“I’ve got a lot of ink, I can imagine. How many sets do you have?”

“I just completed the last signum of the sixth set last year.”

“So you have more than Chrysabelle now.”

He laughed. “No, she completed the seventh set her twenty-second year. I think if there were more, she’d get them.” He shook his head. “That’s just who she is. Who she’s always been. I had a few classes with her, spoke to her a few times, but she wasn’t the social sort. Never had many friends. Of course, she had her patron at fifteen. After that, she moved out of the Primoris Domus, coming back only for classes and to recover from the signum.”

“You ever think she had no friends because no one made the effort?”

Damian nodded. “I see what you’re saying. Maybe. She was always sort of this ideal. When she ran… no one expected that. Even with what her aunt had done claiming libertas.”

“Mother.”

Damian twisted around. “What’s that?”

“Maris was her mother, not her aunt.”

His face went blank, his mouth opening slightly. “How did she find that out?”

“Maris told her as she lay dying in Chrysabelle’s arms.”

“That’s…” Damian disappeared into thought, coming back a few minutes later. “I can’t imagine finding out who your parents are.”

“Didn’t you ever think about it?”

“Sure, I guess. It’s not like we can do anything about finding out, though, so I never wasted much time on it.”

Creek dropped the subject. Damian seemed content with that as they traveled in silence the rest of the way. At last the grouping of coven houses appeared. Except there was an extra building. “That’s a new one.”

“New what?” Damian asked.

“House.” Creek pointed to the sleek steel and glass structure sitting adjacent to Aliza’s. How the hell had they put up a house that fast? It sure looked brand-new. He turned the motor off and let the boat glide forward on the remaining momentum. Any element of surprise they could gain would be a good thing. Damian seemed to get that.

“I’ll go in first,” Creek whispered. They were twenty feet from the dock now. No sign of the old witch, but her boat was parked in its usual spot beneath the house. “You stay outside, but be ready.”

Damian nodded.

Creek would have much rather had Mortalis by his side, but he got that the fae wanted to protect Chrysabelle. Couldn’t fault him for that.

An angry shriek rang out across the glades. A cormorant perched on Aliza’s dock took off. The sound was high and loud, and two seconds after it started, the windows in Aliza’s house shattered, shards falling like glitter into the water below.

Damian glanced at Creek, his eyes wide and voice low. “I didn’t know witches could do that.”

“They can’t.” Creek unholstered his crossbow. “We need a plan. Here’s what I’m thinking…”

Chapter Twenty-nine

Fi hung close behind Big John, as she’d started mentally referring to the wolf varcolai, and together they went to answer the front door. He swore it was just his brother and the mayor of Paradise City, so Velimai had given the okay to the guard shack and opened the house gate, but Fi kept a tight grip on her appropriated chef’s knife anyway. Better safe than sorry. Plus, she was kind of in a stabby mood with Doc being under Aliza’s spell and all. Of course, if things really went south, she was going ghost and heading downstairs until she hit the wine cellar. Possessed Doc was still safer than most of the crazies running around this town lately.

John opened the door. “Luke, everything all right?”

“No.” A varcolai who looked like John’s twin ushered the mayor into the house, pulling the door out of John’s hand to shut it. “It’s already started.”

The mayor looked like, well, like she’d seen a ghost. Except there was no way she knew Fi was one, did she? Fi slid the chef’s knife into a drawer of some fancy table in the foyer. “You’re the mayor, huh?”

“Yes,” the mayor said with a little half smile, like she was happy to be occupied with something besides being a stranger in someone’s home. A home Fi was starting to feel pretty possessive about considering it wasn’t hers. Chrysabelle would probably freak if she knew all these people were here, traipsing in and out of her secured estate like it was Grand Central Station. The mayor held out her hand. “And you are?”

“Fiona.” She shook the mayor’s hand. “Sorry about your daughter.”

“Thank you, very kind of you.”

“My parents lost a child.” Fi knew she shouldn’t do what she was about to do, but she was angry about Doc, angry about Mal not being here, angry about Mortalis ditching them the minute John had arrived.

The mayor tipped her head. “I’m sorry for them, and you. A brother?”

“No, not a brother.” Fi paused, a true student of dramatic effect. “It was me. Courtesy of Mal.” She sliced her finger across her throat and made a cutting sound. “You met him, right?” She flickered once on purpose, just to see the mayor’s eyes round, then turned without waiting for an answer and walked into the living room where she took her usual seat. Doc wouldn’t have liked what she’d just done. Just knowing that made her feel guilty, but not enough to apologize.

She grabbed a magazine and used it as a cover to watch as John, Luke, and the mayor came in and took seats.