by Cecy Robson
But of course, because this asshole (aka my new arm) hasn’t caused enough trouble, it starts to buzz, hard enough to shake Bren and shove him away from me.
“Aric—” he begins as Koda’s growls erupt like lava from a pissed off volcano.
I don’t think he gets the last syllable out before the SUV screeches to a stop and Aric yanks Celia from the front passenger seat. Blue and white light erupts like a flash of my lightning, overtaking the cabin and blinding us.
My breath catches as I see Celia, materializing like an apparition in the distance. She’s wearing a loose white gown, clutching a small bundle against her. My screams release in a sob. I think she’s dead, I’m sure of it, until the light drifts away in tendrils, revealing a room with thick carpet.
Vertical stripes of beige and cream line the walls. She smiles, singing softly to her little bundle as she carefully lowers herself onto a poofy floral print chair. The blanket swaddling her little one slips away as she lifts the baby over her shoulder, unveiling a head of spiky black hair and a sweet face munching on his tiny fist.
Aric steps into sight, kneeling in front of them, wearing his typical jeans and long-sleeved shirt. He lifts his hand to lightly stroke his baby’s head, a sense of awe I’ve never seen overtaking him like a mist.
Jesus. His son looks just like him, but those eyes blinking back at me are my sister’s, causing mine to sting.
Aric says something to Celia that makes her beam, despite the lack of sleep swelling their features. They’re tired and physically worn. But they’re happy. For what seems like too long they’re finally happy.
I’m not sure where I am, but I’m guessing this is the stronghold the Omega is preparing. And even though I know I don’t belong, I want to stay. It’s peaceful, quiet, and safe, yet the perimeter surrounding it feels like a fortress of power. But as quickly as the image arrives, it dwindles away.
That’s when I feel the extent of Bren’s crushing weight, and exactly how hard Koda is pinning my legs. I cough, trying to breathe. It’s only as the shudders from my arm rattling the three of us diminish that Bren lifts off me.
“Shit,” he says, staring toward the front where the apparition took form. “Holy shit, what did we just see?”
I don’t answer, wondering how he saw what I did.
Koda eases of me, shock spreading along the rigid angles of his sharp features. He doesn’t growl, not this time. For the first time since taking “Taran watch” he looks to where Aric is carefully leading Celia back to the SUV.
The vision, however sweet, leaves them stunned and speechless. It’s not until Aric clicks his seatbelt in place that he finally speaks, but even then, it’s solely to Celia, as if no one else exists. “Are those the colors you picked for the baby’s room?” he asks.
“Yes,” she replies, appearing almost scared to answer.
“And the chair?” he asks. “Was that something you wanted?”
She releases a breath, and likely a great deal of stress she’s kept from him. “I found it on line the other night. I thought it was pretty and selected the colors based on the tones in the pattern.” Her voice grows so soft, I barely catch her next few words. “I thought they would look nice together.”
Aric grips the steering wheel. “Did you show your sisters?” he asks.
He’s asking if he showed me, trying to gauge how probable this future is.
“I didn’t show anyone, love,” she answers, a slight quiver shaking her voice. “I’ve been afraid to have too much hope.”
I’ve suspected as much. But to hear her say it is a whole different beast. He gathers her to him, because for all Aric is a born killer, he’s nothing but heart and soft touches when it comes to my sister.
“I’ve been afraid, too,” he admits, his voice carrying the strain of his fears.
She melts against him. I can’t see her, but I know she is smiling, and maybe crying a little, too. “I think he’s a boy,” she tells him quietly.
“That was my guess.” He glances over his shoulder, meeting my stare. “Thank you,” he says.
I almost don’t think he’s talking to me. “For what?” I ask.
“For giving us the faith we’ve needed.”
My heart clenches a little, but it’s not related to the hope that suddenly surrounds them. It’s fear that overtakes me. This limb may have given them a glimpse of what they want. But I don’t trust it. Not when it can easily take everything away from them.
Chapter Three
Aric turns the Yukon onto a wooded path partially hidden by a dense spread of trees. And FYI, Koda wasn’t kidding when he said we’d feel the coven’s protective wards. What could only be described as a giant wall of plastic wrap, stretches against my body, only to release with a sudden pop.
“You okay?” Aric asks when Celia shudders. “You weren’t supposed to feel it, Genevieve assured me.”
She brushes her arms off like she can sense something on her skin. “I always feel their magic,” she says. “But it didn’t hurt, and was just a minor sensation.”
“Good,” Bren mutters. “Cause I hate that shit. No need for Celia and baby Bren to feel it, too.”
Celia laughs. “Baby Bren?” she asks, ignoring the way Aric’s eyes narrow in the rearview mirror.
“Just figured you’d name him after the best wolf you know,” Bren answers, grinning. “No offense, Aric.”
“Fuck off,” Aric growls in return.
I wish I could laugh along with Celia, but I’m absolutely loathing the way the witch’s mojo scrapes against my skin. Mercifully, the prickly sensation doesn’t last. But no sooner do we plow over what resembles drying and very thorny blackberry brambles than the ground evens out and the collective muscle of the coven’s power kicks into overdrive.
Stacked stone pavers materialize one by one as the SUV roars ahead, creating a path. The line of trees stretch outward, widening the road. I don’t want to be impressed, but I’ll admit I very well am.
I’ve never been to Casa de Genevieve, yet I’ve heard her sorority sisters gush about its beauty and elegance.
“A sight to behold,” one of them raved, close enough for me and my sisters to hear.
“Over a century old and brought from Massachusetts by pure will of force,” another said.
And by that she meant Genevieve’s awe-worthy magic. Again, meant for us to hear, and likely to warn us, too. I didn’t take it too seriously before. I’ve clashed with the oh-so powerful Vieve more than once and managed to hold my own. But that was too long ago, when my fire and lightning could match anything she threw at me.
“Have your visions ever been visible to anyone else?” Koda asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
He’s kept his gaze ahead since the vision appeared, as if waiting for another one. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t kept a close watch on me. “No,” I respond.
“So it’s related to your,” he motions to my side, “Appendage.”
“You mean this thing?” I ask, lifting my arm and smiling with as much warmth as Bren had. “Looks that way, big guy.”
My visions are another thing that makes me weird. In the supernatural world, only soothsayers and mystical leader-types are supposed to be able to experience them. But they have better control and use magic from their Packs, covens, or clans to call them forth. Mine appear at random and usually revolve around death, destruction, and exploding demon parts.
Feel free to envy me at any time. Or don’t, and hang on to your sanity.
I want Aric to be right and that whatever we saw is a glimpse of all the good things to come. But honestly, I can’t help thinking this arm of mine is screwing with all of us. So I’m not exactly tickled pink over what I saw. Mostly, I’m hoping it doesn’t end in detonating innards, mainly ours.
I try not to react as the pavers materializing in front of us expand and the tree line vanishes, unveiling acres upon acres of cultivated land.
Along the fields, women in long gray dresses, white bonnets and apr
ons, tend to the newly sprouted leaves. Anyone lucky enough to survive all the mystical booby-traps leading into this place would likely think he or she stumbled onto an Amish farm or a convent, based on the way they’re dressed. But the Amish and nuns are considered quiet, modest folk who keep to themselves. Not like these women of power. Oh, no, anyone here is likely capable of torturing any man or beast who they feel wronged them.
Even from this distance, I can see their lips moving fast, chanting as they water the bundles of green leaves and tend to the soil. Whatever they’re saying strengthens the earth and wards along the compound. But those plants are soaking up the magic, too, assuring they’ll fortify any potion they’re used in.
If I hadn’t seen the witches’ dark side firsthand, or had the experiences I’ve had with Vieve, I’d likely be impressed by their commitment and hard work. But I have, and know better than to trust them.
Weres have an alliance with the witches, and as Guardians of the Earth they share a special connection. The only connection I have is with my sisters, and every now and then with the vamps, but that’s good enough for me. My sisters are my best friends. The vamps are . . . okay, self-centered, bratty, and more than a little slutty. Yet, at least the vamps have the stones to tell you to fuck off to your face as opposed to hexing you the moment you turn your back.
The road veers off in three different directions: one toward the field, another toward the woods, and another to what appears to be the rear of the compound. Aric keeps going more or less straight until the fields lined with herbs are replaced with what feels like an enchanted garden.
Rows of rose bushes in alternating shades of red, purple, and yellow blooms as large as my hand, extend outward and over the heads of the witches tending to them. These bunch of spell-wielders are a lot closer. They glance up as we pass, frowning slightly as they continue their chants.
They sense the wolves. But their frowns deepen because they also sense me and Celia. We’ve never been popular, and we sure aren’t going to score any points today.
Celia stiffens, her claws protruding slightly before she lulls her inner kitty back to sleep. Like me, she’s not a fan of the coven, nor is she thrilled by the response we evoke.
“Easy, sweetness,” Aric whispers.
Celia’s claws can puncture through bone, but Aric keeps his hand over hers, regardless. He doesn’t want to let her go. Hell unleashed the last time he did.
“I would have liked Shayna and Emme here,” she tells him.
“I know,” he responds. “But I couldn’t be sure what would happen on our way here. Koda and Bren were the better choices to subdue Taran.”
There’s that word again. But he has a point, the wolves are physically stronger. Yet Aric’s choice was based on more than their combined muscle. Shayna and Emme are more polite and pc than me, but they recognize how petty the witches can be, just as Aric recognizes they would rush to my defense if the witches messed with me.
“He just didn’t want the four of you getting into another mystical smack-down with the broom humpers,” Bren says, pointing out the obvious. He grins. “Though it could be kind of hot.”
Only because he’s picturing the smack-down taking place in a pool of mud and us wearing nothing but thongs and naughty smiles. I laugh a little, but this time Celia doesn’t join me. She casts me a worried glance as we round a garden and Vieve’s crib comes into view.
As much as I’m trying to keep my expression neutral, I’m blown away by the yellow and white Victorian mansion straight out of the 1880’s.The thing is mammoth and so ridiculously pristine it practically sparkles.
What must be Vieve’s family crest is etched into every lead glass window while intricate patterns of flowers and ivy are carved into the shutters, molding, overhangs, and along the porch railing. The double, extra-wide and extra-tall, front doors are made of stained glass and brass, depicting a woman with long dark hair on one side and one with gray on the other, their hands united. The one on the left resembles Vieve, but based on the appearance of these doors, they were created long ago and decades before she was born.
Two witches march across the widow’s peak three levels up, their deepening scowls appearing to interrupt their chanting. Given their positions and their tight hold over their long metal staffs, they’re Genevieve’s bodyguards. And because of their appointed roles, they must be among the strongest in her coven.
Instead of brooms, Volkswagen Jettas in alternating colors line a large lot to the far right. Aric, doesn’t bother with the lot, parking in front of the walkway leading up to the three-story monstrosity. I’m not sure if his choice of a parking spot is reflection of his position among the supernatural elite, or if it’s something more. Whatever it is, it gives me one hell of a pause.
“Wait for me,” he tells Celia, half a breath before appearing on her side to open the door.
He takes her hand as she slips out. I follow behind Bren, my attention on the witches and the way they’re eyeing us. I should be happy I’m here, and that maybe Aric is right, Genevieve is who I need. But I’ve never wanted to need anyone, especially her. So I’m not happy, not even a little bit, the anxiety twisting my stomach, roiling it further.
Bren flings a lazy arm over my shoulder as I hop out. I try to smile at the gesture of support, despite my need to rip Aric’s keys from his hand and get us the hell out of Witchville. Forget that it’s already been a shit day, but the collective magic from this mystical bunch continues to claw at my skin and is seconds from biting.
Before the incident that robbed me of my arm, I would have met that magic with equal force and a whole lot of attitude. But I can’t protect myself like I once did, and what’s worse is, I can’t protect my sister and that little one nestled inside of her.
Aric draws Celia so close his knuckles brush against her thigh. It demonstrates who she is to him and warns anyone against getting too near. I know he’ll keep her safe. Not that I want him to have to.
“You all right?” Bren whispers in my ear, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“Fine. Just want this over with,” I answer. He’s trying to be a friend all while keeping me away from Genevieve’s peeps.
Hey. Just because my magic sucks doesn’t mean I won’t try to use it if threatened.
The two on the roof levitate downward, the amulets perched on top of their staffs glistening with sunlight and their power.
“Aric,” the one with the dark hair and olive dress says. She tilts her chin slightly his way all the while pegging me with a glare.
Yeah. Not making homecoming court around here.
“Xana,” he says in a way of answer. “Genevieve is expecting us.”
“All of you?” she questions, keeping her attention on me.
“Yes,” he says, his tone gaining an edge. “Not that I should have to explain myself to you.”
Once more, there’s that alpha muscle, and once more it flexes. She nods slightly. “My apologies,” she says, like it’s killing her to say it.
Her stance is rigid, struggling to keep her gaze away from Celia. Girlfriend better try real hard. She’s already insulted the wolf. Don’t piss him off by casting shade on his mate or giving him a reason to think you’re a threat to her safety.
“Lesser Paula,” she calls.
Lesser? I turn in the direction of the garden. What the hell?
“Coming Superior Xana!” A young witch hurries from between the rows of rose bushes, a long red braid draped over her shoulder. Her steps slow as she nears. Although she can’t be more than eighteen, she recognizes what the wolves are, and unlike Xana, she makes no attempt to rattle their cages.
“Yes, Superior Xana?”
The Lesser title doesn’t sit well with me. But in a way, the Superior label bothers me more. “Inform our most Superior Sister Genevieve that her guests have arrived,” Xana says.
Paula’s eyes widen, likely thrilled to pieces to have an excuse to interact with Genevieve. She takes off in a run, eager to please, bu
t also more than a little terrified.
“This way,” Xana says.
She takes the lead while the other witch with short blonde hair and deep magenta dress guards our rear. Her glare rivals Xana’s, but for some reason there’s more of a sting to it. I find out quickly why.
“Hey, Christie,” Bren says.
“Fuck off,” she tells him.
Bren nudges me. “I guess I should have called her,” he murmurs.
I don’t mean to laugh but I do, earning me more popularity points with the witches sweeping down the staircase.
It’s like some kind of medieval sorority. Unlike the witches chanting and sweating their asses of in the field, dressed as a mix of Amish, nuns, and freaking pilgrims, these gals are dressed in simple maiden dresses. The material they wear is cotton if I had to guess, unlike the velvet and silk numbers that Vieve always glides in. They’re higher up than then the field workers, but evidently not on the same levels as Vieve or her guards.
I don’t know who they are. But judging by their deep-set frowns they know who I am.
At least they think they do.
They pause by the steps, bowing their heads to Aric as a sign of respect. Aric acknowledges them with the barest hint of a nod, lifting his hand to circle Celia’s waist. The muscles along my back grow rigid, I’m realizing he’s attempting to shield her from any magic they might fling her way.
His protective instincts fire my own, causing my blue and white flames to ignite over my head with a snap, crackle, and pop.
“Easy, T,” Bren murmurs in my ear. “We’ve got Ceel, and you, too.”
I take a breath, and another one, too, trying hide the relief I feel when my surging power withdraws into my core when I pull it back. My magic, being as unstable as it’s been, doesn’t always obey. But I want to keep that little tidbit of knowledge far from the witches, at least for as long as I can.
My flame was triggered by my emotions, not like that’s anything new. But the way it surged and how it threatened to teeter out of control was definitely unintentional. Yet it did catch the attention of the broom humpers and put them on guard. The one in the front passes her fingertips along the talisman around her neck, the green stone at its center flickering and giving a hint of her power. She’s not challenging me, at least I don’t think she is. Like the others she seems on guard, and maybe even a little afraid. They think I still have what it takes to mow them down. I don’t mind them thinking that. It will keep them from trying something stupid. The problem is, the moment we leave Vieve’s office, that’s all going to change.
