The man’s eyebrows rose along with the corners of his lips. “Were you now? Didn’t look so from where I stood.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” she muttered. “You’re not the only witch in this town, you know. I’m a witch, too.”
He blinked. “Well, suppose technically it’s warlock. But no use in siftin’ through grain when the hay’s already been baled. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Julia chuckled. She didn’t mean to. She was tired. She was scared. And, more than that, she was heartbroken. But she wasn’t dead, and that was down to this guy, pride or not.
He smiled, a bright thing that seemed to light up the dark alley with ease.
“Name’s Paris Wheeler, and it sure is nice to meet you, even if it is under less than perfect circumstances,” he said, offering her his hand.
Though she was still a little hesitant, she took it. He shook her hand firmly, biting his lower lip.
“Julia. Julia Fairweather,” she offered. “Paris is an interesting name.”
“For a man, you mean,” he said, her hand still in his. “It’s all right. It’s hardly the first time I’ve got that reaction. I’m named after the city.”
“The city of lights,” Julia said, nearly stumbling over the two unconscious assailants at their feet at she stepped closer. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Oh, Lord, no.” He shook his head. “Paris, Texas. It’s where my momma is from. Where I was conceived, I think. Not that that’s conversation I’m supposed to be havin’ in mixed company. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m afraid you’ve got me all flustered.”
“I’m sorry,” Julia answered.
“Don’t be,” Paris said. “It’s not an entirely unwelcome sensation if I may be so bold.”
“You may,” Julia said, again chuckling. “Is everybody from Texas so chivalrous?”
“Could be. Kinda doubt it, though.” He shrugged. “Not that I would know. Me myself, I’m from a bit farther down.”
“I can tell,” she said, listening to the way his voice twanged. “Listen, I appreciate what you did out here. Really. Sorry if it didn’t sound like it earlier, but I’m sure you can understand my skepticism over a strange helping me after what these two strangers were trying to do.”
“It’s no trouble at all. If my granddaddy would have seen me walking by a woman in trouble and not offering my hand, he’d have tanned my hide six ways from Sunday.” He shrugged. “So, in all honesty, it was just as much for me as you. Guess I oughta be thanking you, too.”
Julia hoped the dark would hide her sure blush.
“So, Fairweather, huh?” Paris asked. “My papa’s here to talk business with them actually. It’s what’s got me walking through downtown at this God-forsaken hour. We just landed.” His hand was still in mine. “What’s got you running back and forth like this?”
“A mistake,” she mumbled.
“I know how that goes. May I take you home?” He cleared his throat and looked toward his feet. “I mean, to your home. Can we go to your house? Dang it.” His turn to blush. “What I’m trying to say, rather unsuccessfully, is that I’d like to walk you home if you’d let me. Just to make sure you’re safe.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But this city is always buzzing. I’m just going to get a cab.” She pointed to the end of the alleyway, toward the undoubtedly busy city street. “I’ll be fine.”
“All right, then,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“I’m sure you will,” Julia answered, looking down at our still joined hands. “Now if you’ll just…”
“Of course,” he said, pulling his hand away so that the cool air hit Julia’s hand fresh again. “Look at me. I don’t know what I’m doing. You got me all flustered.” He looked at her again, biting his lip as he tucked his hands into his pockets and strolled a couple steps back. “I wonder why that is.”
“No idea.” Julia smiled. She looked down at the magic junkies still at their feet. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
She was already planning what to do with the bodies. She wasn’t inclined to help them. After all, she hadn’t been the one to kill them, and she felt no moral responsibility to mourn people who wanted her dead themselves.
Paris nodded. “I’m sure you will.”
“See you around, Paris Wheeler,” she added when she sensed he was still standing there.
“Sure do hope so, Julia Fairweather,” he said, then he grinned at her before turning and walking away.
Julia crashed into bed nearly the instant her head hit the pillow. The ancestors were speaking to her, mumbling about something she couldn’t quite make out.
No real surprise there.
Still, she didn’t need them. Her mind was loud enough even without the words of all the Fairweather witches that had come before.
Thoughts of Roman ran through her head on an endless ticker. Even in her sleep, she saw him: his lips, his eyes, his hands as they roamed her body, pushing all her buttons with the ease of someone who had put them there in the first place.
She woke in a heap of sweat and frustration. Her entire body ached—not only from the push and pull of passion, but also from nearly being attacked in the street.
She had been so foolish, being out there on her own. But that was the effect Roman always had on her. He brought out her reckless side, made her do things she otherwise would never even consider.
Part of her always knew that would be the death of her. Of course, the other part of her knew it as the only way she could ever truly be alive.
A light knock sounded on her door and, before she could manage even a sluggish response, it opened.
She had forgotten about that—how privacy was more an illusion than an actual constitution. Doors, locks, even beds, were all up for grabs here. Julia had lived the vast majority of her life in this very room, surrounded by these very things, trapped within these four walls, and still she didn’t feel as if they were really hers.
Julia expected Jenkins to brush through the doorway. His easy eyes and happy demeanor would be a welcome sight after all the recent drama.
Instead, her Grandfather—leader of the Fairweather Moon Coven himself—strode into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Julia asked, stiffening in bed as her heart dropped straight down to her gut. Her breaths shallowed. If her grandfather had taken the time out of his day to wake her, then something was definitely amiss.
“Relax, Julia. I can feel your uneasiness from halfway across the manor.” He shook his head. “If something was wrong, I wouldn’t be waking you with such gentle hands. And I certainly wouldn’t have knocked.” He pursed his lips. “Even if it is midafternoon.”
“Oh,” Julia answered, reaching over and tapping at her phone. The screen lit up. 3:27 PM. God, she had nearly slept the entire day away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“No need to apologize,” Grandfather answered. “Even witches suffer from jetlag. That being said, there’s some business that needs to be attended to. And you’re needed in the dining room.”
“The dining room?” Julia asked, sitting up straighter in her bed.
“We have company—people in need of a warm welcome.” He cleared his throat. “From you specifically.”
“From me?” Concern rose in her chest. “May I ask why?”
“You may,” he answered. “Just as I may refuse to answer, at least for the moment. There are things at play here, Julia. Things that have been building since well before your return.”
“Grandfather, I—”
“That’ll be enough, child. I’ve spoken. Bottom line is you don’t need to know why right now. You just need to do as you’re asked. Now make yourself presentable and meet me in the dining room in ten minutes.”
Julia scrunched her nose and imagined the state of her skin and hair. “Ten minutes isn’t a very long time to get ready.”
“Think of it as a chance to brush up on your magic.”
Grandfather tu
rned and marched through the door, which closed itself gently behind him.
Julia used every minute of those ten minutes to comb the knots out of her hair and slide into a blue and white sundress that she had left here when she trekked out to Iowa (for good reason). She could have been ready much sooner, but those ten minutes had been intended more as mental preparation than physical, and going through actions of getting ready was cathartic.
Luckily, she had a few extra pomegranate seeds in her suitcase and she wasn’t particularly stressed, at least not in the life threatening way of last night, so she managed to use them to brighter her appearance near instantly, sending a soft sheen through her dark hair and whitening her teeth just enough to look natural.
A little glamour, that was all.
Leaving her bedroom, Julia made her way to the dining room, again ignoring the voices of the ancestors, who still hadn’t seen fit to tell her anything she could actually process.
One of these days, she would either hear them outright or get them to shut up once and for all. That day, unfortunately, didn’t look as though it was going to be today, not with them yammering on like Sunday afternoon gossips under the hairdresser’s heating lamps.
Thankfully, the dining room was nothing like the inner sanctum. First of all, it was a stalwart room, not changing with the seasons and the whims of the witches the way the sanctum always had. Secondly, no outward signs of magic were evident within those walls, which meant no spinning chairs, no floating candelabras, and no shooting stars dancing across the rooftop.
This was an ordinary dining room, almost as though she was back in Iowa, cooking beef stew and settling in at that kitchen table as the sun went down.
Of course, she wasn’t. The company told her all she needed to know about that.
As she sat at the long wooden dining room table, her presence announced by Jenkins, who looked concerningly tired, she caught sight of her grandfather.
He looked much fresher than he had just ten minutes ago, his hair brushed back with a fresh suit on.
It seemed Julia wasn’t the only one hoarding pomegranate seeds. Well, she had learned from the best.
Beside grandfather sat a short, rounded man. He was bald, save for a light dusting of gray hair at his temples, and sported a matching mustache. He laughed heartily as Julia entered, his protruding gut shaking as he bounced back and forth.
“That’s a hell of a punchline, Fairweather!” he said, slapping Grandfather on the back.
Julia winced. She had never seen anyone treat her grandfather like this, as though they were equals.
Jenkins placed a large bowl of split pea soup—Julia’s favorite—in front of her.
“A little early for dinner, isn’t it?” Julia asked, looking up at the butler.
“It’s not an early dinner,” Grandfather said, not bothering to look over at her. “It’s late lunch. Our guests have been traveling and their internal clocks have seen better days.”
“Of course,” Julia said, her years of dinner parties and formal events kicking in. It was socialite training. Just the sight of a dinner napkin and crystal stemware straightened her back and brought out her best behavior. “Do forgive me. I’ve been a little off myself lately. I’ve been traveling myself as well, and I’m still a bit out of sorts,” she said, nodding at the rotund man. “My name is Julia Fairweather, and it’s absolutely delightful to meet you.”
“Oh, I know all about you, sweetheart,” the large man said in a southern accent the likes of which Julia had only heard one other time in her life. “And I have got to say, you don’t disappoint in the flesh.”
“Um, thank you, I suppose,” Julia answered, shifting uncomfortably as the man eyed her.
“This is Oscar Wheeler,” Grandfather said, motioning toward the man. “He’s the head of the most prestigious coven in Louisiana. He’s going to be our guest for the foreseeable future.”
Foreseeable future?
The words struck Julia more than a little funny. Grandfather didn’t accept guests for the day, let alone for an indeterminate amount of time. He was much too cautious for that. Too cautious and too crotchety. She would never say that, though. The rules of etiquette deemed it too rude. Besides, there was a much more pressing question laying on her mind, a question she could ask in good faith.
“I’m sorry. Did my grandfather say your last name was Wheeler?” Julia asked, looking over at Oscar.
“Fraid so,” a voice said from behind her.
She turned to find Paris—red hair, bright smile, and easy aura—marching toward her. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he was dressed in formalwear, making Julia feel even more underdressed than she already did.
“Paris,” Julia said, instinctively standing, even though historically, that would go the other way around. “You’re here.”
“He certainly is,” Oscar said, from the other side of the table. “Y’all have already rubbed elbows. Now if that ain’t the good kind of omen, I don’t know what is.” He slapped grandfather on the back again.
“He saved my life last night,” Julia answered, looking at the ginger man.
“I’m sure you could have handled yourself,” Paris answered. “I just never pass up the chance to help out a pretty lady. Call it the gentleman’s curse.”
“Mah boy’s told us all about what happened last night,” Mr. Wheeler said, an animated cigar away from being a full-fledged cartoon character. “And I, for one, am sure glad you two already know that you get along so well. It takes a load off the old mind.”
Julia’s brow furrowed. Huh?
“Agreed,” Grandfather said, but Julia noted the uneasy tone of voice. “Julia, there’s something we need to tell you. Something that will effect things going forward in a very significant manner.”
Julia’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”
Paris settled beside her, closer than she imagined he might.
That didn’t sit well with her.
“You’re aware of the changes that have taken place since you left here, as well as the tenuous nature of the magical landscape.”
“You’re talking about Roman?” Julia asked. “About the dark magic?”
“Well, that’s a small part of it.” Grandfather cleared his throat and stood himself. Julia’s heart sped. “The struggle for power has never been more real here, Julia. The truth is, the Blackwoods are closer to regaining control of our areas than I would ever admit outside of this room. And, with recent developments, it’s come to my attention I need to work harder to shore up our defenses as well as our hold on the future.”
“What are you saying?” Julia asked, feeling as though ants were crawling under her skin.
“You made your intentions clear yesterday, Julia. You are not interested in running this coven and, to that end, I agree with you. You may have been my first choice, but I have no interest in giving my life’s work away to someone who doesn’t want it.”
“Grandfather, that’s—”
“It’s perfectly fine, Julia. I’m not punishing you. I understand. But now it’s time for you to understand. You, too, Paris,” Grandfather said, looking over at him. “There is much to be lost in the future, but there is much to be gained as well. So long as we do it together.”
“Together…how?” Julia asked, her pulse racing.
“I might accept your indifference toward the leadership of this coven, but I cannot accept you turning your back on this family. At a different time, maybe. But we cannot afford it anymore. We’re calling in our chips, Oscar and I,” Grandfather started. “The world is changing, and the only way to survive it is together. The Wheelers are here because our covens are to be joined, Julia. Joined by marriage. Turn,” he said, motioning to Paris. “Turn, Julia, and face your betrothed.”
6
Roman
Roman swigged his coffee with the intensity and flare of someone who had read Catcher in the Rye one too many times. It had been a week since that night, since he had to forcibly
remove Julia Fairweather from his life and pretend it didn’t hurt like hell.
It did, though. It stung like an open wound. It threatened to encompass him to the point of definition, and all he could do was pretend that wasn’t the case and hope that stuck.
Holden Caulfield would have definitely understood that.
“There’s nothing worse than that, you know,” Adam said, snapping his fingers in front of his older brother’s face.
Roman balked, pulling backward and revisiting the situation at hand.
“What are you blathering about?” Roman asked, taking another drink of coffee. It was black and cold, the opposite of the milky sweet concoctions Julia used to funnel like water back when they were together. Maybe that was why he liked it so much. It didn’t remind him of her.
Except that it did. Everything reminded him of her. Everything was measured against her. The way she made his coffee; coffee the opposite of the way she made it. It was like every damn thing in the world—every piece of furniture, every scone in the window of a coffee shop, every girl who walked by flaunting herself at him—was a road that led right to her.
Julia Fairweather was everywhere, so much so that Roman couldn’t keep his mind off her long enough to have a conversation. And he didn’t know how to stop it.
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?” Adam asked him, eyebrows arched. “Don’t even pretend. I know you haven’t.”
“Was it important?” Roman asked, not putting too much stock in his little brother’s disappointed face. He’d get over it.
“Not really,” Adam admitted, tilting his head and taking a bite of his cheese Danish—another thing that reminded Roman of Julia.
Damnit, that woman was everywhere.
“Father thinks there’s an alliance to be made with the Romani.”
“Gypsies?” Roman asked, almost snorting. “That’s new. Last I checked, Father didn’t see fit to let their sir names pass over his tongue, let alone keep their company.”
“Perhaps that’s because they’re filthy abusers of magic who can’t be trusted,” Adam answered, picking up a napkin and dabbing the sides of his mouth with it.
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