by T. M. Cromer
She waved him away with an affectionate smile. “At my age, it will take a little longer to heal, but I’ll survive.” The older woman lifted her brows in stern warning. “And don’t even think to ask me my age.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He tugged up his slacks and squatted in front of the pint-sized witch. “For what it’s worth, we all mourned your ‘death.’ Ryker was beside himself. He views you as family.”
Her severe expression softened, and her eyes flitted to Ryker’s face. “He holds a piece of my heart.” She patted Alastair’s cheek as if he were a small boy. “As do you, and as did your brother, Preston. Rascals, the lot of you. I didn’t get a chance to express my condolences for your loss.”
“Thank you, Ms. Georgie.” He held her hand and placed it over his heart. After a silent communication between the two of them, he rose and moved to Ryker. “We still need his blood to summon Trina here. Where the devil are Leonie and Nash?”
“Don’t fret, boy. They’ll return.”
GiGi, Sebastian, and Spring all gawked at Georgie Sipanil calling Alastair a boy. To their surprise, he took it in stride and grinned.
“I have no choice but to trust your wise counsel.” He bowed low, then checked Ryker’s pulse. “His pulse is weak. I’m worried if we extract his blood now, we could put him at risk.”
“Do it,” GiGi croaked. “He’d want you to. For justice… for Trina.”
23
Leonie and Nash rushed back into the room with a box of supplies.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” Leonie gushed. “My mother’s shop has been ransacked and…” Tears filled her gold cat-like eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Nash took the box from her hands and nudged her shoulder. “No one here is judging you, cuz. Let’s set up.” He turned around and came up short. “Ms. Georgie!”
“Hello, dear boy.”
“I… I…” He stopped trying to speak and shook his head. Setting the box on the desk beside her, he took her hand and brought it up to his lips. “I’m thrilled you’re still with us.”
“Like father, like son,” muttered Sebastian with a shake of his head. “I don’t know how you Thornes charm others with such ease, but if we could bottle it, I’d make millions.”
“It would be a fifty-fifty risk on investment. Our particular brand of ‘charm’ also causes an intense hatred from the other half of the population,” GiGi inserted dryly with a quick squeeze of his forearm.
She walked around the desk to where Harold Beecham was sprawled on the floor. Drawing back her foot, she kicked him in the balls. Other than a slight moan, he remained motionless.
“You’re savage!”
She glanced up from her study of Harold. “No, Baz. Just testing to see how much pain can be felt in this sleep state before anyone cuts on my husband.” She kicked the unconscious man again, this time in the ribs. No sound emerged. “I figure ol’ Harold makes the perfect test subject.”
GiGi knelt beside Ryker and stroked his bearded jaw. “This may hurt a little, babe, but we need to get the blood you promised us.” She nodded to Alastair, unable to cut Ryker herself. “Do it.”
Her brother drew on a pair of nitrile gloves after he handed her a second set and a bowl. Without hesitation, he scored Ryker’s palm.
“How much do we need for this spell?” she asked. Queasiness assailed her as she witnessed Ryker’s blood drip into the porcelain bowl.
Sebastian glanced over from where he was distributing the candles in a circle. “You should have enough. I don’t think we’ll get more than that from Trina’s dress.”
“Do you want mine in the same bowl?” Nash asked Alastair as he accepted the cleaned knife from his father.
“No. Use another until Leonie can withdraw the poison from Ryker’s.”
Spring laid Trina’s bloodied dress on the prosecutor’s table. From the oversized bag she used to badger the security guard, she pulled a spray bottle and misted the fabric.
“How is that going to help?” Leonie asked.
“Watch this, cousin dear.” Spring grinned and lifted her hands, palm up. “Seiungo!”
Droplet by droplet, the dried blood turned the deep red of fresh blood and lifted from the material to hang in the air. When the separation was complete, Nash set the bowl under the dark ruby cloud. Spring shifted her hand so they resembled a bowl and lowered them slowly toward the table. All the particles in the air drifted down to land without even a splash to join the blood taken from Nash.
“Incredible.” Georgie thunked her cane on the floor in appreciation. “You are one of the most naturally talented witches I’ve ever come across, Miss Thorne.”
“Thank you, Ms. Georgie,” Spring said primly. The twinkle in her eye belied her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth tone.
“Leonie, you’re up, child,” Alastair said gently.
From the box, she withdrew a few jars filled with herbs and removed the lids. One smelled distinctly like the tea given to Aurora the day Preston died a few weeks before.
“What do you intend to do with that herb?” GiGi asked sharply.
“When mixed with the charcoal, plantain, and mugwort, it will reverse any poison in Ryker’s system. This is for you to give him when he wakes,” Leonie explained patiently. The understanding in her wide eyes caused a moment of shame for GiGi. “This would have been the herb my mother tried to poison Aurora with. I get you have concerns, GiGi, but I promise you, on my soul and that of my son’s, I am trying to help.”
GiGi accepted the medicine. “What do I do with it?”
Leonie removed a bottle of water and a mug from her store of supplies. “Boil the water and create a tea for him to ingest. He needs to drink the entire mug.”
She withdrew a black silk robe, the dried tail of a rattlesnake, a small vial of oil, ivory dice, what looked to be an ostrich egg, and a staff. Tied on a single leather strap hanging from the staff was a small skull, various colored stones, black feathers, and cowries.
First, she anointed herself with oil and donned the robe. What followed was an intricate magical dance with words only Leonie understood. She swayed and chanted over the bowl for endless minutes. Just as GiGi was worried they’d run out of time, Leonie threw a handful of herbs into the mixture, causing sparks to explode from the dish in front of her.
After what GiGi assumed was the equivalent of closing a circle, Leonie handed her the bowl.
“It’s done. You can now use this for your ceremony.”
“Thank you, child.”
She combined Ryker’s blood with that of Nash and Trina and handed it off to her brother. “How long can we hold Trina here with your spell?”
“Until she reveals what Beecham did.”
“Fair enough. Let’s get started. I can’t wait to see Harold’s face when he wakes to find Trina standing over him.”
GiGi gestured to Bridget O’Malley to gather their coven into a circle. The four women worked to bring down the courtroom wards.
The Thornes created a circle within the candles Sebastian had set. They all joined hands and began the ceremony. Once the call to the Goddess was made, GiGi’s cells ramped up and her magic connected to that of those around her.
“Wow!” Sebastian exclaimed. It wasn’t hard to tell he’d been startled by the sheer force of the power they wielded.
Alastair, being the arrogant ass he could be, smirked and lifted a brow in Sebastian’s direction. “Now you know why people fear us, son.”
“I’m just glad I’m on your side. If I’d suspected this, I might have had second thoughts about trying to cross you last year.” He referred to his aspiration to turn Alastair over to the Witches’ Council at the behest of Harold Beecham. Unbeknownst to Sebastian, Harold was plotting to start a second war among their kind.
“All’s forgiven. Start the spell.”
“Right.” Calling on the Goddess and their elemental powers, Sebastian read from the page Spring had marked in the Thorne grimoire. He finished with “Bring
forth Trina Gillespie, to speak her truth.”
A rumble shook the floor, and bursts of light exploded around the chamber.
“She can’t break through the wards!” Sebastian exclaimed.
“Try again,” Georgie ordered from her seat at the defendant table.
This time, Alastair and GiGi joined their voice to his. Still with the same effect.
“Try again!” Georgie shouted over the rumbling.
Nash shifted to link Leonie’s hand with GiGi’s, then he stepped to the center of the circle and lifted the athame Alastair had set there earlier. He nodded to his father to repeat the spell. This time, as the words were spoken, he scored his palm and added more blood to the bowl. “Mother, please,” he beseeched Trina. “I need you now. Uncle Ryker needs you now.”
The lights dancing above them flared brighter, but still, Trina didn’t appear.
“We need a seventh person, and we’re out of time.” Alastair gestured toward where some of the council were starting to slowly wake.
Georgie Sipanil rose and limped into their circle. “Try again.”
“Georgie, you’re recovering. This might take too much from you,” GiGi objected.
“Or your magic flowing through me just might heal me faster. Stop pussyfooting around and get this spell done.”
Alastair tried to hide his grin and failed spectacularly. “Yes, ma’am.”
The addition of the seventh witch did the trick, in conjunction with the breaking of the wards by the coven members. The dancing overhead lights came together to form Trina Gillespie. She was backlight by her white aura which, in addition to her white gossamer gown, gave her the look of a celestial angel.
Her eyes were immediately drawn to their circle, and more specifically to her son kneeling in the center with a knife in one hand and his other curled into a fist to stem the blood flow. Nash rose as she approached, and their circle of witches parted to allow him to exit.
“Mother,” he breathed in wonder.
Her tear-brightened mocha eyes devoured his face as she reached out to smooth his hair from his eyes. “My beautiful boy.”
Nash dropped the knife and clung to Trina as silent sobs shook his body.
GiGi hadn’t been aware she was crying until Georgie handed her a handkerchief.
“Harold Beecham will pay for his crimes, or I’m not a Sipanil,” the older woman vowed, her voice shaking with her own strong emotions.
“He’d better,” GiGi practically growled in return. “He’s hurt my family for the last time.” She stepped from the protection of the circle, trusting Alastair and Sebastian to do what they needed to close their ring of magic.
Ryker’s eyes fluttered as she knelt beside him, and he cradled his bandaged hand.
“Welcome back, babe.” She smiled down into his beloved face and stroked his dark hair. “Trina’s decided to join us.”
“You didn’t heal me,” he observed with a study of his bound palm.
“I couldn’t. I think Harold’s poisoned you in some way.” She heated the water in the mug and the herbs. When she was satisfied the contents were seeped enough, she urged him to drink by lifting the mug of tea to his lips. “Leonie created this for you. She thinks it may help draw out any toxins.”
He swallowed a few sips. “It’s not poison. I haven’t consumed anything since I’ve been in custody. I think he’s done something magically to me.”
GiGi’s heart sank to her stomach, and she cast a glance toward Harold, who was currently stirring.
“We’ll figure this out,” she said, trying to portray a confidence she didn’t feel. “Can you stand? I think Trina will want to say hi.”
His expression shifted to guilt, and he closed his eyes.
“Ryker?”
“I failed her, GiGi. On so many levels, I failed her.”
“No, you didn’t. You couldn’t predict what happened. You’re not psychic, Ryker.”
He focused tortured eyes on her. “Still—”
Placing her fingertips over his lips to cut off his self-recriminations, she shook her head. “No. You are blameless.”
“Completely blameless,” Trina agreed from over her shoulder.
* * *
Ryker’s attention was caught by his sister, and moisture blurred his vision. He audibly swallowed past the lump in his throat. He’d never thought he’d see her again in this lifetime.
“Hello, Ryker.”
“Trina,” he rasped out.
She knelt as he sat up, and they embraced. Her warmth and vitality allowed him to con himself into believing, if only for this one moment, she was well and truly alive. She wasn’t, of course. This was just a trick of magic, but he could pretend.
“What is the meaning of this?” Councilman Smythe demanded.
Ryker slowly became aware of movement around him. The sound of muttering and speculation from those who had come to watch his trial matched that of the council members in their outrage.
With help from GiGi and Trina, he rose shakily to his feet. He nearly fell back down when Georgie Sipanil limped toward him in widow’s weeds. She looked like a throwback to the eighteenth century in her long black dress and veil.
“Coming from a costume party, Ms. Georgie, or is that what they’re wearing in the Otherworld these days?”
Amusement shone in the wide smile she graced him with. “It’s about time you woke up and joined the party, dear boy.”
He opened his arms and enfolded her into his tight embrace.
“I thought you were lost to us. You don’t know how devastated I was.” The gruffness in his voice was a clear indication of his emotion, and though he spoke low, for her ears only, Ryker had little doubt she recognized his feelings. A more perceptive woman he’d yet to find.
“I demand to know what is happening here,” Smythe tried again.
Their group faced forward in time to see Harold rise up from the floor. His horror-filled eyes were focused on Trina. His head swung back and forth like a pendulum.
“It can’t be.”
Trina stepped forward with purpose. “Oh, but it is, Harold, you murderous bastard.”
“I wouldn’t… couldn’t…” His eyes shot to Smythe and back to Trina. “I loved you… Alastair… he—”
“Enough of your lies, Beecham,” Alastair barked. Menacing energy rippled across the room. “You murdered Trina. You tried to have Georgie Sipanil murdered. You kidnapped Leonie and forced Delphine Foucher to cover up your crimes, and in doing so, she murdered my brother, Preston.” He stalked forward, a lethal beast after its prey. “You cheated my son of a mother, and Ryker of a sister. You almost cheated another little boy of his mother.” He gestured over his shoulder to Leonie. “Now you stand there, trying to place the blame on me? I should strike you down where you stand.”
The wooden council table cracked in four places, causing all the members to stagger back against the wall. Under the force of Alastair’s anger, the air had become thick and the atmosphere crackled and sparked around them.
“Is this true?” Smythe demanded. Ryker half suspected Smythe wanted to subvert Alastair’s rage. They all feared what he was capable of.
Trina joined Alastair. “Tell him, Harold. Tell him what you’ve done, all in your bid to rule the Council and cause a second Witches’ War to cover your crimes. All because of your sick ambition and because one woman told you no.”
When Beecham continued to shake his head in horror, she faced the rest of the council. “On the night I died, Harold came to my home. He told me of his intent to rule the witch community and said he wanted me to rule beside him. When I refused, he called me vile names and plunged a knife between my ribs. Not once, but seventeen times.” She met Harold’s fearful gaze. “Seventeen. Then he stood over me as I lay dying and told me he’d find a way to make Alastair pay for turning me against him.”
“He did!” Harold shouted. “You loved me once. If it weren’t for him… You loved me.”
“No, Harold. I loved the
man you pretended to be. You started to show your true colors long before Alastair stumbled into my life. Your petty jealousy and meanness were already showing through by then. How twisted you’ve become!”
Some of this Ryker had known, but to hear his sister recount the grisly details, caused the herbal water to sour in his stomach. He hadn’t realized just how tightly he was gripping GiGi’s hand until she patted his arm and wiggled her fingers.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured as he loosened his grip.
Georgie Sipanil limped forward to join Trina. “Obviously, it wasn’t the first time you tried to frame another for your crimes, is it, Harold?” Without taking her penetrating gaze from Beecham, she addressed Smythe. “He commissioned council guards to kill me, Smythe. I’ve a list drawn up of who you can and can’t trust. It’s my understanding Mr. Beecham has quite a few on his payroll.” She scanned the room with her eagle eye, then pointed to two men by the door closest to Harold. “Those two. They were in charge of the strike on my townhome.”
Beecham surprised everyone when he withdrew a pistol from underneath his robes and leveled the barrel at Georgie. “I swear to the Goddess I’ll kill her,” he snarled.
Trina stepped in between the barrel and Georgie. “Put the gun down, Harold. You’re finished here.”
His dull gray eyes darted around the room and settled on Ryker and GiGi, who were closest to the doors. Ryker shoved GiGi behind him as Beecham pointed the gun at his chest.
“Come here, Gillespie.”
“No!” GiGi shouted, trying to shove past him. He could feel her being ripped away from him by another.
“No!” She shouted again. “Let me go, Baz. Let me go!” Her cries mingled with those of the trial observers as they rushed toward the main set of doors to flee.
Ryker staggered forward, careful to keep GiGi out of harm’s way. His eyes cut to Trina, and he registered her worry. He gave her a reassuring wink and turned his focus back to Beecham.
“Wilson, Miller, take him.”
Too weak to fight, Ryker allowed the traitorous guards to apprehend him. They ushered him from the chamber through the rear council members’ entrance while Beecham stayed behind to issue a warning that he’d kill the first person to follow him.