by Patti Larsen
Even though I felt Erica's panic, the pull of my own nerves, the shock of the gathered witches as they watched as one, I made a straight shot toward the only empty seat in the box, in the second row.
I noticed a few raised eyebrows from the ladies I joined while battling Erica's attempts to reach me, blocked solidly by Gram who didn't let me falter. The cushion beneath me was soft, almost too soft and, for a moment as I sank into it, I worried it was some kind of trap, there to swallow me and never let me go.
Everyone stared, but no one said a word, though I turned my head just enough to spot Odette Dumont in the row in front of me and to my left, glaring over her shoulder. I could barely look at her, and not just because I couldn’t stand her. Every time I caught a glimpse my memory took me back to the night at the Hilltop Hotel when she’d finally lost her veneer of beauty, revealing the withered, horrible creature she really was under the glamour she hid behind. No matter how beautiful she pretended to be, the true form of Odette was forever burned into my mind.
I let out some air, feeling a little dizzy from holding my breath. The woman beside me stirred and, attracted by the motion, I met her eyes. She was young, older than me, but much younger than anyone else in the line-up of leaders. Her nearly black eyes met mine for a moment before she winked at me.
My lips twitched, I couldn't help it. The leader just past her moved forward and nodded to me before leaning back.
I faced front then, feeling much better.
Doubter, Gram said. Told you.
Did we actually, really have a chance to pull this off?
And what exactly were we pulling off, anyway?
I was just so happy to still be in one piece I didn't bother pushing Gram further.
So far, so good.
Syd! Erica's mental voice finally reached me. What the hell are you doing? I finally allowed myself to look at her, seated in the gallery with the rest of the coven witches. She was white as a sheet, one hand clasped over her mouth, the other pressed to her chest. If it wasn't so deadly serious, it would have been comical.
I have a plan. I very firmly cut her off, watched her hand drop from her mouth as her jaw worked, throat constricting as she tried to swallow what I'd told her. Quaid met my gaze with a level look, but I knew he had to be dying of curiosity.
So was I for that matter.
Syd, Gram snapped, will you please pay attention?
Right. I'm listening.
Take notes. She huffed a mental breath. To your direct left is Tallah Hensley, the leader of the Hensley Coven, south west district.
The woman who winked at me, her gorgeous dark skin matching the lovely depth of her eyes.
She's the youngest of the bunch and the most progressive, Gram told me, but even though her coven is powerful, it's young, only about seventy five years old, so she could be an ally, but without the juice of some of the others.
Juice? When did my grandmother start talking like a street hood?
Her Council member is Lauren Noble, also young. Her second is her sister, Sashenka, also very young, your age, I think. You'll find easy allies in them, but we need more.
I made an effort to smile at Tallah who smiled back, brilliant white teeth against polished dark skin.
Okay. I could do this.
Beside her is Irene Bradford, Bradford Coven. Her second didn’t make the trip but her Council member is Phyllis Gaines. I glanced at the woman who had leaned forward to nod at me, took note of the perfection of her upswept hair, the powder sitting in the creases of her wrinkled face. But she looked kind, at least.
She controls the south central territory. They are both good women, Syd, but could sway either way.
I wished I had a pen. Or my cell phone. I would never remember all of this.
In front of you is Benita Santos, second is Janet Muchin. I checked out the back of the old woman's head, her iron gray hair in a no-nonsense short cut making her look masculine. Her member is Huan Wong, south east territory. This is an old coven, Syd, but not the oldest. They've been known to keep close ties with the Dumonts, so it's likely we'll run into resistance from them when Odette decides she needs someone to speak up.
Good to know. I didn't like her already.
Beside her is Violet Rhodes, second Alberta Morris. The old lady chose the exact moment to turn toward me. She had the sweetest cherub face, tiny features and lovely white hair. Her pink cheeks wrinkled, eyes sparkling as she waved at me like she was happy to see me. North west. Member is her sister, Willa. Gram sighed softly. I've known them a long time. Or used to know them. I like them both.
I did too. I found myself smiling and waving back at Violet who wound up her face in an impish smile before turning front, one hand smacking Odette beside her as she giggled.
Only problem, Violet is a stickler for the law. Gram sounded annoyed by that. Still, she's the head of one of the oldest covens, so if we can recruit her to support us, Odette will be up a very nasty creek without a life preserver.
I could live with that.
The last one you know. Gram's tone was grim. Odette Dumont, north central, second used to be Andre, her son. She’s since appointed him to the Council and, in typical Dumont controlling fashion, acts without a second. Gram snorted. With her next option Ameline Benoit, no wonder she’s going it alone.
I found myself scowling at Ameline’s name and focused on the topic at hand. A man? Not that there was anything wrong with it, but we tended to remain in a matriarchal structure.
Unusual, Gram said, but perfectly legal. Still, I think it might work to our advantage. The other ladies will be uncomfortable with him, I'm thinking.
Hopefully.
That leaves us, Gram sent. North east territory. And no member on Council thanks to years of jealousy and allowing ourselves to be pushed out so the boat doesn’t get rocked. We're about to stir up a storm, girl, and those old biddies better be ready to get soaked.
How do you know all of this? I found myself shaking my head and forced myself to stillness. Wouldn't do for the others to think I was crazy. Or hearing voices.
Heh.
What do you think I've been doing all this time, silly child? Gram's amusement was infectious. I hid a grin behind a cough and a covering hand. Someone had to figure out what to do when the crap hit the fan.
A surge of gratitude and love washed over me, bringing unexpected tears to my eyes. I'm so glad you're here.
Tell me when this is over. Gram hugged me mentally, but didn't get a chance to say anything else. The little secretarial man entered the room, a handful of black pages in his grip.
“All present and accounted for,” he said, whiny voice carrying. More magic I figured. “Conclave will commence. All rise for your High Council.”
This was it. I felt myself swept up to my feet by the energy of the others in the room, unable to unclench my hands from the death grip I held on Mom's velvet skirt.
***
Chapter Twelve
As everyone stood, including the coven leaders, my eyes fixed on a large wooden door on the opposite side of the room. The moment we were all on our feet, the whisper of clothing and shuffling of feet stilled, that door swung outward and a line of people walked through.
Dressed in jet velvet robes trimmed in blue, the members of the High Council of North American Witches strode with aplomb and self-importance toward the raised platform and their appointed seats. My eyes scanned their faces, but with the exception of Andre's tiny smile, none of the members showed a hint of emotion.
Okay then. As much as I wished they were a little more light-hearted, I could understand why they were keeping things somber. As long as their closed faces didn't mean they'd already set their minds against my mother.
Each of them sat, two obvious gaps in the lineup. One where the Hayle member should have been, though there was no seat placed there. It seemed even they understood the spot was supposed to be filled but didn't place a chair to make themselves feel better.
The seco
nd hole in the line of presiding witches was for the leader of the Council. I knew nothing about her, really. Mom didn't talk about the Council much. One thing I did know, according to Pender's information, the old woman who led the bunch was in Batsheva's back pocket.
That didn't leave me very much hope.
We're not lost yet. Gram's mental voice sounded amused. Better to keep your anger close, girl, and the fire burning. You'll have use for it—as long as it doesn't use you first.
She was right about that. I tended to let my temper run off with me, though I'd gotten better at controlling it. Or told myself I had.
The door remained open, the head of the Council finally emerging. Her head was covered, black and blue hood pulled down over her face. As she entered, the secretary cleared his throat, his words escorting her to her chair.
“All make welcome, your supreme leader, the guide of all witches.” He drew a breath as she stood in front of her seat, hands rising to push back the hood masking her face.
“Batsheva Moromond.”
I couldn't make my brain connect. It was like the moment I heard her name and saw her face all put together made my mind short out. I know my mouth hung open, but only because when Gram hissed at me my teeth ached from rattling together when I slammed them shut.
Oh. My. Swearword.
No. Freaking. Way.
Enough. Gram's magic smacked me as cleanly as if she'd whacked me upside the head. I assumed you'd guessed by now. Her disapproval did more to snap me out of it than the mental slap. I've been telling you all along to pay attention. She sighed then. Now you know. Get over it.
You could have warned me. Batsheva took her seat, what I'm sure was meant to be a benign smile on her face only fueling the anger Gram talked about.
I didn't think I had to. Syd, think about it. Gram's own anger showed through. How does this not make sense to you?
It did, of course it did. Odette's hatred for our family was nothing compared to Batsheva Moromond's absolute desire to see my mother not only humiliated, but dead. She and her disgusting husband did their very best to destroy our coven and steal our family magic, raising Galleytrot and waking the Wild Hunt in the process. They’d almost succeeded.
What the hell was a blood magic witch doing leading the High Council and why didn’t they know about her?
While the gathering sat, I remained on my feet, staring, lost in the understanding of what this was really about.
Odette Dumont was barely a nuisance at this point. Any witch who could find a way to take over the entire High Council with lies and manipulations was the force I needed to be wary of.
Batsheva's head turned, eyes locking on mine. It was only then I felt the entire gathering staring right at me, but I didn't really care.
Yes, Gram hissed. Hold your ground. Good girl.
I'm sure Batsheva was aware I'd simply failed to sit, but Gram was right. The smile on Batsheva's face faded as I stood there, unmoving, unbending.
Cogs turned, connections fired, ties pulled into knots. The Dumonts. The Moromonds. My family. All connected through magic and greed and jealousy, led by the most horrible evil I’d ever met. Worse than Demitrius Strong, leader of the Chosen of the Light, who at least was deluded into thinking he was doing the right thing. Worse than Nicholas DeWinter, a vampire evil long before I met him, but led by his heart even still. Far beyond the Dumonts who I now knew to be merely pawns, though I doubted Odette knew that yet. And yes, worse than the possessed Cesard, infected with a dangerous virus and Torsh the demon, who had, ultimately, lived in a hell of their own making.
Batsheva Moromond was black to the center of her soul.
And would stop at nothing to destroy us once and for all.
A boom loud enough to snap the thread of tension holding me in place signaled the closing of the main door. A second followed as the Council member's entrance swung shut. I felt the hum of power as the Enforcers locked us in the chamber, two standing at attention before each portal with two more, I was sure, in identical form on the outside. Power reached out from Batsheva's hands, joining the magic holding us inside, creating the final seal.
I finally sat, slowly, with as big a show of confidence as I could, casually crossing my legs and arms, eyes still locked on Batsheva. I heard Tallah Hensley chuckle beside me, but didn't want to let the Council leader out of my sight.
She looked away at last—first I might add. Talk about a jolt of short-lived pleasure. This wasn't a game. Mom's life was at risk. I had to stay focused and not get lost in these little side-trips to back-patting.
You'll do fine, Gram sent. I think Batsheva has made a mistake she'll find hard to correct.
If Gram hadn't pointed it out I might have missed it, so focused was I on the evil witch. A hum of discontent ran through the gathered witches after the doors sealed.
Yes, highly irregular. There will be many traditional matrons here unhappy with her choice to seal us inside. Conclaves have been presented openly for centuries, the only way all witches feel equal.
Right. History again. Some kind of massacre, wasn't it? I had a lot of catching up to do and I blamed Gram.
Yes. She sounded so sad I wished I didn't have to ask. It was so long ago the ruling leader took the opportunity to kill all of her opposition. But we remember, and for that reason, conclaves are never sealed.
I felt a jolt of understanding and fear. You think she's going to do that now? It made sense. Every single witch of any amount of real power was here in the room with us. Knowing Batsheva's desire for dominance, it made sense she'd try a stunt like that.
Before I could panic too much, Gram snorted. She might have the ambition, she sent, but not the guts. Not yet. Her tone changed to grim. Though I'm sure it's in her grand plan somewhere for later. No, this is her first chance to seize some real power, a test if you will. To see if the others will allow her the latitude she's taken.
How did she end up leader? I was having a hard time getting past who she’d revealed herself to be the last time we met.
The old leader stepped down. Gram shrugged mentally. Though I’m positive it wasn’t her choice in the end. She was a Santos, after all. Mary had pretty much nothing you could call a backbone. Odd, though, wouldn’t you say she seems to have gone missing?
And no one cares? I was finding it hard to breathe around my growing agitation.
Why would they? Gram sent. They’ve been told she’s retired to her coven and quiet. But I can assure you, Syd, Mary Santos is nowhere I can dig her up.
Why did Gram’s use of terminology make my stomach roll over?
So you think she’s dead?
Gram was quiet a moment. I’m sure of it.
This was the monster leading our High Council. A witch so wrapped up in her own path to power she would murder another leader just to take her place. I waited for someone to speak up. Anyone. I knew I couldn't do it, nor anyone from the Hayle Coven. When not a witch said a word, the secretary turning to bow to Batsheva while he handed her the black sheets magically engraved with roll call, my heart sank.
That's right, Gram said, fury bubbling. Judge them, girl. Know what you're up against. They are complacent, preferring their own sense of normal. The elements themselves forbid one of them show a little backbone. Disgusting, but the way of things.
Why would the Council power accept her if she’s a blood magic user? Surely she couldn’t fool the combined power of centuries of witches.
I wish I knew, Gram sent. I intend to find out. After I hand her heart to her on a rusty platter.
I let her anger feed mine. So that's it, I sent, knowing Gram’s threats were empty as long as Batsheva was in power. She's won before we’ve even started.
No, just this round. Gram sighed again, deeper, longer, with weariness behind it. There's hope yet, but only if you can convince them to stand up and say no, where they have been looking the other way for so long, not knowing their inaction has created the recipe for their downfall.
She was
scaring the crap out of me. Now what?
Now, she sent, you listen and watch. And learn. And never, ever forget what passive looks like, or the consequences of it.
I didn't get a chance to assure her I would never be one of them because Odette was suddenly on her feet. She glanced over her shoulder at me, a half smile of triumph on her lips before she focused on Batsheva.
“Dear leader,” she said, voice oozing adoration. Sickening and oh so very obvious. Gram's mention of passive inaction was never so clear. “I am outraged and must speak.”
Batsheva nodded slowly, benevolently, jowls squishing against her neck. She gave me the creeps, that hadn't changed. “Speak, Dumont Leader. We are happy to hear your complaint.”
Odette turned, one index finger pointing at me, sharp nail slicing the air like a blade. “This section is reserved for the rightful leaders of our revered Covens. And yet, here among us sits one who does not have the right to do so.”
Batsheva's eyes flickered to mine as she leaned back in her seat, hands steepled under her chin, heavily made-up eyes narrowed. I supposed she was trying to look impressive, but instead she reminded me of a bloated spider hovering on her web.
Gram was in my head immediately. Up!
I didn't need the prodding. I was on my feet, Mom's skirt swirling, the scent of her giving me courage. “My coven has a leader,” I said, voice clear and unwavering even as butterflies did the most amazing summersaults inside my stomach. “And I'm it. At least while my mother is on trial.” I turned toward the other leaders, bowing my head to them before refocusing on Batsheva. “I have led my coven before in time of crisis.” I released the family magic, let it wind around me. I heard a few gasps, but this was the only proof I had. The only proof I needed. I let it settle again, the happy, generous energy returning to vibrate within, killing off the pesky butterflies.
