by Patti Larsen
I led Shenka through the house, up the stairs toward Mia's room with a level of confidence I didn't feel, knowing I was going against Mom's orders, but unable to just sit on my hands any longer.
What was that woman doing?
Mia's door creaked as I let us in, the heavy wood swinging wide. Mia sat propped up on her countless pillows, purple and black velvet holding her up. She didn't seem to see us, staring off into space while a slender woman with Dumont features hovered at her side, head down, blonde hair hanging limp. She at least looked up as we came closer, blue eyes full of tears.
“Coven Leader.” The young woman, about my age I guessed, snuffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her faint French accent confirmed her breeding. “I don't know what to do to help her.” She gestured vaguely at Mia who continued to stare into space.
Shenka acted before I could as my discomfort grew, my second sitting next to the Dumont girl.
“I'm Sashenka Hensley,” she said. “What's your name?”
“Marie,” the girl said. Sniffed again. “Marie Dumont. I'm Mia's second cousin.” My power brushed over her, felt how weak she was. Did whoever stole the Dumont power take personal magic as well or was the Dumont family really so fragile?
Nothing would surprise me, Gram snapped in my mind. Leave Shenka with the girls and go poke around already.
Bossy. Fine.
I slipped from the room to the sound of Shenka comforting Marie, Charlotte trailing behind, nose upturned. I heard her sniff a few times and raised an eyebrow at her, but she just shook her head.
“Rupe,” she said. “But the rest of the scents are too muddled to make out.”
Surely the Enforcers tested for power in the same way Charlotte's nose tested for scent. I let my energy slide outwards, thin little threads, staying low and almost undetectable—I hoped. If the Enforcers caught me snooping, I'd be in major trouble.
Like this. Gram seized my magic and spun it around, turning it inside out, so the power reflected back on itself. Super simple, absolutely easy.
Why didn't I think of it?
Enforcer trick, Gram grunted. Get to it.
Promising myself I'd turn over whatever I found to Mom and Pender immediately, I snuck down the corridor, letting my newly disguised magic wander the halls and rooms and multi-floors of the castle while Charlotte opened her nose and tried to unravel the mess of smells. I was so focused on trying to find the source of the attack, I totally missed the fact I wasn't alone anymore until I almost stumbled on the three witches, huddled close, whispering to each other.
It was only Charlotte’s rumbling growl of warning that kept me from barging right into them. I stumbled to a halt, looking around the vast library just before I met a pair of chill blue eyes now locked on me. Andre Dumont straightened, falling silent, his two sons equally still. Gone was the harsh arrogance I was used to, the sharp jab of superiority the Dumont men carried around with them. Instead, Andre's attempt to appear better-than fell sadly short, a play in petulance echoed by Jean Marc and Kristophe.
They were the last people I'd expected to run into. I guess I privately hoped maybe they were among the dead.
Bad, Syd. Bad, bad.
“Come to gloat?” Andre's deep, rich voice sounded hollow in the vast room full of books with its arching ceiling. Odette’s only son’s accent was stronger than I remembered, perhaps influenced by the turn of events.
I shrugged. “Just checking on my people.” Fell flat. Yup. Oh well, not like I was really going to fool anyone.
Jean Marc glared, his short, dark hair normally neat now a mess while Kristophe's attempt at a model pose, his favorite, just came across as sad. Desperately sad.
“I haven't seen you since Mom's trial.” Andre had been in the thick of things when it came to Mom’s arrest, I knew it. Absolutely in Odette's confidence. But his claim he'd been coerced by his own mother was accepted by the Council and he'd been set free. No longer the Dumont’s representative on Council, he’d retreated in defeat to the Dumont family. To hide, for all I knew. Now the only direct living descendant aside from Mia, this had to be hitting him almost as hard. If for different and more selfish reasons.
How the mighty—in his own mind—had fallen.
Andre's gaze flickered over my shoulder, a tight smile pulling at his mouth, bitterness rampant. “Bonjour, Charlotte,” he said. “We've missed you, cher.”
She chuffed softly, but didn't comment, though I felt the wolf in her stir in fury. She'd been Andre's possession for years, her whole pack had. The Sidhe hound Galleytrot freed her, freed all of them, but she still hadn't located her father, Raoul. At least, as far as I knew. The way Charlotte kept to herself, he could have been sleeping at the foot of her bed and I probably wouldn't have known.
“I'm sorry about what happened.” I surprised myself with how genuine my words came out. So much all three Dumonts flinched.
Andre bowed his head just a fraction. “Your immediate assistance when summoned was greatly appreciated.” Man, that had to hurt. Gram cackled in my head, still eavesdropping, but I wasn't about to give her the boot. She deserved the chance to see the Dumont family thanking me. Made her day, I bet.
My eyes drifted to Kristophe's right hand as it twitched, a white stone turning in his fingers as I answered. “I was asked to help,” I said, something stirring in my chest, crackling. “And I didn't hesitate.” What was it? Poking me, prodding at me to pay attention.
More than they would have done for us, Gram snarled.
As I examined the feeling, the walls around the idea split, burst into a dark bubble building inside my stomach as I stared at the stone in Kristophe's hand. He clenched his fist around it when he noticed me watching, but that just made my anxiety grow.
No. It couldn't be. But it made the most logical sense, didn't it?
Didn't it?
“Give that to me.” I held out my hand, the demand backed with power. Kristophe refused at first before Andre snarled at him in French. Long hair hanging over his shoulder, Kristophe shrugged delicately before dropping the white stone into my palm even as my entire body stilled.
Fear like I'd never know zinged through me as I reached for the stone.
And felt nothing.
Not crystal. Not a trap for power after all. Just a smooth, white stone.
I handed it back with my fear still alive, kicking myself I hadn't even considered what I now assumed had to be the truth. The blossom of understanding felt like an epiphany, one I should have had the moment I felt the attack on Mia. Even without proof, what other explanation could there be?
It had to be them.
The Brotherhood.
Oh. My. Swearword.
Gram swore in my head so loudly I almost jumped. We're all idiots, she snarled. Get back here right now.
I spun from the three Dumonts, knowing I'd likely made a very terrible mistake, letting three days pass. Three days for the Brotherhood to track and plot another coven's demise. To take another family's magic.
Desperation clenched a fist around my lungs, my heart as I thought of Shenka’s sister on the West coast. Of how I could have been wrong, after all. Didn’t trust Mom to keep me posted, feared Quaid was under orders to stay silent.
Tallah. The Hensleys. All of the covens.
Please, please. No.
I was almost back to Mia's room, reaching for Shenka when I heard the first scream.
***
Chapter Ten
Panic drove me through the door, power gathered, expecting a battle with sorcery, the Brotherhood, someone dying.
Enforcers flooded the doorway behind me, shoving me forward, gaping at Mia. Who stood, mouth wide open, on her bed. Screaming. Screaming, as if she were being murdered, at the top of her lungs. Even the Enforcers screeched to a halt and stared while Mia had a very ugly, very emotional breakdown.
“I WANT IT BACK!” Her wailing words drove spikes through my ears, the pain behind them almost as bad as the volume she used. No one had to a
sk her what “it” was. The blank absence of the family magic gaped like an open wound. I glanced toward Shenka who crouched on the floor, shielding Marie who sobbed, blood running from her nose. Whatever triggered Mia's eruption injured the young Dumont.
She's out of control. I sent that tight beam to the Enforcer beside me, the same woman I'd encountered at the front door. Do something.
I'm not allowed to interfere. The woman's equally tight reply came through as though she mentally clenched her teeth.
She had to be kidding me. Fine, I snapped back. Stay out of the way.
Magic surging, I stepped forward and reached for Mia, spinning power around her, cutting off her desperate yearning, tying her down with blue flames. She collapsed into the magic, but her rage didn't dissipate. Instead, she refocused it.
Guess where?
“GET OUT!” Her feeble energy battered against me like a butterfly trying to escape a glass jar. “AND TAKE YOUR WITCHES WITH YOU!”
And that was that. The Enforcer lieutenant shrugged at me, brow furrowed, mental voice apologetic as she spoke. You heard her, she sent. Time to go, Leader Hayle.
Damn it.
Damn it.
The twins appeared as if by magic—no kidding—the rest of my family joining her as I clomped my way down the wide stairs, fury waging war with guilt and disappointment while Mia's shrieking chased me all the way from her bedroom. The two Enforcer escorts didn't give me a chance to do much but head for the exit.
And honestly? At that point, it felt a lot like good riddance. Especially if I was right about the Brotherhood. If the sorcerer league hell-bent on destroying all magic but their own really was behind the theft of the Dumont power, I had my own troubles to consider. And Mia's family wasn't part of them.
Finally, Gram sent.
I almost missed him, the familiar pale, scarred face, white hair, diminutive body hiding behind a doorway. But his open smile and bright blue eyes stood out like a sore thumb in this house of pain and loss. When he waved at me, I nodded ever so slightly back. That seemed to be enough. He vanished as I passed out the front door of the Dumont mansion, hearing it boom shut behind me.
It wasn't until I delivered my people home again and walked into the kitchen with my entire body clenched to keep from flying apart I was able to formulate the words I needed.
“Why was Demetrius Strong at the Dumont mansion?” The former head of the Chosen of the Light tried several times to kill me before becoming an ally. Of sorts. If an insane sorcerer could be considered an ally.
Gram stood at the kitchen window, one foot tapping the floor, soundless in her fuzzy sock. When she turned to face me, her pinched expression told me she'd been as deep in her own thoughts as I had been in mine.
“Gram,” I said while Shenka stepped aside, arms wrapped around herself. “You knew him before, when you were an Enforcer.” She admitted as much, or gave me that impression, when Demetrius helped me against the vampire queens. “Who is he working for?”
Gram shrugged, a sharp, angry gesture. “I don't know,” she said. “But if he's here, you can damned well believe we missed the obvious.” One of her thin, wrinkled hands slammed down on the counter. “How did we miss it? How did we fail to realize the Brotherhood was the logical choice?”
I shuddered and turned from her, head down, hating to say what I did next. “Maybe because they wanted us to.” Gram spun on me as though I'd slapped her even as I looked up and met her eyes, feeling a dullness rise inside me. “You know they've done it before. They're subtle enough at it, we'd never know.”
Gram shook her head, white hair flying, rage striking sparks in her eyes. “No,” she snapped. “No. I don't believe it.” She stomped one foot, the floor shaking as her power expelled through the sole of her foot. “Absolutely not.”
Well, if she was that sure... “Then why?”
Gram's scowl was so deep my face hurt in sympathy. “Because,” she said. “We've been complacent. Too wrapped up in the loss of the power, in the tragedy, to think straight. Told to stay the hell out of it, weren't we?” She began to pace. “So no, not the Brotherhood, girl. They didn't put that suggestion in our heads.” Gram stopped, faced me, the woman she was, the Enforcer who had been, showing in her eyes. “No, that was left by someone much closer to home.”
I gasped as I made the connection. “You think Mom...?”
Gram spun so her back was to me, hands gripping the counter edge, gaze locked outside. “Miriam.”
“But why?” Shenka spoke when I couldn't. Not while bile rose in my throat, my stomach churning, mix of rage and disbelief stabbing me so hard I almost threw up. “Why would Miriam use suggestion on us?”
“Only one answer to that,” Gram said. “She already knew it was the Brotherhood and needed to protect Syd.”
Oh no, she did not. “I'm going to kill her.” It was the only logical next step. Murdering my mother. Absolutely.
Gram kicked the lower cupboards twice before turning again, pinning me with her faded blue eyes. “Me first,” she said.
Shenka stepped between us as the plan formed and grew in our minds, the perfect plan to dispose of Mom’s body when we were done. “She had her reasons,” my second said in a voice meant to soothe. “Clearly she never expected Syd to try to investigate.”
She knew me better than that. Which is why she used the suggestion. And it had to have cost her, considering it held for three days. Three wasted days.
She'd suffer. Oh, how she'd suffer.
Gram grunted, shoulders sagging. “It was a terrible decision,” she said, voice falling to a whisper, “but I understand her motives. Might have done the same thing.” Her eyes met mine again as I spluttered. “To save the family.”
Those four words were a splash of cold water. Mom warned me, didn't she? And since when did I ever listen? Didn't give her the right to take matters into her own hands and I'd absolutely make sure she understood so in crystal clarity. But the family.
The family.
“I need to talk to her.” Preferably after I'd cooled off a bit, but there was no helping my state of mind, not now. Not after I'd wasted three freaking days.
“What about Demetrius?” Shenka looked back and forth between us. She'd been filled in on everything and though she'd not met him, she understood how important he could be.
“I don't know,” I said. “He used to lead the Chosen. Then he was working for Batsheva.” I clenched my jaw against the memory of her fangs in my neck, comforted by the fact her shell grew mold in my basement. “He might be working for the Brotherhood now.” Though Liander Belaisle, the Brotherhood leader I’d met when Trill and Owen Zornov first came into my life, treated Demetrius with nothing but disdain the last time they met one another.
And Demetrius swore to me he was on my side. The fact he showed himself gave me some comfort.
Some.
“Demetrius Strong had older masters even than the Brotherhood,” Gram said, grim faced, but with a spark of hope in her voice. “The Steam Union recruited him long ago.”
The what?
Gram must have known I'd just ply her with endless questions. For once, she gave up what she knew without a fight.
“There are two camps,” she said. “The Brotherhood and the Steam Union. Both sects of sorcerers. Only one sect is out for magical domination. And the other wants to find a way we can all work together.”
I snorted. Couldn't help it. The idea of good sorcerers made me want to puke all over again.
Gram pinned me with her gaze. “There are two sides to everything, girl,” she said. “Don't ever forget it.”
Fine. Whatever. “I'm going to see Mom,” I said. “If Demetrius has something to share, he knows how to find us.” I couldn't worry about him right now.
“Perfect,” Gram said, linking her arm with mine, eyes glittering anger. “I'm coming with you.”
A tiny, infinitesimal part of me actually felt sorry for Mom.
The rest of me still hadn't decided if
she'd survive the encounter or not.
***
Chapter Eleven
We found her in her office, bent over a stack of paperwork. Didn't bother knocking. Or using regular channels. I was in a bad enough mood over the whole mess I simply slid us through the edge of the wards. The pentagram necklace I wore around my neck carried enough of Mom’s essence to fool the shielding around her office into letting us through while the touch of Gram's Enforcer power, what she still carried with her, sealed the deal.
To Mom's credit, she didn't freak out. Just looked up with a resigned expression, blue eyes snapping fire as she waved at her door, sealing it with a rush of magic.
“I've been waiting for you,” she said. “Hungry?”
Her attitude knocked me totally off guard. I’d lunged into the veil expecting a fight, ready for one. Couldn't wait. But, instead of our usual nuclear party-time, Mom rose from her desk and gestured at the small table beside the window. The scent of roasted chicken and veggies preceded the magical arrival of dinner, making my stomach growl and mouth water.
So not fair.
Charlotte remained by the door, eyes never leaving us as Gram sat with a cackle of delight, tearing the chicken apart with her bare hands, slapping a slab of torn white meat on my plate and a leg and wing on her own before she licked both of her hands clean.
Well, at least she did the licking after she served me.
Mom didn't flinch, sitting with a sigh, her knife and fork carving some of her own selection before she helped herself to carrots and a small stack of mashed potatoes. Gram shoveled a large dollop next to my chicken, followed by a ladle full of veggies while I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at my mother.
“You coerced me.” This whole little show of hers, dinner, calm, yeah. Not buying it. And while I had to admit the edge was gone from my anger, my demon's bubbling rage could bring it back anytime.
