by D. G. Swank
“That he hadn’t heard anything,” Logan said, noncommittal. “But then we found a car parked a half mile or so south of here. We’re pretty sure it belongs to the man who was asking about you.”
My eyes flew wide with genuine fear. Well, shit. He’d seen me walking away from that very car a few hours ago.
He held my gaze for another moment or so, as if silently acknowledging what we both knew, then said, “Has anyone been snooping around?”
I slowly shook my head.
“I’d like to take a look around outside and make sure no one’s tampered with the windows or doors. You haven’t registered an alarm system, but do you by chance have one anyway?”
“No,” I said, trying to pull myself together. “And it’s not necessary for you to look around.”
“Three women alone in a house set back from the road?” He rolled his shoulders and his gaze made a quick sweep of the kitchen. “I’d feel better knowing no one’s tried to get in, Rowan.”
I wanted to argue with him, but what rational person would ask the police not to look into a potential break-in? Someone with something to hide. Someone who’d been found walking away from the vehicle of what was soon to be a missing person. I forced a polite smile. “I’d hate to put you out, Officer Gillespie.”
“Logan, and you wouldn’t be putting me out at all. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing I did my best to keep you safe.”
For some reason I blushed again, which was as uncharacteristic for me as I suspected it was for him. “Okay. Thank you.”
He nodded, relief easing the tension in his face, then headed out the front door.
I told myself there was nothing to worry about. What could he find?
Plenty.
The Dark Set had broken in two weeks ago—twice. And while the Protective Force said they had set everything to rights, what if they’d missed something that Logan—no, Officer Gillespie—found and he wanted to investigate further?
I tried to measure out a half teaspoon of salt but ended up spilling it all over the counter. When I heard the soft rap on the front door, I dropped my whisk on the floor.
I was a hot mess.
Logan was waiting for me on the front porch, but I only opened the door partway and blocked the entrance. “Did you find anything?”
“No,” he said, taking in my stance. “If he’s been snooping around, he left no trace.”
I gave him a tight smile. “Well, all right then. Thanks for checking on us.”
“I get the feeling I’m being dismissed,” he said with a cocked eyebrow.
“It’s just that I’m behind.” I glanced over my shoulder toward the kitchen before shifting my focus back to him. “I really need to record this episode tonight.”
“I’d like to come back and check on you tomorrow, if that’s okay,” he said quietly, and I felt new tension between us, which wasn’t unpleasant at all. In fact, it was too good.
Yes, I’d love for you to come check me out tomorrow.
No. Inwardly groaning, I forced a smile. “That’s not necessary, Officer Gillespie, er…Logan. How about I call you if we see any trouble?”
After he studied me for a moment as though trying to read between the lines, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. “My name and number are on here. Call me if you see anything suspicious. Even if it seems minor or insignificant. I’m not sure what that guy’s up to, and the fact his car is parked half a mile down the road concerns me.” He paused, holding my gaze, and said, “Rowan, this is serious. You were walking near his car this evening. You could have been in danger.”
So he didn’t suspect me of anything. Yet. The seriousness and anxiety on his face twisted my heart and made me want to invite him back in to drink the coffee he never touched. But that was a supremely bad idea.
He shifted his weight. “I’m not sure what message I’m sending out, but while I haven’t tried to hide that I’m intrigued by you, I want you to know that this is strictly professional. All you have to say is ‘Back off, Officer Gillespie,’ and I’ll take you at your word and be nothing but professional from here on out.” Worry filled his eyes. “I would hate to think I jeopardized your safety due to my own unprofessionalism.” He held his hands up in the air, palms toward me as if in surrender. “If you prefer, I’ll call another officer to take over.”
Suddenly, I found myself contemplating a very different image of what Logan Gillespie surrendering to me might look like—instead of an awkward face-off at my front door, he was lying prone, squeezed between my thighs. I drew in a long, deep breath and shook my head, trying to dispel the image.
I needed to tell him, Officer Gillespie, back off, I don’t need any help, official or otherwise. I opened my mouth to say the words, but they stopped on the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, no matter how much I knew I needed to.
He smiled again, that same grin that lit up his whole face, and took a step back. “I look forward to seeing this episode.” He took two more steps backward, dangerously close to the steps. “What will you be cooking tonight?”
“Uh…” My heart was still tripping on his warm brown eyes and the happiness that I had put there just by not turning him away. “Butternut squash and portabella mushroom hash.”
His grin spread. “I look forward to watching it.”
“You mean listening,” I teased.
His voice turned husky. “I’ll be watching this one.”
Then he turned around and headed down the porch steps to his car.
I was still standing in the doorway like a fool when he reached his car and opened the door.
“Go on inside,” he said. “I want to make sure you’re safe before I pull away.”
My throat went dry and my palms turned sweaty, but I started to comply as he called out, “Good night, Rowan.”
After such a shitty day, it was indeed.
Chapter Five
The next afternoon we pulled up in front of LeVeque Tower, a fixture in Columbus, Ohio, since the 1920s. Once the tallest skyscraper in Columbus, it was now known for its original art deco splendor. But I was still too shocked by the meeting location, which had been given to us over the phone right before we left our house, to appreciate the beauty of the building.
We’d only been to two Small Council meetings in our lives—one was in a magically expanded back room of Katzinger’s Deli, in the hipster German Village. It had still smelled like deli meat and sauerkraut. The last meeting, where we’d reported the theft of the Book of Sindal, had been in the second basement of the old Ohio Theater, surrounded by lumber and paint cans. This time, the valet met us and pointed us to the top floor, and my sisters and I exchanged look, incredulous. Surely they could have chosen a less conspicuous location for a secret meeting of witches and mages.
“You sure about that, chief?” I asked, and he merely raised a bored eyebrow at me, gesturing for us to move along.
Obviously, I didn’t have much personal experience with the Valerian Small Council, but everything I’d learned from my father, whose family had a long history of service to the council, indicated that they hid their business from the world. They definitely didn’t flaunt it.
This was yet another red flag. The most recent one had come from Brandon. Despite his supposed worry about Phoebe, he had been nearly inaccessible all day. When asked for an explanation, all he would say was that he’d speak to her after the meeting.
“Penthouse conference room?” Phoebe said, trying to make small talk to ease the tension once we were on the elevator.
“This isn’t Valeria’s style,” I said.
“It’s their style to change it up, right?” Celeste said with a hopeful tone that didn’t ease the tension in her shoulders. “So nobody can find us?”
“Exactly, CeCe,” Phoebe chimed in, twisting her hands in front of her.
I closed my eyes for an extended moment, focusing in on our connection. Then I directed a thought at my sisters. We all know
something strange is going on. Let’s communicate this way during the meeting.
Agreed, Phoebe thought. Once I’m closer to Brandon, I’ll do the same with him.
No, I pushed at her. You said he’s been acting weird for days. Let’s wait until we get him alone.
Her eyes widened in fear. You think he’s—
Her thought was cut off when the elevator doors dinged open, and we walked out into the expansive penthouse of the tower, outfitted with simple, streamlined furniture accented with gold and its floor-to-ceiling windows.
An impossibly thin woman in a tight dress and three-inch heels greeted us at a small desk beside the elevator bank. “Welcome, Whelan sisters. Follow me.”
Phoebe shot me a startled glance. She’s not a witch.
Another breach in Small Council protocol. Something’s seriously wrong, I said. We need to be prepared for anything.
The woman led us to the entrance of a large conference room filled by the largest oval table I’d ever seen. Thirty witches and mages were seated around it at equidistant intervals, each in a matching high-backed chair. All of their eyes turned to us in unison as we lingered in the entrance to the room.
I took a quick inventory of the attendees. There was Xenya, trying—and failing—to look impassive. I knew her too well for her poker face to fool me. My eyes skipped over Sarah, an older witch who’d never liked us, and a couple of other veteran faces I recognized, landing on Brandon. His eyes had already found Phoebe’s, and if he was trying to project neutrality, he was doing a worse job of it than Xenya. I continued my perusal of the table, more shocked by who I didn’t see than by who was there.
“Where in the seven hells is Lucia?” Celeste blurted out.
Lucia Hernandez, the witch the entire North American magical community had democratically elected for a seven-year term several years ago, was nowhere to be seen.
“Lucia isn’t with us, but she asked me to call this meeting,” announced a high-pitched, yet masculine, voice. “My name is Alfred Gambier. I am the acting president of the Valerian Small Council, and the mage who called this meeting.”
Celeste recoiled at the sight of the man who approached us. His jet-black hair was slicked back severely along a part, a stylistic match for the pressed charcoal gray suit he wore, complete with a waistcoat and a deep green pocket square. His skin was perfectly smooth, and his stature slight. In combination with the reedy pitch of his voice, all of this conspired to make him look like he was even younger than Celeste.
I couldn’t imagine any reason that Lucia would miss a council meeting, let alone letting someone who looked like he’d barely graduated high school fill in for her.
But Alfred was expecting a response, and for now, I’d play along.
I’ll take point, I told my sisters.
I took a step forward and plastered a gracious smile on my face. “Pleasure,” I said, proud of myself for sounding so cordial…definitely not one of my strong suits even on a good day. “Rowan Whelan, daughter of Xavier and Linnet Whelan and protector of the Book of Sindal.”
The sprightly mage approached me with an outstretched hand. I shook it, not wanting him to sense any of my alarm. His fingers wrapped around mine, so cold I nearly pulled my hand out of his grasp. A chill skittered down my spine while I tried not to show that it had affected me.
That was real, Celeste thought, and if anyone could tell a genuine sensation from an imagined one, it was her. He is not okay.
“Now, now. I hardly think you three can still call yourself its protectors. Do you?” Alfred Gambier curled his lip, eyeing us like a wolf evaluating a potential kill.
“Now, that’s—” Phoebe started, but I pummeled her with a thought to stop.
That’s partly how we got in trouble at the last meeting.
Phoebe huffed out a long breath, and I could’ve sworn I heard Celeste let out a low, soft growl.
“We were faced with circumstances out of our control,” Phoebe finished with an obviously forced smile of acquiescence.
He released a tiny laugh. “Let’s call a hex a hex. After coasting through your sacred duty for six years, you were confronted with the rude awakening of your efforts being woefully inadequate.”
Hello, déjà vu. It wasn’t the first time our ability to protect the book had been questioned at one of these council meetings, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Even so, this felt different. We were being questioned and belittled by someone I didn’t remember seeing at our previous meetings. If this mage was truly Lucia’s second, she’d kept him well hidden. Not that I could blame her.
“We look at it as a learning opportunity,” I said as politely as possible. “We look forward to its return to our land, where it has resided for over two hundred years.”
“Are you arguing that tradition trumps prudence?” an older man asked, the tradition full of derision.
I lifted my gaze from Alfred Gambier to see the same old mage who’d antagonized us at the last Small Council meeting.
“Tradition and prudence can go hand in hand,” I countered, my chin held high. I’d expected a fight, and even though I still wasn’t sure I wanted the book back, I’d be damned to seven hells if I’d let them take it from us. “We have learned from this experience. We will be better prepared should someone come for it again.”
Alfred motioned to the woman who still stood behind us, and she hurried over to a credenza that supported a wooden box covered in ornate gold symbols. She picked it up and carried it to the table.
I fought hard not to roll my eyes. Drama much, Alfred?
He opened the lid of the gaudy box, revealing the tattered, bloodstained Book of Sindal.
I could feel its power as soon as the lid was removed, and I realized how much my soul had missed it. Part of me recognized the book as ours, even though it was more of an anchor than a source of delight. But I could tell the book wasn’t the same. It felt weaker…depleted in power. No, it was more that it was exhausted. It was missing something it needed to keep on chugging.
Celeste’s body jerked, and I realized what the book was missing.
Us.
Alfred Gambier reached out slim, pale fingers and lifted it, his hands steady.
I bolstered my sisters with soothing words through our bond, knowing it was the only way I could support them at the moment.
“There, there,” Alfred soothed with hollow sincerity. “All will be worked out in due course. Ah,” he tutted, clicking his tongue, “where are my manners? Please, be seated.”
Before our eyes, three chairs appeared out of nowhere, arranged against the side wall as if we were on trial.
And that’s when I realized that was what was happening. We were on trial.
I shot Brandon the most hateful glare I could muster. He’d known and he’d let us walk right into it unprepared.
He didn’t know, Phoebe wailed, tears pooling in her eyes.
Don’t you dare talk to him, Phoebe, I warned.
I felt her heart break even more, but she didn’t protest.
I want to know how those chairs appeared, I said. A summoner?
No, Celeste replied, dark and shallow, an expression mage.
I shot to her a look of complete shock, but we all sat in the chairs, me in the middle and my sisters on either side of me.
“Pardon, Mr. Acting President,” said Michael Anton, an older mage, “but traditionally Small Council members are the only ones who sit.”
“Mr. Anton,” Alfred said in a condescending tone, “you will find that today is only the beginning of the breaking of many groundless traditions. First, with the Book of Sindal. Would anyone care to refresh us on its history?”
Xenya cleared her throat and, with a nod from Alfred, stood. A small measure of relief rushed through me. If anyone would represent us fairly, it was Xenya. “The Book of Sindal was compiled in the late fifteenth century, quite on purpose, but the spells had existed in one form or another for hundreds of years in disparate locations. Thes
e spells amounted to what were, for lack of a better term, crimes against humanity and the magical community in particular. They were hidden away for the safety of all—many of them were banned because they could lead to unintended consequences, but a few could be used to control others’ thoughts and actions, quite intentionally with malicious intent.” She took a deep, shaky breath.
Very few witches were known to have used the Book of Sindal, for any purpose.
“Magic propagated through the pages of the Book of Sindal,” Xenya continued, “was used to start the Salem witch trials. Many of our sisters and even some of our brothers were murdered due to magical manipulation caused by spells in this book. A few witches secreted the book away, and some two hundred plus years ago, it found its resting place at the Whelan farm, where three powerful witches had established a magic triangle decades before. At the time, it was the only location in North America secure enough to protect it. Over the years, the magic on the Whelan estate has deepened and grown stronger. The very ground is alive with it.”
“Just the facts, please, Xenya.” Alfred said gently, though his words were soaked with malice.
“In the last four hundred years, the Book of Sindal has been dutifully protected by the Whelan witches, half of which have been on the Whelan family land. The name of the property has changed due to antiquated laws about male ownership, but the bloodline has not. The witches are buried on the land, cementing the magic in place, and each generation has produced powerful, skillful witches capable of continuing the family legacy.”
“Until?” Alfred prompted. A little smile danced at the corners of his lips, and I had never wanted to punch a man more in my entire life. That wasn’t a smile of relief. That was a smile of triumph.
You’re absolutely right, and Sure as hells is, my sisters thought at me simultaneously.
My eyes darted over the Small Council members. There were only thirty of them, but spaced out in these chairs, they looked intimidating. Regimented, ready to fire on us. Even though I knew that was ridiculous.
