Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

12. Dealing in Dreams

It might have been better if the oblivion lasted, but darkness swung back to gray and coalesced into familiar shapes. They moved jerkily, like actors in a silent-era film. Before Charlie Chaplin showed up to ask if Volya could see now, he tried to sit up.

His head felt like it was full of lead. By the time he wrestled it an inch from the ground, the world spun. His ears popped mercilessly. Nausea roiled his stomach, sending his breakfast running for cover. And it wasn't even that great the first time around! Tasting the ground chuck spiced with vomit, Volya cringed and coughed to get rid of a foul flavor in his mouth. The cough resonated in his temples so badly, that he slumped right back.

So that's what a concussion felt like, though he'd never had one before. But what else could it be? Not a bundle of tickles, that's for sure.

A woman... no, not just any woman... his mother knelt next to him, a calloused palm on his forehead. He took in a nose-full of her scent, risking dizziness to drag him back into unconsciousness.

"Mama?" he tried tentatively, but his croak came out as more of mmhg, which was probably for the best. He was far too old to cry for his mommy. But maybe he didn't quite reach the age of wisdom yet, because he hungrily cataloged her features. He'd never seen her this close before!

It was easy, actually, since he was seeing her in duplicate one blink, and in triplicate—the next. He didn't mind it. It was easier to remember the threads of gray in her brown hair and the decisive cast of narrow lips that way. The first lines etched across the forehead... mama.

Her proud head turned to face the sound of tentative steps. The spark in her eyes didn't bode well for whoever it was approaching.

"What have you done?" she asked. Another familiar scent touched Volya's nostrils: Nadezhda's. "The spirit's judgment cannot be interfered with."

Okay, so he must have blacked out only for a minute, maybe two. The Walkwe were filing into the circle that Kramola and he had vacated in the firework manner, crowding him even if he could only see the sky and his mama—

Wait. Fireworks... fireworks. He frowned. The fireworks didn't just happen. Nadezhda had done it. Nadezhda! That's why mama was pissed with her.

"I couldn't do anything differently." Her voice was so quiet that Volya could barely hear it over the murmurs of the gathering.

Another voice cut in, this one accustomed to speaking above all other voices. "How did you learn this spell?"

This was the old Shaman.

"I couldn't do anything differently," Nadezhda repeated.

Screw the queasiness! With a groan, Volya pushed up on an elbow to see her. He swayed, nearly wretched and collapsed in a second, but his efforts were rewarded with a glimpse of Nadezhda's listless face.

She slipped from her tree branch and now leaned against the trunk, arms crossed under her breast. It seemed more like she was bracing, than being defiant. Volya groaned. They were supposed to be an A-team. The Sight and the Memory, the unstoppable twins! But reality mocked his fantasies just like always.

"This spell..."

The word spell hung in the air.

Volya lifted his head again like a stubborn fool.

The Shaman turned round in place, holding a powerful pause. Even without his double-vision it would have looked pretty impressive. Her silence called for attention in the same way a magnet called iron shavings. The whispers quieted all around him, so he wasn't the only doofus unable to resist the demand of the stronger will. Everyone was compelled to listen, even the Huntresses.