by Sierra Cross
Marley turned and began walking back into her cottage.
Since we hadn’t been invited in, not knowing witch protocol, I just stood there like an idiot until Matt put his hand on my lower back and gently guided me over the threshold. Even through layers of clothing I felt the pulling heat of his fingers deep in my core. Damn, he had to stop touching me.
Ten minutes later we were sitting at her farmhouse table drinking tea. The expansive picture window revealed the Puget Sound stretching out before us. Herbs hung in bunches on strings from the ceiling. Shelves lined every wall, chock full from floor to ceiling, as if she was stock piling.
Of course she was stockpiling. She thought something terrible was about to happen.
“If you were smart, you would’ve figured it out.” Her voice was sultry and low, her words biting. “If you weren’t, I knew you’d come. That’s why the wards allowed you in.”
“Wow, that was allowing us in?”
“Oh, please, that was a love tap compared to what I could’ve done.”
Matt bristled beside me, not at her but in defense of me. I put my hand on his thigh to still him. Before I remembered that we needed to stop touching each other.
Enough of her games. “What did you do to me? And why?”
She huffed as if I exasperated her. “When you came in, I saw a young orphan witch with a lot on her plate. You were so angry with the world, understandably. I thought you needed more time.”
“And so you ‘saved me’ by messing up my magic forever?” I was getting angry all over again. What gave her the right to step in?
“Of course not, I merely performed a binding spell. A rather advanced one, I might add,” she said as if I should consider her meddling a favor. “All it does is cloak your powers from others—and yourself—until you’re ready to handle them. Mild memory loss, also temporary, acts as a safeguard.” Without asking, she grabbed my chin and tilted my head this way and that. I jerked loose as she continued. “It’s starting to wear off. This is your most dangerous hour. Your enemies will now be able to sense what you are.”
“You mean demons.” I was pretty sure Eric had sensed I was a witch from the first day.
“Magicborn demonic forces too, like that shifter security guard,” Matt filled in, since Marley was busy draining her cup of tea.
She gulped it down and went on in a loud voice, “The magnificence of this spell, if I do say so myself, is that it will wear off when you are ready. The more you use your power and become comfortable with it the quicker the spell will dissipate. Let go of your fears about yourself and come to a place of faith that your magic will lead you in the direction you need to go.” She stood and pushed her chair back in. Clearly telling us our time was up.
I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment; she’d given me no information I could use. Just platitudes and self-aggrandizement. What it came down to was I’d lost a decade of my magical life because this lady had a messiah complex and stepped in where she shouldn’t have.
As she was walking us to the car, past one of her acolytes who was tossing feed to the chickens, she asked, “Why now? What’s the urgency?”
Before I could say, “None of your business,” Matt surprised me by telling her about the tree we saw at Millennium Dynamics. About how we only had days to destroy it or Eric Starr’s power would grow. About the demon attacks.
“Would you be willing to help us?” he said quietly.
I held my breath. Self-aggrandizing or not, having such a powerful witch on our side could cancel out our inexperience.
“This, my dear, is not my fight,” she said without a bit of emotion. “The best I can do is to brace me and mine for the future. For the dark times ahead, which have been prophesied. But I wish you well in your ambitious quest.”
So that was how it was. I caught Matt’s eye in sympathy. We were on our own, with only five days left.
Chapter Sixteen
That afternoon, Matt insisted that to be ready for battle we first needed to go shopping at Armis Clothiers in Alchemy Row. Callie and Liv seemed game—well, especially Liv; shopping was another thrill for her—but I shrugged. I’d stopped by the place once or twice over the years. It was a nice enough store, if a bit touristy, but what was so special about it?
Then we walked through the racks of silk shirts and mannequins wearing bespoke suits. Past the rows of three-way mirrors, through to the back of Armis Clothiers. An impossibly thick, lush velvet curtain separated the front of the store from the back. Matt pulled it aside, allowing Liv, Callie, and me to go through. The wards we passed through felt mild, even inviting—just enough to keep the Wonts out, I guessed. I was expecting he was leading us into some dingy back room lined with boxes. Instead, it was even more refined than the front—like a complete store unto itself, only larger than the front. Actually, much larger than the front. Some sort of magic was in play here, like Mary Poppins’ carpetbag that made this space larger than the laws of physics I’d learned in school allowed.
The enormous space was divided like a giant department store. And that’s where the similarity ended. Instead of bespoke suits, silk shirts, and colorful ties, it was custom clothing and weaponry for magicborns.
Magicborns from every sect were browsing thoughtfully. Witches and warlocks, whose magic I could now sense on sight. Shifters, with their animalistic mannerisms. Even a pale-eyed, lanky pair of fae who I would have mistaken in the past for hipster snobs. Every department had its own feel. Large display signs, enchanted to change the message every few minutes, spelled out who each section was geared toward. In every direction I looked were beautiful displays on rounders. Racks of witches’ garb, warlocks’ robes, guardian’s armor, fae flight gear. Sheaths and holsters for blades and magical weapons whose function I couldn’t begin to guess at. You name it, bespoke clothing for every magical occasion.
Callie, Liv, and I must have been standing there mouths agape when a grey-haired tailor, limp in his gait, tape measure draped over his shoulders, approached us. “And how may we help you this evening?”
“We’d like to look at your witches’ battle garments,” Matt said.
The tailor did a double take on Matt. I thought it was because a guardian was asking about witches’ garb, but then he stopped, double-bumped his hand to heart and said in a low voice, “May the Brotherhood reign.”
Matt looked momentarily taken aback, but made the same gesture and repeated what appeared a ritual saying. “May the Brotherhood reign.”
“My last guardian post was in ’78.” The tailor knocked his leg and a hollow echo rang out. “Lost my leg in the battle of the Dark Fae. I guess I was lucky. I lived.” He turned and I saw the left side of his face was brutally scarred and disfigured.
The two men shared a look of silent acknowledgement that I couldn’t decode. Then the tailor raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and three more tailors hurried over to us. “Whatever you need, we’ll make sure you get it.” He spoke under his breath to his staff and their faces all went somber.
As the older tailor limped away, I whispered in Matt’s ear, “What’s that all about?”
Matt gave me a half smile. “Guardians don’t have a very long life expectancy. And preparing for a battle…” He shrugged. “I guess no one assumes we’re coming back.”
While Liv and Callie excitedly browsed the witches’ section, I drifted off, following Matt into the guardian section. Immediately, my hands started to warm up with excitement. I wanted to touch every thigh dagger sheath and sword harness I passed. I looked up at the towering guardian mannequin, which sported a black crisscross harness holding two short swords on the back. There were throwing stars across the shoulder straps, and three throwing daggers along the ribs under each arm. A waist sheath with a long-blade dirk was also on the back, and all the straps were wide enough to have pockets that held items I didn’t recognize. A hand-lettered sign in front of the mannequin read, Special: All knife purchases include boomerang spells and rune etching at
no extra charge for a limited time. Now that was battle gear.
Matt saw me looking up at it—no doubt with a dreamy gaze—and frowned. “Hey, why don’t you go back over to Liv and Callie? The salesperson is showing them tricks for quick control release of spellbeads.”
“Yeah, okay.” What I didn’t say is “I won’t be leaving the store without some of these guardian goodies.”
Liv and Callie were jazzed up about the wardsuits. They were skintight cat suits with black leather lace up vests that were layered over top. This was a look that was right up my alley. The suits had wards to lessen the effect of demon blasts, and the vests had click pockets mechanized for controlled release of weaponized spellbeads—a witch’s ammo, if you will, to compliment her innate power. The beads came in different shapes and sizes depending on their use. Round for explosions, flat disc for escape, oval for subterfuge, small cubes for disorientation, and so on. There seemed to be a spellbead for every battle situation. I made a comb through the spellbeads I’d inherited from my mother and learn their use.
Their boot selection was enough to make any shoe fetishist drool. Though the color spectrum was a bit limited—mostly shades of black or grey with an occasional blood-red option—there were knee, thigh, and ankle boots in just about every style, with or without heels. And all of them had karambit sheaths.
Matt had explained that the blade my mother left for me was a karambit, a witch’s traditional weapon. I ran my finger along the smooth leather of a black knee boot and felt warmed by the thought that I could carry my mother’s blade with me always.
Beyond the jewelry counter, between the witch and fae sections, a sign on the wall read, Spells cast while you wait. I got an idea. “I’ll be back after you two are fitted,” I said to Liv and Callie, and popped over to the jewelry counter. After a lovely conversation with the jeweler, I found myself in the guardian section again. The cheerful salesperson—a shifter with foxlike features—helped adjust a dagger harness to my small frame.
“What are you doing?” Matt’s normally calm voice sounded a little sharp, but no emotion crossed his face. “You should head over to get a wardsuit.” When I didn’t move, he said, “We’ve been over this. The karambit is the only blade a witch will ever need.”
“Well, this witch is going to carry some daggers.”
“Carrying blades is my job. So I can keep you safe while you do your job. You know, magic?”
I hesitated. I had after all agreed for Matt to be my guardian, and I had to trust that he knew what he was doing. I was about to take the harness off when I thought about trusting my magic. If I walked away from this, it was surely walking away from the truth in my gut. “That’s perfect,” I said to the salesman. “Could you give us a minute?” He smiled and walked off. “I get that it’s your job to keep me safe,” I said to Matt. “And I know what that means to you. But you’ve felt it. We fight like a unit, a well-oiled machine. You can deny that all you want and wrap your head in outmoded customs. But I need this.” I picked up a sword harness to use as a symbol. “And you can’t talk me out of it.”
The look on his face was almost enough to make me change my mind. But as I walked back to the witches’ side of the store clutching the harness and the thigh sheath, another layer of the veil covering my magic sloughed off like a snake’s old skin. Take one down, pass it around. Ninety-nine layers of veil to go, I sang in my head as I walked away.
We met just past the checkout counter, each of us clutching a passel of bags. My arms were full, my bank account light. But I felt certain about everything I purchased. Liv and Callie sat on a red leather bench by the velvet curtain. Matt was chatting more with the old guardian.
“I thought I shopped till I dropped,” Liv said when she saw me, and stood like she was heading out.
“Wait a second.” I put my bags down. “I’ve got something for you guys.” I fished the small black bag out from my stack and handed a rose-colored tissue to each of them. As they were unwrapping it I pulled my necklace from beneath my shirt. Liv and Callie each unwrapped necklaces with matching blood-red amber charms. “It’s official. We are the Coven of Fire.”
Tears slipped down Callie’s cheeks and Liv was speechless.
“The spellcaster etched the same twining spell onto them that was on my charm. It strengthens our coven bond and allows us to access each other’s magic even at long distances,” I added, as Callie slam-hugged me.
“Hell yeah, now we’re ready,” Liv said, just before Callie’s thin arm snaked out and yanked her into a coven hug.
Chapter Seventeen
I stepped out of my apartment building into the sunny, cold December morning, jogged to my shuttle stop just in time to hop on, and let out a long slow breath, glad I was putting some space between me and Matt.
From the fierce, chilly winds coming off him these last few days, I could have sworn it was even colder inside my living room than outside. Between my purchasing guardian gear against his advice and continuing to go into the office, Matt was fit to be tied. But we’d agreed as a group I needed to maintain my job so the key card would work. Tomorrow was the solstice. Tonight was our last chance to make our move.
The past few nights had been a blur of training and drilling. And more training and drilling. After Asher was done with the coven, Matt would insist on making me practice with my guardian gear. He clearly wasn’t happy about my purchases, but he told me, “I won’t let your stubbornness be the death of you.”
It would be easy to dismiss Matt’s reaction as being pissed because he wasn’t getting his way. But even in the short time he’d been back, I’d gotten to know him better; I could tell that wasn’t the issue. He was a stone facade with rapids running behind it. He carried the weight of every single person that died ten years ago. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever be able to move past that. Let the pain go, and start living. I wondered if he clung to his vows—because they sure seemed archaic and outdated to me—as a way of holding on to his guilt. The worst thing was I still felt the smoldering heat between us at all times, even as he raked his eyes over me in anger and frustration.
All day at work, my eyes stayed on my monitor’s screen, my fingers tapped on the keyboard, and my mind was on one thing only—the evil tree. I didn’t dare so much as look in the direction of that pool of purple light that was calling to me. The scream was muffled through the door, but still it sent shivers down my spine. A sheen of sweat bloomed on my forehead. It freaked me out, and drew me in at the same time, how that unearthly sound had reached inside of me, touched places in my heart I didn’t even want to admit existed.
Asher did find a second tome that mentioned the Malum Osmium, but it wasn’t much help, or his translation of the ancient language sucked—he assured me it didn’t. He handed me the paper with his scrolling cursive on it. “The Malum Osmium can only be destroyed in advance of the blossom opening. Might will call the marriage of supplicants to issue forth ruling power.” In the last translation, Asher explained that union had been wrong. The word should have been marriage. “The act must be consummated by the light of the solstice moon. The strength of which, be it in victory or defeat, is enhanced by the sacrifice of an innocent. But might cannot vanquish or put asunder. Only the heart that is tested and prevails, cleansed in the fiery crucible of doubt and redemption, might succeed. Sacrifice must be displayed in the ultimate position of temptation to assure the purity of the victor. If the anther and stigma from even a single blossom are allowed to touch open air the tree’s strength will build to almost indestructible heights and the bond to the supplicants will be impenetrable.” Okay…I’ll get right on that. Looking for that fiery crucible right now.
Asher explained that often in these types of translations they used metaphors. Marriage didn’t necessarily mean getting hitched. And consummated, didn’t mean sex. Unless it did.
Yeah, that’s how vague our intel was.
The more I thought about it, the less I understood. Marriage? Could it mean
an actual marriage of two people? Was that what Eric was planning on for Aunt Jenn? Or was she the innocent to sacrifice and I the bride? The word consummate sent a shudder down my spine.
If we were going to defeat this tree, we needed more information. We had to know if they were doing anything to get ready for the solstice—changing any protocols, for example—before we busted in there spellbeads blazin’. Maybe it was too bad, on second thought, that I’d relinquished my level ten clearance badge to Matt.
I was chewing my lip, distracted by my spinning thoughts, and didn’t even hear Eric Starr’s approach, but I felt the razor-sharp aura of dark magic that surrounded him. I could swear that seemed stronger too. A tingle rose in my hands and I instantly tamped it down. My only hope of getting out of here was making him believe I was considering joining him.
Eric fixed me with an assessing gaze, then gave a knowing nod and circled his index finger in the general vicinity of my brain. “In here, you believe you’ve already made your choice.”
My skin went cold. Had Eric Starr read my mind? Could demons do that? I looked up at him, hoping my face didn’t show the fear and bile that were rising in equal measures.
He smiled, lowering his finger suggestively, circling around my heart, “I know where your allegiance lies.” The certainty in his voice unwavering.
“Um.” Yeah, that’s what I said.
“Come.” He held out his hand and led me to the lab entrance.
Yeah right. Even though I’d been thinking of voluntarily walking into a room with the evil tree that wanted my soul, I drew the line with having a demon escort me there. Except…what better way to lull Eric into thinking I was leaning hard toward the dark side? Eric waited outside the door watching me, that knowing smile on his face.
I followed him without thinking twice.
Part of my brain was calling this reconnaissance, and the other part of my brain was Gollum just trying to get to that ring. The door glided open and the screaming became clear. Knives in my ears, a yank at my center willing my feet to move closer to the tree. Hands clamped over my ears, through the slits of my eyes I saw the tree was massive like a hundred-year-old oak. Dotting the end of every branch were weighty lustrous pods. My feet moved me forward against my will; I just wanted the pain to stop. I crossed the threshold and felt Eric’s smile broaden as he observed my helplessness.
