Consort of Secrets

by Eva Chase

  She slipped away around the house, and it was like she took all the sunlight and warmth with her. My throat constricted with the urge to call her back. I clenched my jaw and smacked my fist against the side of the steps. Then I hissed at the pain that radiated through my knuckles. Very smart, Damon.

  I marched back up to my mother’s place, but I couldn’t shake the angel’s voice echoing in my head.

  I’m sorry. I missed you.

  Chapter Eight

  Rose

  My gaze skimmed over the same page I’d been pretending to read for the last ten minutes. I tugged the wool blanket tighter around me, ignoring its scratchy texture against my neck. The air in the manor’s library wasn’t that cool, but I was playing my role to the fullest.

  And it was because of that role that I couldn’t concentrate on this book, even though reading normally came as easily to me as breathing. My heart was thumping too fast, my thoughts too scattered. I kept listening for someone to come fetch me. We were meant to be going to visit one of Dad’s friends for dinner any time now. But I didn’t plan to be around for that.

  Footsteps sounded outside the door. I started to straighten up, and then thought better of it, hunching over instead. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand to redden them.

  The door whispered open. It was my consort-to-be who stepped inside.

  “Here you are,” Derek said. “Nose in a book?”

  Something about his dry tone made me bristle. “It’s a good one,” I offered, and coughed.

  His gaze drifted through the room with its vast array of mahogany shelves, all of them packed with books of various sorts. “Well,” he said, “it is an awful lot of paper, isn’t it?”

  It took me a second to find my tongue. Was that really all he saw in here? “Not much of a reader?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “So much out in the world to see. I’d rather experience it myself than read about what someone else did. Or some total lies an author made up.”

  Philomena had grown bored with my sick act, but at that she popped out from behind one of the bookcases. “Pardon me? Lies? I really must take exception.”

  “Me too, Phil,” I said in my head. And to Derek, out loud, “I guess I like that I can experience things second-hand that I never could on my own.”

  “If I can’t do it myself, it can’t be that worthwhile,” Derek said, with a grin that was probably supposed to be charming, but right then only came off as smarmy.

  “How could you not know your fiancé deplores books?” Phil hissed at me.

  A good question. I hesitated, gripping the one I was holding tighter. I’d simply never brought it up with him, had I? The novels I loved had always felt like something private, little friendships I didn’t want others intruding on. I’d never had anyone to share my love for them with, and I hadn’t been about to start revealing that side of myself to the Portland witching elite. And even after a couple weeks in this house together, Derek still felt partly like a stranger.

  He knew I’d been working on committing old records to computer for the primary Archive of witching folk. He’d asked a few questions that had seemed genuine enough when I’d mentioned I was gathering material to try to compile a more comprehensive modern history of our community. What had he really been thinking?

  I shook off those thoughts. We had plenty of time. Maybe I could get him to come around. It wasn’t as if any of the other eligible witching men I’d met had been avid readers anyway.

  “I was instructed to bring you out to the car,” Derek said, still grinning. “Shall we go?” He offered his elbow.

  I made a show of coughing again, louder this time. Then I swiped my hand across my forehead. “I don’t think I can come to the dinner after all. I was feeling a little under the weather this morning, and it’s gotten worse fast. I was hoping that doing a little reading would perk me up, but… it’d probably be best if I just go to bed.”

  Derek’s grin faded. “I’m sorry to hear that. Should I ask your father about getting you a doctor, or something from the pharmacy?”

  I shook my head. “I already took something for my fever. It’s just taking a while kicking in.”

  “Well, I could at least escort you to your room.”

  “I don’t hear him offering to stay back and keep you company,” Philomena muttered as I swayed to my feet, pretending my legs were weak. “He should be down in the kitchen throwing together some chicken soup for his lady love.”

  “I’d be willing to bet Derek has never cooked any kind of meal in his life,” I told her. “I mean, neither have I.”

  She huffed, but she stayed silent as my consort-to-be led me out into the hall. He glanced around on the way to my bedroom, with a brief shake of his head.

  “This old building is awfully stuffy, isn’t it? When the house is ours, we can see about doing some renovations. Bigger windows, knock down a few walls to open up some of the spaces more.”

  I bit my tongue to hold in a pained sound. “My dad had the kitchen updated not long before we last left residence here,” I offered. But I loved the maze of rooms and the way the sunlight streaked through the narrow windows.

  “That’s a start. Plenty of time to consider the possibilities.”

  The comment echoed my own earlier thought so well it made me feel a little queasy. How much was he waiting to change about me and my situation?

  “Thank you,” I said when we reached my door, letting go of Derek’s elbow. “Please give my dad and Celestine my apologies. Hopefully I’ll be feeling better tomorrow.”

  “Relax and get some rest,” Derek said. “You look like you need it.”

  “Well, I’m quite sure that last comment was completely unnecessary,” Philomena muttered as soon as we were alone in my room.

  “He didn’t mean anything offensive by it,” I said, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “And I was trying to look sick.”

  “A gentleman shouldn’t remark on such things.”

  “Standards are a little different in the twenty-first century, Phil.”

  “And what was all that talk about wrecking this gorgeous house?” she continued, ignoring me. “He’s been here two weeks—does he believe it’s his already?”

  My throat tightened. “It will be, once we’re officially partnered.”

  “Oh, Rose.” Phil sighed. “I’ve tried not to say anything, because friends should support each other’s decisions, but—”

  No. I didn’t want to hear this right now. “Phil,” I interrupted, trying to stop her.

  She barreled on. “He isn’t right for you, darling. He isn’t right at all. He doesn’t care about your opinions and he mocks the very idea of reading stories. He’d rather go meet some strangers who might offer some influence than make sure you’re happy and well. And that’s just in the last ten minutes! I can’t stand by and keep quiet when I can only imagine that marriage making you wretchedly unhappy.”

  “I know,” I said, hands balling against the duvet. “I don’t want to marry him. I have to, Phil. I have to, or I’m going to lose my magic.”

  She faltered. “Surely there must be some way—”

  I shook my head with a jerk. “I waited and waited, hoping the ‘right’ guy would come, and now I’m out of time. Who would have been better? Vincent Canterbury, who spent more time looking at my boobs than my face? Carlton Hewer, who wasn’t capable of talking about anything except race cars and whiskey? The selection of eligible witching men is a little limited. So Derek is what I get.”

  I lowered my head, blinking hard. My eyes had gone hot. Philomena came to stand beside me. I swore I could really feel her rest her hand on my shoulder.

  “You’re absolutely sure?” she said softly.

  “Yes. Every tutor I’ve had, every text on the witching way was completely clear. The spark must be properly kindled by a witch’s twenty-fifth birthday, or the seed of it dies. You can’t ever get it back then. I met a woman once, the cousin of one of Dad’s friends, who’d
lost hers… You could still the pain of it in her eyes.”

  I took a shaky breath. “I’ll be okay. Derek and I just have to get to know each other better. We’ll make some compromises. And if I give it a real go and in a few years it’s still not working… I don’t have to stay with him.”

  Of course, even once my spark was kindled, I needed a consort to keep it lit, to replenish my power as I used it. If I didn’t have Derek, I’d need to take another partner, or go without my magic all the same.

  The sound of a car engine starting carried through my window. I pushed myself off the bed, willing all those fraught feelings to leave me.

  A Hallowell witch didn’t wallow in self-pity. Especially not when she had a secret mission to carry out. At least that mission could distract me for a little while.

  The base on the second of my built-in bookcases was a tad loose. I eased the board open and snatched the prepaid phone Kyler had given me from the gap behind it. My thumbs darted over the keypad as I sank into the armchair, entering the numbers I’d already memorized to send a group message. I’d been deleting all our conversations after I’d read them, just in case one of the cleaning staff stumbled on the phone.

  Okay, they just left, I wrote. Let me know when they go past you, Jin.

  Already on watch, he replied. Jin’s studio had a view of the road Dad’s car should be heading down. When he spotted them, I’d know they were well on their way.

  Well away from here, so they wouldn’t catch me.

  Are you sure you can manage the climb? Seth asked.

  There you go being a worrywart again, I wrote back. It’s no problem. I eyeballed the ledge from outside—it’s nice and wide.

  Let us know as soon as you make it back, he answered.

  I might as well get ready for the climbing part of the plan. My window was already open. I wiggled the screen out of the frame like I had the night Ky had visited me and set it on the floor.

  An alert pinged. Jin had checked back in. Just saw the Bentley zooming by. Good luck, Briar Rose!

  My lips twitched into a smile at the nickname. I shoved the phone into my pocket and clambered onto the windowsill.

  The house’s architecture wouldn’t have made a climb from the ground very easy, but the design included a wooden protrusion that ringed the second floor. When I’d looked before, I’d thought it was at least half a foot wide. Now, glancing down at it, I had to admit that “nice and wide” might have been overstating the situation. I’d be able to stand on it, but it wouldn’t hold much other than the balls of my feet.

  That was enough. The room Celestine used for her business affairs was only a couple over from my bedroom. I didn’t have far to go.

  I eased myself out and settled my feet on the ledge. It held firmly enough. Leaning into the side of the house as tightly as I could, I edged one foot over, then pulled the other foot after it. One scoot, and another, and another, leaving my bedroom window behind.

  The breeze licked past me, tossing my hair. My pulse skittered. My fingers tensed against the cool slats, attempting to grip their edges.

  Almost halfway there. I reached the next window, the bedroom that would have been my stepsister Anastasia’s if she hadn’t married off into some other witching family a few years back. Stopping, I clutched the windowsill for a minute to rest my tensed muscles. Then I pushed myself onward.

  To my relief, I found that Celestine had left her office window halfway open. Bracing my elbow on the sill, I prodded the screen with my other hand until I managed to pop it free. I flinched at the clatter as it hit the floor.

  No one came running. After hanging there frozen for a moment, I scrambled inside.

  My stepmother’s office was about the same size as my bedroom, filled with similar built-in bookshelves and a few cabinets and a big desk that was so barren I had to wonder if she ever used it. Celestine worked as a stockbroker for a bunch of the witching families, moving their money here and there to make it grow. Sometimes even giving the market a little magical “assistance” in a particular direction, from the comments I’d heard her make.

  I’d never asked her much about the job. She thought the stuff in here was important enough, though, that she kept the door magically locked at all times and had to admit the housekeeping staff personally, watching them as they worked. I guessed that made sense, when she was dealing with people’s fortunes.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for, but whatever shady activities she’d gotten into, I had to assume this was the most likely place for her to be keeping evidence. Well, this or her private magicking room, but that was entirely windowless, so there was no way I was breaking in there.

  I prowled from cupboard to cupboard, opening binders, checking inside boxes. Everything I found appeared to be related to her business.

  Here. One drawer in her filing cabinet offered a slew of private documents. Medical records, real estate documentation, financial reports… I skimmed everything quickly until my gaze caught on one large number on a bank statement.

  Just a couple months ago, Celestine had transferred fifty thousand dollars out of one of her personal accounts.

  What the hell could that have been for? I didn’t remember hearing mention of anything that would have cost even a tenth that much. Actually, she’d been making a fuss about how she was needing to be careful with money to save up for my wedding celebration. And if she’d already spent tens of thousands of dollars on that, I was sure I wouldn’t have heard the end of it yet.

  The recipient was identified only as a different account number, so that didn’t help me. I stared at the paper for a few minutes, gnawing at my lower lip. It might have nothing to do with anything. But if Celestine was throwing around that kind of money in secret… Just thinking about it set me nerves on edge.

  Who was she paying off—and for what?

  Chapter Nine

  Rose

  Kyler’s apartment was up a narrow flight of stairs beside the fish and chips place it was perched on top of. The smells of fried batter and vinegar followed me up.

  I paused under the dim light fixture, my fingers curling into my palm. I hadn’t visited any of the guys in their own homes before now. The thought of it made my heart thump faster. But what Ky and I were going to be discussing, I wanted to be sure no one else overheard. I hadn’t even wanted to send the information to his phone. If my stepmother ever had proof that he’d helped me poke around in her finances… I really didn’t want to think about that.

  “Well, go on,” Philomena said. “You’ve already been fretting over this for two days. If it goes on much longer, I’ll start growing gray hairs.”

  “You are never going to turn gray,” I said, but I did knock on the door.

  Ky opened it a few seconds later, grinning when he saw me. “Come in, come in,” he said with a sweep of his arm.

  Stepping inside, I felt immediately at home. Which was strange, because the space was pretty chaotic. The open-concept kitchen area was all clean lines and stainless steel. The living room attached held a futon with big cedar arms and moss-green cushions, a shabby-chic coffee table, and a matching cabinet stuffed full with a huge TV, sound system, and various other electronic devices. At least a dozen pieces of art, ranging from the size of my hand to the size of my outstretched arms and in nearly a dozen different styles, hung on the pale gold walls.

  But it felt like Kyler. So much boundless enthusiasm for so many things, jumping from one area of interest to the next as a new thought struck him. Full of bright warmth underneath. As he motioned me to the couch, I caught a whiff of lemon that suggested he’d done some equally enthusiastic cleaning for my visit. Then the sweet cedar scent of the futon’s frame smoothed over that tang.

  “Quite the place,” I said, taking it all in.

  Ky laughed. “I know what I like. And I like a lot of things.” He pointed to the entertainment cabinet. “Battling pixelated monsters.” Then to the walls. “Exposing myself to visuals I don’t totally unders
tand.” To the furniture. “Supporting this town. Everything in here I got locally. Which does mean you’ve got to be a bit flexible when it comes to style. Especially when some of it was donated by my clients.”

  My eyes had been drawn to one particular painting, one of the larger ones. Swaths of different shades of blue and purple bled into each other across a canvas, broken by streaks of what looked like clear glue and scraps of red fabric.

  Ky nodded to it. “Not surprised you like that one. I had to buy something of Jin’s, of course.”

  “It’s nice,” I said. There was something hypnotic about the fall of the colors, as if they were pulling the viewer right into the image.

  “I think so, even if I haven’t got a clue what it’s supposed to mean,” Ky said cheerfully. He plopped down at one end of the futon and grabbed his laptop off the coffee table. “All right. Let’s get cracking on that mystery of yours.”

  I sat down next to him and brought up the photo of Celestine’s bank records that I’d taken on my phone. “Here,” I said, zooming in on the item that had caught my attention. “Can you figure out who she sent this money too?”

  Ky took the phone from me. He scanned it with a low whistle. “That’s an impressive chunk of change all right. Let’s see. Yeah, I should be able to trace this.” He glanced up at me, and his face turned slightly pink. “I, uh, may have gone through a rebellious stage in my later teens when I taught myself how to hack into any database I wanted to. The harder the firewall, the better the payoff.”

  My eyebrows rose. “So I’m dealing with some kind of criminal mastermind, huh?” I teased.

  His grin came back. “I didn’t actually do anything criminal. Just proved to myself I could and left everything as I found it. And what about you? Pulling stealth maneuvers like a super-spy, keeping it totally cool with your stepmom afterward. No one suspected a thing, right?”

  Now I was blushing. “Not as far as I could tell. As I’ve tried to reassure Seth at least twice a day.”