The Unlocked Legacy

by Lucy True

  “You know what’s funny?” Martha asked.

  “Clowns,” Burgundy answered automatically.

  “Excuse me, but are you going to use that joke every time you see me, because I’d advise you to get a new routine. You’ve been using that joke for years, now. Everyone in town has heard it.” The glare Martha leveled at Burgundy would have cowed a lesser man, but since Burgundy was anything but a man, she shrugged it off. Charlotte waved another vegetable at her until Martha broke the silence. “Okay, I’m not used to you not talking. What’s wrong?”

  The ground suddenly looked very attractive to Burgundy, so she backed up to one of the small trees lining the street and sat on the low wall of brick surrounding it. Charlotte joined her and plucked at her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “No. Not even naughty vegetables can drag me out of this funk.” Burgundy tapped the toes of one foot against the sidewalk. “And Martha’s right. I need a new joke. Maybe Aunt Iris is right, too. The best way to protect myself is to fall into line and take the easy way out.”

  “Oh, hell no, Burg. You’re too smart for that. Maybe we can think of things from a different angle.” Charlotte jammed her hands in her pockets. “Look, I can see that this is serious, so I’m going to score us some ice cream sundaes with extra fudge. Stay here.”

  Try as she might, Burgundy couldn’t muster any excitement for the promised treat, let alone the energy to rise from her perch. She rested her hands on her knees and tried to find another way to push away the heavy feeling permeating her body. Even her mouth tasted metallic, despite popcorn and the prospect of ice cream.

  “I’m concerned about you,” Martha said from behind her table. “Burgundy Hart is never quiet.”

  “Can’t I want to not talk sometimes?” One thing Burgundy had never considered was how the townsfolk saw her. Each and every one of them was strange and beautiful in their own way. In fact, she’d always thought she might be somewhat normal compared to the people around her. At least that thought was distracting enough to draw her out of contemplating the uncomfortable sensation still lodged in her gut.

  Charlotte returned with two five-scoop sundaes. “Here. Embrace the calories.” She handed the cold, plastic container to Burgundy, then whipped her head up. “Oh no,” she muttered.

  “What is it?” Burgundy followed her gaze and then repeated the sentiment. “Oh no.”

  Striding down Main Street from the opposite end was a cluster of women, all with hair in varying shades, but mostly gray. Iris pranced, as usual, at the front of the pack, Victorian dress rustling with her dainty little steps.

  Even Martha looked at the group approaching them before heaving a sigh. “Great. The Luscious Crone Coffee Klatch.”

  “You’re not part of it?” Burgundy sliced a glance her way, unable to hide her surprise. The group, led by Aunt Iris, consisted of every middle-aged woman in town. Or, it seemed, almost every middle-aged woman in town.

  Martha snorted and shook her head. “Please. If you could hear what they talk about, you’d understand why that’s not my cup of tea.”

  “Oh, I see, when I make puns, I have to find a new comedy routine, but when you do it, its fine.”

  The Amazon turned her glare back on Burgundy. “I’ve told you before, I don’t make puns.”

  “Fine.” Laughter pushed up in Burgundy’s throat as she chortled, “Hey, since Iris leads the group, does that mean the others are the Luscious Crone’s Cronies?”

  Charlotte snorted, ice cream sputtering out of her mouth in alarming quantities. “Damn it, Burgundy!” she turned and hunched over the nearby trash can, wiping her mouth with one of the paper napkins clutched in her other hand.

  The group stopped in front of Martha’s table and Iris smiled at her niece. “I’m so glad to see you enjoying the festivities, dear. I was just telling the ladies how excited you are about your birthday.”

  “I stopped being excited about birthdays once I turned seventeen. I mean, it’s not like I’m getting toys or my first broomstick ever again,” Burgundy pointed out. What the heck was her aunt up to? Burgundy wasn’t turning five and about to enter kindergarten. Or even sweet sixteen, when she actually did receive a broomstick as a gift, only to learn that she still needed her flying license from the Witches Council (a more frightening test experience than getting her driver’s license, and also one she’d failed unlike her test at the DMV).

  Iris rolled her eyes and Burgundy could have sworn she saw Martha do the same. “You know very well what I mean. You’re going to declare your path and you’ll finally be a woman.”

  “What? Womanhood is measured by the fact that I can’t use magick to save my life? That’s good to know.”

  “Oh, stop that. You are more talented than you give yourself credit for.” Iris glanced back over her shoulder at the ladies behind her. “Didn’t I tell you she’s modest? No one can keep a better house than Burgundy. She’s the perfect domestic witch, even though she’s too humble to admit it.”

  Oh. My. Goddess. Just when she’d thought things couldn’t get worse... Burgundy swallowed underneath the expectant gazes of the women grouped behind her aunt and managed a thin, “Yeah, that’s right. You should see me sweep.”

  “Don’t let the wrong person see you sweep, though,” Cass Troy piped up from the back of the assembly of ladies. “Really, it’s more of a whisk that’s going to get you in trouble.”

  “There she goes, babbling again about the future,” Martha muttered and waggled her fingers next to her temple. Somehow, that set Charlotte off in another fit of laughter, though it lacked the same wet, dairy-fueled quality as the first time.

  When Iris turned her steely gaze on Martha, Burgundy was sure there’d be a showdown, witch versus Amazon, right there in the middle of Supernatural Small Town, USA. In fact, she would have paid good money to see it. So an even stranger figure interposing itself between Iris and Martha made her sag with disappointment, until she realized who it was.

  “Am I hearing correctly, that Burgundy Hart is going to declare the domestic path of witchcraft on her birthday?” came a voice with perfect, rolling Irish syllables. “That’s a wonderful idea, considering it means I can keep her at the library. It’s the talented ones who always seem to leave Rock Grove.”

  Now it was Burgundy’s turn to sputter, though in far less amusement than Charlotte had. Her friend rubbed her back as she coughed. It would have been nice if Burgundy could have coughed up every last bit of frustration and resentment. As it was, the only thing she managed to do was give herself a sore throat, while glaring up at Mr. Knight.

  “I’m so glad you agree,” Iris purred, leaning in toward the vampire, who’d shaded himself from the sun with a rather frilly umbrella, lace dripping from the edges of it. In fact, Burgundy would call it a parasol and she narrowed her eyes at the way all the ladies, except Martha, leaned in, as if they were hanging on Mr. Knight’s every word.

  “If you will excuse me, I have some business I would like to discuss with your niece. You don’t mind, do you?” Whatever Mr. Knight was doing, it was working. Iris nodded. The women behind her nodded. Even women across the street nodded. The only ones who didn’t succumb readily to his vampiric charms were Martha, Charlotte, and Burgundy herself.

  Before she could question it, a cool hand cupped her elbow and lifted her to her feet, then guided her past the tightly-clustered Luscious Crone Coffee Klatch.

  “You too, Charlotte,” Mr. Knight trilled. “Don’t make us wait, darling. And my apologies to you, Martha, but I know you can handle this.”

  The first thing Burgundy heard was the sound of footsteps hurrying after them. The next was Martha’s laughter as they rounded the corner. Whatever spell the women had fallen under must have broken, because now their high-pitched, squabbling voices rose. Thankfully, Mr. Knight put distance between them quickly. Burgundy glanced back to see Charlotte chasing after her, both hands holding onto the sundae for dear life.

  At least in the strange kerf
uffle, they’d both remembered the first rule of womanhood: waste not a drop of chocolate.

  Mr. Knight led them to the library’s basement entrance, which brought them directly into the children’s room. Since it was a festival day, the library was closed, every light and computer switched off. Even with light filtering in through the windows, the place looked dreary and gray inside. Not at all welcoming, as it was during normal hours.

  “I knew she was going to find a way to use your birthday against you,” he said, closing the umbrella and giving a full-body shudder that betrayed his relief at being out of the daylight. “I just didn’t expect it to be so public. Still, Iris probably thinks she’s protecting you, especially with a Finder in town.”

  Burgundy exchanged glances with Charlotte. Her mind still reeled with everything that’d happened only moments prior. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Knight.”

  “Cut the crap, kid.” That refined softness the women swooned over on the streets dropped from his voice. “Your twenty-seventh birthday is in a month and you’ve exhausted your post-collegiate grace period as far as declaring a path of witchcraft. Once the first of May rolls around, your aunt expects you to stand up in front of that damn Council and tell them you’re declaring the domestic path. They’ll test your abilities, find you lacking, and agree that this is appropriate.”

  Mr. Knight continued walking, which forced Burgundy and Charlotte to scamper to keep up with him. Across the children’s room, into the auditorium, up the steps onto the stage, through the kitchen, and into his office. It was a place Burgundy had peered into a time or two when she needed to speak with her boss. But it wasn’t open to just anyone. Even the librarians didn’t go into the office without permission, which struck Burgundy as ironic, considering the office belonged to a vampire.

  “After that, you’ll resume your nice, normal boring life here in Rock Grove. And your aunt and mother will find a way to bury the truth about you.”

  “I—” Burgundy choked on her reply, throat closing on any words that tried to follow. What could she possibly say? Mr. Knight spoke authoritatively, as always. Even his pose, palms pressed to his desk and eyes boring into hers, challenged her to disagree. She couldn’t.

  “That’s right. They’ll bury it and, along with it, any potential you have of being more than you are now. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Would you like me to tell you why?”

  Chapter Seven

  “What do you know about me?” Burgundy swallowed and sank into the chair in front of Mr. Knight’s desk. Charlotte took the other.

  This seemed like a good time to finally try the ice cream, so Burgundy dug her flimsy plastic spoon into the first melted layer and let the sweetness coat her tongue. As much as she would have enjoyed seeing what went down between Iris and Martha, it seemed like she was about to get the better end of the deal. The inside scoop, as the case may be.

  “Why don’t you start with telling me what you know about you?” Mr. Knight sat, the umbrella discarded in the corner, among a pile of files and books. Burgundy cringed when she considered the rain dripping onto all that paper, but if Mr. Knight didn’t care, then she probably needed to let it go.

  She looked at Charlotte, who offered nothing but a shrug. “I mean, if he already knows...” Charlotte trailed off and shrugged again.

  Great. This was all on Burgundy. She’d already told one person, even though she wasn’t supposed to. If she blurted any of this out to Mr. Knight, then how much longer would it be before the entire town of Rock Grove learned the truth?

  “I can’t say anything,” she whispered. “If I do, people could get hurt.”

  “Yes, I’m sure your aunt wants you to believe that, but if you don’t, then those people could still get hurt. I’m sure Reginald Weber is looking for any excuse to lay the hurt down on Rock Grove. If, however, you do say it, you open yourself up to the possibility that you might be able to protect yourself and this town, instead of hiding in it.”

  Clearly, she hadn’t explained herself well, so Burgundy took a deep breath and said, “The more people who know, then the more likely it is word will get out and the Finders will use that to get to me. You can’t expect me to take a chance like that. Especially when it means more than one life is at stake.”

  “Huh.” Mr. Knight leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. Under the dim lights of the office, Burgundy saw bluish circles beneath his eyes. All this time, she’d never looked at those eyes, but now she saw that the velvet darkness of them was tinged red at the edges.

  He looked pale and exhausted, skin taut against the bones beneath it. This wasn’t the handsome, charismatic man she saw throughout the work week. Something was wrong with Mr. Knight.

  “Let me explain it this way,” he said. “I need you. Not the person your aunt wants you to pretend to be, but the person I know you are. There are reasons I hired you, Burgundy, and what you are underneath that human-looking exterior is one of them. Now, you can either trust me when I say this is a safe place or you can quit your job right here and now. Because you’re no good to me, otherwise.”

  Threatening or not, there was still greater promise in Mr. Knight’s words than in her aunt’s. Burgundy swallowed the lump in her throat and rubbed her hands along the frayed fabric of the chair arms, the clear plastic container of ice cream in her lap. “Since my mother worked here, then you must have known my father – who he is and, more to the point, what he is.”

  Mr. Knight didn’t answer. Didn’t even nod. He reminded Burgundy of a cat lying in wait, ready to pounce when the right moment came. A glance at Charlotte told her at least one person thought she could trust her boss. Wild thoughts followed, images of Mr. Knight standing up, tossing off his jacket, and shouting, “A-ha! Fooled you, for I am a Finder and you will spend eternity in prison!”

  But a vampire wouldn’t be welcome on the Witches Council, any more than the majority of warlocks, so Burgundy dug the heels of her hands into the upholstery and said, “I turned out to be a warlock, like my father. He’s the one who started everything last fall, came here and turned half the town into lovesick freaks. No offense,” she added with a glance from Mr. Knight to Charlotte.

  “None... taken?” Charlotte pursed her lips, then looked down at her empty plastic container. “I can’t be offended after ice cream. Besides, this isn’t about me, so why don’t I leave?”

  “Or stay,” Mr. Knight said, “because you two have always been good friends. Besides, at least if Charlotte knows what we know, you have another ally. I hate to say it, but your aunt is not on your side. I can’t even say that she means well, because if she did, she would focus on equipping you to fight, not keeping you powerless.”

  “Fight? That doesn’t sound promising.” Of all the people in their world who could possibly take issue with what she was, Burgundy knew the real danger was the Witches Council itself, and anyone who adhered to their dogma. “I still don’t even understand how all of this happened – how I turned out a warlock, instead of a witch, since my mother is a witch. In science class, they taught us that supernatural children inherit the traits of the mother almost every time.”

  “Almost.” Mr. Knight drew out the last sound, the sibilance slicing through the air. “There are exceptions and you are one of them. In the case of a warlock, I suppose they also taught you that a male can use his magick to create this exception. Your parents met at school when your mother was a junior at the high school. He’d just come to Rock Grove and they hit it off as soon as they saw each other.”

  This was the first she’d ever heard of how her parents met, so Burgundy sat up straighter, heart pounding so hard, it took her breath away. “They went to school together? That’s kind of sweet.”

  “No, I said they met at school. Your father was a teacher. He was already somewhere in his early three hundreds by the time he arrived in Rock Grove. Your mother was sixteen.”

  “Ew.” Burgundy wrinkled her nose. So much for the anticipation of hearing how her pare
nts got together.

  As he had back on the street, Mr. Knight let out another chuckle that surprised Burgundy. He wasn’t one to laugh. Twice in one day? Unheard of. “Her parents protested strenuously and your aunt did all she could to dissuade her sister from dating Cian Black. Finally, your mother became a Finder to placate them, but she’d already given birth to you. So Iris, Lily, and their mother cast a spell to ensure no one in town remembered Cian, Lily’s relationship with him, or anything about your father. It was the one way to make sure no one knew you were the daughter of a warlock and potentially a warlock yourself.”

  “But you knew,” Burgundy pointed out. “Is that because vampires are immune to spells or is there another reason you’re the only person who can tell me all of this?”

  Mr. Knight tilted his hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. “It’s partially that, though not exactly. Vampires aren’t immune to magick, no, unless we have our own protection against it.”

  “Which you do,” Burgundy concluded. “Wait – that magick I smelled the other day...”

  “That is something you will see for yourself soon enough. Speaking, however, of immunity.” Mr. Knight reached for the pile of newspapers on the floor next to his desk. For an eloquently-spoken immortal blood-drinker, his haphazard environment reminded Burgundy of a teenager’s bedroom. He tossed a newspaper on the desk and Burgundy half-rose from her chair to look at it.

  She’d seen that black and white photo on the front center of the issue before. “The Pied Piper incident,” she said, lightly running her fingertips across the newsprint.

  “Yes. That was when I realized you were immune to magickal effects, like other warlocks. Iris must have realized it, too. You followed the music, like the rest of the children, but not blindly. You did it because you were following your curiosity. However, Iris made sure you, your mother and grandmother, and the rest of the town thought you’d had no control. That’s the day she realized without a doubt that you turned out to be a warlock.”