“We’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” Silas adds.
I heave a martyred sigh and set down the slice of pizza.I’ve lost my appetite.
* * *
As we drive through the pack lands, past sprawling homes with lush lawns and colorful flower gardens, I can see that the Moonstone Pack has continued to thrive in the fifteen years since my family’s exile.This does nothing to improve my mood.
We find our potential client on the western side of the Moonstone Pack’s property.
Carlton Ward is a beanpole of a man with a shock of white hair and a tanned, heavily lined face.He's standing at the edge of his cornfield when we pull up, hands in his pockets.
Uncle Silas parks the truck on a patch of gravel beside a weathered equipment shed and kills the engine.The April air hits me the moment I step out — warm and thick with the smell of turned earth.I feel that low hum under my skin that always happens when I'm near growing things.It’s so continually present that I don’t even notice it unless I focus.
The corn is only ankle-high, pale green shoots in long straight rows, but even at this stage I can feel the life in it.I can also feel the stress, the disease chewing at it.
I press my hands to my sides and follow my uncle over to Carlton, who raises a hand in greeting.I’d met Carlton a handful of times when I was small — he'd always been decent enough, for a Moonstone wolf.
"Silas," he says, shaking my uncle's hand.Then he nods at me."Henrietta.You've grown up."
“Yes I did,” I say, forcing a bright smile on my face.
Grew up away from here, away from the Shadowpine packlands that were our rightful home…
"As I mentioned, our yield's been down three seasons running," Carlton says, turning to the field."Pest damage, mostly.Black cutworm's the worst of it."
"There are European corn borers too, from what I can feel," I say.
Carlton looks at me quizzically, arching an eyebrow.“You can feel it?Without touching it?’
"She can sense it," Silas says smoothly."That's why she's here."
Carlton nods slowly, something shifting in his expression."Can you fix it?"
"Between the two of us, we can double your yield and eliminate most of the damage," Silas says."Twenty-five percent up front, the remainder at season's end."
"Done.I’ll have the money in your account tomorrow morning, and you can come by to get started then," Carlton says, and they shake on it.There’s no need to sign anything.A shifter’s word is his bond.
I exhale.There it is — the money that will get us back on our feet.
I turn back to the field and let myself feel it properly, opening up that part of me I usually keep tucked away.The hum deepens, spreads up through my feet and into my chest.The corn is struggling but it's stubborn and determined.I like that in a plant.
My uncle walks up to me and stands next to me.We close our eyes and focus.
Silas’s magic brushes against mine—deeper, heavier, more controlled than my own.His power feels like ancient tree roots sinking into the earth.Mine moves faster, lighter, weaving around his.
I push my magic downward.
Warm green energy pours out of me and into the soil.The roots greedily absorb it.The corn straightens almost immediately, stalks thickening, leaves unfurling wider toward the sun.
I can feel the pests—tiny chewing mouths buried in the stalks, eggs hidden beneath leaves, fat little larvae viciously destroying crops.
Rude.
I send a sharp pulse of magic through the field.
The insects react instantly.The borers wriggle free from the stalks and drop to the dirt.The cutworms shudder and die.My uncle is pouring his strength through the field, and I know, without even looking, that the corn is slightly greener and a teeny bit taller now.
The sound of voices and boots on gravel grabs my attention, and at the same time, I feel a strange prickling under my skin, a sense of urgency, a sudden need to…what?What do I need to do?