by L. A. Boruff
"And you're just going to believe it's true? With no proof? What if my appearance is just another spell that's being used to make you think I'm someone I'm not?" My voice squeaks at the end.
I'm a witch. Or I am if what they're saying is true, and I see no real reason to believe it isn't. They have nothing to gain from lying to me right now. Yet, I still don’t see how it’s possible. I have no magic outside of the curse.
Fran’s sympathy is directed at me. She has just lost her mate, yet she’s showing caring and understanding for me as I come to terms with who and what I am. My heart breaks for her. "There are no other traces of magic on you," Fran says. "In fact, if I hadn't seen you transform into a cat, then I wouldn't have been able to sense that magic on you either."
I frown. That makes no sense, surely some kind of trace should be on me. Magic has consequences, right?
At least I've proved magic is real. I almost laugh at that, but stop myself. This isn't the time. Far from it. I need to focus on getting them to prove who I am.
Fran sighs loudly. "There's a way to prove who you are," she says.
I perk up at that. "Then let's do it." If I am a witch and heir to a throne I can’t begin to understand, I need to come to terms with it. To do that, I need proof.
Instead of paying attention to me, she turns to Hank. "Did you get it?"
He nods and pulls the book he'd saved from the house out of the inside of his shirt, handing it to Fran. I’d forgotten about it.
"Did the other woman save my ceremonial knife?" she asks Will.
"Yes." He hands the woman a sheathed dagger.
She visibly relaxes. "Phoebe gave me this on our name-clasping ceremony. Please thank the young lady for saving it for me."
"Of course," James promises.
Fran withdraws the blade from the sheath. My teeth clench at the sight of it. The blade glimmers, and I have no difficulty believing it’s sharp enough to cut to the bone. It's a devilish blade, and I'm a little apprehensive about what she's going to do to me with it.
To my surprise, she flips it around and offers the handle to me.
I shake my head. "I'm not taking that without knowing what you're planning to do."
"This is Phoebe's grimoire," Fran explains. "Only her heir will be able to open it."
"And you think that's me?" I try not to sound worried. How could that be me?
"If Phoebe’s granddaughter is alive, she’ll be the rightful heir to the throne. And the only one that can open this book. All signs point to that being you." Fran wiggles the knife so I’ll take it.
It’s too much. My life has been turned on its ear since arriving in this town. Which is what I had wanted—until it happened. Now, I’m not so sure what I want. "How do I know you're not lying to me? For all I know, that book could open for anyone." I glare at it, trying to work out why I'm so wary of a leather-bound book with golden inlays.
Fran smiles sadly. "I’ll show you." She tries to open the book to no avail. She puts it back down and grabs the knife, making a quick slice in her hand. Blood drips down onto the cover of the book. The gold inlays pulse red, and then go still. She tries to open it again, but still doesn't manage.
"Do you need a bandage?" Will asks.
She shakes her head and wipes away a tear before she holds her hand out and mutters a few words under her breath. This must be torture for her. The cut knits together in front of my eyes. It's as if she wants to remind me that magic is real, and it's a part of who I am, whether I want it to be or not.
"Now, you try." She hands me the book with the knife balanced precariously on top. Neither of them show any signs of blood. How is that possible?
Oh, right. Magic.
I try to open the book without doing anything special at first. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. Alright then, I'm going to have to slice my hand open and hope that one of the other witches in the room will take pity on me and heal it after. It's crazy to think I could be doing that myself once I figure out how to do magic.
The cut stings less than I expect it to, and a few droplets of blood drip onto the cover of the book. Instead of flashing red like it did for Fran, the inlays glow gold. I know the book is going to open even before I try to do it.
I suck in a deep breath as the front cover opens, revealing an inscription with my name at the top of it.
Callie,
If you're reading this, then something has happened to me, and I need you to know the truth about yourself. I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to get to know you, but you're in the company of good men…
I stop reading, unable to carry on. I’m not ready for this.
I really am her granddaughter. They're right.
"I have a question." My voice is hoarse like I haven't used it for a long time.
Hank chuckles. "Just one? I'd have thought you were bursting at the seams with them."
I flash him a weak smile. "I am. But I'm prioritizing them."
"What's the question?" Fran asks, accepting her knife back from me graciously.
"Why can't I do magic? And why didn't anyone recognize me as a witch when I came to town?"
"I think it's all part of the curse," she answers honestly. "I think it's all laid out in the grimoire. At least, that's what Phoebe told me. But I'm here to help you with whatever you need. Phoebe made me promise that I'd help you no matter what, even if she ended up dead." She chokes on a sob. She isn’t going to be able to continue much longer.
"Do you know how to break it?"
She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I don't." A sob wracks through her entire body. I can’t subject her to this any more. I have the book, I can seek answers from it and she and I can talk again when she’s had time to process and grieve a bit.
“I’m sorry you had to do this so soon after losing your mate,” I whisper to her. “I’m sorry you have to do this at all.”
Fran covers her face and clutches my hand.
"Can you take Fran up to the guest room, please?" I ask James.
"Of course." He helps her to her feet and directs her out of the room. I hope he thinks to grab a spare t-shirt or something for the woman to sleep in.
"Where does this leave us?" I ask, toying with the cover of the book.
"I suppose that depends on what you want to do next," Will says, an uncharacteristic seriousness in his town. "We're going to protect you, of course."
"Do you think I'll need it?" I look between him and Hank, trying to work out just how bad they think this is.
They exchange a glance, which tells me everything I need to know, even if they think they're being sneaky. They're really not.
I sigh loudly. "Alright. I need some fresh air. Is there anywhere we can go that's safe from prying eyes?" The last thing I want is to endanger all of our lives accidentally.
"I know somewhere," Will says. "By the beach. It isn't far from where I found you earlier, actually."
Despite everything, I let out a sharp laugh. "I can't believe that was today."
So much has happened. I've learned who I am, gained a grandmother and lost her. But maybe I can finally start putting the pieces together and make the most of this situation. Because I'm certain there's something else going on that the guys aren’t telling me. Sure, they've hinted at it with all the bad things the King does, but even without having been around for long, I can hear the expectation hanging in the air.
They think I can do something to change this situation.
The question is what?
Chapter Nine
Will
I hope I’m not making a mistake. The thought haunts me as I drive our black truck into our neighborhood near the beach. Looking in the rearview mirror, I see Hank raise a brow, but I don’t explain a thing. He knows what I’m doing.
The neighborhood hasn’t changed much since we were kids. Every house is a classic beach house. White, light blue, the occasional green. Seashells and rope decorate the front porches along with swings. In all ways, it looks like the perfect pla
ce for two young boys to grow up.
Turning onto the next street, I spot my house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Like always, it stands there like a weed among roses. The roof is missing tiles. The paint is graying and faded. There’s a broken swing on the porch, and the wood that makes up the steps and porch is broken and unstable looking.
“Where are we going?” Callie asks in the seat next to me.
I glance at her. She’s freshly showered and wears a blouse with little dogs on it, which I find strangely amusing, and stretchy pants that hug the curves of her gorgeous ass. As much as I miss the coat, I’m not hating her outfit either.
Pulling up in front of my house, I force a grin. “Home sweet home.”
Her brows draw together, and she glances at the disaster of a house. “This is where you grew up?”
I nod, then indicate with my head a massive house that has the beach right behind it. “And that’s Hank’s house.”
Her eyes widen, and she holds her bag containing the book a little closer to her chest.
I push away the seed of embarrassment that swells in my chest. I’m not a kid anymore, wearing second-hand, faded clothes, and shoes too small. I no longer pound everyone the second they make fun of me because their words hurt more than I want to admit. I’m a man. An adult. If Callie thinks less of me when she sees the way I grew up, she’s not the girl for me anyway.
Exiting the car, I open Callie’s door. Helping her out, I step back as the guys crowd out of the tiny back. We lock the truck and turn around, all standing on the sidewalk like we’re staring up at a haunted house, waiting to see who will approach first.
Taking a deep breath, I start up the sidewalk, my boots crunching on weeds as I do. Instinctually, I stop every so often to pull up the weeds. As a boy, the yard and house was my job. My mom was too busy drinking and sleeping with random men to notice any of it. And as she so often reminded me, I was the man of the house since the moment my dad left.
We stand on the porch, and I ignore the doorbell I know isn’t working and rap on the door.
Inside, my mom grumbles.
When she opens the door, my gaze runs over her. The last time I stopped by was nearly a month ago, but she looks the same. We both have the same dark hair and green eyes, but her features are feminine and pretty. Even with all the drinking, she looks young and beautiful. One of the many benefits of being a fire mage.
“Will?” She squints her eyes because she’s too proud to get glasses.
“Yeah, mom, it’s me.”
Grinning, she pulls me into a hug. I hold back a cough. The scent of smoke and cigarettes cloaks her like perfume. “You should’ve told me you and your boys were stopping by! I’d have made snacks!”
By snacks she means she would’ve picked up more cigarettes and a cake.
I gently disentangle myself from her hug. “It was sort of a last minute thing.”
She squeals as she sees Hank. “You get more handsome every time I see you!”
“Thanks, Mrs. Steelman,” Hank smiles, always the charmer with my mom.
She gives a shy smile. “And James, of course.”
“Hello, ma’am,” he greets.
Then, her gaze lands on Callie. “Holy hell, you look just like Regina Kranton.”
Callie’s jaw drops.
I clear my throat. “That’s what we kind of wanted to talk about.”
She nods, looking speechless, and opens the door for us.
Again, I push away my embarrassment as we walk inside. The living room is exactly the same as it was when I was a child. The same ratty couches. The same stained coffee table. All the windows are drawn closed, and a lit cigarette rests in the ashtray beside a bottle of vodka.
“Sit, sit,” my mom says, waving to the couch, then she goes around drawing back the dusty curtains, washing the room in light. All it does is expose the dust on every surface.
I sit down, with Callie at my side, feeling a wave of deja vu. How many times did I sit in this exact spot, waiting for my mom to wake up after drinking too much?
James sits on the loveseat beside my mom, and Hank sits on Callie’s other side. We wait for my mom to take up her cigarette again, then everyone looks at me.
“This is Regina’s daughter.”
Her jaw drops open, then snaps shut. “I…I mean, she looks exactly the same, but still, I thought she was dead.”
“You knew she had a daughter?” I ask, stunned.
“She was my best friend,” my mom says with a sad note in her voice, then continues more quietly. “Regina was an incredible person. Giving, kind, and she always knew how to make me laugh. When she died... it was like she took a piece of me with her.”
I see it in everyone’s faces. They know why I brought them here now.
“There’s more.” I know it’s going to piss my mom off, but I can’t help it. She needs to know to help us. “Phoebe was murdered. A fire caused by magic.”
Sparks erupt from my mom’s hands. “Are you fucking kidding me? They used fire to kill?”
I nod, remembering my earliest lesson. My mother’s voice in my ears over and over again. Never use your magic to kill.
“It was the King, wasn’t it?” There’s fury in her voice.
“We think so,” James says, his gaze sliding between me and my mom.
She shakes her head. “This isn’t good. A lot of people are in danger, especially all of you.”
“Why?” Callie asks, and the question is almost torn from her lips.
My mother puts out her cigarette in the tray and a gold light flashes in her eyes. “The world is divided, Callie. Witches, wizards, and mages: we all obey the royalty in our coven. Yes, it’s true that mages are held in high regard. Creatures that can use magic naturally, rather than learning spells, are rare, and any royal court wants them in their lands, but even mages consider the witch royalty our royalty. We are still witches, after all. But the King is a miserable, awful man. He imagines a world where the magical don’t hide their abilities, and human-kind obeys us.”
I stiffen in surprise. Everyone knows the king dislikes humans and sees them as worthless, but I wasn’t aware that he wanted to stop hiding those with magic abilities. There’s no way humans could handle that. It’d create chaos and war.
My mother looks at me. “Having the Queen around kept him from becoming too cruel. Even though the King rules, and even though she was in hiding, the Queen’s power was enormous. He knew if he tried his plan, her power would be enough to stop him. But there’s nothing to stop him now.” Her gaze goes to Callie. “Except her.”
“Me?” Callie’s voice is small.
“The queen’s granddaughter is the true heir to the throne.”
“Whoa!” Hank says.
Of course she is. How the hell didn’t we realize that?
“But I don’t want a throne,” Callie says.
“Well, you’d better start to want it,” my mom tells her. “Because it’s you or that monster on the throne, and even though I don’t know you, I choose you.”
My chest tightens. “But he could keep the throne?”
“If he kills her like he did her mother and her grandmother,” my mom finishes. “Which means, you boys better keep her safe until the Summer Solstice.”
“Summer Solstice?” Callie’s voice grows squeakier by the second.
“If you’re alive then, you can claim the throne,” Mom explains. She’s very matter-of-fact about it all. This time of night, she’s probably had a few too many. She’s been drinking so long it’s hard to tell how much she’s had. The air goes out of the room with her statement.
“No.” My blood races and heats up. “We can tell people who she is. We can get the protection of the coven. We can—”
“How will you prove Callie is the heir?” she asks.
I swear my heart stops beating. “You recognized her.”
“But will that be enough for all the witches to back her when making a mistake will cost them their lives?” M
y mom opens her pack of cigarettes, then, extending a finger, she lights the tip. “No, the only ones who will back her now are the ones who know their time is coming to an end.”
“So, what do we do?” Desperation fills me. We have to keep her safe. How can we do that?
“You keep her alive, boy. You’re good at protecting people.” Her gaze holds mine.
I nod, and the thought turns over and over in my mind. We will protect her. No matter what.
“If she can make it until then, on the night of the Solstice she can sit on the throne. It will tell everyone whether she’s the true heir.”
Then that’s what we have to do. Just make it until then.
“Thanks,” I mutter darkly. I spare a glance at my friends. Hank’s horror stricken face echoes the direction of my own thoughts, while James shifts uncomfortably. No doubt they’re both focused on the task ahead of us. Keeping someone the king wants dead alive is no easy task. More importantly, it’s a dangerous one.
My mom pours herself a glass of vodka and starts sipping it like soda. “I have some people I’ll call. People we trust, but be ready. If he’s seen her, he has to suspect who she is.”
“He hasn’t seen me,” Callie says, her voice confident.
She raises a brow. “Don’t just assume they don’t know.”
“Right now they want us for something I did,” I tell her.
My mom’s entire face freezes. “Will, what did I tell you about getting mixed up with them?”
I feel like a small boy again. “To stay away from the witches.”
She slams her drink. “I’ll take care of this.”
“What?” My muscles tense. “No, I don’t need you to clean up my mess.”
“Do they want you dead?” she asks, and there’s a chill to her voice.
I hesitate. “Yes.”
Her mouth curls into an angry smile. “I’ve fucked up everything in my life, except for you. And some very powerful people, including that fucking king himself, owe me. I’ll take care of it.”
Hank and James look between her and me, and I can only guess what they’re thinking. James probably doesn’t have a clue, but Hank knows enough of our history to be sure this is a problem. My mom is a tough woman, but she has a tendency to mess up everything she touches, including me, despite what she thinks. And calling in favors from all the powerful men she’s slept with seems like a bad idea.