by Brea Viragh
She moved from foot to foot and answered slowly. “Yes.”
He permitted himself a full-fledged laugh. It was perfect. Almost as good as having the daughters in custody. Poor old Thorvald. It would be a slap in the face.
Orestes found a perverse sense of pleasure in the other man’s pain.
Some called him ruthless, ice-cold and cruel. He’d never found any of that to be true until that moment. “How utterly perfect,” he murmured.
“What would you like us to do?”
“Keep him in holding,” Orestes said. “I want our best people watching him around the clock. And interrogation.” Of course, interrogation. Where was the fun in life without it? “Make sure he’s uncomfortable and kept away from his son.”
Yes, he could picture it in his head. The man would talk, tell them everything they needed to know to gain the upper hand. Thorvald’s daughters would come for to him because they had no choice. Left alone with only a single parent. A single parent in a coma held above in the Claddium infirmary as further collateral.
A shiver of pleasure warmed his cheeks. Yes, things were progressing better than he had planned.
“Might I ask what this is about, sir?” Kelsi ventured.
“No, you may not. Do as you’re told or I’ll terminate your position. How many times have I threatened to fire you this week?”
“Seven times, sir,” she reminded him.
“Then I would think you’d learn to pay attention.”
She ducked her head and bent the upper half of her body in a curt bow. As she rounded the door to alert the proper people of his orders, Leo turned the corner.
“We need to talk,” he cut in roughly.
“Good morning, son. How are you? Did you enjoy your time in hiding with your tramp? I haven’t seen you in, what? Two, three weeks? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were ignoring me.” Orestes narrowed his eyes and tried not to feel annoyed at the lack of propriety. Their family had never been one for pleasantries, although he’d enjoyed beating the manners into them.
His pride and joy. At least, Leo would have been if he were anything close to his father in temperament.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Leo asked, his voice a deep baritone. The edges of his tan overcoat flapped around his large frame, signature red scarf wrapped around his neck. With shoulders wide enough to crack the door frame, the look should have been odd. Leo pulled it off with the grace of a magazine cover model.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” Orestes leaned back with his arms crossed. “How about you fill me in on what you’re thinking?”
“Cut the bullshit, Dad.” Leo moved across the room in two strides and slapped his palms down on the desk. “I’m going to give you the courtesy of repeating myself once. Once. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“In regards to…?”
“In regards to attacking the Cavaldis and keeping Thorvald locked in the Vault like some sort of animal. You didn’t even have the decency to talk to me. You nearly took down the house, with people inside, and I had to hear it from an air elemental in the fucking break room! What did you do to him? Where is Varvara?”
“He confronted our own, Leonidas. There are people down there even now getting medical attention,” Orestes answered, those thin lips turning up slightly in a snake-like smile. Cold and untrustworthy. “And the mother—”
“Varvara.”
“Though I doubt she will ever be more than a vegetable, she is being taken care of. Trust me. She’s lucky I am able to forgive her husband in this case. Otherwise she might have been denied precious medical attention.”
Amber-colored eyes glared at him. “You sent men to his house to arrest his children without cause. What did you expect would happen? And where do you get off authorizing such an intrusion? There are no grounds. We have a checks and balances system in place for this kind of thing.”
“The youngest of their fold attacked this very building hours earlier, you know,” Orestes responded. “I am well within my rights to send people after her. She is a menace to society.”
Leo hung back, well aware of the reason for Karsia’s behavior and unwilling to divulge the information. “It wasn’t her fault.”
“I fail to see how that’s possible.”
“Sometimes people need help. Not a gun in their face and an order to stand down,” Leo said. He linked his hands behind his neck and walked to the bookshelf. Walked back. “You of all people should understand. But of course, I forgot. Diplomacy isn’t really your forte. Did you ever stop to think this might be a result of leaking magic due to the eclipse? Did you ever stop to think these people deserve your help instead of being attacked?”
Orestes shook his head and shot his only child a look down his nose. “They are a danger to themselves and others, and the little display today only served to prove my point. I’ve been saying this for years, and now I have the justification necessary to…” He trailed off.
“To what, Dad?” Leo asked. “To bring down an entire line of magic users? To try and wipe them off the face of the earth after you’ve already had their son in custody?”
“If that is what needs to be done, then yes. Sometimes it’s simple.”
“It’s never simple. You’re talking about murder.”
Orestes hesitated before moving to a small silver coffee service near the window. He lifted the carafe and poured himself a steaming serving. He didn’t bother offering his son any. “Say what you want. I now have provocation. Thorvald Cavaldi will remain in the Vault until I say otherwise.”
“Tell me one thing, and be honest. For the first time in your wretched life, be honest with me.” Leo leaned on the desk with the look of a man with too much weight on his shoulders.
“That depends on the question.”
“Did you have anything to do with Mrs. Cavaldi’s accident?”
Orestes answered immediately. “Of course not.”
“Are you lying to me?”
Orestes answered that question with another one and waved his son away. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be? Go spend time with your mother. I’m sure she’s lonely at the house, unless she’s already passed out from too much wine. She hasn’t seen you in weeks.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Leo shook his head and straightened. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this mess if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I see.” Orestes set his cup down with a light clink and rounded on his son. “You are throwing your lot in with them.”
“I don’t understand why it has to be us versus them.”
“I see it in your face. I knew it from the instant I let you get involved with that bitch.”
“Let me get involved?” Leo pointed his finger like an arrow. “You have a lot of fucking nerve.”
“No, you have the nerve, Leonidas. An affair is one thing, but proposing marriage to that freak of nature? I should have killed her when I had the chance. I knew banishment was too kind for her.”
Leo stopped. His entire body seemed to turn to stone. His heart missed a beat, and when it started again, it did so hard enough to bruise a rib. “What did you say?” There was a long pause. He stared at Orestes and didn’t recognize him. “It was you? You’re the one who separated Astix from her family?”
“You’ve drawn a line in the sand, son, and instead of standing with your family you’ve cast me aside for them. The Cavaldis.” Orestes sneered, raising his tone slightly. “What a crock!”
Leo spoke slowly, enunciating every word, feeling numb. “You hurt her.”
“She should never have been born.”
“She’s a person, Dad. She’s a person and a damn strong witch. How dare you take it upon yourself to arrange—”
“Leonidas, I’ve had enough. Kindly stop before you dig yourself a hole. There are things about your father you don’t know, and for good reason. I do what other people can only imagine.”
“I’m going to st
op you from doing whatever it is you’re doing. Mark my words.”
Orestes once more gripped his coffee cup and sipped. “Duly noted, and so marked. Now, if we are through here…”
“You’ve abused your station for the last time. I’ll see to it if it kills me. You’ll pay for what you did to her.” Leo pointed at his father’s face. A definite threat. “We’re done. And this is far from over.”
Orestes watched his son leave the room, waiting until the echo of footsteps disappeared down the long tile hallway.
“No, I’m afraid not. It’s only just begun.”
He waited a few more minutes to make sure Leo was entirely out of earshot. As soon as he was sure, he called for his secretary.
The girl rushed back into the room in enough time to save her from the worst of his temper. “Sir?”
He took time to stare out the window. Tap his fingers on the sill. Grind his teeth until he tasted friction. “Follow him.”
CHAPTER 17
Morgan perused the family spell book, keeping his touch delicate on the pages, careful of the worn, scarred binding. “Where did you get this?”
“It belonged to our father and was passed down through the generations. Kept in a fire-proof, magic-proof, everything-proof safe for the better part of the last twenty years.” Astix stood looking out the window, shielding her eyes from the glare. Snow fell lightly to soften the already covered ground, reflecting the light like a mirror. She walked over and sat next to Morgan, and tapped a finger on the spine of the book. “We figured it was our best bet.”
“This is magnificent! Priceless.” Oh, he was definitely in his element here.
“We used it weeks ago to try and draw Darkness out, along with the location spell burned into Aisanna’s skin. We realized too late that she was using us. Maybe this time, we can use what we found.”
Morgan flipped indiscriminately, his gaze eating up the pages and memorizing what he saw. The scholar in him jumped for joy at the opportunity to study such a document. The magic of his heritage responded in kind to the history there. So many spells and enchantments written by those long-dead hands. Magic some may not recognize, the knowledge lost over the years, and resurrected for this special purpose. It made his insides tingle like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket.
“This must go back hundreds of years.”
“Three hundred and fifty-two, to be exact. Please be careful with it.”
“Of course, of course. This is a perfectly preserved microcosm of history.” His smile threatened to blind her. Morgan cradled the book on his lap, hesitant to let it out of his sight until after he’d had time to peruse it. “Does this detail the birth of your line?”
“Not entirely. There are hints here and there. Little breadcrumbs left for us to follow. I, ah, haven’t been welcome at home for the last twelve years of my life. I don’t have much information to give you on the subject. If you want more, you’d be better served asking Aisanna.”
His expression softened. “Please. Tell me what you know.”
They had gathered in the living room, with their best shot at saving Karsia nestled between them.
Astix sighed and stared at the book. “Our roots are in Eastern Europe, although most of the written accounts are from after the Puritans arrived in America searching for religious freedom. We survived the trials and inquisitions. We know from personal experience our line includes Cecilia and Vane Cavaldi through the birth of their son sometime around 1200 AD. But we don’t know his name.”
“I would love to sit down and have you tell me the whole story at some point.” Morgan would need days to prepare and a bevy of note-taking paraphernalia at his disposal. Definitely the seeds here for another research paper.
“Maybe sometime. If sometime ever comes.”
Morgan was completely absorbed, staring history in the face. He’d been around for it all, of course, but to see it from someone else’s perspective? To see the vibrant pieces of their history in their own handwriting? The opportunity was rare and one he considered priceless.
“Look at these letters. Spells, recipes…” He adroitly removed a dried stem of some herb that had been pressed between pages. “It’s simply magical.”
“Well, yeah, that’s our currency of choice. Now get your coat on.” Astix rose, grabbed her own jacket, and started outside. “You’re going to need it.” She sent the call over her shoulder.
Morgan threw his coat over his shoulders and scrambled after her, the tome tucked under his arm, his glasses askew. “I’m coming.”
Karsia would be down soon, returned from whatever mysterious errand she’d gone upstairs to accomplish. He fervently hoped it was a trip to the bathroom and nothing more. He wouldn’t put anything past her. Not anymore. She’d changed too quickly, the switch one she thought she could hide from the rest of them.
He knew better.
He’d been in her mind and knew the intricacies of her being in a way more intimate than intercourse. He could tell when she was lying. And he knew they were running out of time.
The instant the wind penetrated his clothing, his body protested crossly. He was not a fan of the cold, he decided on the spot, and tried to see the beauty in the weather. The day was fresh and clear, a smattering of flakes dotting the air. Dappled sunlight filtered through the thick black branches. No reason to expect the worst.
Although he’d never been an idealist.
The door slammed behind him and Karsia stalked out, her strides long, looking like a rabid wolf. Shoulders dropped. Arms tensed. Mouth half open.
“Not now,” she said testily, striding past him when he tried to speak to her. She kept to the shadows of the tree line and walked around the field.
Astix stomped her feet to keep the blood flowing as they waited outside for the others. “Ignore her. I’m sure she’s anxious to get this over with. The one you want is halfway through on page 266, by the way.” She gestured toward the spell book. “I think Aisanna bookmarked it.”
Morgan hated to rush and would have preferred hours of solitary time to record and analyze every nugget of information held within the aged bindings. Reluctantly, he moved to the page in question and surveyed the words written there in ancient, untidy script.
Drawings and random scrawls in Latin dotted the margins. He forced himself to focus on the spell. This wasn’t the time to get distracted.
With his finger hovering over the words, Morgan read them aloud. “Bound within and set without. Ancient power held with clout…” He squinted, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose. “How can you read this drivel?”
“It took some practice. Practice and a bottle of aspirin for a headache. After a while, you don’t notice the handwriting anymore.”
“I highly doubt it. I’ve seen some scratchy penmanship before, but this…this is illegible.”
“Good thing you won’t be the one reading it, then.”
Morgan finished his brief perusal and tuned in to the energies of the book, that spell in particular. Yes, there was true power there. It lay in wait. Ready for the right incantation, the right ritual, the right oomph behind it to unleash the magic. The right year and month and position of the moon.
Fate was behind this, he knew. They wouldn’t have found the spell without a guiding hand.
“It’s been waiting a long time for someone to appreciate it. Lots of secrets here,” he said.
Astix shook her head and stared at him. “Good to hear. Anyway, the spell, plus black onyx, bloodstone, agate, and the fact that it’s a Saturday should be enough to get the bitch back where she belongs.” She stalked forward. “Out of my sister.”
“I don’t know about the Saturday thing but I’ll trust your judgment. This is too far outside my purview for me to offer any kind of concrete help. I’m a Greek philosopher by nature. If you need help dealing with mythology of the Mediterranean—”
“I’ll know who to ask, thanks.” She pressed her lips together. “You’ll be my magical backup if
we need it. And we are going to need it.”
“Somehow you don’t seem too sure.”
“Who can be sure of anything?”
Morgan closed the book with a breath of dust rising from the pages. “When all of this is over, I would like a chance to talk to you,” he reiterated.
“When all of this is over, I expect you to tell me who you really are.” Astix turned her odd-colored eyes on him. “I would be happy to have a chat once we get that bit out of the way.”
Morgan grinned, holding out his hand. “You have a deal.”
He caught the flash of tattoos as she gripped his palm, shaking once.
Karsia stalked toward them, furious. “I would appreciate it if we kept the touching to a minimum.”
Astix made sure to step a solid two feet away from Morgan on the off chance Karsia went back on her word against hurting family. “It’s fine. We’re set.”
Aisanna opened the door behind them, shrinking back from the cold. “It’s like the Antarctic out here.”
“And getting worse,” Elon said over her shoulder, staring at the snow. “Are you sure I can’t come?”
“You would only be in the way. Or worse, you might get hurt, and I couldn’t handle that. I would tear this world apart.” Aisanna leaned in for a farewell kiss. “I’ll come back to you.”
He tried to give her a smile. “You’d better.”
“If everyone is done with this touchy-feely nonsense, I would love to get on the road and actually do something instead of talking.” Karsia cracked her knuckles. “We’d waste the next month talking if it were up to any of you.”
Morgan gestured toward the trees, where somewhere out there his car was collecting snow. “After you, my sweet.”
She pushed past him. “You’re a disease.”
“That’s why you keep me around.”
Aisanna trailed after them, while Astix stood for a moment, staring out into the distance. There was nothing, just the crunch of feet fading as the others walked away. Soon she heard only the wind.
