by Lily Luchesi
At that, Edelstone leaned across the desk and shook Salem’s hand. “That is all I ask for: your very best.”
Elder training took up a lot of time, but it was also vastly interesting. Salem began to learn much more about the Coven, its history, and its inner workings. There was much more politicking involved than he would have thought, especially when it came to dealing with the PID and Covens from other countries, especially America. The US was so large, they had a Coven in all fifty states, and each had slightly different rules, despite the PID trying to regulate them. The only Coven that the UK was completely solid with in the US was Chicago’s, otherwise known as the Grand Coven because of its sheer size and strategic location in the same city as the very first incarnation of the PID.
Edelstone had him working alongside him often, and at first Salem thought it was so that the King could keep an eye on him. However, when nothing untoward happened after the first few months, Salem assumed that this was the treatment that all prospective Elders got.
Truth be told, he preferred it when he could study with Donahue. He was much more comfortable with her than he was under the King’s eye. Edelstone always seemed to be so kind, so easy-going. Somehow, Salem felt like that was a facade and that he was being harshly judged by his King. It made him uneasy.
“Does he do that to everyone?” he asked Donahue one day when he was taking a short break from his studies.
“What, dear?”
“Edelstone.” Salem cocked his head toward the door, as if the old man was just on the other side of it. “He’s got me under a strict watch. No other Elders aside from he or you are allowed to teach me. I asked Boyle the other day. Frankly, he’s got me under his arse and I am not sure I like it.”
Donahue chuckled. “Oh, no, you are reading it all wrong, my dear. Franklin only does this to those he deems prospects, those who have immense talent and power. He’s a Munro, you know. They value power over all else. You should be flattered.”
Salem went back to his books, wondering if what she said was true.
During his first year of training, Robert wrote twice a month. Never with much news on his end, but always asking for updates on Salem’s training, as well as the goings on in the Coven.
Salem wondered if he should show Edelstone the letters, but thought not. After all, there was nothing in them to tell him about. No matter how cleverly he asked, Robert would give him no information on The Company, though in each letter, he always ended it by asking Salem to join, to “come back to the fold”.
Salem usually joked a little when replying to that part, but as time went on, the question irked him. He disliked people who couldn’t take no for an answer and repeatedly ignored boundaries.
“You must understand, my friend, that this is the path I have chosen for myself. If my father did any one good thing in his life, it was denying the Sinclairs’ Dark legacy. I must try and continue that, to eke out a new legacy for my bloodline.”
After he sent that message, Robert stopped asking him to join The Company, and Salem was relieved.
However, Edelstone still insisted that Salem ask for new information on The Company or general Dark magic detected in the United Kingdom every single time Salem went to the PID headquarters. It was beginning to grate on Salem’s nerves, walking the line this way. He no longer cared to be stuck in the middle of the Coven and his Clan. But how could he tell the King that without sounding like he was no longer serious about protecting the Coven?
He was musing on it one morning after a sleepless night, nearly two years after he had begun his Elder training. He was now twenty-four hours away from taking his final exam, yet he was filled with hesitance.
To distract himself, he went to check the mail. There was the Coven Chronicle, the magical newspaper delivered to magicians all over the UK with pertinent information on magical news, both locally and worldwide. And a letter from Edelstone. Which was odd, since he saw the King every single day. Why send a letter?
He ignored that for a moment, not quite in the mood for the King’s flowery prose, and opened the paper instead as he brewed himself a strong pot of coffee.
The news was always a little amusing to him. The elves wanted to form a Union, which was a laugh, considering they had the attention spans of salamanders on crack; a wannabe potioneer had been rushed to Medics after he accidentally brewed a potion that shrunk his bits; apprentices were trying to get rights to become Elders.
Then he got to the ‘announcements’ section, and what he saw there made him drop his half full cup to the floor. It shattered into a couple dozen pieces, splashing his pyjama-clad leg with lukewarm coffee, but he paid it no mind. It felt like his body had gone completely numb.
There was a photograph of Daphne Fraser, holding hands with a brightly smiling Michael Smith. The bold script below it read, “Daphne Fraser, the heiress to Clan Fraser, announces her engagement to human-born Michael Smith. The wedding will take place at Barnsley House in the Cotswolds, one month from today.”
His hand began to shake and he slowly put down the newspaper. His stomach was rolling, protesting the day old scone Salem had eaten. Had he not been sitting down, chances were he would have ended up on the floor.
There wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t think about Daphne. Not a day where he didn’t feel the pain of losing her over blood prejudice. Not a day where he didn’t fervently wish he was anything but a Sinclair. He had heard nothing from her, nothing about her, until this. Until two sentences rebroke a heart that had never truly even begun to heal.
Salem began to take deep breaths, trying to calm himself down as he felt his magic bubbling dangerously close to the surface. A spark flew, singeing the edge of the paper, leaving a bright green mark on the edge.
Control your emotions, he told himself harshly. Did you think she was going to marry you, after the way she left you? Bloody idiot.
With a still shaking hand, Salem reached for Edelstone’s letter. Anything to distract his mind from his pain. After all, whatever the old man had to say couldn’t be nearly as bad as what he’d just read. And he was right, it wasn’t as bad.
It was much worse.
“Salem, while your help has been invaluable, you have thus far brought me nothing of import against The Company of Clan Munro. Therefore I must sadly inform you that your services as my informant will no longer be required.
“Thank you once again, and I will see you on the morrow for your exam.”
Salem didn't bother to control his rage as the letter became engulfed in green flames. In seconds, it was nothing but dust on the countertop. It was too much. It was all too much for Salem. After two years of the same complacency, he had suddenly been emotionally upended in the worst possible way.
The room spun beneath his feet as pain and rage and stress merged together to create a tornado in his head. He had to grip the counter to avoid falling over as he fought to control the bile it caused to rise up in his throat.
He was gasping for breath as he tried to control himself, to not let his magic and his pain take over. Eventually, it proved too much even for such a powerful wizard as he and he fell over, curled on his side, as harsh sobs escaped from his throat.
Chapter 21
It took him some time to collect himself, as all his artfully hidden emotional issues returned to the surface with a vengeance. Once he felt that he had some semblance of control, he stood up shakily. His throat was sore and his head was heavy and pounding from his tears. He was ashamed of himself for his behaviour, for losing control in such a violent manner.
He looked around him. In his outburst, his magic had nearly destroyed his kitchen. Glasses and plates were shattered on the floor, food had fallen from the cupboard, and his silverware was scattered everywhere. Chairs were overturned, and his counter had a long, deep crack in it, big enough to mimic the Grand Canyon.
I’ve got to straighten this up, he thought, though he had no energy to do anything at all. Even sitting up straight was painful to
his emotionally and physically drained body. He sat with his back against the counter and leaned his head back, eyes slipping closed. He was exhausted, as was the norm after he indulged in a rare showing of emotion. The depression was creeping back in, encroaching on him just like the Darkness was looming over the Coven.
He knew he needed to fight it off before it became unmanageable, but how? How could he fight off his personal Darkness when there was precious little Light left to grasp?
He belonged nowhere. He had no one. He was utterly sundered.
Except for one place. One last place where a lost, broken boy might find refuge.
Salem approached the large and imposing iron gate of Ainsley Manor in Keswick. He suddenly felt small and insignificant before the emblem of the giant Celtic dragon that adorned the top of the ten foot high gate.
He reached a tentative hand out, wondering how he was going to ask for admittance. The gate was locked, and since this was a magical house, there was no bell or callbox. As soon as his hand touched the cold iron, his magic sparked from his palm and the gate creaked open slowly.
Well, that was convenient, he thought as he stepped cautiously onto the grounds. The moment he was fully inside, the gate snapped shut with a clang. Normally stoic and unflappable, Salem jolted at the sound. Robert must have Charmed it to intimidate visitors. Smart man.
He began to walk up the stone drive that led to the large, imposing manor. It was sunset, but much darker as the deep grey thunderheads rumbled above him in the sky. The entire place was cast in deep, cold shadow. Salem didn’t think that any light could ever get in, even when it was perfectly sunny out.
Unbidden he thought, If Daphne ever set foot here, she would instantly pass out from the agony. He hated himself the moment the thought went through his head. Thinking of Daphne could only cause him further pain.
There was a large dragon head knocker on the mahogany double doors and Salem banged it twice, amazed at the heaviness of the material.
The door opened, revealing a beautiful woman with pale blonde curls, clad in a dark emerald cloak. “Salem Sinclair,” she said in an Irish brogue.
“Yes,” Salem said slowly. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. I do not know you.”
She smiled, an all too sweet smile that set him on edge. “I know you because Robert has told me all about you. My name is Fiona Guilfoyle. I am Robert’s wife.”
And here I thought nothing more could surprise me, he thought. “I did not know Robert was married.”
“It was a quiet ceremony. Few people were told. But I am not surprised you showed up here for our monthly meeting. Come in,” she said, holding the door open wider. “We are so glad to have you join us.”
Fiona was beautiful, but something about her gave Salem the creeps. In a way, she reminded him of Angelica. But where Angelica had a sense of softness, of compassion, he sensed none of that in Fiona. There was a Darkness in her that he was certain caused most of the eerie vibe around the manor.
He entered the large, drafty foyer. There was little there save for an end table with a vase of dark red amaryllis. Flowers for pride and determination. That was on the Ainsley crest: “Pride. Ambition. Power.”
Fiona turned and said, “Follow me.” She began to walk briskly down the long hall, passing doors that were closed, some Salem could tell had been Charmed to stay closed unless the Master of the house decided to open them.
They went up one flight of stairs, and turned left. There was one door on the end of this hall, closed but not locked. As Fiona approached it, it swung open to reveal the familiar face of Robert Ainsley. Salem had not seen him in over two years, but his friend had changed little. Only his hair had grown a few inches, now almost as long as Salem’s was.
“My old mate,” Robert said jovially, a slow smile spreading across his face. “What brings you by after years of doing the bidding of Angelica Cross and that traitor, Franklin Edelstone?”
Salem could barely meet Robert’s eyes. He was ashamed of himself, not just because he had defied his own Clan, but because he had believed in the Light. He had believed that Edelstone was a good person who wanted the best for everyone. And he was ashamed of his gullibility.
“I was wrong,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “I was wrong to have believed them.”
Robert gave an amused smirk. “Let me guess. Somewhere, deep in that shrivelled black thing they call a heart, you thought that perhaps a certain Fraser witch would welcome you back with open arms?”
It took all his self-control to keep from blushing. “Something like that, I suppose.”
“I always knew you would come back,” Robert continued. “I just didn’t think it would take so long. What was it? News of her wedding that drove you back?”
Salem bristled at the insinuation. “Do you really believe me to be such a sentimental fool? While I was stung by the news, it was a note from Edelstone himself. He no longer has need or want of me. Discarded like a used napkin, that was how it sounded and felt.
“I was a fool to ever believe the Light could welcome me. And now I have returned, in hopes that I can rejoin my Clan.” His eyes met Robert’s; he refused to look away.
It was Fiona who spoke, not Robert. “I know better than most that the Light is a sham, a facade of goodness to hide their wicked ways. I was born a member of Clan Fraser. Until I met Robert, and he showed me the truth.
“I had gone to visit America, and I was brought in to speak with the PID. Threatened, in the name of the Light. For, make no mistake, Angelica Cross hides her Darkness under the guise of Light as much as any Fraser.”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” he said, thinking of how she had nearly killed their Elder before letting him out of her death grip.
Robert interrupted them. “I have no concern for her. We are stronger than one half-blooded vampire. What does concern me … is you.” He pointed to Salem. “How can I trust you? You, who was about to pass the Elder’s exam and join that miserable Coven for eternity?”
That had been a question Salem had prepared for mentally. “Because no one knows I am here,” he admitted. “I did not acknowledge Edelstone’s letter. As far as he knows, I will still be there to take the exam tomorrow morning.”
Robert cocked an eyebrow. “And how, pray tell, does that help me or The Company?”
“You will have someone on the inside, someone to watch and see every single thing Edelstone does. The Company has never had that sort of insight before. They believe me docile and stupid, blinded by unrequited love,” Salem explained. He could see the wheels turning in Robert’s head. Salem had always had a gift of persuasion, and now he was able to put it to good use. He needed to be back with The Company. He needed to be a part of this, a part of something greater than himself.
“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Fiona cut in.
Salem hated how she answered for Robert half the time. It was not her approval or favour he sought. She wasn’t even a true member of the Clan, just The Company. And that made a big difference.
Robert nodded. “We have plans, Salem. Plans that you can assist us with. If you are true, then come with us to the meeting hall. You will be indoctrinated post-haste.”
Salem nodded, relieved that his plan worked. Had he been kicked out of The Company as well as the Coven, he would have been completely alone.
Robert took Fiona by the arm and they began walking down the hall to the furthest door. As Robert opened it, hushed voices speaking could be discerned, though not what they were speaking about. When the trio entered the room, everyone was silent.
There were about a dozen people there, all clad in the same green cloaks Robert and Fiona wore. Salem knew Clan Munro was large, and their Company even larger, so this must have been a select group of insiders chosen to be present at the manor. Salem recognised a few of them, including a girl he and Robert had been friends with at school.
“Well, if it isn’t Edelstone’s little lap dog come crawling back,” she commente
d.
“Silence Helga,” Robert said. “Salem Sinclair is a legacy, apprentice mother or not. He belongs here more than most any of you. It is time to welcome him into our folds officially.” He turned to Fiona. “Bring me an amulet, my love.”
“Of course.”
Make me vomit, Salem thought, but did not change his calm expression.
He knew what the amulet was. His father had never worn it, had refused it in fact, when he married Salem’s mother. It was that dual act that had gotten the Sinclair family in disgrace with Clan Munro, and now it was time for Salem to rectify his father’s mistakes.
The amulet was a symbol of your loyalty to The Company of Clan Munro. The stone used in it symbolised wisdom, understanding, healing, and extension of life. Salem thought it an interesting choice for a Clan whose original intent was to destroy others.
Once you wore the amulet, it was believed that you were connected to The Company as a whole, particularly those closest in blood to its original leader, Robert Mor Munro. Which meant that this Robert was the de facto leader, being the closest direct descendant.
There was a rumour that Munro had a Charm on the amulets, that if the wearer was thinking of removing it, of defecting, it would become unremovable, a permanent fixture on the wearer’s neck, the metal burning against their skin, reminding them of their promise to The Company.
Robert motion for Salem to walk further to the centre of the room.
It was so dark, only a few wall sconces lit the stone room. A group of people in green cloaks stood up and formed a circle, and Salem stood in the centre, his cloak the only one that was black. Dark hair hung in his face, and despite an outwardly calm appearance, his hands were shaking.
Robert removed his hood, revealing his smirking face. He held out a hand, and in that hand was a silver chain on which hung a diamond-shaped pendant with bright green stones. The peridot amulet. Darkness radiated from it, so strong even Salem could feel it.
