Marked Descendant

by L. D. Goffigan

  “And you’ve never told me why you’re helping us. Don’t just say because you want to help, and it’s the right thing to do,” he said.

  Elisabetta expelled a sigh, closing her eyes.

  “I fell in love with a witch; his name was Sebastian.” Her entire face lit up when she spoke his name, and she smiled. “He saw beyond my darkness; something I didn’t even believe myself.”

  “But . . . you hate witches,” Alaric said, frowning.

  “Hated,” Elisabetta corrected, “and humans. At least I thought I did, before Sebastian. He made me see the error of my ways. We—we only had a few years together,” she added, her voice wavering. “A few months ago, members of the Order killed him; they’d tortured him for days. They left their mark on him, and inscribed words into his flesh. ‘Blood Beast Prey’.” Elisabetta looked away, a blood tear coursed down her cheek at the memory. “He didn’t deserve such a death. The old me would have craved revenge and killed every witch I could find. But my love for him changed me. Joining the Alliance was my way of atoning . . . and my way of stopping the Order. I loved him the way you love Naomi. I wanted to protect him, the way you want to protect her. But I failed. That’s why you want to marry her, isn’t it? For another form of protection?” she asked suddenly, a look of realization dawning on her face. “You’ve heard about some Order witches honoring those types of bonds, haven’t you? I’ve heard the same. I was planning to wed Sebastian for similar reasons. But now . . . I think nothing would have stopped them from killing him.”

  Alaric stiffened. Was his true intention that transparent?

  “I married Naomi because she’s the love of my life,” he said stiffly.

  “Well, there’s someone I loved just as much. The Order took him from me. I want them stopped. That’s all there is to it.”

  She sped away from him into the forest. Alaric stared after her, stunned. The pain written in her expression had been real. He’d never imagined Elisabetta capable of love; real love. Their stories were eerily similar; losing Ileana compelled him to join the Alliance. Elisabetta had changed after all.

  He turned and froze. Naomi stood behind the patio door, staring at him, her eyes filled with fury. She was shaking, trying to keep her magic contained.

  How had he not scented her? He was always aware of Naomi’s presence. And what was she so furious about?

  He stepped towards her, but she stumbled back, glaring at him. Panic spiraled through him. She must have overheard his conversation with Elisabetta; about him threatening her in London, which he hadn’t told Naomi about. And, most importantly, she’d overheard his true reason for wanting to marry her. Bloody hell.

  “Naomi,” he began, stepping forward, “let me—“

  But in a flash she was gone, apparating from his sight.

  Chapter 21

  Naomi apparated to a forest clearing just beyond the cabin. She knew she’d worry the others with her temporary disappearance, but at the moment she couldn’t care less.

  She had to admit that jealousy played a part in her listening in on Elisabetta and Alaric’s conversation. She’d used a Disguising spell to mask her scent so she could listen in without Alaric scenting her. Naomi trusted Alaric and didn’t doubt his love for her, but her petty human side didn’t like her fiancé having an intimate conversation with his beautiful ex. She’d felt guilty about her eavesdropping, and had every intention of dropping the Disguising spell and making her presence known, when Elisabetta had mentioned him approaching her in London . . . and ascertained his reason for marrying her.

  Heartbreak and disbelief collided in her chest. Not only had he lied to her about seeing Elisabetta in London, he’d repeatedly insisted that he wanted to marry her for no other reason than love. She could tell by the way he’d reacted to Elisabetta’s question that he did have an ulterior motive. Protection.

  Tears blinded her eyes. She loved Alaric with everything she had—as her equal, as her partner. Did he still see her as the quarry the Alliance assigned him to protect? A weak damsel unable to fend for herself?

  He has his reasons, a phantom voice reminded her. He’d already lost someone he loved; he’d seen so much death in his long life. It made sense for him to be protective of her. But hiding things from her? Marrying her just to protect her? Tendrils of pain encircled her heart, and her feet lifted off the ground as her emotions whirled through her. But she didn’t try to calm herself, allowing her emotions and her magic to entwine. Naomi closed her eyes as her body soared into the air, hot tears coursing down her cheeks.

  She didn’t know how long she hovered in the air, but when she finally allowed her body to sink to the ground, she sensed Alaric’s presence. She turned to face him. The remorse and pain in his expression was so raw she averted her gaze. How had he found her?

  “Our bond,” he said, answering her silent question, “and your scent. I was worried. Naomi, if you’ll just let me—“

  “You lied to me, Alaric,” she said. Her voice was flat, barren; her searing anger had cooled to a dull ache. At first, she’d fought him to love her, now she fought him to see her. As his equal. Wasn’t he the one who told her how powerful she was? Did he really believe that, or were they just words?

  She closed her eyes, expelling a breath. At the moment, her heartbreak didn’t matter. There was still a task at hand; a monumental one. They were on the run from their former allies, and another Descendant was out there, intent on wreaking havoc. She’d have to shutter her pain away.

  “I need time,” she whispered.

  The look of torment on Alaric’s face twisted at her heart. But she had to stand firm; he needed to understand that she wouldn’t let him treat her as anything less than his equal partner, not someone he couldn’t trust to fend for herself, someone he hid things from.

  “Vampire bonds are usually unbreakable,” he bit out, and she saw a sheen of blood tears form in his eyes. “But I I could talk to Madalena about the spells we could take to undo it.”

  Panic hit her, and she blinked back another wave of tears. She was furious with him, but breaking their bond hadn’t crossed her mind. Would he give up on them so easily? She recalled how reluctant he’d been to get involved with her in the first place, and her pain intensified. But she kept her expression stoic.

  “We need to focus on finding Genevieve and stopping her,” she said, her voice firm and steady, though she wanted to scream. “And then—“ she faltered; her heart was breaking. “And then we can decide.”

  “You need to know this,” Alaric said, stepping forward. “And then I—I’ll give you your space. But everything I’ve done has been out of love. You—“ his voice broke. “You are my entire world, Naomi. Everything ends without you. I will do whatever it takes to make you forgive me.”

  “Trust me as your equal. See me as the powerful witch you keep telling me I am and not a child you need to protect,” Naomi said, eyes blazing. Her voice broke, as she continued, “Marry me because you love me, not—“

  “I do. I do, Naomi—”

  “No. Your words are one thing,” she said. “Your actions another.”

  She closed her eyes to block out his heartbroken face, and apparated back to the cabin.

  Naomi barely slept that night. Alaric had given her their bedroom to sleep in alone, and the bed was cold and empty without him. When she did drift off to sleep, images of Genevieve, Isobel, Camille, and the dead humans they’d found in Seward Park filled her dreams. She even saw her parents, smiling and happy on their wedding day. And finally, images of Alaric. Alaric making love to her, proposing to her, taking that Killing spell for her back in Greece.

  She woke up with tears in her eyes, and blinked them away. Now is not the time to focus on your heartbreak, she reminded herself, for the millionth time. Genevieve. She needed to focus on finding Genevieve.

  She allowed her thoughts to drift to someone else who’d dominated her dreams: her mother. How could her kind, self-sacrificing mother be related to Genevieve?
r />   She went still. Her mother. Genevieve seemed to hate her mother, according to Camille. And Suzette had seen them arguing. Why?

  Scrambling out of bed, she moved towards her bag in the corner of the room. She unearthed her mother’s wedding dress, grateful she’d decided to hold onto it when they fled Elias’s farmhouse. She also grabbed the grimoire.

  Naomi got dressed and opened the bedroom window, climbing out. She felt silly leaving the cabin this way, but she didn’t want to face Alaric and the others right now.

  Stepping away from the cabin, Naomi took in her surrounding. The leaves on the trees turning for fall, the damp earth, the bright early morning sky, and she relaxed. She found a tucked away spot in the shadow of two large cedar trees, and sat, setting the grimoire down in her lap, and clutching her mother’s wedding dress in her hands.

  She’d have to use a Memory spell, which was different—and trickier—than a Locator spell. Her Locator spell to track Genevieve had backfired. But a Memory spell could provide her with valuable insight to Genevieve’s emotions and motivations . . . and maybe help lead Naomi to her current location. Given her mother and Genevieve’s past connection, she prayed the spell would work using her mother’s wedding dress, and the grimoire.

  Tightening her grip on the dress, she filled her mind with every memory she could of her mother. Her mother’s soft voice as she read her bedtime stories. Her mother scolding her when she stayed out too late with friends. The softness of her mother’s hand on hers as she walked with her into a science museum in New York. Her mother bringing her chicken noodle soup, with a warm and sympathetic smile, when she was sick in bed.

  As the memories of her mother consumed her mind, she whispered the words of the spell.

  “Yere it ore menal. Yere it ore menal. Yere it ore menal . . .”

  Joy began to fill every part of her. Pure, unadulterated joy. It was her wedding day; she was celebrating with the witches of the Seattle coven. Her hands were entwined with her husband-to-be as she recited her vows in the ancient language. And then . . . the joy faded.

  Genevieve stood before her, her expression both desperate and furious.

  “He’s not pure, you’ll taint our line! Come with me, sister. With our power, we—“

  “Leave. Leave now! I don’t know what happened to you, but your soul is twisted.”

  “Any child you have will be hunted, Elizabeth. You know this. I’m going to get stronger. Come with me, and together—“

  “Leave now! I don’t want you here! We may be related, but you are not family!”

  Naomi came back to herself as the spell receded. She looked down at her mother’s dress, now twisted in her grasp. Your soul is twisted, her mother had said. The memory was a step in the right direction, but it wasn’t enough to find Genevieve in the present. She was close, but she needed more.

  Chapter 22

  Naomi went inside to find Madalena and the others, bracing herself to face Alaric. To her relief—and disappointment—he wasn’t there. Madalena and Casimir were the only ones seated at the table; Madalena told her the others had left to again scout the surroundings and grab more food.

  In a rush, Naomi told them about the Memory spell she performed and what she’d seen.

  “You said you weren’t going to use your magic to find her,” Casimir said, looking confused.

  “A Memory spell is different from a Locator spell. You can dig up information on the person without them being aware,” Madalena said, giving Naomi a look of approval.

  Naomi studied her, biting her lip. Casting the Memory spell had reminded her of the whisper that saved her and Alaric after Genevieve left them for dead. She hadn’t told Madalena about it yet.

  “Madalena . . .” she said, perching on the edge of the couch. She told her about the mysterious whispered counter spell.

  “Goddess,” Madalena murmured, shaking her head. “That’s amazing.”

  “Given all the ways I’ve been magically connecting to my mother; the enchanted letter, the Memory spell . . . is it possible the whisper was my mother?” Naomi asked, hope surging through her.

  Casimir tactfully cleared his throat and stood with his laptop.

  “I’ll be in the other room,” he said.

  Naomi knew why he left; it was a personal question, and she wasn’t as close to him as she was to Madalena. She was glad they were alone to discuss this.

  She searched Madalena’s eyes, eager. It was what she’d hoped deep down, that the whisper was her mother’s voice, calling to her from beyond the grave. If magic was real, couldn’t ghosts be as well? Would it be possible to talk to her parents again?

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Madalena said, dashing her hopes. “Even in the supernatural world, death is permanent. Believe me, there have been many witches who’ve tried to breach the boundary of death. But it’s the one thing we all share with living creatures. We die, and that’s the end. The closest we can get to life after death is to enchant an object that can carry traces of our magic after we’re gone. That’s what the Incantation Stone was. That’s what your mother’s letter was. But it’s akin to a tape recorder, not the actual person.”

  “Then where did that whisper come from?” Naomi pressed. “I’ve never seen that type of spell before. How could I have known the counter spell?”

  “Despite what you think, you’ve taken to magic well. As a Descendant, you absorb spells more readily than most witches. The spell Genevieve used is not a common spell, but it’s not unheard of, either. You’ve been buried in my grimoires since London; I think the spell and counter spell was tucked away in your brain somewhere. As you were fading, your magic came to life, trying to save you. Humans have a survival instinct. So do witches.”

  Naomi nodded. This should have filled her with relief, but she only felt disappointed, and a little silly. Of course her mother couldn’t speak to her; she was dead and gone. Madalena reached out to place her hand over hers.

  “I’ll tell you a little secret,” Madalena said. “After my father died, I spent weeks trying to reach him using magic. Of course it didn’t work, but . . . as we both know, grief isn’t logical.”

  Naomi gave her a sad smile, and they sat in silence. After a moment, Madalena cleared her throat.

  “I couldn’t help but notice the tension between you and Alaric.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Naomi said, tensing.

  “OK, I understand. But if it’s what I think it’s about—I have a confession to make. Remember how I seemed hesitant about your engagement? Back in London?”

  Naomi frowned; she did remember.

  “Yeah,” Naomi said slowly.

  “Well . . . it’s because I’m the one who put the idea of the bonding ceremony in his head,” Madalena said, with a guilty look. “He seemed intrigued, and I warned him to propose for the right reasons, but—“

  “It’s not your fault, Madalena,” Naomi interrupted. “It was Alaric’s decision to make. I gave him every chance to be honest with me, but he chose not to come clean about his true intentions.”

  Madalena opened her mouth to say something, but Naomi held up her hand.

  “I know he’s your close friend, but don’t make excuses for him. And we need to get to the matter at hand,” she said, forcing Alaric from her mind and changing the subject. “If I can do another Memory spell, one that’s more directly connected to Genevieve . . . I think I’d be able to find her in the present. But I need something more tangible to perform the spell.”

  “I think we might be in luck,” Madalena said. “Casimir just found one of the homes Genevieve lived in before disappearing from the record. It’s not too far from here, a town called Halsford.”

  A small burst of relief filled Naomi. This was what she’d been hoping for. It could possibly turn up nothing . . . or it could be monumental.

  Alaric entered just then with the others, carrying several bags of food. She froze at the sight of him. He was as beautiful as always; only hi
s eyes were tinged with sadness. Everyone else in the room faded away as her eyes locked with his, and a multitude of emotions washed over her—remnant anger, love, heartbreak. It was a good thing she hadn’t seen him before performing the Memory spell; she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. Just the sight of him was a splintering distraction.

  “Naomi was just telling us about a Memory spell she performed,” Madalena said, looking back and forth between the two of them. Their tension must have been obvious; everyone in the room looked uncomfortable.

  Madalena filled him in on what they had learned. Alaric gave her a brusque nod.

  “When do we leave?”

  Naomi considered protesting; how was she going to concentrate with him so near? His eyes met hers as if daring her to challenge him. She held her tongue; now was not the time to argue and delay their departure. Alaric was stubborn and would insist on coming with them. She’d just have to force herself to concentrate with him there.

  They determined that the vampires would come with Naomi while Madalena and Casimir would stay behind. Madalena gave her a reassuring smile before she left, mouthing the words: You can do this. Madalena had been her mentor in magic since day one, and despite her setbacks, she seemed to trust that Naomi could perform spells on her own with little guidance. If only Alaric felt the same, Naomi thought bitterly.

  She sensed his gaze on her during the entire drive, but she forced herself to not meet his gaze. Elisabetta and Elias looked back and forth between them, sensing their tension.

  Elisabetta’s presence didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would; from the conversation she’d overheard between her and Alaric, she knew there was nothing between them. And she owed the vampire her gratitude for helping rescue her from Isobel. Hell, she should thank her for revealing Alaric’s lie.

  Naomi gave Elisabetta a quick smile to show her she bore her no ill will. Elisabetta blinked in surprise, and quickly returned it.