Miranda opened her handbag and took out a tube of lipstick. She folded down her visor and carefully applied a fresh layer on. She smacked her fuchsia lips together, recapped her lipstick, then eyed herself critically. Replacing the lipstick, she took out a small compact and applied what appeared to be powder to her nose, forehead, and chin. After stowing that away, she took out an honest to god cell phone. She opened an app on the screen and held it up, angling her body in the seat so that her selfie would partially catch those of us in the back. She snapped the picture then began tapping away. “Hashtag, on our way, hashtag, happy family, hashtag, reunited at last.”
“Did you just Instagram us?” I asked in disbelief.
“Witchagram, but the same thing, more or less. Only for us witches, and it’s only on the realm’s network.” She grinned. “I’m an influencer, so this is going to be huge news.”
Ewww. Shallow internet culture had spread even here. Influencer, bleh! Thought that did explain just why their earlier conversation about dinner had been so intense.
She continued, oblivious. “Once you have had time to settle in a bit and deepen your physical bond, we’ll have a party. All the best people will come.”
I had a feeling that was not true. All the wanted to be seen people, maybe, but not the best. “Just make sure my aunts and uncle are invited.”
“Oh, honey,” her voice dripped with sympathy that couldn’t have sounded more feigned, “They aren’t really your aunts and uncle, you know. They were friends of your mom’s. Misguided friends who, as your godparents, thought they had the right to keep you from your heritage. From your real family.”
I wanted to scream. If this was my so-called real family, I wanted no part of them. They didn’t even know Uncle Joe was my dad’s brother! It was no wonder my parents had taken off and hidden us away in the human world. These guys were the fakest, most self-absorbed, power-hungry people, I’d ever seen outside of national politics or a soap opera. Laurent’s hand slid over, searching for mine. My eyes met his in the window reflection, and I slid my hand in his. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I turned my hand over and gave him one back, then looked at our friends in the reflection.
Charles looked shrunken in on himself, Brent was stony-faced, staring straight ahead. Laurent flipped our hands again, his thumb giving the back of my hand a gentle stroke with his thumb. I closed my eyes. It felt good, his touch. Even better, I knew what bit meant. We were in a shitty situation, but we were in it together. They’d thought to co-opt our power, but just let them wait. Once we learned to harness our full powers, the genie would well and truly be out of the bottle. And you know what? The genie was pissed and not beholden to any wishes.
“Did you hear what I said?” Miranda’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“Oh, yeah, party, all the best people.” I gave her a fake smile back.
“No, after that. I said we need to Witchagram a photo of the four of you on the house’s steps. You and your triad, arms around each other, smiling. Don’t worry, we’ll let everyone know you guys are still in training, and you haven’t formally bonded all the way, but we can vet the offers coming in, so when you’ve graduated, you can take your pick.”
You guys can take your pick, you mean. I’m not stupid. You want to sell our future services off to the highest bidder and keep us locked down until we agree.
Though the more we learned, the better we’d be able to resist. My mouth quirked up in one corner, imaginingg us blasting grandma’s house to a pile of rubble. Yeah, we weren’t going to be as easy a conquest as they thought. They best hold onto their goddamned hats.
Chapter 14
The house was pretty much what I’d expected from having seen the old photos of me as a baby in front of that ginormous fireplace. It was a massive, and clearly old, stone pile that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Europe somewhere. Wide steps led from the cobbled drive up to a pair of oversized entry doors. I had a bit of deja vu when I spotted a pinch mouthed older woman in a rather 70s looking pantsuit and a man in formal attire standing on the top step, obviously waiting for us to arrive.
“We made it okay,” Miranda chirped at the woman as she climbed out of the car and trotted up the stairs. She air-kissed the cheek of the woman. “Just need to Witchagram them first so we can get a handle on the situation via social media,” she gushed.
I got out of the van and stood at the bottom of the stairs. Laurent got out and came around to hold my hand, Charles and Brent standing shoulder to shoulder behind us.
Miranda stood, looking uncertain now. “Well, come on. Aren’t you going to come say hello to your grandmother?”
My grandmother looked me up and down, then swept her eyes to look over the guys in turn. “Hello, dear,” she rasped. “You remind me so much of your mother. Welcome to Wildewood.” She certainly didn’t look as if that pleased her, but her eyes weren’t busy shooting daggers, either. “As for you young men, I suppose I should welcome you to the family. Not quite how I would have liked to meet my only grandchild and her suitors, mind. I would have much preferred it to be before a formal match was made.”
Again with the marrying us off to each other!
She shook her head. “Still, I couldn’t have asked for a better one, I suppose. I’ve known your families for years, and I know your reputations. Fine young men, and now you’ve formed a Triad. Simply splendid.” She glanced at the man standing next to her, and he gave a sharp rap onto one of the doors. They swung open, and she spun on her heel to sweep herself through the door. She paused just over the threshold, turning to look at us over her shoulder. “You may all call me Grandmama or Grandmother, whichever you prefer,” she said. “And Miranda, hurry up with the Witchwhatever pictures you want to take. The staff is waiting to be introduced.” She resumed walking, the double doors closing behind her with a sense of finality.
“Talk about making a dramatic exit,” I muttered.
“Par for the course,” Charles whispered back, hoarsely.
“Well, come on,” Miranda said, impatient. “You heard your grandmother.”
I noticed she didn’t call her aunt, and my grandfather was conspicuously absent. I suspected that despite all the joviality and air kisses, there was not much love lost there. It looked more and more like we’d fallen into a snake pit, all right. Laurent gently tugged me forward by the hand, leading me up the steps. Miranda arranged us the way she wanted, shooing the man, who she called Francis, out of the way. We plastered smiles on and let her snap away.
“And hashtag, newly bonded, hashtag, Trio, and hashtag, locii!” Miranda burbled. “Okay, we’re done until you’ve all changed for dinner.” She smiled over our heads at Francis, who rapped on the door nearest him once more, and they again swung open. “Well, come on,” she called after us, hurrying back up the stairs past us and going inside. “You heard her, the rest of the staff is waiting.”
Brent gave a loud sigh. “Looks like we’re getting the whole dog and pony show,” he said in a low voice, looking at Laurent.
“Well, we did bond with the heir,” Laurent replied drily, looking at my wrist pointedly.
Laurent held out his elbow. “Let’s go, my dear,” he said with a wink. “Let’s go get this over with.”
We walked up the stairs together, Charles and Brent right behind us. My steps faltered as I spied what the dim interior had hidden, two rows of people flanking the cavernous entry space. I tried to keep my face from showing my surprise. If Grandmama thought she would intimidate the poor little girl from small-town Kansas, she was wrong. Okay, maybe she was a little right, but I sure as hell was not going to let her have even the smallest inkling of that. Laurent paused in front of the first two people, which gave me a chance to regain some of my inner composure for real. George popped into view, perching herself regally on one of the bottom banisters to the over the top double staircase leading to the first floor. Francis slid in, getting just to the front of us, before turning to face us.
“The staf
f,” he announced, regally as if we were freaking blind.
I mean, who else could these people be? They were dressed like something out of a period drama, with mop caps on their heads and black dresses and stockings for the females, while the men all wore black pants and shirts. Some of the men even wore waistcoats and ties, all alike. There was some sort of crest in silver on the burgundy ties. Looking closer, I realized the same crest was stitched in black silk all over the black fabric of their vests, forming a pattern on the fabric. Well, la di da, someone had money to burn, didn’t they?
“This is Cresswell,” Francis said, indicating the man whose uniform I was inspecting. “Your grandmother’s secretary.” I tried hard to stop my eyes from rolling. “And this,” he said, waving a hand towards the older woman directly across from Cresswell, “Is Mrs. Murtagh, the head housekeeper.”
Mrs. Murtagh stared back at me with a look of open fascination. Francis continued on. Next was the cook and her assistants, the chauffeurs (two of), the garage keepers (I tried not to giggle at that one), the head maid, the junior maids, the personal shopper, and the seamstress.
“No tailor?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“Your grandfather uses the finest in the Winter Court,” came the stiff reply. “They come to us, of course, he has no need to stop at their premises in the town.”
“I see,” I said, still intent on faking my way through this.
“Your grandmother thought you might like to choose a personal maid from among the juniors,” Francis informed me. The head maid stepped out of line and gestured for the girls to come forward. That did put me in a pickle. Whoever I chose could either spy on me for my grandparents and the guys’ families, or they could maybe become a friend.
“I think I’d like to give each one a week’s trial, see how they do, and if we get on,” I said carefully. Laurent gave me an approving smile.
“Very well. Any preference as to who goes first?” Francis pressed.
“How about we go in alphabetical order?” Laurent suggested.
“Yes,” I decided. “Let’s do that. Going by the first letter of their first names.”
“Very well,” Francis replied, looking dour. I got the impression he’d hoped I would ask for advice, and they could pawn off their preferred choice onto me. Nope, not happening.
The maids stepped back.
“And your valets, young sirs?” Do you wish to choose from available staff, hire in new, or bring in those from your family homes?”
“We can dress ourselves,” Brent answered. “Since we’ll be sharing a single suite, any clothes that need tending to can surely be handled by our maid.”
Francis gawped at him. “The lady’s maid?”
Why would my maid be helping them? I had a feeling there was something I was missing.
“Surely it wouldn’t be that much more for her to handle laying out a few extra pairs of clothes? Though I dare say we could all manage by ourselves,” Laurent spoke up, casting a look at me.
Realizing that Laurent was insinuating that I could do without a maid at all, same as they could, Francis straightened his posture even more. “I dare say that would not be a problem.” He sniffed. “It would help ensure color coordination between you all for the more formal affairs.”
My heart sank. Formal affairs? My mind instantly flew to la-di-da affairs, with ball gowns and long tables covered in spotless white tablecloths, one of those wine serving dudes that would offer the host a cork to sniff before pouring him a sample to approve before leaving the bottle, cloth napkins, and worst of all, fifty bajillion different kinds of forks, knives, and spoons. Not only would I have no clue which utensil to use when, or possibly even how, but I hated wine unless it was in a sweet wine cooler. Not to mention George! I could just see it now, everyone gawking at me as I used a fish fork to eat my steak, when poof! George would appear and knock over my glass of red wine, staining and soaking the table cloth before trotting over to where the host sat and deliberately pushing some ultra-rare bottle of wine onto the floor. I was doomed.
“I think her brain shorted out again,” Charles said softly to Brent.
Overhearing, Francis sniffed. Then with a sneer, he said, “Yes, well, we’ll have to do something about her vacuousness. If you can get her to look pretty and say nothing, that should be fine. She’s a locii, so she doesn’t have to be competent in any magick as long as she can channel it. Perhaps we can get an order allowing us to bind her just enough that she can’t cast on her own, for safety’s sake.”
I glared at him. That was so not how being a locii worked. And did he just call me stupid? I might not know a whole lot about living the lifestyle of the rich and likes to think themselves famous or about magick in general, but I’d only just landed feet first into it all. Give a girl some time to adjust, will ya? And on that note…
“I was just thinking that perhaps a tutor might be in order,” I said archly. “Not one for magick, obviously, as I have the three most powerful young witches in the realm to assist me with that. I meant, of course, for all this.” I waved my hand about as if bored, gesturing to include the place as a whole. “Social niceties and cultural mores, you know the sort of thing.” I sniffed then leaned in conspiratorially. “Not like anyone back in that little hole I was kept in during my formative years thought to impart any proper culture to me.”
Francis gave me a look of grudging respect, buying every word of it. “But of course. I’ll see that I find someone appropriate. Perhaps you are your grandmother’s true heir, after all.”
That told me all I needed to know. Use the snooty manners and act like my shit didn’t stink in front of him and dear old Granny and her friends, and they’d think they’d won.
“I’m tired now. Could we finish meeting everyone later, such as when we actually require their personal attention?” I asked, carrying on my charade.
George turned round and round, tail in the air, purring in approval.
“Certainly, Miss Tuesday.” He snapped his fingers, and everyone except for Mrs. Murtagh melted away as if by magick. Which, now that I thought about it, it very probably was. Damn, I had so much to learn. Literally everyone knew how to hocus pocus better than me, including my own damned cat!
“I’ll show you to your rooms,” she said primly. I scooped up George, and we followed her up the grand staircase. “You have the Nautical Suite,” she informed us, turning left at the top of the stairs and leading us past doors bracketed with fancy painted portraits of people I guessed to be some of my ancestors. She finally came to a stop. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order, though the male dressing room did not have three men in mind when the house was designed,” she said, opening the door.
“Ladies first,” Laurent said as I stood there.
I flicked my eyes to him. “Isn’t this your room?”
Charles chuckled. “Oh, this is good.”
Laurent gave him a quelling look, then bestowed me with a gentle smile that seemed way out of character for him. Gone was the brusque guy I’d first met and the nice but to the point dude he’d become after we’d decided to try dating. I guess he got left behind in the car, and now I had sweet, caring Laurent. I was going to get whiplash if he kept changing personalities on me.
“Honey,” he said, making my heart sink. Starting off like that, his tone so super gentle, what he was about to say was going to be bad, I just knew it. “These are our rooms. All of our rooms.”
And there it was. Yup, we were bonded magickally and soon to be personally. Very personally. The magick part required intimacy. So…
“Oh! When she said nautical and mentioned male dressing rooms, I thought we were sleeping apart until after we formally bonded, in the married kind of way I mean. You know, the nautical room being for you guys, and she’d show me to mine afterward.”
Mrs. Murtagh snorted. “The more shenanigans you get up to together, the stronger the bond you’ll have, magickally and otherwise. She’s not wanting to keep you apart.”
I blushed. Well, that was awkward. Dear old granny wanted us all to screw like bunnies, and everyone knew it. I tried to recover my dignity by stepping inside and practically running over to the window—anything to not notice the humongous bed that took up most of the room.
“Oh, look, there’s a lovely garden out back, and a lake!” I cried, trying to shift attention elsewhere.
The guys came to stand next to me and looked out.
“Nice,” Brent agreed.
“Lake’s starting to ice over already,” Charles observed.
“I’ll send someone up with your dinner when it’s time since you’ll be wanting to settle in,” Mrs. Murtagh said. I heard the door shut after that.
I licked my lips. “So…” I said awkwardly.
“You said you were tired,” Laurent mentioned. “If you want to take a nap, I can see our things being put away.”
“Oh, Charles and I can help with that,” Brent said.
I smiled gratefully at them.
“That'd be nice.” I turned and slipped off my shoes and clambered into the enormous bed. Maybe if I slept long enough, I could sit and read while they took the bed tonight. Yeah, right.
Chapter 15
As I curled up on the bed, my mind raced. I’d not lied when I said I needed a nap. I did if I was going to stay awake most of the night and out of that bed so the guys could use it. I just wasn’t tired in the sleepy kind of way was the problem. I was sick and tired of all the jerking me around everyone I’d met so far had done. Case in point: my aunt and uncle, who I’m grateful for taking me in and raising me in a nice home, but who lied to me my whole life and didn’t even give me the chance to learn about this other world and my powers until they suddenly sprung it on me.
Discovery of Magick (Dark Light Academy Book 1) Page 12