by Lola Gabriel
“And that would be?” Theo urged.
“What does that matter now?” Carlyle questioned. “I am only informing you to be vigilant. There are those who are intent on destroying us still.”
Theo’s brow rose even higher. It had been a long while since his father had touted one of his conspiracy theories, and Theo was almost entertained to hear what might come out of his mouth next.
“Like whom?” he asked pleasantly, knowing precisely what his father was suggesting. Carlyle clamped his lips together and exhaled through his nostrils so hard, a puff of smoke emanated.
“Why can’t you simply accept what I have said and agree to be cautious?” the older dragon demanded. “Always questions with you, aren’t there?” Theo snickered at the audacity of his father’s claim.
“Well, if there wasn’t always a shroud of secrecy surrounding everything, I would not need to ask,” he retorted, though he sensed he would not get anything else from his father. “I will be vigilant,” he conceded, turning for the door.
“Theo…”
He paused and looked back. “Yes?”
“This is not an idle warning.”
Theo felt the muscles in his strong back tense, and he slowly pivoted to stare at his father again.
“What do you propose I do? We have the fiercest warriors on display, even if the mortals think it’s a party trick. If anyone dares do something, they will be quickly stopped or, at a minimum, apprehended.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Theo did not like the enigmatic way in which his father spoke.
“Father,” he groaned, no longer hiding his exasperation. “What is it?”
Carlyle grimaced as though the question pained him endlessly. Theo did not waver his stare from his father’s face.
“There is talk,” Carlyle began, the frown on his face deepening, “that the witches are plotting something.”
Theo blinked and laughed. “What?”
“I cannot be sure how much stock can be put into these rumors, but again, one can never be too careful.”
“Which witches?” It was an absurd, antediluvian concept, the witches still deigning to be rid of their ancient nemesis. Why, it was the 21st century, after all. Who had time for such pettiness?
“I have already said too much,” Carlyle muttered, causing Theo to tense. There was only one reason his father could have for being so vague. He was genuinely afraid of this threat.
“What has Grandfather said about it?”
Carlyle’s eyes widened, and he leaned over the desk. “Nothing, for he knows as much! You will keep this to yourself, Theo.”
Grandfather and his blasted curse, Theo grumbled silently. Thanks to him, we are constantly looking over our shoulders and stagnant in our breeding. I thought we were all done with this nonsense.
“All right, Father,” he replied, sensing Carlyle’s anxiety mounting. “I will not alarm the others with this news. I am sure the scouts have merely been overzealous in their security.”
Again, he thought to himself. It wouldn’t be the first time that the scouts went crazy attempting to win favor with Carlyle Tallant. They were, sometimes, a wretched breed, eager to take their place in ranking without much regard for who and what they hurt in the process.
He bowed curtly to Carlyle and again headed out the door, where he almost collided with his cousin, Bran.
“There you are,” Bran grunted. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
This is the tale of my life, Theo thought dryly. There truly was no rest for the wicked when the Festival was about to commence. He was never sought after more than in those days.
“What is it?” Theo asked without slowing his gait as he headed back toward the arena where the warriors continued to battle.
“I have heard there will be a protest at the Festival,” Bran confided, hurrying to keep up with Theo.
“A protest? On what grounds?” Theo demanded, frustration mounting in his gut. It’s always trouble, this damn event. Every year, more problems.
“Some animal rights group,” Bran explained, his hazel eyes rolling as he did. Theo had to stop and peer at his cousin.
“Why?” he asked, a peculiar sense of worry creeping up on him. “What animals are they supposedly protecting?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” Bran chuckled. “But I thought I should give you the heads up.”
Theo shook his head in disbelief. We are the only animals being used at the Festival, save a couple horses for the Renaissance part. Perhaps that’s what the fuss is about. Idly, he considered that his father’s concern and the animal rights protest might somehow be connected. I imagine I will find out.
A roar of anguish met their ears, and the cousins exchanged a nervous look before half-shifting to fly through the estate, toward the arena. When they arrived, Theo saw Bruno, his van-guardsman, lying in a pool of blood on the floor. The sight was startling, to say the least. Theo could not say the last time he had seen Bruno injured in the slightest, let alone at training.
“What happened?” Theo demanded, looking around at the weyr as they slunk back against the high walls. “How did he get hurt?” He drew closer, realizing that Bruno was not healing with any obvious speed, and his pulse quickened. Something was terribly wrong; something he could not fully comprehend. “Find Eden!” he barked at Bran, who did not waste a minute, fully morphing into his sleek grey shape and disappearing in search of Theo’s sister.
“What happened?” he growled again, this time at Bruno, who looked up at him through glassy yellow eyes. He was in too much pain to shift back into his mortal form, his massive tongue lolling slightly out of his mouth as he struggled to breathe.
“Someone better tell me what’s going on!” Theo snarled, throwing his head back to glare at the others.
“Nothing!” Claudius muttered, stepping forward. “Nothing we haven’t done a thousand times before!”
“Obviously, that is not so,” Theo snapped, dropping to Bruno’s side. As he regained his human shape, he looked at the oozing wound in the dragon’s abdomen and sighed heavily. “Brimstone,” he mumbled, withdrawing his hand from the gash. “Someone used brimstone on him!”
There was a murmur of protest among them. What Theo had said did not make sense. None of the dragons could touch brimstone without being burned themselves. It didn’t add up that they would have used it on Bruno.
“Just rest, friend,” Theo told him gruffly. “The healer is coming.”
Bruno moaned softly, and Theo swallowed a lump of bile forming in his throat. Someone had deliberately set out to poison his guardsman, someone who could properly handle brimstone.
He thought again about his father’s warning and shivered with worry. He had a terrible feeling about the way the rest of the weekend was going to go.
2
Even though Scarlet entered the house stealthily, Beatrice heard her anyway, despite her best efforts to remain undetected. “Scar? Is that you?”
“Yeah,” Scarlet called back, dropping her purse on the hall table, smothering a sigh. She was in no mood to speak to anyone, let alone her devastatingly astute twin. Beatrice appeared a moment later, red hair cocked to the side as she peered speculatively at her. Her cornflower blue eyes narrowed to size up her sister with knowing contempt.
“Where were you?” Beatrice demanded. “You were gone all day!”
“I had stuff to do,” Scarlet replied evasively, twining her fingers through her own mass of auburn hair. “Since when do I have to check in with you?”
Beatrice’s nose twitched like she could smell her twin being deceitful, and Scarlet braced herself for the incoming lecture.
“You went to see Cal, didn’t you?” Defensiveness flowed through Scarlet, and she turned away, her pale face flushed with embarrassment.
“So what if I did?” she muttered. “What business is it of yours?”
“Oh, Scar,” Beatrice groaned, hurrying forward to whip her sister with a dishrag. “You’re such a glutto
n for punishment. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
“It’s my life, Bea.” Scarlet waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t start.”
“That’s all fine and well until I have to yank the carton of ice cream out of your hands and force you into the shower after a week of wallowing. The man is no good. How many chances are you going to give him?”
Scarlet grimaced, wishing she had avoided this conversation altogether, but there was nothing she could do now except let Beatrice get her diatribe in and bear it.
“Scarlet, your problem is that you’re too forgiving,” Beatrice continued, sighing. “Sometimes it’s okay to walk away from people you care about—especially when they don’t care about you.”
“Cal cares about me!” Scarlet said defensively. “He’s just…”
“An ass? Inconsiderate? A cheating louse?” Beatrice supplied, and Scarlet exhaled in frustration.
“He’s misunderstood,” she said, loathing how pathetic the excuse sounded aloud. I’m a grown woman and my sister is right; I shouldn’t be putting up with his endless excuses.
But it was hard to walk away from three years together. And Cal didn’t make it any easier, being so damned handsome. Every time her resolve failed her and she found herself back in his arms, she cursed herself when she got home—even without Beatrice’s prompting. The man had a wandering eye, and he barely made apologies for it. Why did Scarlet keep falling for it? He never changed his ways.
“Say something!” Beatrice cried, exasperated. “Don’t just stand there like a deer in headlights.” Scarlet sighed.
“What do you want me to say? I love him.” Again, the words sounded weak to her own ears, and Beatrice’s expression reflected that she thought the same.
“You don’t love him. You are just appalled by the amount of time you’ve wasted with him.”
“Bea, I’m exhausted,” Scarlet told her. “Is this lecture done?”
Her twin frowned. “I guess you aren’t helping me prepare for the Festival then.”
Scarlet’s eyes widened, and she gasped with regret. She’d completely forgotten about the Festival and their part in it.
“Dammit!” she cursed. “Of course I’ll help you.”
“I assume you didn’t pick up the countless voicemails I left you,” Beatrice mumbled, spinning back toward the kitchen. “Or texts.”
A hot blush of embarrassment touched Scarlet’s cheeks as she reached for her purse where her cell sat, off and ignored. Just another casualty of Cal’s effect on me, I guess. Guilt overwhelmed her.
“No, I didn’t,” Scarlet said, turning on her phone as she shuffled after her twin into the kitchen. For the first time, she caught the aromatic spices of the chilis and stews wafting into her nostrils. It was clear that Beatrice had been at it for hours, and Scarlet’s shame spiked tenfold. “Sorry,” she offered. “I really lost track of time.”
“He always does this to you,” Beatrice growled, stirring one of the huge pots simmering on the stove. “Whenever Cal’s in the picture, you turn into an airhead, forgetting your responsibilities and cutting everyone out. Do you know how hard it is to run a business when your partner isn’t on board? When I started this company, I had no idea that you’d be so flighty!”
“I just lost track of time!” Scarlet insisted, but there was more truth in Beatrice’s words than she cared to admit. I really am a glutton for punishment. If I’m not dealing with Cal, I’m listening to Bea. I can’t escape it anywhere I go.
“I wouldn’t care if it was just me,” Beatrice went on, her back to Scarlet. “But this is our livelihood. You’ve known about the Festival for months.”
“It looks like you’ve got everything under control,” Scarlet said before she could consider the repercussions of her observation. Beatrice whirled and glowered.
“I didn’t really have a choice, did I? You know what’s at risk if we screw this up.”
Scarlet scoffed lightly. Her sister and the drama was endless. “You’re paranoid.”
“Am I?”
“Yes! Why would the Tallants have hired us if they knew who we were, Bea? It’s a coincidence, that’s all.” Even if the Tallants did know they were witches, they hadn’t practiced in years. Scarlet didn’t even know if there was a coven out there that would consider them one of their own.
“You keep telling yourself that,” Beatrice snapped. “I’ll keep my guard perfectly up.”
“If you’re so worried about them learning we’re witches, why didn’t you just ignore the bid to cater the Festival?”
“Do you know how much this pays? The Tallants are paying us a fortune, let alone what the festival-goers are going to dish out. This will cover half a year’s income!”
“So the money is worth our lives?” Scarlet cracked. For her part, she wasn’t concerned that the Tallants knew who they were. In her experience, dragons were quicker to fire first and ask questions later. It made little sense that they would invite witches into their territory. But Beatrice didn’t seem to buy into that reasoning, even if her concern was overshadowed by mild greed.
“You need to get the shepherd’s pie going,” Beatrice instructed, and Scarlet nodded, reaching for an apron. She genuinely was tired, but she had already disappointed her twin enough for one day. The least she could do was help out for the rest of the night.
As she tied the strings around her waist, the house phone rang, and Scarlet moved to answer it. Beatrice, however, grabbed the cordless first.
“Gale Catering,” she intoned. Scarlet’s eyes darted toward the time on the microwave, wondering who might be calling at that hour. It was late, even by her standards.
“Oh, hey,” Beatrice said into the phone, casting her sister a wary look before ducking into the adjoining living room to take the call. “No, I can talk…”
Scarlet got to work, chopping carrots and peeling potatoes as her mind wandered toward Cal. She’d half-hoped he would call to make sure she had gotten home all right, the way he had when they had first started dating. As her gaze fell on her now-on cell, it was still. The only notifications were from Beatrice, who had, indeed, been looking for her all day.
I’m clinging to a ghost. Whatever Cal and I had is long gone. Why do I try so hard to keep this alive? Scarlet thought. Even then, he didn’t call them an item.
“We’re having fun, babe,” Cal said.
You mean you’re having fun, Cal, Scarlet sighed with some bitterness. I’m just holding on for dear life. Sooner or later, she was going to have to let him go.
“—doing that, Mara!”
Scarlet’s attention turned toward the dining room, where her sister’s voice was growing louder.
“No!” Beatrice insisted. “You’ll have to find another way!” There was a silence as Mara apparently spoke. “I saw what happened tonight,” Beatrice whispered in a much lower voice. “I don’t want to do anything like that again.”
Scarlet placed the knife on the cutting board and moved toward the other room, her eyebrows raised curiously. Beatrice eyed her warily and cleared her throat.
“No, Oliver, that’s fine,” she said in a high, unnatural voice. “I’ll have that order for you on Friday. Thanks for calling.”
Oliver? Scarlet frowned. She just said “Mara.” Why is she hiding who she’s talking to?
“Who was that?” she asked, a fission of alarm coursing through her.
“Oh… just Oliver Boone. He wants a small order for Friday,” Beatrice lied, brushing past her and back into the kitchen. Scarlet remained in place, staring after her sister in disbelief.
“That was a pretty intense call for a catering order,” she prodded, but Beatrice didn’t respond, leaving Scarlet to question her sanity. Did I imagine her saying Mara’s name, or is she lying to me?
That didn’t seem probable. Despite their squabbles, Beatrice and Scarlet were as close as two sisters could be. Scarlet had never felt the need to hide things from Beatrice, and she’d certainly never known her twin to lie t
o her.
Until then.
You just heard her wrong. I’m tired, and Cal is draining my life force. Leave it alone. Scarlet returned to her task at the kitchen island and again glanced hopefully at her phone. Of course there was still no text from Cal. He’s probably banging some waitress right now. The thought made her shudder with repulsion, mostly because she knew it was likely true.
“Do you know what the turn-out is supposed to be like?” Scarlet asked when she realized there was a heavy silence hanging over the room.
“Last year, half the town showed up, but I think it loses its popularity every year,” Beatrice answered in a vaguely distracted way. “It’s time to stop this farce, celebrating those murderous beasts.”
Scarlet snickered, thinking Beatrice was joking.
“No one knows the true origins of the Festival,” she reminded her sister. “To the mortals, it’s just another reason to party.”
“Well, we know differently, don’t we?” Beatrice bit back, some bitterness in her tone. It surprised Scarlet slightly. She’d never known Beatrice to care so much about the comings and goings of the dragons.
Scarlet shrugged. Times had changed, even if some wished to cling to ancient animus. She hadn’t been alive in the time of the curse, and if the dragons weren’t flying around, setting villages on fire and consuming children, what did she care what they did? If they begrudged the dragons, they would be hypocrites.
“You can’t have it both ways,” Scarlet chuckled. “You can’t work for the dragons and be against all they stand for.” Beatrice gaped at her.
“I do not work for the dragons!” she barked in defiance. “I am catering to the festival-goers!”
“Which is commissioned by the Tallants.”
Beatrice scowled. “Are you getting on my case because of what I said about Cal?”
Scarlet’s brow furrowed, and she laughed.
“I’m not on your case,” she protested, chuckling, though she secretly wondered if she wasn’t subconsciously trying to pick a fight with Beatrice for that very reason.