Rebel Witch

by September Stone

  Although both Taj and Poe reiterate time and again I have no budget constraints, I limit my choices to just a few key outfits—a few pairs of jeans and shorts, along with short-sleeve and long-sleeve tops. Still, despite my insistence I don’t need it, Poe won’t let me leave the store without a red dress with a plunging neckline made from a material that clings to the curves I’ve developed since being able to eat as much as I want. I’ve never worn anything like it, and when I look in the mirror, I almost can’t believe it’s me who peers back. I look older and more powerful and—with the addition of the black high heels Taj places on my feet—incredibly sexy.

  It’s that red dress and black heels that I wear to dinner. While I was busy perusing racks and trying things on, Poe put in a reservation at Mezzaluna and Taj picked out slacks, dress shirts, ties, and jackets for the men.

  And I must say, each of my guys cleans up incredibly well. Silas’ black hair—still too long—is slicked back to accentuate the sharp lines of his cheekbones. The cut of Poe’s jacket accentuates his shoulders and arms, reminding me of just how very strong he is. Taj’s sleek appearance makes him look like an international man of mystery prepared to engage in espionage or something. And Calder… He looks so grown up. Obviously, I noticed how much he had changed since the time we spend together in Mona’s collection, but it strikes me for the first time that he’s a man now—not the sweet boy I first came to love.

  When we step into the restaurant, the rich ambience is almost enough to make me forget about the impending threat of euphorium addiction for another unsuspecting community.

  Almost.

  We’ve each placed our food orders when the conversation turns to the nebulous question of “what’s next.”

  “I know it’s premature,” Taj says, “but Calder and I have talked with Ryder about the three of you joining the Front. Just the logistics,” he adds quickly when Silas and Poe exchange glances. “What would it look like for assignments based on our strengths and skill sets, what kind of rooming situation could we work out—that kind of stuff.”

  Calder pauses, his wine glass halfway to his mouth. “Taj and I have been together at the front for a few years now, but we’ve only been on a handful of missions together. So if you guys do decide you want to join up, there’s no guarantee we’ll always pull the same assignments.” He takes a sip of the burgundy liquid. “Just something to keep in mind.”

  As Poe and Silas begin weighing the pros and cons to joining up with the Front, I study my own wine glass. I’ve never had alcohol before; I was much too young to experiment with it before my mother traded me to Mona, and there was zero opportunity to try it once I was living in the compound. When the waiter arrived earlier with the wine list, Calder must have read something in my face because after asking a few specific questions about how “dry” a few options were, he selected this one for the table. It’s called Witches’ Potion, which I find amusing—even more so after Taj explained it’s made at a nom winery in Michigan.

  I pick up the glass and bring it to my lips. The aroma is spicier than I anticipate, with cinnamon, clove, and ginger each vying for my attention. I take a tentative sip, steeling myself for the alcoholic burn I heard described from some of the older kids at the compound, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the liquid goes down easily, tasting like sweet, spicy juice.

  I’ve finished the first glass and am onto my second when our appetizers arrive. The guys’ discussion has switched from Liberation Front concerns to places they’ve always wanted to visit but haven’t yet seen. I munch on the shrimp and portabella mushroom appetizers and sip my wine, speaking up when they mention a place I’d like to go—like England or Hawaii or Greece.

  At some point, our conversation turns from realistic to ridiculous. After a spirited argument about whether or not Antarctica would be an ideal vacation spot, Silas leads a discussion about the worst possible places to travel to. As he and Calder go back and forth about whether the inside of an active volcano or an arctic ice floe would make for a worse adventure, I can’t stop giggling. I can’t help wondering if the wine really is some sort of magical potion, because no matter how much I drink, the level in my glass never seems to decrease. By the time our food arrives, my cheeks feel warm and it takes considerably more concentration to pick up my fork than should be necessary. But the extra work is worth it when I take the first bite of my salmon. If I thought the wine was packed with flavor, this dish is a flavor overload. Between the fish, the leeks, the basil, and the balsamic glaze, I don’t know if I’ve ever tasted something so delicious.

  As we sit, in alternating phases of quiet and conversation, a sense of contentment washes over me. These four amazing men who came into my life like a storm are here with me—and they always will be. Something deeper than magic binds us, and I’m excited to explore what that means.

  Chewing on my last bite of salmon, I can’t help wonder just how many days the elders will pay for our room at Twin Heights. What happens when the reservation runs out? Will one of the guys pay for us to stay, or will we find somewhere else to go? My thoughts turn to Sophie and the house she shares with her men. Could we find a place like that—a home of our own here in Twin Rivers? It might be nice to stay near Sophie. She strikes me as a woman I could be good friends with.

  I’m busy trying to figure out if a single king bed will be sufficient for Poe, Calder, Taj, Silas, and me for the long haul when a shrill ring cuts into my thoughts. Calder curses under his breath as he pulls his phone from the inside pocket of his suit coat.

  “Hello? Yeah, Ryder, hi. What’s going on?”

  Calder excuses himself from the table, and it takes everything in me not to follow him. It’s as if someone doused me with a bucket of ice water. What am I doing, imagining a happily-ever-after while Lillian is still out there, planning to get as many supernaturals as possible hooked on euphorium? How can I be laughing and eating sumptuous food when children like Connie are in danger of losing their parents to a drug that will consume them and turn them into shadows of their former selves?

  After a beat, Silas attempts to pick up the thread of our conversation. And though his mouth twists into a smile, his eyes are wary. Taj and Poe chime in at intervals, but their posture is rigid, like they’re ready to run into battle at a moment’s notice.

  But my eyes are fixed on Calder. I would give anything for the ability to read lips. I’m desperate to hear what’s being said.

  And then, like that, I can. The conversation surrounding me fades to a whisper while Calder’s voice rings through clear as a bell.

  “…sure you’ve checked everywhere?” Calder’s tone is tight with worry.

  Ryder’s voice is distant, but understandable through the phone’s earpiece. “Checked and double checked. I didn’t want to reach out until we were sure. There were seventeen in total. The skirmish on the west side of the town was a distraction to get them out.”

  My blood freezes in my veins. Seventeen people have escaped from somewhere? Worst-case scenarios spin through my mind. Perhaps Lillian has orchestrated the liberation of some big-name allies to help her with whatever nefarious plans she has in place.

  Calder speaks again before I can follow my thoughts too far. “Do you have a list of names?”

  A beat passes before Ryder responds. “I had a feeling you were going to ask. And I’m sorry to report that, yes, the Ingram woman is among those missing.”

  The name Ingram doesn’t ring a bell, but something tells me I should know it.

  Before I can puzzle it out, Calder is talking again. “How the hell did they lure them out?”

  “I’m guessing they had an insane amount of euphorium on them,” Ryder mutters. “The magic in it calls to people. Once they’ve had a taste, they can sense when it’s near.”

  Realization hits me with the force of a freight train. They’re talking about Ginger. Lillian’s dealers have lured her out of Wisdom with the promise of more drugs. My stomach heaves, and the wine sloshing inside me threa
tens to reappear.

  Ryder left a team in Wisdom to protect the people there, but they’ve failed—twice. I don’t know if the Front is spread too thin or whether Lillian’s crew is simply too good to be stopped. Either way, people aren’t safe. And as Lillian hooks increasing numbers of towns on euphorium, there won’t be enough unaffected supernaturals left to protect them.

  Lillian needs to be stopped—by any means necessary.

  My heightened hearing fades, and when I focus once again on the table where I’m sitting, I notice furtive glances from Silas and Taj. Poe tilts his head and stares at me straight on.

  “You doing okay there, kitten?”

  No, I want to scream. I’m not okay. How can anyone be okay when Lillian is out destroying lives? I can imagine seven-year-old Connie curled up on her bed, sobbing with the knowledge that her mother has disappeared—and that she may never see her again.

  But I manage to bite back my words. I’m not supposed to know any of this. Not yet.

  “I don’t feel well,” I murmur as Calder makes his way back to the table.

  “With all the alcohol in you, I can imagine,” Poe says gruffly. “Don’t you worry. We’ll head back to the hotel room and get you plenty of water and you’ll be right as rain by morning.”

  “About that,” Calder says, reclaiming his chair. “We’re not actually going back to the hotel. Ryder thought it would be in our best interest to stay at a safe house here in town. The Front has heard some rumblings from a few low-level shady operations who found out Mona’s private potion-maker is in the wind.” He fixes his sapphire eyes on me. “Now, there’s no indication anyone knows where you are, but we don’t want to take any chances that the wrong person might spot you.”

  My stomach twists again and I swallow down the bile that threatens to rise. Still, my fear for my own safety is overshadowed for my concern for Connie and Ginger and the other euphorium-addicts abducted by Lillian’s dealers. “Is that what Ryder called about?”

  Calder’s mouth twitches and his gaze sweeps the table for a split second. “Yes.”

  I wait for him to add the other details, but he doesn’t. It’s then that the truth hits home: He doesn’t plan to tell me. Maybe he’ll disclose the news from Wisdom to Taj and the other guys, but he’s decided to keep the information from me.

  Taj told me I don’t think straight when it comes to euphorium, but he’s wrong. I’m the only one who knows what it’s like to have your whole world wrecked by it, so I’m the only one willing to make the tough calls necessary to get it out of circulation.

  As Taj pays the check and Silas helps me out of my chair, Calder and Poe begin making plans for moving our belongings from the hotel and traveling to the safe house. Silas’ arm doesn’t leave my waist as he helps me balance on the heels I swear I didn’t have as much trouble walking in on the way to the table.

  But with every step nearer we draw to the restaurant’s front door, panic surges into my veins. Once we leave here, we’re off to a safe house for who knows how long. I may lose what little chance I have to do anything to stop Lillian.

  Because at this moment, I know there’s something I can do—something only I can do. As we pass by a hallway that leads to the bathrooms, I make my decision.

  “I need to make a stop before we head to the car,” I say to Silas, nodding toward the hall.

  He eyes me closely. “Need me to walk you down there?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”

  Silas gives me a long, appraising glance before nodding. “I’ll wait by the front door for you.”

  I offer what I hope is a small, polite smile as I turn toward the bathrooms. I keep my steps slow and measured as I make my way toward the ladies’ room door. But when a quick glance back reveals that Silas and the others have indeed moved on to the front of the building, I continue on to a lonely wooden box at the far end of the hall.

  My fingers tremble as I lift the pay phone’s receiver. A shadowy memory surfaces to the forefront of my mind. Before he died, my father taught me how to make an emergency call if I should ever be separated from him and my mom. I practiced reciting his number so many times that I can still recall it. But those digits aren’t the ones I grope for now.

  When Mona pressed her phone number into my hand, my immediate desire was to throw the paper away. But when I went to actually throw it in the garbage, something inside me wouldn’t let me do it. Instead, I stared at the numbers, tracing the curves and lines with my eyes until they lodged into my brain.

  I dial those numbers now and hold my breath as the line begins to ring.

  When the call connects, a sigh of relief escapes me.

  “Bryn?” Mona’s voice is clear, with an air of surprise curling around the edges. “Is that you, dear?”

  I swallow down my concerns. “I need your help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bryn

  It takes a long time before the guys all fall asleep.

  The hunting cabin Ryder secured for us isn’t nearly as charming as the one we stayed at in Elowen’s woods. Where Elowen’s place was decorated with items that appeared to be plucked almost directly from the surrounding forest, this cabin has a more spare, utilitarian feel. The table in the small dining area and the kitchen counter top are built for function, not aesthetics, and a musty scent permeates the air. There are two small bedrooms, each with two narrow twin mattresses inside. I insist the guys split the rooms and offer to sleep on the lumpy brown couch in the cabin’s small main room—and after being forced to drink down several glasses of water by Taj, they all say their goodnights and head to bed.

  I take my time spreading the moth-eaten sheets across the couch, waiting until I’m sure the guys are all asleep. According to the clock on the wall—which bares the black silhouette of a moose in its center—it’s nearly one in the morning before I slip on Calder’s hooded sweatshirt, which somehow made its way into my backpack. I considered wearing my own, but something about wearing his clothes makes me feel protected. After stuffing my feet into my sneakers, I creep across the cabin floor.

  A cold prickle of guilt sweeps down my neck as I ease the front door open, freezing in my tracks when the hinge gives a soft squeal. I count to ten against the steady metronome of my pounding heart, and when I don’t detect any movement from the bedrooms, I slip out the door and close it softly behind me.

  The night air has taken on an edge, and I snuggle into the fabric of the hoodie. Although I don’t think he’s worn it since we were at the Temple of Theurgy, Calder’s sweet, sharp spruce scent still clings to the fabric. The sweatshirt is long on me, but it still only reaches to just above my knee, and the steady breeze bites at my lower legs through the thin fabric of my pajama pants. When I changed out of my red dress, I almost replaced it with a pair of jeans—but there’s no way the guys wouldn’t have asked questions about my clothing choice.

  “It’s too late to turn back now,” I mutter to myself as I strike out through the forest, through the narrow trail that brought us here. Since the night of my escape from the compound, I’ve spent more nights than not surrounded by trees. Being in nature has always been relaxing—a way to draw close to the source of my magic.

  But tonight, the sounds of nocturnal creatures in the forest has a sinister undertone. The shifting shadows cast by the moon seem to reach for my sneaker-clad feet as I pad along the path.

  I don’t have to question the sudden shift in my perceptions. I know full well why the place that should give me the most comfort suddenly feels dangerous.

  Mona is out here.

  I pull the thumb-sized chunk of chalcopyrite from the pocket of my pajama pants and murmur the incantation Mona taught me. The stone is one of the supplies Sophie so kindly provided for me back when the guys and I were looking for Elowen, and it’s possible I’m using it now to locate someone more dangerous than the mage. A voice in the back of my mind questions—yet again—if this is a good idea. The floaty, swimming sensation I experie
nced due to my wine with dinner has long since worn off, and I can’t help wondering if I would have made the same choice at the restaurant if I’d been more clear-headed.

  I cast off the futile wondering. It doesn’t matter what I might have done—it only matters what I’m doing now. For better or worse, I still think Mona is our best—and maybe only—hope at stopping Lillian before it’s too late.

  Dread coils in my stomach at the sight of Mona perched upon a boulder the size of a small sofa. The last time I saw her, she was bedraggled and wore a mud-splattered sweatshirt. The look was a far cry from the painted-on executive dresses she always wore when I saw her at her compound.

  For tonight’s attire, she seems to have split the difference between the two styles. She wears a pair of dark jeans that hug her hips and thighs like a lover, and soft gray fleece jacket.

  Her gaze flicks to my legs as I approach. “Nice pajamas.”

  I don’t respond. This isn’t a social call; I’m only here because she said she could help take down Lillian. “Okay, I’m here. Tell me what you know.”

  The moonlight highlights her momentary surprise. But she blinks it away so fast I’m almost convinced I imagined it. She pats an empty spot beside her on the rock. “I suppose I only have myself to blame for your obvious lack of social grace. Come, have a seat.”

  The musical command of her words washes over me and my right foot lifts to obey. Mona wants me to sit, so I must sit. The idea is so simple it’s hardly worth questioning.

  And yet I do. Something is off. My desire to do as she says is so strong it turns my stomach. It would be so easy to take a seat beside her, yet something deep within me refuses to give in.

  I trip over my own feet as the reality of the situation crashes down on me. “You’re using your song?” I demand incredulously as I regain my balance.

  Her eyes widen and she has the sense to look abashed for the briefest of moments. “My apologies. Old habits, and all that.”