Christopher would want to keep Opal with us just as much as I wanted to keep her, protect her.
But again, none of us was parenting material.
Aiden opened the dishwasher, placing his mug in the upper rack, then pulling out the lower rack for the utensils and the plate.
Carrying it in her mouth, Paisley helpfully tucked her licked-clean plate into the lower dishwasher rack alongside Aiden’s.
The sorcerer brushed his fingers across the demon dog’s broad head. “Will you help me with the perimeter?”
She chortled, sounding completely amenable. Then two tentacles snaked up, reaching for Christopher’s abandoned breakfast and my empty plate. Apparently, Paisley’s participation in fortifying the property wards was conditional on being able to lick our plates clean as well.
“I’m staying.” Christopher crossed his arms, eyeing me stubbornly.
“Why wouldn’t you?” I took a last sip of my apple juice.
“I understand if the sorcerer doesn’t want to fluster the witches with the deadly smoldering thing he’s got going on …” The clairvoyant waved his hand in Aiden’s general direction. The sorcerer in question snorted. “And keeping Paisley away from witches makes sense.”
Paisley grumbled at this pronouncement, flashing a double row of sharp teeth at Christopher.
“Exactly,” he said.
“We’ve talked about this,” I said mildly to the demon dog, backing up the clairvoyant. The ‘demon’ part being exactly what would most certainly rile up the squeaky-clean witches who were about to arrive on our doorstep.
“But I’m part of —” Brilliant white magic wiped out Christopher’s eyes. The rest of his words were caught in his throat.
Magic stirred across the blood tattoos on my back.
All four.
At once.
I stepped away from the island so quickly that I knocked two of the stools to the tile floor. Then, hands and fingers outstretched, I paused, perfectly in line with both the front door at the far end of the hall and the French-paned doors that led to the back patio.
Waiting.
Listening.
Feeling.
Christopher’s magic thundered through the kitchen, swallowing all the air.
A stool rolled to a stop against my bare foot.
The magic of the tattoos on my spine settled into one intense spot — my binding to the clairvoyant. I glanced at Christopher, risking looking away from the front door.
Aiden was standing to the clairvoyant’s left. He was holding a chef’s knife, gazing out into the backyard.
The white of Christopher’s magic contracted into thin brilliant rings around his irises.
“The perimeter line hasn’t been crossed,” Aiden said, quietly but steadily. “And I’ve added protections against anyone sharing my blood on every fence post.”
“It’s not an Azar who approaches,” Christopher murmured.
I waited for him to elaborate.
He didn’t.
“The tattoos,” I said, prompting him.
He nodded, still mostly occupied with whatever glimpse he’d just gotten of the future. “I felt it too.”
“Felt it?” Aiden echoed, making it a question.
“Magical flare,” I said.
“So we’re expecting visitors?” Aiden said. “Other than the witches?”
The ‘we’ in his sentence snagged my attention. And despite the tension still lingering in the kitchen, I smiled at him.
He grinned back at me, lowering the knife he’d snatched from the counter.
I forced my gaze away from him, focusing on the immediate concern. On Christopher. On the flare-up of the power embedded in the blood tattoos that tied both of us together with three others, making us the Five. “You need your cards.”
Christopher nodded. “No time. The witches are here. I’m not leaving, and they won’t be impressed by my shuffling skills.”
“You’ve seen as much?”
He nodded, his expression tense.
Both Christopher and I held and wielded a lot of magic. Witches, on the whole, weren’t keen on any one person being as powerful as either of us were — and even less keen on two such beings working together. Not without being overseen by a coven or by a shapeshifter pack. The sorcerers League was sneer worthy when it came to keeping power in check, according to every other Adept.
Most Adepts believed that magical wattage like ours needed firmly enforced boundaries. But the Five had chosen many years ago to not bow to anyone, to not allow ourselves to be bound and wielded like a weapon. Which was one of the reasons Christopher, Paisley, and I were on our own in a tiny town on the west coast of Canada. The other reason was Christopher himself. I could hide the fact that I was more than an amplifier, but the clairvoyant’s magic came as it willed.
And apparently, even though he couldn’t see his own future, Christopher had seen some future event in which our magic disconcerted the inbound witches. Witches from whom we needed a huge favor — cleaning up the Grant farm incident — and who could easily thwart our attempts to maintain contact with Opal.
Aiden tilted his head toward the front of the house, his expression grim. Then he nodded. “The witches are at the front gate. They’ll be able to cross through the perimeter boundary unhindered.” He stepped around the island, brushing his shoulder against mine as he crossed into the laundry room. Paisley followed at his heels.
Keeping my gaze on Christopher, I touched the demon dog’s broad head as she passed. She huffed, clearly peeved to be hidden from the witches but going along with the plan.
The exterior laundry room door opened, then closed. I watched Aiden and Paisley stride across the back patio toward the barn. The sorcerer had thrown on a coat and boots.
“One of the Five?” I asked in a whisper. I hadn’t felt magic run across all four of my blood tattoos at once for almost eight years.
Christopher shook his head. His expression was grim. If we’d been about to get a visit from any of the other three, he would have been ecstatic.
“Something connected to the Five?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “First, let’s deal with the witches, get them moving on the cleanup. Then I’ll cast cards.”
I nodded, picking up the fallen stools, then stepping forward to quickly clean up the rest of the dishes. It would take the witches a few moments to traverse the driveway and figure out where to park, and I needed to be busy instead of running worst-case scenarios — born from whatever future Christopher couldn’t see clearly — in my mind.
The clairvoyant worked silently and efficiently alongside me. Except for a sink full of soapy water, the kitchen was back to its regular pristine state before the witches were close enough for me to pick up the gentle hum of their magic.
“I need to email Fish,” I said, drying my hands on a tea towel.
“To check in?” Christopher actually sounded shocked.
I laughed. “I need to replace my blades. Quickly.”
He snorted, then grinned. “Don’t worry, Fox in Socks. You’re just as deadly without them.”
I nodded agreeably, hanging the tea towel on the oven door handle. “Just not as efficient.”
Christopher laughed.
The quiet hum of magic approached the house from the north — a new tenor, but a familiar tone.
Witches.
Softer, gentler witches. The kind of witches who had outlawed blood magic and who abhorred violence, unless they were protecting one of their own. A full coven of these gentle magic users could vanquish anyone or anything they deemed unfit, without summoning a single demon or spilling a drop of blood.
Even with my magic gathered tightly around me, I was going to trigger every single one of their defensive instincts.
The two witches stood on the front patio, a couple of steps back from the glass front door. They hadn’t knocked. But at least one of them already knew that I’d feel their magic as they appr
oached, knew who I was and what I was capable of doing. The amplification part. On paper, at least.
My lawyer, Ember Pine.
She stood slightly taller than her companion. Her dark auburn hair was blunt cut in a shorter version of the medium-length bob she’d had the last time I visited her office in Seattle. I had chosen to sign the purchase papers for the property in person rather than employing a notary or a lawyer in San Francisco, where we’d been living at the time. Ember wore a long, dark-gray wool coat belted at the waist, black leather gloves, and tinted glasses. A slim briefcase hung from one hand. Her magic was present but not robust.
The witch to the side of and slightly behind Ember was a couple of years older, in her mid to late thirties. Though witches rarely looked their age. She met my gaze through the glass with steady dark-blue eyes. Her magic was a light simmer. Dark-blond cropped hair brushed her cheeks, which were already pink from the cold. Though she’d been out of the rental car only a few minutes. She was wearing a navy wool coat over wool pants.
Capri Pine. Ember’s cousin. Opal’s foster mother.
Neither witch carried any power capable of triggering the pulse of magic that had flared across my blood tattoos in the kitchen.
I opened the door, letting in a gust of cool air. The thick snowfall that had encased the property wasn’t yet melting again, but it would be as the morning began to warm in a couple of hours.
“Emma.” The witch lawyer’s tone was cool, though she smiled tightly. “That was an annoyingly long trip. My apologies for not getting here quicker.”
“If you could bend the weather to the will of your pen, Ember, I doubt you’d be concentrating on contract law.” I offered her a smile, though not my hand. Adepts, as a rule, didn’t shake hands. And most people sensitive to magic instinctively kept out of my reach, whether they knew what I could do with a simple touch or not.
Ember angled her shoulders to include the other witch in the conversation. “Capri Pine, my cousin. Opal’s foster mother.”
The blond witch nodded, her expression placid but not welcoming. As best I could read it.
I stepped back from the door, inviting the witches to enter. “My brother, Christopher, is just laying out a fire in the —”
A hum of magic preceded footsteps clomping down the stairs behind me. For such a tiny person, the thirteen-year-old could make an awful lot of noise. Deliberately, I presumed — though to what end, I had no idea.
Opal’s appearance behind me drew both the witches’ gazes. Ember closed the door as she removed her glasses, opening her mouth. But Capri brushed past her cousin before she could speak.
The blond witch stepped into the hall, holding her arms out for Opal.
The young witch hesitated at the base of the stairs, her gaze flicking to me. I kept my expression as impassive as possible, though my insides were anxiously churning. Again.
“Opal,” Capri said. Her accent, similar to Ember’s, carried a touch of American inflection. “I’ve been so worried. I’m so sorry.”
“You said already. Three times.” Opal’s tone was stiff, but she had showered and changed like we’d asked. She had two bulky sweaters layered over a black print dress and black tights that were too loose around her calves. The topmost sweater was dark red.
She was dressed similarly to how I dressed on a daily basis when it was cold, minus the extra sweater. Except I was barefoot, and she still wore large wool socks that sagged around her thin ankles.
I didn’t know if the young witch was intentionally copying me. I also wasn’t certain what to do with all the emotion that the idea of her trying to emulate me evoked. Packing it away tightly was the best option. Cool it. Smother it with a thick layer of logic.
Except I wasn’t feeling especially logical when it came to Opal.
“The Academy is investigating the incident,” Ember said, speaking to the young witch. “We’ll make certain you are safe there.”
“Opal’s kidnapping from their grounds, from their guardianship,” I said edgily. “Just to be perfectly clear by what you deem a simple incident.”
Ember nodded stiffly, but her tone remained professionally cool. “I’ve relayed the information you provided about the sorcerer, Ruwa. That will give the Academy a focus for strengthening their protections. And the Convocation has already begun what will most certainly be a thorough investigation.”
“A demon should never have been able to walk the Academy grounds,” Capri said, still holding her arms out toward Opal.
“She wasn’t a demon,” the younger witch said stubbornly. She stepped up beside me, brushing her shoulder against me, as Paisley often did.
Capri closed the space, placing her hands on Opal’s narrow shoulders.
Without permission.
I had to stop myself from interceding. I curled my fingers into my palms and met Ember’s gaze instead.
The lawyer was watching me. Warily, I thought. Though the expression was subtle, hidden under layers of her steady, professional demeanor.
Capri clicked her tongue, brushing her hands over Opal’s face and then through her still-wet hair. Magic welled up under her touch, smoothing that hair into tight, shiny dry curls.
“That’s better,” Capri murmured.
Opal twisted her shoulders, breaking her foster mother’s hold easily.
Capri frowned slightly. But she stepped back, fixing a pleasant smile on her face.
Opal bumped her shoulder against me a second time, then muttered, “I’m helping Aiden with the fence.”
I nodded.
She took off down the hall toward the kitchen and laundry room.
Capri frowned again as she watched Opal’s retreat. “Aiden?”
No one answered her. Ember set her briefcase down and removed her coat.
Unable to stop myself from doing so, I stepped into Capri Pine’s personal space, startling her.
“We don’t touch each other without permission in this house,” I said, my tone low and dangerous.
Ember froze with her coat halfway down her arms.
Capri jutted out her chin. “I have permission. From Opal herself. I gained that permission through months of —”
I cut her off. “No. You had permission. From the Opal who existed before this moment in time, before the experience of being kidnapped, of being held against her will and almost killed. Twice.”
Capri’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t possibly … if anyone is to blame, I understand it to be you …”
“You’re Opal’s legal guardian. You didn’t protect her. You’ll have to earn her trust a second time. So keep your magic to yourself.”
I spat the words — but even as I did, I understood that Capri was echoing what I already knew to be true.
I wasn’t a safe harbor for Opal, or a good influence.
Capri snapped her mouth shut, nostrils flaring with indignation.
“You should know better,” I added. “You’re the trained psychologist, after all. The certified social worker.” I had asked for and received background information about Capri from Ember two days before. After Aiden and I had decided to stay. After I’d decided I needed to know more about Opal’s situation and her legal status within Adept society.
Arming myself.
I just wasn’t sure of what plan I hoped to implement with that information. Yet.
Anger flushed Capri Pine’s face.
Ember appeared to be holding her breath.
“Well,” Christopher drawled from behind and to my right, “if you’re done making friends, perhaps you should introduce me, Socks.”
Capri took the opportunity to step away from me. So she clearly had some survival instincts. Then she stumbled slightly as she got a good look at Christopher leaning against the doorway to the front sitting room.
Lani Zachary had once described my brother as a Greek god — pale-blond hair, light-gray eyes, golden skinned — and Capri Pine apparently agreed. The fact that she was married with two children of her
own didn’t seem to stop her from checking out the clairvoyant, then flushing with a completely different emotion.
Ember removed her coat and laid it over her arm, projecting her neutral professional expression.
“Christopher Johnson,” I said, stepping to the side so the clairvoyant could join us. It was a tight fit in the entranceway for four people. “Ember Pine, your lawyer.”
“Ms. Pine.” Christopher’s tone was pleasant, almost teasing. “May I hang up your coat?”
“Pleased to finally meet you,” Ember said, handing over her coat. “This is my cousin, Capri Pine.”
I stepped away, crossing into the sitting room and freeing myself from the inane pleasantries. I stood before the fire that had just started to lick at the logs Christopher had set up, taking a moment to reach for Aiden’s and Opal’s magic. I found both of them, along with Paisley, at the back edge of the property.
I had invited the witches. I needed their help, for Opal and to fix the mess on the Grant property. I could at least try to be nice.
I wasn’t sure why being nice hurt so much.
No.
I knew why.
I just couldn’t do anything about it.
Not without exposing the life I’d built with Christopher and Paisley. And now with Aiden.
I couldn’t keep Opal without the approval of the witches Convocation. And witches liked to bind Adepts of power with many, many tiny strings. Assuming they wouldn’t just try to run us off at first sight.
Ember Pine had piles of paper spread across the coffee table. Forged reports. Affidavits. And — to be filed later — a legal transfer of the Grant property to my name.
The name on the land transfer was negotiable. But, according to the witch lawyer, nothing else was, not if we wanted only a cursory glance at the cover-up from the Convocation and mundane law enforcement.
Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3) Page 3