by Patti Larsen
Confirmation. Awesome. I was half way to my feet, my demon roaring her fury when Martin continued.
“We're not the only ones Celeste has eliminated to further her goals.” He faced James. “Your wife, Sandra, was a victim as well. Did you not wonder why the only non-Purity witch in your circle died a mysterious death?”
James jerked like a fish on a line. “What are you saying?” He barely choked out the words, half standing, cheeks pure white except for two hot spots of pink. He spun on Celeste, face crumpling in grief. “What have you done?”
“It was the only way she could control you,” Louisa said, voice sad. “I'm so sorry, James. We only found out ourselves by accident. It was for this, and because we refused to support her, that Celeste killed us. Correction,” she held up one hand. “She didn't execute the plan herself. Instead, she recruited help and made sure through magic means the fire consuming us would do so regardless of any attempts to put it out.”
She was. So. Dead. All the agony and grief surged back as I fell into my seat again, hot tears welling in my eyes, my throat tight and scratchy, my skin tingling with the need to sob and rage.
Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, James lunged at Celeste, carrying the bigger witch to the floor and out of clear sight. He howled in grief, trying to hit her, not even able to summon his magic to strike, as they rolled around together on the floor while witches scrambled out of their way, the grating sound of their chairs being tossed aside by the violence the only sound outside of James's animal-like weeping.
Dominic gestured and two Enforcers moved, though they seemed to take their time. They managed to get a grip on James and pull him upright, the first holding him off while the other stood over Celeste, letting her climb to her feet under her own power.
“I demand her death!” James continued to sob, sagging in the arms of the Enforcer. “I demand she die for killing my wife!”
“There is more to tell.” Louisa turned to Mom. “Celeste has been, either directly or indirectly, behind every single attempt to undermine your position, actively attempting to remove you as leader.” Again the witches swayed. Yes, blood magic was punishable by death. But so was betraying your family and turning against your leader while weakening your coven.
“You have proof?” Erica's voice was calm, cool. I didn't know how she managed it, but thanked her for it silently. All eyes turned to her, all focus on the Hayle coven member of Council.
Perfect.
“We do,” Louisa said. “If it must be told.”
Celeste surged forward, the Enforcer finally grabbing her and holding her back. “They lie!” Her eyes bulged, her heavy braid swinging like a noose.
“Impossible,” Erica said coldly. “Echoes cannot lie.”
“NO!” Celeste pulled free of the Enforcer, pointing a finger at Odette. But as she tried to speak, her voice cut off. She struggled, grasping at her throat with both hands while the entire room stared in horror.
Not on my watch. Yes, the woman would die a slow and painful death, but not before she spilled the beans. I reached out with my power and grasped the hand of magic sealing Celeste's throat, following it back to Odette who scowled so darkly she looked more demonic than I ever did. I lashed out, cutting off her hold, while Celeste coughed and bent over, her eyes locked on the Dumont leader.
“This is all your fault!” Her shriek was harsh, torn from her damaged throat, but came out loud and clear. “You promised me I could have the Hayle coven if I did what you wanted!”
***
Chapter Forty
Batsheva's thread of control was so close to snapping I wasn't surprised to feel her power surge, taking over everyone with force instead of guile. There was only one way she had so much energy.
Blood magic.
The room fell silent, witches shuddering under her influence, eyes glazed a little as she leaned into them. I let my demon out to examine the edges of the woman’s magical influence and found them frayed slightly as Batsheva struggled for control.
How interesting.
Odette meanwhile had fallen back into her seat, face pale, eyes locked on her mistress. I wanted to jump up and down for joy and was about to reach for the power holding the others back when Gram's mind grasped mine in an iron fist.
Not yet. She glared at me. Trust me on this.
More to the plan? Okay then. I could wait.
But not for much longer.
“We are through,” the Vegas said as one. Louisa blew me a kiss before turning and doing the same for Quaid. Together, holding hands, they shimmered and faded away.
More tears. I had a lot of mourning to do when this was over.
Before anyone could speak, Pender shuddered again. “I call forth Sandra Crossman.”
She emerged from his mouth, a surge of shadow, forming in a flash, facing Celeste with fury on her face.
“You will join me,” she hissed, “and when you do I will bring you torment all the moments of your existence.”
James choked, tears trickling down his face. “Oh my love,” he whispered.
She turned to him, expression softening. “Our daughter?”
“Misses you every day.”
She faltered, looked down as though she'd lost something and didn't know where to find it. “Our daughter.”
She spun toward the Council then, rage returning. “Celeste needed my husband on her side. I'd nearly convinced him to tell Miriam everything. Celeste lured me out to the lake and killed me, made it look like an accident. But it was no accident.” Sandra screeched her fury. “My daughter is motherless because this woman could not let go of the past.”
“Thank you for your testimony,” Erica said softly.
Sandra nodded sharply once before spinning on her husband.
“You'll tell her? Mommy loves her?”
James sobbed softly, falling into a chair, hands over his face. “Every day,” he said.
Sandra smiled then and faded away.
Pender's color returned to something approaching normal, his body no longer shaking. He'd done his part. Now it was up to Gram.
The ropes of power pulled tighter around the chamber. It was so clear to me now why Batsheva wanted the room sealed. Her magic, the blood magic, was fed into those seals and were the very cause of the controls I was feeling. And now I was awake and aware of what she was up to, I felt the reverse as well. How she siphoned off power from the gathering, taking their magic, weaving it into her own.
Even from Odette. I wondered if the Dumont leader knew she was being played.
Batsheva was really pouring it on, our family magic finally under pressure. I wasn’t sure why I remained immune, unless the alternate sources of magic I had access to shielded me somehow. Maybe she knew I was too much for her to handle. I was just grateful I gave nothing to Batsheva’s cause.
“Clearly,” Andre spoke up, his French accent offensive to my ears, “Celeste Oberman is the culprit here, a buried snake inside the Hayle coven. It is she who should be punished, I agree.”
The witches swayed while Celeste sagged, a mix of fury and desperation on her face.
“Agreed. But you've forgotten who else is involved according to her own accusation,” Gram said with a wink. “And besides, we're not done with this little show, now are we?” She stepped forward, brushing Pender off when he tried to support her. Only then did I see how weak she was, how she wobbled on her blue-socked feet.
“She's obviously lying to protect herself.” Andre looked around and witches began to nod, accepting the story with a liberal dose of power as theirs was sucked from them at a more desperate pace to feed the very seals influencing them.
Batsheva was evil, but she was also brilliant. The bitch.
“We shall see.” Gram pressed one finger to the side of her nose. “I call Clare and David Dumont.”
I wished then I'd thought to warn Quaid. Why had I not told him what Gram planned? So much happened, my brain was mush when it came to remembering much
past what I had to do right now.
His face crumpled for a moment, his pain as clear to me as the love he let me see for them for only a moment before his expression settled once again into stoic darkness.
Mia was another thing entirely. Her mouth hung open as the two ghosts exited Gram to stand before the Council. A soft cry escaped her, loud enough I heard her, drawing a glance of derision from Ameline who sat beside her.
Longing. It’s the only way I could describe how my old friend looked. As though she'd found exactly what she had always been searching for and only now knew they were missing.
“Not Dumont,” David said, sounding just like Quaid, cold and crisp. “Tinder. We denounced the Dumont name when we left the coven.”
“We fled the Dumonts,” Clare said in her powerful voice, “forsaking the family to protect our children from my mother.” Clare glared at Odette. “Our former leader's obsession to destroy the Hayle coven was affecting our family and we could no longer tolerate it.”
Odette wouldn't look at her dead daughter. A little guilt there, maybe?
Clare turned to face Mom. “Forgive us,” she said, “for not going to the Council with what knowledge we had when we had the chance. I fear it was our undoing as it has almost been yours. But we had to put our children first, their safety most important to us.”
“I completely understand,” Mom said, “and would have done the same to protect my daughters.”
Clare bowed her head to Mom. “Thank you,” she whispered. When she turned back to the Council, her voice was as strong as before and I wondered how powerful she must have been as a living witch. “I gave up my status as heir to the coven.” She glared at Andre, her brother, who also refused to look at her. “We joined a small family, just wanting a life of quiet and peace. But our new coven was attacked, the entire number killed and our children taken.” Clare turned then, a hopeful look on her ghostly face, eyes falling at last on Mia. Her smile was wonderful, full of love and Mia smiled back, dazed, so happy in the brief moment it hurt me to look at her, knowing it was short-lived. “My beautiful daughter,” Clare said. “I only had enough power to block off your magic. To protect you. I knew if you were powerless, your grandmother wouldn't want anything to do with you.”
Mia was nodding, snuffling, wiping tears from her face.
“It's okay, Mother,” she said. “I understand now.”
Clare's smile didn't waver. “I set the blocks to release on your eighteenth birthday in the hope you would then be able to find a coven of your own.” Clare sighed deeply, turning from Mia. “We were attacked with blood magic, defenseless against it. But there was something familiar about it. The taint of it. It was old family power, Dumont magic that killed us in the end.”
There was no way Batsheva could hold the gathered witches forever, using their power to feed her or not. Sweat stood out on her face and I knew at any moment she could order this trial over and crush the wills of the witches present to make them do what she wanted.
No, Gram's voice reached me. She can't. Her power is tied not only to the room, but to the trial itself. She never expected me to be able to pull souls this old. I'm sure she expected perhaps to lose Celeste, probably set the woman up to take the fall. But if Batsheva wavers from the path of the trial, she'll lose them. Keep an eye on her. If the magic does snap, she'll bolt.
“I don't know who attacked us,” Clare went on while David continued to hover next to her. Not hard to tell who wore the pants in their family. “But the truth is here. I embedded the face of our attacker in the memories of Quaid and Mia so they would one day know who killed their parents. So they could avenge us.”
Quaid leaped to his feet. “I will,” he said, voice a low growl.
“We will.” Mia also stood, pale blue eyes full of anger and so much pain.
Clare's ghost began to cry. “We love you both so much,” she said while David saluted Quaid who waved back. “I'm so sorry, Quaid, my sweet boy, for not protecting you as well.”
“I'm fine, Mom,” he said. “You did the right thing.” His eyes went to Mia. “I'm glad you chose to protect my sister.”
Mia's face crumpled and fresh tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Quaid,” she whispered before sinking into her seat and sobbing softly into her hands.
Clare and David faded away while Quaid stood there, shaking in anger and grief. I reached out to him with my magic, but he shoved me aside.
Not now, he sent. Just leave me, please.
I did as he asked, wondering how much damage Gram and I had just done to him.
And to Mia.
Batsheva's teeth were clenched, body shaking slightly as her power continued to grasp and hold the crowd, their magic swirling through, fighting her as their belief was pushed to the limit. I felt a few of them breaking loose, only to be pulled back again. Violet looked very confused and more than a little angry, but even she didn't protest as Andre spoke up again.
“Again, this has nothing to do with the charges against Miriam Hayle.” He glanced at Batsheva then at Odette, but neither seemed in a position to support his complaint.
“Ethpeal Hayle,” Erica said. “Are there more to speak?”
Gram bobbed a nod, hands shaking as she pointed at the Council member. “You were always a clever girl, Erica,” she said. Gram took a step back, head dropping as she seemed to sink into herself for a moment. When she looked up again, her face was a stone mask.
“There is much more,” she said. “I call Ivan Dumont.”
***
Chapter Forty One
If there was a girl inside Odette once who loved a boy, I saw a glimmer of her the moment Ivan Dumont emerged from Gram to face the Council. He stood tall and proud, regal even, a king among us, at least in his own estimation.
“Ivan.” Odette's voice cracked, his name a croak from her lips. As she reached out toward him, her disguise slipped a little, enough the horrid, withered, and evil old crone behind the slim veneer of beauty she barely maintained showed through.
Ivan sneered at her. “Odette,” he said. “What have you become?”
She flinched, cried out. “My love,” she whispered.
“Love.” He laughed openly, harshly. “I never loved you. You promised me power. That was all I cared about.” His beautiful face twisted in hate. “Now look at you.”
Odette's howl of agony almost made me feel sorry for her.
Almost.
Now it was her turn to bury her face in her hands and weep while Ivan surveyed the crowd with his same look of superiority. I think I would have learned to despise my grandfather if he'd survived so it was just as well he was dead.
“I'm here to tell the Council the truth behind the attack on the Hayle coven so many years ago.” He didn't falter or hesitate as he spoke, as if he couldn't care less who heard him air his family's dirty laundry.
“I demand this travesty be finished!” Andre was on his feet, though it was his turn to be pale. “I call this Council to order and insist we return to the trial at hand.”
“Do sit down, Andre,” Ivan said. “No one cared what you thought when you were a nasty, spoiled child and no one cares now, either.”
Andre sank back into his chair, muttering to himself in French.
Ivan went on. “Odette and Naudia planned the whole thing, while I was to betray Ethpeal. Naudia had the leader of the Hayle coven killed, forcing Ethpeal to return from her life as an Enforcer and take over her coven. Odette arranged for the leader of the Purity coven to be set aside so Naudia could take over. Together they planned the attack on Ethpeal and her family. An attack that failed.”
I caught a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye and saw Dominic gesturing at Batsheva. He looked nervous. Very, very nervous. And with good reason. The fraying I'd felt around the edges of Batsheva's control had turned into unraveling.
Another push or two and she'd lose it entirely.
Are you sure I shouldn't help? I glanced at Gram
Keep your peace, she shot back. It's almost over.
Ivan turned toward Gram, for the first time his arrogance fading. They exchanged a long, sad look before Gram waved at him like he was a fly and he vanished.
The gathered witches were trembling under Batsheva's power, their sense of right and wrong being jerked about like they were puppets with damaged strings. Gram was about to open her mouth and release the last echo when the main door's seal burst open under a blast of power and the door itself slammed wide.
Batsheva gasped, power slipping as the ward she'd built was split almost in two. I watched her gesture at the door, heard it slam shut, felt the magic she'd created ooze over it. But much damage had been done, I could feel it all around me, as loose bits of her power flew free, swirling near the ceiling above us, blood magic hunting for a way out.
Charlotte marched forward with her two werewolf friends at her side, a black-robed form between them, though this one was clearly not an Enforcer. They dumped the small figure to the polished floor, Charlotte’s foot landing in the middle of his back, pinning him to the ground.
“We've uncovered an intruder,” she said, her werewolf showing in her eyes. “And he claims to be working for you, Batsheva Moromond.”
The witch twitched violently, but held on, though I had no idea how and actually felt a twinge of admiration for her even while I rooted for her to collapse.
Charlotte bent and ripped the hood back from the man's face.
Even I gasped.
Not a man. A demon. No. Not a demon.
No. Freaking. Way.
Demitrius Strong looked up, his altered form still the one my demon forced him into, his amber eyes lighting on Batsheva as he struggled to rise.
“Save me, mistress,” he croaked.
Charlotte tromped on his back hard enough I heard something crack. He cried out and rolled away from her, curling into a miserable ball.