The Orchard at Night

Chapter 5

Dawn Ellery's point of view

Sleep eludes me, a taunting ghost that flits just beyond my grasp. The silk sheets—another gift I didn't ask for—tangle around my legs like living things as I toss and turn, my mind a churning sea of questions without answers. The dragon tattoo between my shoulder blades pulses with a gentle heat, as if it knows I'm thinking of them. Rain. Riku. Twin dragons with matching green eyes that see through me, into me, yet refuse to tell me what they see.

I fling an arm across my eyes, as if that might block out the images that cycle through my mind: Sorin's rage as the ward closed between us; the pulsing walls of the clubhouse responding to my light; Rain's cold assessment and Riku's warm invitation. Most of all, that inexplicable pull between us—the bond, as Liora called it, though she wouldn't explain further.

Dinner tonight was an exercise in restraint. Apparently, the Black Pistons eat together like some bizarre magical biker family. I sat with Liora, grateful for her easy conversation and lack of probing questions, but I couldn't stop myself from tracking the twins across the room. Rain, with his rigid posture and careful distance, stealing glances when he thought I wasn't looking. Riku, laughing with club members but always aware of me, his emerald eyes finding mine across the crowded dining hall as if drawn by magnets.

The memory of those glances sends an unwelcome warmth spiraling through me, pooling low in my belly. I groan in frustration, kicking off the sheets that suddenly feel too hot against my skin. This reaction to them makes no sense. I've never been the type to fall for pretty faces or well-built bodies—and I certainly don't fall for two at once. Yet here I am, thoughts tangled around twin dragons who hold the answers I need but refuse to share them.

I push myself upright, the silk nightgown—yet another mysteriously provided garment—sliding cool against my heated skin. Moonlight spills through a gap in the curtains, painting silver stripes across the room's wooden floor. I pad to the window and pull the heavy drapes aside.

Below, the Hidden Bowl spreads like a secret world stolen from a dream. The silver-veined trees Liora showed me earlier shimmer in the moonlight, their leaves stirring in a gentle breeze I can't feel through the glass. Beyond them lies the orchard, its ancient trees standing like sentinels, dark and majestic in the distance. The Hidden Bowl stretches before me, a magical realm stolen from the pages of fairy tales, and I can't deny the pull I feel toward it. My dragon tattoo warms as I stare at the orchard, as if urging me to go there, to discover its secrets. Sleep has abandoned me tonight—why not abandon my room in return?

The decision crystallizes with surprising clarity. I need answers, and lying in bed wrestling with questions won't provide them. Perhaps the orchard holds some clue, some fragment of truth about what I am and why I'm drawn to this place—to those men.

I turn from the window, my resolve hardening with each step. The silk nightgown whispers against my skin as I search for something more suitable for midnight wandering. In the massive wardrobe—another mystery, stocked with clothes in my exact size—I find a pair of soft pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Not ideal for orchard exploration, but better than the nearly transparent nightgown.

As I slip on a pair of flat shoes I found earlier, I wonder what Rain and Riku would say about my nocturnal expedition. I can almost hear Rain's stern warning about danger and protocol, see Riku's eyes dancing with mischief at my rebellion. The thought makes me both smile and frown. I barely know them, yet I can predict their reactions with unsettling accuracy.

This bond—whatever it is—feels like both invasion and invitation. A connection I never asked for but can't seem to reject. My light magic stirs beneath my skin at the thought of them, little flickers of blue-white energy dancing between my fingers like anxious fireflies.

I take a deep breath, flexing my hands until the light recedes. Control. I need to learn control, both of my magic and my inexplicable reaction to the twins. This midnight walk is about clearing my head, not complicating it further.

The door opens silently when I turn the handle, revealing the dim hallway beyond. The clubhouse feels different at night—more alive somehow, the walls humming with a low energy that vibrates just below the threshold of hearing. I step into the corridor, careful to close the door without a sound behind me.

The plush carpet muffles my footsteps as I make my way down the hallway. Most doors are dark underneath, their occupants presumably asleep, but at the far end where the hall curves, two doors glow with soft light spilling beneath them. The twins' rooms. They're still awake.

I pause, something tugging me toward those illuminated doorways. What would happen if I knocked? If I demanded answers in the quiet intimacy of night rather than the guarded formality of day? The pull intensifies as I consider it, my dragon tattoo warming between my shoulder blades, urging me forward.

My hand lifts of its own accord, drawn toward the nearest door—Rain's, I think, though I couldn't explain how I know. I can almost feel him on the other side, his controlled energy a tangible presence even through wood and distance.

No. I clench my fist and lower it. I won't give them the satisfaction. They've made their position clear—keeping me at arm's length, doling out information in carefully measured doses as if I'm a child who can't handle the truth. If they want to talk, they can come find me.

I continue past their doors, hyperaware of every creak in the floorboards, every whisper of fabric as I move. At the stairs, I pause again, listening for any sound that might indicate I've been discovered. The clubhouse remains silent except for that persistent hum, the magic in its walls acknowledging my presence like a curious cat tracking a mouse.

The grand staircase gleams in the moonlight filtering through high windows, the polished wood reflecting fragments of silver that guide my descent. Each step feels both rebellious and right, as if I'm breaking rules yet following some deeper calling.

The main hall stretches before me, transformed by night. The bar where club members gathered earlier stands empty, bottles gleaming like sentinels in the dark. The massive hearth, cold now without its fire, still manages to dominate the space, the carved dragons watching me with crystal eyes that seem to track my movement.

"I'm just going for a walk," I whisper to them, feeling foolish for addressing stone but unable to shake the sense that the building itself is aware of my intentions.

The crystal eyes pulse once, neither approving nor condemning, simply acknowledging. I take it as permission and continue toward the heavy oak doors that lead outside.

My hand hesitates on the ornate handle. I don't know what waits in the orchard at night. Liora warned me to stay within the clubhouse territory, but she didn't explicitly forbid exploring the grounds. The ward's protection extends to the entire Hidden Bowl—I should be safe from Sorin, at least.

The handle turns beneath my palm, the door swinging open with surprising ease, as if the clubhouse is eager to show me its secrets. Cool night air rushes in, carrying scents I couldn't name but instantly recognize—wild magic, ancient trees, blooming flowers that shouldn't exist in the desert.

I step over the threshold, and the world transforms around me. The moonlight paints everything in shades of silver and shadow, turning the Hidden Bowl into a realm of mysteries waiting to be unraveled. My bare feet sink into soft grass, cool dew kissing my skin, and my dragon tattoo flares with sudden warmth.

Home, something whispers in my blood. This is home.

I don't understand the feeling, but I don't fight it either. Instead, I let it guide me forward, away from the clubhouse and its sleeping occupants, away from the twins and their secrets, toward the ancient orchard whose gnarled branches beckon like outstretched arms under the starlit sky.

The orchard welcomes me like an old friend long forgotten. As I approach the first line of ancient trees, moonlight spills through their canopy in liquid silver, dappling the ground with luminous patterns that shift with each breath of wind. These aren't ordinary trees—they've stood for centuries, their massive trunks twisted into forms that speak of patience and perseverance. Bark blackened in patterns too deliberate to be natural catches my eye—dragonfire scars, I realize with a start, understanding blooming like the night flowers around me.

I slip off my shoes without thinking, leaving them at the orchard's edge. The moss beneath my bare feet feels like velvet, cool and alive against my skin. Each step connects me more deeply to this place, as if the earth itself is greeting me through the soles of my feet. The dragon tattoo between my shoulder blades pulses with steady warmth, no longer painful but comforting, like the touch of a familiar hand.

"What are you?" I whisper to the trees, trailing my fingers along rough bark as I pass. No answer comes in words, but the branches above me stir despite the stillness of the air.

The deeper I walk into the orchard, the more its magic reveals itself. Tiny points of blue-white light drift between the trees—fireflies, but unlike any I've seen before. Their glow matches my own light magic, pulsing in patterns too complex to be random. They swirl around me as I pass, curious about this human-shaped creature carrying their light within her skin.

One lands on my extended finger, its glow intensifying for a heartbeat before it rejoins its companions in their aerial dance. The brief contact leaves a tingle of recognition, like reuniting with a part of myself I didn't know was missing.

The scents of the orchard envelop me in layers of intoxication. Ripe apples, their sweetness heavy and inviting, mingle with the headier perfume of night-blooming jasmine that coils around the trees' lower branches. Beneath these lies something older and wilder—earth and magic and time itself compressed into fragrance. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with this intoxicating mixture, and feel something inside me uncoil in response.

My heterochromatic eyes adjust differently to the darkness—my brown eye seeing the physical world of trees and earth, my amber eye perceiving the magical currents that flow through everything here. It creates a disorienting double vision, a world layered upon itself. Through my amber eye, I see the ward's energy as a distant shimmer, like heat rising from summer pavement, creating a dome over the entire Hidden Bowl.

I pause before a particularly massive apple tree, its trunk wide enough that three people linking hands couldn't encircle it. Unlike the others, this one bears no dragonfire scars. Instead, its bark is covered in intricate symbols carved with painful precision—runes similar to those I saw on the ward stones, yet distinctly different. They glow faintly from within, as if the tree's lifeblood carries magic instead of sap.

"I don't understand you yet," I tell the symbols, tracing their edges with my fingertip without touching. "But I will."

The orchard seems to approve of my promise. The fireflies swirl more intensely, their patterns shifting into brief configurations that almost form words before dissolving again. Above me, apples hang heavy from laden branches, each fruit containing a subtle glow visible only through my amber eye.

I pluck one, surprised by how warm it feels against my palm. When I bring it to my nose, the scent is more complex than any apple I've ever encountered—sweetness layered with spice and something that reminds me of lightning strikes. I don't dare bite into it, not yet, but I slip it into my pocket like a talisman.

As I wander deeper into the orchard's heart, the trees grow closer together, their branches intertwining overhead to create a cathedral of leaves and moonlight. Here, the ward's magic hums more intensely, vibrating at a frequency that resonates with my own power. My skin prickles with awareness, light magic responding to the ancient energies surrounding me.

Blue-white tendrils of power curl from my fingertips unbidden, reaching toward the nearest trees like curious vines. Rather than fearing this manifestation, I watch with fascination as my magic interacts with the orchard. Where my light touches bark, the hidden runes carved there flare briefly to life, answering my power with their own.

The sensation is extraordinary—like discovering a language I've always known but never spoken. My magic recognizes these ancient symbols, converses with them in a dialogue of light and energy that bypasses conscious thought entirely. For the first time since my power manifested, it doesn't feel like an alien force invading my body but an integral part of me, as natural as breathing.

I spin slowly in place, arms extended, letting my light play across the surrounding trees. Each responds differently—some with eager flares of answering magic, others with more subdued acknowledgment. The fireflies join my impromptu dance, weaving between my fingers and circling my head like a living crown.

Something primal awakens within me, a knowledge that predates words or rational thought. This connection—to the earth beneath my feet, to the ancient trees, to the magic flowing through everything—feels right in a way nothing in my life ever has. The knot of anxiety that's lived in my chest since my power first manifested begins to loosen, replaced by a sense of belonging so profound it brings tears to my eyes.

I belong here. In this orchard, in this Hidden Bowl, in this magical world I didn't know existed until days ago. The realization doesn't erase my questions or frustrations, especially regarding the twins and their secrets, but it provides a foundation I've never had before—an identity beyond "foster kid" or "drifter" or "woman on the run."

I am a light witch standing in an ancient orchard under a waning moon, my bare feet rooted to earth that recognizes me, surrounded by trees that have waited centuries for my arrival. The knowledge settles into my bones with the weight of truth, immovable and certain.

The path ahead disappears into deeper shadow, the heart of the orchard beckoning with promises of greater secrets. Without hesitation, I follow, drawn forward by curiosity and something deeper—a hunger to know myself through knowing this place. My light illuminates the way, casting soft blue-white radiance that turns the dark path into a tunnel of gentle illumination.

I've never felt more alive, more present in my own skin, than I do walking this moonlit path between trees that remember dragonfire and magic older than human civilization. Whatever waits in the orchard's heart, I'm ready to discover it.

A cold breath whispers across the back of my neck, shocking against my warm skin. I freeze mid-step, every muscle tensing as goosebumps race down my arms. This isn't the natural cool of night air—this is deliberate, directed, a cold that carries intent. The fireflies around me scatter like startled birds, their lights blinking frantically as they retreat into the higher branches. Something is here with me in the orchard, something that doesn't want to be seen.

My light magic surges without conscious command, rushing to the surface of my skin in crackling waves of blue-white energy. It pools in my palms, condenses between my fingers like barely contained lightning, ready to strike at whatever threat lurks in the shadows. The sudden flare illuminates the surrounding trees in harsh relief, throwing strange, dancing shadows that only heighten my unease.

"Who's there?" I demand, my voice steadier than I feel.

No answer comes except the soft rustle of leaves overhead. I spin around, heart hammering against my ribs, eyes straining to pierce the darkness between the trees. My heterochromatic vision offers conflicting information—my brown eye sees only moonlight and shadow, while my amber eye detects swirls of disturbed energy, like ripples in a pond after a stone's throw.

But there's nothing solid, nothing I can point to and say: there, that's what touched me. Just shifting shadows and the persistent sensation of being watched.

Not Sorin—I'd recognize his oily presence now, the way he makes reality feel slightly wrong around him. This feels older, wilder, less human in its curiosity. The orchard itself, perhaps, or something that lives within it, drawn to the novel intrusion of my magic.

I take a deep breath, willing my racing heart to slow. My light remains at ready, illuminating several feet around me in its ethereal glow. The magic feels different here in the orchard—more fluid, more responsive, as if the ancient trees amplify my connection to it.

"I mean no harm," I say to the darkness, uncertain if anything is listening but feeling the need to declare my intentions. "I'm just exploring."

The orchard settles around me, the unnatural stillness gradually yielding to normal nighttime sounds—the distant call of an owl, the subtle creaking of branches in the light breeze. Whatever presence I felt seems to retreat, though the sensation of being observed doesn't entirely fade.

I continue forward with heightened awareness, my light magic still crackling softly around my fingers, ready to defend if needed. The path narrows as I proceed deeper, the trees growing closer together, their ancient branches forming a canopy that obscures much of the moonlight. My own magic becomes my primary illumination, casting everything in shades of blue and white.

That's when I see it—a tree unlike the others, standing alone in a small clearing. Where most of the orchard's trees bear scars from dragonfire or simple age, this one appears untouched by time. Its trunk is smooth and pale, almost luminous in the moonlight, and the runes carved into its bark are different—more complex, more deliberate, arranged in patterns that seem to shift when viewed from different angles.

I approach cautiously, drawn by curiosity yet mindful of the strange presence I felt moments ago. The runes pulse with subtle energy, visible even to my ordinary brown eye. One symbol in particular catches my attention—a spiraling design reminiscent of the dragon tattoo between my shoulder blades. It seems to brighten as I draw nearer, responding to my proximity.

My fingers hover over the symbol, not quite touching. The air between my skin and the carved rune feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. Instinct tells me to pull back, to proceed with caution, but a deeper impulse—the same one that led me to the orchard tonight—urges me forward.

"What will you show me?" I whisper to the rune, decision crystallizing even as I speak.

Before I can second-guess myself, I press my palm flat against the carved symbol.

The effect is instantaneous and overwhelming. Energy surges up my arm like an electrical current, but instead of pain, it brings expansion. My consciousness rockets outward, breaking free from the confines of my physical form. The sensation is like bursting through the surface of water I didn't know I was drowning in, emerging into a reality so much vaster than I'd imagined.

I am everywhere at once. I am the roots of the ancient trees digging deep into soil rich with centuries of fallen leaves. I am the fireflies pulsing their coded messages through the night air. I am the ward stones humming with protective magic at the boundaries of the Hidden Bowl.

Most of all, I am the ward itself—not just a barrier but a living network, a web of interconnected energy points anchored to specific trees, stones, and waterways throughout the territory. I feel every inch of its boundaries, from the point where I crossed it on the Vegas Strip to the farthest mountain peaks shimmering with protective magic.

The ward recognizes me, acknowledges me as kin. Light magic, it seems to say, though not in words. Sister-power. Ward-strengthener.

In this expanded state, I sense other presences within the Hidden Bowl—dozens of sleeping minds in the clubhouse, their dreams flickering like distant candle flames. Two minds burn brighter than the rest, still awake, restless with thoughts I can almost but not quite perceive. Rain and Riku, their energy signatures distinctive even at this distance.

There's something else too—a watchful awareness at the ward's edge, pressing against it like fingers testing the tension of a spiderweb. Sorin, I realize with a jolt of fear that nearly breaks my connection. He's still out there, still searching, but the ward holds firm against him. For now.

The knowledge flows into me faster than I can process—the history of this place, the nature of the magic that sustains it, my own role in a pattern I still can't fully comprehend. It's too much, too fast, my human mind struggling to contain understanding meant for something greater than flesh and blood.

With a gasp, I tear my hand away from the rune. The connection severs, my consciousness snapping back into my body with painful suddenness. I stagger backward, legs folding beneath me as I collapse onto the soft moss. My entire body trembles with the aftershocks of what I've experienced, my light magic flickering erratically across my skin.

For several minutes, I can only lie there, staring up at the patches of star-filled sky visible through the canopy. My mind struggles to integrate what I've learned, to compress the vastness of that connection into something I can comprehend. One truth emerges with crystal clarity, however: the magic inside me is real, powerful, and ancient beyond measure. It belongs here, in this hidden realm of dragons and wards and trees that remember.

And so, perhaps, do I.

I push myself to sitting position, my limbs still trembling from the aftermath of touching the rune. My mind feels both expanded and overwhelmed, like a cup filled past its capacity, excess knowledge spilling over edges I didn't know existed. The orchard around me seems different now—more familiar, more alive. I can feel the magic pulsing through the trees, through the earth, through the very air I breathe. It matches the rhythm of my own light, the same song played in different keys.

The dragon tattoo between my shoulder blades throbs with pleasant warmth, as if awakened by the connection. I reach back to touch it through my shirt, feeling its raised outline more prominently than before. Was it always a key to something larger? Did some part of me know, even at eighteen, that I was marking myself with something significant?

Magic. Real magic. Not tricks or illusions or the fevered imaginings of a woman pushed past her breaking point. The revelation settles into me with the weight of absolute certainty. I've spent days doubting my sanity, questioning whether the light erupting from my hands was some kind of psychological break triggered by stress. Now I know better.

I am a light witch. The knowledge doesn't answer all my questions—not even close—but it provides solid ground beneath my feet after days of shifting sand.

A wolf howls in the distance, the sound echoing between the ancient trees, pulling me from my thoughts. The moon has shifted position in the sky, reminding me how long I've been out here. How far I've wandered from the safety of the clubhouse. The protective ward may keep Sorin at bay, but Liora's warnings about staying close to the buildings suddenly seem more prudent.

I rise to my feet, brushing moss from my pajama pants, and try to get my bearings. The rune-carved tree stands as a sentinel before me, its pale bark gleaming in the moonlight. I bow my head slightly toward it—a gesture of respect that feels right, though I couldn't explain why—before turning to retrace my steps.

The orchard feels different on the return journey. The fireflies have returned, swirling around me in patterns that seem almost deliberate, as if they're trying to communicate something just beyond my understanding. The trees lean closer, their branches occasionally brushing my shoulders in what feels like benediction.

I'm halfway back to the edge of the orchard when movement catches my eye—a shadow detaching itself from a tree trunk, slipping between trunks with unnatural fluidity. It's darker than the surrounding night, a void that absorbs light rather than merely blocking it. My steps falter, heart lurching against my ribs as I strain to track its movement.

Not human. Not animal either, at least not any I recognize. The shape shifts as it moves, sometimes elongating like smoke, sometimes compressing into something almost solid. It stays at the periphery of my vision, never approaching directly but never fully disappearing either.

My thoughts immediately fly to Sorin. Could he have found a way through the ward? The memory of his cold smile, his predatory focus as he pursued me through Vegas, sends ice through my veins despite the warm night air.

My light magic responds to the fear, flowing to my skin's surface in waves of blue-white energy. It collects in my palms, ready to defend if necessary. The reaction is instinctive now, my power answering my needs without conscious direction. Progress, I suppose, though hardly control.

The shadow pauses, seeming to assess my defensive posture. For a heartbeat, I think I hear whispering—words too faint to decipher, spoken in a language that tugs at some primal recognition within me. Then the shadow retreats, melting into the deeper darkness beyond the orchard's edge.

I remain frozen, light crackling between my fingers, waiting to see if it returns. Only when minutes pass without further sightings do I allow myself to breathe normally again, though I don't extinguish my light. Its gentle glow illuminates my path forward, keeping the deepest shadows at bay.

Strangely, despite the encounter, I don't feel the paralyzing fear that gripped me during Sorin's pursuit. Something has changed in me since touching the rune, since feeling the ward's magic flow through me. A certainty has taken root, a confidence that wasn't there before. My magic is part of this place, recognized and welcomed by forces older than human memory. Whatever that shadow was, it retreated from my light.

And there's something else, something I'm reluctant to admit even to myself. Beneath the frustration and wariness I feel toward Rain and Riku lies a bedrock of trust I can't explain. Whatever they're hiding from me, whatever this bond between us truly means, I believe they would protect me if danger threatened. The thought of them standing between me and harm feels right, inevitable, like the final pieces of a puzzle clicking into place.

I continue walking, senses heightened for any sign the shadow might return. The apple I plucked earlier weighs in my pocket, a small treasure to show for my midnight wandering. Its subtle warmth remains, a counterpoint to the cool night air against my skin.

The trees gradually thin as I approach the orchard's edge. Through gaps in the canopy, I can see the clubhouse looming ahead, its windows mostly dark now except for a few rooms where light still burns. I wonder if the twins are still awake, if they've noticed my absence. Part of me hopes they have, that they've worried, that they've felt my absence as keenly as I feel their presence.

As I emerge from beneath the last of the ancient trees, the full moon bathes me in silver light. I pause, looking back at the orchard that has shared its secrets with me, however partially. The connection I felt to the ward lingers like an echo, a whisper of that vast awareness that briefly inhabited my consciousness.

I carry the scent of apples and magic with me, a perfume that clings to my skin and clothes. But I carry something else too—a newfound certainty about my place in this hidden world of dragons and witches. I may not understand everything yet, but I'm no longer simply a woman on the run. I'm a light witch standing between worlds, with power flowing through my veins as real and vital as blood.

The clubhouse rises before me like a fortress of stone and secrets. Whatever waits for me inside—answers or more questions, revelations or continued mysteries—I'll face it with clearer eyes than when I left. The dragon tattoo between my shoulder blades pulses once, as if in agreement, as I take my first step from the wild magic of the orchard toward the equally wild magic that waits within those walls.