by D. D. Miers
“No.”
“What?” I blinked at him, “did I ask you something?”
“You’re wearing your, ‘what else aren’t you telling me’ face. I’m not hiding anything. She’s not a prisoner, she’s aware of her surroundings, groceries are delivered regularly…”
“Are you really an octogenarian?”
“God, no. Geez Morgan. I didn’t lie about my age to impress you.”
“How old is she?”
“Old enough that I feel safe taking you both with me, even if she has finally lost what remained of her identity.”
“A toothless old bear, left alone to die?”
He shrugged. “Essentially.”
“Gray, that’s terrible. Can we at least take her a gift? I mean, providing my aunt doesn’t tell us to fuck ourselves.”
“Yes, we can take her a gift, and what if Portia does tell us she won’t help?”
“Please. I’m more powerful than she’ll ever let herself be. But it takes time to break another witch’s wards, and if this ‘Jord Bjorn’ is in a fragile state of mind, I must be even more careful that bringing them down doesn’t set her off.”
“Is going to Portia faster?”
“I’d have to go feel what I’m dealing with, but it could take as much as a week to carefully unstitch the wards if Portia used big magic.”
“I’ll go see her.” He sighed and curled up his lip. “Do you want her to know we’re getting married?”
His question startled me. I hadn’t considered telling her at all. “Don’t bother. She doesn’t care, but she’ll be an asshole about it just to get to you.” I thought for another moment. “In fact, I’ll get in touch with her. It likely won’t change her answer, and that way she can’t call me a coward for sending you.”
Prescot bounced on the balls of his feet, almost dancing with excitement. It made me nervous to take the kid with us. He wasn’t like my undergrounder Fae, who were touch and independent…and a little shady. He’d been raised in a great pack, by parents who were devoted to him, and to each other.
He’s soft. How do I keep him safe, if we keep putting him in danger like we would regular pack members?
Caorach made a sound in my head that I’d learned to recognize as her scoffing at me. He was a shifter who couldn’t shift, in pain for most of his life…and you’ve felt how powerful he will be.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and Gray looked at me in askance. “Ignore me, I’m being chastened by my sword. Nothing weird here, right?”
He pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead. “It is right?”
“I’ve discovered that it, is a she, and yeah, she might be.”
The look on his face morphed from amusement to horror. “You mean there’s an actual person in there?”
I didn’t know the answer, at least not for sure. “I get the impression that as our bond grows, the magic changes to make us more compatible.”
“So, when Tryst was a hero instead of a bastard and the sword was his, it was male.” Gray paused for a moment. “No. When he had it, it was definitely female.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. But I don’t need a male influence in my life. I have more than I can stand, and I have you and Niall, who leave no room for another male to be close to me.”
“And you were raised by strong women who left you craving the kind of relationship they withheld from you.”
"Okay, Dr. Freud. Let's save the therapy session for after I talk to my aunt, and she tells me to stuff in it my ear. I'll need it then." The dinner was beginning to fill with the after-movie Friday crowd. "Are we trying to accomplish this tonight?"
He nodded. "I think it's best if it's done before Tryst comes up with another scare tactic. I'm still not convinced he's not behind the attacks, to begin with, just to scare you into doing what he wants."
I didn’t bother to argue. The same thought had occurred to me more than once. But I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Tryst was willing to conspire with the Fae to destroy me. We’d shared battles, a bed, and Caorach refused to let go of the memory of Tryst as the hero of the Fae.
Prescot and Gray waited at the table for the check as I went outside to text my aunt. I’d been away from the coven for long enough that I no longer knew her schedule, or where she would be in the late evening, but my stomach tensed as I waited for her to reply.
Instead, my message came back rejected, as though the phone number I’d sent it to no longer existed.
"Because of course, you blocked me, you bitch," I hissed aloud. The cramping in my stomach worsened, and I shook my head through the window at Gray. In less than a minute, they'd joined me, Prescot holding a to-go milkshake in his hand.
“From Gray’s expression, I thought you might need this more than me.” He handed me the ice cream and threw a skinny arm over my shoulders. “Tell me about it.”
It startled a laugh out of me, and I explained to them both that the message had been rejected as if the number didn't exist. "She blocked me. She actually blocked me. I don't know why I'm surprised, I guess it's just because she didn't do it for years when I was just the embarrassing screw up, but then we save her life, save the coven…and she fucking ghosts me?"
"I don't know that it was you she was blocking, Morgan." Gray unlocked the car, and we piled in, with me in the back even though Prescot argued that his legs weren't that long. “What if she blocked the entire number to keep your cousin from calling it? If she changed her number, she wouldn’t exactly make an effort for you to know.”
He was right, but I was mad and intended to stay that way until she explained it to me herself. We weren’t a real family, but it still stung anytime she treated me like I had no worth. I didn’t know if I’d ever stop believing her for just a second before I reminded myself that she was wrong.
The ride back to our building was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional question from Prescot to Gray, and his abbreviated answers, while I stewed in the back seat.
“I’m going to contact Portia when we get home. Can you guys hang out with Niall or at your place? I think it’s best if we plan for it not to go well.” I blurted in a silent moment. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Gray sighed, keeping his thoughts to himself. Mentally, I thanked Prescot for being a buffer between me and my love’s bound to be unhappy questions.
“You go on up to Niall’s, he said he’d leave the door unlocked for you when he texted earlier. I’d better stick with Morgan in case her aunt goes on a tear.”
“I want to help.”
Both Gray and I began to talk, explaining why he couldn’t be there, without actually mentioning my aunt might honestly try to kill me.
He turned and looked me in the eye. “I’m not a baby, and I want to help.”
“Well, she’s less likely to do something homicidal if there’s a kid in the room. Especially since you’re not a Seelie kid.”
I led the way into my apartment, where Pippi was cleaning up the last of the dust and debris the contractors had left behind when installing my new door. “They’re supposed to clean up after themselves, Pippi.”
“They wouldn’t do it right. Besides, some of them were human. They were not comfortable here.”
"They said that to you?" My blood began to boil. Pippi may not look very human, but she's sweet and gentle and incapable of hurting or offending anyone. The thought that they'd bailed and left her with work and made her feel she'd harmed them made me want to track each guy down and put them through a few doors.
“No, they were very kind to me. I had to keep reassuring them I wasn’t a prisoner of the shifters, even though I’m not one myself.”
Gray and I shared a glance. If the city thought we were keeping Fae prisoner, or forcing them to work for us…well, they no longer liked us enough for us just to let it go and see what came of it. Gray called Niall and canceled his night out to take care of it, and I headed back to the bedroom to see if I could direct my mother's mirror to Portia without acc
identally conjuring another door to the goblins, or worse.
Since I wasn't running for my life from the Ufasach Bas, I took a minute to study my mother's book of shadows first, looking for the keys she'd used to open and close the line to my father. Unlike the connection I had with Fairy, where I only accepted or denied my father's communication, I had to ground the magic on my side, which I'd never tried, having no one I needed to contact via a mirror.
The shifters all had my cell number, the underground kids didn’t have mirrors, and the Fae always sent a messenger if they really needed me. Only my father contacted me through the mirror, on a connection grounded before I was born and before she left me to navigate the world that she’d brought me into with nothing but her books to guide me.
It wasn’t as hard as I feared, just some cleansing herbs to remove any traces of other practitioners on it, and a locating spell to lock it in on a place, or in this case, a person. I went out to the living room, where Gray sat in the corner, able to pretend to watch TV and still keep an eye on the door and the bedroom hallway at the same time.
“I’m ready to call her. Do you want to be in there with me, or are you going to keep a safe distance?”
He stood, casting one last glance at the brand-new steel door we’d had installed. “Your wards will warn us if anything happens out here, right?”
“We’ll be on a metaphysical video call, not in a coma, Gray. If anything happens, we’ll know right away. And least if it does, we can go through the mirror and be sure not to end up somewhere sketchy.”
I activated the etchings my mother had carved into the back of the wooden frame and took a deep breath, releasing it and calling my Fae magic, rather than my human powers, to locate my aunt and tune the mirror into her.
What I had not expected, was to feel her pain, her loneliness, and heartache. Not for me, of course, but still, to have such a visceral reminder that she was a person in pain because of her choices shook me.
I prefer when she’s just the bitch I hope falls off the planet, Caorach echoed my sentiment.
I ignored her for the moment and reached Gray’s hand. “Show me Portia MacSolais, blood of my blood.” The mirror flooded with smoke and then cleared to show my aunt, bent over a small altar of stone, covered in moss and succulents and all the green things that somehow, she’d taught me to love, despite her hatred of me.
Tears streaked her face as she prayed to her gods, holding a picture of Annabelle in her hands, begging for beings more powerful than her to protect her lost daughter. The scene was far too intimate for my comfort. I dismissed the link and flopped back on the bed.
“What the hell am I doing trying to talk to her? She must hate me even more now that I’ve exposed her daughter’s betrayal of the coven. I can’t interrupt her private worship. I feel hinky for even accidentally seeing it.”
It’s okay. We’ll fend off the attacks you break through the wards, and I’m sure you can put them back up again once we’re done.”
But that would take time, and time was the commodity in shortest supply, especially with the hunters chasing us. “I’ll just give her a few minutes and try again. Maybe she’ll be feeling sentimental…or maybe she’ll think Jord Bjorn will eat us.”
“That is a thought, niece, but hardly worthy of the high priestess of the Thirteen Covens, don’t you think?”
I sat up with a jolt to see Portia staring at me from the mirror. “Well, shit. I didn’t hear you come in. Aunt.”
“That is hardly my fault. I certainly heard you.”
“Look. I’m sorry for interrupting you, I certainly didn’t mean to drop in on you during your meditation. But you erected the wards on the Jord Bjorn’s house, and we need to have an audience with her.”
“I’ve been instructed to ensure she’s left alone. Certainly, you don’t think you have anything to say that would sway me to break my promise.” She made it a statement, not a question, and I knew better than to reply with the first ten things that came to my mind.
Who says I can’t be a diplomat?
“Ms. MacSolais, I am the alpha for the pack, and I’m the one requesting you to drop the wards. I know we can break them, but I’d like to pay my godmother as much respect as possible, while still imparting important news to her.”
“And what news is this?”
He growled, and his hand tightened on my thigh. “That is pack business, Ms. MacSolais.”
“I doubt very much that what my niece wants from the Jord Bjorn is related to the pack, rather than her own ambition.”
“I just turned down not one, but two crowns, Auntie. Not that it matters. After all, we know I’ve never been the one looking to subvert the coven for more power. That was a different family member.” I glance up at Gray. “Do you remember who it was who helped to hold the entire San Francisco chapter of the Thirteen hostage?”
He cleared his throat and gave me a long look. Okay, maybe I really can’t be diplomatic, but I’d tried.
“I intend to see the Jord Bjorn, and if you will not help us cross the barrier safely and without upsetting her, then I must assume that the coven has declared itself the enemy of the pack and is holding our spiritual leader hostage.” “I regret that we must bring war to the coven, especially weakened as you are since your internal conflict. While we were happy to assist when you were in trouble, we cannot overlook taking one of our most venerated and holding her against the will of the alpha.”
If we hadn’t been staring at each other through the looking glass, I would’ve jumped on the bed in glee, and kissed Gray’s face off, and maybe danced a little. That’s my alpha! Instead, I settled for smirking into Portia’s face, unblinking.
“There’s no need for veiled threats, Mr. Xenos.”
“I was not aware that my threats seemed veiled, Ms. MacSolais. I’ll have to learn to be more direct.” He smiled. “I’m bringing your niece to the Jord Bjorn. She will tear down your wards, we will move our sick packmate out of your reach, and then I will bring my pack to your door, tear it down, and we will hunt.” His thin smile became a grin. “Was that forthright enough for your tastes, Ms. MacSolais?”
My heart nearly burst out of my chest with pride. It had not been all that long since Grayson had thought me cruel for my dealings with the witches and accused me of trying to punish them for not being good to me as a child.
“You must be happy, Niece.”
I chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but I feel pretty vindicated right now. I’ve taken so much rebuking for not playing nice enough with the witches. There’s a certain appreciation in others seeing the reality…that you are just that big a pain in the ass.”
"As you said, it's your pack, Mr. Xenos. When she falls into dementia, and her beast eats your friends. You can thank Morgana."
“It’s my pack, Aunt Portia, and as queen of my pack, I will protect my own. Something perhaps you still have time to learn.”
She blanched, and I knew I’d struck her where it hurt. She’d failed to protect her sister, failed to protect her niece, and in the end, the one person she’d tried to protect, had turned on her and almost gotten her killed.
“I will meet you, but once I lower the wards, I’m leaving. Do not ever attempt to contact me again.”
“Thank you, Aunt. Just a thought, you could always leave town like Annabelle did. It would be that much easier never to bump into you again.” I smiled as sweetly as I could manage and waved my hand to break the connection. “Should I break the whole damn mirror?”
“Why? She won’t call you again. I just don’t get how she can cry over your picture and then talk to you that way.”
“That wasn’t me, it was my cousin.”
“No, she had your cousin’s photo in her hands, and yours and I’m guessing your mother’s, on the altar. Didn’t you notice?”
I hadn’t. All I’d seen was my aunt’s pain and wanted as far from it as I could get. “Don’t go soft on me now, Gray,” I muttered, dashing tears from my cheeks. �
�That’s the woman who would have killed me if I wasn’t her baby sister’s kid.”
“Yeah, but I think she was mad at you for seeing that she was praying for you, not the whole, ‘how dare you exist’ thing.”
I couldn’t think about it, because if I did, I’d never stop crying, and if I drowned in tears, that’s all I’d be remembered for. “Let’s go. If she beats us there, she won’t bother to wait.”
He started to argue but nodded his head. “I’ll get Prescot and Niall and meet you downstairs.”
"You'd better bring more than just them, I can't promise you my aunt won't have the whole coven lying in wait to ambush us." I paused and scrubbed at my face with my palms. "Tryst and the order of the dark tempest, Gideon and my aunt. It's amazing to me how enemies turn to friends when money is changing hands."
Gray shrugged, “I could stop at an ATM on the way…”
I was still giggling about it when I sheathed Caorach and tugged on my shoulder holster for the Beretta I carried, just for the coven. If diplomacy and money didn’t work, at least I’d have backup.
Fourteen
We were parked two blocks away, and Niall was dividing the dozen or so wolves he’d brought with us, telling them to approach the little bungalow from all directions, watching for coven members as they did.
I was arguing with Gray that Tryst should at least be told what we were doing since the Ufasach Bas had attacked the club twice.
“I don’t want to tell him anything, Morgan. I haven’t told any of the people we brought with us why we’re here, and I trust them.”
“We always go to him when we need something from him, but we never give the simple courtesy of, saying, hey, we’re getting married and won’t have our cell phones. Here’s where we’ll be if the hunters try to murder you again.”
“I don’t think they will try. In fact, I’m just not certain that if we tell him, they won’t show up here.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Just something the hunter said, right before I tore its throat out. Makes me think he’s playing us again. You know, for his long life, Tryst has a skinny playbook to work from.”
