by Sara M Zerig
“To be very clear: a directive from my wife is a directive from me. A blatant disregard of my orders—or the intent of my orders—is a violation of Coven law.”
Delia gulped. The warlock before her had the power to make her life miserable. He could restrict her travel outside the realm indefinitely. He could close her business here. He could require her to retake all the witch trainings alongside the children who had not yet discovered their talents.
“However,” his tone softened, “because you also brought Chloe home to us when she was ill, consider this your one, and only, warning.”
Relief flooded Delia. She resisted the urge to hug him; that would be thoroughly inappropriate. “Thank you.”
“Come, Delia,” Wyatt said briskly. “I will see you out.”
Ordinarily, Delia would welcome an evening walk in the fresh air, but walking beside her father post-admonishment made for a tense experience. They were well outside the St. Cyr residence on the worn path home, when Delia felt she could not endure his silent judgment for another step. “It was short-sighted, I know. But I did what I felt was right in the moment.”
“You always do,” Wyatt put in good naturedly, surprising her. “You are a rare witch, and not because your talents have yet to surface. You are rare because you follow your heart above all else: expectations, tradition, reason.”
“Pardon?” Delia said in mock offense.
“Take Aidan’s warning to heart, though, daughter. It was generous of him.”
“I know,” Delia agreed. The other councilmembers would have made an example of anyone who dared to undermine them. Aidan would, too, should she ever circumvent a direct order from him or Cara again. Traveling unescorted had not been specifically addressed by either Aidan or her father, though, and Delia made a mental note of that.
“You enjoy the freedom you are afforded because you do not yet have a gift to develop,” her father said knowingly.
It was true. At one time, Delia might have hoped for a seer’s gift, but there was no seer blood in her family, which meant she would likely be a healer of some kind. Even if she had somehow managed to receive a seer’s abilities, Max had already chosen to pledge his life to another. Whatever her witch’s talent was, she hoped it would not appear for a few more years still.
“But it is only a matter of time, Delia,” Wyatt told her. “I do not know why your talent remains hidden at your age, but I do not doubt it is special.”
Delia froze mid-step, as the single word echoed in her head. Hidden. She thought of Max missing Ritt in a well-lit room. Was it her, not the amulet, that had hidden the shifter in plain sight? Was that even possible?
She had never heard of such a gift before; cloaking was possible to varying degrees but not complete invisibility. And this would be a protector gift, would it not? Witches were healers and seers. But then, in the Age of the Xxyryn, anything was possible.
“Delia?” Her father turned back. “Everything all right?”
“Yes,” Delia replied, catching up to him. She needed to test the theory. There was no sense in mentioning it to anyone until she was sure. If ever. “Everything is fine.”
Epilogue
Nikki’s recollection of the events from the other day was still spotty. Two men—well, one man and one XL version of a man—had come to visit her. One of them looked like a Greek god—all perfectly chiseled features, thick golden hair, and a blinding white smile. Arrogance practically dripped from the man. The other was an attractive dark-haired giant dressed in black leather pants and a long-sleeved tunic. More concerning than his size and clothes was the fact that he had eyes exactly like Chloe’s.
Nikki had been given a picture of Ritt and Chloe on a beach, presumably in Australia. But Ritt was never in that picture with Chloe. Not the real picture. Nikki recognized the image of Chloe as a picture she had taken. Chloe had only worn that crochet top once. She had borrowed it from Nikki to wear over a swimsuit and then lost it at the pool later that day.
The men had neither laid a hand on her nor threatened to, but when the one tried to stop her from closing the door, Nikki sprang into action. She should have screamed when she sprayed them and called for help. But in that moment, she just wanted to get the hell out of there. It wasn’t until she was out of her neighborhood that Nikki noticed the paper under the fake photo on the passenger seat next to her. The blond man must have given it to her.
The single page detailed things about Chloe and Ritt that she already knew, or thought she knew, but now doubted. She knew Chloe always wanted to live in Australia, like it said on the paper, but when she tried to recall a time Chloe had mentioned it, she couldn’t. She knew Chloe had a poster of the Sydney Opera House in her bedroom as a kid, like it said on the paper, but she could not for the life of her visualize where it had hung in that room. And Nikki had spent half her teenage life in Chloe’s room.
Chloe had called her from Australia just the day before. She was happy to be moving in with Ritt but sad to be leaving Nikki, she had said. She would send a moving company to collect her things sometime next week. But like the other items on the sheet, Nikki couldn’t remember any other details of that call. What time had she called? What did Nikki say in that call? Wouldn’t Chloe have given her the new address?
Now Nikki didn’t know what to think about anything. She thought about calling her mom, but she’d been acting so weird lately, this might send the woman over the edge. She couldn’t reach Chloe live, but they texted, and Chloe thought it was all some bad prank gone awry.
Nikki had spent the last few nights with friends. This morning, she decided Chloe was right and she was overreacting. Technically, there was no crime, unless she counted the fact that she had assaulted two strangers with pepper spray. They hadn’t tried to force their way into her home, and they hadn’t tried to take her anywhere.
It was time to suck it up and go home. Once Nikki spent the night there on her own again, she would be fine. She just needed to know that her home was secure, first.
As the thought occurred to her, Tad called. A fit football player, Tad wasn’t close in size to the green-eyed man, but he didn’t need to be. Just having someone else there would be enough to scare intruders away. She only needed someone to go through the home first and give her the all-clear.
When Nikki got home, Tad was already there, waiting for her at the curb. He opened her car door. “Creeped out, huh?”
“A little.”
“I could spend the night if you want,” he offered.
Nikki slipped the key to the front door off her key ring. She doubted the wannabe pranksters locked up behind her but handed him the key anyway. “Will you just check inside? Check the closets too.”
He stepped aside to usher her out of the car. Nikki glanced at the townhome and then back to Tad. She shook her head.
“You aren’t coming?”
She shook her head again.
“Would any other guy do this for you?” he preened.
Yes, she thought, but said, “You’re a prince.”
Tad laughed and headed for the front door. Nikki put her car key back in the ignition. Grabbing her cell phone from the cupholder, she scrolled through Chloe’s recent texts. She had been so relieved to hear back from her friend that she hadn’t really focused on the words before.
Every word of Chloe’s last two messages had been spelled out. There were no abbreviations, no apostrophes, and no emojis or gifs. Chloe loved emojis. She had typed I do not know instead of idk or the shrugging woman emoji. She typed immature practical joke, and while Nikki could hear Chloe saying those words in a conversation, she couldn’t see her typing them in a text.
Nikki swiped at the last message and started typing.
Hey Chlo – remember, no rum!
She looked up to watch Tad walk inside. He was gone from sight for only a few seconds, and Nikki knew something was wrong. She shouldn’t have asked him to go in there.
The phone buzzed in her hands, and Nikki’s gut
twisted, reading the response.
I will remember: no rum.
Aaron and Will watched Tad pull up before Nikki’s townhome through a window by the front door. So, she called in reinforcements, Aaron thought. Poor Tad.
Aidan had thought that might happen, so he had sent Aaron and Will back to the townhome with a few parchments. One for Nikki and the others for whomever Nikki might bring along. No pictures this time—that seemed to be where they went wrong. They should have considered Nikki might recognize a specific image of Chloe as being out of place in a different background.
“Boyfriend?” Will asked.
“Not really,” Aaron grumbled in a way that had Will arching his brow at him.
Nikki parked behind Tad a few minutes later. “She is here.”
Aaron turned back to Will to catch a pen disappearing from the warlock’s hand. “What did you do?”
“Ensuring we cover everything this time,” Will replied cryptically.
Aaron looked back to the window and watched Nikki give Tad a key, sending him on his way, alone. Aaron stepped behind the door. Tad walked in and paused at the sight of Will, standing front and center with a congenial smile.
“Hi, Tad.”
Impressively, Tad rushed forward rather than running away. Aaron moved in quickly from behind him, hooking his arms under Tad’s arms and clasping his hands behind his head to keep Tad looking forward at Will.
“What the—”
“Tad, no one is here to hurt Nikki,” Will interrupted smoothly, “and we do not want to hurt you either. Well, I do not want to hurt you, but I cannot speak for my friend here.”
Aaron shot him a smirk over Tad’s head.
“Read this, and we will let you go.”
He resisted for just a second, and then Aaron could feel Tad relax under his grip. At Will’s nod, Aaron released him. Tad wordlessly turned around and exited the townhome like a good human.
Aaron snatched the parchment from Will’s hands and read the last, freshly inked line. “Never speak to Nikki again?”
Will grinned. “My gift to you.”
Will nodded towards the open door, and Aaron followed his gaze. Nikki did not even roll down her window to question Tad as he passed her car. She was quick to start the engine, but this time, Aaron and Will were also quick. They transferred to her—Will in the passenger seat and Aaron sitting behind her, his knees to his chest in the compact vehicle.
Will flashed his winning smile. “Shall we try again?”
“Ahhh!” Nikki’s response was loud enough to burst an eardrum. She floored the accelerator, hitting the curb and taking out a trash can. She over-corrected, crossing the street to the park and smashing into a tree.
Aaron’s face hit the headrest in front of him, sending the small padded rectangle off its posts, toppling over Nikki’s head. Will’s forehead left a good-sized dent in the dash above the glove compartment. A plume of smoke rose from the engine. Aaron leaned forward to take the keys from the ignition.
He assessed Nikki. Blood spilled from a gash on her head, and she was unresponsive. Dread gripped him. Humans were so fragile.
Aaron checked for her pulse at the neck. Her heart was still beating. He bowed his head a moment in silent gratitude to the stars, the ancestors, fate—whatever and whoever was listening.
“She is alive,” he told Will.
“We will take her to a hospital.”
“No,” Aaron decided aloud. “We are taking her home.”
UNEARTHED
A Middlebury Publishing House Book / December 2018
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of Middlebury Publishing House LLC.
Copyright © 2018 by Middlebury Publishing House LLC
Acknowledgments
Dad, thank you for passing on a passion for reading, creative writing, and storytelling. I get this blessing/curse from you.
Mom, thank you for tenaciously promoting an appreciation of art at a young age.
Sweet husband, thank you for your patience and unwavering support.
Robin, Jason, and Kimberley, thank you for your positivity and encouragement.
Amy and “Stug,” thank you for your time beta-reading, pre-editing, and providing helpful feedback in the early versions of this story.
Lana, thank you for your attention to detail in the final edits.
Thank you, my very funny children, for your collective ability to make me crazy—I couldn’t do all this sane.
Thank you to all my amazing friends for being enthusiastically supportive.
