Page 12 of A Bloodline Redeemed

River nodded his head at the jinn in acknowledgement.“Thank you.Could you… maybe go fetch the others?”

Aahil rolled his golden-brown eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh, crossing his arms over his lean chest and popping a hip like the drama queen he was.“Do I look like a messenger service to you, cat?”he snarked.

I nudged his shoulder.“Aahil.Not now.”

“Fine,” he said with a huff, disappearing in a shower of sparks.

Bis chirped at me from River’s shoulder, but seemed content to stay where he was.I pushed away the tiny twinge of jealousy.Bis could make friends.It was fine.And besides, the little guy seemed so curious and excited about whatever River was planning.I’d rather that than have him curled up in a prickly ball of despair the way he had been before this little trip.

“River’s culture is so fascinating,” the hedgehog-skunk-rat hybrid informed me as River went to claim a spot in the grass and pull his hide drum from its bag.“Don’t you think so, mamma?Like witches sometimes, but not.”

I sighed and went to join them.“Yes, Bis.Or at least, I think so.I’m making assumptions.You’re part native American, aren’t you?”I said, addressing River.

He glanced up at me as he opened the slender case and got out an elegant wooden flute.“Hmm?Oh, yeah.A bit of a mutt.My mother is Apache, Navajo, and Japanese—a human with a little bit of magic from somewhere in our history.My dad was a shifter from Magea, but she didn’t realize exactly what he was until she was pregnant with me.The shifter genes are obviously dominant.But I think my mother’s side ensured that I got the rarer abilities.Something about how the latent magic from her heritage mixed with dad’s side.”He shrugged.

I smiled faintly.“That’s cool.You’ll have to tell me more sometime.If you’re willing.I’d love to learn more about, well… every part of that.”

He huffed a laugh.“Anytime.I love sharing about my heritage.I think culture is meant to be shared.It makes us all richer for the experience.”He looked up at me from under his long, dark lashes.“And maybe you can teach me more about your heritage as well?I only know the basics about witches.I was born in the Planus realm and raised there for a few years before my mom took me to Magea.But even though I mostly grew up in Magea, I spent most of my time with an isolated clan of shifters.I still have plenty to learn.”

I shook my head at him.He probably knew more about witches—and every other type of magical being in Magea—than I did.He lit up at any mention of learning something new.He was the biggest nerd I’d ever met.But it was… somehow really endearing.I could listen to him go on and on for hours when he really got going on some subject that enthralled him.

Eventually, Aahil and Zhong returned, and the others started to trickle in, pulling me out of my contemplation about my feelings for the strange, wonderful shifter.Everyone seemed curious but guarded.They all radiated pain and loss, their auras swirling with the dark colors of it.And I was sure my own energy was no different.

Hopefully whatever River had planned for us would help.Because I felt like we were all bleeding out.

Chapter 9

Andy

Riverreallywasawonder.He had come back from Magea wearing a fitted t-shirt and a long, flowing, patterned skirt that somehow reminded me of both his native AmericanandJapanese heritage.It was a beautiful blending of traditional and modern, new and old, Planus and magic, masculine and soft.He settled his skirt around him as he sat cross-legged on the blanket Zhong had brought him, his hide drum resting on his lap.As the others filtered in looking curious, wary—and a bit high—he softly began to play a slow beat on the drum.It gradually grew louder and a bit faster, reminding me of a heartbeat.A pulse.

I expected questions.Demands.Snarky comments.But no one spoke as we all found a place on the cushions and blankets that were scattered in a circle around the courtyard.It was as if the purely mundane drum in River’s hands held a magic all its own.I felt it call to something inside me.Something primal.Something bittersweet and wild.

Grief, I thought.Though it was mixed with something else.And I immediately missed Hasumi’s ability to tell me exactly what it was I was feeling.To help me sort out the maelstrom inside my head and my heart.

River’s citrine eyes met mine, and he gave me a soft, sad smile.Then he got to work drawing us all out of our misery and pain.Bringing those feelings alive and letting them swirl around us, free and unrestrained.He sang.His deep voice was a soft hum at first, a chant without words, that nonetheless managed to speak right to my heart.

Slowly his voice rose, and words formed.He didn’t lecture us or give us some peptalk about moving on.Instead, he sang of all the things Hasumi was.A song about grace and feeling.About the sensitive, empathic, fluid essence of who the water weaver was.Somehow his song painted the picture perfectly, even though he didn’t know Hasumi the way the rest of us did.Somehow, he had seen.He knew.Ever observant, even when he didn’t seem to be, like the cat he was.

His song fell back into wordless sound again, emotion given wing without words, and he nodded toward us.I felt the urge to join him swell in my throat, but I held it back.No one wanted to hear me sing.

A deep, smoky voice joined River’s, soft and slinking, cool as shadows to my senses, which were open and taking in not only sight and sound, but the auras around me.The loss.The love.

Ambrose smiled faintly at me as he hummed and vocalized, as if he were a trained musician.It wasn’t long before he was joined by a chorus of voices.Niamh’s throaty alto, Zhong and Dyre’s rich bass, Elijah’s warm baritone.Even Aahil joined in, in a heart wrenchingly clear and perfect tenor.

River’s eyes locked with mine again, and he quirked a brow as he continued to play his drum, the others carrying the song.“Join us, Andy,” he said, just loudly enough to carry over the sounds around us.

I shook my head, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.“I can’t.”

I was completely and utterlyawfulat singing.I could hear the rich fabric of tones around me when others sang or played.But I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket myself.

River just shook his head.“Pick a note and hum,” he insisted.“Be the foundation, and we will build around you.”

The beautiful song paused.I swallowed the lump in my throat as everyone stared at me, waiting.Be the foundation.It felt like River was talking about more than just a silly song.These amazing people had made me their foundation.Built their new lives around me.Even after I had led Hasumi to their death… these idiots still trusted me so completely.

Tears flowed unchecked down my cheek as I picked a wavering note and hummed it as loud as I could.It wasn’t until that very moment that I let myself acknowledge the full scope of my pain and grief.Hasumi’s loss was a huge, gaping hole in my heart.But I had also lost all faith in myself.In my ability to make decisions that affectedeveryonearound me.

I cried for Hasumi.I cried for my own hurt and loss, and the hurt and loss the others suffered through as well.But I also cried for love.For the aching, warm, terrifying strength of what I felt humming along all the magical bonds I shared with my friends and lovers.With my found family of lost souls.I bawled like a baby, but I held onto that one, odd, wavering note.Being the foundation.

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