by Holly Evans
Kane laughed. “Yes, it is very similar.”
Dante smirked. “I believe you nailed it.”
I took a long drink of my coffee and was pleased to find it perfectly warm, not hot enough to scald me like last time. The flavour was deep and rich with soft fruit notes that stopped it from being too bitter or cloying. It was far superior to the instant stuff I normally drank that tasted like dark soil with a hit of caffeine.
“We have a meeting with the archivist in an hour,” Dante said.
I looked from him to his phone. Did he have the ability to text them, or…?
“I have many connections, and I make good use of them.”
“I’m going to get a shower and make myself presentable,” I said.
“I’ll put my bag in our room,” Kane said.
He’d brought his entire set of clothes with him, along with his witch box.
Dante ground his teeth but said nothing. Kane had declared that he was staying with me for the duration, as it clearly wasn’t safe for me to stay alone. He hadn’t given Dante a chance to point out that I wasn’t alone, and I didn’t have the heart to argue with him. Truth be told, I enjoyed waking up in his arms, although I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to wake up with Dante.
Kane had insisted he was coming with us to the witch archivist.
“Unlike you, I am well liked in the witch community,” Kane said to Dante.
Dante’s face was a deep mix of anger and sadness, and he didn’t argue any further.
The archivist was only a ten-minute drive away. I’d been expecting another extravagant mansion; instead, the house was much like those around it: plain white walls, two stories, neat square windows, and the customary red tiled roof. Neat little purple-flowered shrubs sat along either side of the short path to the blue front door. A woman not much older than me answered the door. Her sensible knee-length skirt and prim shirt spoke of someone who took pride in their appearance.
“Come inside,” she said.
We were led into a library that must have taken up the majority of the bottom floor. Books in every shape, size, and binding filled the shelves that filled the walls and tall bookcases in neat rows running down the room. Had they never heard of the internet and a database?
“What is it you wish to know?”
“The bloodline and magic of the Shadow Moon Coven,” Dante said.
“No,” the archivist said.
“Excuse me?” Dante said stepping into her space.
He was easily twice as broad as her, the top of her head only came halfway up his ribs. Still she stood strong against him.
“I said no. You will not intimidate me, Mr. Caspari. If that is all you wish to know, then leave.”
“Tell us the history of the Shadow Moon Coven,” Kane said.
“No,” the archivist said.
“Tell us about the relationship between the Olapireta and the local covens,” I said.
“I do not keep records of the purists.”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Then perhaps we should look for ourselves,” I said.
“Good luck,” she said with a sharp smile.
“The books have been hexed. If you try and touch one without her permission, you will be hurt,” Kane said drily.
“To be clear, you will not tell us anything relating to the Shadow Moon Coven?” Dante said.
“That is correct.”
“Looks like we’re paying the coven another visit,” Dante said.
“Tomorrow. We don’t want to visit them after dark,” Kane said.
“They’ll know we’re coming. They’ll be able to prepare,” I said.
“Tomorrow,” Kane said firmly.
Dante glanced out the window and sighed.
“Yes, tomorrow.”
Once we were back in the privacy of the car, I demanded to know why on Earth we weren’t going there after dark.
“Because tonight is a full moon. It is their sacred night with the Crone. To barge in on the sacred night may as well be an act of war,” Kane said with resignation.
“Does that mean you need to speak with her?” I asked.
He gave me a small smile. “No, she’ll let me be this month.”
I was glad I didn’t deal with the gods. The sadness in Kane’s eyes whenever he spoke of the Crone told me they were nothing but trouble.
THIRTY-NINE
The evening had been surprisingly peaceful. We’d watched tv as a group, and the guys didn’t snipe at each other all night. I sat between them on the sofa, which was a bit of a squeeze, but we managed. Dante kissed my cheek before I headed up to bed. His lips barely touched my skin, but it was enough to make my heart race and my knees weak. Still, I curled up in Kane’s arms and slept, feeling entirely safe.
We headed out to the coven at 9am. I wasn’t functional before 8am, and it was decided that it would be best to go there during sensible business hours. There was some bureaucratic nonsense there that I didn’t quite understand and hadn’t had enough coffee to care about. So, once again, we were standing in front of the huge mansion waiting for someone to come and talk to us.
A teenage girl answered the door this time. Her expression was entirely blank, but her eyes held a deep-burning fire. The coven was expecting us, and they weren’t at all happy about it. We were led back out onto the terrace we had sat on last time. A pitcher of pale lilac drink awaited us along with glasses full of ice. There was no way I was touching anything the witches had made for us. That was just begging to die a painful death.
We all remained standing, waiting. A large black dog somewhere between a rottweiler and an Irish wolf hound came out onto the terrace. The distinct smell of hot metal came with it. It padded up to us, its shoulder as high as my hip. Dante narrowed his eyes.
“They have not registered a hellhound, either.”
I looked down at the dog. “It’s a hellhound?”
“Yes, he is,” an older witch said.
Her lips had been painted garnet red to match the delicate choker around her dusky-coloured throat. Unlike the teenager who had led us out there, her dress was ornate and flowed down to the ground. The gold threads caught the sunlight, making it dance and shine as she walked. The two witches from our last visit followed close behind her, their shoulders back and jaws tight. It almost looked like they were preparing for war.
“Sit,” the new woman said.
I crossed my arms and glared at her. Yes, it was petulant, but I didn’t want to seem like a good submissive little girl, and that was the only rebellion I could offer.
She smiled. “I am Carmen, the coven leader, and I am asking you to sit so that we may discuss the reason you’re here in comfort.”
The hellhound sprawled out in a sunny patch to my left, his back to me. I sat down and ignored the pitcher of drink which Carmen made a show of pouring and handing glasses of to the other witches. They would be immune to whatever they’d put in there, and, manners be damned, I wasn’t risking it.
“What is your magic type?” Dante asked.
Kane groaned quietly. I had to admit, it seemed very blunt, particularly given Dante was a well-known businessman. Still, he’d been raised by witches; he must have known more than me. Carmen took a small sip of her drink.
“And why does that matter to you?” the brunette said sharply.
“Livia, manners,” Carmen reprimanded.
Livia ground her teeth and said nothing.
“There is blood magic being performed in the area,” Kane said.
Carmen levelled a cool gaze on him. “You’re a witch, you know we’re not blood witches.”
Fuck, did that mean that Dante knew about me? Did they know about me? Kane rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat.
“Do not put on theatrics for Ms. Kincaid,” he said, his Scottish brogue coming through strongly.
She smirked.
“The fact remains that you know we’re not blood witches,” she pushed.
“We know no such thing,” Dante said.
“Our magic is mixed,” Carmen finally said.
I glanced at Kane and Dante. I didn’t think covens worked like that. My understanding was they kept the bloodlines pure, which meant that, as magic came down the bloodlines, there were no more than two types of magic in a coven at any one time. It all came down the female line, so the male line added strength and power, but not classification.
“That didn’t answer my question,” Dante said.
“There is no one type of magic present here. We have water, fire, plant, life, and more under our roof. We do not, however, have any blood witches,” Carmen said.
“Prove it,” Kane said with a sharp grin.
“You do not have the jurisdiction to make such demands,” Livia said.
“We’re with the Council,” Dante said.
“And you do not have enough evidence to demand delicate paperwork,” Livia said.
“Ms. Kincaid, kindly join me. I will take you to see the coven family tree,” Carmen said.
There was something in her eyes and a slipperiness to her tone that set me on edge. She was up to something, I just didn’t know what.
“You will remain here and ask your questions,” Carmen said to Kane and Dante.
Kane squeezed my shoulder and gave me a small nod. He knew I could handle myself if it really came down to it. I stood and followed Carmen through a maze of halls and down three flights of stairs, each with a wall of glass to my left with stunning views over the ocean. The building was barren of any personal touches that I could see, the walls bare and off-white. It had a sterility that felt almost chilling. I couldn’t picture calling that place home.
I followed her into a study with dark, almost black wooden furniture, each with scrolls and birds carved into the arms and legs. The large desk, which looked big enough to use as a bed, was carved with looping script in a language I didn’t understand. Unlike the rest of the house, it was dark and imposing with one window looking out over the ocean, but half of the view was blocked by vines with large purple and white blooms. The wall behind the desk was covered in a shelf overflowing with leatherbound books in deep reds and purples.
“Do come here, child,” Carmen said.
How old was she? She had the appearance of maybe fifty, but now I was closer I could feel the papery whispering to her bloodsong that came with older age.
She stood before a large tree painting that was as tall as me and easily three feet wide. It was covered in names, each in fine curling script. None of it made any sense to me. They hadn’t had the good graces to put the magic type underneath each name. Of course, the witches knew which bloodline carried what. In short, it was a waste of my time. I had nothing to take back to the guys.
Carmen wrapped her long fingers around my wrist and pressed her thumb against the pulse point. I tried to jerk away from her, but she held me in a vice-like grip.
“This will only take a moment,” she said with a toothy smile.
FORTY
“He was supposed to be a fierce guardian, a warrior to elevate our coven to the next level. Instead, he is broken,” Carmen said as she dug into my wrist.
Something was happening. It felt as though a tether was being formed from my heart. A quiet resignation filtered in the back of my mind, and I was sure it wasn’t my own.
“I don’t have the heart to return him. I’m not cruel. I see the fear in his eyes when he thinks of where he was raised. You will give him a good home,” she said as she drew blood from my wrist.
I went to punch her in the face, but my limbs wouldn’t move. Fuck.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
“It takes a strong witch to be able to hold the bond. None in this coven were suitable, but you are quite remarkable,” she said when she finally released me.
A small garnet-coloured tattoo was forming on my inner wrist right before my eyes. It was a pawprint formed of Celtic knots.
Something was going on in the back of my head, a feeling of alertness there.
“I’m not a witch! What the fuck have you done to me!?”
She laughed at that.
“My dear, I may not be able to pinpoint what type of magic you have, but if you weren’t bedding that warlock Caspari, I would bring you into my own coven. Your magic is rich and potent.”
A feeling of protectiveness filled me at her calling Dante a warlock, warlocks were betrayers, traitors. It was a name given to those that had gone against and harmed their coven.
“You’re talking bullshit, what have you done?”
She sighed and shook her head gently. “How can you not feel it? I have given you the hellhound.”
My jaw hit the ground.
“You’ve done what!? No. No, I cannot have a hellhound. You can’t go around binding people to fucking hellhounds!” I shouted.
I felt him come into the room. The feeling in the back of my mind became clearer, a mix of alertness and rejection. That was him. Fuck. I was bound to a hellhound. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings any more, but I could not be bound to a fucking hellhound.
“Set him free,” I said.
Carmen laughed again, the sound of a breeze brushing through windchimes, a delicate sound entirely wrong for the bitch before me.
“He cannot be free. Surely you know this? The only way for a hellhound to remain on our plane is to be bound to a strong witch.”
“Then bind him to another witch!”
She sighed. “I have already explained that I could not find someone suitable. You will give him a good home.”
“Apparently, I have no choice,” I said.
“Come, you will return to your warlock, and you will leave. We are not blood witches here.”
“You used a blood bond to bind me to the hellhound!”
She rolled her eyes. She actually rolled her eyes at me. I punched her in the nose. My temper was getting the better of me. I gave it two seconds before I really regretted doing that, but damn, it felt good.
She gasped before she laughed again.
“You will give him some fire.”
With that, she pushed me out of the room, the hound by my side, a feeling of sadness pouring from him. What was I supposed to do with him? I had no idea what to do with a hellhound. How did I get myself into these situations?
Carmen continued to push and cajole me through the house with the hound at my side. I gave serious thought to punching her in the nose again, but she was the leader of a strong coven, and that wasn’t going to end well. If she bonded me to a hellhound when she liked me, what was she going to do when I pissed her off?
Dante and Kane stood when I came into the room.
“What happened?” Kane asked.
“You’re leaving now,” Livia said, a look of smug satisfaction on her face.
They’d planned this. That was the only reason they’d let us in the door. More witches appeared in the doorway, and a couple materialised on the edge of the terrace. They must have been using impressive air magic to pull that little trick off.
“Now,” Carmen said.
“We haven’t established that you’re not blood witches,” I said, glaring at Carmen.
She snapped her fingers, and a young dark-haired girl came to her side carrying a USB stick.
“This is the complete tree for the coven going back four hundred years.”
Another girl came to her other side with a laptop. Carmen made a show of putting the USB into the laptop and opening it before she handed it to Dante.
He narrowed his eyes at the screen and scrolled through the complicated tree on screen.
“None of these lines contain blood magic,” he said.
“Now get out,” Livia said.
We walked down the hallway packed with witches of all ages. The hound remained glued to my side. Sadness and worry filled the back of my mind. He had no idea what I was going to do with him, and I clearly didn’t want him. Guilt filled me. He shouldn’t have b
een put through that, but that didn’t mean I was capable of giving him what he needed. What did hellhounds need?
Dante paused on the porch and looked down at the hound with a frown on his face.
“Wren…”
I sighed. “Carmen bound me to him.”
I couldn’t look at him.
“We’ll talk in the car,” he said coolly.
Kane put his arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple.
“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered.
The hound jumped into the back of the car with Kane. I had the pleasure of sitting next to a very pissed off Dante who was driving. I put my hand on his and circled my thumb over the base of his, feeling his bloodsong quieten and settle into his usual beautiful symphony.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a witch?” he asked softly.
I opened my mouth and had no words. I needed a lie.
“Only a powerful witch can form the bond with a hellhound, Wren, do not lie to me about not having magic.”
Well, there went that plan.
FORTY-ONE
“The car isn’t the best place to have this discussion,” Kane said.
“So, you knew,” Dante said.
I kept my hand on his rubbing my thumb in slow circles over his, and he didn’t pull away. I glanced over my shoulder to see the hound looking positively miserable, the feeling in the back of my mind confirmed that.
“We will discuss this, in detail, in the apartment,” Dante said.
I was not looking forward to that discussion. Much to my dismay, that was the one time wannabe-ninjas or vampire-fae didn’t burst out of the shadows to try and kill us. Dante kept looking down at the hound with a small frown on his face, the hound’s sadness only deepening in the back of my mind. In short, it was a clusterfuck.
We were barely inside the apartment when Dante turned around and said, “Tell me everything.”
“She lost her parents when was sixteen, she never went through the ascension because they didn’t know. They were hunters,” Kane said.
The ascension was something all young witches went through. It was a ritual that brought out the full extent of their magic. I’d been honored to watch Kane’s. He had already been training as a combat witch for years, but that night was when he really came into his own. Apparently, every initiation is different, and his was one of the more spectacular. He had been filled with a slate-grey light that burst from his hands turning into long silver swords that hummed with magic. He had practically hovered above the ground with the amount of magic coursing through him.
