Crimson Cove

by Eden Butler

  “Which I’m sure you’re all too eager to follow.”

  Trevor considered me for a moment, his eyes casting shadows that I hadn’t ever seen from him before. “Think what you will of me and my ilk, Jani, but Bane is set to be our leader. I may not like his,” Trevor moved his gaze down my body, then back up, “proclivities, but he’ll lead us one day. Even if I don’t respect the wizard, I’ll still honor the title he’ll soon hold.”

  “And the investment that title will make on the Cove,” Ethan said, slumping down next to Trevor. The pair exchanged a look that was both amused and somehow disrespectful. Hamill, it seemed, had caught it as well. He made some odd sound in the back of his throat, working that constant disapproval from his throat with a hard glare at both the wizards.

  Trevor, though, disregarded Ethan’s humor, shaking his head at his companion’s laughter. And when Ethan could garner no rise from me or Trevor, he abandoned his stake in the game and walked further from the fire.

  “He has a job to do too, you know.”

  Giving up the fight of continuing to search for the Elam, my curiosity led me to the flames, across the fire from the smug wizard who seemed too eager to tell me my place. I kept my gaze on the fire, letting its warmth and comfort bring me out of the irritation my companions kept stoking in me.

  “Ethan, I mean,” Trevor continued, moving closer, ducking his head to watch for Ethan’s attention. “He’s the last son of the Rivers coven. Cari is his only sister. It’s his place to set her into a family that will be a boon for strengthening the lines. You know that the oldest families have the strongest magic.”

  “That’s a theory, Trevor that hasn’t been tested in centuries.”

  “Maybe, but it’s never failed.” He pulled a flask of something sharp and bitter that I smelled when he opened it from his jacket pocket and didn’t bother to offer me any. “Rivers, Grants, even some of the lesser covens with the oldest lines are typically the strongest. The hardest to contest.”

  Trevor’s throat worked as he swallowed and my gaze caught on the movement of his long neck and that constant grin that never seemed too far from his mouth. Did he really think I was so basic? Did he really believe I knew nothing at all?

  “What’s with the history lesson? You think I don’t know any of this? You think I’ve forgotten everything we were taught as kids?”

  “I think something keeps you present in my cousin’s head.” He pointed at me with that flask, shrugging when I refused his offer for a drink. “I don’t know what that is, don’t much care, Jani, but it’s still there. It hasn’t left as far as I can see.” Some stupid, hopeful expression must have pulled and twisted my features because Trevor’s frown deepened, hardened so that there was no humor on his face. “That’s not good.”

  “What? Bane thinking of me?”

  Trevor wrapped his arms around his knees, letting the flask dangle from his fingers as he stared into the fire. “Bane forgetting what he must become and with whom.”

  “Life is not an Austen novel, Trevor.” The higher covens tended to forget that not everyone was obsessed with strengthening their bloodlines. “Marriages don’t get arranged. Not in this century.”

  “You’re a fool if you think that. You’re a fool if you don’t think that blood and power and allies aren’t essential in securing our world. In protecting it.”

  He wasn’t wrong. The Cove had existed unhindered, undiscovered for a millennium. That only happens when caution is taken, when tradition is upheld.

  Right then, in that moment, with the fire’s heat moving over my skin, settling me and the heavy stare of that smug damn wizard across from me, there came a sense of loss. It was something I’d cradled over the years like an old wound that would never heal. Most nights, the pain of it, the ache it gave me could be pushed aside, stuffed down beneath all the emotion, all the tender sting that my life in the Cove had been.

  Most days, I could forget it existed at all.

  This was not one of those days.

  Nothing Trevor said was wrong. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard it before. You live in the Cove long enough, on the wrong side of it anyway, and a few certainties become abundantly clear. The higher covens never married the lower ones. Mortals had little clue that magic thrived and lived and breathed around them every day and on the off chance that one caught wind of the truth, they were glamoured, their memories altered until what they thought was the truth could be passed off as some fantastic daydream.

  “You’re a beautiful, cunning witch, Jani.” Trevor’s confession surprised me. I could be flawless. My hair and skin and body could be something out of the lushest, most erotic fantasy in the world and still no high coven wizard would admit it. Not out loud anyway. What I looked like didn’t matter. Where I came from did. Still, that didn’t stop Trevor from leaning forward, from looking me over as though he needed to confirm his compliment. “It’s no wonder why you’ve kept his eye.”

  “I don’t have anything of Bane’s.” He considered me a moment longer than was comfortable. “Why are we even discussing this? Am I that much of a threat to your family’s precious plans for Bane’s life?”

  Trevor reminded me of Bane just then. It was in the eyes, the sharp shape of their mouths. Similar, not identical. But where Bane’s features were often seen as hard and rugged, making him seem angrier, rougher than he really was, Trevor’s features brought to mind the opposite. His face was rounder, the mouth relaxed more as though he smiled easily. But behind that purported friendliness was the slip of the mask—no humor came into his eyes when he smiled. No warmth existed there at all. “You have no idea what it was like for him, do you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You bewitch him. Always have,” he said, soft as a whisper behind a swig on his flask. “Even before that day you left. He doesn’t remember much and for a while we’d half convinced him that you’d twisted some sort of powerful spell on him.” Trevor glanced at me then, as though looking for a little confirmation. When I gave none, he returned his attention to the fire and his small revelations. “That would have made sense. Hell, I even suggested a love potion, a hex to keep you front and center on his mind. But a week later and he was still distracted.”

  A small noise of surprise lifted past my lips, but Trevor continued. “A month and he’d hounded your family about where you were. Two years later and you became a constant sticking point—the girl he drove away without ever understanding how he’d done it. And trust me, Jani, it was a skill he truly wanted to remember.” Trevor leaned back against a small, smooth boulder, propping his elbow against it as he rested that silver flask on his leg. “You forget who we’re talking about. You forget his reach. What witches want from him.”

  “I haven’t forgotten a damn thing.”

  “Fine then. But let me remind you that he’s been hounded, tempted by many a witch. What he’d done to drive you away would have been useful to him, I’m sure.”

  That Bane would try, would want to be rid of me struck me as insulting though I knew that made no sense. Trevor was digging for answers, skirting too near the truth. But I didn’t give him a thing—I didn’t avoid his stare, didn’t try in the least to seem apologetic.

  “Is there a point?”

  “You were remembered. That is the point.” The wizard shook his head and pulled once again on his flask, draining it before he dropped it to the ground next to him. “It took our uncle five years to convince Bane to the marriage with Cari. Five long damn years that shortened the preparation needed to make certain the arrangements were settled, that both covens would gain significant assets from this arrangement. The bloodlines crossing, strengthening will enable the Cove protection from any threat, magical or mortal. The two oldest covens melding magic. Can’t you imagine the power of those future generations? Their strength is unfathomable.” When I didn’t respond, Trevor slid next to me and I caught the shift in his expression, the lowering of his gaze as it settled on my mouth. “It doesn’
t mean that you can be without him completely.”

  “What?”

  His breath was thick, spoiled from the reek of the liquor. “It happens often. High coven wizards with lesser coven witches. There’s no marriage, of course, certainly no children that could be claimed as part of the bloodlines, but it still happens. Wizards, even powerful wizards have… certain wants.”

  I was too stunned by his words to react when Trevor pulled a strand of my hair around his finger. Then sense returned and I moved it out of his reach to my other shoulder as my outrage smoldered. “You’re suggesting I play whore for Bane? That I stay here in the Cove and wait on the sidelines as he builds a life with another witch because my coven isn’t half as old as his?”

  “It’s not meant as an insult.” Trevor frowned, seeming surprised at my anger. “It’s simply fact.”

  “But it is an insult, Trevor.” I stood, my fists balling tight as he watched me. “It’s damn insulting to expect that I’d want or need to be someone’s whore, even Bane’s.”

  “Lower your voice. Your charm can’t be that strong. The trackers will...”

  “Damn the trackers, you pompous, entitled asshole.”

  “Jani, calm yourself.” Ethan had returned from his small trek. He made a motion, likely trying to reach for me, but my glare and the bubble of energy that pushed past Bane’s block and seared in my fingertips had the wizard raising his hand, backing away from me. “This isn’t Trevor’s fault, you know. He’s only…speaking the truth.”

  “Most of it,” Trevor said, earning a quick glare from Ethan.

  That small exchange between them—quiet, secret, made the irritation bubbling in my stomach churn harder. “Tell me.” I took a step, not backing down when Ethan frowned. “What is it?”

  Ethan ran his fingers through his hair, looking more worried about where I’d direct my twitchy fingers than concerned about what revealing his little secret might do. “The Elam. When it’s replaced back on the lines and things are settled once more…”

  For an arrogant little shit who indulged in bragging and bending folk by rubbing in ill news, Ethan certainly didn’t seem eager to share what he knew. He hesitated too long, milking the moment, and that stoked my anger. Still, he inched back when I stepped forward. “Go on.”

  “Carter Grant,” Ethan finally said, shifting his gaze between me and Trevor, “Bane and Trevor’s uncle, he’s dying. They cannot be without a patriarch. Not if they want to secure the bloodlines. Once this,” he waved his hand at me, around the forest, “once the Elam is recovered, Bane and my sister will marry.” Ethan took advantage of my stunned silence to continue. “Trevor really wasn’t trying to insult you, though, I don’t know why you are being touchy about this supposed offense.”

  At his confession, I lowered my hands and stuffed them into my pockets. Ethan relaxed, his humor returning and that condescending attitude resurfacing as my anger quelled. “Come now, you know what a beneficial position you are in. Catching Bane’s eye will be useful to you, especially to your father. Finding the Elam, fixing the lines, will restore his name. Everything else is simply lagniappe, correct?”

  Then a great swell of anger and frustration rose up heavy in my chest and I couldn’t help it, I didn’t fight the feel of the lines seeping through the block that Bane had placed on me. I didn’t spell Ethan to take that genuine confusion from his face. I didn’t hex Trevor to keep the smirk from his face. Instead, I let that liquid feel of tension, anger and frustration flow straight through me.

  Behind me, Hamill approached and I couldn’t be certain if he wanted to subdue me or warn the wizards of the bite my magic held. Whatever it was that made the shifter hustle toward us, I didn’t know. The two wizards lifted their hands, attempting an offensive block as I charged toward them, fingers twitching with energy. But this time, the pull of the lines did not overwhelm me. The anger and frustration I felt did not seep out in a blast of magic meant to topple and cower anyone. This time, the hex spelled firm, but did not maim. Ethan caught the bulk of my blast, falling backward over the tree he rested against near the campfire while Trevor felt the remnant of that quick spell, falling face forward into the ground.

  Hamill followed behind me, silent, as I grabbed my pack and set out further into the forest. “I don’t need a chaperone,” I yelled at him over my shoulder.

  “Maybe not,” he said, trailing at my back. His voice came out muted, then grew louder as he turned back toward me. “But you might need a referee.”

  My anger and my frustration felt too thick and too heavy for me to give much thought as to what Hamill meant, but then I heard Bane’s voice and the low rumbling of what was surely admonishment leveled out at Ethan and Trevor. My steps slowed only marginally.

  “What did you menaces do to piss her off now?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Memory is an illusion. Time, space from the truth tends to draw you in circles of contentment where the memory, no matter the reality of it, becomes this imitation version of yourself, of what held such great happiness for you.

  Even when those memories weren’t nearly as beautiful as you recalled them to be, the mind, the heart, begs to differ.

  It was a glossy memory that brought me into another dream, this one of my own making, part fantasy, part manufactured recollection. It was there, in my own head as I lay sleeping: Bane’s reach, the slow, sweet movement of his fingers along my skin, his mouth pressed against my neck. It felt like a spell, the weaving together of thought and sensation, misremembered or not, to make me drunk, eager to be lost in that day, the memory of us together in that classroom.

  He was beautiful then—the light from the horizon flooding into the half opened window, the sticky humidity in the breeze doing little to abate the heat around us. I’d only wanted that touch, that taste to never end.

  I’d wanted an endless day.

  But that day, in Mr. Matthews’ English Lit class, sitting next to a boy who could likely impregnate the Cove female population with one look, I didn’t get my wish.

  He had never been friendly with anyone. He had, in fact, kept absolutely everyone at a distance: students, teachers, even the handful of wizards and witches that attended that last year with us. Only I seemed even remotely curious enough to exchange a glance or two and, of course, those glances which seemed to always come my way typically happened when I caught the attention of anyone not Bane.

  Especially the “anyone” boy types.

  The clock above Matthews’ desk had read 1:45. Fifteen minutes and I’d be free from all the hiding, all the whispered living that kept our lives running and our existence, our magic concealed from the mortals in the Cove.

  Fifteen minutes and I’d lose my chance with him.

  Forever.

  The courage I’d worked up had started just a month before that last day, I’d dropped my pencil in the middle of our Persuasion essay exam and Bane reached down and grabbed it for me. I was going to say thanks, maybe just offer him a smile, but I’d reached for my pencil and Bane covered my hand with his and rubbed the pad of his thumb over my knuckles.

  And I forgot to breathe.

  There’d been something in that look, something more significant than his fingers rooting me to the earth that day. There was no need for confessions of admiration, or practiced monologue about how I affected him or how much he loved my smile. There was something sweeter, stronger in the strength of his fingers gripping my hand and the heavy lidded gaze of those sharp crystal eyes catching me in their stare.

  Maybe it was the end of things that had forced me into action. Maybe he knew that day would be the last we’d have excuse enough for seeing each other.

  Things got a little hazy then, but I do remember Matthews telling me to, “enjoy New York, Jani and please reconsider college. I’ve never heard anyone so young explain symbolism like you do.” Then, Bane staying behind, seeming to wait, and Mr. Matthews pointing out as he was leaving that it seemed like perhaps I’d forgotten something on my
desk. But…I hadn’t. Had I? But looking back there was indeed a folded piece of paper sitting right there on my desk.

  It hadn’t occurred to me that Bane wanted me to stay behind. But as I opened the folded paper and read the scribble of “Don’t go”, I realized maybe there was more to small knuckle rub and the months of silent conversations than I could have imagined.

  I looked over at Bane, who had moved to lean up against the door. “Why?” I asked him, waving the paper between my fingers.

  He’d opened his mouth, but didn’t seem able to speak. I’d spooked him with one word and hadn’t understood how. Bane had asked me not to leave the room but didn’t seem all that interested in doing more than staring at me.

  Another step closer and the scent of him hit me hard. He’d smelled like honeysuckle and forest.

  “Why?” I’d asked again, not expecting an answer, even shutting my eyes, giving him an out if he wanted to take it. He could have walked away right then and never looked back. But his scent got stronger as he moved closer, and I felt the tip of his thumb smooth down my jaw.

  “Because,” he’d finally said as I blinked up at him, “I needed you with me. Alone.”

  Alone stretched into an entire afternoon and I’d found myself lost under Bane’s control, skimming my touch over his skin, wanting it to always be that way.

  “Bane,” I moaned, not understanding, at first that where I lay, that my mind and emotions were visible, open to him. I was no longer eighteen. He was now out of my reach. But that didn’t stop my subconscious from calling out to him. It made that touch that came to me impossible to disregard. “Yes, please.”

  But the hand on my neck moved up, covered my mouth, its grasp too hard to be a dream, and the shock of being touched, roused awake so quickly, had my eyes jerking open and me gripping helplessly for the lines.

  Bane shook his head, his forehead wrinkled with worry as I struggled against him until my sleep addled brain realized that it really was him. He held a finger up to his lips in a shushing motion and it was then that I heard the sound of lumbering, noisy feet close by—too close.