by Shyla Colt
“Well, we have an answer about the spontaneous eclipse,” Larkin says.
“Are you okay?” Marcellus steps away and studies me.
“Right as rain.” My voice shakes betraying my lighthearted words.
“Liar,” Marcellus replies.
“Okay… physically, I’m unharmed.”
“Better,” Marcellus nods.
“Cristobal is going to be so mad he’s in the Middle East right now,” Gil adds softly
I groan. “Oh, he’s going to be livid. We need to call him right now.”
“Is Mother Nature pissed off or what?” Renee asks, joining us.
“Every witch in town is asking that question right now. I need to shower and prepare for the meeting that will be arranged.”
“Here,” Marcellus declares smoothly.
“That’s an option. I don’t get to make the final call, though.”
“You have it here, or we can accompany,” Marcellus demands.
“Why?”
“Cristobal is away on business, that means he’s not here to make you do the things you ought to,” Marcellus replies.
“What he’s saying is we’re responsible for your well-being, and we take that very seriously,” Larkin recants.
“No. This is witch business.”
“And yet, you’re not less ours to protect,” Marcellus counters.
“I can’t appear to be afraid of my own people. You don’t get to intrude on tradition or do anything to hurt my leadership. It’s a matter of respect. This isn’t a vampire attack. It’s a break down in the balance of nature.”
“And if you go off and find yourself harmed, who do you think will suffer?” Percival asks.
“Danger comes with ruling. We all know it’s a part of the job description. We knew dual roles would be tricky to navigate. Let’s learn how to handle it together.” I stand my ground and stare each of them down. “If I am to be the lady of this court, that means you obey me, not the other way around. We are bound. I promise to call for you if I ever have a need. You can even stay nearby, but you can’t be a visible presence. Separation is crucial. When I act as the Esçhete matriarch, its hands off unless indicated otherwise. There are too many witches who continue to distrust vampires. If we hope to change that we have to take baby steps. Foisting you into their fold at a vulnerable moment like this will only lead to resentment.”
The look at each other. I’ve won. I relax. “I’ll offer up the mansion as a suggested place for the meeting, but I won’t push.” Kneeling, I pick up the telephone I dropped off the floor. “I’ll let you know before I leave.”
Marcellus scowls. “Stubborn witch.”
“Pushy vampire,” I toss back.
***
Rows of white wooden lawn chairs decorate the Blanchard’s large backyard. The white gazebo surrounded by colorful blooms is straight out of a fairytale, along with the archway covered with pink azaleas, a black wrought iron bench, and a well-tended flower and herb garden on the opposite side of the yard. I wish we were gathered for a happy occasion. Seated between Mémé and my mother, I study the witches and wizards dressed in formal wear. Their faces are set in various stages of concern.
Quiet conversations rise around us. I lean forward and glance at Sacha who’s seated with the Morel family. Sensing my gaze, she turns to look at me. I arch an eyebrow and glance at the family surrounding her. She shrugs and smiles. I grin. Its official, she’s back in her father’s good graces. Snubbing them publicly would undo the progress they had managed. Seeing them operating as a functional unit feels good.
The council members begin to move toward the front. Mémé rises and takes her place beside the others.
“We’ve all heard about the eclipse and meteorite shower. It’s the reason we’re all here,” Meadow says. Her floor-length, floral patterned dress has a V-neck that shows off her slender collarbone and glowing skin. Her voice speaks peace with it’s soft, melodic quality. Tall and poised, Meadow is the epitome of grace as she walks from one end of the audience to the other, making constant eye contact. When this woman speaks, we all listen. Despite her light and airy tone, the power she possesses is prevalent. “We’ve come together to discuss theories, share any knowledge we may possess, and decide how we shall proceed.”
“Perhaps the ancestors are displeased with the unnatural events going on. Witches are consorting with vampires. There are heads of families with split alliances. It’s not the way it was ever done. We stick with our own kind.” Zephirin Dupeux’s voice booms out over the crowd.
“There was a time when this sort of thinking nearly cost us all our lives and legacies. We survived the Reaping by striking up working relationships with all the species. Because to overcome enemies we need to act together. Now, when a new powerful threat shows up, you wish to work backward?” I challenge his bigotry with fact. Tilting my head, I peer down my nose at him. “Sounds to me like the sort of thing we should be avoiding, unless we want history to repeat itself. We lost too much during the Reaping. We can’t afford to go down that road again. It’s no mystery many families are in short supply of members.”
“Your opinions are prejudiced at best,” Zephirin says haughtily.
If that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black.
“No, when they’re rooted in historical facts, it’s called accurate.”
“Your thoughts have been noted, Zephirin,” Meadow interjects. “Does anyone else wish to speak?”
“Due to the Esçhete’s open-minded approach, we believe we have a lead on what’s creating the upheaval in nature. I have invited someone who has more information to join us,” Mémé says. She gestures with a sweep of her hand, and we turn to face the entrance. Vale Meadow is escorting the Queen of Winter court herself down the aisle. The champagne-colored tulle dress has a silver sequined bodice that trails down into thin lines spaced evenly apart. A cape falls down into a train that trails behind her. It moves and flows like a living thing with each step she takes. Its winter couture at its finest. Dark ringlets of hair are twined with fairy lights.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Morel barks.
Sebile narrows her gaze and lowers her lashes.
“Sebile comes to us today in peace. Bound in accordance with the agreement made with Rosemond Esçhete, she is not seeking to harm any here. Our esteemed guest will be treated with the utmost respect and kindness. Lest someone forgets themselves, remember, she’s not forced to show mercy to those who step out of line,” Vale says. I spot her faithful servants, Cein and Kul, standing on either side of the flower arch. Even with good intentions, she wouldn’t be caught unguarded.
Spine straight as an arrow, she looks down on the crowd, nose wrinkled as if she smells something bad. Her smirk is full of secrets we can’t hope to know. Even out of her own kingdom, she acts as if we’re beneath her.
“There has been tampering with the veil between worlds. Someone seeks to open a portal that would allow their entire world entrance onto this plane. This is the root of your problems.”
“If you knew so much, why are we only now hearing about it?” Mr. Morel asks.
“The problems of humans concern me very little. I would not risk an upset to the balance in my kingdom for those who care none for me and mine. But I enjoy our arrangement enough to allow you to investigate on my lands where I first detected the anomaly.”
Everyone begins to chatter at once.
“You expect us to trust you with one of our own?” Zephirin asks.
“One of yours? No?” She laughs. The bell-like sound is cruel and cold, like the season she rules.
“Who will you grant safe passage, wise one?” Meadow asks, smoothing the rough waters like a white-water rafting champion.
“I’ve chosen one to represent you. A person I believe understands the complexity of traversing my rules and my people. She
has consented to carry your cause and agreed to my terms. I choose Louella Esçhete.”
“Of course you choose her,” someone shouts in the crowd.
Sebile snaps her finger. Choking begins. “I think you’ve forgotten who you address. I am Queen of the Winter Court and daughter of the Night. Your fragile human bodies would buckle at the mere thought of the things I’ve done to others for far less. Consider this your only warning.” Large gulps for air come from the back.
The invisible barrier keeping the rain from falling in the space does nothing to block the muggy heat. The moisture only unleashes misery with no cooling qualities. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable under the stares and poor conditions.
Frost coats the ground, and the temperature drastically plunges. Snowflakes drift to the ground. The acrid scent of fear drifts to me on a frigid breeze. The wind picks up, blowing her hair behind her like a dark banner. Amber streaks flicker inside the living purple fire of her amethyst gaze. Cein and Kul stalk forward with eerie twin movements toward the offender.
“Apologize to our Queen.” Hands on the hilt of their swords they stop by Everard Dupeux. Like ignorant father, like son.
Everard raises his chin. “I am allowed to have an opinion among my own people. This is my world.”
The swords sing as they are pulled from their scabbard.
I rise. “Peace, brothers. I offer retribution.” I walk over, back straight and eyes firmly fixed on the glitter black chips of ice that bore into me. I kneel before them and lift my hand, palm up.
Cein and Kul exchange a silent conversation with a look.
“Lady, are you sure?” Cein asks, deferring to my connection with the court. It’s a blood matter.
“Please, let my blood be a tribute for this affront.”
“Very well.” The sharp blade bites into the flesh of my palm. I clench my jaw, ignoring the pain. The blood wells up a red river in my palm. I tilt it and let it color the grass.
“Blood is spilled, and the apology is accepted,” Cein and Kul announce in tandem. Kul holds out his hand and helps me to my feet.
Sebile floats toward me, hovering over the ground. “This is the woman I’ve chosen. See how well she handles herself. With dignity, honor, and bravery. The courts of Summer, Fall, and Spring extend their welcome.” With a flourish of her hand, she heals my cut. A trail of snowflakes spin around me. The enchanted pieces of fluffy white frozen water dance, glitter in the sun like a scene from a winter wonderland movie. They whirl faster and faster, becoming a miniature blizzard. This is what it’d feel like to be inside a snow globe.
“Hold out your hand,” Sebile commands.
I do as she asks. A fat snowball lands in my palms. With a flash of blue light, it becomes an hourglass. Pure white sands and white wooden frame.
“You have twenty-four hours to prepare for your journey. We shall come to retrieve you when the final sand drops. I’ll take my leave. Interactions with humans are so very tedious.” She takes to the sky, becoming a swirling fluid white. Her twin protectors follow at her side, dark splashes of black that flank her in a stunning display of black and white.
“Well, that’s one way to make an exit,” Meadow cracks the joke.
Nervous laughter sweeps over the group like mass hysteria.
“Are we trusting our future to this slip of a girl who only recently rejoined our community?” Zephirin asks.
“Well, you made certain it wouldn’t be your lot once you opened your mouth, didn’t you?” Mémé snaps.
An older witch rises in the back. Her gray hair is slicked back and wound tightly in a bun that makes her slender, oval-shaped face almost gaunt. Her high cheekbones are dusted with blush, her thin lips have a touch of color, and her wide-set brown eyes are full of intensity. “She’s proven herself capable of navigating choppy waters. How many of us made foolish decisions growing up? Are we going to hold her to that forever?”
I finally place her. Tangela Bishop.
“I will question anyone who’s in charge of representing us as a whole. This entire thing should’ve been vetted through the council. We decide who’s worthy of such monumental tasks.”
“Here! Here!” The cry rises among his cronies.
Is that what this is about? His pride is wounded because the council was skipped over?
“May I remind everyone that this is Sebile’s call to make?” Meadow says.
I stand. “If you plan to insult my character and capabilities, you’ll damn well do it to my face. I did leave. I had soul searching to do. If you expect me to apologize for that, you’ll be waiting for eternity. I questioned what I believed in and why. I hope I’m always able to do that because there’s nothing worse than going through the motions simply for the sake of it. We must always explore, expand, and progress. That’s what my time away did for me. I returned because I was one-hundred percent sure it was where I belonged. I am dedicated to my family, our people, and my responsibilities. The Esçhetes have never let the magical community down when it counted. We won’t start with this generation.” How quickly people forget all we’ve sacrificed, and how hard we fought beside them.
“Soon we’ll see if all of this is more than lip service.” Zephirin sneers.
I stare him down. “You will.” I’m going to make you choke on every vile thing you’ve spewed here. With titles come the need to save face, be treated with respect, and stand your ground. I can no longer afford to live a turn-the-other-cheek lifestyle. If I’m honest, the fire in my belly is proof I no longer want to.
Chapter Twelve
Silence falls over our group as the final sand falls in the hourglass. Larkin, Marcellus, Percival, and Ada form a semi-protective circle around Sacha and I as we await our fate. With Fel acting as our eyes and ears with the council, we’re free to try to tackle the task at hand. The wards scream as Sebile demands entrance. I lower them. Snowfall announces her arrival. I watch, amazed as snowflakes form into a silhouette that becomes the Unseelie-born Faerie. Dressed in a white fur cape with a muff on her hands, all she needs is a sleigh to complete the look. Shiny strands of bone straight hair stand out against the blinding white of her outfit.
She removes the full hood obscuring a part of her face and surveys our group. “Prompt and ready. I like it. It’s never good to keep a queen waiting.” She eyes us critically. It’s a struggle not to squirm under her thorough inspection. Unsure what to take on a visit for an undetermined amount of time, we all packed one small suitcase. “Those rags will never do where we’re going.” Clucking her tongue, she waves her hands in the air, becoming our fairy godmother. Tingles run up my nerve endings as my chic black dress pants and blouse are transformed into a stunning velvet emerald gown that hugs my body, nips in at the waist, and bells down over old-fashioned, button-up, black boots with a slight heel. A dark brown fur cloak with a hood is wrapped around me.
Sacha has been dressed similarly in a velvet blue gown and a sable fur cape, and Ada in a soft rose-colored dress with a light brown cape. The men look like something out of a British period piece with dark pants, vests of various gray tones, mid-length coats, capes, and cravats. Their Victorian style reminds of a Jane Austen novel. Mix in their innate arrogance, and you’ve got dead ringers for Mr. Darcy.
“Better. You’re decent enough to enter my realm.” Careful you don’t compliment us too much, we’ll think you’re up to something. “Remember to mind your manners. You’re my guests, and while I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, there are rules you must abide by. Harm none, offend none, and be wary of tricks and deals.”
I open my mouth to ask her what kind of protection she is lending us when the bottom drops out of my stomach. Air rushes past my face. I close my eyes tightly to help with vertigo and keep my stomach from rebelling. The disorienting trip ends abruptly in the middle of a snowy clearing. Despite the depth of the snow, I don’t feel the cold or wetness on
my dress. Is the clothing charmed or is it their world? The sky above is a pearly gray with clouds fit to burst with snow at any moment. The snow-covered trees and hills are a postcard perfection. Plump red berries stand out on the branches. My mouth waters. I can imagine their sweet flavor melting onto my tongue.
“Careful, Lou.” Sacha touches my arm.
“Thank you.” I shake my head to clear it. The land comes with built-in temptations. There’s no telling what the berries would do to me. There are reasons humans who cross the barrier stay so long. In the distance, an elegant gray stone castle rises up toward the heavens. An icy pond rests to the far right, and a massive maze stands in front of the structure. The lush green walls lend a mysterious vibe to the building. A coach drawn by cream-colored Clydesdales with black roses wove into their magnificent manes, and feathered hairpieces, roll toward us.
The black coach is royalty ready with its gold filigree along the side, large golden wheels, and a golden crown of thrones rests in the dead center of the roof. As it gets closer, I see the galley along the edge of the roof is composed off intricately connected snowflakes. The horses whiny as the carriage comes to a halt, and a coachman in a black suit hops down. Long white hair tumbles down his back, framing his angular face. The pointed chin, thin pink lips, and large, bright purple eyes fringed with long white lashes give him an elfin appearance.
He bows. “My Queen.” Opening the carriage door, he offers his hand. She takes it and floats up and inside the coach. Seated on the blood-red cushioned bench, she’s every inch a royal ruler.
“Alston, gather their things.” He removes a stool from inside the carriage and begins to load our bags onto an invisible luggage rack. I can’t see the apparatus, but the suitcases are staying.
“Are you going to join me, or do you plan to walk to the manor?”
Her words spur us into motion. Larkin and Marcellus move into position, helping us up into the coach.
“There will be a feast to celebrate your arrival. Tomorrow I will take you to the hall of mirrors.”
