by Lucy True
Arthur poofed into sight on Iris’s desk and reared back a bit. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Hacking Aunt Iris’s email, I guess. Or whatever you call trying to break into it. What are the odds she has her browser save all her passwords, like a noob?” Burgundy’s fingers tapped across the ancient keyboard and she grimaced at how spongy the keys were. Several of them stuck in place for a moment before rising back to their normal position. “She needs a better set-up than this and I’m going to get it for her.”
“Don’t do that. Iris hates technology. You know that.” Arthur slithered off the desk and curled up in Burgundy’s lap, a warm, comforting presence. “Why are you trying to get into her computer?”
“I...” Burgundy flung her hands in the air. “I don’t know, but she has answers. Somewhere in this office, she has answers to all the craziness we’re dealing with in Rock Grove.”
Ever the voice of reason, Arthur lifted himself up slightly, stretching and digging his little foreclaws into the desk as he said, “Have you tried her filing cabinet?”
“Yes. If recipes for potions could fix this, trust me, I’d be all set. Instead, I’m screwed, along with the entire town.”
To her disappointment, the browser did not offer to automatically enter her aunt’s email address or password. Burgundy typed the email address manually and then stared at the blank password field. “If I get this wrong too many times, it’ll lock me out,” she muttered. “What would she have used – EyeofBat? SalemWitchBabe? ToeofFrog?”
“Try...” Arthur lifted his head, tilted it toward the screen, and rattled off some numbers.
As serious as the situation was, Burgundy let out a guffaw. “You must be joking.”
“Just do it.”
Disbelieving, Burgundy typed in “123456789” and clicked the login button. The screen changed and there was her aunt’s email inbox. “Really, Arthur? Really? You knew this all along?”
The firedrake rested his head on her knee and mumbled, “You didn’t get that password from me.”
“Right, so not only do I have to upgrade my aunt’s computer, but I also have to educate her on the use of secure passwords.” Burgundy added that task to the ever-growing list in her mind.
Most of the emails were fairly recent and junk cluttered at least half the inbox. “Sorry, not sorry,” she grumbled as she went through every single piece of junk and clicked the unsubscribe link found at the bottoms of the messages.
At last, everything was sorted. Her emails to her aunt were on top, the one with the most frantic subject line first: “EMERGENCY. 911. SERIOUS BUSINESS!!!”
Nestled somewhere between her first and second emails to her aunt were other messages with “[Witches Council: Urgent]” in the subject, but no other revealing information. She didn’t recognize any of the names in the sender column, except one.
Lily Bloom.
“Mom,” she whispered.
Rather than read the messages in order, she opened the one from her mother. It appeared to have been sent with the same subject line, but off-list, only to Aunt Iris.
Iris,
By now you’ve seen the urgent notifications from the Council. The Cupid’s bow and arrows hold immense power. I believe I know exactly who did this, but I have no proof, nor do I know where he’s gone. The Council agrees with my suspicions, but you know them – ever cautious. They won’t send Finders until initial resources and leads are exhausted. I worry about what this waiting will do, that we will be too late.
The Council does not want me to go, even though it is my job. They believe I am his target, that he wants me on his side. I believe he will do everything he can to get my attention and he’ll do it by endangering the people I love the most.
Watch for any hint of danger, especially around Burgundy. He will not hesitate to take away her chance of a secure future. She cannot know she is the progeny of such a man. It will destroy any chance she has of declaring a path of witchcraft and leading a normal life. If the Council ever finds out the truth, she will always be a second class witch. As my child, she deserves better.
You know what’s at stake. Keep my baby safe.
Lily
“So we’ve been barking up the wrong tree this whole time,” Burgundy told Arthur. “The warlock isn’t using potions. He’s actually using the bow and arrows of Cupid, stolen from the Council.”
“Fascinating and not at all surprising. Their vault is good, but sometimes warlocks are better than even the Council’s defenses.”
“Thanks for the commentary.” Despite her sarcasm, Burgundy stroked the firedrake’s scales, a gentle gesture at odds with the pounding of her heart. It thumped so hard, the sound filled her ears like a drumbeat. “Arthur, is my father a warlock?”
Now the firedrake stiffened beneath her palm. Then he stretched as if considering her question. Finally, he drew himself upright so he could face her and Burgundy looked down into those jewel-like eyes. If anyone would answer her question honestly, it would be Arthur.
The little dragon bowed his head and acknowledged, “He is.”
Burgundy swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, internalizing the information. “And the picture above the mantle in the kitchen – are those my parents?”
Arthur nodded.
“My eyes turn silver when I cast spells, don’t they?” she whispered.
Glancing around the room as if to make sure they were alone, Arthur gave another small nod. “But no one must know, Burgundy. Not even the people of Rock Grove.”
“Well, fuck my life...” Just one email and her entire world crumbled. It explained so much and so little at the same time. She could deal with knowing her father was a power-hungry warlock. What she couldn’t handle was the fact that her aunt, who’d been the only parent she ever knew, never told her the truth.
Shaken to the core, Burgundy decided she wasn’t going to remain ignorant any longer. She went through her aunt’s emails, especially those from the Witches Council. The only one from her mother was the recent email, but it was enough to give her a better understanding of how the Council operated.
“Aunt Iris must have some kind of special standing in the Council to receive such sensitive information.”
“I believe the Council’s email groups are stratified from the lowest of the – what do you call them – newbies, to the most trusted inner circle. Your aunt stands somewhere close to that inner circle, but your mother...”
“Works for them, clearly.” Burgundy grimaced a little at the thought, trying to ignore the way Arthur clawed at her jeans for attention.
“No,” he said when she finally looked down at him. “She’s a Finder.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jenna showed up at the library on Saturday afternoon, right before close, a look of triumph on her face. “Will this do?” she asked.
She unfolded The Supernatural World Herald onto the circulation desk with a flourish and Burgundy scanned the headline. Her gaze dropped to the article below it and she nodded. No matter what the consequences, they had what they needed to get the attention of the Witches Council and a Finder in their area.
“How’d you manage it?” she asked.
Jenna smirked, lips quirking up at one corner. “I have my ways. You know, you’re giving him exactly what he wants.” She took the seat next to Burgundy and spun to face her. “You said yourself, he wants this attention.”
“Right, but he sure as heck won’t want the punishment that comes with it.” Burgundy jabbed her fingers at the headline. “I refuse to play his game. He’s been more honest with me than my own aunt, but he’s still a shady bugger. This has to end, so things can get back to normal.”
What she didn’t add was her fervent desire to talk to Aunt Iris, sooner rather than later. She’d taken Arthur seriously when he told her the truth about her parentage had to remain a secret. That her mother felt the need to say something in an email meant the matter was either urgent to her or she had ways of covering her
internet tracks.
Jenna looked a little distressed as she said, “But what if they really do rain memory erasing spells down on the entire town, or worse?”
“Then someday you can tell your kids you were there for the end of Rock Grove.” Ominous as the statement was, Burgundy had moved beyond caring. This situation was out of her control and the blame no longer was on her shoulders. Her inability to cast spells and use magick at the level expected of a witch her age had nothing to do with choosing college over traditional training. If Aunt Iris had told her what she was in the first place, it might have saved months, even years of frustration.
Jenna tilted her head, leaning so far that she almost fell off the chair. “Are you doing okay, Burg? You seem really down.”
“Down. Ha.” Burgundy swiped at her eyes with her fingertips and then clenched her fists. “All that matters right now is that getting into the right hands. The rest will fall into place after that.”
“I sure hope so. I mean, on a scale of one to Hulk, how much has this whole thing pissed you off?”
It was probably the stupidest question anyone could have asked her, and Burgundy shot Jenna a glare to let her know exactly how she felt. “I have to close up. Be ready for anything. It’s movie night and that means a lot of people are going to be coming downtown. If he wants attention, he’ll get it. And if he wants a fight, well, that’s coming, too.”
Closing the library was easy enough, but a fog still clouded Burgundy’s mind, making her thoughts blurry. Whether she could attribute that to coffee deprivation or exhaustion, she didn’t know. She knew she was just going through the motions. She hadn’t had adequate time to process anything she learned the previous night. One concern, though, overrode all others. Could she do this to her own father?
She knew she didn’t owe the guy anything. Not a damn thing. He hadn’t been there for her at all in her life. Yet, the thought of the photo of her parents, smiling and happy together, made her hesitate. Once upon a time, those two people had loved each other and made a baby. She couldn’t get that notion out of her head. It gnawed at her thoughts as she and Jenna went to the diner after locking up the library.
“This place...” Jenna glanced around, blinking.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not the same without Charlotte.” Burgundy gestured for Jenna to follow her to the counter, where they sat and waited for Glen to take their order.
“Hello ladies,” he said, approaching them and pulling a pad of paper out of the full-length apron that covered him from chest to knees.
Jenna and Burgundy exchanged glances, brows furrowing. It was the blonde who spoke up. “Um, Glen, you know you don’t have to wear that, right? There are perfectly good half aprons in the back, I bet.”
“Miss Iverson, I’ll have you know that I take my job as proprietor of this establishment seriously. The apron instills confidence in me as someone capable of giving the public what they need. It says, ‘Look at me. I’ve learned how to make coffee’.” He lifted his chin, his half-lidded dark eyes gazing off into the distance, while they stared at him.
“Right.” Burgundy banged the palm of her hand against the counter top. “Then make us coffee, stat. And while you’re at it, we’d like two burgers, with fries–”
“Salad for me,” Jenna interjected. “Italian on the side, hold the fries.”
“And two waters. Got it?”
Glen nodded as he scribbled furiously in his pad. “Now, I also want to add the caveat that I can’t guarantee the quality of the coffee, but you know Kevin’s cooking. The food will be delicious.”
“Yes, thank goodness for Kevin.” Burgundy shooed Glen away and then dropped her head on her arms, atop the counter.
“A little harsh, weren’t you? He’s doing his best.”
Burgundy hated keeping secrets. Even though the craziness seemed to begin with Jenna dumping her, she still felt like she could at least talk to the blonde. But she swallowed the words and shook her head. “He can handle it. He’s Glen.”
“Well, get ready to see what you can handle, because I think your warlock is out there.”
“What?” Straightening up on the stool, Burgundy turned wide eyes toward the front door. Sure enough, he was out there, trench coat and all. “Nice. He would show up at sunset. Cliché bastard.”
She pushed herself away from the counter, her feet hitting the floor with dual taps. How strange to know she was looking through the door at her father, at one of the people who was responsible for giving her life... and also turning her town into a complete shit show.
“Stay here,” she told Jenna. “Let me deal with this.”
“That works for me. Someone’s calling me, anyway.” The blonde’s phone was emitting an urgent buzzing sound as she pulled it from her pocket. “Watch your back. That guy doesn’t look like you should trust him.”
As much as Burgundy wanted to remark, “You don’t know the half of it,” she simply nodded and moved toward the door. What killed her wasn’t just that she couldn’t trust her own father. Or mother. It was that she couldn’t trust her aunt – the woman who’d raised her – or anything she’d been taught.
Her entire life was a lie.
And waiting outside the diner was the one person who’d ever offered her the truth.
Burgundy pushed through the door and looked at the man standing on the sidewalk. He returned her gaze, anxiety skating across his features, then giving way to an expectant smile. “So?” he asked.
She didn’t want to listen to him, didn’t want to feel this need deep inside to protect him from her townspeople or the Witches Council. “Can you fix what you’ve done?” she asked.
For a moment, the smugness she was so used to seeing on his face seemed to return, but then it was gone. “I can’t,” he admitted. “This bow, these arrows – they only do one thing.”
“So you willfully put the populace of an entire town in danger, and for what?” Burgundy asked, pressing her hands to her chest. “For attention? For revenge? To get to me?”
“All of those things. I may be a warlock, but all I’ve ever wanted is the same thing anyone wants.” Now he sounded almost plaintive and she thought about the event that had triggered her noticing what was going on in town.
When Jenna dumped her, that was the moment Burgundy thought she was doomed never to have love in her life. “Love isn’t a finite thing,” she said slowly. “It’s always there and maybe the person you want to love you doesn’t feel the same way, but there will always be someone else who might.”
“No. Not like her.”
Now Burgundy understood. Maybe not from experience, because she’d never had those kinds of feelings for someone. But she knew what he wanted.
Then she looked at the diner and shuddered. It looked so wrong in there, with the odd couples and Glen shuffling around awkwardly behind the counter. Everything was wrong without Charlotte.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he said and offered his hand. “And you know there are things I can tell you that your aunt won’t.”
“Yes, I do know.” Burgundy looked at him and balked at the resemblance. It wasn’t just the dark hair or blue eyes that flashed silver when they both used magick. It was in the curve of a jawline and, ironically enough, Cupid’s bow lips. When she recalled her mother in the photo, she saw less of herself in the woman. But her heart knew the truth and that was what mattered.
“So?” He took a step toward her, hand still extended.
“I...” Burgundy lifted her head at the same time as the warlock. Closing in on them from both sides of the street were the canine shifters. They slunk forward, low to the ground, ears laid back, and teeth bared.
The warlock lifted his arm and, without even speaking a word of a spell, cut off the shifters by enclosing himself and Burgundy in a glimmering dome of energy. “You can do this too, can’t you?” he asked. “You can cast spells without a word.”
“I can do one,” she admitted, turning and admiring the shield that prote
cted them from outside attack. “But I can’t do much else.”
“You’re limited because you’ve been trained as a witch, not a warlock. If you come with me, I’ll show you the path you were born to travel.”
It was a tempting offer, so tempting. But Burgundy looked again at the people in the diner and then at the shifters snarling beyond the dome that separated them from their prey. “You’ve done nothing but bring heartache to my town,” she said, turning back to the warlock. “You came here to cause chaos and you didn’t care who you hurt.”
A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Life is not black and white, little girl. If you think it is, then that’s another lie your aunt told. Don’t define people or their actions as good or bad until you know the whole story.”
“First of all, stop calling me ‘little girl.’ Second, maybe I shouldn’t define people in that limited way, you’re right,” Burgundy agreed, digging her hand into the pocket of her coat. A shiver claimed her, even though the protective shield kept the November wind from brushing over them. “But I do know one thing for certain. You came in here and hurt the people I care about the most. Maybe my aunt won’t tell me everything I need to know, but at least she’ll be a place for me to start. You, meanwhile, aren’t going to hurt anyone else in Rock Grove. Not tonight, anyway.”
As soon as her fingers closed around that unused vial of sleep potion, still resting in her pocket, she lifted her arm and drew it back. Before the warlock could even blink, she’d flung the potion at him. The vial tumbled through the air in what looked like slow motion to Burgundy. It hit the ground in front of the warlock’s feet and the glass shattered, releasing the potion. As it came into contact with the air, it evaporated into a gas that rose and drifted around the warlock. He brought his arms up to his face and cringed away from the rising vapor.
