Chapter Seven
Memories from the past rush to the surface as we pull in front of the retirement home. I see grand-père, all angles and bones as he struggles to breathe. I close my eyes against the pain. Prostate cancer ravaged the once strong and powerful man who stood beside Mémé through the years.
I ball my fists. This is about a case. I know it’s terrible when Carter calls us in. The redheaded wolf shifter and his pack mate, Marcus, work with the local PD.
As crime scene investigators, they help route the more suspicious cases appropriately. We have a few plants working in our version of a paranormal unit in town to keep the good folks of Cypress blissfully unaware.
“You doing okay?” Fel whispers.
“Yeah. I haven’t been back in one of these since grand-père.”
“I know. I was thinking about him on the way over here, too,” Fel says.
“You want me to wait a few before I call Carter?” Sacha asks gently.
“No. Let’s get in there so the coroner can come through and do their job. The boys are holding them off for us.”
She makes the call, and moments later the familiar face steps out of the entrance.
“Here we go.”
We exit the black sedan and meet him.
“What’s going on inside there?” I ask.
He shakes his head. The freckles stand out on his paler than usual skin. A true redhead, he looks more like a Boy Scout than a shapeshifter who could take out a human with a few swipes of his claws.
“Pure evil. I’ve never seen anything like this.” He reaches into the pocket of his white suit, removes some mesh booties, and hands them to us. “You’re going to need to double up.”
“Jesus, Carter,” Sacha whispers
He nods his head. “We’ve been trying to keep everything under wraps. The last thing we want to do is panic everyone. Death is a prevalent part of life here, but the residents sense this is different. We’ve had cops in and out all day, taking photos and cataloging the scene. The call to wait this late to try to move the body was strategic. They can’t see this.” He holds the door open for us while we make our way inside. Clad in expensive slacks, low-heeled pumps, and blouses, with a badge on our hips, we’re wearing what I refer to as detective wear. When the boys meet us, and we walk in with confidence, people don’t tend to ask questions.
The smell of mothballs and industrial cleaning solutions mix to mask the other odors I’d rather not think about. The woman at the front desk nods at Carter as he leads us back. It’s past midnight at Oak Hill’s Retirement Home, and the members are sleeping, or nestled away in their rooms. The photographs and wreaths decorating the doors keep the sterile environment from feeling like a hospital. I smile at the group of teenagers posed on a photo probably sent by their parents to one of their grandparents.
Anger builds in my gut. These people shouldn’t have to be afraid. They’re here to peacefully live out their final days with dignity and grace. Only the lowest of low would go after the elderly.
We come to the door blocked with the yellow tape I’ve become all too familiar with. The strong tinge of copper and bowels punch me in the gut.
“Ugh.”
“I know,” Carter agrees.
“You already smell it?” Sacha asks.
“Yeah, I do.”
“No,” Fel says.
I feel their gazes glued to my back. I ignore them as Carter peers around and opens the door, holding the tape up as we can duck under. It takes me a minute to realize what I’m seeing. The walls are speckled with blood. Clumps of flesh and what I suspect are organs dot the floor. There are numbered signs everywhere. The gruesome scene has me afraid to look at the victim. I push past my instincts and peer at the man. My heart leaps into my throat. His face is twisted into a mask of pain and terror. His lips are frozen in a silent scream. Despite the white film of death that covers his blue gaze, I can see the pain etched in his irises.
I glance down and balk at the caved in chest cavity. My stomach roils. Saliva coats my mouth. Turning away, I press the back of my hand against my lips. His chest looks like pulp. Clawed to the bone, and dugout, it has the consistency of pulled pork.
“Jesus Christ. He was alive when this happened?” Sacha inquires.
“Yeah, he was,” Marcus says softly.
“They took his heart,” Carter states.
“Are you sure this isn’t a Shifter problem?” I ask, thinking of the damage their claws can do.
Carter shakes his head. “No. We’d never leave this much meat. The only way we’d do anything this publicly would be starvation.”
“So, none of you ever goes off the deep end?” Fel says.
“Even then. They would not work this hard just to eat the heart. In addition, as far as we can tell, the heart is intact. They must’ve needed it whole,” Marcus explains.
“That’s why we figured the ball goes into your court,” Carter adds.
I peer around the room to keep my eyes off the man who’s far too emotive in death. My gaze lands on pictures of him in a uniform. A shadow box boasts a purple heart. The man is a national hero. He deserved so much more than this.
“I won’t say there are no rituals that use hearts, ’cause that would be a lie. I can’t imagine why his would be worth risking exposure for though,” Sacha says.
“Agreed. It doesn’t make any sense,” Fel seconds.
My brow furrows. “What do the police say?”
“They’re more concerned about how this happened in a building full of people, and no one saw or heard a thing,” Marcus drawls.
“Unless they did, and they’re afraid to talk. I mean, if I saw what it was capable of, I wouldn’t be lining up to narc,” I say.
“Fair point,” Carter whispers.
“I think we should let this settle down and come back and see if anyone will speak,” Fel suggests.
My gaze is drawn to the wall beside the door. I carefully move over to it and wave my hand slowly over the area. “There’s something here.” I whisper a reveal spell and find a faint and rapidly fading serpentine-like squiggle with a hooked ending and slash like lines.
“Did you see it?” I whisper to the girls.
“For a split second,” Sacha replies.
“I need paper and something to draw with.”
Carter hands over a notebook and a pen and I sketch the sigil. This is the first break we’ve gotten. There’s no doubt in my mind this is connected with the body snatchers. The odds of two bizarre incidences happening this close together are small.
“Does this mean anything to you?” I ask, holding up the crude drawing.
“I’ve never seen it before. It looks old, kind of like the Norse Runes our seer uses,” Marcus says.
“Girls?” I wave the piece of paper.
“No, but at least we have a starting point,” Fel says.
“It’s more than we had before we walked in here,” Sacha shrugs.
“What are you going to do?” Carter asks.
“Search for answers.”
***
“Reina, you’ve been locked up here all day. What is it you’re looking for?”
“Cristobal.” I set aside the worn brown leather volume, remove my white gloves, and rise. I rush across the wooden floor of the library into his waiting arms. With the impending coronation, he has had his own duties to perform. It’s been a long time since so many courts have gathered; egos need to be stroked, and treaties need to be revisited and confirmed.
“Miss me?” he asks against my temple.
“More than words can express. When did you get in?”
“A few hours ago. You were so focused on your research, I shielded to keep from interrupting you.”
I peer up. “Maybe you’ll know this sigil.” I leave his arms reluctantly, twine our fingers, and guide him over to the table. The re-sketched symbol stands out against the thick, beige drawing parchment. Cristobal frowns.
He traces the sigil with the tip of his elegant forefinger. “This is old.”
“You know it?”
“No, nor the language it derives from. Though, I feel confident in saying it comes from the Middle East.”
“I thought the same thing. I’ve been trying to look in the oldest tomes we have focused on that area.”
He picks up the book I’d been studying and thumbs through it gently. Unlike humans, vampires don’t sweat or release oils from their skin, so there’s no danger to protect the book from.
“I don’t think you’ll find the answers you seek in any books we have access to. Which means you will need someone who would remember this ancient dialect, provided it’s human.”
“You don’t think it’s human?”
“I do not know enough about Arabic to say definitively one way or another, but in those days, it was much easier for magical things to walk the earth. In those times, there were more others than humans. You believed in the magic and in turn … in us. This was all before my time. Yet, people still talk.”
“What do they say?” I ask, intrigued.
“That left unchecked, we would have run the world, devoured humanity, and eventually each other. It was before the laws and the reconnection with rationality and what was left of our humanity. They were brutal times. Think of it as your caveman period. We had much evolving to do. There is a reason why we focus on control and hold ourselves to a much higher standard than humans. We stick to the old ways because there was refinement, restraint, and a code of honor and order. You play it fast and loose in the twentieth century. It’s a freedom we can never know. At the very core lies an insatiable hunger we must always remain in total command of.”
His words freeze the blood in my veins. I’ve never felt our differences as keenly as I do at this moment. “But we all adapt and grow, no?”
I nod my head, still mulling over his history lesson.
“Do you know someone I could ask about this symbol?” I ask.
“Not personally, but I can ask around.”
“Thank you.” I rest my head on his shoulder.
“How long have you been at this?” He closes the book and replaces it on the shelf.
“What time is it now?”
“Four o’clock.”
I grimace.“Ugh. Seven hours. Jesus.”
“How about you come up for air?”
My shoulders sag. We’ve gotten no closer to discovering what killed Mr. James Marsh, why, or if it’ll strike again. “I wish I could. People are dying in this city, and I need to get to the bottom of it.”
“Your nobility is one of your traits I have a love/hate relationship with. I admire your dedication to what you believe in, but I hate how often it takes you away from my side.”
I run my hand over his jaw. “Soon we’ll carve out time for us.” I pull his face to me and share a bittersweet kiss full of greetings and good-bye.
“Where are you headed next?” he asks with a resigned sigh.
“I have a hunch I need to play.”
He studies me carefully. “That’s not an answer.”
“I’m going to contact Halcyon and see if she’ll meet me.”
He tenses. I hold up a finger and swish it back and forth. “Ah. Don’t say it. It’s witch to witch, no vampire politics necessary or wanted.”
He shakes his head. “Would it matter if I told you not to?”
“Right now?” I suck air between my teeth.
“Go. But be safe, and keep your GPS tracking on.” His words are pinched and his jaw clenches and releases rhythmically. He’s probably choking down all the things he wants to say. It takes a lot for him not to plow and smoother me with his good intentions. Slowly, we’re finding our way together.
“Of course.”
“Be safe,” he implores me.
“Always.” I grip the lapels of his suit was I go up on tiptoes to meet his lips. We pull apart breathing hard.
“Soon I’m going to whisk you away.”
“I look forward to it.
***
Two hours later, I pull up in front of an adorable, pale blue, cottage-style home with a Victorian wooden porch. Stained glass windows and handcrafted railings add a classic elegance to the historic property located just outside of New Orleans. Shifting the car into park, I release a low-whistle. Fire engine red crisscrossing lines start from the edge of the curb and follow what must be her property lines. The pulsing crimson slashes emit menace and light up the darkness.
Any witch worth her salt would be able to see the do not enter sign forged with dark magic. Spells this visible come at a cost or with immense power. Even a human would find what appears to be a quaint home by all other accounts foreboding. My body is tense as I leave my car. A witch who tried to cross into this territory without permission would likely be killed. I am literally placing my life in her hands by trusting her word that she’s allowing me admittance to her home.
Fear hits me as I step from the car. Clutching the handle of my black messenger back tight, I step forward with a confidence I don’t feel. I keep my chin up, back straight, and cross. My skin tingles as the wards accept me. A bark of relieved laughter escapes as I continue toward the porch.
The front door swings open before I can knock. Hal greets me with a bright smile entirely at odds with the dark magic inside of her, slowly working toward gaining a foothold in the battle for control. The off-the-shoulder, ruffled top, pale pink dress goes well with her peaches-and-cream skin and golden blonde hair. Her cerulean gaze is lit with mirth.
“I’m so glad you came out to visit me, Lou.”
“Thank you for having me over. Your home is gorgeous.”
“Come on in, and I’ll show you around before we talk business.” The door closes behind me, and the wards buzz to life. Like an invisible fence, they separate us from the rest of the world.
The abundance of white walls and high-vaulted ceilings broken by splashes of pastel-hued furniture keeps me from feeling cloistered by the invisible partition.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, stunned by the open space despite the small amount of footage. The design is all crisp, clean, and soft. It encompasses a sense of peace.
“This is my sanctuary. Not many are allowed in. You’re like family. So, when you came to me witch to witch, there was no other option but to invite you down.” She clarifies the lines between us. As lead witch for the mighty Lord of New Orleans Court, Blazh, she has to be careful about our interactions. At the moment, he and Cristobal are on friendly terms, and allies, but things can change swiftly. As lord of a large portion of land in addition to Cypress, we’re neighbors.
“Know I would do the same for you, Hal.”
She smiles. “I believe you. You’re the only visitor I’ve had here from back home.”
My heart aches for her. “I’m sorry, Hal.”
“Don’t be. I knew what I was forfeiting when I made my choices. To date, the gains far outweigh the losses.”
“I’m glad.” Despite my avoidance of all things black magic, I’m pleased to see her happy. She deserved far better than her lot in life. Magic can do many things, but it can’t fix a broken family riddled extreme sexism and dysfunctionality.
“Let me show you one of my favorite parts of the house. The kitchen.” The white theme continues in the cooking area. White subway tile on the walls is a contrasting backsplash to her butcher-block countertops. The appliances are top of the line stainless steel, and the window above the deep-set sink overlooks a large, well-kept garden.
She beams. “I like to grow as much of my own produce and herbs as possible.”
“I totally understand that. Spells are so much better when the ingredients are fresh.”
The rest of the house continues to be equally light and airy with pops of soft colors, and high-end, engaging pieces of art and décor. Very little of her previous life exists here. Her pictures are sparing, and the embellishments all seem new. Suddenly, I appreciate my family, warts and all.
We end up on the comfy, powder-blue couch in the living room with a bottle of rum on the table and glasses half full of cola.
“Tell me what brings you over this way.”
“I’m working on a case, and I ran into a sigil I don’t recognize. It’s old. So old even Cristobal couldn’t pinpoint it. He’s working on finding someone who might be able to, but I’m impatient. People could potentially get hurt if I let this go too long.”
“And you don’t want it on your conscious?” she says.
“No. I owe them better. What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t get my hands dirty and protect them?”
“A normal one. You realize the queen is protected by the hive, not the other way around, right?”
“When have witches ever sat back and watched injustices unfold? I’m only going at it from a different angle.
“Hmm.” She tilts her head. “Why do you think I’ll know what he won’t?”
“It’s a shot in the dark, but I’m doing something. I’ve exhausted most of my sources, and the other I’m avoiding?”
She leans forward. “You can’t say that and not tell me who and why.”
“Mémé. I’m on planning overload. I mean, you’d think I was getting married.”
“It’s even bigger than that, and you don’t get to choose who does and doesn’t come, so I’m wagering it’s worse.”
“Maybe that’s why it feels like I’m trapped in hell.”
She laughs―a husky, honeyed smoke sound that makes me think of seduction.
“I was stuck in a planning session from eight until two with a room full of maternal witches and a few snobby vampires the other day. I’m still trying to recover from it.”
Hal grabs the bottle of the rum and adds more to my class. “I think you need this more than I do.”
I roll my eyes but take a sip of the potent drink.
“Better?” she asks.
I give a mock cough. “Getting there. How have you been?”
“Good. I’m getting to know the magical community here. It’s different from what we grew up with. Practitioners are a lot more open-minded.”
New Orleans has always been a melting pot. “How so?”
“Well, for one thing, witches like me, who choose an alternate path, aren’t seen as pariahs. We co-mingle. There’s a place for us, too. There are various shades from white to dark there, so it makes sense.”
“That had to be a revelation,” I say, picturing the scene in my head.
“The best kind. It gave me a clearer picture of what my future may look like.” Having finished her drink, she places it on a coaster. “Do you want to show me the sigil?”
I dig into my handbag and pull out the paper. “I drew it on the fly, so this is my loose rendition at best.”
She peers down at it and tenses.
My stomach drops.
“Where did you say saw this?”
“I didn’t. The crime scene was at a retirement home.”
She traces the symbol and shudders. I wonder what she can sense that I can’t.
“I’m not surprised you saw it a crime scene. This is dark.”
“How dark are we talking?” I ask.
“More than likely was never human.”
Thinking back to the body, it’s not hard to believe. “Maybe it was the signature needed to summon a demon?”
“You said it disappeared, though?”
“Yes.”
“They might’ve been calling their master and connecting to power freely given. Can you tell me about the body?”
“Do you have a strong stomach?” I ask sincerely.
“I’ve developed one over the years.” Her eyes harden.
I describe the victim.
“If it’s demon, you have one of two things … a younger one, who came to do the dirty work himself, or one who’s higher on the food chain, and didn’t need to.”
“I’m hoping for option one.” I pause. “How can you tell?” The question is out before my brain can filter it.
The joy leaves her face. “When you become attuned to the darkness, you see things you wouldn’t normally. It’s like the sixth sense all witches have turned on its ear. You become aware of the creeping darkness. The disturbed and unnatural. It binds you to death in a way our kind is never meant to be.”
I see a shadowy figure nearly hidden in the depths of her irises, longing to break free, and gain control. She blinks. It’s gone, out of sight, but never forgotten. I dread the day I look into her eyes and see the person she used to be trapped and desperate to escape.
I’ve summoned entities before, but never demons. They’re a different story altogether. The summoning needs to be airtight, and the summoner must be more powerful than the being he seeks to command to hold them. If this creature is as high up as she believes, it’d be dangerous to try.
“I wouldn’t suggest trying to summon this thing unless you really know what you’re doing. Demons are born tricksters. One misstep and they have their in.” She paused. “I can try to make contact through a séance if you’re willing to enter into a circle of protection with me.”
“I’ve never done one before.”
“It’s basically the same rules as a circle. You can’t break the protection, and you have to mingle your powers to call out to the creature you wish to summon.”
I hesitate. Keeping my magic separate from black magic is more than a moral call. It’s physically uncomfortable to mix incompatible magic types. Black magic feels terrible. Still, I owe my people their safety. There’s no way of knowing how many will lose or have already lost their lives to this creeping silently in the darkness.
“I’m in.”
“Let’s go get the items we’ll need. I want to perform the ceremony outside. I have a table that will work, and the weather’s nice. We can actually use the earth to keep us grounded if necessary. There’s no way I’m inviting anything into my personal space.”
“Makes sense.” I nod my head in agreement. I let her take the lead as we move to her closet and she begins to gather her ingredients. Ten black pillar candles, and a velvet bag later, we’re seated around her mid-sized, black iron garden table.
“No matter what happens, do not let go of my hand. Once I’m in a trance, I’m a conduit. The spirits want to get out. They’ll do anything to create an opening that’ll allow them to escape into this realm, so be cautious and keep your mental shields up. We don’t want anyone or anything hitching a ride out of here.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Okay.” She lights the candles with a thought and slips out an antique, silver-edged, circular mirror. The smoky glaze makes me gasp.
“A black mirror.” Used for scrying and contacting the other side, the item is known to amplify power and increase psychic energy. She places the mirror in the center of the circle of candles between us and draws the sigil on the center with her finger. Straightening, Hal holds out her hands for mine.
“Here we go.” We link hands, and her energy jumps up and latches on to mine. I wince. Her magic is like molasses, thick and cloying as it slides alongside my own, slithering like a snake on its belly. I grit my teeth, ignoring the sensation of tiny insect feet traveling along my skin. My magic balks. I force it to play nice and mix. Like oil and water, they float on top of each other, without real cohesion, but it’s enough. The connection between us is made. Hal hums as she slowly rocks in a circle. I’m unable to take my eyes off her transition into a trance. Her expression goes slack, and her cerulean eyes glaze over. A frost covering turns them white.
She ceases all movement. “We seek the being summoned with this sigil.” Her voice is sexless and louder than it should be as it echoes through the backyard. I can practically taste the power behind it as her call stretches out to the other side. My heartbeat kicks up a notch when the temperature drops. We’re no longer alone. My palms grow clammy, and I tense.
“Come. Do not linger on the outskirts. We demand answers. You’ve come to a realm that is not yours and caused harm and chaos. Who gave you permission to do this?” The table begins to rattle. I feel a pressure beating against our circle. I grip her hand tighter and reinforce the circle as we’re rocked back and forth like a ship in rocky waters. My teeth chatter and the air from my mouth makes white clouds. Chill bumps cover my arms, and my hands begin to feel numb.
“Speak,” Hal demands. She jerks in her seat. Her eyes bleed black. It takes every ounce of courage I have not to let go of her hands as the entity rushes into her body, bringing the feeling of pure evil with it. Not Hal cracks her neck and focuses its attention on me. The menace is rolling off her in waves, literally, cause bile to climb its way up my throat. I swallow, forcing it back down, and know I am staring into the eyes of something that was never human.
“Who are you?”
Not Hal opens her mouth. The low hum coming from the gaping opening makes me tense. Her body shakes, and the hum turns into a buzz that vibrates her entire body. A trail of blood runs from her nose and eyes.
“Hal,” I croak.
The bubble building explodes. A swarm of black flies burst from her mouth. I close my eyes as they rush past, brushing my face and burrowing into my hair. I tighten my hold on her hands, hanging on for dear life as everything in me tells me to scream. Keep your mouth closed. Keep your mouth closed. My thoughts are reduced to those four words as the being unleashes. I gather my power and toss a shield around Hal, cutting the connection between her and the being. She jerks like a marionette, pitching forward onto the table. The candles all extinguish at once. I scan her body for any signs of lingering possession. Her aura is the same pink tinged with black that it was prior, although the shade is a sickeningly dull puce. I release her hands and rush to her side.
“Hal.” I tap her cheek lightly and wipe away the blood smeared on her cheeks and over her nose with my sleeve. “Show me those blues, so I can make sure you’re the only one home.” I slap harder.
She snorts, shaking me off. “W-what?”
“Don’t talk, take a minute,” I whisper. I stroke her silken locks, grateful she’s still in one piece. I’ve never seen a manifestation like that. I rest my head on her shoulder. “Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again.”
“Whatever it is, it’s strong, and doesn’t want to be identified,” she says shakily.
“Yeah, I got that. Let’s get you inside.” I help her stand. Slowly we shuffle our way inside, where I lead her to the bathroom. I wet a warm washcloth and wipe away the lingering blood. She seems fine. Exhausted and lethargic, but mentally sound and whole. I dart to her closet, collecting quartz and salt. I line her room―to provide extra protection―and run a bath, liberally adding the quartz and salt.
“Get in.”
“With my clothes on?”
“Yes. The residue is … bad.” I help her from the toilet into the bathtub. I scrub her with salt, and move on to the crystals, rubbing them against her scalp.
“Dunk.”
She goes under and sits up. “Betterish.” I return to cleansing, weaving my magic in carefully. I siphon the excess bad juju, filtering it out. Her dimmed aura brightens to a Pepto shade. I lean back on my heels, relieved.
“Once more, and I think you’ll be okay to finish up while I get your bedroom ready for you.”
She goes under again, and the heaviness on my chest lifts. She surfaces.
“I’m going to smudge because I’m hella paranoid.”
“When you get back, I’ll have myself together.” She reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Lou, I’m worried about you.”
“Right now, I’m my worried about you. I’ll be careful with this case, okay? I’ve seen what it can do.”
She nods at me warily. “This is what I don’t miss about being a white witch. You put yourself on the line constantly and get so little back.” She shakes her head.
“The reward is in the helping, Hal.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” she says softly.
“What the hell is going on?” Cristobal’s voice comes through the bond. The clarity stuns me. We’re getting better at communicating farther and farther away.
“Séance went wrong.”
“You did what?”
“We had it under control.”
“Obviously not.”
“We’re fine.”
“I’m sending someone.”
“This is witch business, Cristobal. Bringing a vampire will only complicate it.”
“The spike in your fear tells me it got that way regardless. I’m sending someone to you.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“It’s non- negotiable. She’ll have to understand. This is bonded business. That trumps everything.”
It’s amazing how the man can make me want to kiss him and strangle him at the same time.
“What happened at the séance?” he asks gently.
“Whatever it was answered, and it wasn’t happy with being called up.” I quickly relay the story.
“I want you home.
“I can’t leave her like this, she’s too weak, and it might double back. She was doing a favor for me. I owe her.”
“We’ll be talking when you get home.”
Of course, we will be. I roll my eyes, grateful he can’t see my expression.
“I know. I love you.”
“I love you. I need you to understand how important you are now. You have to be careful about the risks you take. You’re too valuable to place yourself in dangerous situations without backup. I know you’re independent, but this comes with your new roles.”
“I’ll do better.”
“I know you will, dove. Be careful?”
“You’ve already deployed people here, haven’t you?”
His laughter is all the answer I need. I’ll never admit it, but having some of my family close is comforting. The court has become more than a group of people I was accidentally linked to. They’re pieces of my heart and soul. I’d kill, die, and fight for each one, no matter how much some of them annoy me. These intense and possessive emotions are a foreign concept. I know they’re people, not property, but the instincts are animalistic. It makes me wonder what quirks and traits they may have inherited from being linked to a witch. As I finish smudging, I sense Lark and Renee drawing near. I send out my thanks before I move inside. The sage and my prayers go up in every nook and cranny of the house before I return upstairs to find Hal sitting on the bed.
“You look better.”
“I’m getting there. I won’t forget what you did for me.”
“Hey, it’s the least I could do. It’s my fault it happened in the first place. I never anticipated that.”
“Me either. I’ve never encountered anything like that demon. I’m afraid to even consider why someone would need to call up something that powerful.”
“You and me both.” I sink onto the edge of her bed.
“Are you heading back tonight?”
I shake my head. “Not if I can crash here.”
“Of course. I enjoyed having you … honestly. It’s nice to see some parts of my past still have a place in my life.”
“I know that feeling well. When I came back, it was a culture shock, and everything kept changing every time I got halfway used to things. It’s been one hell of a year.”
“You’re surviving it better than you think. People are talking about the powerhouse you and Cristobal will be once everything is official. The witches are chattering and looking toward the Esçhete family once more to see what moves they’ll make. It’s a good time to be you, my friend. Enjoy it.”
“I never wanted this.”
“And yet, you’re meant to have it. No one else in our generation holds a candle to you. Felicite is talented and sweet, but a leader? Not so much. You did well placing her in the council spot. She’s a nurturer full of wisdom, and the ability to soak up knowledge like a sponge. She’ll also prevent them from crying favoritism and monopolizing.”
“I thought so. I don’t want people to think this was a strategic move. Bond mates aren’t something that can be faked.”
“There will always be haters and doubters. It’s not for you to worry about the opinions of peasants.”
I see an opportunity to learn, and I’m going to take it.