy herself.”

“Mindy’s a minor.”

“Not by church law.”

“No,” Mindy said. “I ain’t interested in marrying into the Aden clan. I ain’t interested in marrying at all.”

“Every woman wants to marry, little miss. Your witch sister been spreading her lies to you? Sounds like you’un’s needing some protecting from her and her devil talk and her devil ways. I aim to make you’un respectable and keep you’un safe from the world and its dangers.” He held out his bouquet and took the final step to the porch. “I brung you’un flowers.”

“I said no,” Mud said, her voice as cold and hard as mine.

“Okay. Let me make it plain.” I slid into church-speak. “Get offa my land or we’uns’ll fill you so full a holes the undertaker will have to hold your corpse together with duct tape and baling wire.” No. I’d feel him to my land. There would be nothing left but his gun, if he was carrying. Even his clothes and shoes would be gone, absorbed by Soulwood.

Beneath me, the land came awake. And hungry.

Bloodlust slammed through me. And for maybe the first time in my life, I laughed at a man who was threatening me and mine. “You can get off my land, church boy. You can stay away from my sister. Or you can die. Not many choices between life and death.” I stepped toward him, the barrel aimed center mass. “I said, get offa my land.”

Something in my face made Larry Aden pale and his eyes dilate. He backed slow down the steps and headed to his truck. Somewhere along the way he dropped the flowers.

I felt his fury as he strode across the land; felt the land’s response as Larry took his last step and got in the cab, started the engine, and backed away fast, throwing gravel. All along his trail between steps and truck, vines erupted from the ground. Vines with dark, thick green leaves and scarlet petioles, vines with thorns and self-will. Parts of the vampire tree.

As Larry whipped his truck around and roared down the road, I fired into the ground, directly at the vines. Furious and angry and scared all at once. I yelled, “I told you to get off my yard. Don’t make me fight you, you danged tree!”

“Nellie?” Mud asked, her tone doubtful.

I pointed at the gravel parking space. “Two birds, one stone, as it were.” Then I saw my fingers and the fresh leaves uncoiling from the tips. “Dagnabbit!”

Mud giggled, a tiny, tentative snurf of sound, took my elbow, and led me back inside. “I’ll make us some herbal tea. Somethin’ with chamomile and lavender.”

“I do not need to be calmed down,” I said, holding my cell. “And it’s too hot for tea.”

“Uh-huh.” She took my gun and pushed me onto the couch. Secured the weapons just like I’d taught her.

“Leave my gun on the chair near the door,” I instructed into the silence.

“Okay. Who you calling?” she asked.

“Sam. Then Daddy. Then my boss.”

“I understand family. Why your’n boss?”

“Because I just fired a gun in a situation that might be construed as an attack on an unarmed man. Because who’s gonna believe I fired at a tree that likes to kill things?”

“I reckon that’s a good point.”

I dialed Sam. “Hey, Nellie,” he said.

“Did you know Larry Aden was coming over here to court Mud?”

“What? No! Absolutely unacceptable. We told him no, in no uncertain terms.”

“Seems he’s decided that since Mud will be living with me, without a man present, that means our opinions and plans have no value. And that means he gets to ignore you. So you pass the word, brother mine. The next churchman or church boy who comes onto my land without my advance permission gets shot. Period. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear. I’m sorry, Nellie. This shouldn’ta happened to you.”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t have happened to any of the women or girls of the church, ever.” I hung up. I had broken out in a sweat during the conversation, and not just because the house was eighty-four degrees inside, but because I was so mad. And getting madder. I dialed Daddy. Gave my free hand to Mud to clip my leaves while I talked.

“How’s my girl?” Daddy answered, his voice not as hearty as it once had been. We were three weeks past his surgery to repair a persistent bleeder and clean out a lot of scar tissue from when Daddy had been gut shot. The original surgery, while keeping him alive, hadn’t been quite enough, and the doctor had made it clear after this second one that he might need a third one. Daddy had been shot protecting his family. Remembering that, the worst of my anger simmered away. More of the anger bubbling through me cooled when I remembered that Daddy knew Occam was a wereleopard and hadn’t objected to us working together and maybe-sorta courting. He could have made my life very difficult, but he hadn’t.

“I’m good. Mindy is good. But we have a problem.” I described Larry’s visit and he listened with patience. Made a few angry “Mmmms,” and few more sounds that sounded like growls.

I took a steadying grip on the kitchen table, wood from Soulwood trees, wood that knew me. “I told Sam I’d shoot any churchman or boy who comes calling. I mean it. You spread the word.”

“Nellie—”

“Don’t ‘Nellie’ me.” My voice dropped. “You pass along the word. I got beefs with the church about a mile long. I’ll shoot anyone who comes here without a specific invite. Shoot ’em dead. Got it?”

“I understand,” Daddy said softly.

“You make sure the churchmen know my rules. They come to my house? They die.” I punched end.

Mud put a big glass of iced herbal on the table. I had seen the new jar next to my mint tea. Plopping down on a chair at the kitchen table, I picked up the glass and rolled it across my forehead. Mud took the glass and placed it in my other hand so she could clip the leaves on the free one.

I sighed, a long unhappy sigh full of pathos. Or maybe self-pity, if I was honest.

Mud released my neatly trimmed fingers and I sipped the tea. The florals were amazing together, which was handy since I really wanted to change the subject. “Is this your blend? It’s wonderful.”

Mud flushed with pleasure. “Organic. I’m thinking about going into business making organic soothing, calming teas. Most teas need sugar. I’m gonna make sure mine don’t and can be enjoyed hot or cold.”

“Business?”

“When I turn eighteen. I’ll already have my blends and recipes and flowers growing.”

It hit me what she had done and I chuckled. “And you plan to move them to the new greenhouse.”

“Yep. So I got a question. I overheard Sam talking today. What happened to Brother Ephraim?”

If I’d had leaves at the moment I think they might have quivered at the question. “Um …”

“‘Um’ ain’t no answer. You know something, don’tcha.”

I sighed and decided on honesty, if not total and complete. Mud deserved as much of the truth as I could give. I put the glass on the table and took a cat up in my arms for the comfort. It was Cello, the quietest of the mousers and the least loving, except to the werecats who came calling from time to time. Right now, Cello let me hold her and I put my head to hers. She started purring, which was soothing. “It isn’t my story to tell, not all of it. But what I can tell you is that Ephraim came here to try and force me back to the church. He attacked me. Then he attacked an officer of the law. This was before you and I got to know each other. And it’s the darker part of our magic.”

“You kill him?” she asked, casually, as if murder was fine and dandy.

“Not exactly.” This was the part of the story that wasn’t mine to tell. I went on with what I could tell. “He was injured and dying. So I fed him to the earth. To Soulwood.”

“He tasted bad, didn’t he?”

I spurted a laugh that was as much relief as amusement. “I reckon he did. The land didn’t take him at first. He caused a few problems before I found a way to … absorb him. I reckon that’s a good enough word.” I pushed away the glass, and condensation made trails across the wood. “I killed him,” I said, softer. “That’s murder. Manslaughter at the very least.”

“I heard Sam say one time that some men need killing. I reckon the man who punished Mama fits that description.”

In church parlance punished meant raped. I hadn’t known that Mud knew that story. I tilted my head, less in agreement than to indicate that I’d heard the same argument.

“Your’n friends at PsyLED know about it?”