by Erin Hayes
“You’re just not thinking,” she said, and Roman’s anger started edging toward a tipping point.
“You keep saying that, April, and it’s no more true than the first time!” His hands curled into fists at his side. “I am sure as shit thinking, I assure you. I’m thinking about the fact that my brother is gone, and that my sister isn’t on my side.”
“Of course I’m on your side,” she said, sighing. “I’m on your side even when you’re not. Have you even thought about her, Roman? Have you thought about Julia at all?”
He blinked hard. “Shut up, April,” he said. “This doesn’t have anything to do with her.”
“You’re declaring war on her coven, Roman. Her family. How on earth could it not have anything to do with her?”
“Because she isn’t part of that coven,” he answered gruffly. “She left it almost two years ago. And if she goes through with marrying that ginger dickhead, then she’ll be part of the Louisiana Coven, not the Moon Coven.”
“The Louisiana Coven has ties with the Moon Coven, Roman. They would be forced to come to their defense. And even if they didn’t, it’s still her family. Do you really think she would ever look at you the same if you hurt them?”
“I’m not doing anything to her family that they haven’t done to mine.”
“But she didn’t do it to you, Roman. That’s the point.” April crossed her arms. Roman hated when April crossed her arms, because it always happened right when she knew she was right and when she knew he knew it, too. “I told her, and I’ll tell you. You’re never going to be happy without each other. It’s just not going to happen.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “When?”
“When what?”
“When did you talk to her, April? She just got back in town.”
“I…”
“April, don’t you dare lie to me.”
“Last night,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the door she’d come in. “It wasn’t like that, though. I just wanted to make sure she was—”
“Our brother wasn’t even cold!” he screamed.
“She loved him, too, Roman. You know she did,” April said, facing Roman once more. “And now she’s going to be blamed with the rest of them.”
“She won’t,” he said, steeling himself. “You shouldn’t have gone there. You shouldn’t have talked to her at all, let alone last night. But she won’t be hurt.” Roman nodded firmly. “Whatever happens, I’ll take care of Julia Fairweather.”
“Yeah,” April said, her tone deflating. “I hope you’re right. Because honestly, I don’t see that one going over well with the rest of our coven.”
Chapter Eleven
Julia fidgeted nervously as the lady stuck another pin into her dress. At least the woman actually hit cloth this time and not Julia’s leg again.
She bit her bottom lip, unable to really put into words how wrong all of this felt.
First of all, this dress—it was a joke. A long white thing with tapered flowers and fluffy lace, it certainly wasn’t something she ever imagined she would be getting married in. But it had belonged to Paris’ mother and, given that she was dead and all, Julia didn’t feel like she could really protest too much.
“Don’t focus so much on the legs,” Julia’s mother said, looking her daughter up and down. “They’re not much to look at anyway. And besides, we have got to do something about that waistline.”
Julia blew a stray strand of hair from her lips. “My mother, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. If I don’t tell you these things, then you won’t know them. And wouldn’t you rather it be me criticizing you than the guests?” She scrunched her nose. “Witches can be real bitches, you know.”
“Right,” she answered, looking out the window. Everything seemed so surreal. It had been just days ago that Roman had stood there, cursing her family, vowing revenge. The bulbs of the plant she’d forced up were still hanging in the air. She turned back to her mother. “It just doesn’t seem right.”
“What’s that, dear? Your hair? No, I agree, but don’t worry. I have a spell that’ll make it look at least fifty percent less drab.” She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe I should up the potency.”
“Not that, Mother.” Inwardly, Julia groaned. “There’s a war going on—a literal war. Adam Blackwood is dead. The customary mourning period hasn’t even passed. And here we are, planning a lavish wedding and celebration. It seems wrong. Wasteful.”
“It’s only wasteful if you don’t enjoy it, my dear.”
“Then it’s definitely going to be wasteful…”
Her mother moved forward, looking down at the seamstress, who was still working on the ugly dress.
“Leave us,” she ordered.
She glared at the back of the older woman’s head as she scurried out of the room and closed the door behind her.
“How completely spoiled are you?” Julia’s mother crossed her arms and strolled in a slow circle around where Julia sat. “Was it your father’s family? Did life on that ranch make you forget what it was like to have real responsibilities?”
“It was a farm,” Julia muttered. “And there was a hell of a lot more responsibility there than ever will be here. I worked. I had chores. It mattered where I was and what I did. Look at you. You sleep until noon and spend your entire day drinking martinis and gossiping about people.” Julia stood, stepping in closer to her Mother. “If anyone is spoiled, it’s you.”
“Are you under the assumption that I was in love with your father?” Julia’s mother asked. “Your father was a political advantage. The mortals had a coalition back then. They were rich in dark artifacts and unspoken history. But they were starting to grow wary and untrusting of our coven’s growing influence. My marriage to him quelled those fears.”
Julia swallowed hard. She had never really thought much about her parents’ relationship with each other. “And where are they now?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of any human coalition.”
“Well.” Julia’s mother smiled. “Let’s just say they were right to be wary. The point is, we all do things we don’t want to do, things we’re sure we can’t.” She touched her hair. Not to fix anything, but more as a matter of show. “The truth is, we can force ourselves to do anything so long as we stop caring. And look on the bright side. You got a good one.” She gave her daughter a wink. “I’d love to get a piece of that ginger snap.”
“Mother!”
Julia’s mother just shrugged, a playful grin tipping up the corners of her lips. “There’s no reason a mother in law can’t look, dear. It’s not like I’m dead or anything.”
The next few days were long and fraught with tension. Though preparations for the wedding were in full swing, the threat of war hung heavy. And yet her mother did not so much as pause.
Daffodils or white roses?
Chocolate cake, or vanilla? Both?
Chicken or duck? Lemon bridesmaids dresses or burgundy.
Should they choose the food before the dress or the dress before the food. They should go together. Duck with the Burgundy dresses and white roses, vanilla cake…or Chicken with the lemon dresses and chocolate cake.
Julia, mind heavy with worry, let her mother decide on all the wedding arrangements. She had more important things to focus on. Such as the ancestors, who were still speaking to her in nonsensical whispers. Maybe it might be nice to know what they had to say about all this.
She pursed her lips as she folded another shirt into a moving box. It didn’t matter what the ancestors had to say. After the wedding, she would be forced to live with Paris’s coven, and her ancestors didn’t whisper through the walls at his place.
Julia flopped down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Did the dead Blackwood ancestors talk to their coven as well? And, if so, was Adam’s voice now whispering to some poor soul alongside them?
Thinking on this, she closed her eyes. She’d meant to get back up again, but stress was the stro
ngest sleep aid, and she found herself pulled under as if by spell.
She should have dreamt of her fiancé. But dreams have a mind of their own, so of course she dreamt of Roman. Of his hands on her body, his lips against her mouth, the nibble of his teeth on her neck, the pinch of his fingers around her nipple.
This was not the touch of the enemy.
But the screams that woke her in the dead of night told her otherwise.
The screaming wasn’t from inside her coven’s home, though. She didn’t find out until the next morning what had happened.
It was one of the Fairweather’s safe houses. One they used to conduct business, one that Grandfather assured his business associates was hidden by impenetrable magic. It had been attacked. The wooden walls had turned to stone, as did everything inside.
Thankfully, no one died. But one of Grandfather’s lower level employees did end up with a stone hand out of it. Unfortunately, that was only the beginning. In the nights to follow, there were more attacks. None, however, haunted her as much as the last one.
The lake house that Julia had spent much of her youth in burst into chrono flames—a fire that could not be put out until it ran its course. The lake house burned for days. No water—rain, snow, no incantation—could stop it.
She watched it burn and, with it, her hope for peace.
Paris’ father set his silverware down a little too roughly at the dinner table. “This is getting out of hand,” he said evenly. “Now, I’m not the kind of man to tell another man what kind of meat to roast over his fire, but I think I’ve got to throw my two cents in here.” He picked up the pork chop they were having for dinner with his bare hands and bit off a huge chunk. Chewing it openmouthed, he added, “These Blackwood folks are bad news. We need to stick a branding iron up their asses and get this damn nonsense over with!”
Paris shot Julia an apologetic glance from across the table. He, like her, seemed more than a little uneasy about the way their respective parents seemed to be handling this.
Julia shot him a similar look, one meant to tell him that the apology wasn’t necessary.
“While I wouldn’t necessarily disagree with you, Mr. Wheeler, I have to ask that you refrain from that sort of language in mixed company,” Grandfather said, shuffling in his chair. “It’s a matter of propriety.”
Mr. Wheeler scoffed through a mouthful of pork. “They’ve all heard worse, Fairweather. If y’all don’t get your act together, they’ll be living through it too.” He looked squarely at Julia. “And, if that happens, then a branding iron in the ass will be the least of your problems.”
Paris stood quickly and looked at Julia. “Let’s go!” he said abruptly. Then he smiled nervously. “I mean, let’s take a walk?”
“Great idea,” Julia said, rising opposite of him. The two met at the end of the table, and Julia let him take her hand.
“Have fun, you two,” Grandfather said. “And be careful.”
Julia nodded. “We won’t leave the grounds,” she promised before they continued outside.
They walked around for almost an entire minute before Julia pulled her hand away from Paris’. He looked at her just then, but there wasn’t much hurt in his eyes. Maybe he understood. Maybe he had someone back home, too, someone he was less than happy about leaving behind.
But that was duty for you.
Whatever the reason, Julia was happy that she was at least marrying someone who wasn’t intent on pushing her faster than she was comfortable with.
“I know things might seem hard now,” Paris started, swallowing hard. “But it won’t always be. You just—you have to keep something in mind while all of this is happening.”
“That we have to stay strong. That it’s important to our way of life. That we have to hold tightly to what our forefathers built for us,” Julia recited, rolling her eyes. “I appreciate it, Paris. But I’ve heard it all before.”
“They’ll all be dead soon,” he answered flatly.
Julia tilted her head curiously. “What’s that?”
“That’s what I was going to say,” he answered. “We’re the future, Julia. You, me, Cassandra, even Roman—we’re going to be around long after the old guard is dead and gone. If we want this feud ended, if we want a different way of life, then it’s up to us to make it.” He pushed his shoe against the paved walkway and blew out a low breath. “Not to sound like a fortune cookie or anything, but the future belongs to us.”
Julia blinked, then paused. It felt as though a weight had lifted off her back. She had never thought of it that way, like the feud was something that could be ended, like her life was something she could own and shape the way she wanted and saw fit.
“You know,” she said softly. “You might be—”
Julia felt the strong push of energy as it swept past her and knocked into Paris, pitching him off his feet. He landed on his back with a thud, and Julia knelt to help him.
“My God.” She gasped. “What happened?”
“Get away from him.”
Julia heard the voice as clear as day. Though, even if it hadn’t been clear, she’d have still recognized it. “Roman, what are you doing here?”
Her heart broke as she took him in. He looked tired and worn. And more than that, he looked sad. Broken.
“You know better than this,” she said, blinking back tears.
He was on Fairweather property again, and there was no way she could save him twice. “I used to,” he said. “Now do what I said, and get away from him.”
“He didn’t do anything,” Julia said, fury building in her chest. She was angry at him. Not for the war or for the feud, but for throwing away everything they ever had by choosing those two things over their history together. “This isn’t his fault.”
“Wasn’t Adam’s fault, either,” Roman said, energy pooling around his hands. “That didn’t stop it.”
Her throat closed in as she tried to find the words she thought might stop his hand. All she had was, “I’m begging you not to do this, Roman. Please.”
“You don’t have to fight for me, Darlin’,” Paris said, sitting upright. “I’m a Louisiana boy. I can do plenty of that myself.”
Paris twisted his hand, and the energy around Roman doubled.
Roman’s eyes went wide.
“Yeah,” Paris said, winking at the other warlock. “Neat little trick I learned in the swamps. Wanna see another?”
He twisted his hand again, and Roman started sinking into the earth.
Roman closed his eyes, whispered something Julia couldn’t hear, and the earth startled cracking around him.
“Awe, don’t do that,” Paris said. “You’ll mess up the roses.”
He twisted his hand again, and Roman started sinking faster.
“Th—” Roman started, but Paris twisted his hand, catching the breath in Roman’s throat.
“I’ve heard just about enough of that.” He leered at Roman. “Now you listen to me. The way I see it, you and me got no beef. Let’s not start making trouble where we don’t have to.”
Julia lunged forward to stop Paris, but he stuck out his arm to stop her, never taking his eyes off Roman.
“What’s going on between our folks don’t have to affect us,” Paris continued. “If you see it different, then I’ll kindly remind you that you’re the one halfway in the ground right now.”
He walked closer. Roman’s breath sputtered.
“Get your ass out of here, and don’t come back,” Paris said.
He twisted his hand again and the earth spit Roman back out, pushing him toward the outer gates.
“This is an act of kindness, Roman. You only got it because it seems like my girl didn’t want to see you die.” He sneered as the gates slammed shut with Roman on the other side. “That won’t stop me twice.”
Chapter Twelve
April’s glare burned into Roman from across the room. “For God’s sake, Roman. Keep the sage on.”
He was bruised with a cut lip and a
swollen eye. But that wasn’t the worst of his injuries. He was also angry, embarrassed, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, more than a little sad.
“I’m not interested in the Goddamn sage, April,” he said, tossing the plant to the ground.
“Well, you should be.” She marched over with clenched teeth and scooped it back up. “It’s the only thing that’s going to promote healing fast enough for you to hide your little excursion from the rest of the coven.”
She pressed it back against his swollen eye and stood there.
“Who says I want to hide it?” he asked, daring her to disagree with him.
“I say it.” She shook her head. “I mean, seriously. What possessed you? You didn’t have approval from Father and, what’s more, you got your ass kicked. So yeah, if I were you, I’d want to keep that under wraps.”
Roman scoffed, averting his gaze, and batted the sage away. “Adam is dead,” he said flatly. “What was I supposed to do?”
April crushed the sage in her hand and let it fall back to the floor. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, narrowing the eye that wasn’t swollen shut at her. Thankfully, it was the one he could still see out of.
“Adam was killed by the Fairweathers. You didn’t attack a Fairweather.”
“That swamp rat might as well be a Fairweather,” he muttered. “He’s joining them. He’ll pay like the rest of them do.”
“What is he going to pay for exactly, Roman?” April asked. “Because he had nothing to do with Adam’s death, and he sure as hell had nothing to do with this ridiculous feud. So, the way I see it, you want him to pay for the fact that he’s marrying Julia. And the sooner you admit the way you feel about that, the better off all of us will be.”