“Were they with the Order?” Naomi asked. The mysterious witch wasn’t with them, but her instincts told her she was involved somehow.
“I don’t know,” Madalena admitted, shaking her head. “But I don’t see who else they could have been.”
“Whoever they were—they didn’t try to take me,” Naomi said slowly. This was proving her theory that the Order was up to something else this time. “But one of them told me he wasn’t allowed to kill me.”
“Maybe they wanted to stop the ceremony?” Casimir asked, looking puzzled.
“No. I don’t think so,” Madalena said.
“What if they were here for something else?” Naomi asked, her heart picking up its pace as a sudden dark thought occurred to her. “What if the attack in the barn was just a distraction?”
“Distraction? For what?” Elias asked.
But she was already moving past them. She hurried up the stairs and to the guest bedroom she shared with Alaric.
She halted in her tracks, filled with dread. The room had been torn apart.
“Bloody hell,” Alaric muttered, entering the room behind her. She hurried to the overturned side table where she’d set her mother’s grimoire. It was gone.
“My mother’s grimoire,” Naomi whispered, turning around to face him as the others entered the room. “I think that’s what they were after.”
“Grimoire?” Madalena echoed.
Naomi told her about the grimoire Kat had given her the day before. She’d been so distracted by the witch’s appearance in her parents’ wedding photos that she’d forgotten to ask her about it. When she told Madalena about the strange spell she saw in the grimoire—Freeil greadem leng. Madalena’s hand flew to her mouth. Even Casimir looked shaken.
“What?” Naomi asked, another heavy sense of dread seeping into her bones. “What does it mean?”
“It’s dark magic. The name for a series of Destruction spells, to be precise. Powerful destruction spells, capable of causing death, disease, you name it,” Madalena said. “On a massive scale.”
A hushed silence fell over the room.
“So instead of using the Incantation Stone—“ Naomi began, her mouth dry.
“They can create a Destruction spell.”
“Why?” Naomi asked. None of this made any sense. “Why not just use the Stone? Why create a Destruction spell?”
“Maybe it’s a backup plan. Maybe they don’t have the Stone anymore,” Casimir said.
“Why would they attack us just to steal a grimoire? And how the hell did they know it was here?” Elias asked, his brow furrowed.
“It’s not just any grimoire. You said it looked old, Naomi?” Madalena asked. At Naomi’s nod, Madalena continued. “If it is what I’m thinking, it’s a Menal grimoire—a grimoire containing rare, powerful and complex spells. They’re usually kept in families for generations. And they’re rare. It’s fitting a Descendant like Naomi’s mother would have it. Destruction spells can easily backfire, which is why the Order hasn’t used one. It’s like trying to create a hydrogen bomb in your kitchen. You need a very specific set of instructions. That grimoire contains those instructions.”
“That grimoire has been sitting in my aunt’s attic for years,” Naomi whispered. “If it contained dark magic, why did my mother hold onto it?”
“The grimoire also contains counter spells to the Destruction spell. That could be why. Or . . . if it’s a family heirloom, perhaps she kept it for sentimental reasons,” Madalena mused.
Naomi closed her eyes, reeling. If she’d known how important the grimoire was, she’d never have let it out of her sight.
“Elias brought up a fair point; they somehow knew the grimoire was here. We’re not safe here; perhaps we never were. We need to leave, immediately,” Alaric said. “And I think it’s best we split up. If we’re being tracked, it would be harder for them to locate us.”
“Agreed,” Casimir said. “I’ll set up a private communications network. No one will know about it but us.”
“Fiona,” Alaric said, turning to his daughter. “You need to—“
“Hide. I know the drill,” Fiona said wryly, though there was a trace of unease in her eyes.
“I’ll make sure she gets somewhere safe,” Casimir said, and Naomi could see the love in his expression as he pulled Fiona close to his side.
“Alaric and I should head to Seattle,” Naomi said. The intruders had stolen her mother’s grimoire, tucked away in Seattle for years. The mysterious witch knew her parents and attended their wedding back in Seattle. Answers were there, she was certain of it.
They moved quickly. Madalena would return to London, in case the Alliance was watching for them. Elias and Casimir would head to the States as well; Casimir to Portland, Elias to San Francisco, both close enough to Seattle to get there swiftly if necessary.
Naomi fetched Kat and Emma, bringing them back to the house.
“I’m sorry you got dragged into all this,” Naomi said, with a stab of guilt. Had she not invited Emma or Kat here, they would have never gotten involved. Now they both would have to put their lives on hold and stay off the radar for their own protection.
But Emma waved off her apology.
“Hey. I got to apparate,” she said, grinning. “And I’ve been meaning to take a vacation from the museum, so this is no big deal.”
Naomi tried to smile, but she was worried. Emma knew about the Order, but she didn’t know the full extent of what they were capable of. Were they working with the witch who knew her parents? There was still so much that was unknown.
They all agreed to not inform the Alliance of their departure. If there was a traitor in the Alliance, telling them of their whereabouts would be a mistake. Until they got to the bottom of the attack at the farmhouse—and the witch’s identity—they were on their own.
They left Elias’s farmhouse at different times in case they were being watched. She, Alaric and Kat, who was coming with them to Seattle, left first. Naomi embraced everyone for a long time before they left; she didn’t realize how attached she’d become to their little group. While she agreed with Alaric about them all splitting up, it still made her nervous. What if something happened to them on their own?
“We’ll be in touch,” Madalena said, seeming to read her mind, when she embraced her goodbye. “We’re all used to this, Naomi. It’s part of being in the Alliance. Just focus on staying safe.”
Casimir had presented them with fake passports before they left. Naomi, Kat and Alaric were flying commercially to Seattle, as the Alliance would be on the lookout for Madalena’s private plane. They boarded their flight without incident, and it was only during the flight that Naomi had a chance to process everything that happened. The ceremony, the attack, the theft of the grimoire. Panic rose in her chest at the thought of what they were using the grimoire for, but a more persistent question raced through her mind.
“What’s wrong?” Alaric asked, studying her; he must have sensed her anxiety through their bond.
Naomi looked around at the other passengers. Kat was sleeping while the other passengers paid them no mind. Still, she murmured a Silencing spell before answering.
“What if there’s no Stone?” she asked.
“Of course there’s another Stone. You heard it in your mind,” Alaric said, frowning, “just like you heard the first Stone.”
“But I haven’t been able to truly feel it since that night at your estate . . . if it was even the Stone to begin with. I’ve just heard whispers. I felt the first Incantation Stone constantly. Besides, if they already have the Stone, they wouldn’t need the grimoire.”
“Or they need another way to activate the Stone. A way that doesn’t require the sacrifice of a Descendant,” Alaric said.
“Maybe. But . . . what if that witch tricked me to think I was hearing the Stone?”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know.” Naomi shook her head, rubbing her temples. The more questions she asked, t
he more questions seemed to arise. “I could be wrong. This isn’t like last time, Alaric. They’re doing something different.”
“That I agree with,” Alaric said. He studied her, and his expression turned regretful. “Naomi . . . you will get a real ceremony one day. And there won’t be any interruptions. You have my word.”
“I know,” she said, giving him a wistful smile. It had been a beautiful ceremony before the attack. Now it already seemed like it was ages ago. Her body tensed; she wondered if Alaric’s words would ever come true. She knew what she had signed up for by joining the Alliance. But would they ever get a moment of peace?
At the airport in Seattle, Alaric rented a car. She and Kat watched as Alaric used a thrall on the reservationist; the human wouldn’t remember them if interrogated. He’d done the same thing to the ticket agent at the airport in London; Naomi found it morbidly fascinating every time. Alaric once told her the thrall was the closest vampires got to performing magic.
Leaving the airport, they drove to one of Elias’s homes in Lake Washington; it was too risky to return to Kat’s home. Naomi glanced at Kat in the rearview mirror. In the immediate aftermath of the attack she’d been shaken, but she quickly bounced back to her old self, fussing over Naomi and making sure she ate on the long flight. Worry crawled through Naomi as she studied Kat; she’d have to convince her stubborn aunt to go to a safe house.
She slid her gaze away from Kat, taking in the city as they drove. It was odd to be back in Seattle; she’d lived in Europe for years now, only coming back sporadically to visit Kat. When she’d last lived here, she’d been unaware of the hidden world of witches and vampires. And now, she had returned with her vampire mate, heading to the home of another vampire. How things have changed, she mused to herself.
It was the dead of night when they arrived at Elias’s sprawling home on the banks of Lake Washington. Alaric made them wait while he went inside to ensure it was empty. When he gave them the okay, Naomi entered after Kat, who marveled at the bare bones but opulent interior; marble floors, high ceilings, minimalistic but expensive furniture.
But Naomi could barely focus on anything about the home; the events that led them here swirled about in her mind. She took out the photo of the witch from her pocket, gazing down at it. The witch smiled at her from the photo, calm and serene, though her silver eyes remained cold. Who are you? Naomi wondered. How are you connected to my parents? To me?
Chapter 13
Early the next morning, Alaric and Naomi left to head into the city to question Suzette, the leader of the coven her parents had been members of.
She glanced over at Alaric’s tense profile. He hadn’t wanted to leave Elias’s home so soon; he wanted to make certain no one had followed them to Seattle. But Naomi had convinced him there was no time to wait. The witches who’d attacked the farmhouse had a grimoire that could instruct them how to perform a Destruction spell. They needed to track them down, and fast.
They soon arrived in the old historic First Hill neighborhood of Seattle. The neighborhood was vaguely familiar; Naomi had gone trick or treating at many of the old revival houses here. She couldn’t help but smile at the irony: she’d been trick or treating at actual witch’s homes, unbeknownst to her. Her smile faded when they parked, and Alaric turned to face her, his expression grim.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded, though she didn’t feel ready. She had the feeling she wouldn’t like the answers they’d find here.
They made their way to a rambling Victorian home at the far end of the quiet street. Naomi looked up, taking it in. It did seem like the home of a witch. It looked ancient, with a crumbling brick exterior, and there was a gnarled old oak tree in the front yard that seemed to watch them. She even sensed an undercurrent of magic from the house as they approached the front door.
The witch who answered was a petite elderly woman; her straw blonde hair was almost entirely shot through with grey, and she had clear blue eyes that peered at them from behind miniscule spectacles. She looked like Naomi had always imagined a witch would appear; all she needed was a pointy hat and a broom.
The witch studied them with polite puzzlement before she stiffened, her hands flying to her mouth as she gazed at Naomi.
“Naomi Feldman. I never thought . . .” she breathed, shaking her head. “I take it . . . you know who you are?”
How many people knew I was a witch before I did? Naomi wondered, with a trace of bitterness. But she forced a smile.
“Yes,” Naomi said, “I know who I am.”
“I’m Suzette Colier,” the witch said, not taking her eyes off Naomi as she moved to the side so they could enter. “Please, come in.”
Moments later, she and Alaric were seated in a dusty old drawing room, stuffed to the brim with ancient looking grimoires and other books. Suzette kept casting suspicious looks at Alaric, though Naomi told her he was her mate and she trusted him with her life. Maybe Elias had been right about covens’ prejudice against vampires.
“I was so sorry to hear about your parents,” Suzette said, sliding her gaze from Alaric to Naomi, her expression softening. “Everyone in the coven loved Liz and Sam. They were brilliant, and so kind. I never agreed with them hiding who you were, but I suppose they had their reasons. They forbid any of us to contact you—told us they would tell you who you really were on their own time.”
Naomi nodded, though another stab of bitterness pierced her. She knew why her parents had kept her status a secret, but she’d paid dearly for her ignorance.
Keeping a polite smile pinned on her face, Naomi handed Suzette the photo of the witch at her parents’ wedding.
“Alaric and I work with the Alliance,” Naomi said. “We just need some information. Do you know who this witch is?”
As Suzette studied it, Alaric stiffened at her side. She looked up, following his gaze. A woman in her forties stood by the doorway to the living room; she had the same straw blonde hair and clear blue eyes as Suzette, her eyes were wide as she took in Naomi.
Suzette looked up and turned, frowning.
“What are you doing, Camille? You need to be practicing,” she snapped.
“I—I’m sorry,” Camille stammered, her eyes still on Naomi. She turned and darted from the room.
“Sorry about that,” Suzette said, shaking her head. “My daughter’s had some trouble and she’s living with me for the time being.” She returned her focus to the photo, her brow furrowed. “I think I remember this woman. She looks familiar, but I can’t recall her name. Sometimes she would come to coven events, but she never stayed for long. She was never an official member. She did come to your parents’ wedding, which I thought was odd—I didn’t know they knew her. I think . . . I think they had some sort of argument after the wedding. After that, I never saw her again. I’m sorry I don’t have any more information for you,” she added, noting the disappointment in Naomi’s eyes. “Why are you looking for her?”
“She has some information we need,” Alaric replied. “Thank you for your time. If you remember anything, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”
Naomi gave her the number of the burner cell phone Casimir had given them before they left London. They started to rise, but Suzette stopped them.
“Do you want to stay for breakfast? I can make you both—I mean you, a meal,” she said to Naomi.
Naomi hesitated. They needed to keep searching, but Suzette had known her parents, and she was always eager to learn more about them. She looked up at Alaric; he gave her a small nod.
“We’d love to,” she said.
Suzette prepared their breakfast using magic; Naomi watched in amazement as Suzette flicked her hand, and the French toast dipped into a bowl of batter on its own, before landing on the griddle to cook, while bacon sizzled and flipped on the pan. Suzette sat down, and Naomi’s eyes widened as the French toast and bacon sailed onto plates, which flew towards them and settled on the table.
At her side, Alaric looked mildly annoy
ed.
“Show off,” he whispered into her ear. He must have seen magic like this before. But Naomi hadn’t, and she didn’t try to hide her amazement. Naomi hadn’t used her magic for many mundane tasks; even Madalena cooked the human way.
“Benefits of being a witch,” Suzette said, looking amused by Naomi’s awe. “They’re simple spells, you can find them in any grimoire. A shame,” she added, shaking her head, her expression turning to one of pity. “You learn things like when you grow up as a witch.”
Another pang of regret pierced Naomi; Suzette was right. Madalena had taught her basic spells, but most of the magic she used was for life or death feats. At this point, she couldn’t imagine living life as an ordinary witch.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any—er—blood for you,” Suzette said, practically choking over the word blood, turning to Alaric.
“I’ll survive,” Alaric said drily.
As they ate, Suzette handed her several photos of her parents at various coven events.
“They were usually so cheerful . . . until the months before they died,” Suzette said, shaking her head. “They were increasingly anxious . . . and secretive. Soon they stopped attending coven events altogether.”
Naomi and Alaric exchanged a glance. They both knew why. Her parents had known the Order was on their trail.
“Will you be in Seattle long?” Suzette asked, walking them to the door after Naomi had finished her meal. “We’re having a coven event this weekend. I’m sure the other witches would love to meet you.”
“I’m afraid I’m not,” Naomi said, though a sliver of regret went through her. Suzette seemed genuinely kind; if this was the type of community she could have grown up in, her formative years would have been a lot less traumatizing.
Suzette embraced her a long time and awkwardly shook Alaric’s hand before closing the door behind them.
Marked Descendant (Descendants Book 2) Page 8