Possess Me at Midnight

He lunged at her, groping for the mirror. To her surprise, Ice and Lucan each grabbed a shoulder and pushed him back to the sofa.



“Let her try,” Lucan muttered. “She can’t be any worse than you.”



Bram cursed, fought, then finally sighed and slammed back into the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. “Fine, then.”



He wore petulant sorely, but Sabelle couldn’t spare another moment to think about that.



“Hello, Kelmscott.” She smiled at the older man’s thin-faced image, framed in gray hair and thick sideburns.



“Sabelle, dear. Lovely as always. What’s gotten into your brother?”



“Bad mood. I’ve threatened to throw him to a pack of wild dogs if he fails to improve.”



Spencer laughed. “Always a bright girl.”



“Thank you. I think he was trying, somewhat indelicately, to ask if you had received any assurances from Mathias that he was not behind the violence or had heard any plans from him on how to progress and repair magickind. Bram has been somewhat out of pocket, you see.”



“Of course, of course.” The he shook his head. “Not exactly. But Mathias has advised us of potential unrest among the Deprived. They are at their wit’s end with the Social order. He warns of potential civil war if they are not … accommodated.”



In other words, Mathias issued a veiled threat that he would bring the brunt of the Deprived anger down on the Council if they did not nominate and elect him. They had chosen the coward’s way out and thought that placating Mathias now would spare difficulty later. Fools.



Sabelle pasted on a smile. “That is a grave warning. But can Mathias honestly state that he can quell any Deprived unrest if the Social order is changed or repealed? I simply wonder—”



“He is their champion, my dear,” Kelmscott reminded.



To her side, Ice snorted and shook his head.



“Well, he claims to be, yes. But he is not one of them, so how can he know who the Deprived will truly follow or what they want?”



“I don’t think we can afford, at this point, to simply ignore the potential danger that refusing him would bring. If he is deceiving us all and is behind the recent attacks, perhaps keeping him close and controlled would put a stop to all this nonsense.”



A bold, if not stupid, statement that had Sabelle gritting her teeth. Spencer and Blackbourne, two peas in a pod, had both determined that giving Mathias an inch would please him. Neither saw that he would, in fact, take a mile.



“Would another candidate, perhaps, sway you? I wonder if, in trying times, it might be best to consolidate our power and deal with Deprived unrest in a rational, well-planned manner. Is giving in to the fear of violence that Mathias suggests truly going to end it?”



Spencer frowned. “Who are you recommending, girl?”



“Lucan MacTavish would sit well in that seat—”



“No,” Spencer barked back immediately. “Blackbourne and I discussed this, knew Bram would push it. Sterling and his nephew … The family ties are too close.”



“Sterling has his own heirs. The seat should never pass down through Lucan.”



“Perhaps not. But two MacTavish wizards on the same Council creates a potential impediment to fair voting on future issues.”



Translation: the loss of power likely to result if the MacTavish men created a voting bloc with Bram was something they would avoid at all costs. Shortsighted idiots.



“I see on your face that you’re disappointed, Sabelle,” Spencer said. “But I am quite set and speak for Blackbourne as well. The Council needs a change, and Lucan MacTavish would bring only more of the same.”



Was it change they wanted, then? A smile curled the corners of her mouth, and she looked across the room to the three wizards watching, Bram with a watchful eyes, Lucan with more resignation, and Ice with a burgeoning grasp of the situation.



“A change. Excellent notion. If we’re fearful of a Deprived uprising, which I completely understand, perhaps the way to show progress isn’t to elect a Privileged who claims to represent one of them. Perhaps it would be better to actually nominate one of their own.”



Spencer recoiled, his bushy gray brows forming a V over his prominent nose. “A Deprived, on the Council?”



“Indeed. Nothing would say change and progress to the Deprived more than that, and Mathias would have to champion that candidate if he truly favors their emancipation.”



“Eh … Perhaps. We could discuss it. I’ll talk to Black-bourne. We may be able to find someone . . .”



She glanced across the room at the three men again. Bram lunged up from the sofa. Lucan and Ice held him back once more while he grumbled and growled. After they subdued him, Ice looked at her once more and shook his head.



But she could see the hope on his face.



“I actually have someone in mind,” she murmured. “Someone whose grandfather sat on the Council before the Social order stripped him of his rank. Someone whose line is long, whose wishes to preserve magickind and peace are pure. Someone not terribly close to my brother.”



“I see . . .” He looked genuinely intrigued, and hope curled inside Sabelle again. “I would be very interested.”



“How would you feel about Isdernus Rykard?”



CHAPTER FIFTEEN



THE MOMENT SABELLE ENDED the connection with Spencer, Bram shook free and bolted to his feet, tearing across the room toward her. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”



As Ice grabbed Bram’s arm again, holding him away from his sister, he wondered the same thing. Where had Sabelle gotten the mad idea to have Bram nominate him for the Council? He’d be damned before he asked Bram for help again, and Ice had no doubt the other wizard would cut off his right arm before lifting a finger to help him.



Sabelle turned on her brother with flashing blue eyes and pocketed Bram’s transcast mirror. “Think with something besides the fury running your brain now. Blackbourne and Spencer are afraid. Mathias is more than they can take on, and they know it. They hope that, by appearing to be an ally, he will not turn his violence on them.”



“Idiots.”



“Obviously. But in this situation, the best I could do was use their arguments against them. They’re afraid of a Deprived uprising because the group has no Council representation?”



“It’s rubbish, Sabelle. They’re afraid only of losing their own power. They’ve fought me since the day I stepped into the seat. They know change is coming, and that I will bring it.”



“Of course. But see the beauty of this plan: If you nominate Ice, who should pacify the very people they claim to want to soothe, and Blackbourne and Spencer still vote for Mathias, you’ve boxed them into a corner. They have to appear to support evil. In time, that will lessen their influence. And we both know that Mathias will kill them once their usefulness is at an end. Either way, through their cowardice, they’ve signed their own death warrants.”



The fight left Bram then, and Ice released him. Not that he could keep hold of the other wizard when Sabelle had shocked him all over again. He’d always known she was clever, but her mastery of politics astounded him. She understood the Councilmen well, what motivated them, what they wanted and feared. She’d found a way to use their lies against them. Pride burst from his chest … even as he knew he would have to decline her suggestion.



“Sabelle.” He crossed the room and took her hand in his. “Bram was right to refuse to nominate me after Gailene’s death. I’m … not Council material. They all think I’m mad. I don’t hold my temper well. My birth alone will ensure they never listen—”



“That’s crap,” she interrupted. “You’re strong and resilient. Smart. Once they get to know you, they’ll learn you’re not mad. Maybe they need a temper or two to shake them up.”



She believed that? Despite being born Deprived, Ice had never felt less than equal until Bram’s refusal and rejection all those years ago. He remembered that moment of shame, the bile sliding down his throat. The sting of humiliation. He’d never forgiven his former friend for that.



Could he get into political bed with someone he’d long regarded as an enemy? Did he have a choice?



“The Council elders have grown far too comfortable running the show,” Sabelle pointed out. “They will listen to you if you and Bram learn to work together, vote together. Along with Sterling and Tynan, you four will control the Council. You will set the tone and standard. The policies.”



Ice drank in her words, and they swam in his head. A Deprived who’d been born without a future suddenly becoming one of magickind’s seven most powerful wizards? He’d never craved power, only wanted it to stop Mathias from spreading evil. Now … even if he and Bram could tolerate each other, what could he contribute to the Council? Bram had accused him of fixation on everything anti-Mathias. What had changed? What did he really know about governing magickind?



Sabelle turned to her brother. “With my suggestion of Ice, I’ve given you everything you wanted in the way of Council power: majority control. All you have to do is bury the hatchet with Ice.”



Bram said nothing for long moments, merely stared at his sister with a mix of awe, anger, and exasperation. Ice related to the other wizard’s feelings.



“The Social order doesn’t allow Ice to occupy a Council seat.”



“It’s crap and should be amended. You know it.”



Bram shrugged noncommittally. Ice wondered what the devil was running through the other wizard’s head.



“There is Helmsley Camden’s vote to consider.” Bram changed tactics. “He may agree to having Lucan on the Council and give us the necessary fourth vote.”



Sabelle rolled her eyes. “Doubtful, dear brother. Clifden o’Shea refused to compromise his vote, and Mathias killed him for it. Why do you think Camden is still alive?”



Because he’d sold out. Sabelle was completely right. Again, clever, clever girl. Ice had always respected her, but today, his esteem for her raised by leaps and bounds.



“Think, Bram,” she went on. “Blackbourne will vote for Mathias. He nominated the bastard, and not voting for him would be bad form. But we have a chance swaying Spencer, perhaps, by convincing him that there’s no love lost between you and Ice.”



Not a hard sell, really.



Bram scrubbed a hand across his face. “Perhaps. I think you should let me talk to Camden, just in case. We can offer him protection in exchange for a vote for Lucan.”



In the corner, Lucan cleared his throat. “Nominate Ice. It’s a better move. Sabelle is right.”



Whirling on his friend, Bram’s glare shouted that Lucan’s surprise statement was something he expected out of a Judas. “You’re giving up, just like that?”



“No, deferring to the better plan. Think past your anger and that damned pride of yours. You and Ice don’t see eye to eye. You both felt betrayed by each other. It was two centuries ago. If we’re to prevent bloodshed going forward, we must use our heads.”



Easy for Lucan to say; he hadn’t been stabbed in the back. Given his scowl, Bram clearly didn’t like Lucan’s assertion any more than Ice. But damn it, the bloke was right. While Ice hardly believed he would make a stellar Councilman, for the sake of magickind and Gailene’s memory, he would try.



“Thank you, Lucan.” Sabelle nodded in the other man’s direction, then turned back to her brother. “To confirm my suspicions, I’ll contact Camden and see where his loyalties lie. I’m sure it’s in self-preservation, but—”



“I’ll contact him,” Bram argued.



Sabelle raised a golden brow at him. “So you can conduct the same sort of delicate conversation you tried with Spencer? I think, dear brother, that until you learn to control your temper again, you should limit your conversations with others.”



Raking his hand through his hair, Bram turned away with stiff shoulders. But he nodded.



“Good,” she said. “I’m famished. Breakfast anyone?”



Lucan was quick to respond. “If you’re cooking, yes.”



Everything inside Ice demanded he follow Sabelle, keep Lucan far from her, be the only wizard to share her morning, her table … He pushed it down. Logic. Lucan wasn’t going to Call to her. And as long as the others on the Council believed he was not Bram’s ally, Sabelle could not be his.



Reeling under a stab of pain, he sent a long stare to his beloved. Something in her face, the pleading in her eyes, told him that she wanted him to extend an olive branch to Bram and let the healing begin.



His stomach balled up, a knot too big to have swallowed. Be the first to apologize to the “friend” who had slammed the door on his last beacon of hope to avenge his sister? Who had put him in his proper place with a few well-placed words centuries ago, then again when he’d Called to his sister? The wizard standing between him and happiness even now?