by Shyla Colt
“Lou. It looks like we both grew up.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“I heard you were back. It’s nice to see you.”
“You too, Sykes.”
“Felicite, always a pleasure.”
“Hey, Sykes.”
I narrow my gaze. She knew what a shock this would be. Sykes offers his arms. “May I escort you two to the drawing room for tea? We can discuss the sensitive matter with my parents then.” I take his arm, and allow him to guide us into the home. Opulence doesn’t do this place justice. It’s grand, charming even with its ornate carved wood structures, vintage furniture, and fine rugs. The house smells like lemon balm and lavender. It’s a comforting and grounding scent.
He steers us through two large sliding wood doors that have been pushed back to reveal a cozy room with dark green settees from the eighteen-hundreds. The glossy wood stands out along the curve of the couch. It’s too pretty to sit on. With his black three-piece suit with a silk napkin folded into a triangle, and her maroon lace A-line dress with buttons down the center, Mr. and Mrs. Blanchard appear to be right at home. Over the years, his blond hair has lost pigment, and her chestnut hair has gained streaks of gray.
A hotel-worthy High Tea is set up on the table between us. Three tiered trays are full of cups teeming with fresh fruit, ladyfingers, cookies, and tiny cakes that are too pretty to eat.
“Mother, Felicitie and Louella Esçhete.”
They stand, offering their hands. “Merry met. We are pleased to have you here helping us peaceably solve this conundrum.”
“It’s our pleasure,” I say as we shake hands.
“Please sit. Sykes, thank you so much for showing our guests in. We can all discuss this while we eat.”
The pedestal teacup with tiny pink roses and green leaves and matching saucers is a work of art. I handle it carefully. Once we’re settled in, Mr. Blanchard guides the conversation. I place one of the linen napkins on my lap and marvel at the oddness that is my life as we make small talk. An hour later, we’re all more relaxed.
“If I may ask, what’s the item?”
“Sykes, if you could be a dear and bring it in.”
“Yes, Mother.” He rises, and I marvel again at how well he grew up.
“It’s an old scrying set we’ve had so long we can’t remember when we required it.”
Sykes returns with a weathered brown leather pouch. He places the smooth leather in my palm. A jolt streaks through me. I blink rapidly, stunned by the punch it packs.
“You can feel it, can’t you?” Mr. Blanchard asks. Excitement dances in his icy blue gaze.
“I do.”
“There’s an index of all our magical items in the library along with accounts of how they came to be with us. It’ll take some digging. Our lists are thorough and updated. It’s the sheer amount of inventory that makes the task so arduous.”
“I hate to ask the obvious, but why not cast a spell to figure this out?” Fel asks.
“Magic can’t be used in the library or the vaults. We do everything possible to maintain the integrity of the items and spells. Only the very basic magic will work with the spells originally cast on the area.”
“And there are no files on the computer?” I say.
“No, we prefer the old-fashioned method. There are too many attacks that occur these days thanks to computers.”
Fel leans forward. “So it’s all on paper?”
“Yes. Some are in books or on scrolls, depending on the age of the item.”
I open the pouch and reveal aged wooden circles with runes etched onto them. I wonder how long ago this was originally made.
“The rune set might be listed a number of ways. Under scrying tools or in the R section,” Mrs. Blanchard says.
“Why do the Morels believe they have a claim on this, sir?” I ask as I shift the weight from one hand to the other inside the bag.
“We do store things from time to time. It’s possible records may have been misplaced on our part, but we doubt it. When one uses an item enough, they may become attached to it. This link will make them feel if it’s theirs, if it’s not. Family legacies are important. We may be generous with our things, but we aren’t careless, or forgetful.”
“I understand. It may take us some time, but we’ll get this all sorted out.”
Mr. Blanchard nods, and his wife smiles prettily. “Excellent. We knew we could count on you ladies. Vale and I find your latest business venture smart and incredibly practical. In these days, when the world is shrinking, and allies are a necessity, we do what we must to survive. A neutral party to help smooth over the choppy waters as they come is a godsend.”
I offer up a smile, grateful for the long winded, supportive statement.
“Our son will show you ladies to the library. We have fresh tea, water, and snacks set out to help you keep your reserves up.”
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness.” Fel delivers her megawatt smile. He pats her hand and then mine. It feels like a blessing.
The library is the thing of dreams. Two stories with rows of books of various ages, bindings, categories, and sizes. Trailing my hand over the hardbacks, I feel the hum of untapped potential as Sykes gives us a rundown of how the books and records are set up. Fifteen-minutes later, we’re alone in a room full of dusty scrolls.
“I feel like we should have on face masks,” Fel mumbles.
“Not exactly the detective job I was expecting either. Let’s roll up our sleeves and knock out the scrying tools section.”
“You know what’s kind of scary is how much they have their hands on,” Fel spins in a slow circle as she takes in the room. Her bell sleeved white t-shirt billows out around her gray tights.
“Imagine what the actual vaults must look like.”
As we work our way through the R’s in the section, I try to ignore the hypnotic call of the runes we left on a table. I pause, neck deep on dust.
“Okay, I have to ask. Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Fel sneezes. “Like I’m about to have an allergy attack?”
“No. That call. The pouch is singing to me like I’m Winfred Sanderson from Hocus Pocus and it’s her book.”
Fel groans. “You and your witchy pop culture.”
“Everyone needs a hobby.” I set down the scroll in my hands and back out of the temperature-controlled room, retracing our steps. The siren’s call wins out. I touch the pouch and images flicker through my head. Darkness, blood, teeth, and screams. I sway, clutching the edge of the table to remain on my feet.
“Lou.” Fel grabs my arm.
“It’s okay. The pouch just showed me something. I think I need to cast the runes.” Unfolding the pouch, I open my left hand over the wooden circles warped and worn by age. I think of the witch who’s continued to elude us and sink my fingers into the bag until I feel a tug. Grasping the rune, I remove it. I repeat the process twice more, choosing Three Norns. I look at the Norn Urd, farthest to the left, representing the past actions. The backward R is Radio. The past is full of injustice, death, and crisis. I think of the murders. It’s spot on so far. The middle rune, Norn Skuld, tells me what’s likely to happen. Ewhaz, in its state upside down, like an M turned on its head, it speaks of betrayal and disharmony. My gut aches. The final rune farthest to the right, Norn Verandi, tells me what’s currently influencing the future. Perth, in its current backward C position, represents loneliness and malaise.
My gut aches. “No.” I close my eyes against the images of ravaged land, dead bodies strewn on the ground, and chaos. Why show me this unless I can change it?
“Think of another question and cast again. Maybe it’ll help clarify what this means,” Fel suggests.
“You’re right.” I place the runes back inside the bag and swirl it, mixing them together.
Can I chang
e this outcome? I concentrate on the question and dip my hand back into the bag. My fingers brush the bark until I hit one that burns me with a cold flame. I pull it out with a shaking hand. The slanted cross brings tears to my eyes. Nauthiz means endurance and survival.
How can we prevail? I repeat the process and hold my breath. Fear paralyzes me. I meet Fel’s gaze. She nods, silently lending me support. I pull the wooden chip. The diamond-shaped Inguz fills me with relief. Family, love, common sense, caring. I pair it with the first reading.
“We can only win if we’re together.”
“Win what?” Fel asks.
I peer around the room and shake my head. ‘Not here,’ I mouth. She nods her head. I replace the runes. “Come on, we have a scroll to find.” I feel like a zombie as we return to the room and my instincts kick in, pulling me toward an untouched group of scrolls.
“What are you doing?”
“I have no clue,” I admit as I kneel and begin to slowly remove the tubes until I hit one that makes me pause. I pull it out and unscrew the top.
“No way,” Fel whispers.
I read the scrawling old English.
“Yes way.”
“I thought magic wasn’t allowed.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t me.”
“The ancestors, then?” Her brow furrows. Things are dire when they choose to step in. I see the questions.
“Why would they help me when it involves vampires? They’ve made their opinions on them clear in the past.”
“Yeah, but they do what’s necessary to protect their own. I’m worried for you, Lou.”
My stomach aches. “Me too.”
“Did the Runes mean anything to you?”
“I think so. I need an outside perspective.”
“Lou, this is insane. What the hell is going on with you?”
“Let’s clean up our mess, and we’ll talk.” Glaring, she grinds her teeth together. “I promise. No more diversions.”
“Fine.”
We work together in a tense silence, replacing scrolls. The Runes are rightfully the Blanchard’s, but something tells me they knew that. Pulling us into this was about more than settling a disagreement. The stones are eerily active. There’s more at work here than coincidence. Spirits work in mysterious ways, and for once I’m grateful for their interference.
Sweaty, dusty, and spent, we return to the drawing room where Sykes is waiting. He stands, and I hand him the scroll. “It’s the Blanchard’s Runes. This should be all the proof the Morels need. They borrowed the pouch over thirty years ago, so I can see where the confusion came from.”
“We’re indebted to you ladies.”
“The fee we charged you will be plenty, trust us,” Fel says.
His gaze darts between us. “We want you to know the Blanchards are friends. Please don’t hesitate to call on us for assistance.”
“Thank you, Sykes. We’ll remember that moving forward. Your library is an incredible treasure.”
“May I escort you out?”
“Please do,” Fel purrs. I cough to cover my giggle as she links her arm in his and smiles prettily. The poor boy doesn’t know what hit him as she lays on the charm, teasing him as we make our way out.
The silence in the car is loud as we wait for the gates to open and allow us to leave.
“Do you feel like you just got manipulated?”
Fel turns to me, her expression one of surprise. “You think they set this up?”
“I think something did, and at the very least, they were aware of it. Look at how the Runes called to me.”
“Having them behind us isn’t a bad thing.”
“I agree.” Trusting my gut, I make a decision to spill. The Runes want me with my family. Unity is the only way to come out on top.
“Fel, I want you to come back and meet Cristobal’s Inner Court.”
“Like this!”
“We’ll take a shower first, and you can have your choice of my wardrobe. Gil, the unofficial stylist, likes to treat me like his personal model, so you’ll get expensive digs out of it.”
“I like Cristobal, I really do, but that’s a lot of vampires.”
“They’d never do anything to hurt you. I promise you that.”
“Can you make that promise?”
I sigh. “This isn’t like what you see in the movies or read in books. There’s no Master/Slave vibes. Cristobal and I are partners.”
“Thank God. I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Have you?” I asked, stunned.
“Yes, It’s all smoke and mirrors with vampires. Telling fact from fiction is nearly impossible, and though you seem okay, you’re off. I can tell you’ve been keeping secrets and under a lot of pressure. You come in some days looking like you haven’t slept a wink, not to mention all the phone calls and texts you go out of your way to keep secret.” She shakes her head. “It’s not like you. When you add how quickly you moved into cohabiting with the man who sent you running clear across the country, it doesn’t add up.”
“That’s for appearances … and safety. You had a right to be concerned, Fel. Just not for the reasons you suspected.” The dam inside of me breaks, and the info surges forward, penetrating the cracks. It’s a necessary purge. I have to get all the fear, hurt, anger, and bitterness out before it festers and poisons me. Every secret revealed breaks me from the box I was trapped inside. I’m a bird who’s escaped its cage.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The hurt in her voice guts me.
“It’s not about trust, Fel. I wanted to avoid involving you because of the danger.”
“Why tell me now?”
“Because I realized you’re in danger regardless. We all are. Whoever is behind this is powerful, doesn’t care who they hurt in the process, or what peace they obliterate. War might be the main goal. Cristobal’s worked hard to form strong relationships with the right people. He’s passed the tolerated into the liked category. It’d take a lot more than an attack or flimsy accusation to take him down. They’d have to topple his court completely, destroy his credibility, and take down or seriously wound his allies. That places us all in the direct path of a wrecking ball. We need to form a strong united front.”
“They couldn’t have a better spokeswoman for cooperation.”
I snort. “The girl who ran away isn’t the most reliable person to unite two groups who have hated each other for centuries. Since I’ve been back, all I’ve done is piss people off.”
“Because you’re making desperately needed changes. You do what’s needed not what will make people happy. That’s the mark of a good leader.”
I laugh. “That depends on who you ask.”
Chapter Thirteen
What happened?” Marcellus is beside me, looking me over before I can step fully into the door.
“Research in a dusty old room will do this to you.”
He relaxes. “No attacks, though?”
“None.”
“What’s this?” Marcellus’s lip curls up, killing the warm and fuzzies his concern gave.
“She is my cousin, Felicities, and you’ll treat her with respect and politeness.”
He scowls. “Witches.”
“Have saved your ass more than once. Please, don’t judge the rest of us by Marcellus.” Percival appears beside him, and his eyes widen. It’s then that I remember how much my cousin favors Mémé. “I’m Percival.”
She holds out her hand. “Felicitie.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He brings her hand to his lips, and I swear I see stars fill both their eyes.
“We’re going to shower, and we’ll be back.”
“That’s a nice image.” Rene walks up, grinning.
“This rogue is Rene, Fel.”
She blinks. “Nice to meet yo
u.” They shake hands.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Ruby and Ada are out on a girls’ night with Gile as back up. Cristobal and Luz are off for business, and Miles is doing some research in the library.”
“He was. Did I hear your cousin is here?” Miles asks. His brown eyes are warm and welcoming.
“News travels fast here,” Fel says.
“You’ve no idea,” Rene mutters, rolling his brown eyes in mock exasperation.
“I miss something?”
“I think the question is did we?” Marcellus eyes us carefully.
“I think so. We’re going to get cleaned up.”
“I’ll see if I can get an ETA for the others.”
“Thank you.” Marcellus nods, and I guide Fel up to my room.
“What was up with you and Marcellus?”
“We’re still learning not to hate each other. Every family has their problems.”
“You said family,” Fel says.
I close the door to my room behind me. “Shit.”
She laughs. “You’re a roasted marshmallow ... hard shell on the outside, soft on the inside.”
“Shut it.”
“Truth hurt, cuz?”
“Do you want a change of clothes?”
“Threat will only make me believe I’m right.”
“You have no clue what it’s like having someone else’s history and emotions in your head. It blurs shit. I don’t like Marcellus. We never saw eye to eye, and when I returned he had the gloves off. He’s only decent because I saved his ass with the Dupeux.” I shake my head.
“Every family has an asshole. He’s the Tante Odette.”
I laugh. “Families are difficult, but we stick together. This is the same just … less conventional and more permanent with the eternal life angle.”
“We both know nothing lasts forever. Come on.”
I lead her to my walk-in closet.
“Witch, you’ve been holding out on me.” She runs her hands over the clothes as she walks the length of a fashionista’s wet dream.
“This is all Gil. The vampire society is pretentious. Appearances matter.” I roll my eyes.