by Jamie Magee
It did not matter what age Scorpio was in now, the debts of the past were set to be paid.
****
Jamison BellaRose was hidden in the Dominarum Coven’s ancient library beneath Saige’s grand home in the Garden District of New Orleans. What was once a place to take the time to reflect and prepare for the dark future had now become the situation room.
The war of the gods was hitting him from every side. Each of his daughters had been grazed by the wrath of change, some more so than others. He knew from the temperament of the universe his youngest was poised to take center stage soon. His focus should be on the next generation of gods and warriors; instead, he was wrapped in the drama of the Pentacle Sons. Jamison was wise enough to realize the distraction very well could be the purpose of the most recent uproars. Every shift of power was always foreshadowed by the thunder of chaos stirring in the masses.
Reveca had always prided herself for taking on the defensive outlaw persona in the mortal world. In her mind, it not only gave her a buffer, but it also established a silent threat to anyone who dared to come her way that one way or another, vengeance would be delivered.
Reveca teased Jamison for playing the role of an upstanding citizen; she called him weak, a suck up. She never understood people. She knew now to negotiate without hanging the threat of death over their head. Beyond that simple fact, when you were clean as a whistle in the public eye, it was twice as hard to file false charges against you, much less make them stick.
If Jamison had his way, he’d be gloating that she was clearly the fool now. Reveca’s people were the ones with their back against the wall and no clear way out. He wasn’t. Instead, he was the fixer. The clan problem solver. Jamison never knew if he was the way he was by design or choice, just that he was over being right. For once, he wanted to be wrong.
On the master altar before him, he had composed a spell to give him a remote view of the stations and courthouses downtown. Gwinn, Shade, Bastion, and Thrash were being arraigned this morning. There was a warrant out for Adair and Reveca, but according to authorities they’d fled.
Jamison couldn’t speak for Reveca, but he damn well knew Adair was safe and sound at the Boneyard. His cloaking spell managed to hide her in time merely because she was not present at the Boneyard when the original warrants were served. To say the least, the warrants caught everyone off guard. The Sons had more than a few lawmen on the payroll, and so did Jamison. There was no reason they should’ve not known this was coming their way.
In a time of crisis, it is imperative to be thankful for tiny miracles. It is the only antidote to the dark energy that is looking to destroy as much as it can as quickly as it can. Jamison counted Adair as a win. Even if he did have a heads up and only had the time to save one, it would’ve been Adair. Her safety meant Judge’s sanity.
Judge was always the level head Jamison counted on during eruptions like this. The Sons trusted his sight and judgment, more so now than ever. Judge was the father to a queen, chosen by a powerful culture to protect their tomorrows.
Not many nods of approval came from such a precious, prestigious source. Then again, Jamison doubted many of the Sons, much less Judge, understood the level of credibility that had been given to him recently. To them Judge had single-handedly thwarted one of Zale’s darkest plans, and in the end won not only his female and child but also returned the lost— Talley and Finley— to them.
Beyond the obvious, Adair had been through too much as of late to withstand what Jamison knew was coming at the other witches.
In the modern era, no one who expected to hold any creditability would call this situation a witch hunt, or soon to be witch trial. Even if they were mad enough to do such a thing there would be some group of people declaring how politically incorrect it was to classify any person.
It would be a religious debate, a sexuality debate, a race debate, any kind of debate whatsoever that would in the end distract the public to the true upset taking place. It was the corrupt protecting their best interest, no matter the cost.
Officially, Gwinn and Bastion were charged with extortion. Shade and Thrash’s charges were for assaulting police officers, resisting arrest, and now for kicks, someone had added charges of grand theft auto, a connection supposedly found when their prints were cross-checked.
None of the charges were legit, but the evidence was damning. From what Jamison had found today alone he knew the State had video, audio, and eyewitness evidence. False back account records and reports filed by law enforcement were nothing but icing on the cake.
For the State, it was an open and shut case.
For Jamison and his coven, it was a declaration of war. The date the evidence began was when Gwinn was still mortal, before she was ever kidnapped much less murdered. Either Zale had an oracle in his keep who had predicted this day and given him a chance to set his shape-shifting skinwalkers in place, or worse—Zale and his minions had a Voyager in their keep. Time traveling villains were the exact definition of a total fuck all. How could anyone be expected to fight for their future when a past they were oblivious too kept biting them in the ass at the worst possible moment?
The last time Zale’s crew had jacked up Reveca and the coven’s stance in the mortal world, the fix was easy. Everyone packed up and left without a trace, then returned one by one decades later.
It wasn’t so simple now. Not only did electricity exist along with the life-sucking Internet, but also there was the war at hand to consider.
New Orleans was heavily protected by spells that had taken centuries to put in place and then fortify. It was a fortress when it came to battling the dark gods. They could not easily sense any being in this area, or charge down from the heavens. A single thought of theirs could not end the life of those they held dominion over. Their mere breath could not control the weather.
There were still weaknesses about, dark beings could enter the city and protected areas around it. Battles had been and would be fought on the streets of the city. But the playing field was level here. Every side had a fighting chance to prevail. No, Jamison could not move his coven or recommend Reveca move her warriors. Not now. It was better to defend his home.
This left two choices; ride out the corruption or commence a supernatural battle that would inherently destroy the city. Considering the latter would break the balance of the spells, the former was what Jamison was focusing all his mortal and immortal connections on.
He was hitting a dead end at every turn. Men he’d know for years stared at him blankly. Any witch with half their wits would know the men were false and that somehow they’d been turned to outright skinwalkers posing as lawmakers. Someone had completely disassembled everyone the coven had on payroll, and more than likely the Sons as well.
Where the hell are they coming from? His thoughts grumbled as his known calm began to chip away. Like Reveca, he always had good Intel on the Rogues, but even those asshats were scratching their heads and quick to wave a white flag the moment they sensed trouble stirring.
The mystery had to lay with who was set up. Gwinn, Bastion, and Adair were all witches, but not even in the same ballpark when it came to the kind of witch or power they were.
Gwinn had not only been brought back to life by Reveca, but was also a creation of Reveca and King’s essence—she was a dark angel. An unheard of being that could and would be a game changer once the war was underway. Adair was also made of their essence, but she was mortal. Not that mortality weakened her; she was mother to the queen of the Voyagers, the epic time travelers. It was an impressive resume without considering she was the child of Ambrosia, a fire goddess, and Talon, the first immortal witch created, and then some.
At first blush, Bastion seemed out of place with the other two witches. Not only was he the youngest, but also the least practiced. Jamison knew better. He was well aware of the conception spells Evanthe used the night she seduced Thrash. He was also aware of the ancient blood Thrash was born of— a seventh son of a seventh son
. As a mortal, many of his people saw him as the son of Odin, a demigod who could not fall in battle. The presumption was proved to be true when he did, in fact, rise from the dead.
And Evanthe? Her bloodline was one of the most powerful in their home dimension. The sight in her lineage was so rich that it was said to be blessed by the mightiest of Throngs.
Then there was Shade. Jamison had his suspicions about the violet-eyed warrior, if any of them were halfway true; he was the true catch—the warrior of the Voyagers. More powerful than any Arc Angel.
Not a single being held on false charges could or should be underestimated.
“Wise of you to come. Even wiser to keep your men distant,” Jamison said to Reveca without bothering to break his stare from the hearings playing out on the looking glass spell before him. Not a single bike was parked outside of the courthouse in protest. No riots were tearing through the streets.
Jamison sensed Reveca’s arrival moments before. In most cases when she felt threatened or downright pissed she’d stalk right up to him and put herself in the center of his world until he agreed to terms they could both live with.
Not this time. Reveca had completely ignored him altogether and made her way to the oldest part of the library. The only reason she was even bothering to enter this way was that he had spelled the books she was after to where they could not be removed.
“Unhand the text,” Reveca growled from the shadows.
Untested men might’ve shuttered when they felt the push of her threatening vim against their backs. To Jamison, it was yet another tantrum that would pass if given enough time.
“The text on stripping the power of skinwalkers are here,” he said with a nod at the table before him.
“Fuck skinwalkers,” Reveca seethed. “I want the text on how to destroy a Throng.”
There was no such thing. At least no such thing was written by their coven. No one would ever record something so powerful. It would be the same as giving a mortal sovereignty over to the sun.
However, there were texts on the creation of Throngs, and their rise and fall in ancient times. All words and wisdom Jamison had strived to give Reveca in the past. Wisdom she didn’t care to hear or respect then or now.
“No war is singular,” Jamison said as he squinted to watch the courtroom in the spell worked before him. Shade has just broken his cuffs and taken out three prosecutors and four bailiffs. He would have surely ripped Judge’s head from his shoulders if Gwinn had not called his name. What was said between them then was telepathic; whatever it was, it calmed Shade down, he withdrew his lethal energy from the room.
Bastion’s lips were moving, but no sound was coming from him—he was casting a spell, and he was not the only one. Jamison was ready for this outburst, even one far worse. He added the power of his essence to articles and herbs arranged in the bowl before him. As he spoke, he added fire to the spell.
In any other courtroom at any other time, his efforts might’ve paid off. The witnesses would have forgotten what they saw, the pain in the victims would vanish, and with luck on his side, Jamison could ensure all damage to the property was restored.
This time one soul lay dead on the floor, the turned over chairs and scattered paperwork remained. Most of those in the courtroom were confused, in a fog of sorts. But not the ones who needed to be. The lead prosecutor for the state and Judge were both sporting ghostly smirks.
“This isn’t going to be an easy fix,” Jamison groused.
Reveca had approached his side, even seeing one of her own allowing the lawmen to handle him didn’t nudge her sympathy button much less break her focus on what she was after.
“Quit toying with me, Jamison.”
His sharp stare angled up at her. “Is it your wish for karma to completely destroy you?”
Reveca took the time to settle her shoulders just so, and she steadied her breath before she spoke. “Scorpio instructed the Sons to obtain alibis before he disobeyed my orders and vanished. This is his doing. Hence, why I need those fucking texts!”
A disbelieving smile touched Jamison’s lips. Over the years, time after time, even when he expected the unexpected, Reveca continued to surprise him. He faced her full on. “Or perhaps he, like anyone with any sense at all, predicted the inevitable.”
“Look, Jamison. I know you’re the president of his fan club, but I don’t fucking care. I can’t afford to care until I feel his lifeblood spill over my hands and I watch the ever after rip him from this realm of existence.”
Any hint of an astonished smile was gone from Jamison’s expression. “Is it your mission to completely dishonor your family and coven?”
“It is my will to survive at any given cost.”
Jamison nodded his head and turned his focus to the looking glass. “At the cost of their lives?”
“You will not lay guilt at my feet and expect me to pick it up.”
“Why would you start feeling guilty now?” Jamison snapped. His cold tone thrashed out at Reveca fiercely enough that she squinted her eyes for the slightest of seconds.
“I have done everything to aid you and Saige and all of your young warriors. The attention I have given you and yours over the past weeks has left me where I am.”
“Oh, that is rich, Reveca. Really rich.” Jamison on his best day could not deny that Reveca had played a vital role in the web of hearts and souls that were connected to the war at hand.
Recently, Reveca had saved a rising queen from returning to the light universe, and battled to restore Saige’s daughter to her rightful place in this war, but not for the blameless reasons she was trying to yield like a sword now.
If any act of mercy came from Reveca Beauregard’s direction, a barter was promised to follow. If not a barter, it was a demanded allegiance. Her recent actions promised alliances between King’s faction and the rising King of Shock, Draven.
She should be counting her lucky stars, but the last Jamison checked, Reveca was still licking her wounds, pissed at how the battle to recover Skylynn ended. Reveca was quick to come to the aid of Skylynn when she was in jeopardy, but in the end, it was discovered Reveca and the coven were not defending Skylynn after all. At least, not all of her. Which left Reveca with no hand to play in the loyalties she was after.
The rising King of Trepidation, Draven’s twin brother Aden, had no debt to repay Reveca for. Not only was Aden not in her debt, but it was also becoming apparent that he was the commander and chief of an army of Selected, warriors from the light universe, who had built an empire inside the walls of the Unclaimed, which rested in the Edge. Reveca considered everything inside of the Edge hers, naturally.
Jamison was positive if this latest upset had not occurred, Reveca would have had her focus on locking down Aden’s loyalty. Reveca was ballsy enough to demand rent for all the time Aden and his people had taken refuge in her space. Reveca would never once take the time to consider who came first much less how far Aden’s essence reached, what realms his heritage had given him domain over.
“It is the truth, Jamison. For all I know, you are in alliance with November Scorpio, and like my sister, have yearned for my demise.”
“Where is King?” Jamison demanded. He could not count the times in the past that Reveca had gone mad with paranoia and power, and usually at the same time. The only thing different about this time is there was finally a player on the field that could reach Reveca on a level no one else could.
Reveca laughed, it was cold and short. “Rallying his men to take down unruly bikers or a Throng, it is anyone’s guess. Either way, heads will roll.”
The cold assurance in her tone stiffened every muscle in Jamison Bellerose’s body. He had serious doubts he was speaking to the true Reveca Beauregard.
Three
One did not come from a long existence, in roles yet to be publicly announced, much less lead a powerful coven, by cowering. A thousand times if not once, Jamison had thought to seal Reveca in the Edge, for her own good, as she had accuse
d them all of doing in the past. One could only play the victim card so long before the crimes accused were manifested into reality. Low and behold Reveca had managed to manifest the unthinkable, her own demise.
Creator knew, Jamison had the power to end this all and simply imprison Reveca, stop her from making a dim situation into a travesty. The question was, did Reveca realize that he did? Or had she truly become intoxicated by the rivalry at hand. One glance at the looking glass spell hovering over the altar told Jamison that even if she did realize it, she was brash enough to think she could outwit them all.
For long bouts of time Reveca had proven to be a protective and fierce guardian over her immortals. But then she would reach a breaking point. A point where she saw fit to teach her Sons along with Talon that they needed her more than she needed them. This wasn’t the first time Jamison had witnessed Reveca coldly ignoring her struggling. Like all the times before he stood astonished by her actions, and sure the future predicted about her had to be false.
The entire reason the heavens were feuding was because the gods that were designed to be gracious had become the opposite. They put themselves and their needs first; they fed the demon of greed and power. When nature falls to mortal corruption, nature has no choice but to erase what once was and to begin anew.
Jamison, in his knowing way, was sure Reveca was part of the ‘anew’ planned that would follow the epic wars breathing down their necks now. When she was like this, he questioned his own resolve.
Witches had their cold side, the stone cold expression on Jamison’s visage revealed his. “This is not the time for your selfish tantrums,” he chided.
“But apparently it is the time for my death?” Reveca said with the most careless grin she could offer. She’d never let Jamison know that when he did manage to flip his rage switch her stomach coiled with fright.
“You’re asking for your death!”
