Riordan knew there was something wrong with his dream when he found himself in the center of that damned stone circle in the spirit realm. Sure, it could have been another fucked up nightmare about recent events or an attempt to process his hang-ups about shamanism, but he’d gotten way too much practice in recognizing when he’d dreamwalked into the spirit realm.

“What the hell, tree?” Riordan yelled at the quiet greenery and drifting lights of the tree’s glade. “I was sleeping!”

The tree clearly didn’t understand what the issue was. Of course he’d been sleeping. That was why it had been easy to call Riordan here. He also sensed that the spirit was pleased about something. It wasn’t quite fair to ascribe human emotions or reactions to the tree, but the tree projected the emotional equivalent of a five year old holding up a crayon drawing to a parent.

Riordan tried to convey a question or curiosity in his own emotions. He mumbled, “Yeah, that’s lovely, dear, but what are you so pleased about?” Talking out loud might not really reach the tree directly but it helped focus his own end of the light spirit talk.

A sense of “come see” filled Riordan. Or perhaps “look around.” Translating spirit speak was imprecise, which was lovely when precision could be the difference between an effective spell and a mess. Riordan scanned his immediate surroundings. Tree looming large nearby, throwing off gleaming jewel lights. Sparkles in the air. Hedges of vines and bushes over headstones. Stone circle–

Riordan paused. The stone circle that was his spiritual landing zone for his gateway had changed slightly. Before it had been a meditation labyrinth, a pattern to be walked between stones laid on the ground. It was still much the same, but the pattern had changed.

Where there had once been one path to walk through the stone circle, there were now two. The paths intertwined and spiralled, somehow both there and not there, like illusions laid over one another.

“Okay, that’s weird,” Riordan said. The change was odd enough, but why things had changed mattered. He got the sense that there was more to see here.

Walking his path out of his stone circle, Riordan navigated to the main clearing. The tree rose proud and strong, branches spread wide over the space.

And at its base sat a stone. Not just any stone, but one that clearly represented a territory stone. Only, it morphed between that and a gravestone as Riordan stared at it.

“You don’t really have a territory stone, do you?” Riordan asked, coming closer to examine it.

Territory stones were a complex creation, layering spells and enchantments and linking it to the spirit of a Place of Power. There were only a handful of people who knew how to create new ones or repair damaged ones. Sometimes spirits who worked with shaman or mages who had used a territory stone before could do the required magic. Riordan would have sworn that the tree didn’t have a proper territory before the killing tree ritual, much less a territory stone, but all bets were off now.

The answer from the spirit was a jumble, the spiritual equivalent of unintelligible excited rambling. Riordan’s head ached trying to absorb it. He pressed a hand to his head. “Ow. Can you try that again, only slower and quieter?”

He projected his own sense of being too overwhelmed to translate. The tree listened in its way and then tried again.

The jumble of impressions and memories and ideas flowed into Riordan slower this time, giving him a chance to grab more of the details. As it came together, Riordan pulled out several key facts.

One, the tree spirit had made some new deals some time since Riordan fell asleep. Two, the deals linked the tree tighter with two people who were now part of the tree’s cluster, along with Riordan. Three, those two people were Daniel and Mark.

“Well fuck,” Riordan muttered as that last part sank in. “Frankie is going to chew my ass off for that one. Corrupting her sweet innocent apprentice with my reckless ways or something.”

The exact nature of the deals were unclear to Riordan, except that one or both of them were related to the tree’s sense of territory.

Awkwardly, Riordan reached out and patted the glowing spiritual tree trunk like one might pat a good dog. “You chose good people. Having trustworthy people looking out for you and your wellbeing can only be good.”

He meant it too. The tree represented potential trouble with its strength and affinities, especially without an established group set up around it. Its own barriers would keep most things away, but some outside awareness would prevent another situation like the killing tree ritual from building up.

Of course, there were a few issues to deal with on the mortal side regarding the tree’s actions. Riordan needed details on the deals. The tree, as well meaning as its leafy little heart was, wouldn’t understand those aspects in the least. He’d be better off talking to the human–or ghost– side of this equation.

“I’m going to go greet your new partners, okay?” Riordan asked the tree, already backing away towards the exit.

The tree made no indication what it thought of that one way or another. Riordan took that to mean that it wouldn’t stop him from leaving back to his body, but he still heaved a sigh of relief when his spell went off and he stepped through his gateway.

Blinking awake left Riordan foggy headed for a moment. He’d gone from spirit-walking in his dreams to forcing himself to wake up from sleep. He certainly didn’t feel like he’d gotten enough sleep, especially after the long day yesterday.

Aches lingered in his body that had to be psychosomatic. His shifter regeneration fixed the physical issues, but he’d felt magically drained after dealing with that magic circle. Not to mention socially drained from dealing with the agents, physically drained from the zombies, and emotionally drained from the parts of his magic that Riordan had been avoiding thinking about.

He’d used his death magic the day before. Riordan had thrown himself into all the immediate issues to avoid examining that fact too closely. Now he knew he had to be practical and suck it up.

Riordan sat up on his bed, glancing at the early morning light, barely past dawn, and settled into one of Frankie’s meditation poses. He turned his attention inward.

His spirit/shifter well had recovered to somewhere between two-thirds and three-quarters full overnight after being drained low in the magic circle the day before. His well regenerated slower for those magics since he was also always drawing from them, resulting in a lower net magic regeneration than another mage might have, but his mana well was deeper from the constant use.

His other well, the one with death and blood alignment, was full. It had regenerated overnight.

That answered one of his questions. Riordan had done the impossible and had a natural affinity for death magic now, one linked not to another person’s death but to the very realm of death beyond the Veil.

Riordan flopped back against his head board, letting out a short laugh that bordered between bitter and hysterical. Gods above, he was a freak of nature now. A useful one, but no less weird for it.

Sadly, this was not the time for a meltdown. Riordan would need to schedule time for one later. For now, he had to find his ghost and a certain apprentice and find out what they had been up to last night.

Ten minutes later, dressed and chewing on a trail bar and receiving no response when he tried calling Mark, Riordan wandered over to Frankie’s workroom. Mark wasn’t there and neither was Frankie, but Lucinda was in a corner of the work room where a small alchemy lab was set up, mixing up something.

He entered noisily enough that she knew he was there and then waited until she reached a breaking point in her work. She stoppered her little vial and glanced over to him. “Can I help you this morning?”

“Have you heard from Mark this morning yet?” Riordan asked.

She regarded him curiously. “He won’t be up for another couple hours. Mark’s not exactly a morning person.”

“Hmm,” Riordan hummed noncommittally. “Indeed. Is Frankie or Vera up?”

“Frankie is out stretching her wings. Vera is likely doing paperwork. They are both far more inclined to mornings.”

“Thank you,” Riordan nodded to her and turned towards the door again.

“Why are you looking for them?” Lucinda asked before he got too far. “If it is shaman business, then I should likely be informed as well.”

Riordan paused, considering that, and then nodded with a sigh. He turned back to the professional young woman. “The tree spirit talked to me in my sleep, pulling me into its realm to share some good news. It made some deals it was pleased with.”

Lucinda frowned immediately. “The tree spirit is dangerous and it’s guarded by a deception spell. How– No, first, what were the deals?”

“I’m not sure, but it has to do with its territory and connections with it,” Riordan ran a hand over his face before he added the next part, “As to how, I’m pretty sure Daniel led Mark through the spell somehow.”

“Da–” Lucinda began, staring. “Mark?!”

“Yeah, your junior apprentice has apparently had a busy night.”

“I’m calling Frankie through the territory spells,” Lucinda informed him. “This warrants it. Please text Vera and have her join us.”

Riordan wasn’t sure he’d have bothered Vera by phone, having no way of judging if she was truly busy that way, but he wasn’t going to gainsay Lucinda on this. She was ready to be a head shaman, if a new and relatively inexperienced one, and this was her pack.

He shot off a text politely requesting Vera’s presence at the shaman workroom, mentioning that Lucinda said Vera should join them and that Lucinda was also contacting Frankie. Hopefully that would deflect any ire off of Riordan. He likely had enough upset feelings coming his way this morning as it was.

It’s really not my fault that Mark or Daniel got it in their head to try something. I’m not their keeper!

Still, Riordan kept his thoughts to himself, moving to lean against the wall near the doorway, waiting for the two venerable pack elders.

Then a text arrived from Quinn as well, asking for a meeting this morning. When it rains, it pours.