by Leela Ash
However, it took several minutes of staring at her laptop in confusion before she realized that the words on her screen were blurry because of the unshed tears in her eyes.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the headrest of her seat and let the tears fall in silence down her cheeks.
15.
“I’ve never seen Megan so happy,” Myrtle Tully gossiped at lunch three days later. “Why, she was blushing like a schoolgirl when they sauntered out of her office. And I don’t mind telling you, that man would make me blush if I had him all to myself for five minutes.”
Girlish giggles drifted up from the table as the five friends hunkered close together.
Seating nearby, Jeanine rolled her eyes and forced herself to take one more sip of her bland smoothie, earning her an approving beam from Marissa.
Marissa Stanley was her only friend in town. While she hardly ever saw the other woman because she was a medical doctor and practically always on call, the few times they did see each other, Marissa wanted the dish on everything and she watched Jeanine like a hawk to make her eat right.
Jeanine hadn’t been hungry in the three days since Bo had strode off into the sunset. That fact had worried her mother so much that Dolly had put a call across to the one person more adept at bullying Jeanine than even her mother — Marissa.
So, when Marissa had shown up at the door of her office today, looking all preppy in a tank top and pencil jeans, Jeanine had known at a glance that this was Dolly Lourdes’ doing.
“You don’t look too interested in the office gossip.” Marissa noted, swirling her straw in her glass.
Jeanine shrugged, “Megan is the most uninteresting gossip topic ever, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Why? Coz you don’t like her?” Marissa laughed. “Oh, I envy your stiff upper lip Jeanine. In your position, I would be agog, with ears to the ground, to hear the latest in all the dirty, juicy details.”
Jeanine smiled indulgently at her friend. It never ceased to amaze her how she and the other woman had become fast friends, given how different they both were.
Where she was outspoken, a bit of a tomboy, with short auburn curls that stopped at her neck and classic blue eyes, Marissa was one of those intensely feminine types with languid grace, ash-blonde hair, pale grey eyes and a soft, husky voice that made her sound as though she had just stepped out of a sauna.
“Megan is falling for him,” someone else predicted.
“Well, why not? He is fineeeee,” someone else trilled.
Jeanine rolled her eyes once more and shook her head as she finished the last of her smoothie.
“I’m done,” she announced, shoving her glass away from herself.
“Bo’s something of a player though. I thought he had the hots for Jeanine a week ago,” someone else observed.
Silence fell in the entire restaurant and Jeanine felt suddenly ill. Was Bo the man who had made Megan blush? Had he moved on to another human vet so fast? Was he so single-minded in his determination to defeat Nabradia that he didn’t care a jot who was in his bed, her or Megan, just so long as he could get them to do whatever he wanted? Was she so interchangeable to him?
Her hands shook as she grabbed her keys from the tabletop and offered Marissa a wan smile, “We should um, do this again soon, Marissa.”
Marissa’s answering smile was tinged with dawning comprehension and a bit of pity, “So Bo is the reason you’re looking so out of sorts?”
Jeanine looked at Marissa in surprise. Marissa was usually closeted in her hospital which meant she had zero social life and knew next to nothing about what was going on around town. So how had she known Bo? Was she one of his…
Marissa must have read her unspoken question because she gave her head a slight shake, “I grew up here, Jeanine. I knew the five brothers when they were kids.”
Jeanine’s heart gave a funny lurch. Could Marissa tell her something about them? Could she reveal more about shifters?
Common sense intervened. Marissa was the fragile sort and so attuned to science that she didn’t believe in anything else, which meant she would be shocked and traumatized to learn that there were species other than the human race in The Angle.
Jeanine shook her head as she bit her words back and said instead, “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. I’ve never fancied Bo okay? I mean, I wonder when I see women falling over him. Not that he’s not a fine man, but I don’t see myself going all weak in the knees. He’s just… well, Bo,” she finished.
Jeanine looked away, pretending she wasn’t relieved.
“I heard they’re all back to the Angle?” Marissa ventured after a strained silence.
Jeanine studied the wan smile on her friend’s face with a slight frown. That was definitely the look of a woman still nursing a broken heart or pining after a man. Had Marissa perhaps had a thing for Bo? But according to the gossip, Bo had never left town. He had returned almost at once and stayed back all these years. So it had to be one of the others.
“Um, you haven’t seen them since they got back?” she questioned.
Marissa gave a careless shrug as she rose to her feet, “I’ve been busy at work. It’s been a revolving door of emergencies these past few weeks.”
Jeanine started to ask why the brothers hadn’t thought to check on her when something Marissa had said made Jeanine’s ears perk up.
“You’ve had more emergencies now than before?”
“A whole lot more. One man fell off the roof the other day while mending a leak. That wasn’t half as weird as the fact that his crowbar waited for him to hit the ground before dislodging itself from the roof and burying its sharp edge in his skull. Something is in the offing, it seems. Tragedies abound.”
Jeanine worried at her lip as she bid her friend goodbye. She couldn’t share her suspicions with Marissa because she didn’t want to alarm her —and Marissa would probably get her committed if she started going on about shifters— but maybe Nana could tell her if these ‘tragedies’ had something to do with this Nabradia person. She was starting to develop a lively dislike for a witch whom she had never had the dubious pleasure of meeting.
She stalked upstairs, once back at work, her feet stamping with more force than usual on every stair until she barged into her office. Her mood was black as thunderclouds, but she refused to admit that she was angry about anything other than Nabradia.
She refused to dwell on what Megan was doing with Bo.
Her gaze strayed to the parking lot beneath her window and as though on cue, she spied Bo extending a hand to help Megan out of the passenger side of his truck. She didn’t need to be psychic to know they had had lunch together. She wasn’t sure why that should bother her but she knew from the whiteness of her knuckles against the windowsill as she watched Megan toss her head and let out a throaty laugh, that it bothered her plenty.
They looked good together, she thought, torturing herself some more. At 6’2, with his clean-shaven face and customary air of arrogance, Bo was something to look at. Even from the distance, she could feel that special air of magnetism that always clung to him. Beside him, Megan also stood tall at 5’8 helped along by her six-inch stilettos. She looked hot with her straight blond hair falling down her back and jeans so tight she seemed as though she had been poured into them.
They looked like a poster couple for some great romance advert.
Megan would suit him well too. She was the very picture of class and sophistication, her blonde looks contrasting nicely with his bronze good looks.
She would ignore him and his shifter family and shifter crap, Jeanine decided, turning away from the window with a determined sniff.
Few minutes later, it occurred to her that ignoring him gave him the easy way out. He had used her for his own gain; he should be constantly confronted with her presence. She wouldn’t let him just walk away and on to the next vet just like that.
She was stomping from her office before she had quite finished that train of thou
ght. Megan and Bo were studying what looked like a map of The Angle when Jeanine slapped the door open. Megan jumped, but Bo simply looked up at her in polite inquiry, one brow raised, as though he didn’t have the faintest clue who she was.
Jeanine was seething. “I thought you handed the strays file to me,” she spat the words at Megan like a staccato.
Megan Delaney drew herself up to her full height and cocked one well-carved eyebrow in that familiar expression she always affected when she was addressing someone she thought of as an upstart.
“I was given to understand you didn’t want the case. Now I’m handling it,” she intoned. “Do you have a problem?”
Jeanine ground her teeth. No prizes for guessing who had fueled that understanding. Bo was standing off to the side watching both women spar without making the slightest effort to intervene.
“If it’s all the same to you, Megan, I’ll handle the case because I’ve already put in all the work,” Jeanine insisted.
She fully expected Megan to refuse and she was prepared to do battle for her right to finish what she had started.
Are we still talking about the case or Bo? Her inner voice demanded in an irritating sing-song.
She wasn’t jealous, she assured herself. She just needed to keep an eye on Bo and his family because she didn’t trust them or their motives. Besides, as much as she didn’t like Megan, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if the other woman got tangled with shifters and anything happened to her.
“If you really want the case then I suppose that’s alright, but you have to work with Bo. He’s so passionate about rounding up the strays and we need all the volunteers we can get because, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, they’re increasing, as we speak.”
Jeanine met Megan’s gaze head on, “I’ll work with whoever I need to work with, to get the job done.”
“Attagirl,” Megan praised.
Jeanine turned a flinty gaze on Bo, “So, looks like we’re back in the pit together.”
His gaze was unreadable, as he looked back at her. She searched his features for something, anything, triumph or anger or lust. But his face was as blank as a doll.
“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow. Don’t be late,” were his only words.
16.
“Joshua and his boys are going to pay for this,” Nabradia vowed as she drained the last of the welts from Alcacia’s face and neck. It had been a fortnight since they encountered the Damaged Pack brothers and Alcacia had been unable to step into the sunlight for even a minute.
The poor child had been beside herself with pain every day and night since then. With each sigh or meow of pain, Nabradia’s anger had hardened into a hatred so frightening and explosive that even her closest allies, Palma and Luferia, had started to give her a wide berth.
Nabradia had insisted on treating her daughter herself and she had seen for herself how deep the welts had eaten into Alcacia’s flesh. She was all the more angry because she couldn’t find a cure for the welts. Everything she tried was temporary. Just as soon as she healed all the welts they started creeping right back.
If she didn’t know better, she would think those shifter brother had hexed her baby. But shifters couldn’t do hexes. That was why they partnered with witches, for their magic.
“The Council of Seven are arriving,” Luferia murmured from a dark corner of the room.
“Aaaaahhhhh,” Nabradia screamed giving vent to her frustration. “Do I look like I care about the freaking Council?”
“B-but they are the most powerful body of witches in the world. They rule not just the Salem witches but other Witchcraft Orders too,” Palma trembled.
Nabradia was so incensed her eyes actually turned a bright shade of red as she glared at Palma and Luferia, “If you two don’t shut up about the Council, so help me, I’ll hex you into mice!”
It was the most dreadful fate that could befall a witch and the two women abruptly fell silent as though their tongues had been cut off.
A faint chuckle came from the other side of Alcacia’s bed and Nabradia lifted her head to glare at the only woman alive who wasn’t afraid of her. Xanthe was the only mother Nabradia had ever known since she had saved Nabradia as a baby from death at the hands of rebel troops. It was she whom had taught Nabradia all she knew about witchcraft and motherhood and helped her rise to power as queen of Salem witches.
“Oh Nabradia. You’re so impatient. Don’t you realize that the Council of Seven have been around far longer than any other witch in the world and are the most elite of the entire Coven Assembly. They might be able to tell you what spell those boys cast on poor Alcacia and what to do to lift it for good. That’s why your… minions are so excited,” she finished with a twist of her mouth that said ‘minions’ was the least offensive word she could find.
Nabradia’s head lifted as she sensed victory, “You’re right. How did I not think of that?”
Xanthe grinned, showing the empty spaces between her teeth as she remarked candidly, “You didn’t think of it because you were too busy threatening poor Luferia and her companion with retirement as field mice.”
Xanthe was one of very few witches who didn’t mind getting old and who didn’t use magic to retain youthful appearances. Xanthe’s hair had turned completely grey and stringy over the years with most of her teeth falling out and her skin so wrinkled it was impossible to believe she had once been beautiful and young.
Nabradia’s lips canted in a hint of a smile. This was why she loved Xanthe. The woman never lost an opportunity to poke fun at her. It was a good thing to be feared, but sometimes it got lonely, she thought, letting her wistful gaze drop to her sleeping daughter.
It always felt like Alcacia was all she had. Soon, when Xanthe allowed death to take her — as it surely must, since she had refused to reverse her own aging — Alcacia would indeed be all she had. She wanted the Tiara of Oistrophe because it would give her infinite power to bring every witch under her rule. Even the Coven Assembly and their precious Council of Seven, as well as every supernatural being in the area, including the powerful Weirna shifters.
She didn’t want power for power’s own sake, contrary to what most people thought. She wanted it so she could hand it to her daughter when it was time. Nothing was more precious to her than Alcacia. If she had to leave this world someday, she wanted to know she had protected her daughter as best she could, by making her the most powerful woman in all of existence.
She didn’t have a lot of time in which to get her hands on that Tiara, before… No, she would not think of the horrible future which awaited her. Perhaps it could be averted somehow. The Tiara was her only prayer in hell of averting that terrible fate and if she could harness the powers, then someday she could hand the powers to Alcacia.
The rest of the world thought the Tiara of Oistrophe was only a legend. Only she knew it was not. She knew exactly where it was, too. Nabradia knew a lot of things which no one else knew, not even Xanthe. And perhaps, not even the Council members.
She unfolded her legs and rose to her full height. “In that case Xanthe, I’ll go and see the Council.”
“The Conference isn’t for another two weeks. Why have they come so early?” Xanthe asked, struggling to her feet to follow Nabradia to meet the Council.
“Who cares? Maybe the Weirna shifters reported me,” she added with a laugh that was so evil even Xanthe shivered. “Joshua and his boys…”
Nabradia trailed off, the threat was heightened by her very silence. She was still smiling to herself as she headed out of the room. She didn’t see Luferia and Palma exchange worried glances.
When she entered the Council Room, Nabradia was not smiling anymore. Her eyes were flashing rebellious fire at the Council of Seven made up of ancient and wise old women.
“Nabradia. We’re pleased that you’ve kept the Council Room in such good order for over a hundred years,” one of the Council members noted, looking around in appreciation.
“All seven of
you came over here, to inspect the rooms?” Nabradia scoffed, her voice tinged with mockery.
The council members exchanged surprised glances and Xanthe hissed a warning, “Do not rile them.”
“Forgive me, Great Ones. My daughter has been ill and I fear I’ve become the typical worried mother, snapping at everyone and everything.”
She wrung her hands, affecting a helpless mien and batted her eyelashes for added effect, as she smiled sheepishly at the seven women staring back at her.
Nana Lourdes felt dislike twist within her as she stared at Nabradia. She knew a wicked witch when she saw one and even without Nabradia’s reputation, she knew the woman standing before them was nothing but a mean, twisted core of evil and vices. Nana had been around for fifteen centuries and she knew for a fact that this woman before her was pure evil.
“What ails the child?” Nana demanded.
Nabradia shrugged, looking uncomfortable, but Nana easily saw through the sham of her act. She could sense the contempt seething beneath the veneer of plastic beauty and she knew Nabradia saw the Council of Seven and the entire Coven Assembly as a wrench in the wheel of her plans.
“I’m not sure exactly. She, um, well, she locked lips with a man and after that she collapsed with red welts all over her. It’s been coming around off and on for a fortnight.”
The Council exchanged glances and bent close to whisper to each other. Only Nana didn’t feel inclined to consult her peers. “A man or a half-man?”
“A half-man, my lady. He’s a shifter,” Xanthe responded.
“There you have your answer,” Nana intoned.
Everyone looked at her blankly.
“That shifter obviously imprinted on someone and the mark is fighting your daughter, for being intimate with him.”
Nabradia’s eyes gleamed, “I know shifters and I’ve never heard that their imprinting on someone can harm someone else for indulging in just a kiss. And Alcacia isn’t just anyone, she’s a powerful witch.”
Nana started to volunteer the information that the blood imprint would produce just such an effect when she remembered that her granddaughter had just such a mark. What were the odds, she wondered, leaning back in her chair. How many shifters were there who walked around leaving blood imprints on their mates? If she mentioned this now, Nabradia would track down Jeanine and she wouldn’t rest until she had made her poor granddaughter suffer.
