by E Hall
As we pull into the driveway, a figure stands on the front porch. My stomach lurches when I realize it could be my father. As the Jeep rumbles closer, I recognize Clove’s slender figure.
I wave. “Funny that he’s here since I was hoping to find him. Remember he said he had something to show me?”
Corbin grunts as he gets out of the Jeep.
All at once, the rain pounds down. Uneasiness pools in my stomach. The grass is so long, it tangles around my ankles. A crow caws nearby. I follow its silhouette as it flies overhead then race toward the porch.
I squeal at the chilly rain soaking me through. When my feet hit the wooden deck, the scent of tweed from Clove’s jacket prompts a memory that doesn’t belong to my old math teacher. Like pushing against a rip current, I can’t place it.
Clove stands there with his arms across his chest and a grim expression aimed at Corbin. “I see you brought your watchdog,” he says.
Corbin prickles.
My wolf does too.
I try to laugh it off. Maybe Clove is grouchy because he doesn’t like the weather.
“Where’s your mother?” Clove asks.
“Hello to you too. Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
He snorts. “Something like that. You need to put your wolves on a shorter leash. One of them killed recently.”
Corbin balks. “My wolves don’t kill unless threatened.”
Half of me has the mind to run back to the Jeep and grab the rest of the doughnuts as a peace offering. It’s worked before. But the rain is coming down too thick, however, it’s nothing to the tension between the two guys.
The gravity of yet another loss weighs heavily. If it weren’t for my wolf—the semblance of an anchor—I fear I’d just drift away, succumb, and not find my way back. I might sink through the floorboards of the porch, wind up in the center of the earth, or dissolve in all the tears I keep bottled inside. The weight of what feels like the ocean presses on top of me.
My voice is scratchy when I say, “There have been attacks, but it’s not us. It’s a w—”
Corbin flashes me a look. “If you’re talking about Amanda—”
“As a matter of fact, I am. She killed Tatiana, a mage and a good friend.” Anger stains Clove’s face.
Corbin just barely stops himself from staggering backward. “What are you talking about?”
“Amanda stole something from her and left her for dead.” Disgust laces Clove’s voice.
Corbin goes still. Quiet. Then his voice enters my mind. The wolf-way of communicating opens up, but sounds like a bad cell phone connection. I gather that he asks Baker for intel.
The two guys glare at each other.
Clove is edgy and isn’t the most personable guy, but I can’t bring myself to hate him the way Corbin does. Maybe it’s because Pepper has a crush on him.
“Guys, let’s go inside and talk. It’s wicked out here.”
The stained-glass rendition of a pair of fairies in a glade and surrounded by yellow flowers framed in the front door greets me. Upon entering, the distinct smell of the house, rain mixed with damp wood and mildew fills the space. I pause on the threshold, waiting for the guys.
Finished with their standoff, for now, they follow me inside.
I envision the space filled with sunlight, beaming through the windows. I picture my mother floating down the stairs and greeting my father. Then there’s me, joining them in an embrace. It’s a dust motes dancing in the air kind of poetry. Something inside me sparks. I stand there, suddenly homesick again, but not for a place. Rather, for family, belonging.
For better or worse, it replaces all the other emotions about Amanda and my magic that pile up. The spark within, my desire for that is louder for all the other noise inside. It’s the spark of my heart, solid, true, and gives me purpose.
Feeling renewed and not interested in the guys’ nonsense, I spin. “My house. My rules. Mind your manners. Speak civilly. No fighting.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Corbin says, wearing a slight smirk.
Clove lifts an eyebrow in surprise.
“Oh, and I’m so not sharing my doughnuts.” With a flip of my hair, I turn and lead them to an old-fashioned parlor for entertaining guests. I tear the sheets from a set of gilded sofas covered in silk.
“Fancy,” Corbin says.
“Clove, I am an Alpha wolf and the daughter of Jackie and Greyson Slade. That makes me a vamp and fae as well. I’m well aware that my existence is forbidden, blah, blah, blah. I don’t care. I also don’t know if I can trust you. I certainly didn’t trust Amanda. Anyway, I didn’t know Tatiana, but I’m sorry for your loss.”
Baker’s voice comes through the wolf-way, sounding echoey like a walkie-talkie. Tatiana’s death was tragic. Evidence suggests she was killed by both a wolf and fae.
Corbin and I exchange a glance while Clove says a few things about how tragically Tatiana died.
I try the wolf-way of communicating with Corbin to cut off the growl I sense growing inside him. In fits and starts, I say, I’ve only met Clove a few times now and am not sure what to make of him. Is he smug? Yeah. Irritable? Yes. Angry? Yep. Can he help? That remains to be seen, but I’m not going to go Alpha on him right out of the gate.
Corbin gives me a subtle nod.
We both turn our attention to the fae in the room.
“Can you tell us what happened to Tatiana?” I ask, picking up on Clint and Brucker’s laid-back interrogation style from the night before. Play it cool and it’s more likely Clove will cooperate.
“I went to visit her. Found her dead. Wolf-inflicted wounds.”
Corbin nods. “That’s what my beta reported.” He opens his mouth to say more, but using the wolf-way of communicating, I tell him to wait.
“How do you know it was Amanda though?” I ask.
“Because she was standing over the body. Then she pulled the hood of a red cloak over her shoulders and disappeared.” Clove snaps his fingers.
I do everything not to let my mouth fall open in shock.
Corbin transmits everything we just heard back to Baker.
“That must have been horrible. I’m sorry, Clove,” I say and mean it while keeping in mind what Baker said about fae magic being involved in Tatiana’s death.
“Was anyone else there?” Corbin’s lips pinch.
“No.” The word is bitter as though Clove is angry or hurt that we considered it might involve him.
“I imagine it all happened fast, but did you attempt to stop Amanda? Use any of your magic?”
“No. It was too late. But I think she took the cloak your father was looking for.”
I remember him mentioning that. “Interesting. I wonder why she wanted it.”
“To disappear and reappear.”
“Why did Greyson want it?”
Clove tosses his hands in the air. “I don’t know. Same reason? Fae cloaks are incredibly powerful. Melchior only gives them to his maidens.”
“Why were you visiting Tatiana?” Corbin asks.
He snorts. “None of your business.”
“It is. As Council member, it’s my job to protect all magicals. There have been a series of human deaths around Polaris. This is the first magical. Humans are threatening an investigation. I think I know what is taking out the locals. But if magicals are also being threatened—” His tone is grave.
“Tatiana can see the future, particularly when it comes to love. I wanted to ask her something.” Clove shrugs like it’s no big deal.
The corner of Corbin’s lip twitches, his eyes slide to me.
The little spark of light inside flares.
“What was it you wanted to show me, Clove?” I ask, prompting what he’d mentioned at the bakery.
His eyes flash with intensity as he gets to his feet. “Come this way.”
I get up but wait for Corbin to join me. We follow Clove down several halls until we reach a painting at the end of one lined with thick, scarlet carpet. A gilded frame surrou
nds the rendition of a man with gray eyes and a broad forehead. I imagine this place in its former glory. A bench with a velvet cushion sits beneath it. Clove pulls the corner of the frame forward and it swings open, revealing an entryway.
This time my mouth does drop. “What’s behind door number one?”
I follow Clove inside the secret room, recalling what Corbin said about sub-basements in old houses like this. He was on to something, but we’d just looked in the wrong place.
Chapter 10
Corbin
Kenna doesn’t move. Nor does she seem at all shocked at the sight of a secret passage. However, she staggers back as though doing a double take, staring at the painting, swung open on its hinges rather than at the opening behind it.
“Is that—?” She points at the rendition of the man with an abundance of slicked back, brown hair, wolfish eyes, and the fine features of the fae. A red cloak wraps around his neck. He holds a scepter that resembles Melchior’s in one hand and a diary in the other.
“Yes, that’s Greyson Slade,” Clove says.
“I didn’t notice this the other times I’ve been here,” Kenna says.
“It’s a gigantic house,” I say gently.
“But that’s him. My dad.” Her voice is breathy with awe.
Clove’s expression turns stony as he edges toward the shadow of the entryway.
Kenna blinks a few more times then she whispers, “Where are you?”
Outside, the rain pounds, lightning blazes across the dale, thunder claps, and a gust of wind rattles the thick, wavy windowpanes.
Kenna shivers and rubs her upper arms.
I follow her and Clove through the passageway behind the painting. It’s tragic about Tatiana, but I’ve never been overly fond of fae magic and this place reeks of it.
Sloping wood-paneled walls and lanterns paned with colored glass hang overhead. Clove flicks his hand and they blaze to life as he leads us to a room that’s part museum, part magical lair.
“This place is so spooky,” Kenna whispers.
In the near-dark, I find her hand and grip it tightly. My wolf sighs contentedly at her touch.
The light is dim and a set of large windows fill almost an entire wall. Books with brittle pages lay open. A glass globe of the world but containing water, rests in a wooden cradle. I spin it gently. The liquid sloshes from side to side, making waves. The storm outside surges with another clap of thunder, shaking the house. More lanterns flicker to life.
Clove leans toward Kenna, “I could show you how to do that.”
My wolf wants to growl for the thousandth time in the last hour. She’s my mate. It’s fated. Whatever Clove wants from her isn’t happening. Still, I have to force myself to remain distant so when we find Greyson, he doesn’t try to use her against me. I’ve played out countless scenarios where the magical world’s greatest enemy uses my affection for the MMW against me.
The Council would have a field day with that.
Along one wall are numerous magical objects made of gold and a mercurial metal I’ve never seen before. Some items are dense like they have a gravitational pull while others float. Other things comprised of glass, woven fiber, and stone prompt caution. Maps hang on the walls and an elaborate rendition of the constellations covers the ceiling.
Clove pauses in front of a massive wooden box that’s about as long as I am tall, which comes in at around the six and a half foot range. Metal strappings wind around it and what looks like an iron fastener holds it closed.
“I found this recently,” Clove says, opening the lid.
“Is that iron?” I ask.
He nods.
Interesting that he can touch it. The conversation on the stark day when I met Kenna’s mother floats back to me.
Jackie had said to Clove, “Different like my daughter.” Is he only fae? If not, he’s using a strong fig, because I cannot detect his magic.
I study him carefully as the hinges on the box creak.
After peering inside, Kenna tilts her head. “You wanted to show me an empty box?”
I step closer. Silk lines the interior, cut into an indent of a familiar shape. The lower half is like a long pole that leads to a crescent tilted on its side. The middle of the curve attaches to the long handle. If held like a staff, the two points of the crescent face upward. Three more round indents about the size of large cherries fill the upper space just above the crescent.
“Or a scepter,” I say.
“Like a scepter for a king?” Kenna asks, scratching her head.
“A fae king,” I say, staring at Clove. “Where did you find this box?”
“In here.” He gestures to the hidden room surrounding us.
I want to ask how he found the room, but I’ll let Kenna handle that.
Her eyes narrow. “Considering this is technically my house, I don’t know how much I like you snooping around in secret rooms. Magical objects can be dangerous,” she says, echoing what I told her the first time we were here.
“Obviously, but you wouldn’t know about this if I hadn’t snooped.” Clove’s tone is surly.
Again, I fight to restrain my wolf, but a low growl escapes. I’d like to teach him to watch his mouth.
Clove shuffles back a step.
What happened with Amanda shook Kenna up, but since arriving here, she seems more confident. It’s as though her Alpha has taken the lead.
“Clove, forgive me for not being more astute, but I still don’t know what this is.”
He closes the lid and then drops a book on top, flipping the yellowed pages. “It’s the box that once contained the scepter. Some believe it can bring life like a fountain of youth or cause death.” He points to a page with a sketch of the item.
Kenna shrugs. “Still doesn’t help.”
I lean closer, accidentally taking a breath of her wolf-cherry scent along with a note of a metal-electric odor, much like the air during a lightning storm. I need to keep my distance, but it’s nearly impossible.
Her hair tickles my cheek as I point to the page. “King Melchior, the Councilman of the fae, uses his iron-tipped scepter as a totem of his power. Runes of power inscribe the pure gold handle.” I slide my hand up the illustration of the handle. Then tap the crescent shape. “The wolves respond to the power of the full moon. The vamps, the dark moon. The fae exist in light and shadow. The goal is balance, represented here by the half-moon.” I cut a glance at Clove. If anything, he’s unseelie fae who lean more toward the shadow side.
“But doesn’t iron harm fae?” Kenna asks.
Clove grunts. “The original scepter wasn’t his to wield.”
I nod as my gaze floats to the three jewels at the top of the sketch. One is red, one greenish-blue, and the third a golden yellow—the Wolf Jewel.
Kenna’s hand drifts to her pocket where I think she has the ruby, the Vampire Jewel, hidden. My Alpha barks no using the wolf-way of communicating.
Clove says, “It’s important to note that the scepter Melchior currently has doesn’t contain the gems.”
“Observant. Are you and the fae king friends?”
Clove scoffs.
Then the feeling is mutual. I only tolerate Melchior because he’s on the Council.
“I wonder if my mother knew about this,” Kenna says, eyeing the red dot on the page, representing the ruby in her pocket.
“That’s a good question,” Clove says.
“Or my father.”
“We should ask him.” Clove’s tone suggests he thinks she knows more than she’s letting on.
“I would if I knew where he was. That’s why I came here.”
“Well, that’s fortunate because as his daughter, there is a way to locate him.”
“How?” She starts pacing, practically crackling with restless energy. She pauses in front of a fancy wooden desk with multiple drawers. “Wait. The painting. If he’s holding the scepter, does that mean the diary in his other hand and the cloak—”
Again, I cut her off f
rom saying more. I don’t trust Clove, I tell her wolf.
“Before Greyson died, he was searching for that cloak. A witch took it—I picked up where he left off searching. It happened that an elder witch in Tatiana’s coven stole it,” Clove says.
“And then Amanda took it,” I say.
Clove nods.
“Is that why you were there the day the witch died?” I ask.
Clove scratches his nose. “I learned Amanda sought it.”
“Amanda? What use would she have with the cloak?” Kenna asks.
Clove rocks back on his heels. “Amassing magical objects? I don’t know.”
“Good thing she didn’t find this room,” I mutter.
“I have to find my dad,” Kenna says, pacing again.
Clove traces her movements.
Then she stops abruptly. “The Council believe my father leads the Klave, right? And if Amanda was a member, why would they have her collecting magical objects when his old house contains an entire room filled with them?”
Clove chuckles. “Because he can’t come here. He’s stuck, presumably rendering him and the Klave incapable of communication.”
“What do you mean stuck? Like a ghost?” I ask.
This time Kenna laughs. “You guys are funny. I’m on board with wolves, vampires, fae, and magic. Fine. But now you’re messing with me.”
I lift an eyebrow and meet her midnight gray eyes—like a starry sky. A warm feeling rises inside at her sweetness, her innocence. I want to frown, but all of a sudden, I can’t resist a smile that’s meant to comfort her amidst all this new and seemingly crazy information.
“Clove may be telling the truth. If so, I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t understand.” A slight tremble enters Kenna’s voice as though she doesn’t want the possibility of her father being a ghost to be true.
Clove sits down in a high-backed leather chair. “There are three forms in the spirit realm. Fixed, where a ghost chooses to remain in one location, haunting it in perpetuity.”
Kenna swallows. “Haunting?”
“The term isn’t defined exactly as you’d think,” Clove says. “Yes, they may haunt and spook, making strange or disastrous things happen if they’re out for revenge. Or it can be a place they’re fond of among their family or friends.” Clove claps his hands. “Alister.”
