CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I pulled the car into its usual spot in the driveway. With the exception of the porch light, the rest of the house was dark. Gareth must have gone to bed.
Feeling more than a little relieved, I got out of the car and made my way inside. I couldn’t avoid him forever, but I just wasn’t ready to face him again. Gareth’s deception had cut me deeply, and while the events at the train tracks had afforded me a small sense of clarity and acceptance, the truth was still just as painful as it had been when I’d fled the house hours before.
My wet shoes squished around my toes as I tiptoed upstairs trying to make as little sound as possible. Crossing the hall to my room, I walked inside and shut the door silently behind me.
“Hello, Lainey.”
I whirled around. A figure sat in the darkness, silhouetted by moonlight. Swearing, I fumbled for the light switch on the wall and grabbed the baseball bat I kept beside the bed. Gripping the wooden handle, I flipped the switch, bathing the room in bright light.
Gareth sat in the armchair by the window staring at me. The dagger I’d seen earlier was resting across his knees.
“Oh my God, Gareth! You scared the crap out of me!” I said, loosening my grip on the Louisville slugger.
“I scared you?” Gareth’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been gone for hours. You wouldn’t answer my calls, and I had no idea where you were. I was about to have Serena perform a tracking spell when Maggie finally called back and said she spoke to you. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
“Well, no need to worry anymore,” I spat. “I’m home now. You can go.” I hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but the sight of him had refueled my anger.
“Lainey . . .” Gareth trailed off and hunched over, pinching the bridge of his nose.
When he sat back up and looked at me, pain and concern were etched all over his face. “Lainey, I—” He broke off as a rough sound choked him.
I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I was absolutely furious at Gareth for keeping the truth from me, but as I watched him wrestle with his emotions, it was obvious that, real uncle or not, he cared about me. I suddenly felt very small.
Sighing, I propped the baseball bat back against the wall and plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I ran out like that,” I said. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just needed time to process everything.”
With a sigh of his own, Gareth nodded. “I get it, I do, but you can’t go running off like that. It’s dangerous. Now more than ever.” He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned forward, his eyes pleading. “I know you hate me right now, but I swore to protect you, and you have to promise never to do that again.”
“I won’t.”
Gareth, relieved at my words, sank back into his chair. “Thank you.”
I watched him for a few moments. “I don’t hate you,” I whispered, struggling to keep my own emotions in check.
He looked surprised. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t,” I replied. “I’m angry at you for lying to me and keeping all those secrets from me—really angry—but I know you care about me, and I know you’d never intentionally try to hurt me.” I offered a small smile. “It’s been just you and me my whole life. You’re my family, Gareth. No matter how mad I am at you, I could never hate you.”
Gareth’s shoulders sagged, his eyes swimming with tears. “I didn’t think you’d still feel that way when you found out the truth.” He nervously tapped the sword in his lap. “In fact, after you left, I thought you’d never want to speak to me again.”
“I didn’t at first,” I admitted, “but now I think I understand why you lied to me. Finding out who I really am, what happened to Mom—it’s a lot to take in. I’m not sure I was ready before now. I’m not sure I could’ve handled it.”
Gareth nodded. “I never meant to keep this from you for so long. I just wanted you to be happy . . . and safe.” He picked up the blade in his hands. It was the smaller version of the sword I’d seen him practicing with, the dagger he had offered me down in the training room. “I made this for you, you know. I was planning to give it to you when I told you. It’s probably stupid, but I thought it might help you feel less afraid . . .” He blushed crimson. “I really am sorry, Lainey.”
“I know.” I leaned forward. “I’m fine. But no more secrets, okay? From this moment on, I need to know what I’m up against. There’s still so much I don’t understand.” I exhaled. “It scares me, but I have to know everything.”
Gareth nodded and placed a hand over his heart. “I promise. No more lying and no more secrets,” he vowed. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Good.” I gave a tiny smile. “So, can I have it?” I indicated the dagger.
“Oh!” Gareth jumped up and placed the weapon in my hands. “Yes, of course.”
The dagger still felt foreign in my hands, but up close, I saw that the blade was engraved with an intricate design of greenery and daisies, my favorite flower. The meticulous design was not only beautiful but clearly one of a kind.
“They were her favorite too,” Gareth said. “Your mother loved daisies.”
I ran my finger across the smooth metal. “It’s beautiful.”
“If you let me, I’d like to teach you how to use it properly. You need to know how to protect yourself.”
I gripped the hilt tightly. It was more than a little strange to be sitting in my bedroom, holding a Faerie-made weapon—and even more so to imagine myself using it—but I nodded my head anyway.
“Great!” Gareth jumped up from his seat, his eyes wide and bright. “We can start right now.”
I stifled a laugh at his excitement. This was a side of Gareth I’d never seen before. “How about tomorrow? It’s late, and I need a shower.” I pointed to my clothes, which were still damp from the rain.
“Right, of course,” Gareth smiled and kissed me on the top of my head. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more about training tomorrow.” He smiled again as he moved toward the door.
“Uncle Gareth?” I called out. “Before you go, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
I took a deep breath. “You want to teach me how to use a weapon to protect myself, right? Well, what exactly am I supposed to be protecting myself from?”
Gareth’s face paled, and his smile disappeared.
“Serena mentioned that the same person who killed my mother might come after me,” I continued. “I need to know what I’m up against.”
Gareth swallowed and sat back down in the armchair facing me. The light in his eyes had faded, and his face was as somber as I’d ever seen it.
With a sharp exhale, he nodded and began to speak. “Centuries ago, there was a war between the various factions of the Supernatural realms. Witches, Lycans, Elementals, the Fey—everyone was involved. Even the Seers, who don’t normally get involved in such things.”
My eyes widened at Gareth’s words. I shouldn’t have been surprised by anything at this point, but Lycans? Elementals? Was everything real? Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus on the story.
“It was a bloody war, and thousands of lives were lost. It was as if the very fabric of our world was ripped apart, never to be whole again.” Gareth took another breath, as though to steady himself.
“You see, our world is meant to be balanced, each faction equal with every other. This balance is the only thing that protects us—our anonymity—from humanity. This civil war between the factions was threatening the system. If the humans were ever to discover our existence, an even greater war would be inevitable.”
“What were they fighting about?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Power. All great wars are fought over power,” Gareth said. “When the bloodshed became too great to continue, the leaders of each faction agreed to meet to discuss a peace treaty. The result of that meeting was the formation of a fellowship of sorts, a group of Supernatural representatives—one from each faction—chosen for the task of keeping the balance. They called it the Hetaeria.”
Gareth held up a finger and quickly darted down the hall to his room. When he returned, he had a large antique book in his hand. Sitting next to me, he flipped the pages until he reached an old painted portrait of ten or so men and women dressed in long black capes. Behind them, several rows of severe-looking men all in black stood at attention.
“The Hetaeria created a new set of laws to ensure that no one faction had more power or more control than any other. They also enlisted other Supernaturals to serve as militia. The Guard, as it was called, was tasked with enforcing the new laws and working as protectors for Supernaturals in peril.” Gareth indicated the photo and sighed heavily. “They’re the ones who hunted down your mother, Lainey.”
I leaned over and studied the faces of the men in the photographs. They didn’t look like killers to me.
“But I don’t understand. If the Hetaeria was created to keep the balance, to be peacekeepers, then what happened to my mom? Why would they or the Guard want to hurt her?” I trailed off, feeling overwhelmed by the complexity of Gareth’s story. “Why would they want to hurt me?”
Gareth closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain, and then continued. “The Hetaeria was successful in keeping the peace for quite some time, until a young man by the name of Emmett Masterson infiltrated it and began to pervert its mission.”
The ominous tone in Gareth’s voice made me shiver.
“He was power hungry, even from the time he was a young man. He had a cruel nature and saw himself as king of the Supernatural realm.”
“There’s a king?”
Gareth shook his head. “No. That was the purpose of the Hetaeria: to balance the power among the factions. But Masterson sought control of the factions—to hold dominion over them all. He ended up selling his soul to a Sorcerer of Darkness and began using black magic to amplify his abilities. He became incredibly powerful. Then he began to strike down those weaker than himself.”
Gareth took a deep breath, clearly affected by his own story, but steeled himself. “First, he manipulated the Guard. He is incredibly charismatic, you see. He began to poison their minds with talk of a new order, of overthrowing the Hetaeria, of a world united under a single rule: his rule. He quickly gained a following among them, and any who opposed him either fled or were murdered. It wasn’t long until Masterson had overthrown the faction leaders and eradicated the Hetaeria altogether. He dropped the last part of his surname and began calling himself ‘The Master.’”
The Master. My heart skipped a beat. I thought back to my visions of Josephine, of the man cloaked in shadows. Don’t lie to me, you foolish girl. I know you have it . . . and I want it. I shuddered at the memory. It was all starting to make sense now.
Gareth and I were both silent for a moment, lost in our own memories. Then Gareth began to speak again, his voice even once more.
“The Master began using the Guard to hunt down Supernaturals. Witch, Warlock, Shape-Shifter, Nixie—faction didn’t matter. Any who opposed the Master’s reign was disposed of.”
“But they fought back, right?” I interjected. “The other Supernaturals?”
“I’m afraid it wasn’t that simple.” Gareth smiled sadly. “Fear and greed are powerful motivators, Lainey. Without the Hetaeria allying them, the factions drew into themselves, untrusting of each other. There were also a number of Supernaturals who disagreed with the initial creation of the Hetaeria—people who would rather die than see the factions at peace. They didn’t like the fact that the Hetaeria was imposing what they saw as unnecessary laws upon them. The Master allied himself with those people—with those traitors.”
Gareth looked disgusted. “He imbued the members of the Guard with black magic, turning them into assassins. Not only are they deadly, but they’re also damn near indestructible, even for the strongest of our kind. The Master’s greed sparked another bloody civil war—one we’ve been fighting ever since.”
“How is he even still alive?”
“Supernaturals tend to have longer life spans, particularly if they’re powerful. In the Master’s case, his use of dark magic has given him unnatural longevity, even by our standards.”
A sudden dread settled in my stomach. “It was the Master who killed my mom, wasn’t it?
Gareth leaned forward, his piercing brown eyes never straying from my face. “Yes.”
His words from earlier floated back to me. Lainey, she was killed because she was the Keeper, the Keeper of the Grimoire.
I shook my head. “Wait, you told me that my mom was killed because she was the Keeper, right? If the Master is so powerful, why would he need the Grimoire?”
“Magic always leaves a mark,” Gareth said. “And the Master never anticipated the price the black magic he used would exact from him. Over time, his powers began to weaken, only allowing him to sustain small bits of power at a time.”
He flipped back to the page of the original faction representatives and pointed out one of the members—a strapping young man with dark hair that was pulled back in a low ponytail. He looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him before.
“That,” Gareth said, “is Lane DuCarmont. He was the representative for the witch and warlock faction. He was also Josephine DuCarmont’s father and the man you were named after.”
I remembered the picture Serena had shown me of the DuCarmont family. In that picture, a much older Lane was calm and relaxed, his arm wrapped around Josephine’s shoulders. In this picture, there was no kindness on his face.
“It’s said that Lane DuCarmont killed a dark sorcerer who was carrying a spell that would allow the Master to bleed magic from other Supernaturals. If he collected magic from every faction, he could use the spell to fuse it all together and be all-powerful—immortal even. No one would be able to stop him.”
“But Lane stole the spell.”
“Yes,” Gareth said, “and contained it in the one place where he knew it would be safe.”
“The DuCarmont Grimoire,” I finished for him.
I thought back to my visions of Josephine. “But Lane knew the Master would kill him for what he’d done, so he made someone else the Keeper, didn’t he? Someone he trusted above all others.”
My mind was busy replaying the scenes of my visions over and over in my mind as the pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together.
Lainey.
The whisper in my ear was hardly a surprise, and I looked over at Josephine’s face for confirmation. “He made Josephine the Keeper, and when the Guard came for Lane and his family, Josephine escaped with the Grimoire.” I looked back over at Gareth and smiled. “She kept it safe.”
“Yes,” Gareth confirmed. “But she sacrificed her own life to do so.”
“What?” I tore my eyes away from Gareth. In the last vision I’d had, Josephine was alive. I looked over at Josephine, whose sad eyes confirmed the truth.
“What happened to you?” I said, standing up and moving toward Josephine. I balled my hands into fists, stirred by conviction. “You have to tell me the rest. I have to see it.”
Josephine nodded and held out her hand.
I was vaguely aware of Gareth’s voice calling my name, but as I reached out to take Josephine’s hand, everything else faded away.