Chapter 8
CADE
WHEN CADE GOT home, his dad’s Hummer was in the driveway.
Shit, Cade thought, groaning out loud. His dad wasn’t often home. The Hummer was usually parked at the airport while his father jet set around the world, but when he was in Coalhaven, he was sure to make Cade’s life hell.
And if it wasn’t bad enough that his dad was home, there was also an unfamiliar Mercedes in the driveway. Great. Company. For a brief moment, Cade considered turning the car around and heading anywhere but home. Maybe even back to Ever’s. Instead, he threw the shifter into park and got out. He had to get ready for the coven meeting.
He, his father, and his mother had lived in the same house for all of Cade’s eighteen years on earth. The house was out of place in Tennessee and a definite sign of his father’s lavish and selfish lifestyle. It was French Baroque, two-and-a-half stories tall with two square gables on either side of a larger, square-roofed portion. There was no shortage of windows — twenty-five on the front of the house alone. The sand-colored exterior had been weathered by almost two decades of storms and hot sunshine, giving it a surreal, horror-story feel.
It was where he lived. And it was what he was used to. But sometimes, he was embarrassed by it. After seeing Ever’s cozy homestead, he couldn’t help but wonder what she would think of this place.
His mother was in the kitchen when he walked in. Grace Bourdain was a lovely woman, like an aged wine with dark cinnamon hair swept into a bun, emerald eyes, and alabaster skin marred only by tiny crow’s feet at her eyes and a sprinkle of ginger freckles on her nose. She peered at him over her cat-eye glasses, a mug in one hand and the other flat on a newspaper. “Hey, baby. How was school?”
Cade dropped his backpack to a chair, then leaned over to kiss his mother’s forehead. “Good.”
“You’re home late.”
“I stopped by to see a friend who’s sick.”
“That was nice of you, sweetheart. Is he going to be okay?”
Cade had a knee-jerk reaction to correct his mother: SHE’s going to be okay. But he didn’t. That would bring a volley of questions that Cade wasn’t prepared to answer; not when he couldn’t even come to terms with his feelings for Ever, anyway.
“What’s Dad doing home?” Cade stuck his head in the fridge, searching for a Coke. “I thought he was in Austria. Or something.”
“He was,” Grace answered, her lips hovering over her mug. “He’s back now, a few days early.”
“You sound as excited as I am.”
“Well, you know your father. Nothing is easy when he’s here.” Grace sounded so sad when she said it, as if she wished she could change the world as they knew it but wasn’t sure how.
“Just let me know if I need to beat his ass.”
“Cade,” Grace warned, giving him a look over her glasses.
Cade ignored her, slumping into a chair at the table as he popped open his Coke. “How are plans for the party coming?”
Their annual Samhain party was coming up on Saturday. For as long as Cade could remember, it’d been the social event of the season for his mother. She went all out, decorating the mansion until it looked like a themed-ride at Disney World and hiring the best caterers to ply their friends and family with top-notch liquors and appetizers.
“Fantastically. The party planner has been a wonderful help.”
“Told you it’d be easier with help.”
Grace pinched his arm playfully. “Watch it, son. I might start to think you’re growing up.”
“I’m eighteen, you know.”
Grace’s eyes pooled. “I know, baby. You’re such a wonderful young man. Was your camping trip last weekend exactly what you wanted for your birthday?”
Cade leaned to kiss her cheek. “It was. And Saturday will be perfect, too.”
Their conversation was interrupted as Cade’s dad swept into the kitchen.
Rémy Bourdain was the kind of man no one in their right mind would want to meet in a dark alley. Broad-shouldered and thick-necked, he was a full head taller than Cade and a whole lot wider since Cade had inherited his mother’s slenderness. When Rémy was around, nothing dominated like he did.
“You are home. Bon.” Rémy’s thick accent filled the kitchen, like Paris and Provence in tangible form. “I have someone you must meet.”
“Rémy,” Grace scolded. “The boy just got home. Give him some time to unwind before you unleash your friend on him.”
“It’s fine,” Cade said, standing. “I’ve got a lot of homework. And the coven’s coming over. Better to meet now before I start.”
“Grace, we require hors d’oeuvres.” Rémy smiled gently at his wife. “And I have run short of soda water. Please fetch us some from the cellar.”
“Yes, my love.”
Cade rolled his eyes, preceding his father from the room. He’d always hated the way his mom jumped to do his dad’s bidding. It wasn’t that Rémy didn’t love his wife; he just seemed to think her marital duties included waiting on him like a maid. Cade knew his mother was a stronger woman than that.
There was a flight of stairs and five minutes of walking between the kitchen and his dad’s office. With substantial holdings in a massive corporation in his home country, Rémy had more money to spend than reasons to spend it, and their house was testament to that.
“This gentleman is a dear friend of mine from France,” Rémy drawled. “I expect you to be polite, oui?”
“Oui, monsieur.” Cade gave him the expected response. Rémy was big on manners and station, and Cade tried not to step out of line. Punishment by magick was not only humiliating, but sometimes painful.
Rémy lifted a hand as they reached the double doors to his office and gave a tiny wave. The doors opened to admit them entrance. He was the only one who could open them: a magickal security system.
“Ah!” The declaration came from a fair-haired, fair-skinned man sitting on the couch before Rémy’s desk. “Rémy, c’est ton fils?”
“Oui. Gilles, this is my son, Cade.”
Cade offered a hand. “Bon soir, monsieur. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Good evening to you, as well, young man.” The man had a firm handshake that he finished with a double-cheek kiss. “You are the spitting image of your father.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cade responded politely, fighting the urge to wipe off his face. The man’s pecks had left his skin feeling dirty. He wore his magick like a second skin.
“I imagine he is remarkably powerful as well?” He directed his question to Rémy.
Rémy grinned. “Absolutement.”
“I am Gilles Robidoux.” Gilles clapped a hand to Rémy’s shoulder. “I have known your father many years.”
“Cade Bourdain. I have also known my father many years.” His statement elicited a laugh from the man.
“Ah, Rémy. He has your, how do you say… spunk?”
The two men shared a laugh.
“What brings you to Coalhaven, Monsieur Robidoux?” Cade asked, trying not to shy away from Gilles’ grip on his shoulder.
“Un projet très important. Your father invited me to stay while we discuss plans.”
“What kind of project?”
“Nothing with which you need to concern yourself,” Rémy cut in, patting Cade on the shoulder. “However, I wished for you to meet Gilles in case either of us need your assistance in the coming weeks. C’est bon?”
“Oui, monsieur.”
As Cade walked out, he heard Gilles remark, “He will do nicely.”
* * *
RÉMY AND GILLES left in the Hummer for points unknown, and Grace busied herself putting together food and drinks before the coven arrived.
“Mom, you don’t have to do that,” Cade told her, taking the platter of meats and cheeses from her hands. “We can get our own food.”
“Let me take care of you.” She patted his cheek. “I like doing it.”
Cade took the pitcher and whis
k from her. She always made Kool-Aid for his coven. It seemed childish, sure, but the entire pitcher would be empty before the night ended.
After a moment of silence, Cade said, “What do you make of that Gilles guy?”
Grace paused, her back tensing beneath her demure black blouse. She gently sliced through the square of French-made cheese, and Cade thought she wasn’t going to answer him.
“Gilles is not a man I like to host in my home,” Grace finally answered softly. She lifted her blue gaze to meet Cade’s. “Stay out of his way, baby. Do this for me?”
“Of course.” Cade kissed her on the cheek. “Anything for you.”
Allie was the first to arrive, which was her usual modus operandi. Cade had a feeling she just wanted to spend time alone with him before the others got there, and he’d never discouraged her. But tonight when she came in his front door in a purple velvet bustier and a black leather mini-skirt, Cade had to bite his tongue before he told her to scram. She looked ridiculous wearing all that make-up and an outfit better suited for a vampire-Goth bar.
Cade flashed on Ever. Sweet face, sweet smile, her bare feet and blue jean shorts and loose-fitting tank top with the lacy straps. She was Southern country music video compared to Allie’s screaming heavy metal. And he was positive now which one he liked better.
“Hey,” he said noncommittally, stepping back to let Allie in.
She pressed close to him, her fingertips sliding up the front of his button-down shirt. “Cade,” she purred, nuzzling his neck. “I’m feeling…”
Cade grasped her firmly by both shoulders and guided her backwards. “Not tonight, Allie.”
She gave him a wounded look but obeyed, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen where a moment later he heard her greet his mother.
“She’s like a lovesick puppy,” Mitch said, taking the porch steps two at a time. “Or one of those starving alley cats you feed and then can’t get rid of when they start pissing in your flower garden.”
“No kidding.” Cade slid a hand through his hair and sighed deeply. “She was fun for a while.”
“Now she’s just psycho.” Mitch winked. “Come on, dude. I’m starving. Did your mom make those little weenies wrapped in dough?”
Cade laughed. “Glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight, man.”
“As you all know, I’ve kicked Donovan out of the coven.”
Cade’s statement was met with silence. The six of them had stuffed their faces with all of Grace Bourdain’s dishes, and they now sat in the secondary living area in the basement. Goth-rock played in the background, and only candles lit the room.
The place Cade felt most at home was surrounded by his coven. They were flawed people, but one had to be a little flawed to practice dark forms of magick.
Big-headed quarterback Mitch was his best friend. Then of course Allie, and her friend Marie, a sturdy mocha-skinned chick who was quiet but extremely adept at ritual. And last, the token couple of the group, Emily and Greg. The two had been together so long they were starting to resemble one another: both tanned year round with blue eyes and naturally wind-blown brown hair. Separately, neither could raise even a hint of true power, but together — particularly when participating in the Great Rite — they were incredible.
“We need to address that our behavior towards the Fluffs has crossed the line,” Cade went on.
Greg scoffed. “Are you serious?”
“They’re our enemies, Cade,” Emily added.
“Why are they our enemies, Emily?” Cade retorted, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “Because you say they are?”
Everyone in the room exchanged glances, and Cade could tell they were wondering what the hell had happened to their leader.
Mitch finally spoke. “It’s always been that way.”
“It hasn’t.” Cade opened the old yearbook sitting on the coffee table before him and flipped to the back. He slammed a finger to a black and white photo. “My freshman year, Elliott Norman was a senior and leader of the BlackMags. Do you know who his closest friend was? This guy right here next to him?”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Mike Florentine. Leader of the Fluffs.” Cade watched everyone process this bit of information, their eyes cast on the photo. “Mike and Elliott led their groups in harmony. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but they weren’t fighting, either. It wasn’t until these two graduated that our covens’ relationship degenerated into what it is now.”
“You sound like a political documentary,” Greg remarked dryly.
The room tittered.
Cade tried to ignore them. “The Fluffs aren’t that different from us.”
Emily scoffed. “Cade, seriously? They don’t believe in blood magick. They’re insane about the law of three. They don’t even believe in doing magick for money.”
“We alienate them because their magickal preferences aren’t the same as ours.” Cade let the idea sink in. “Doesn’t that seem stupid?”
His covenmates gazed around at each other for a long minute before Mitch finally said, “Uh, no.”
Cade clenched his teeth rather than grind his best friend into the carpet like cookie crumbs. All he could think about was the innocent look in Ever’s eyes. He didn’t know her well, but she seemed so unassuming, and so willing to be the better person in any situation. She made him ashamed of his friends.
Of himself.
This conversation was going nowhere. Time to change the subject. We’ll return to this later.
“In other news,” Cade said, wishing his can of soda was spiked with something hard, “my father has agreed to foot the bill for us all to attend CircleEarth this year.”
There was a rousing chorus of cheers, so much so that Cade’s mother called down the stairs to check on them. Cade waved her away with an apologetic grin.
“Aw, man,” Mitch said excitedly. “I’m going to hook up with every chick there.” He paused, brow furrowed. “Every hot chick, I mean.”
Chapter 9
EVER
EVER SLEPT LATE the next morning, waking up at quarter after seven only because Tiff started licking her face, her tiny body shaking in desperation for a trip outside. Ever launched herself from bed and went through her morning routine so fast she forgot to put on deodorant and grabbed one of Nah’s beer cans instead of her usual Mountain Dew as she raced out the door.
If she hadn’t been so intent on checking her email on her phone, she might have stepped right on the paper bag waiting on her doorstep. But her eyes were downcast, her fingertip swiping across the lit screen, and she saw the bag before her boot fell down upon it.
Startled, Ever stepped backwards, her phone forgotten. She hadn’t noticed the smell, not until now as she noticed the bag. The brown paper smoked on her front porch, a thin trail of gray curling into crisp morning air like the tail of a snake.
Ever wrinkled her nose. Dog poop. As the surrogate mother of three canines, she’d know the smell anywhere. With the tips of her fingers, she lifted the bag, irritated. Somebody had literally set fire to a bag of dog poop on her porch, leaving it to burn out and smolder in the early morning hours. And it wasn’t just some random prank either. Her driveway was significantly longer than most. Whoever had put the bag of poop on her porch had done so intentionally.
She stalked down the steps and tossed the bag into the garbage can near the garage, using a bit of water magick to extinguish the final smolders. There was only one person she could think of that would leave her such a present — Donovan.
* * *
OLLIE CALLED WHILE Ever was driving to school.
“My car won’t start,” she whined. “And Dad’s already gone. I really don’t want to walk five miles to school.”
“I don’t want you to walk five miles to school either,” Ever agreed. “I’ll be there in ten.”
Ollie lived in an old Victorian near the downtown district of Coalhaven. The house looked like a birthday cake: salmon pai
nt, pastel green shutters and trim. Even though the outside had seen some wear and tear, Ever thought the inside was stunning. She’d only been there once early in the semester when Ollie was sick and needed her homework, but Ever remembered it vividly. Real hardwood floors and crown molding. A grand staircase and chandelier. Every aspect of the house was beautifully restored.
Ollie sat on the front steps in an ankle-length dress and boots, her purse on its side next to her and her fingers twirling her blond curls.
“I have that dress,” Ever said as her friend slumped into the passenger seat.
Ollie grinned, then her jaw dropped as she took in Ever’s knee-length, tie-dyed dress belted with a rope. “I have that dress.”
“I like your taste,” Ever joked, putting the car into reverse. “Did you call a tow?”
“Yeah. They’re gonna come get it after school.” Ollie made a face. “I hate to ask it, but would you mind dropping me off this afternoon?”
“No, I absolutely won’t,” Ever quipped, glancing over her shoulder as she backed out of the driveway. “The extra five miles I have to drive out of my way to do so is unacceptable. I expect payment in the form of candles.”
Ollie laughed. “Deal.” She offered a pinky, which Ever shook with her own. “So,” Ollie went on, “how are you feeling today? You’ve got some serious bruising coming up. Worse than last night.”
Ever groaned. “I know. I look like a raccoon.”
“No, you don’t, silly. Maybe a kitten, but definitely not a raccoon.”
“Otherwise, I feel loads better. I even slept well.” Probably thanks to you, Ever thought, remembering the warmth of Ollie’s magick flowing into her. Did Ollie know she was a real witch? Ever wanted desperately to ask her, because she wanted desperately for someone to share her path in more than just name. But her mother and grandmother had spent the past seventeen years drilling into her one important rule — they did not speak of their magick to outsiders.
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