“Was it fire witches?” Abbie asked before her father could speak.
Sophia looked at Abbie, the surprise evident on her face. “How did you know?”
“Call the Council,” Landon said. “We have something to tell them.”
“They are already called. I came to get you straightaway, but I sent Isabella to find the others.”
As Landon got up, he motioned for Abbie to join him. “You will need to tell them what you saw and felt.” She nodded and followed him. “Why? Why would they start a war after so long?” He mused aloud. “I just don’t understand it.”
He and Abbie went to meet with the Council, and she recounted the entire episode again. He was proud of the way she got through it without breaking down. Even listening to it again made it difficult for him to sit there calmly. He wanted to scream.
After her account, Abigail was dismissed. She told her father she would find her brother and sister and tell them what had happened. Landon looked to Charlotte Whinson and she jerked her head toward the door, indicating that he should go to his family. She was acting leader when Olivia was not present.
“Thank you,” he said as he got up and left the room right behind Abigail.
Two weeks later, he was sitting in the Council meeting room again, trying his hardest to pay attention as images of Olivia flashed through his mind. He blinked to dispel the moisture threatening to pool in his eyes.
“It is clear,” Charlotte Whinson said, “that hostilities are flaring up between elemental magic users as they have not in centuries. Some of the old ways need to be brought back.”
“But, Charlotte,” Landon Henderson countered, “if we give in to the paranoia, there may be all out war.”
“Is it paranoia that there have been deaths? Landon, they killed Olivia and Emma. Will it stop with them? Why were they even targeted? You may call it paranoia, but I call it good sense. We must know what is going on to prepare, to prevent these things from happening again.”
“What is it that you propose?” Sophia Hill asked.
“Only that we begin gathering information,” Charlotte said. She had been elected High Water Caster of the water coven after Olivia’s death, a logical choice since she was already the acting leader. “We can send out witches or warlocks to spy on the other covens. Then, at least, we will not be surprised as easily.
“Listen, I know as well as all of you that though it appeared to have been onlies—excuse me, non-magical humans—who killed Olivia and Emma, we know it wasn’t. The vision sent to Abigail and the sole remaining item from the attack, the little soot-covered stone angel carving, make it clear that fire witches attacked them. Someone went through a great deal of trouble to make it look like they were attacked by others. All I’m saying is that we need to know what is happening to prevent future surprises.”
Landon wasn’t sure he agreed. It sounded as if things could easily get out of hand and devolve into open hostility. “Olivia believed in working with the other elemental witches, cooperating with them. She was having good luck in the negotiations with the air and earth covens. She had almost achieved the unheard of: open communication and joint efforts between elements.”
Charlotte nodded her head, the tight bun of her pale yellow hair bobbing with the motion. Her voice was soft, sympathetic. “I know, Landon. She was doing great work, and I think that work may have caused her to be targeted. We don’t want anyone else attacked. The loss of Olivia and Emma was too great. We can’t have that happen again.”
“I guess you’re right. I wish you weren’t, but we do need information. As long as it’s gathered tactfully, secretly. It won’t do to allow the other covens to know we’re spying on them.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, “though if my guess is correct, the earths and the airs have witches out there right now doing the same thing. We’re not the only ones who have a history of conflicts with the fires. The other two elements know full well how aggressive those who manipulate fire magic are.”
“It is done then?” Julian Hill, Sophia’s husband, said. “The decision has been made and we will start sending out operatives to gather information?”
“Yes,” the High Water Caster said. “It is decided. Let us hope we gather information that will help us prevent any other attacks that could lead to a war of elements.”
An hour after the meeting, Abigail Henderson knocked on the door of the room that had been set aside as the office of the High Water Caster.
“Come in,” Charlotte’s muffled voice said through the door.
Abigail walked in and stood in front of the desk. The room was familiar, the same one used as her mother’s office when she held the position. The room, its furnishings, in fact the entire estate was familiar. She grew up here. It belonged to her family but was also used as the headquarters for her coven of water witches and warlocks.
“High Water Caster?” she said.
“Abbie, you can call me Charlotte. This isn’t a Council meeting or a formal occasion.” She smiled a sad smile at her. “Sit down and tell me what I can do for you. How are you doing?”
It had only been two weeks since her mother’s death, and she still felt as if her skin had been peeled off and her raw body was being pelted by hail. Her eyes started to tear up, but she clamped down on her emotions and took a seat.
“I’m doing about as well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” She rubbed the little angel figurine in her hand furiously with her thumb. It calmed her. A little.
“Yes. I suppose so.”
“Charlotte,” Abbie said, “I’m not sure what the Council has been talking about in all these meetings lately, but I’m sure some of it has to do with trying to find out what happened with mother and trying to find those responsible. I want to help. Whatever it is that I can do, I want to do it. Please, give me a purpose, something that is important. I need something to believe in right now.”
“I don’t know if that would be a good idea, Abbie. The type of work we need requires emotional distancing, steadiness, for success. Give it some time and maybe you can help later.”
Abbie’s heart sank. “I understand. Please keep me in mind. If there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it. I’m sure you can find something.”
“I will discuss it with the Council and let you know. Thank you for offering, Abigail. You remind me so much of your mother. I know you will be a great help to the coven, but for now, mourn. There is time enough for work later.”
Charlotte allowed her a few months, but then Abbie was asked to participate, along with several other witches and warlocks, in “missions” to gather information about the activities of other covens. Abbie was smart and powerful, and applied herself fully. Soon she was one of the top operatives.
It made her feel good to help prevent other attacks, but she never received an assignment involving her mother’s murder. The facts of that particular crime were still unclear to the coven Guiding Council. Of course, it was very clear to Abigail what happened. All she needed was the identity of the killer she saw in the vision.
Chapter 3
Benjamin Mason brought the fork to his mouth as his azure eyes met those of the woman sitting across the table from him. He was wearing a navy suit with a red and yellow tie, his short, light brown—close to dirty blond—hair styled in a wave.
“Ben,” she said, “this place is fantastic. The food, the atmosphere, and especially the company.”
He swallowed and smiled at her. “It is nice. Thank you for having dinner with me, Susan. We don’t get to spend enough time together.”
Her eyes sparkled in the light from the candles on the table. “I know. That’s something we’ll have to remedy, isn’t it?”
“Definitely.”
The two hadn’t been seeing each other very long. Only a few dates, but Ben felt comfortable with Susan French, more comfortable than with any of the young socialites his mother wanted him to associate with. He looked over at his date and smiled. She was definitely more plea
sant than most of those young rich kids.
Her blonde hair was long enough that she sometimes played with it, tying it in knots idly as they talked. Her blue eyes, almost matching the color of his, were bright, full of life, and glittered when she laughed. He liked it when she laughed, a good, wholesome sound that was so hard to find among the wealthy people that his mother wanted him to be friends with. Their fake laughter made him cringe.
He watched her as she ate, the movement of her lips making him lick his own.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she took a sip of wine.
“I was just thinking that you look fantastic, much better than any of the food here. Positively delicious.”
Her fair cheeks flushed slightly. It was one of the things he liked most about her. There were a few beautiful women among those his mother paraded in front of him. They were all from wealthy families, of course, and one thing Ben had found to be true was that when they were complimented, they took it as a given. Not so with Susan. She acted surprised every time someone called her beautiful.
“Oh, you are a sweet-talker, Ben. But that’s not what you were thinking of. I saw your eyebrows draw down as if something unpleasant came into your mind. Tell me.”
Ben made a show of sighing loudly. “Oh, I can’t hide anything from you. I was just thinking about how my mother would not like me seeing you. Not because you’re not perfect or anything. Just because your family is not on the cover of Fortune Magazine.”
“Does that bother you? That I’m not rich?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not at all.”
“Well, then, don’t worry about it. I’ll win her over. You’ll see.”
“Maybe. If anyone can, it would be you.”
They finished dinner and left the restaurant. Spring had finally taken hold, and it wasn’t as chilly as it had been the week before, so they walked arm-in-arm around the lake near the eatery. It was a pleasant stroll and they chatted and laughed. Ben felt comfortable with Susan and was excited to see how the relationship would progress.
After he drove her home and kissed her goodnight, he was in good spirits. Things were going to be good in the coming days. He had a feeling about it. Driving home to the Huntsman Estate, he couldn’t help but sing along with the music on the radio. It was a fine night. Yes it was.
A week later, Margaret Huntsman sat in her stuffed leather chair as if it was a throne. In a sense, it was. She was the most powerful woman in two hundred miles. No, the most powerful person in two hundred miles. She knew it, and those with any sense knew it as well. But not everyone had sense. Standing in front of her was a case in point.
Her handlers led the girl into the study where Margaret would hold court. The conversation would be just between her and the young woman being escorted in, though. Other than the two shadowy figures keeping control of the girl, no one needed to know of this meeting.
This study was one of the smaller rooms, tucked away in a corner of the estate that most visitors never saw. Margaret sat behind a large mahogany desk, shined to a mirror sheen. It was spotless, with only a cup of her favorite tea and a saucer beneath it resting on the surface. Bookshelves lined the walls, containing tomes and little bits of art: a bust of some composer, glass sculptures, Fabergé eggs. The two huge windows had their curtains drawn against the night. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, big enough for two people to walk into at the same time while standing almost erect. There was a fire burning there, as always. Margaret insisted on keeping all the fireplaces in the house burning at all times—other than during cleaning—even if there was no chance she would visit a room. More than one servant had been fired for not following that simple command. She chuckled inwardly at the pun.
The girl was really very pretty. Her pale hair was parted in the middle and long enough to fall over her right shoulder. She held it in her hand as if it was a talisman against this most awkward of meetings. Her oval face was the type some men would find alluring, Margaret thought, with dazzling blue eyes large enough to capture and hold any man they latched onto. She did not wear the confidence of a woman who knew she was beautiful, though. Margaret had done her research and found that the girl was what people would call “down to earth.” Margaret saw why her son would be attracted to her.
“What is the meaning of this?” the young woman asked in a voice that was strong but smooth. Yes, Margaret could definitely see why her son would be enamored of this one. Even in anger, her voice seemed soothing, almost pleasant. “Why have your goons brought me here? Where is Ben?”
“Benjamin is none of your concern, now or ever.” Margaret sipped her tea, not bothering to ask the woman to sit. She looked the younger woman over as if inspecting her for purchase. Silence and a piercing gaze caused most people to crack, to become more pliable.
“We have talked twice before, you and I,” Margaret finally said. “Yet you persist. I don’t understand this.”
Susan French, bit her lower lip and then seemed to realize what she was doing and straightened, firming her mouth into a thin line. “You don’t scare me, Margaret.”
Margaret took another sip of tea and as she put it down, smiled a wicked smile. “Oh, but I do, Susan. I do. But perhaps I don’t scare you enough.”
“You can’t keep Ben and me apart. He cares for me and I share the feeling. He’s an adult and can do what he wants.”
“Again, you are mistaken, Susan. He is my son and under my roof. I will decide what does and does not happen in his life. If you think differently, then I am afraid we have a serious disagreement.”
Susan bit her bottom lip again. The girl was strong-willed, but she displayed her feelings too readily. She would never make it in business. She was too transparent. Well, it was to be expected of lower-class trash.
“What does it matter to you?” Susan asked, trying another approach. “Surely you want to see your son happy. Why can’t you give it a chance? I know we could be happy together.”
Margaret tsked. “Oh, Susan, you are so droll. I don’t care about Benjamin’s happiness. I care only about how he will increase the family and how he will make alliances with others who are worthwhile. You know—your betters. People completely unlike you and your lower-class, trash-grubbing family. I will make sure he does what is best for himself and for the family. Being with you is not it.”
She had never put it in such blunt terms with the woman, not when there was a chance of her repeating it to Benjamin. Susan’s pretty rosebud mouth opened wide in shock. It took her a moment, but she lifted her chin, looked Margaret in the eyes—she gained a few points for that—and spoke.
“You can’t do anything about it. We will continue to see each other and find out if we are meant to be together. You and your plans can go to hell.”
Another sip of tea as she allowed the woman in front of her to stew in the silence, and then Margaret decided she’d wasted enough time. She put her cup down again and sighed.
“Yes, I may go to hell, if there is such a place. But I think I’ll be at home there. You, on the other hand, will not know one way or the other. I’m afraid you are too stupid to be allowed to continue your existence.”
Susan French’s pretty face wore a mask of confusion. It was understandable. People rarely thought horrible things were possible, especially in their own lives. Well, Susan would learn different, though she would only have moments for the lesson to sink in.
“What—?” she started, but Margaret used her magic to bind the woman tightly in place, including her mouth.
The two men who had brought the young woman stepped back toward the door. They knew the signs of someone bound with Margaret’s power and knew the woman wouldn’t escape. They also knew, no doubt, that it could be dangerous and messy to be too near her.
Margaret moved her hand as if controlling something in front of her. Susan, eyes wide in fear but her mouth stopped up with some power she did not understand, floated across the room toward the gian
t fireplace.
“You, my dear, were given several chances to cut off all ties with my son. You stupidly refused. This is what comes of your decision. If there is a hell, maybe I’ll see you there. Don’t wait up.”
Margaret clenched her fist and the young woman in front of her burst into flames and moved further into the fireplace, levitating inches above the floor. Even if Margaret’s power had not held her mouth immobile, Susan would not have screamed. The conflagration was so rapid that she went from soft human flesh to ash in a matter of seconds. The two men lifted their hands to shield their faces from the heat and light.
A few moments later, everything was as before. The small fire in the fireplace burned merrily and the three people remaining were exactly where they were when the fourth was disposed of.
The faint, sweet smell of burning flesh hung in the air, but the combustion was so rapid even that odor would fade quickly. Still, Margaret gestured toward the mantel above the fireplace and several scented candles came alight.
“You are sure no one saw you abduct the girl?” Margaret asked them as she took another sip of tea.
“No one saw,” one of the men said.
“And what of her vehicle or other evidence?” Margaret asked. “We don’t want any clues left lying about.”
“We picked her up on a running trail. Pete took her car to the demolisher, the one that chews the cars up and shreds them so they can’t be traced. There were no witnesses.”
“Good. You may go.”
They turned without a word and left the room. Margaret looked to the fireplace and grimaced. She would have to let the fire die down so that all the extra ash could be cleaned out. Well, it was no matter. She wouldn’t use this study again for a time. She really only used it for these “conversations” with troublesome people and she didn’t foresee any more of these anytime soon.
She had other work to do. Finishing her tea, she set down the cup, rose from her chair, and exited the room.
Water & Flame (Witches of the Elements Series Book 1) Page 2
