Blackbirds & Bourbon

by Heather R. Blair

  Because I don’t have time to deal with Tyr’s ‘gift’ right now, I’ve got a pissed-off sister taking precedence.

  And Jett is pissed. Seriously pissed.

  Lightning is flashing above the house when I pull up. I stare for a second, feeling the hairs prickle on the back of my neck before getting out of the car. The predominant color of the bolts is a vivid electric blue. Jett. The faint flashes of green are Carly’s, and the reddish streaks will be Ana’s. Normally, witches can only see their own magic clearly, but as we’re family, my sisters’ magics show up loud and clear to me. Good thing the neighbors can’t see this shit. We’re already on the neighborhood oddities list, along with Mrs. Rudd, though none of us have started talking to squirrels. Yet.

  I walk into the pretty blue and white parlor where tension snaps in the magically charged air, making my hair crackle softly against my ears. I lost a lot of my affection for this room the morning we found Ana and Thomas half dead on the floor.

  Jett was mysteriously absent for that excitement. When she did show up, days later, she was uncharacteristically quiet. Not that Jett is ever a chatterbox, but this is different. She still won’t tell us where she was, or what she was doing. And she didn’t apologize. Not that she ever does, but this was a family emergency, we fucking needed her.

  Of course, apology or not, Carly has already forgiven her. Me, I’m not happy about it, but as much of a coldhearted bitch as Jett can be, I know what family means to her. If she was unavailable, she had a damn good reason to be. Ana, however, is not so forgiving. Ana can hold a grudge like you wouldn’t believe. They’ve barely spoken except to scream at each other since Jett returned. Well, Ana screams, Jett sneers.

  Ana’s curled on one of the delicate sitting chairs, Carly at her feet, her red-gold curls trailing over Ana’s lap. My oldest sister’s pale blue gaze is digging into Jett’s back.

  Jett seems indifferent to the glare, her lips set in a tight line as she watches me enter.

  “Tell me you didn’t blow up the goddamn mall, Seph.”

  What is this shit? “Okay, I didn’t. Tyr blew up the goddamn mall. I was an innocent bystander.”

  Jett’s eyes narrow, but she looks uneasy, as if she’d have preferred the idea of me blowing up shit. Of course, this is Jett we’re talking about, but—

  “For shit’s sake, Seph. The Council is saying it was you. And they have proof.”

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this. “Show me.”

  Without taking her eyes off me, Jett pulls her phone from her jeans pocket and runs a hand over it, whispering softly. A beam shoots from the screen, forming a ghostly holographic image in midair, the edges glittering as it fills the room. I can make out the food court of the mall in life-size detail.

  “Neat trick,” I mutter. “You should open a drive-in.”

  Carly shoots me a look, but I can’t help the mouth, it gets like this when I’m nervous. And right now, I’m very fucking nervous.

  It only gets worse as we watch the video unfold. My favorite assassin is nowhere to be seen. If we are to believe what’s on Jett’s little clip, I give a snarky smile, fall on my face and drop that weird ball to unleash a mini-earthquake. The camera shakes, people scream, and everything goes dark. I bite my lip, my unease turning to fear. I could’ve worked with using magic as a defense, but that kind of falls apart when there is apparently nothing to defend myself from.

  Jett’s projector spell shrinks to a black pinprick, then vanishes.

  “I hope that doesn’t end up on YouTube.” The camera definitely adds ten pounds, and all of it centered on my ass.

  Ana speaks up. “Persephone Nancy Gosse, enough.” Ugh. I hate it when she tries to channel Mom.

  “What? He had one hell of a mirror spell going on. The best I’ve ever seen.” I think of the way he walked through my magic like it wasn’t there. “That must be why he doesn’t show on the vid. Tyr’s got some bad-ass witch on his side, I’m telling you. He threw the whatever-it-was that made the big boom. I’ve got no reason to blow up the mall. I mean, other than the fact that they closed the Dairy Queen and all.”

  Carly shakes her head as the lights flicker blue, the same color Jett’s eyes are flashing. Ana looks uncomfortable. “We believe you, Seph,” she says softly, “but…”

  Jett’s voice cuts through, cold as ice. “But this is some serious shit, baby sis. The Council’s demanding an inquiry.”

  An inquiry? I swallow hard, then frown. “How do you even know this? Since when do you have a direct line to the establishment?”

  Her lip curls. “I’m Mom’s proxy while she’s gone. Any infractions incurred by our family come to me as head of household.”

  “You? Not Ana?” I glance at my oldest sister, my eyebrows drawing together.

  She clears her throat, color staining her cheeks. From the corner of my eye I catch what might be a smirk on Jett’s face.

  “I’ve a bit of a reputation with the Council, Seph,” Ana says. “Some …issues when I was younger. They’ve refused to recognize me as Mom’s proxy.”

  I rock back on my heels. My aching head is trying to split in two different directions. Getting my own ass out of this sling—and wondering what the hell super-uptight Ana did back in the day to make the Council’s blacklist. It had to be a doozy of an infraction for them to deny Ana her familial rights. If I had to hazard a guess I’d bet it had something to do with her ex. Viktor is one superlative son of a bitch.

  Putting aside my big sister’s past for now, I turn back to Jett. “So what exactly does this inquiry entail?” I have an idea, though. Luna’s dad, Gilead, went through an inquiry. He chose not to show for his. That didn’t go so well.

  They sent my mom to kill him.

  “Just that they want your side of the story before they decide on a sentence.”

  That sounds like one way or the other, I’m going to be punished. “Sentence? For defending myself against an assassin?”

  “You saw what they saw. As far as the cameras are concerned, Seph, Tyr wasn’t even there. One good thing is, the Council had all the video feeds wiped, so at least the humans won’t be after you, too. But they’re not going to let this go. They’ve already set a date and time—sunrise the day after Yule.” Yule is our version of Christmas, the winter solstice. Which is in a little over a week.

  “This is crazy,” I mutter, feeling cold and uneasy. “Three weeks ago, I went all Carrie White on those werewolves, and not a peep from the precious Council. Why didn’t they come after me about that?” For something I was actually guilty of.

  “You know why, Seph. They’ve no grounds to interfere in a personal matter between FTC factions without due cause.” She has a point.

  The Council can hardly poke their nose into every nefarious FTC act or they’d never get anything done. Attempted blowing up of humans is a whole ’nother story.

  But her next words floor me.

  “Not that they didn’t give it a whirl anyway.” Jett looks annoyed at the Council’s temerity. “But no humans were around that night except Syana. I don’t think they even know for sure she was there—the bears seem keen on protecting her.” My hands clench, silently blessing the bruins. “Plus, Kivistö gave testimony that Owen showed signs of moon madness. He carries a lot of weight with them, go figure.” Jett’s lip is curled, she probably can’t help it. Bruins make my sister snarly.

  “He did? When?” Georg and I aren’t exactly chatting every day, but I thought we’d settled things between us. Yet he never mentioned being questioned when I was up at the Den to check on Syana.

  Jett folds her arms. “Not important, but Carly also got a visit from them. She testified the wolves kidnapped her, forcing you to act. Since they don’t acknowledge the existence of the Dark Council, the whole bounty thing was a moot point to them. They decided Owen’s attack was personal and that your response was appropriate.”

  I absorb this, glancing at Carly, who blushes under her rose-gold curls, her fingers tightening in
Ana’s skirt. “I didn’t want to mention it, Seph. You’ve been dealing with enough lately, and it was just a formality. Styx put in a word for you, too.” This makes me blink. Styx isn’t exactly known for giving two shits about FTC business, but his word would definitely make even the Council take a step back. Carly gives me a tremulous smile that I can’t return. Finding out I’ve been so scatter-brained from what happened on that beach that I’ve failed to notice everyone protecting me from the fallout doesn’t sit well.

  Jett doesn’t help with her next words, her tone as brittle as I’ve ever heard it.

  “If you’re convicted of this—they’ll make me bind your magic, Seph.” Her eyes burn into mine like cobalt fire. Only a witch can bind another witch’s magic, and as acting head of household, that task would fall to her if the Council ordered it. “You’ll be helpless. And with everything that’s been going on lately, that would effectively be …”

  For once my scary-ass sister can’t seem to say the words.

  So I do. “A death sentence.”

  3

  The next morning I’m up and on my way to the South Shore by sunrise. I’m in desperate need of some bestie time. Finding out that not only does the Dark Council have it in for me, but the legitimate one as well…

  It pisses me the fuck off.

  I can feel the anger like a living, breathing entity sitting next to me, riding shotgun as the Fiat tears up Highway 13. We’ve had fresh snow the last two nights running and the South Shore always gets hit harder than Duluth. Everything sparkles under a thick layer of white diamonds. The glimpses I get of the big lake through the pine-covered hills are placid navy silk waves under a blindingly bright sky.

  If anything, the beauty only heightens my foul mood. I should be able to drink it in, to bask in the one benefit of our insane winters, but nooo. I’m too busy worrying about a stupid trial for something I didn’t even do. I’ve never been a temperamental person; I leave that drama to Jett and Ana. But I’m getting damn sick of being on everyone’s shit list. The universe seems bound and determined to knock me on my ass. I smack the steering wheel hard, then mutter an apology to the Fiat under my breath.

  Fucking Tyr. He set me up. Why?

  Really… Why bother? He could’ve killed me. Easily. But he didn’t. In fact he said he was doing me a favor. Right before he threw that stone. My eyes dart to the glove box. I should’ve had Carly take a look at it. She’s the only one of us who ever imbues anything. If the agate is imbued. It felt like a different sort of magic. Older, somehow. Which points to elemental power, but that doesn’t feel quite right either.

  I put it all out of my mind as I turn down the dirt road to the Den. I’m right outside Port Wing, a tiny Wisconsin town that is completely unaware bruin royalty is within shouting distance of its borders.

  I don’t know how many acres the bears claim, but it’s a lot. Most of it covered thickly in trees. They start to clear as I ease the Fiat over the bumps in the old logging road, approaching a wide curving glade. It takes the form of a lop-sided horseshoe edged by masses of tall dark pines, all with coats of winter white on their spiky backs.

  The wide expanse of snow is broken up by three gorgeous log buildings, snuggled back against the trees. The one off on the right is Georg’s, the small one on the left is the sauna, and the enormous one in the middle is basically bruin central. Most of their living, playing and eating is done in that one, though the twins have their own cabin back in the woods, as does Stephen. Those are rougher, far less pretty abodes than the one whose gleaming stairs I’m climbing minutes later. The porch is deep and wide, with a hot tub nestled in one corner. I shake my head as a few hazy memories of that tub flit through my mind.

  I take a deep breath, studying the handmade door, inlaid with leaded glass in intricate diamond patterns. It’s practically a work of art.

  Just because they’re bears doesn’t mean they don’t have their own sense of style. This is a ‘cabin’ only in the loosest sense of the word. It’s more like a mansion made out of wood and rock. The bruins have family money, or at least Georg does, but they actually make a good living from logging. Responsible harvesting, they would say. Georg is a delegate to the Wisconsin Conservation Congress. They also sell handmade furniture, some pieces that go for what my bar brings in on a good month. Hurting for Benjamins, these bears are not.

  I’m reaching for the door handle when someone calls out, making me turn.

  It’s Dominic, emerging from the sauna. The Schade brothers don’t actually look like twins, except for the red hair. Twins are common to bruins, when they’re able to breed at all. Dom’s the smaller of the two, barely six feet, which is positively teensy for a bruin, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating.

  Except for the towel wrapped casually around his waist, he’s naked, showing off most of a hard body that belongs on the pages of some drool-worthy calendar. Steam rises from his bare skin to twirl in the air that’s hovering somewhere right below freezing. Bruins are almost as immune to the cold as Jack.

  “Hey, stranger.” He preens a little. Dominic has always been an attention-whore who knows exactly how good he looks. If I don’t give him a once-over, he’ll be offended.

  So what the hell, I look.

  Dom is ridiculously clean-cut for a shifter. No beard, no tats, no piercings, just red hair, buzzed short, a killer smile and generous acres of lightly-freckled muscles. But delicious as Dom is to look at, he doesn’t do anything for me. Apparently my stupid hormones only go gaga for long, lean and dark-haired. The thought of Jack sends sparks skittering down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself and avert my eyes from Dom’s physique.

  “I was here last week,” I protest, feeling a touch defensive. Which is silly. I didn’t do anything wrong. Georg is the one who had me kidnapped. Turns out his heart was in the right place, but still. I’m not the one who should feel awkward here.

  “Yeah, but before that, it’d been what? Least a year.” Dom’s words are a trifle cool. Those rich amber eyes hold an edge, as does his tone. Obviously, nobody here has forgotten my dismissal of their king’s attention. One for all, all for one, that’s the bruin style. As Georg has apparently forgiven me, though, Dom and the rest will follow suit.

  I hope.

  He uses the second towel slung around his neck to wipe casually at that powerful chest that glistens ever so slightly in the morning sun. But all I can think is that I wish he’d put a shirt on.

  Something is definitely wrong with me if I can’t appreciate good manflesh anymore. I scowl at my feet and turn back to the door.

  “We both know why I wasn’t coming around,” I say impatiently, turning the door handle. “So, where’s Sy?”

  “In the gym. With Jax.”

  Something in his tone has me glancing back over my shoulder, but his face gives away nothing. I wonder what Ajax’s intentions are toward my bestie, but I also know better than to think I’ll get the scoop from his twin. Dom is an open, friendly guy most of the time, but when it comes to him and Ajax…well, those two are a closed loop.

  We go inside, Dom leading me through the huge living room with an open-air loft above, down the wide hall to the bears’ impressively equipped gym. I hear them before I see them. Syana cursing over the low rumble of bruin laughter.

  They are going at it when we step into the room. Not that kind of going at it, thank goodness, but the sparring kind. It smells like wood, vinyl and sweat in here and it’s uncomfortably warm. Despite their tolerance for cold, the bruins prefer it steamy.

  Sy, clad in a thin white tank and black yoga pants, is sweating and facing off against a red-headed man who is at least three times her slim width and damn near a foot taller. The sight is more than a little scary. The appearance of the bruin she’s facing doesn’t help.

  Ajax looks every inch the bad boy that his brother doesn’t. Colorful and swirling tattoos sleeve one full arm and most of the other. He’s pierced in both ears, one eyebrow and his upper lip. And probably
other places I don’t need to know about.

  Several inches taller than Dom and at least thirty pounds of pure muscle heavier, he sports a close-cut beard that highlights the sharp planes of his face. The beard’s a deeper red than the hair on his head, which is buzzed short on the sides and left tousled on top.

  Ajax sees me over Sy’s head, gives a nod and drops his hands. Instantly, she’s on him. Sy cups a huge bicep in one palm, steps in close to the bruin’s ripped bod and does a little pivot, feet shifting as she presses her ass low down against his hip. Like magic, Ajax lands on the mat seconds later with a floor-rattling thump, cursing loudly.

  “Dammit, woman!” he groans to the sound of his brother’s laughter. “Seph is here, and she wants to talk.”

  “What?” Sy looks up, seeing me for the first time. Tucking her swing of dark brown hair behind one ear, she winces, then extends her hand to Ajax, whose lips are starting to twitch. “It’s your own fault,” she scolds him as his big paw swallows hers. “Never drop your guard.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His tone is somber as he gets to his feet, but that grin is anything but.

  “If you call me ma’am one more time, I’m gonna hurt you.” I blink at this. Sy is nice to almost everyone. Like super-duper Pollyanna nice. I’m the only one she threatens with bodily harm.

  Or I was.

  “Promises, promises.” He smirks and brushes a kiss over the top of her head. Hmm. I know they’re hot and heavy and all, but the casual affection gives me pause. Ajax’s eyes lock with mine. Something in that sable brown shifts. He turns away from me to roll his eyes at his brother’s appearance.

  “Let’s get you some clothes, these ladies need a moment.” Ajax gives Dom a shove and the twins leave, though I catch the concerned look he shoots Sy before the door closes.

  “Pretty perceptive, that one.”

  “You have no idea.” Sy smirks and wipes her forehead, waving me over with a perceptive look of her own. “So, what’s wrong?”