“Rue…” Martin Hallow started, but I cut him off. I didn’t care that he seemed apologetic. I didn’t care that my truth was painful to him. Why would I care when they’d done this to me?
“This is your fault,” I stared at each of them in turn. And then glanced beyond to the Hallow Family Council, to the school board. “I am not a fool. I might have the inherited abilities that make me a natural keeper for the St. Angelus Thinning, but I don’t have the training in Necromancy or using ether. I am an excellent witch. I can’t say the same of being a necromancer.”
This time I met my necromancer professor’s eyes, “I didn’t study because I didn’t understand about talismans. I didn’t want to use the ether because I didn’t want to be keeper, and I thought I might call the talisman to me if I did. I will do better. I will catch up or I will start again next term.”
“You’re really the keeper?” He was a little man, delicate almost. His fingers were fine, his stature was minuscule, but his eyes were razor sharp and fixated on me.
“Currently, I had to bargain with Portia Hallow for help to save my sister from a haunt,” I said, letting the awkward truth out. She cleared her throat.
“I agreed to give Finn the chance to take it over. I believe he’ll be acceptable. So…keeper. But, not for long.”
“That endangers you,” the professor said. “Did she tell you that?”
“No.” I had no reason to soften the truth. And I didn’t bother to. None of these family members had proven to be my friends, and they certainly weren’t allies. “I would have done anything to save my sister. It’s why I got attacked by that haunt and why I am struggling harder to make it to class and function.”
The murmur of voices escalated and I faced Leander again. “What did you expect me to say? That I was working for my mother against the family? That I deserved to be kicked out?”
His rage had mottled his face. I’d turned the tides against him with my truth and what was ironic was how I would never have done it if he hadn’t forced it. I just wanted to go to school. I was 18. That was all I ever wanted for college. It was everyone else’s agendas that had brought us here.
“I would offer my services when you transfer the talisman,” the professor said.
“Thank you, but the Keeper of the Boston Thinning will be seeing to me.”
The murmurs were back. Given the reaction, I would guess that was a big deal. To say I didn’t know jack about necromancy wasn’t a joke. I knew less about being a keeper other than that my family had been the St. Angelus Keepers for a long time and they’d mostly been killed in the line of duty.
“David-Asao Knotley is coming? Oh my…”
I had no idea what that meant. David-Ado Knotley was the Keeper of the Boston Thinning, the uncle of Hiro Knotley, aka my half-brother I had just met. When I had told him what I promised, Hiro promised that I would be protected by his uncle. I guess that meant he was my uncle, but I wasn’t used to extraneous relatives and wasn’t sure what I thought about it all.
“Back to your continued attendance,” Leander said, ignoring that the feelings in the room had shifted towards me.
“Ok,” I said brightly. “But remember that in changing the school bylaws you have to dissolve the charter that they were created from, that includes the one that gives you that little control you have over my home and money.”
CHAPTER 2
“What should we do for Yule,” Bran asked as she kicked back on the couch, shifted, and shifted again. I still looked like an intern. Bran, however, looked like a rock groupie. Her long hair was a mess but fantastic. Her torn jeans showed the lines of muscle in her legs, and her tuned cuffs flashed at her wrists—funky and different. And…utterly witchy as they were embedded with spells to contain the haunt that was no longer bound to her soul.
My house, Martha, was many things, but she didn’t have much in the big cushy couch department. The TV also sucked. It was nice in its day. But that was 20 years ago, and Bran hadn’t stopped whining.
She hadn’t asked about the judgment the school had made me attend. It wasn’t that exciting. They hadn’t kicked me out, and I had been given over holiday break to catch up and bring my grades to passing. I was given special dispensation given my injuries. But also, probably, because I was who I was. I didn’t love it, but I would take it and be grateful for it.
“I don’t know,” I said, trying not to be sad and failing. I could see she was in the same predicament. Our family had fallen apart and we weren’t going home for the holidays. Usually the time when school released for Christmas was the perfect family time. Maybe the only time when we were all happy to be together. The only time when even Mother was on good behavior.
Daddy took over and he loved Christmas. After he and Mother had—well…I was going to say after they’d gotten together. But the truth was after Mother had stolen him from his life, he’d insisted on the traditional Christmas.
And, Daddy didn’t do Christmas small. He did it huge. He did both an advent calendar with small gifts and 12 days of Christmas experiences. On the 1st day of Christmas, we had hot cocoa floats. On the 2nd day, we watched the sun rise. On the 3rd day…but it didn’t matter, I thought, we’d never do those things again. We’d never have family Christmas again. Never again, would I wake to Daddy singing Christmas songs as he made sugar cookies.
We exchanged names with each other even though we always guessed who had us before Christmas was over. Daddy insisted we be clever for our secret santa gifts. They’d be hand crafted. Even Mother worked to please Daddy about Christmas. This year…Gods. We’d switched names before I had left for college. I had gotten Daddy. I’d been happy about that. I knew he didn’t sleep well. I had started to make him a quilt—even though I could barely sew. Before everything fell apart here, I’d planned something that would be embroidered with runes and spelled thread to encourage sleep. Why hadn't I found the time to finish it?
And yet, as I glanced at my sister, I realized there was a 50/50 chance that Branka had gotten Mother. Would Bran’s last memories of our childhood secret santa be tainted by all the horrible things that she would like to do to Mother for those days of gifting?
Don’t think about it, I told myself. Focus on the good.
I was a witch—and my Christian daddy wasn’t going to be living with me again. Most of my witch friends only celebrated Yule. And I did love Yule, too. I loved the bonfire we’d have with our coven. I loved singing the songs. I loved how our Christmas decorations and our Yule decorations intermingled in the house. I loved how Daddy worked so hard to make Yule wonderful too, even if his holiday was Christmas. He always put a pause on Christmas for Yule.
Our holidays ended on Boxing Day and an exchange of books. Mother always got us some witch book that she’d make sure we mastered over the coming year. Daddy always got us something frivolous.
Like with all things, Daddy cared more about what we loved. And Mother cared only about filling our arsenal. It didn’t matter that I better understood why now. That she’d seen her parents die. Followed quickly by her aunt. Sweet Hecate, my thoughts were depressing. I told myself to stare at the TV with Bran and watch this stupid show, but I didn’t care about it.
“What about Christmas?” Bran’s voice was carefully neutral. Maybe she realized that without Daddy…already we’d missed the beginning of our celebration with the day after Thanksgiving decorating. With the advent calendar that started on December 1. With the Christmas carols that would have been playing for at least a few weeks if not from before Halloween.
Gods, I was sad. I didn’t know what to do about it. I swallowed and shrugged.
“I want…” Bran flipped herself off the couch and onto the floor to stretch out. “I want a hot cocoa float with peppermint ice cream. I want my advent calendar with the weird crap Daddy throws in there. I want to already be sick of Santa Claus is Coming To Town. I want…”
The doorbell rang and our gazes met. Cyrus had flown out on Wednesday after his last fi
nal. Jessie had taken off two days later on the train. Felix and Chrysie had left on Saturday morning after classes.
“Your brother?”
I shook my head, Hiro didn’t come without at least texting me. Not since the first time. It was a long drive from Boston, and it would be stupid to show up if I weren’t around.
“HFC?” That was Bran’s code for the Hallow Family Council.
“Maybe,” I said, but I doubted it. They’d made their play for the day. I bet they wouldn’t harass me again for at least a few days.
“If it’s Mormon missionaries,” Bran said, standing up and stretching, “I’m going to set their bikes on fire.”
“Kay,” I replied taking over the couch. If you snuggled into just the right spot, you could almost think you were comfortable.
I heard Bran struggle down the hall. Neither of us were as limber as normal, and I was glad not to be the one answering the door.
“Oh my gods,” Bran squealed after I heard the door open.
I flipped off the couch and hurried to the front door. Only one person could bring that noise out of Bran. And yes, sweet blessed Hecate, yes! Bran was wrapped around a tubby little man with a bald spot and faded blue eyes.
“Daddy,” I breathed and then I was across the entrance hall and hugging them both so I could have a chance at my father.
Daddy wasn’t so much speaking as just murmuring nothings to us. And, I don’t think I’d ever needed to hear nonsense more than I needed to hear it then. I hadn’t believed he loved me anymore, but now…with his arms around me…I couldn’t deny it. I felt it through the instincts of my heart, I heard it through the tone of his voice, I saw it in the way his aura touched and welcomed ours in.
“Daddy,” I said again, closing my eyes and breathing him in again, cementing this moment in my head. “I…”
But I didn’t have anything to say. I just…
“Are you just going to leave me out here?” The voice was chilly and irritated. Bran, Daddy, and I all stiffened and as we pulled apart, I stared over Daddy’s shoulder at my mother.
“Oh my gods,” I said, wanting to yank Daddy in and tell Martha to lock Mother out.
“What in the everliving fu—” Bran started, but I cut her off.
“What are you doing here? Are you together? What? What is happening?”
My gaze darted between my parents and I wanted to yank Daddy away, tuck him behind me, and protect him from her.
“You can’t be here,” Bran told Mother flatly, “You need to leave.”
“I don’t think so,” Mother just as flatly and stepped into the house. I wanted to scream. She stepped in possessively—as if it was hers and we were just guests.
No.
“This is my house,” I told Mother, making my claim.
“I believe it was mine before it was yours,” Mother replied smoothly as she set down her purse on the table in the hall.
“You…gods…”
But my house, Martha, was the one who answered. A wind came up out of nowhere, and it pushed at Mother, backing her towards the front doors. Mother’s purse flew after and landed on the porch. Bran’s laugh rolled out. She was next to Daddy, arm linked with his, and we all watched wordlessly as Martha shoved and shoved at Mother who, stone-faced tried to push back with her magic. But she didn’t have any, so she stumbled back onto the porch. And the door was slammed in her face.
Bran broke into cackles and a slow smile spread over my face.
“Martha,” I said finally, “That’s enough.”
I opened the door as Martha’s wind dropped away, and Mother nearly fell when the pressure eased. As she got her balance back, the look I gave her told just whose house this was. I had already ensured she couldn’t take Martha from me through the Presidium. Mother had used magic to allow Martha to select her next heir. I had been chosen and what Mother had done was incontrovertible.
“When did you get here?” Bran asked Daddy tugging him away with their linked arms, leaving Mother behind without another word.
“A while now,” Daddy said. “My phone isn’t working and your Mother had things to do. She left me at the campus. It is lovely. I got out and walked around some.”
Daddy shook his head and I could read his face. He’d wanted to come straight here. But once again, Mother’s decisions had ruled.
Daddy shrugged off his frustration—he was, after all, so used to it. “I had hoped to see you walking around, girls. I kept looking for you.”
“Daddy,” I said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Mother cleared her throat, but neither Bran or I turned back to Mother. Daddy stumbled as he crossed the threshold. We grabbed and steadied him, but I didn’t miss the way his hands shook. Bran continued taking Daddy into the kitchen. I followed behind and felt Mother behind me.
In the light of the kitchen, it was apparent that he seemed to have a hard time focusing. And, later, when Bran let out a great guffaw of laughter, Daddy flinched. Bran’s arm was linked through Daddy’s as he flinched, and she paused just a second before squeezing his hand.
I could see the relief on her face. His state, sad though it was, meant that he hadn’t let Mother potion him again. Despite her presence, they were not together.
“Your father insisted on coming to see you,” Mother said from just behind me, speaking low. “Despite my reluctance given his state.”
I turned to face her, speaking low myself. “You’ve done this to him. It’s your fault he’s like this.”
“He won’t let me help him,” she said primly, sniffing, and then crossing her arms.
“And why would he?”
Mother flinched slightly. Was that…was that love in her gaze?
I looked over again, eyeing Daddy carefully. His hands still shook, he was pale. Gods. I needed to think, to analyze him, and see what I could do to help.
“What have you done?” I whispered.
“What was necessary,” Mother said in her flat, cool tone that brooked no opposition. Except I was no longer 14 and living in her house.
“Necessary for what?” I snapped, still speaking low, so Daddy couldn’t hear.
“Necessary for you and your sister to not be like me or Dominique or my Mother. I don’t regret it, even now. I would do it again, and I will not apologize.”
“This,” I told her, getting close to her face, “is why Daddy doesn’t love you.”
She flinched for certain that time and I felt a stab of guilt. Gods, why did I love her? Was I still some helpless 5-year-old, looking for her approval? Desperately making pentacles on the floor in my bedroom, so she wouldn’t be so disgusted with me? I wanted to apologize, it was instinctive. I didn’t though. I bit back the words and walked over to my sister and Daddy.
“Lean back, Daddy,” I said brightly. “Relax.”
There was water already on the stove for tea, and I made him some chamomile. It was time to start using those skills I had been so proud of when I came here. In my head, I was quailing. This was Daddy. I couldn’t screw up, but I didn’t quite know what to do.
While Daddy sipped his tea, I looked at his fingernails, into his eyes. I leaned close to take in his scent, and then back to watch him as he chatted with Bran. Occasionally, he’d lean over and squeeze my hand. He knew what I was doing. He had faith in me. Sweet Hecate, I wasn’t sure I was good enough for this type of problem and yet, who else would work as hard as me?
When I was making him a second cup of tea, I spoke to my mother. “You used jasmine, green willow, and celandine.
Her face was stone, but she nodded once.
“Did you change the standard recipe up at all?”
“I brought my recipe,” she said. “If he won’t take it again…I don’t know. I never expected to come to this.”
Mother was good at potions, but she was good at all kinds of magic. She’d trained me well. It had been a long time since I’d needed her help with potions, but it hadn’t been that long since I consulted her. The thing
was…for this…gods, I could never trust her input. Even the recipe she’d put together, I wasn’t sure I could trust what Mother had put in it. How I regretted Bran destroying all Mother’s potions. If she’d saved just some, I could have looked at the potion, tested it, deconstructed it.
“How can I trust you?” I shook my head and tapped my finger against the table, desperate for her help and knowing I couldn’t take it.
Mother looked at the recipe, back to me, and then raised one of those cold brows that declared that trusting her was my problem.
I huffed low and walked back to Daddy to kiss the top of his head, and then struggled up the stairs to my lab. Portia hadn’t let me do much magic since I’d been hurt. Making potions was a pretty low-level use of power. It wasn’t so much the overt use of magic, but the combining of ingredients that had been raised magically with skill and the use of just the right bits of magic. What I needed was to think carefully. To analyze and consider.
I pulled out my laptop and joined an online chat group about potions making. I had been in there for years, and they knew me. I typed in the recipe and Daddy’s symptoms asking for some help.
Across the world, people’s phones and computers were pinging with my question. We were a pretty close group. Hopefully…
My first reply was: WTF, P0ti0nzgurl.
I typed a quick response explaining the situation without identifying my parents. Most of the replies were more shocked exclamations than help. But the person I hoped would be on, PreciousRuby79 wasn’t there. I flicked the keyboard several times as people suggested several options—none of which rang right in my head.
As they chatted and I popped in and out, I googled withdrawals from drugs. Daddy had many of the symptoms. I’d even seen him sneeze several times in a row. His hands were shaky. He was tense much of the time. He seemed sick though the chamomile also seemed to help.
Poor Daddy. Poor, poor Daddy. He’d lost the epic love he’d been so proud of, our perfect family, and was facing an illness caused by the very woman he’d been so happy with.
Yule Graves: A Rue Hallow Mystery (The Rue Hallow Mysteries Book 5) Page 2