Trial by Fire (Covencraft Book 1)

by Margarita Gakis

  After obsessing over it for several days, she realized she did want to stay. All the drama, demon deals and uncertainties aside, she enjoyed practicing magic. She felt like she could fit in with the coven better than she had elsewhere. Although she still chafed a bit when she thought about how Paris had lied to her at the start, not telling her about needing to break her magic if she left. However, when she sat down and thought it through, she could appreciate his point of view. He’d been hoping she would decide to stay and he wouldn’t have to tell her. It made perfect sense and if she was honest, she would have done the same thing.

  She really hated having to be reasonable and adult about things sometimes. It would be easier to stay mad at him, at the Coven, at the world just because she felt like it. But if she did that, she’d be no better than her parents - insecure and lashing out at whatever was closest just because they could, because they wanted to.

  Back at Paris’ house, she went up to her room, wondering if she’d move back to the little cottage after this was all over or if she’d find some other place to live. She had kind of liked the cottage. It was small and cozy and reminded her of…

  She frowned, her eyes setting on her little shoebox, the one she took everywhere with her. It was resting on the nightstand next to the bed. With a sigh, she sat cross-legged on the mattress as she pulled the box toward her, opening it and sifting through its contents. She kept all sorts of odds and ends: a multicolored pencil, one of her report cards from grade school, a deck of cards - worn and well used, a bright pink shoestring, some rocks and finally, at the bottom, photographs.

  She pulled one out and stared at it, fingering the tattered edges. She should put it in one of those special photo protectors or get it scanned and save it digitally. But there was something about holding a photo that was more tangible than looking at a picture on a screen.

  The knock at the door startled her and she looked nervously around at her stuff all spread out on the bed. Innocuous enough, she supposed.

  “Yeah, come in.”

  Paris poked his head in. “Are you all right? I made a pot of coffee and was a little surprised you weren’t beating down the stairs for it.”

  “Yeah, just thinking.”

  “May I ask about what?”

  She shrugged and she saw his eyes looking over her collection spread out on the bed. “Just stuff,” she said noncommittally.

  “What’ve you got there?” He indicated the photo in her hands.

  “Nothing. Just a picture.” She put it off to the side and started gathering all her things to put them back in her shoebox, feeling embarrassed and silly.

  “Is that you?” he asked, coming closer.

  Before she could stop him, he snatched the picture and examined it. She felt her heart clench, and much like when she was with the demon, she willed herself remain motionless, not to move a muscle.

  “It looks like you but… Her eyes are green. Yours are grey. I didn’t know you had any other family. A sister?” he asked, his tone light and easy. “That would explain why the demon couldn’t pull you through the portal when it tried. You didn’t say you had a sister.” He flipped it over and her stomach felt sick, knowing he’d read the writing on the back.

  “‘Lily. Six years old.’” He looked back at her and she wondered how she must appear, preternaturally still, jaw clenched, hands reaching for the photo. “Who is she?” he asked, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

  She took the photo back, harsher than she’d intended. “I don’t. That’s… That’s just a photo. It’s me. It’s just… Me.”

  He looked at her carefully, studying her expression and she jutted her chin out defiantly, daring him to call her a liar.

  “It says ‘Lily’ on the back,” he said calmly.

  She shrugged, not looking back up at him. “I changed my name. So what? I have documents if you want to see,” she challenged. Her defenses were on full alert - she didn’t talk about Lily, she never talked about Lily. Not to anyone, not ever.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Jade stuffed everything back in the shoebox and put it on the floor. “You didn’t. I’m not.” She looked back up at him, kept her face blank. “So, Covenstead tomorrow? Catch a demon-dealing witch if we’re lucky?”

  “Strange definition of lucky,” he said, giving her the impression he was letting her change the subject. “But yes, hopefully this will all be over soon. Have you...?” he trailed off, like he was unsure and then he plowed forward. “Have you given anymore thought to staying here, at the Coven?”

  “I have. Given it more thought,” she said evenly. She didn’t know why she was being so cagey. She was leaning toward staying. Just ten minutes earlier she’d been almost certain of it. But thinking about the past, thinking of Lily always made her twitchy and nervous. Made her feel like a little girl again, uncertain and spooked - like she couldn’t trust anything or anyone. Paris waited for her to say more and when she didn’t, he didn’t push, just nodded solemnly.

  “Very well. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

  “Yeah. ‘Night,” she said offhandedly as he turned and left her room, shutting the door behind him.

  Her eyes rested on the shoebox again and she couldn’t even think about sleeping until she’d taken out all the items again and put them back correctly, in their proper order. She ran her fingers over the edges of the box when she was done. Even if she stayed at the Coven, she wondered if she’d ever feel ready to tell anyone about Lily.

  Perhaps it was a secret she’d keep forever.

  Chapter 15

  It was certainly true that things felt worse at night, with the darkness of the dying day pressing in on you. Jade didn’t know if it was the notion that the day was over, never to be yours again, and the lack of light that made things seem worse after the sun had set, but there was something to be said for the start of a new day. Maybe it was all that mumbo-jumbo about starting over, maybe it was receptors in your eyes reacting to the light, or maybe it was just getting some sleep to reset the brain. At any rate, Jade felt like an overexcitable puppy the next day - bursting at the seams with energy and eagerness.

  She wanted to catch a witch.

  She kind of felt like how she imagined a wolf would feel, going out into the forest to catch some dinner. Sure, there were bigger things out there than her, but she was going to catch something and worry it with her teeth - maybe pull it apart a bit before it died.

  Gruesome, but accurate. She liked to think of it as a ‘winning attitude.’

  It occurred to her she probably shouldn’t be so excited to see if she could catch someone who kind of seemed to want her dead, but at the same time, she felt a little glee in her vindictiveness.

  Maybe this is what all the self-help books preached when they professed leading a proactive life. She smirked to herself. Those books probably didn’t have this scenario in mind.

  Her enthusiasm was slightly dampened by the sight of herself in the mirror. The wound on her head was bruising spectacularly, blossoming yellow and purple around the edges of the bandage. She still sported welt-like marks on her neck and, of course, her cast was a black splash against her reflection.

  Well, she didn’t need to look like a model to catch a witch. Brains over beauty.

  To date, she’d managed to avoid getting outrightly killed and had faced down a demon of the underworld. So, things could be looking up.

  Jade was showered, dressed and already through one cup of coffee before Paris came downstairs. It was still really awkward to put her hair in a ponytail while one of her hands was in a cast, but she managed.

  Barely. It was kind of lopsided and a bit messy, but it would do.

  Paris took one look at her and raised his eyebrows. “Your power is dancing around you. Good mood?”

  “I’m feeling very proactive today,” she said gleefully, bouncing a bit in her seat.

  Paris poured himself a cup of coffee. “How so?” he asked while he added
two heaping spoonfuls of sugar to his mug.

  “The promise of a new day,” she said, giving him a mock salute with her own mug. He frowned at her.

  “You’re very odd sometimes.”

  She waved him off dismissively. “It’s part of my charm. Can we go now?”

  He chuckled good-naturedly at her and forced her to wait while he made some toast, pushing two pieces at her and indicating she should eat as well. She ate her toast like a sandwich, hurriedly crunching through it and then swigging down the rest of her coffee. She looked over at him and his three remaining pieces of toast.

  “Wrap it in a paper towel, let’s get going.” Jade commanded, slamming her mug down emphatically and then heading for the door.

  “Honestly. The most powerful witch in the Coven,” he muttered behind her.

  “Still don’t care, get a move on.” She tossed the words over her shoulder, stuffing her feet into her shoes and then pitching him the car keys.

  “Dare I ask what your plans are?” Paris asked once they were in the car and on the road.

  “You’re going to get me the files of the people who work in the building and I’m going to go around and make like a bloodhound. Someone’s doing demon magic and I’m going to find them,” she said assertively.

  “We’re going to find them,” he said, correcting her.

  She waved her hand. “Fine. We. Whatever.” She paused for a moment, having a new thought. “Hey, when we do find whoever, what happens then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, is there like a witch justice system or jail or what?”

  She looked over at Paris and saw his jaw tightening. “There’s the Council which deals with all supernatural creatures, but I would hesitate to turn anyone over to them. It’s weighted heavily with Fae, as they are the largest supernatural group, and their justice can be… Strange. They value things differently than we do. Something you or I may take offense to, they would not. Similarly, something we may consider innocuous could be worth a blood bath to them. As far as coven justice or law goes, it’s a little unclear. I’m afraid we have no formal penal code, at least, not a modern one. It’s been a long time since we’ve required one.”

  “But you have an ancient one?” At his terse nod she continued. “What’s it say?”

  He grimaced. “The most common sentence is burning at the stake.”

  She felt her stomach clench a bit. “Yuck. Messy. I thought that’s what other people did to you guys. I mean, us guys. I mean, you know, witches.”

  “Yes, but our persecutors ironically learned it from us. It… It cleanses the magic from a witch. Burns it out and releases it back to the universe.”

  The punishment seemed like it made a sick sort of sense, and although it should have been in line with the rest of her bloodthirsty thoughts that morning, it was a little overboard. Even for her.

  “I’m guessing since I haven’t seen any witches burning at the stake in the news you guys don’t do that anymore?”

  “No. Not in ages. I don’t even know what other covens use for a justice system. I’ve been giving it some thought and at the very least, I think we’ll have to break the witch that is doing this. Break their power.”

  She swallowed hard feeling a bit of a chill. “Like you were going to do to me.”

  “I told you I won’t break your power.” He stopped for a moment, making a move like he was going to pull the car over and have a more prolonged discussion, but he kept driving.

  “Because you can’t,” she added quietly.

  “Because I won’t,” he clarified. She wasn’t sure why since to her mind, it amounted to the same thing.

  Even though she felt like she could have a place in the Coven, felt like she could stay there, she thought that might always be a sore spot with her. Like a sliver of glass left in a wound that healed over - it didn’t cause any real trouble, but it was always there, under the surface.

  She pushed it down, hoping to force it deeper and ignore it. “So, witch-breaking,” she said, continuing. “Think that will be enough?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to see. It would depend on you as well.”

  “Me?” she asked, her voice rising up a bit.

  “Yes, you. What would you be satisfied with?”

  She felt a rush of vindictive, heady power and she wanted to blurt out that maybe she’d only be satisfied with death too. Maybe she wanted to be a little bloodthirsty after all? Perhaps she wanted to give the rest of the Coven, or anyone else who was interested, a little bit of a warning: mess with me and I’ll gut you like a fish.

  She knew in part it was her childhood, her past talking - the small child in her that would always want retribution and revenge for everything. But she didn’t know if she could live like that. It seemed like a worthy idea in the moment, but how would she feel two, three or five years down the line?

  If there was one thing she knew about herself it was that her impetuousness quite often got the better of her. And she always paid dearly.

  Jade fiddled with an imaginary thread on her jeans. “I think maybe you shouldn’t leave it up to me,” she said finally, her voice quiet.

  “I would value your input.”

  She huffed wryly. “You really shouldn’t.”

  Once at the Covenstead, they headed to Paris’ office. It was the first time Jade had seen it. They entered through one of the doors off a hallway on the third floor into a small sitting room area that held a medium size desk. Past that, there was a door that Paris headed directly to and Jade surmised the smaller area was for his assistant. She followed Paris into his office and stopped dead in her tracks.

  Okay, she was starting to get the whole ‘most powerful witch in the Coven’ thing. His office was cavernous. Natural light poured into the enormous space from the bay windows looming behind a large cherry-wood desk, setting the room aglow. Bookshelves, not unlike the ones at his house, lined almost every scrap of real estate along the walls. They were full of more grimoires, books on leadership, politics, on other supernatural creatures, on the history of magic, chemistry, and supernatural relations.

  She felt a little dumb just reading some of the titles.

  There was also a small sitting area with two large, wing-backed chairs and a tiny, intimate fireplace.

  Probably where he had groundbreaking meetings with werewolves or vampires, she thought with a laugh. Jesus, no wonder he thought she was amusing for mouthing off at him. She shoved her hands into her pockets and tried to make herself a little smaller. Ugh, she felt really out of place.

  Even the carpet was opulent. She didn’t want to step any further into the room without removing her footwear. Her tennis shoes sunk in a little into the plush softness and she wanted to back up and try to smooth out the fibers or run a vacuum over the area to clear it up.

  “Why are you just standing there?” Paris asked from behind his desk. He was already seated, the big windows framing him wonderfully. “I thought you’d be all over the bookshelves by now.”

  “Yeah. I’m just gonna…” She shrugged and rocked on her feet a bit. “I’m good right here.”

  “It’s going to take me some time to pull the files,” he said, looking at her like she’d lost her mind a little bit.

  She glanced around the lavish room again, looking for a safe place to park her butt. Her only option was the two wingback chairs. She squared her shoulders and marched over to one, sitting down gingerly.

  It was like butter. The dark, chocolate leather felt so soft she almost mistook it for some other cloth or fabric. She ran her fingers over it, marveling at its texture. She mouthed the word, ‘wow’ even as she tucked her feet up underneath her. At the last minute she remembered she was wearing shoes and stopped, dropping them back down on the floor. She looked over at Paris and found him smiling at her.

  “Like the chair?”

  She laughed at herself. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice.”

  After a few minutes of chair apprec
iation time, she pushed herself out and finally made it over to the bookshelves, reading the spines of the books. She heard Paris on the phone, arranging for the files to be collated, then speaking to Callie letting her know where they were, then to someone she didn’t know about a meeting with a werewolf pack that he apparently couldn’t put off any longer.

  Jade raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Paris as he got off the phone.

  “Werewolves?”

  “There’s a pack very close by and we’ve been having some… Magic overlap issues with them.”

  “Werewolves have magic too?”

  “Werewolves are magic. All supernatural creatures are magic to some extent,” he explained. “Witches can use that magic at their will. The things that we’ve been doing recently, the amount of magic bleeding off us with the demon warding and the other spell-work you’ve been learning…” He trailed off. “It’s leaking into their territory and they don’t like it. I can’t say I blame them. Normally, they probably wouldn’t notice, but demon magic does have a certain… Feel to it.” He rubbed his fingers together as if he were feeling the greasy taint of demon magic even then.

  She toed the carpet a bit with her shoe, feeling chastised. “Sorry.”

  “Well, it’s not really your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. Something I’ll have to make clear to their Alpha.”

  “So is it more political or magical? Your job?” she asked.

  “It’s both, usually in equal parts.”

  She made a hmph sound. “Sounds crummy.”

  He laughed a bit. “Well, I wouldn’t have used that word exactly, but it fits.”

  “What time’s your big meeting?”

  “One,” he said, looking at her like he was trying to decide something. She eyed him right back.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Jade said dryly. “First of all, I’m not something you have to ‘do’ something with. Second, what’s that even mean?”