by D. G. Swank
Wasn’t it?
We all had the same interest here—to make sure the Book of Sindal would be safe—yet I couldn’t banish the image of a firing squad.
“Until,” Xenya relented, “a week ago. It was stolen from the estate along with Celeste Whelan, whose blood was used to partially open the book and release some of its contents.”
My mouth gaped open and I couldn’t contain my shock.
It needs all of our blood to open, I protested.
You’re right, Phoebe agreed, but Celeste remained silent. It struck me again that she was keeping something from us. But what the hells was it?
“Which tells us…” Alfred prodded.
Xenya didn’t play along. She knew what he was prompting her to say. The entire room knew. “Pardon me,” she said, “but I think we need to discuss the matter further before we make a hasty decision.”
A male voice spoke up. “The Book of Sindal is no longer safe at the Whelan homestead.” There was no mistaking that rich, velvety voice. It was Brandon Cassidy—one of only seven mages on the Small Council. The man who had sworn to my face that he would protect my sister at all costs. “I’m sorry, ladies, the council very much respects your efforts, but we all agree. I’m sure you do as well. The Book of Sindal must remain in the absolute most secure hands.”
Phoebe recoiled slightly, like she’d been slapped.
Brandon Cassidy was a fucking dead man.
Celeste pressed her lips into a thin line and glared at him, her stare even more hateful than it had been when the book was pried out of her hands.
The other twenty-eight council members were impassive, with the exception of Xenya, whose eyebrows furrowed fiercely, and Michael Anton, who still had a shadow of a smirk on his face.
The helplessness and desperation rolling off my sisters nearly did me in. I wasn’t the oldest by much, but I was still Phoebe and Celeste’s big sister. I reached down, taking each of them by the hand. None of us are going to like this, but it has to be done, I sent to them firmly, and then said, “We understand. Thank you for affording us the respect to summon us here and inform us in person.” I bowed my head slightly, immediately sensing my sisters’ shocked disbelief. We stuck together, no matter what. We were Whelan witches. “We’ll take our leave now.”
I took one step toward the door and found two Protective Force guards blocking my exit.
“Not so fast, Ms. Whelan,” Alfred said with a hint of amusement. “We’re not finished.”
“You got the book,” I said, dropping my sisters’ hands and stepping in front of them. “It seems to me that its security is the council’s affair from here on out.”
An evil grin twitched on his mouth. “There’s still the matter of you and your sisters.”
My throat tightened, and I squeezed out, “What about us?”
“You allowed the book to be taken. Should there be no punishment for that?”
Xenya looked like she was about to jump over the table and strangle the man, but Brandon simply stared at Alfred as if he were discussing the weather.
“Punishment?” Phoebe cried out.
“You swore to protect the book with your lives.” He gestured toward us, his left hand making a lazy sweep. “And here you three stand. Not a single one of you dead.”
My angry gaze jerked to Brandon, who remained impassive, and I could feel Phoebe’s heartbreak through our coven bond.
“Would you prefer it if we were dead?” Celeste asked in her quiet voice.
Every eye turned to her as her hair and her ivory dress began to ruffle in a nonexistent wind.
Oh shit.
Don’t do it, Celeste. I had no idea what she was planning, but the witches and mages of the council surrounded us. We had no hope of coming out ahead, especially since the council apparently had the allegiance of another expression magic user.
She can’t help it, Phoebe said, starting to panic. She grabbed Celeste’s hand in an attempt to calm her down.
Alfred nearly quivered with self-importance. “You must agree that it’s suspicious that you disappeared with the book and yet you were none the worse for wear.”
“None the worse for wear?” Phoebe practically screeched. “She nearly died.”
“After feeding the book with her blood,” Michael Anton shouted.
“Feeding the book her blood?” I asked, incredulous. “They nearly bled her to death.”
Alfred’s beady eyes held mine, sparkling with malice. “Then she would have actually died for the book.”
“Enough,” Xenya said, getting to her feet.
He spun to face her, the action no less menacing for his diminutive size. “They were given a task,” he said, his voice ice cold. “They failed that task. They need to be punished.”
“Taking the book is punishment enough.”
“No,” Michael Anton said. “It’s not.”
“Split them apart,” Brandon said in a matter-of-fact tone.
No! Phoebe wailed into my head as she grabbed my hand, her nails digging into my flesh.
Alfred turned his attention to the head of the Protective Force. “Now that is an interesting idea. But you’ll need to be more specific. Are you suggesting splitting up the book or the sisters?”
Brandon took a second to consider it, then said, “The sisters. You can’t split apart the book.”
“That’s a very good idea, Captain Cassidy,” Alfred said. “But splitting up the book might be a solution too.”
I sucked in a lungful of air, the room beginning to spin.
“That would be detrimental to the safety of the world,” I protested weakly.
“I disagree,” Alfred said. “This way no one person can gain possession of the entire book. Better to split it up.” He glanced around the room. “Let’s take a vote.”
“Take a vote?” Xenya said. “This calls for a proper discussion.”
“Split up the book!” a younger woman called out. An older woman echoed her.
“All in favor of splitting up the book?” Alfred asked.
A chorus of ayes and hands went up, Brandon’s included.
I was going to rip the man apart with my bare hands.
“All against?” Alfred asked.
“Nay,” Xenya along with an older man said, raising their hands.
“No!” Celeste shouted, her dress and hair swirling again.
At the risk of alerting the council to how out of control she’d truly become, I stepped back and took her face in my hands, leaning our foreheads together. We’ll find another way to protect it. We can’t fight them on this, CeCe.
She’s right, Phoebe said. Don’t fight them, Celeste. They want us to stand against them so they can punish us more.
Tears filled Celeste’s pale green eyes and she nodded.
I turned and found Alfred’s gaze on us. “The sisters are plotting against us.”
“No,” Phoebe said in a strong, clear voice. “We accept the council’s decision.”
“This coven is too strong,” Alfred said. “Two of the members have extraordinary powers. I must say, I agree with Captain Cassidy’s recommendation. They’ll be a danger to us all unless they’re physically separated and their coven bond is severed.”
I clutched my sisters’ hands. Gods help us. Severing our bond wouldn’t do us physical harm—that only happened if the member of a coven died suddenly, with no warning—but it would make us feel empty. Alone. And at a time when we needed one another more than ever.
Brandon swallowed and refused to look at us while he calmly stated, “I’m glad you agree. Still, with the right direction, I believe they could be of use to our community, Acting President Gambier. I have a suggestion for how we might best reeducate them.”
Alfred steepled his fingers, the tips touching the underside of his nose. “Go on.”
“Celeste’s expression magic is unstable. Separation from her sisters will only make her more volatile.”
Alfred nodded and looked thoughtful, as
though considering Brandon’s suggestion. “A dilemma to be certain. Perhaps we should put her in a null jail cell after all.”
Rowan! Phoebe shouted in my head.
Over my very dead body, I assured them both.
“No,” Brandon said. “I studied her after I retrieved the younger sisters and the book. She has great potential, but she needs to learn how to harness her energy. She needs someone who can guide her.”
Alfred was silent for a moment. “Perhaps we should send her to Zane. Let him teach her.”
Who the fuck is Zane? I asked my sisters. Could he be the source of the rogue expression magic Celeste had sensed?
Neither responded.
“No,” Brandon said, still sounding logical and circumspect. “While sending her to an expression mage is a good idea, for now I think she should continue to heal with Xenya.”
“Xenya,” Alfred practically spat as he turned to face the older woman. “We can’t trust her. She’s dissented from the council.”
“She had a special bond with the girls’ mother. They consider her an aunt. She wouldn’t try anything for fear it would have repercussions for the other two. I’m certain Xenya will be compliant—and will make Celeste compliant in turn.” Brandon glanced down at the older woman. “Will you do it?”
Her jaw clenched and a vein on her forehead throbbed. I was sure her blood pressure had to be dangerously high, but she held Brandon’s gaze, sending him daggers of hate while she said, “Yes. I will protect her.”
“And what about the other dangerous one?” Alfred asked.
“Phoebe?” Brandon asked. “I plan to keep her in my custody. I spent time with her while we were retrieving the book. I know how to keep her docile.”
I was livid, but Phoebe grabbed my hand and squeezed. He’s protecting us.
I had to wonder if she was right. Celeste to Xenya. Phoebe to Brandon. If they insisted on splitting us apart, we could ask for no better outcome for them.
“And what about the weak one?” Alfred asked. “Do we have any volunteers for her?” His gaze scanned the table while the Small Council members either stared off into the distance or shot me hateful glares. “No one?” he asked with a hint of impatience.
“Sir,” Brandon said, lifting his hand. “If I may make another suggestion.”
Alfred pursed his lips and nodded. “Go on.”
“Rowan Whelan is the weakest witch in the Whelan family in centuries. She’s of no danger to anyone. I say we simply send her home. What little power she has will be weakened all the more by the break from her sisters.”
Phoebe released a tiny wail and Celeste’s fury returned.
“No,” I whispered to both of them. He speaks the truth.
Rowan. Tears ran down Phoebe’s face.
“It’s okay,” I said, feeling numb from shock and embarrassment. My deepest shame had been laid bare for the thirty most influential magic bearers on the continent.
“How could you?” Celeste demanded.
“Silence!” Alfred shouted. His command hung heavy in the air and I realized it was bolstered with magic. None of us could speak even if we wanted to.
What kind of magic did he have?
“I think it’s best if we do this right away,” Alfred said, motioning to the guards at the door. “Emmaline, would you do us the honor of breaking their coven seal?”
An older woman got up from the table and shuffled toward us. “Place your wrists together.”
I defiantly fisted my hands at my sides.
“Don’t fight them,” Phoebe whispered, picking up my hand and unfurling my fingers. “We’ll figure out a way to fix this.”
Celeste’s hair began to blow with an unseen breeze. Just say the word, Rowan, and I will rip this room apart.
Visions of the dead mage filled my head. No. I couldn’t let her do that in a room full of Small Council members. I had to be the voice of reason. However much it cost my dignity.
I reached for Celeste’s hand and laced our fingers together. Phoebe’s right. We have to go along with this. We’ll fix it later.
Celeste began to cry as I placed her right hand on my right wrist. Phoebe grabbed Celeste’s right wrist, and before I could change my mind, I grabbed Phoebe’s wrist, forming a triangle.
As though realizing this agreement was precarious, Emmaline didn’t waste any time pushing her magic toward our locked wrists, her magic racing up my arm and into my soul. And just like that, I was free of them.
I was surprised by how heavy the yoke of our coven had been.
“Is it done?” Alfred asked.
“It is done,” Emmaline said, not sounding happy about it.
Alfred clapped his hands once in front of him. “This meeting is dismissed.”
The guards headed straight for us, and I stood in shock as one took Celeste’s arm and the other took Phoebe’s.
They started to struggle, but Xenya rounded the table and practically lunged for Celeste, pulling her away from the guard and into a massive hug. From over my sister’s shoulder, she caught my gaze and nodded. I didn’t need a coven bond with her to understand the message: Don’t give up. We’ll fight this another way.
I nodded back, and before I could process what was happening, my sisters were being ushered out the back by the guards.
I stood there, shocked and unmoored, as the Small Council members filed out the door we’d entered, shooting me looks of disdain.
Alfred was the last one in the room and his mouth lifted into a grin so evil, I could feel dark energy rolling off him in waves.
“Go home, Ms. Whelan. You are an embarrassment to the magical community and you have no place in it. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be deemed null and you’ll never see the book or your sisters again.”
Then he sashayed out of the room, leaving me alone with my humiliation.
Chapter Six
I wasn’t sure how long I stood in that spot, reliving the Small Council meeting over and over in my head.
I hadn’t fought for my sisters. I hadn’t fought to protect the book. I hadn’t fought for myself. I was worthless. Maybe I should be declared null.
Declaring a weak witch or mage null was rare in modern times, but it had been done in the past to preserve magical bloodlines. Children were born with varying degrees of power. Celeste was considered a 9.5 out of 10, while Phoebe was likely an eight. The rarity of their gifts only added to their value. I, on the other hand, ranked a two or three. Nowadays, possession of a low-ranking power wasn’t enough of a reason for a person to be declared null and kicked out of the magical community—something akin to Amish shunning—but if a witch or mage at the bottom of the power scale committed a crime or otherwise risked the safety of the magical community, it was the favored punishment. Powerful magical people were too rare to waste.
If the committee declared me null, they’d strip me of what little power I had.
I’d never be able to restore my coven bond with my sisters.
No, something inside me shouted. You have to fight this. You have to fight for your sisters.
But not tonight. Tonight this was one blow too many.
I finally found the gumption to head down the hall to the elevator. The skinny woman stood there with her perky smile, which lit up even brighter when she saw me.
“Rowan Whelan?”
I punched the down button and almost didn’t respond, but I had no idea when the elevator would open and I was curious as to how and why she knew my name. “Yes?”
She reached over her desk, holding out an envelope. “I was told to give you this.”
I took it from her gingerly, sincerely worried it might blow up in my face, but she just kept smiling as though my reaction were perfectly normal.
Seconds after I took the envelope, the elevator doors opened, and her smile stretched even wider. “Have a nice day.”
“Yeah, you too,” I mumbled as I got on the elevator, the empty sentiment a sure sign that I’d lost it.
&
nbsp; I held the envelope all the way to the ground floor, and it was still clutched in my hand as I waited for the valet assistant to get my car. It wasn’t until I was a couple of miles away from LeVeque Tower that I pulled to the side of the road and opened it. The moment I saw it was on Brandon’s official stationary, I nearly tossed it out the window. But curiosity got the better of me. Partly since the letter had been typed, and he obviously hadn’t had time to type and print a letter after the meeting, but mostly because the asshole had my sister.
Rowan,
If things go as I expect them to, you are on your own. Your sisters are safe. Use your gift.
Captain Cassidy
The shithead didn’t even have the audacity to sign his full name. “Fuck you, Captain Cassidy.”
I stewed the entire ride home, getting angrier and angrier the closer I got to Mount Vernon, which was a hell of a lot more palatable than self-pity. Anger made me feel powerful—it gave me purpose and direction. I’d take anger over self-pity any day, and Brandon had given it to me in spades. He’d claimed my gift was so worthless I wasn’t worth guarding, but now he was telling me to use it. Was he insane?
“Mother fucking bastard,” I ground out. I tried to send a message to Phoebe using our coven connection, but it was really and truly gone. I felt nothing in my head but my own troubled thoughts.
Hot tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. Crying wasn’t going to do me one bit of good.
I was almost home when I spotted the sign for the bar Logan had mentioned the night before—the Copper Giant. There was a dark empty house waiting for me, possibly haunted by the newly buried mage my sister had killed. I wasn’t exactly eager to head home. Besides, it was almost eight o’clock. Might as well stop and have a drink.
Maybe I could become a drunk now.
As I pulled into the parking lot, a memory of my father flashed into my head. At some point, probably around the time I started high school, I’d realized that my father was unhappy in his marriage. My mother was magically stronger than him—as most witches were stronger than mages—and she also held a higher status in the community owing to her Whelan blood. He’d never handled it well. One night I’d come home late from a high school football game—back then I still had human friends—and found my father sitting on the front porch with a bottle of Irish whiskey and a glass, staring out at the family cemetery.
