by Cate Corvin
In a way, the cranky old man had done me a favor, forcing me to act on my fears.
Now all the covens would be able to size me up openly, debating what my power would be worth. I, in turn, would be able to represent Bell coven as a force to be reckoned with once more.
I already knew the coven matriarchs and patriarchs would be looking me over like a well-bred cow, debating whether to tie me to their sons, whether Bellhallow’s power was worthy of their own coven. Melinda Thorne would be especially voracious in attempting to snap up the best to continue Rosethorne’s lineage.
Edgar Black would be examining me as well, my strengths and weaknesses, debating if I was worth the trouble of adopting, if I was a worthwhile pawn.
I wasn’t here to find husbands or fathers. I didn’t care if I walked out with allies or enemies. I just wanted it to be known that I was back in the game, and that I wanted the covens to stop sending their inept spies around. They would need to extend invitations with respect now, rather than flinging them at my feet, as though offering a scrap to a dog.
Because I didn’t need to handfast anyone, I held the upper hand. In one way or another, each covenhead would likely show me their cards tonight.
Joss leaned on me, just a little. “Slow down there,” he said. “I’ll be with you all night. It’ll shut Mother up too, so we all win.”
I hadn’t realized how fast I had been walking, my breath coming quickly. I forced myself to slow down, measuring my own breath and calming my heart rate.
It occurred to me that I was just a foil for Joss, a way to get Melinda off his back… but I knew he would never fool me like that. It was an advantage that worked for both of us, though.
With Joss at my side, the other covens might even believe I was already spoken for and keep their distance and needling to a minimum. It would look like an engagement, unless one of us spoke up about my rejection of Melinda’s proposal.
“I should’ve known you’d have this all planned out.” I had to admire Joss’s ability to make the most of a situation. “I just want to leave without any pending engagements or family affairs.”
We turned down a quiet side street, my heels clicking sharply on the pavement. The wake-up potion kept my feet from hurting and my steps even and sure.
Joss held the sparkling chunk of a runestone in the air. “It should be close by. Stone’s heating up.”
The houses around us were dark and silent, with their occupants in bed. I felt bad for mortals for a moment. They couldn’t feel the subtle pull of the stars, the change in the web of energy as the planet shifted and the seasons turned. Witches and warlocks were so in tune to the solstices and equinoxes that we didn’t entirely register them, though the feeling was apparent throughout the web of my magic.
But most of all, witches liked any excuse for a party. When one’s life revolved around defending the weak and guarding the door, one tended to celebrate excessively whenever possible.
“It feels like the coven visits we used to do,” I said quietly. “Hard to believe how much hinges on it now.” We were beginning to leave the houses behind. They became sparser as the trees grew thicker, and still we walked on into the dark. The moon would light our path.
“It does,” Joss agreed. “But different, in a good way.” A dark lump of a building lay down the road, its features indecipherable.
He was right about the difference. I was no longer attending the celebrations as the terror of the Bell coven, precocious and powerful, making trouble just because I could. I had now become the head of it, the Covenmistress of Bellhallow. I had to play their games now, move the chess pieces around the board, and see where the dice fell when I tossed them.
After tonight, I would have to build alliances, setting aside my feelings for whatever came next. I would have to forgive Eric and put aside any notion of him as more than a servitor.
It would be peaceful and clear, a cut-and-dry situation. There was no need for all the tears, the heartbreak and anguish. If I was going to reform my coven I would do it right and make my ancestors proud.
The edges of the building slowly began to distinguish themselves from the darkness, resolving into a solid shape. It was an old utility building, rusted meter boxes piled on the side, the industrial brown paint flaking away under the incessant pounding of the elements.
“Of course they would choose this.” I eyeballed the sagging fence that would give someone tetanus just from looking at it wrong. “A very Black idea of a joke.”
I was surprised that the twins, particularly Samara, would give Joss a runestone keyed to this old heap. Unless Sophia had anticipated I’d be attending with him… then it made sense. A small and petty sort of revenge, just the kind she would exact.
Sophia likely would have keyed the runestone to the bottom of a volcano without Samara’s interference, so I supposed I should count myself lucky she hadn’t been the arbiter of the location.
Joss held out the runestone, a small, vaguely spherical gray stone with the rune carved in the center. It had the same quicksilver quality as the waystones in every manor, like the light of an eclipse.
He pressed it into the flaking metal door. The metal parted like putty, allowing the runestone to pass through.
We waited for several breaths, until the quicksilver limned the edges of the door, and we knew it would no longer open onto the abandoned interior of the utility station.
Joss gripped the rusted handle, ignoring the chain that clanked there. It would mean nothing against a runestone.
“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing grandly. I took Joss’s hand as the door swung open, revealing a long, dark hallway.
The door slammed shut behind us with a loud, echoing clang. We stood on a polished marble floor, as black as night, like we were gliding over a void. Blacksea’s walls were white as snow, lined with gilt-framed oil paintings of their ancestors. It was said that their coven dated back to the early 1200s, though no artistic record existed of that besides a worn tapestry.
The scent that filled the air was mouthwatering, crisp apples, fallen leaves, a swirl of caramel and the dark juice of cranberry and pomegranate. It was the smell of the harvest, the impending death of summer. I breathed deeply, suddenly ravenous.
“Ooh, it smells like witch-wine.” I was already planning on having a glass or three of night-dark, magic-imbued wine, which I hadn’t tasted in years.
“Yeah… remember what happened last time we messed with witch-wine?”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“You tried to fly off the roof, Mor. And I was convinced I was the reincarnation of Attila the Hun. It was pretty bad.”
The hallway ended in a foyer, the floor shining black and white tiles, the black-painted ribs of the house stretching between the expanses of white walls. Blacksea was strangely disorienting, like walking through a carnival when you had no idea which way was up. Fortunately, they had keyed the runestone so we only had one direction to move.
We glided over the tiles to the black-framed door with the phases of the moon carved in delicate circles over its lintel, polished discs of mother-of-pearl shining in them. The door to the ballroom, beckoning us.
“Okay. I’ll distract Melinda and you run.” Joss grinned and pushed the tall doors open. My heart thumped unsteadily. “Just kidding, you’re already committed. Let’s do this.”
I felt like every eye zeroed in on me as I stepped into the ballroom, piercing me as neatly as if I’d been speared. Ten thousand eyes, every different color, glittering with malice and hunger and pride and disgust-
“Breathe, woman,” Joss whispered in my ear. He held me at his side tightly, towering over many of the witches and warlocks present. I tilted my chin up as we strode forward gracefully, ignoring the murmurs growing around me, spreading like ripples in a pool.
Blacksea’s wards dampened the sheer press of psychic signatures, which I was grateful for. It would have been debilitating to be this close to so many witches without a mental barrier.
Some covens I recognized, others I didn’t… the crowd finally parted, revealing two red-haired women, glimmering in white silk gowns. Sophia wore her hair in a thick braided crown, a headband of golden stars twinkling along her hairline. Samara was ethereal in a cascade of curls, the crescent moon at her forehead gleaming.
“Welcome, Lord Joss Thorne, Covenmistress Morena Bell,” she said evenly. Her eyes flicked to between us. “Blacksea bids you welcome, and merry meet.”
“Merry meet, Samara Black,” I replied, meeting her eyes. I had a split-second to decide whether I wanted to insult or befriend her, particularly after her stunt with the abandoned utilities shack. I chose the latter. I might need her to side with me later. “We accept your hospitality.”
With slight bows, the twins dissipated into the crowd, Sophia’s bright eyes lingering for just a moment on my companion. There was one witch I wouldn’t be able to befriend.
Joss was a Master, now… I realized the ramifications of arriving at Blacksea on his arm were likely far more complicated than I’d considered. Not many witches, covenheads or not, managed to achieve the Mastery appellation as well.
Joss stiffened slightly, peering across the room, and I saw what was bothering him. A middle-aged witch, her ash blonde hair braided into an immaculate crown, stared at us from across the ballroom, her expression caught somewhere between triumph and irritation.
Melinda Thorne was still beautiful, fit and polished, but she wore her arrogance like a cloak. Eric loathed her; she had once attempted to make him her lover, and they had never seen eye to eye after that. Which was probably good; as a young, lovestruck teen, I’d hated her like fire for that alone, without factoring in her treatment of Joss.
She held a glass of wine, chatting amicably with the silver-haired Vivienne Wolfe. I felt like I was walking through a dream, recognizing everyone and no one at once. Vivienne wore a tiara of delicate bones, her gimlet eyes unchanged. Her servitor, a human woman named Cissy Childs, stood behind her, draped in a veil of dense black lace. No one knew what Cissy’s face looked like, only that she had been with Vivienne going on six decades now.
Melinda smirked at Vivienne, her gaze triumphant, but Vivienne shook her head, speaking to her quietly. The smile slid from Melinda’s face and we turned away, finding ourselves face to face with someone I had never expected to see again.
Honestly, I hadn’t thought of him at all since the night I had left Rosethorne to find my world broken. Tristan Vega’s red hair still fell in thick curls, catching the torchlight like the embers of a fire. His green eyes were still as bright, his smile crooked. I was completely unmoved by it.
A dainty woman moved to his side, resplendent in emerald satin. Her dark brown hair was cut in a sharp bob that framed a cat-like face. “Master Thorne,” Tristan said, inclining his head amicably. He held out a hand to me, which I took. “Morena Bell. I’m sorry we parted under terrible circumstances, but I’m glad to see you well.”
Even I, not an accomplished empath in the slightest, could read the perfect sincerity in his eyes. “Thank you, Tristan,” I said, relaxing the tiniest bit. I had received nothing but well-wishes since my arrival, which gave me a small amount of hope.
“Allow me to introduce my wife, Camille Vega. She’s from Farskye.” He gestured the dainty woman forward and we shook hands, oohing and aahing over their recent handfasting that the Circle was hosting this celebration for. I found that I was nothing but happy for him. The Skyes were a group of formidable elementalists. She might even be able to give Joss a run for his money.
We continued on, leaving a trail of whispers in our wake, the players of the game calculating and conniving behind me. Though no one asked outright, it seemed that many covens were assuming I was engaged to Joss.
Only Vivienne, the tiny crone watching me with a smile as she sipped wine, made me think that every other player was at least five steps behind her.
Joss finally managed to scoop up glasses of wine for us and I inhaled deeply, the earthy rich smell of the witch-brewed wine like a fever dream in a glass. Human wine couldn’t hold a candle to it. I sipped delicately, allowing the rich flavor of the berries to soak into my tongue and send languorous tendrils through my veins.
I would have to be careful. It was very easy to become extremely drunk on the tiniest bit of witch-wine… and then I might find myself believing I was the reincarnation of Julius Caesar.
Everything seemed to shimmer as the wine coursed through me, the black and white halls shivering ever so slightly at the edges of my vision. Warmth spread through my veins, ushered by the witch-wine, as I moved through the crowds, slowly becoming more comfortable in my element.
I shook hands, promised invitations, accepted words of wisdom. I would leave with a tentative social web in place, to become a spider plucking here and there, drawing in the juiciest morsels and future allies.
We managed to slide into a corner, taking a moment to breathe outside the crush of bodies. Joss scowled, bending down to talk to me so we wouldn’t be overheard.
“I need to talk to Mother for a moment,” he said. “The woman won’t stop tugging at me. I’m not telling her we’re engaged, though.”
I blinked up at him. “Good. I’m fine with rumors, but I need that particular connection to remain open for now. Besides, I never said yes, remember?”
Joss touched my lips as I smirked at him, his scowl fading in favor of his dimples. “Never is a strong word,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll have this place in an uproar of rumors if that’s what you want.” He ran a hand through his curls, casting his gaze over the crowd. It would be the work of a second for him to find Melinda.
I adjusted the scarlet silk of my dress, the fall of black curls. “Let’s not cause any uproars yet. Mostly I just want another glass of wine while it’s available.”
“Not too much,” Joss said, glancing down at me before his eye caught Melinda. “Give me a minute with Mother- I’ll be back soon.”
He vanished into the crush of people, the solid wall of silk and velvet and lace, and I turned to find a tray of wine, determined to make the most of my time among the Circle. Instead, I found myself almost touching the front of a dark jacket.
The man in front of me blocked out the chandelier overhead, his silvery hair lit like a corona of frost. I looked up, and up, and up, into eyes that were dark indigo, the blue of the deep ocean next to Joss’s sky-blue gaze.
The same eyes as the mountain lion skin he always wore around me.
Adrian Wolfe held out a glass of wine, those eyes running over me in a way that made me feel like he had caressed my skin with his fingers where they touched.
I took it with suddenly numb fingers, unable to tear my gaze away from his. He didn’t smile this time, the finely carved planes of his face ethereal and out of place in this world.
He took a place at my side, as naturally as if he did it every day, leading me through the crowd to a sudden rush of cool air that let me breathe again. French doors opened onto a large semicircular balcony, overlooking the vast spread of the ocean that gleamed pitch-black, the moon hanging above us like a lantern. Sea spray, clean and fresh, cleared my lungs and I took a sip of the wine to give myself time to think.
Adrian finally smiled, his full lips perfectly shaped. “Persephone,” he said, his voice like velvet and smoke. I looked up at him in surprise, running my tongue over my wine-stained lips. Pomegranate. He’d given me pomegranate witch-wine, a fruit of the harvest. Whatever message Adrian Wolfe had for me, he wanted me to figure it out myself.
“I’m good, but I can’t claim to be the goddess of the dead.” I took another deep sip to calm my nerves. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him in person before… but now I felt like I was seeing the real Adrian Wolfe. “Don’t tell me you compare yourself to Hades, mirrorwalker or not. Nobody’s that talented.”
His eyes searched me, and I wanted to melt into the indigo of his eyes, that perfect hue of the twilight hour. “I’ve walked fu
rther along the path to the underworld than any of them. I’ve earned the right to compare myself to Hades, and now I’m searching for my Spring. For a very long time, I’ve wondered if you might be her. Grandmother seems to believe so, but I needed to see it for myself.”
He was so close now, his fingers cupping my cheek. “But I called you Good Kitty,” I said, horror cutting through the shiny luster of the alcohol. “I petted you.”
Adrian turned his head, only partially hiding his grin. “You didn’t scream and run when you realized what I was, though,” he said. “Or try to curse me. That counts for quite a bit, Morena Bell.”
He said my name like he was caressing it. A shiver ran down my spine.
“Why the games?” I asked, taking another sip. The witch-wine would fortify my barriers- I couldn’t believe I was demanding answers from Adrian Wolfe, of all people, the warlock I would’ve been engaged to if Mother hadn’t died when she did. “Why not just approach me outright, like everyone else? You’ve had the chance.”
Adrian examined me head to toe, much like Joss had. “I wanted to see what sort of witch you were when no one else was looking.” He didn’t have Joss’s dimples, but his smile was appealing in a different way, like you had to work for it to receive it. “And I like what I’ve found.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I said quietly.
Adrian’s grin had faded, schooled back into the watchfulness I’d seen on him before. “And you don’t know anything about me, and yet, we almost found ourselves handfasted. My matriarch was willing to beg, borrow, or steal to bring you into our family, Morena.”
I couldn’t help the surge of resentment that rose in me. “Because of my parentage? I could’ve turned out to be a terrible exorcist.”
Adrian leaned on the balcony rail, giving me a little room to breathe. “You could’ve, but you didn’t. You kept going in the human world. Most of us would’ve gone mad out there.”
