by Shyla Colt
Mémé stands on the porch, a queen in the midst of a revolt. “You always wanted what wasn’t yours. Finally, there’s something you can’t bully your way into.” Mémé sneers. “Today you shame me. You’re dead to the Esçhetes.”
Throwing her head back, Tante Odette cackles. The earth quakes beneath her feet. “I stopped caring about your acceptance years ago when I realized I would never gain it. I will usher this family into a new era.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That’s the plan.” Tante Odette raises her hands, channeling the power of the eleven witches. Swirls of black power roll and coil like a snake above her head. Rage, unlike anything I’ve ever known, runs through me. Cristobal opens our link wide and lends me his own magic. I raise my palm, and turquoise colored flames shoot from me to the ground surrounding the circle. Her power flickers as she turns to me, distracted.
I walk to the end of the porch. “If you want Mémé, you’ll have to come through me first.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She fires a burst of energy as black as tar. My flame engulfs it.
“You will not ruin this for me.”
“No, you’ve already done that for yourself.”
She screams, and the witches around the circle’s eyes go white.
A guttural cry spills from Tante Odette’s lips as a wave of black flames shoots toward me, hungry and evil. I brace my feet, open my palms, and channel everything I have. The power rips free from my body in a wave of turquoise flame that stops her in her tracks. My breathing increases as she chants, channeling the other witches. I’m literally one against many. My heart pounds against my ribs, and sweat beads on my forehead.
My body shakes, but I refuse to give in. Tears flood my eyes as the black wave edges in. I hold it at bay. I have to do this. My knees weaken. Every atom in my body screams for relief. I grit my teeth. My spine straightens as an injection of adrenaline surges through my body. I cry out soundlessly, unable to form a word as I’m infused with the energy of the women in my family. I push out my hands, and the darkness ignites. Tante Odette stumbles back. I push forward, obliterating the barrier and demolishing the circle.
I hesitate, unsure how to handle Tante Odette. Bending her head back, she screams. Black smoke escapes and a millisecond later, Cristobal snaps her neck. I scream, falling to my knees as I watch the life disappear from her eyes. I wrap my arms around my waist in an attempt to hold myself together. The eleven witches fall to the ground since the link is severed abruptly. I cover my mouth as they rip through the witches with fangs. Blood splatters onto my face and chest, branding me a murderer. Some disappear with loud pops as they teleport.
Every death goes against my beliefs. Witches don’t kill witches. Should I be judge, juror, and executor? The council won’t think so. My coldness sickens me. What does this make me? Order is necessary. So is secrecy in this matter. I look over my shoulder at Mémé. Her voice is crystal clear in my mind. Being a leader means taking secrets to the grave, and losing bits and pieces of your soul to the cause. None of us have come out unscathed. You learn to hide the hurt, strain, and uncertainty over the years. This is the ugly side of things. All that power comes with a hefty fee.
“You have to get rid of the evidence that links us to this,” Mémé says aloud. This I what it took to bring my two families together. Family? I look at the vampires bloodied in the process of defending my family’s home. Yes. Family. I get to my feet and clear my throat.
“It’ll take more than removing bodies to clean this up. You handle the heavy lifting, and I’ll take care of the metaphysical.”
“And we meet back at the house.”
“Yes.” I’m too weary to fight, and I’m anxious to check on the girls.
“What would you have me do with your daughter, Mrs. Esçhete?” Cristobal asks.
“Put her where they can find her. Make it look like the witches were responsible and stole her power.” She looks away, unable to stand the sight of how far her daughter has fallen.
“In the cave,” I whisper.
Cristobal nods.
The knife turns in my stomach. How much was Tante Odette in the end, and how much was the dark entity inside of her? Does it matter when she invited it in? They’re questions I’ll never be able to answer. The image of Cristobal snapping her neck makes me flinch. We’ve won the battle, but I’m not naïve enough to believe we’ve won the war. We still don’t know who the vampire sire was. One problem at a time.
Chapter Seventeen
I hold the black umbrella steady as Mémé says her good-bye. The rain’s been coming down in relentless curtains for days. It’s an outward sign of the pain and anguish Mémé won’t allow herself to show. On the cusp of the equinox, the turnout is legendary. I suppose in death, she found what she always wanted—respect, admiration, and recognition. She doesn’t deserve an iota of the praise I hear whispered. I want to wreck the city of flattering lies erected in her behalf like Godzilla. She’s no hero. She’s the betrayer of the worst kind. I can’t stomach the lies being told.
Not when I was there to see the devastation. She had the world, and it wasn’t enough. How can you turn on your own mother? I never remember a time when Tante Odette was happy or particularly kind. Could you be born bad? Was it that simple? I’m not satisfied with that answer. Life is a million shades of gray, and that’s a cop-out. The longer I live, the more I know with certainty no one is who they appear to be. It makes me wonder about the woman at my side.
How much of her soul has she lost over the years? What deals were made, and with who? Is that my fate? I glance around at a sea of mourners. Who among us knew her? Are any of the coven here, waiting to pounce? The speeches are over, and the glass coffin rests six feet deep, completely untouched by the inclement weather.
I can hear the whispers. Poor thing is traumatized. I haven’t seen her say a word the entire time. Imagine what she must’ve seen. She’s scary powerful, taking on a coven of dark witches like that. Everyone has a theory, but only the council knows the details. I curse the effect of the bond and Cristobal’s blood lingering. I don’t need to hear the peanut gallery discussing us. A wave of reassurance washes over me. My breath quickens. They’re here.
A buzz spreads through the crowd. My heart speeds.
“Go greet our guests.”
It’s a shocking show of solidarity. She grips the handle of the umbrella, and I step away, moving through the sea of people parting. I meet Cristobal at the edge of the cemetery. The inner court is flanking him, all impeccably dressed and dry. Their power hums. They’re showing the community what they’re capable. It’s a rare sight to see them use their magic in the open. My magic dances in my chest, begging to mingle.
“You forgot something,” Cristobal says.
My throat swells. Now?
Yes.
I raise my hand, struggling to keep it steady, as he slips the ring onto my finger. Gasps pierce my ears. He twines our fingers, and I guide him up to the casket. The others flank us, forming a half circle of protection.
Mémé turns toward them and addresses the crowd. “In our time of greatest need, our allies came without question or hesitation to defend us. Now, to me that makes them friends. What happened on our watch is a sign of how ineffectual our ways are. To continue, we have to do better, be better. Grow. Which is why I’m announcing Louella Esçhete as my successor. Tonight, as we celebrate the Autumnal Equinox together, we will leave behind the sadness, and move forward into the light in a new, stronger direction.”
My knees buckle. Cristobal wraps an arm around my waist, keeping me upright. I wasn’t expecting this.
“I’m ready,” Mémé says.
Cristobal offers his arms, and together the Esçhete’s Queens, future and present, are escorted to their limo by Cristobal Cortez. My chest aches and my lungs work overtime as I try to drag enough oxygen in to combat the feel
ing of suffocation settling over me.
“Breathe, girl. Won’t do for you to go to pieces before you even get on the throne.” Mémé squeezes my hand, and I’m sandwiched between her and Cristobal.
“You didn’t tell her?” Cristobal asks.
“No. I wanted her response to be real.”
“You’ve been talking to Mémé?” I ask, stunned.
“Yes. I did not realize you weren’t also being kept abreast of these conversations.”
My head spins. The equinox just got a lot more complicated.
***
“We know why she was so meticulous about your outfit tonight,” Fel whispers.
“I never wanted this.”
“What we want, and what we’re meant for are two different things,” Sacha says.
I knew this moment was coming, but I’d never anticipated it would be so soon. The corseted strapless gown molds to the top half of my body in a pink so pale it appears white before it bells out in a textured skirt that appears to be made of peonies. The pink is darker there and on the petals, bringing the flowers to life. The gown represents my new position as the Maiden just starting my journey in leadership. The flowers tie into nature. Nestled in my hair is the silver family Diadem shaped like the three stages of the moon.
I don’t recognize the woman peering back at me. She’s soft and poised. The wildness in her appears tame, except for her eyes. A fire flickers in their depths. At my side, the two women beside me are my court—beautiful, powerful, and loyal.
“Will your boo be at the ball?” Sacha asks.
I snicker. “No. We wanted to rock the boat, not capsize it on the first day.”
“Your ears should be burning because, believe me, folks are talking,” Fel says.
“I’ve been setting tongues wagging for years. Why not continue the trend? I spent years running from things that frightened me. I’m done with that.”
Sacha nods her head. “I’m proud of you. I’ll admit, when you came back, I was skeptical and smarting. I didn’t understand why you left the way you did. It was like you were trying to cut out an entire portion of your life. I took that hard. Suddenly the person I always turned to was M.I.A. and going through so many changes. She felt foreign. Looking back on it now, knowing what I do, I can’t say I would’ve handled it any better.”
It releases me from chains I didn’t realize still held me. I pull her into a hug, cherishing the freeing forgiveness she’s given me. “I need both of you if I’m supposed to do this right. They’re going to want me on the council. I’m intelligent enough to know I can’t do it. I want you to sit in my stead.”
“What?” Her eyes bulge. “No no no,” she waves her hand and shakes her head.
I grab her hands. “Fel, yes. You have more compassion than anyone I know. When the time comes, you’ll be exactly what they need.” I duck down to meet her gaze. “Please.”
She sighs. “If you truly believe I’m the right choice.”
“I do.”
“You don’t have to make all the decisions today,” Sacha says. With the most pressing conflict of interest answered, I’m ready to face the sea of rattled witches waiting to pounce on me. A quiet knock sounds before the door is pressed open.
“Mémé, you’re stunning.” Dressed in a royal purple with her hair braided into a crown adorned with fresh fall flowers, she’s the Crone, eternal, wise, and powerful. Everything I pray to one day be.
“As are you. In you three, I see the future of our people, and quite frankly I’m relieved. We’re doing the best we can, but I think some things are past their expiration date. We need fresh blood with new ideas and new friendships. I don’t believe in coincidence. Your connection with Cristobal is a sign. There are going to be a lot of angry, confused, and disgusted people out there today. Do not let them affect you. They’re already sniffing around you, seeking weaknesses. Make sure they find none tonight.”
“Yes, Mémé.” Heavy lies the head who wears the crown. I’m becoming intimately familiar with the phrase. The choices that rest on you and shape so many more are of a substantial weight.
The ball is always held in nature. This year everyone pitched in with their magic to create a bubble that weather couldn’t penetrate. It’s a red carpet event held in the middle of a dense forest. The focus isn’t on fashion. It’s on power and the displays each family is due to give. Tonight, they’d be expecting a show. We plan to give it to them. The celebration gave us all a place to focus our attention, so we didn’t have to deal with Tante Odette’s death.
I lift my dress as I walk over to the large circle formed by the eldest among us. One last task and I can slip away. I’ve been questioned, propositioned, pandered to, and scoffed for the past three hours. This one last act to put on a show of a different kind. The circle awaits.
Inside, the four elements have been represented in a physical manifestation. I wave my hand, dousing the wall of fire, moving through the wall of wind, parting the wall of water, and making a door to enter through the wall of dirt. Inside the center of the circle, sealed off for the protection of others, I’m the spectacle.
Go big or go home. They want to see a spectacle. An act worthy of the heir apparent. I hold up my palms and tap into the power intensified by my bond with Cristobal. The green flame flickers to life. I raise my hand above my head and send it up into the sky, letting it explode like fireworks. Gasps and applause makes me curtsy. The brilliant bursts of green stand out against the night sky, lingering like a freeze frame before I turn them into drops of rain. Green daises spring forth from the ground. I burn them to ash with a green blaze.
I let the ashes drift into the sky, forming the name Esçhete. Slowly the names of my immediate family form below. It’s my final act for the evening. I turn in a slow circle, meeting the gazes of others. It’s rare to have a witch adapt in all four elements. With a wave of my hand, I open the circle and exit, ignoring the lip service. Fel and Sacha fall in line behind me, ready to help me transform for my next act.
***
The strategically placed double-sided tape is my best friend in a navy blue formal gown with a plunging deep V neckline in the front and back. A swirling silver star pattern and a shiny rhinestone belt accentuate my waist and add brightness to the dark color. A light in the darkness, Gil had said. My hair has been pulled back, in its naturally curly state, and black lipstick lines my lips. My eyes are lined with kohl, and my face is highlighted and contoured. The false lashes have been pulled out. I’m competing with inhuman beauty; a girl has to pull out all the tricks. Tonight is all about appearances.
I study myself in the ornate gold gilded circular mirror. I would call Cristobal’s style over the top if I didn’t understand he was simply bringing in a little bit of home with his Victorian designs. I turn to admire the large canopy bed with ornate carvings on the end and around the headboard. It’s a work of art. My things take up half his closet and wardrobe, and my personal items line his dresser. It looks right. I spend the majority of my time here. Slowly over the months, we’ve found a comfortable place.
The door opens, and he steps inside. I’m used to him in suits, but the hand-cut charcoal Italian tuxedo flatters his svelte frame, complements his coloring, and makes my belly do flips.
“You’re a vision.”
I smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He rushes in front of me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“The damage I’m about to do.”
“To—” He bites my lip, and I gasp. His tongue pushes between my parted lips, and I’m lost. He lifts me up, setting me on the dresser as he pushes my skirts up around me. He scowls at the dress, and I know I must look like a blue cupcake. It’d be hilarious if he wasn’t massaging my thighs and making love to me with his mouth. I mewl, arching my back as I try to get closer despite the heavy volume of the material s
eparating us.
“How good are you at domestic spells?”
“Pretty good.”
He rips my dress, and I gasp as he pulls my body flush to his.
“Better.” He grasps my bottom, and I wrap my legs around him, rocking my hips. The friction makes us both gasp.
“Not like this.” He grips the back of my neck and rests our foreheads together. I fight back the tears of frustration. I’d curse his moral code, but it’s part of what I love about him. He pulls back, hovering as we breathe the same air. “I love you.”
I bite back a sob. “I love you, too.” I sniff as tears turn to laughter.
“That’s not how I planned to tell you that. You’ve always had an uncanny way of throwing me off kilter.”
“It keeps you young.”
“I want everyone who smells you to know your mine.” He nuzzles my neck.
I shiver. “Do we have to?”
“I want you,” he nips at my skin, “to say yes,” nibbles with his teeth, and sucks, “because you want it.” His teeth graze my flesh. Heat floods my body. I squirm. “Do you want that, dove? To let me inside of you? To take me down … let me nourish you?”
I lick my lips. What would it be like to drink him for pleasure instead of a necessity? My mouth waters at the memory of his rich, sweet flavor. “Yes.”
He bites into his wrist and holds it to my lips. I latch on, sucking as he sinks his fangs into me. I whimper at the slight twinge of pain before the pleasure explodes inside of me like a rocket. He takes a long draw, and I moan as I swallow and suck. Every pull touches something deep inside, pushing me to the edge, until I topple over, a quivering mess. He releases me, laps the last drops of blood, and seals the holes. I lick my lips clean, and he groans.
“If it was anything but the equinox …”
I can’t help but chuckle. There’s something about Cristobal on the edge of breaking the rules that gets to me.
“I have a dress to fix, and we have waves to make, people to piss off and intimidate.”