The Unlocked Legacy

by Lucy True

  “This is so funny,” Charlotte finally said. “We never run out of things to say. What’s wrong with us?”

  “I think maybe we don’t need words anymore.” Burgundy ducked her head and dipped a fry in her ketchup. The idea that they could communicate with a mere look warmed her from head to toe.

  Charlotte slapped her hands against the table and chortled. “You’re blushing. That’s so cute!”

  “No, you’re blushing.” Burgundy picked up a handful of French fries and raised her hand. “I swear, I’ll start a food fight.”

  The annoying sound of leftover liquid mixed with air being sucked through a straw had them both turning their heads. Reginald Weber stood next to their table, a Blizzard – or what was left of it – clutched in his hand, long black coat covering a body also clad in black.

  “Mm, these are so good,” he said.

  “Yeah, delicious,” Burgundy agreed. “What happened to that blue jacket of yours, Rolfe? You rocked it. You should have added a cute little delivery boy cap.”

  Reginald’s brows drew together. “I don’t understand this Rolfe thing and it’s not funny.”

  Charlotte snorted and slapped her hand over her mouth. At least someone got the joke and Burgundy grinned. This was one of the reasons she loved this woman. She could always count on Charlotte to understand her humor. “That’s okay. I’m sure there are plenty of things you don’t understand.”

  “No, I suppose not. You young witches today in this modern world, you’re nothing like the ones who came before.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Burgundy couldn’t believe this guy was launching into lecture mode. He didn’t look much older than her, yet—

  “I am 280-years-old, young lady.”

  “Oh.” Burgundy squinted up at the Finder. “Seriously, that’s your exact age?”

  “More or less. The point is, we have traditions, which you seem to refuse to uphold. These traditions include bringing honor to our family name. The Bloom family deserves a better representative than you to carry their name into the future.”

  Burgundy stifled a giggle as Charlotte piped up. “In case you haven’t noticed, Burgundy isn’t going to carry any name into the future. She bats for the other team.”

  Reginald rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. This isn’t about procreation. This is about the actions of the witch. If she chooses the domestic path, like her aunt says she will, I’m sure everything will be fine. She will go into the history of the Witches Council as just another low-level witch with barely enough power to mop a floor.”

  Something crackled in the air and Burgundy glanced around to see if the lights overhead were flickering. No. It wasn’t electricity or anything else in the restaurant. It was her. She slid her hands off the table and clenched her fists against her knees. Of course now would be the time she’d lose control yet again.

  I will not blast Rolfe in the face with magick. I will not blast Rolfe in the face with magick. Damn. I haven’t even had a chance to drink my Blizzard.

  Light blazed in her eyes and she shut her lids to keep anyone from seeing the silvered brilliance blazing there. Had she done it in time? Her brow furrowed almost painfully until Reginald spoke.

  “Yes, that’s what I thought. No threat here. The Council would do better to worry about true problems, such as Cian Black. Not a silly girl in a small town.” Burgundy opened her eyes just in time to see Reginald turning on his heel, a smirk tugging at his lips before he strolled away.

  “What did that mean?” Charlotte whispered. “I thought they had Cian Black behind bars.”

  The tingle of magick that’d threaten to swell into a tsunami settled within Burgundy and she drew in a breath. “You’re right. I mean, the guy shouldn’t be a problem for them at all, ever since they took him in last fall.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  What did it mean? Burgundy tried her Blizzard and pondered the question. It meant she finally got her chocolate fix. It meant Reginald might leave her alone.

  “It means my father broke out of the Witches Council prison.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  He was too smart to come to Rock Grove. Burgundy knew that. She also knew wanting to see someone the Witches Council had branded as a criminal was asking for trouble. In time, though, she hoped he would find a way to reach out to her. If anyone held all the answers, it was her father.

  At the moment, however, she was stuck at home with Aunt Iris on a Monday night after work, since she’d committed to help tidy up the house for an upcoming Beltane ritual. Using her limited witchcraft to clean house for a bunch of old biddies didn’t exactly turn her on, but she’d promised. It was kind of a family tradition that they prepare for the holidays together, even if they were holidays Burgundy could only participate in on a superficial level.

  “Burgundy.” Her aunt patted her arm, a tentative gesture that made Burgundy’s heart skip a beat. How had their relationship become so strained over the past couple of weeks? This was the woman who raised her, gave her food and shelter, tried to keep her safe.

  And lied to her about what she was.

  Burgundy swallowed and said, “Yes, Aunt Iris?”

  “Let’s talk. I know you probably don’t want to hear what I have to say, but please.” The pleading tone was enough to make Burgundy nod in agreement. Just because she harbored a grudge, that didn’t mean she couldn’t let her aunt say what she had to say. It also meant she didn’t have to listen or accept her explanations.

  She sank into a chair at the kitchen table as Iris bustled around the kitchen, preparing tea without asking. Within moments, her aunt set two cups of herbal tea in front of them and sank into the opposite chair, hands clasped around her mug. The skin along the backs of her hands was crepe-like. Not quite as wrinkled as it ought to be for a woman a few centuries old, but certainly no longer young skin.

  “Your mother really wanted you.”

  Burgundy tore her gaze from her aunt’s hold on the mug to look up at her face. Those dark eyes were locked on hers, but distant with memory.

  “When she found out what your father was, though, she was afraid of you being branded a warlock too, because of him. She concealed her pregnancy the best she could to alleviate suspicion that she might give birth to a non-witch. Everything we did, we did for you, to give you the best life possible.”

  Burgundy nodded and swirled her teabag in the water. “Did either of you ever consider maybe being honest about what I am and letting the Council know? If you didn’t act like you had something to hide, we might not be facing this trouble now.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you have no idea how far this reaches, how deep this goes. We could never tell anyone. As soon as she recovered from giving birth and knew you’d be fine with me, your mother left her job at the library and enrolled in Finder training with the Council.”

  “To appease your parents?” Burgundy asked and lifted the teacup to her mouth.

  The air around her went still. Even the crickets outside hushed. The color drained from her aunt’s face before Iris spoke. “Who told you that?”

  There was no way she’d rat out Mr. Knight, so she simply shrugged. “What other reason did she have? It’s not like there was any indication that Lily planned to leave Rock Grove for a life serving the Witches Council. She had a job, and a sister and daughter here. Why else would she leave? There had to be pressure from elsewhere. You’ve never talked about my grandparents. Where are they in all of this?”

  She held her breath. The odds of her aunt spilling any information weren’t exactly good, but at this point Burgundy would take the risk.

  Her aunt’s nostrils flared and the color finally returned to her cheeks. “Your grandfather holds a position of high importance on the Witches Council. We couldn’t dishonor him.”

  “And my grandmother?”

  “Long gone, probably dead. We don’t know exactly what happened to her, except that she went missing during the last purge of warlocks only
a couple years after your mother was born.”

  “Missing?” Burgundy squeezed her eyes shut and saw only those three women, tied to stakes, fire climbing up their legs, slowly burning them to death. Her breath shuddered out, leaving her light-headed. Is that what happened to the grandmother she’d never known? “What a complicated family situation. Just how high up is my grandfather on the Council?”

  Iris took a long swallow of tea, the silence speaking volumes.

  Burgundy smacked her hand down on the table and gritted out, “How high?”

  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough, but I might as well prepare you.” Iris lifted her gaze to Burgundy’s, the first time she’d looked her in the eye when discussing such things. “He’s the head of the Witches Council.”

  ****

  “THE HEAD. THE DAMN head of all of it.” Burgundy slammed the book down on the desk and glared up at the light filtering in through the window over the desk. “And I’m supposed to stand in front of him, and all the people on the Council, declare a path of witchcraft, and act like all of this is normal. I can’t do that.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Burgundy spun at the sound of the voice. She’d come to the library alone that night, after Iris decided their conversation was over. Maybe she would sleep here. Maybe not. All she knew was, she needed to stay away from all of it right now – her aunt, the Council, and anything having to do with that side of her family.

  “You know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” The woman’s voice came closer, soft, rounded English-accented syllables unfamiliar, yet soothing. She stopped in the archway across from the desk, framed by the bookshelves on either side. Her long, black skirt swirled around her ankles, her cream-colored peasant shirt embroidered with colorful flowers along the neckline and wrists.

  Unbidden, the vision of the three burning women returned, their faces twisted in pain and illuminated by the firelight fueled by their own bodies. She’d caught only the slightest glimpse of long skirts and flowing blouses before the pyre was lit. Before those women...

  Burgundy pushed it out of her mind. Forty-five years later, there couldn’t be a connection. “Who are you?”

  “I’m not a warlock, if that’s what you’re hoping. You really are the only female one left. I should know. I’ve traveled the world for many years, seeking knowledge. But I can still help you.” The woman stepped closer to Burgundy, hazel eyes and strawberry-blonde hair shining in the light.

  She imagined for a moment that the reddish hair was burnished by fire, but blinked the vision away a second time.

  “The only thing you lack, the only thing holding you back from finding your potential, is control. Your power isn’t channeled the same way as a witch’s power. Ours is meant to fulfill duties and obligations, and thus we need spells and rituals to direct our magick. Warlocks do not require such intense focus and that is why the Council fears them.”

  The woman reached out to cradle Burgundy’s hands in hers. Tingles of power followed everywhere that cool, soft skin touched.

  “Warlocks channel their power through nothing but want, desire, intention. You need to learn how to do it.”

  “Like when I put out the fire, all I wanted to do was save the people in the diner.” Burgundy swallowed at the energy that passed between the woman’s hands and hers. “If it’s that easy, are you saying I can do anything I put my mind to?”

  With a laugh, the woman shook her head. “No, dear girl, certainly not. What kind of world would this be if anyone could wield power without limits? But the witches think you can and with the power of artifacts – something only your kind can unlock – the rest of us like to think we’re doomed to ultimately become your slaves. I know that’s not the case. It’s human nature, if you’ll pardon the expression, for us to always be at odds. That means the supernaturals do a good enough job keeping themselves in check without having a council of any sort to govern one race or another.”

  “But I thought that was the point of the Witches Council, to keep everyone on their best behavior.” Burgundy drew her hand away and the woman chuckled. There was something uncomfortably familiar in her touch.

  “Children need people to keep them on their best behavior, but witches do not. The Council exists for appearances only, a consolidation of power for those who desire it. They’re the real enemy, but I think you’ve figured that out. Anyway.” The woman traced a sigil in the air. It flared briefly, bringing with it a sharp, metallic taste of magick, before fading out of sight. “The Firebrand Syndicate is your ally. I’m not suggesting you trust your fellow warlocks implicitly, but you have very little choice. You can either continue to live a lie, something you’ve already decided won’t work for you, or you fall in line and hope for the best. I think you know which choice you’ll make.”

  The surreal conversation had Burgundy holding her breath. When she finally drew it, she whispered, “Who are you?”

  “Someone the Firebrand Syndicate was kind to. They’ve given me access to this place and I decided it was time to see you. All you need is control.”

  “How do I even separate what’s witchcraft and warlock, uh, warlockcraft? Warlock magick?” Burgundy shrugged and said, “Whatever it is. How do I manage that?”

  “Easy – you can feel the difference.”

  “Feel it. Okay.” Burgundy moved around the desk into the wide open space between the bookshelves. She reached for the most familiar source of power, the one that moved through her sluggishly, like some kind of illness she couldn’t quite shake.

  “No.” The woman put her hand on Burgundy’s shoulder and said, “You’re trying to use witchcraft, not your true power. You’ve spent so many years subsuming it, ignoring it, that you don’t know what it feels like to consciously use it.”

  That was helpful. Burgundy tried not to roll her eyes at the statement. “So what am I supposed to do to find it?”

  “Close your eyes and remember.”

  “Close my eyes in front of someone I don’t even know who popped into a secret library meant only for warlocks, yet who isn’t a warlock?” Burgundy sucked in a breath through her teeth. Why couldn’t everything be straightforward? Why did everything have to be a struggle when it came to finding out who she was?

  The woman laughed again, though her expression sobered quickly. “I appreciate your caution and common sense, but I can assure you that only trusted people with good intentions are permitted to pass into the library.”

  “Fine, so I’m supposed to trust you.” Burgundy closed her eyes. “This is me trusting you for, like, a second.”

  Another chuckle followed, and then the woman said, “Think about how it felt when you realized what you were, when you saw the world in a new way, beyond the border of your little town. Look inside to find what that awakened within you, what that allowed you to do to stop the fire at the diner, what’s been there all along that you simply never noticed before.”

  The hypnotic cadence of her voice and the words she spoke resonated within Burgundy and there, deep inside, she found it. A brilliant silver flame that glowed and pulsed, and begged for release. Burgundy lifted her finger, mirroring the woman’s prior movements, drawing a sigil in the air.

  Opening her eyes, she watched as silver fire followed her every gesture, until she told it to stop. The sigil flared and then dissipated.

  “What did I just do?” she asked.

  “That is the sign of the Firebrand Syndicate. You’ve signaled to them that you’re here. If you want him to, your father will find you. So will others who can guide you.”

  Burgundy looked at her hand. Though she saw no trace of the energy, she still felt it inside her, expanding, filling her body with a chilling tingle that made her want to run a marathon, climb a mountain, take on any challenge.

  “So I can basically do anything with my magick,” she stated, turning her hand back and forth in front of her face.

  “No, not anything. That wouldn’t be fair of Mother Na
ture, would it? But you can do things witches can only dream of. Learn how to guide the power and, most of all, use it well.” The woman touched her fingers to Burgundy’s forehead, a benediction of sorts. “Those of us who oppose the Witches Council or, worse, are friends of the Firebrand Syndicate are few and far between. But we’re out there. You may be the only female warlock, but you are not alone.”

  With those words, the woman disappeared, as if she’d been nothing but an illusion or hallucination the entire time. Burgundy questioned whether she’d even been real, but the touch on her hand and then forehead? Oh, those had been real enough that she knew the truth.

  She glanced back down at her hand, the one that’d emitted that one burst of controlled power. The sensation differed from witchcraft. That coolness, restlessness, that desire to flow and move and work. All of that came to her so naturally, it was like breathing. Nothing like the headache-inducing drag of using witchcraft.

  “Two weeks until my birthday,” she said. “Maybe I can lay low and not declare a path after all, especially if Reginald the Finder leaves town.”

  She turned and took a step toward the desk, when the sound of footsteps hurrying toward her stopped her in her tracks. “Miss Hart, good,” Mr. Knight called to her. “I’m glad you’re still here. We have a problem. Another Finder came into town.”

  “Jeez, are you kidding me? I thought blondie was on his way out.”

  “Not exactly, he’s still around. And what’s worse is the Finder the Council sent to join him is your mother.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  There were a few points of propriety every person should observe when meeting a family member, especially a non-custodial parent, for the first time. As far as Burgundy was aware, one should: