by Erin Hayes
Paris’ face paled. “What are you saying, then?”
“You know what I want, Paris. No. It isn’t even what I want. It’s what I need. What we both need. As soon as the marriage is final, you have to kill Julia.”
Chapter Nineteen
Julia stood in a corner, looking out the window. She should have been looking at herself in the mirror. Anytime she’d thought about this day as a little girl, she had always been looking at her own reflection.
Her wedding dress was gorgeous. Her mother and her exquisite taste made sure of that. But as it turned out, that didn’t matter to Julia.
For reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on, Julia felt sick.
No, that wasn’t true. She could put her finger on the reasons just fine. She knew exactly why she was feeling like this and exactly what she needed to do to put an end to it. But she couldn’t do it and, because of that, she didn’t want to admit the truth to herself anytime soon.
When Grandfather informed her that the wedding was being moved up to today, a chill ran through her body. She liked Paris. He was a good guy. He might even be a great guy. He was kind, and handsome, and they even seemed to have the same sense of humor. Heck, she would go as far as to say there was a bit of sexual tension between her and the Louisiana warlock.
But Paris wasn’t him. He wasn’t Roman.
She shuddered as she stared at the garden, the bright sun casting the day in a golden hue. It was a perfect day to be married…assuming that was what you wanted.
Julia heard the door swing open and, without even turning, she knew it was her mother.
None of the men would dare come bursting in on a bride as she readied herself, and Cassandra would have the common decency to at least knock first.
But Julia’s mother didn’t bother. She felt an ownership over this day, over what her daughter was doing to both protect her coven and set herself up for the rest of her life.
It was no more than she had even wanted for her daughter, and Julia knew that. That was why she wouldn’t turn to meet her.
“My daughter,” she said, and Julia could hear the smile in her voice.
She could also hear the vodka.
“Really mother?” she asked, still looking out the window. “You couldn’t even wait until after the ceremony?”
“You know what they say,” her mother said. “It’s never too early to start celebrating something wonderful.”
“Who says that?” Julia asked.
Her mother shuffled toward her, and in addition to hearing it in her voice, Julia could now smell the drink on her mother’s clothes: sweet and sour like cheap candies.
“Something tells me you might need one, too,” she said, settling beside Julia. “A head start, I mean.”
Julia shook her head. “I’m not drinking today.”
“That’s not the sort of head start I meant,” she answered, chuckling bitterly. “You look like you’re a notion or two away from heels meeting pavement.”
“You think I’m going to run?” Julia asked, finally turning to her mother. The woman was worn and tired in a way that couldn’t be completely attributed to the alcohol.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” her mother said, shaking her head. “But no. I don’t think you’re going to run. Not really. You seem different than you did last year. More—”
“Defeated?” Julia supplied.
“I was going to say mature.” Her mom clicked her tongue. “I don’t suppose there’s much of a difference between the two, is there?”
Julia’s mother marched to a nearby counter and poured two glasses of scotch. Picking up the glasses, she walked back over to her daughter.
“Mother, I told you I’m not drinking today.”
“I know what you said, sweetheart, but I also know what you need.” She shoved the glass into Julia’s hands, nearly spilling it all over the wedding dress. “Listen to your mother.”
Julia did as she was told and sipped at the liquor. It was smooth in the best way, but didn’t do much to lift her spirits.
“Have I ever told you about the day I married your father?” Julia’s mother asked.
“I don’t think so,” Julia answered, committing to the whole ‘head start’ idea and taking another sip.
“That’s because I respect you too much to lie to you, and no one should have to hear horrible things about the day their parents were married.”
Julia looked over at her mother, her eyebrows arching the way only her mother could provoke.
“You’re far from the only Fairweather woman to give of herself for the good of the family. The whole idea might as well be branded across our rears at birth.” She shrugged, then took another swig of her drink. “Covens are like kingdoms sometimes, and no queen comes out of her kingdom unscathed. We’re property to them, chess pieces and all that. I’m sure you’ve heard about it in history class.”
“I’ve lived with it,” Julia muttered. “I always knew this was a possibility, Mother. I just never thought it would—”
“Happen to you?” she asked. “Neither did I. The whole thing seems of a different time, doesn’t it? But it isn’t. It’s right now, sweetheart. It’s your life and it’s the only one you get. And yes, it isn’t fair. And yes, you could run away if you really wanted to. I won’t even try to stop you. But you won’t. You’ll march down that aisle, marry that scrumptious little ginger with the ass made of marble, and make the best life that you can with him.” She pursed her lips, swirling her drink with an empty gaze. “And when you have a daughter and you get the urge to tell her what it was like for you the day you got married.” She looked over at Julia. “You won’t.”
Julia looked her mother up and down, focusing on the creases on her face: the sad, sad creases. How much longer until her face started wrinkling like that, before the weight of this life she was about to sign up for began to tear her down, slumping her over the way Grandmother was slumped, forcing a glass into her hand?
“Good of you to stop by, Mother,” Julia said, motioning toward the door.
Julia’s mother stared at her, but didn’t seem surprised at her daughter’s eagerness to be rid of her.
“Anything for my girl,” she answered. She finished off her drink, grabbed the glass from Julia’s hand, finished that one as well, and marched out the door.
When the door closed with more force than necessary, Julia barely startled. She slumped against the window, catching sight of herself in the mirror.
There she was, all dressed up in white and diamonds. Beautiful, with her hair pulled back and her makeup just right. But she didn’t look like herself. She couldn’t exactly put herself in herself. It was as though she was looking at a stranger, and that made her more than a little worried.
The last time she felt this way, the last time she felt this out of place in her own skin, she was on the cusp of something horrible.
Her mental break had savaged her. It had taken everything from her—her very identity. And here she was, very likely going through the same damn thing all over again.
Her breaths came heavy and labored. Would this be it? Would this moment—losing Roman, giving herself away to a man she didn’t want to marry—push her over the edge…again?
“No,” Julia said firmly to her reflection.
This woman—this beautiful woman in the mirror—it was her. She was strong. Strong enough to do what she had to, what her mother had done before her, and what the ancestors asked of her with their muffled riddles.
And she would look like a million bucks doing it.
The music started playing way too soon. It felt as if she had just been in that room, staring out the window and wishing things were different. And now she was here, listening to the wedding march with her grandfather by her side.
Julia looked over at the man. For all the weariness showcased on her mother’s face, Grandfather seemed to radiate youthful energy. Was it a spell or just good living that kept the old man impervious to the ravages of
time?
Maybe he was just happy.
As she looked at him, Julia couldn’t help but think of everything that had happened, of everything that brought her back here.
Grandfather was to die soon. The oracle said as much. But ‘soon’ could mean any number of things. Perhaps Julia would have a child or two before her grandfather kicked the proverbial bucket. Or maybe he wouldn’t make it to the end of the altar with her. Either way, it would seem too soon.
Julia swallowed hard. This was such a strange life, such a strange family. Here she was, being forced to marry someone against her will. And, at the same time, she was riddled with fear that the very same person who was making her do it would soon leave her life forever.
Family was a hell of a thing. It had the ability to break you and rebuild you. And, more times than not, it did both.
“Are you ready, my darling?” Grandfather asked, extending his arm to her.
“As ready as I can be,” she said, taking it.
The old man smiled. “Have I told you how proud of you I am, Julia?”
She blinked hard. “No, Grandfather. I don’t believe you have.”
“How unforgivable of me,” he said as the double doors swung open.
The pair stepped out into the courtyard, the sun beaming down as if it approved of this entire mess and wanted to make sure everyone in attendance knew as much.
The idea to have the ceremony at the Covington family home was born more out of necessity than anything else. Moving a wedding up was tough business, and it turned out that even witchcraft wasn’t enough to force your way into a venue during the city’s wedding season.
Still, Julia had to admit that this was beautiful—more stunning than she had even imagined as a little girl.
As her family, along with the Wheeler coven, turned back to catch a glimpse of her, it took all Julia could do not to cry out.
What she would say, she didn’t know. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was filled with emotion, and she had no idea what to do with it.
“I am, you know,” Grandfather said as they took their first steps toward the rose-accented altar. “Proud of you, I mean.”
Petals fell from flowers and magically lay underfoot of Julia as she stepped in tune with the song.
It would have been absolutely perfect if the man she was walking toward happened to be someone else.
But he wasn’t.
He was Paris Wheeler, the flame-kissed Southern gentleman who had saved her life as well as her future.
There were worse things she could do than tie herself to a good guy, but, whatever they were, she couldn’t quite think of them right now.
Her chest tightened and her breath seemed to shallow out.
“Did you hear me, my darling girl?” Grandfather asked. “I am so very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Grandfather,” Julia said, though she wondered how proud of her he would be if he knew that she still held the potion Roman gave her on her person. It sat tucked in her bosom, like a reminder of the man she should be marrying.
And maybe that was the only reason it was there at all.
Julia looked up at Paris. His entire body seemed to be smiling somehow as she neared him.
In stark contrast to the way she always thought she would feel as she neared the end of her wedding march, Julia deflated.
But deflation was not defeat. She could do this. She would do this. She would make her family proud, strengthen her coven, and be the witch part of her always knew she would have to become. She would put away childish things. She would put away love, at least the all-consuming variety. And maybe, just maybe, she would find something worthy of herself while doing it.
A girl could dream, right?
Her feet reached the last step before the altar. She turned to Grandfather, handed him her bouquet, and turned back to face Paris again.
She didn’t know what her face looked like, but she hoped it betrayed none of the hesitation that had colored her up until this moment. Paris was sweet and kind. And besides, someone deserved to have a nice wedding day out of all this.
He reached for her hand, and she offered it to him, but he didn’t grab it. There just wasn’t time.
In an instant that shook Julia to her core, the earth ruptured.
Like a child throwing a tantrum or a long simmering revenge finally being cut loose, the world itself broke and crackled underfoot.
Julia staggered backward as screams and cries filled the air.
Was this an earthquake?
In Georgia?
Suddenly, and with as much ferocity as the shaking, the sky rumbled.
No. This wasn’t an earthquake. It wasn’t a tsunami or even a storm. Bile rose in Julia’s throat as the realization of what was going on settled onto her. This was a spell. Dark magic. And it had Roman Blackwood written all over it.
The clouds thickened above them and then, in what had to be the most terrifying visual of her entire life, Julia watched as fire rained from the sky above.
“My God…” she mumbled as the balls of flame struck the earth, the chairs, the altar, and even some of the people.
Fire burst through the area, destroying everything it touched.
She winced as pained screams split through the air from the mouths of loved ones who had come to witness what was supposed to be a joyous occasion.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. There was nothing left to do. This was too much. It was too hard.
And it was never going to stop.
Her eyes drifted upward just as a ball of fire rocketed right toward her. There may have been time to move. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. They had lived in the feud, and now they would die in it. Adam Blackwood knew that. Aria Fairweather knew that. And soon she would know it, too.
The fire was almost on her. Julia took a deep breath and tried her best to make peace within herself. She was unsuccessful, of course. But she got the feeling that most people were when faced with their end. It was hard, she mused, to boil everything down to one sentiment. Life wasn’t like that and, as it turned out, death wasn’t, either.
The fireball twisted in midair, changing direction and striking a nearby empty chair.
Julia looked behind her to find Roman standing near the back. He was joined by every Blackwood Julia could think of, save April. His hand was outstretched, obviously guiding the fireball away from her.
Her heart jumped at the sight of him, but broke for the loss of everything else.
“Run,” he mouthed.
She turned in a slow circle. Everything was in chaos. The earth was still shaking. The house she grew up in was crumbling at her feet. Her wedding dress was ruined, and the man she loved was responsible for so much of it.
Run? She couldn’t run from this. If she did, none of this would ever end, not without a sacrifice equal on both sides. Nothing less than blood and death would put an end to this, and there was only one person who was connected to all three of the covens here today.
Her.
Julia reached into her shirt, pulled out the bottle Roman gave her, and popped open the lid. She pushed it against her lips and tilted it upright, letting the sour nectar run down her throat.
If it did its job—if it made her appear to be dead—then maybe that would be enough. Maybe her perceived loss would be enough to bring about a halt to all of this. And, even if they ended up burying her in the ground, even if she never saw the sunlight again, that would make it all worth it.
Roman fought his way toward her as the bottle fell from her lips. She tossed it away. No one but Roman was looking at her through the chaos, but she couldn’t afford to be found with it. Her death needed to look natural—like an accident.
Like a tragedy.
He was close now, though he wouldn’t make it. Her legs were too weak for that. Her eyes were too heavy.
“I love you,” she whispered as he broke through the last of the fighting.
But before he co
uld reach her—before he could answer—the world went black.
Chapter Twenty
The attack was last minute and more than a little haphazard. Convincing his father that now was the time to strike, while the Fairweather and Wheeler covens were all crammed together in their stronghold, hadn’t been an easy sell for Roman.
In the end, he appealed to his father’s sense of vanity. He knew that the older man was of the impression that the Blackwoods were far more powerful than any competitor. Jumping off that point, having all of their common enemies shuffled into the same place like cattle made it easier for them to be picked off all at once.
Roman told his father that it was the most logistically reasonable thing to do. It was a good idea in terms of both war strategy and common sense.
At least, that was the lie he was trying to sell.
In truth, the reason Roman wanted to attack now was much more personal, much more relatable.
What he had heard back in the city shook his entire world. Knowing that Cassandra was in on this and, worse than that, that she planned to have Julia executed right after the wedding, was enough to send Roman on a full-tilt rage.
He needed to be smarter about it than that, though. He couldn’t just go in there, powers at the ready. He would have been blown to bits before he got close enough to Julia to even warn her.
He could have called. He could have even invaded her dream again like he did before. But things were different now, and he wasn’t sure what sort of eyes Cassandra had on her more talented cousin.
Roman had heard of witches who could gleam the very thoughts from another person’s mind. If that was the case, then Julia even knowing about this would put her in danger. No. It would be better to do it this way, to get in and extract her. And hey, if Cassandra and Paris got their asses handed to them in the process, then so be it.
Truth be told, this wasn’t even about the Fairweathers anymore. Sure, it was for Roman’s father and the rest of his family. But he hadn’t told them the truth about what was going on. Even April didn’t know the extent of what Roman had heard that night. There was little need to put anyone, his sister included, in more danger than they already were.