Witch Bound (Devilborn Book 3)

by Jen Rasmussen

  Cillian Wick.

  “Is Cooper alive?” I should have taken a moment to form some strategy for this conversation; I could be sure Wick had one. But the question came rushing out, unbidden.

  “Oh dear,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned. “Is that what you’ve been hoping? That his body was an illusion? No, I’m afraid I couldn’t suffer Cooper to live any longer.”

  He’s manipulating me. It doesn’t matter what he says. It doesn’t mean anything.

  I cleared my throat. “But you’re sorry for my loss.”

  “Certainly. Casualties of war are never pleasant, are they?”

  “Your son Talon seemed to enjoy them.”

  “Yes, well. Talon was a boisterous young man. I hope you’re feeling better now? All healthy again?”

  It didn’t surprise me that he knew about the curse. Harry could have told him. Or Serena herself, for all I knew. “Yes I am, no thanks to you.”

  “Whatever do you mean? It’s entirely thanks to me.”

  That did surprise me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Verity.” His tone was amused, like I’d said something incredibly stupid. “I’ll admit, you caught me off guard with your first visit. Serena’s Minnesota story was very convincing. But did you really think you could make such a lucky escape twice? You left my property with those ashes because I allowed it.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  “I would think that would be obvious. As soon as I found out what Cooper was coming for, I assumed you needed some part of Serena for a ritual. I was happy to let you have it. Really, if you’d come to me in the first place, we might have reached an agreement then, and avoided all this unpleasantness. I lost several good employees, you know.”

  And I lost Cooper.

  Maybe.

  “So you’re suggesting you wanted me to break the curse,” I said.

  “Of course. Your death won’t break your spell. I understand the last sanctuary over that town outlived its caster by centuries. Oh, rest assured, I will kill you eventually, and Arabella Blackwood, too.”

  “Why Arabella?”

  “I don’t know which of you killed Talon.” For the first time since I answered the phone, there was tension in his voice.

  I remembered Serena’s words, down in the basement. He’s in a killing rage… he loved those awful children of his.

  Kestrel’s blood was on Cooper’s hands. Falcon’s, too. Wick knew that much. But as no witnesses had survived Halloween, he couldn’t be sure which of the three of us killed Talon.

  “You can scratch Arabella off your list,” I said. “I killed Talon.”

  There was a moment’s pause. “Well. Thank you for taking responsibility. You will pay the price, you can be sure of that. But until we know for sure how to break the sanctuary, you’re of more use to me alive.”

  “And Cooper wasn’t?”

  “We tried using Cooper as a hostage. Twice. Neither time worked out. I saw no reason to give it a third chance, not when he owed me a debt for my children.”

  He’s playing mind games. It doesn’t mean anything.

  “So is this why you called me in the middle of the night?” I asked. “To make sure I’m healthy and gloat over Cooper?”

  “Partly to make sure you’re healthy, but certainly not to gloat. You never responded to my text. The offer was genuine.”

  “You can’t possibly think I would give you the seeds in exchange for Cooper’s body.”

  “Of course not. You’re far too practical for that. But nonetheless, I imagine you’d like to bury him, with dignity and honor and love, as you feel he deserves?”

  I don’t want to bury him at all!

  I kept my silence. I wouldn’t give Cillian Wick the satisfaction of hearing my pain.

  “Naturally, I would like the same for Falcon and Talon,” he went on, as though I’d answered in the affirmative.

  “You want your sons’ bodies?”

  “Call it a prisoner exchange. I don’t think sending remains home can hurt either of us. There’s no need to be savages about this.”

  I blinked at my white down comforter, bright in the moonlight, and thought fast. Falcon was buried in the foundation of a ruined house in the woods. Retrieving whatever was left of him would be possible, if appalling. But I had no idea what had become of Talon’s body. Arabella had been the one to dispose of the dead after Halloween.

  It didn’t matter. Even if I produced his sons’ remains, Wick couldn’t give me anything that would prove Cooper’s fate. Only a box of ashes that could be anyone’s.

  But something held me back from refusing him right away. If this wasn’t an attempt to draw me out or trap me in some way (a big if), then here was something he wanted. How badly? And how could I use that to my advantage?

  Definitely not by telling him I couldn’t give it to him.

  “I’ll consider it,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I spent a long time tossing and turning after I hung up, replaying the conversation in my head, trying to match it to what I remembered from that last, horrible visit to the compound. But much of that day was hazy to me.

  One thing was certain: Cillian Wick was my enemy. Everything he told me was to serve himself, even if I couldn’t immediately see how. Which meant nothing he told me could be trusted. That call didn’t mean Cooper was dead. Only that Wick wanted me to think so.

  But why?

  I had no answer to that. When I finally slept, I didn’t dream of Cooper.

  Two weeks after my conversation with Cillian Wick, I got a much more pleasant phone call.

  “Phineas!” I was standing in the lobby when I answered my phone, and my delighted squeal drew the stares of quite a few guests.

  “Is the curse broken?” he asked, without bothering with a greeting.

  “Yes, yes I’m fine. But how are you? When did you get back?” I took the stairs two at a time while I spoke, hurrying back to my suite so we could speak privately.

  “Just now. And I’m fine.”

  “For real? You’re not just saying that so I won’t worry?”

  “For real. Well, mostly for real. I’m not moving very fast, and I’ll need to take it easy for a week or two. But then I’ll be good as new.”

  I closed my door and leaned back against it, then gave in to the tears of relief that had been threatening to spill over from the second I saw his name on the screen.

  “I’m so glad,” I said.

  “Are you crying?”

  “A little. It’s been… I was worried.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. About Cooper. It seemed like a solid plan, and he didn’t want to worry you until we knew if it would work out, but I wish…” Another noise in his throat. Was he trying not to cry? “I should have made him call you before we went. Then at least you could have said goodbye.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology. If anything, it’s the other way around. You could have been killed trying to get those ashes for me.”

  “I knew what I was getting into.”

  “Even so. I’m so sorry you were hurt. I need you to know how grateful I am.”

  “We’re family,” he said simply.

  I wanted my next words to sound rational and steady, but they came out in a rush. “Phineas, you know as well as anyone what that maze is like, the tricks it can do. I don’t believe Cooper is dead.”

  Phineas was of the same mind as everyone else, and ran through the same arguments. Harry had followed Cooper into the maze and seen the whole thing. Cillian Wick had no reason to lie.

  But the more people tried to reason with me, the more stubborn I became. As if I had to hold out, because if absolutely everyone gave up on him, then Cooper really would be dead.

  “Verity,” Phineas said finally. “If Cooper is still alive, then where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. Lately I’d been favoring the theory t
hat he’d escaped the compound somehow, even though I knew perfectly well that Cooper never would have run out on Phineas. But maybe there was a good reason, some extenuating circumstances I was unaware of. I’d taken to haunting the dating website where we’d first started passing hidden messages back and forth. But Cooper’s profile there was as empty as all the other places he should have been.

  “There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” Phineas said. “While I was with him that day, he never tried to look for the seeds. Never so much as mentioned them. He was there to save you, and nothing else mattered. I just thought you might like to know that.”

  He thought that would make me feel better? As if I needed further proof that this was all my fault. I was the one who had pushed Cooper to prove he would risk just as much to save me as he would to save the world.

  I’d been so childish. So stupid.

  And now Cooper was (dead) (disappeared) gone.

  I didn’t have the heart (or the gall) to raise the subject of going back to the compound yet. Phineas had already said he needed more time to recuperate. It would just have to wait until he was better.

  While he recovered and Arabella communicated with a handful of Blackwoods at a Blackwood pace, she and I spent our free time combing through every known detail of the Wick property, drawing maps, making lists, and outlining possible strategies to get past all the tricks and obstacles standing between us and (maybe) the seeds.

  On the rainy Saturday afternoon when things in Bristol started to fall apart, we sat in her room doing just that. Arabella didn’t have as much space as I did, but it was easier to hide there. I’d spent the morning going over last minute details on the spa with Lance, and I didn’t want to be interrupted again.

  “Let’s get back to Cillian’s private entrance,” I said. “The code was 7-2-5-0-7. And when he punched it in, Harry said ‘of course I know these numbers,’ or something like that. I’m pretty sure it was his birthday. It would fit.”

  “Wick would be an idiot not to have changed that by now,” Arabella said. “He might not know you saw the code, but he at least knows he can’t trust Harry with it.”

  “I’m sure he has changed it, but one thing we know about him, he loves his kids. I don’t suppose any of your father’s files on the other three would have their birthdates in them?”

  Arabella glanced at the many boxes stacked in the corner, shipped from her father’s house back when we were looking for leads on where the Wicks might be. Much of Dalton Blackwood’s amassed intelligence was in electronic form, but he also had quite a few old-school paper files.

  “Actually, they might,” she said. “Most of us are born in hospitals. So there are usually birth certificates, at least under an alias, even if we disappear from the public record right afterward.”

  I frowned at this. “Hospitals, really? Vitals too? Why would someone who can heal herself need to worry about childbirth?”

  “The mother doesn’t need to worry. But just like human babies, we’re born with the ability to crap and cry and not much else. Healing doesn’t develop until three months old or so.”

  “Well, if vital babies are vulnerable, feeder babies definitely are. Let’s check those records. I think the others’ birthdays are the first things we should try if we g—”

  I was interrupted by someone pounding on the door. “Is Verity in there? She’s needed urgently.”

  I barely recognized Rosalie’s voice, high-pitched and jittery as it was. When I opened the door I found her breathing hard, her face blotchy. “We’ve been trying to find you. Marjory Smith is demanding to see you.”

  “Come on, Rosalie, I hardly consider Marjory Smith to be an urgent matter. She can call me to request a meeting if she needs one.”

  “Well, she has several people with her.” Rosalie shifted from foot to foot.

  “The whole Garden Club?” I asked.

  “Oh, more than that. I’d guess there are maybe twenty or thirty of them. Lance is down there now trying to talk to them, but they’re insisting on seeing you.”

  “Twenty or thirty of them? All crowded around in the lobby? On a Saturday?”

  “I’m afraid so, and I have to tell you, it’s causing kind of a stir.”

  I stared at Rosalie, then glanced at Arabella, who shrugged.

  I wish Cooper was here to spread some of that famous charm around.

  Cooper was never far from my thoughts, but wishes and fantasies weren’t going to solve anything. I needed to consider my real options, and quickly.

  I could just have them all thrown out, of course. I generally considered it a mistake to give in to any demand Marjory Smith made, and I certainly didn’t want to give the impression of being at her beck and call.

  But twenty or thirty people meant a lot more than just her coven. Twenty or thirty people meant she’d rallied some of the very people Granny had warned me I needed on my side. Having security escort them off my property didn’t seem like a very good strategy for making alliances.

  Finally I asked, “Is the Dogwood room available?”

  “Yes, nobody using it at all today,” Rosalie said promptly.

  “Show them in there, please. I’ll be right down.”

  Rosalie hurried away, looking relieved at being presented with a concrete task she could handle.

  “What—” Arabella began.

  “Hold on.” I was already calling Wendy.

  She and Caleb were both at The Witch’s Brew. “You guys have anyone who can watch the counter?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we have a couple of the high schoolers here,” Wendy said. “I was just doing some scones, though. I need four minutes before they come out of the oven.”

  “Can you come when they’re out? And bring Granny, if she’s around? Dogwood room at the hotel. Rosalie at the desk can show you where it is. I have a feeling I’ll need some backup.” I told her about the mysterious mob that had shown up to talk to me.

  “Be there as soon as I can,” she said, and hung up.

  I looked at Arabella. “Coming?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, and followed me out of the room. “What do you suppose it’s all about?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. But it can’t be anything good, if Marjory’s leading the charge.”

  There were a couple rows of chairs set up in the Dogwood room, and a podium in the front, remnants of the last meeting held there. Maybe two dozen or so chattering people were finding seats. At least they weren’t brandishing pitchforks, as far as I could see.

  The entire Garden Club was there. Asher and Jessica Glass had even brought their kids, including a baby who looked like she wasn’t opposed to a little disruptive fussing. Those who weren’t part of Marjory’s coven were people I knew to be believers.

  Whatever they wanted, it wasn’t to do with the hotel, at least not in the practical sense. This was about magic. Which meant it was about the sanctuary.

  Lance and Agatha were trying to impose some order, inviting people to sit down, putting out more folding chairs. As soon as Lance saw me, he crossed the room to where I still stood surveying the crowd, and asked under his breath, “Should I ask Rosalie for some refreshments?”

  “Why don’t we see what we’re dealing with first,” I said. “They give any clue what that might be?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Great.” I stepped up to the front of the room, although I avoided the podium, and said, in as loud and businesslike a voice as I could muster, “Good afternoon! The Mount Phearson is always delighted to welcome the locals, of course, but to what do I owe the pleasure today?”

  I wasn’t surprised when Marjory Smith was the one who stood up to answer me. “You have barred certain people from entering our town, without the knowledge or consent of its citizens. We must insist that you lift that spell.”

  Interesting. She hadn’t actually used the word sanctuary. And if she was asking me to let the Wicks in, that meant she didn’t realize that this crowd had the p
ower to do so of its own accord.

  “I assume you’re speaking of the Wick clan,” I said.

  “Cillian Wick, specifically,” Marjory said. “He’s been invited to speak at one of our meetings, but he’s unable to cross the town line. It’s unacceptable. Who do you think you are, deciding for us who can and cannot enter our town?”

  There was a murmur of outraged agreement from the crowd.

  “When you say one of our meetings, do you mean the Garden Club?” I asked. “Because I see a lot of folks here who aren’t members.”

  Marjory squared her shoulders and looked, in her smart charcoal gray suit, every bit the dignified matron. “As you may know, although our name is commonly shortened to the Garden Club, we are in fact the Bristol Garden Club and Preservation Society. Those present here today who are not members of the organization are nonetheless quite concerned with Bristol’s preservation.”

  “And you think Cillian Wick is going to preserve Bristol?” I asked with a hollow laugh.

  “We would simply like to hear what he has to say. There’s no need to be closed-minded about someone who might have something to offer.”

  “And what exactly do you think Cillian Wick has to offer?”

  I waited with sincere anticipation for her answer. Just what Wick had promised Marjory and her coven was a question I’d been curious about for some time. He couldn’t possibly have told her the truth. I didn’t think even Marjory was vindictive enough to think getting rid of me was worth being used as a vitality battery for the rest of her life.

  “Well, we wouldn’t know, would we?” Marjory raised her brow, clearly feeling she’d scored a point. “Since you have denied us the opportunity to find out.”

  “What gives you the right?” Jessica Glass stood, still cradling her now sleeping baby in her arms. “What makes you think you get to make the rules around here?”

  “I don’t think that at all,” I said. “This was an exceptional case.”

  “According to whose judgment? You don’t speak for us.” Asher stood up beside his wife. They were the picture of a respectable young family, and him in his crisp police uniform, to boot. While I stood there in my jeans and flannel shirt, unkempt, my hair in a messy ponytail. I was still pale with shock and sorrow, thin and haggard from months of being cursed. Several people looked from Asher to me, their expressions broadcasting who they deemed the more trustworthy.