by Jamie Magee
“If the history of the Sons proves anything it’s that the wars go hot and cold in an instant. We have valuable prisoners.” He glanced back at the house. “And apparently bait. So we have time to set our next move.”
He pulled a cigarette out and lit it up. Right then the fan on the porch sped up to an unnatural speed, in effect killing the flame, but he breathed deeper saving his hit before cupping it in his hand.
“How about instead of you pissing her off you catch her?” Gwinn said, crossing her arms.
The oddities of a phantom in the home had become all but normal to Gwinn at this point, especially when she was near Bastion. He seemed to be a magnet for the presence, more so than Adair.
“Her?”
Gwinn tensed but was sure she hid it well. “It’s not Zale, right?”
From behind her she heard, “If the likes of that bloody tosser were ‘bout he’d have surely struck me by now.”
Gwinn turned with a wide grin, finding Cashton just off the side of the porch looking up at the home as if it were a mountain he had to climb. And perhaps it was.
His first night back, even with King going into the Veil and pulling him out, was still hard on Cashton and as usual left him buzzed and exhausted.
He’d stayed at the old home until it wore off. Reveca had insisted. She’d said if the ghost was Zale then Cashton needed to be his strongest when he entered the house.
The next few days Cashton did lurk about in the Victorian home, picking up random objects then setting them down, never saying much. Gwinn didn’t know him well, but even she picked up on his distance.
She had asked Reveca about it, or rather pointed it out. Reveca had let out a slow breath, the same kind of counting breath she had taught Gwinn to use—which meant she was trying to control her magic, which is fueled by emotions.
“He’s haunted by dreams,” Reveca had said.
“The dead dream?”
At length she answered, “Only when they ascend.”
It took hours of research for Gwinn to understand the answer Reveca gave just before she all but vanished from her sight.
The dead dream of the past and make peace with their transgressions just before they rise into a realm of light, into a power that no magic or additional sense has yet to completely fathom.
What twisted Gwinn’s mind was Cashton wasn’t dead, not really. Yet his mind had begun to dream as fiercely as haunts that had lurked for generations.
Some of the deepest thinkers in the lore believed dreams were more powerful than experiences because they pulled from deep within one’s own soul. They didn’t happen to the soul, they were created because of the soul, therefore the emotion of them would never leave and the lesson was set.
Gwinn assumed this was good news, but all it had done was amplify the tension even more so. Oddly, King spoke to Cashton more than Reveca—which made no sense considering last month there were a number of high wagers on the pair of them killing each other.
“Did you read it?” Bastion asked him.
“Aye.”
Bastion nodded once, exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Well then, I guess I should leave you two be and stroll through my kingdom.” He gritted the last word to point out it was in truth a prison to him.
Gwinn watched him stroll away, cocky and mysterious as ever, glanced to the road, and listened intently before moving her stare back to Cashton.
“You’d be able to feel him long before you hear ‘em,” Cashton said.
“You feel them?” she asked with a raised brow.
“No,” he said, glancing over her, suspicion and curiosity lingering in his gaze. “Not them.”
“Coffee girl?” He’d yet to tell anyone the name of the girl he ran off to see, although rumor had it that the girl was a BellaRose. One of Jamison’s daughters, which only complicated issues all the more. Reveca and Jamison’s relationship was thorny to say the least.
One shallow nod.
“What are you and Bastion up to?”
“Reading,” he said with a wink.
“Boys club,” Gwinn said, moving her stare back to the road. Anticipation was rocking her nerves too much to push for her answer.
“Chronos,” he muttered. Answering Gwinn’s questioning gaze he said, “Time.”
Gwinn gave him a slight smile and went back to her freak out stance, not failing to notice how carefully Cashton was looking her over.
“Was that the topic of the text Bastion gave you?”
“Aye.” He crossed his arms. “And Kairos, of course, for one comes with the other.”
“Now I’m curious,” Gwinn said, giving half her attention to him. She’d heard of both terms as she trained in the arts but never to the degree of seriousness Cashton was using then.
“Chronos measures time, and Kairos is an appointed time.”
“Fate,” Gwinn agreed, knowing she had read the word Kairos often in the text in the library. It was mingled in with prophecies that were written before the doom of the dimension from where the Dominarum coven originated.
“I understand you have a solid part of your memory back,” Cashton said softly, following Gwinn’s stare and only finding an empty highway.
“Solid, not most.”
“You remember Adair though,” he countered. “The life you had with her.”
“More clearly than any other point. Including GranDee. I only have pieces of what she taught me.”
“And Jade and Miriam?” he question.
Gwinn pressed her lips together and sharpened her gaze, silently counting to tame her magic.
She hated both Jade and Miriam. Well, Jade annoyed her and she hated Miriam. Jade like to say random things that seemed like nonsense, which proved to be worthy days or even months later. In her presence you could be sure your magic and skill as a witch would be tested. Gwinn had even told Adair once she thought the hexes were nothing more than a game to Jade.
Miriam was a different story. The girl had serious issues with Gwinn. She was jealous of any time Gwinn and Adair spent together and often talked down to Gwinn as if she were a wannabe.
Gwinn had long ago left childish ways behind her so she didn’t play the BFF wars Miriam set in place, she only told Adair to watch her back. Her only response was, “I’m aware.”
It aggravated Gwinn that Adair had reached out to Miriam for help instead of just trusting Gwinn, or even asking Dagen to get the grimoire she wanted. Now they were all stuck with the likes of Miriam who was hiding out in one of the swamp houses, and of course, Jade had stopped by a time or two as well. Star had said she was there for further negotiations but Gwinn was sure Jade was just there to stir drama.
Silently Gwinn hoped one of the Sons would lose their cool and handle those witches once and for all.
“Yeah, I knew them,” Gwinn said to answer Cashton. “And like I told the others, no I don’t like them.” She glanced over at him. “Did they tell you what Miriam did to Judge?”
Cashton grimaced a bit. “No bloke is perfect. Sometimes rubbish like that helps with the pain. Without saying a word to Judge I can vow to you now it didn’t mean anythin’ to him.”
Gwinn appraised him at length, wondering what his story was, who was behind the kut he wore.
“Girl code. Miriam broke it. I never saw Judge ride by the shop, not once. But I heard about him, the blond biker.” She lifted her chin. “If Adair makes it a point to say anything it carries merit.”
He winked. “So I take it the distrust you had for Jade and Miriam meant there was no coven link between you.”
Now he had Gwinn’s full attention. He answered her perplexed stare. “I was curious if there was a place you practiced if so.”
“Practiced,” Gwinn said slowly. “No. Why were you curious?”
He tilted his head back. “Someone gave me a notion to inquire.”
His silent nod didn’t answer much. King was close by, and so was Judge.
“You and Adair…the pair of you ever go off and pay ode
to your craft? Somewhere in nature perhaps?”
The answer was yes and no. Each marked phase of the moon they went to water, built a fire, and sat in silence. The same place. Gwinn knew now where they went was where Finley and Talley had died, or at the very least close to the spot.
More than once Gwinn had felt a cold stirring in the damp air and asked Adair to walk with her. More times than not something would distract them, pull them away from the direction Gwinn often chose, one that led deeper into the swamp.
“I can’t decide how serious your question is or why you’re asking,” she finally said.
Cashton crossed his arms and sighed a bit. He dipped his head and lifted his eyes. Gwinn could only barely see the blue in the centers of his dark eyes. “I’m aware you and Adair are different.”
Gwinn pursed her lips, assuming he knew of their birthright as Escorts, something Gwinn didn’t even understand. King acted like a teacher most times, but sometimes the way he looked at her or spoke of Adair made Gwinn assume King was more than a teacher to her, that or the nature of Escorts was to be close and protective of each other.
King made her feel safe, at peace—oddly calm—and because he did, he’d instantly earned Gwinn’s loyalty which was yet another barrier between her and Shade. Like the other Sons he didn’t know what to make of King.
“Still figuring that out. Don’t worry, I won’t devour all your joy.”
Cashton lifted one brow and a half grin emerged. “Aye, though that trait links the pair of you and then some, it wasn’t what I was referring to.”
“Are you going to keep me in suspense?” She nodded to the home. “Has the haunt been speaking to you as King had hoped.”
“Aye.”
“And?”
“And they want you to understand they cannot speak to you until your Kairos has foundation, or rather no doubt.” He lifted his chin. “Apparently, great strides have been taken to get you to where you are, and the pause is frustrating to them.”
Gwinn furrowed her brow. “Great strides,” she mused, assuming the comment was about her craft. “I assume the spirit speaks to Bastion because he’s her son, but it also speaks to Adair—and her foundation is way more whacked than mine. I’d say we are both missing equal memory, but at the very least I have accepted death, and rebirth. I have grasped immortality and the craft as my own. The foundation has been set. Clearly, you have heard the spirit and we all know you are at odds with who you were and will become. I’d say the same for King and the spirit tends to make itself known to him often.” Gwinn lifted one brow. “So you tell that spirit to lay off—I’m doing the best I can.”
“Kairos,” Cashton said again. “Appointed time. Souls go through many trials when set apart, and as they come together as one again they face even more. Only the strongest souls are tested. Divided and returned.”
He stepped forward. “I know who I am, who I will be. And I assure you King is much the same. Even without the burden of knowledge, both of us have perished. Breathed in the fog of death. Heard and understood what only the dead can. We saw beyond the bounds of reality, and we understood how infinite the power that created us was.” A grin twitched on his lips. “Adair, though she has forgotten, has set a foundation with the soul she was made from—just as King and I have with the mates the divine Creator gifted to us…like you, I can only assume why Bastion is privy to the words of the home.”
Gwinn worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment, not understanding what Cashton was getting at. Well, in a way she did. He was basically pointing out she’d yet to connect deeply with a soul, physically or emotionally and she didn’t care to think about that when butterflies were already wreaking havoc on her gut. Witches drew power from emotions—good or bad—and Gwinn’s had been downright bleak most of her life.
“Well then, since they’re speaking to all of you I can take ghost chasing off my list of things to do.”
Cashton swallowed a bit tensely. “Gwinn. King and I hear this spirit because of our death—because of the fate given to us. You are meant to hear it for a different reason—that is why King asked this task of you. He sees it in you, read it upon your soul.”
“Read my soul…what are getting at, Cashton?”
Catching that he clearly misspoke he glanced away then back to her. “We’ve strayed from the reason I brought this up.”
“And what reason is that?”
Cashton glanced around the Boneyard before he answered. “More than twenty-two witches escaped the dying dimension Reveca and King hail from, Gwinn.”
Gwinn moved her head in dismay. “The text was clear, even Reveca’s recount didn’t argue with it.”
“Twenty-two came here. Eleven went somewhere else.”
The look of shock was hard to hide. “Where?”
“That is what you need to discover—they’re reaching out to you and Adair for a reason.” He paused. “As you said you’ve had time to build a foundation with your lifestyle. Adair hasn’t. You need to be the sound mind for her when this shite hits the fan.”
“Then tell me what they’re saying—what’s Evanthe saying? Give Adair the grimoire she keeps tossing at Adair.”
Before he could answer a wave, warm and delicious, came over Gwinn. Her breath left her and she felt her skin flush. Not seeing a reason why, she spoke through it. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Cashton narrowed his gaze on her. “Maybe, but I would strongly suggest you read any text you can about Windsome.”
“The witch in the Veil? I have already. Reveca is seeking her sons to offer them protection.”
“Her family, not her. It was her blood that made up the majority of the eleven who also escaped into a different direction.”
The sensations within Gwinn grew stronger but she hid it well. She’d brushed up against this surge she was experiencing just then, each time she really tapped into her magic, her soul as Reveca called it. So she only nodded in response to Cashton’s advice.
“And wherever you and Adair escaped to in order to hone your craft—you need to get Adair there. Find your Church. What I hear in this home is not promising if you don’t do so.”
She would have questioned what he meant but right then her immortal ears picked up the distant roaring sound of bikes and everything else was forgotten as she told her feet not to move.
In silence, she and Cashton watched as the moments ticked by, and then finally anyone with the slightest sense of hearing would be able to hear the thunder of the Sons approaching.
The entire Boneyard seemed to stand at attention with pride and anticipation. At once the gloom and boredom faded.
Gwinn glanced to the garage and saw Talon emerge; his bold warrior body loomed like a king waiting for his army. Just behind him stood Reveca. To those that didn’t know better, they looked stronger than ever just then. With heavy guilt Gwinn almost wished they were, because that would mean Shade’s torment of losing his family, the unrest of not knowing what his future would hold, would be over.
She knew they weren’t though. From where she stood she could sense the bold separation between Talon and Reveca. Lurking in the shadows, but a breath away, was King. His valiant energy was blanketing Reveca.
“That’s a true king,” Cashton said quietly. “To do what is best for your people and your soul…a test not many pass.”
“And to whom are you referring?” Gwinn asked as her feverish gaze shifted to the road; they were close now.
“Both,” Cashton said before stepping down and making his way to greet the riders who tore through the front gate, gallantly home from their charge—prepared to hear their next orders.
Shade was the second bike. As usual his visage showed little expression beyond the stoic appearance his sunglasses only amplified.
She wasn’t sure if he looked in her direction until she saw a slight nod and twitch of his lips, a smile he held back.
Nervously, Gwinn’s hands rushed down her sides. She was wearing one of her sundresses,
one she thought he liked, but now, with memories intact, it made her feel like she was in disguise.
Talon had slapped Shade on the back in greeting, and others had surrounded them all. When the rush of it was all over, Shade and the others disappeared into the lounge without one backward glance in her direction.
A shattering feeling fell over Gwinn, washing away all the other sensations she had been drowning in. Days without speaking, over a week of not seeing each other, and all she got was a slight nod and a twitch of his lips.
At once the home behind her became alive. The lights turned on, then off, the fans picked up, doors slammed open and closed.
“Right,” Gwinn grumbled to herself. “Go read.” Fuck Shade. I’m nobody’s afterthought.
Chapter Two
After awaking next to Judge, hearing his odd, cold words about Scorpio as he rushed from her side, Adair sat still as a statue.
Judge had frozen outside her door. She could see every muscle in his lean body tense, the muscles in his broad shoulders twitched, his fists clenched.
His pause seemed infinite then with a cold glare he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes met hers but only briefly. They fell across her body, a body Adair had yet to take inventory of. She felt his stare, felt it linger on her neck then slide down her chest. She was blatantly aware the thin strap of her top was off her shoulder. There was a sheet barely reaching her waist. She had no other awareness.
Adair had no memory of what happened, but she could imagine. And it wasn’t good. She was sure Judge had made a move on her and figured out quickly her body was cold and unresponsive—he surely heard her scream out in agony if he dared to touch her.
She wasn’t sure if she should be offended, pissed, or humiliated. More than likely all of the above.
What right did he have to touch her? What right did he have to know of one of the many curses that fateful night had left her with, the pains no ink or tattoos could cover?
She watched as Judge drew in a slow breath and a primal glint slid over his blue eyes. She expected him to charge in the door and take her where she stood.
