by D. G. Swank
We both stewed for a bit, but the silence, my lack of sleep, and the lull of the car made me tired. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
I woke slowly, swimming back to the surface of consciousness. Tendrils of sleep still clung to my mind, trying to drag me back under, and I kept my eyes closed while I decided whether to let them.
Far off, the sound of Bran’s voice relaxed me.
“No. That’s never going to happen…” Bran shifted in his seat, and the radio went up a few notches. “I’ve gotta go.”
My eyes drifted open, cobwebs of confusion sliding away, and I realized the sun had completely risen.
“Good morning,” Brandon said without looking at me.
I hadn’t made a sound, which told me he must have sensed me waking up. His phone was on the console between us, the screen dark. A frown pulled at my lips. Had I imagined him talking?
“Where are we?” I asked, gazing at the never-ending stretch of yellow cornfields out my window.
“Illinois,” Brandon answered. “You slept about three hours, give or take.” He looked perfectly innocent, intent on driving, yet I could tell he was hiding something from me.
Could I really trust this man? Did I really have a choice? I had to find my sister, and I’d stick with him and find out what I could, until I thought he was a danger to her. I might have a strong attraction to Brandon, but I’d pick my sister over a man.
Every time.
Chapter Sixteen
Soon after I woke, Bran pulled off the highway to stop at a gas station. After he filled the car’s tank, he went into the station with me. He stood guard outside the bathroom door while I peed. Then we grabbed coffee, water, and snacks before hitting the road again. I offered to drive, which earned me a dark look. If the SUV hadn’t been an official Protective Force vehicle he’d taken from his coworkers, I would have accused him of loving his car as much as Rowan loved hers. But I knew it had nothing to do with the car and everything to do with being in control…just another reminder that he was in charge and I was only along for the ride.
We rode in relative silence for several more hours, stopping for lunch and more gas just outside of St. Louis. Bran insisted that we eat at McAlister’s Deli—a compromise between fast food and a sit-down restaurant. An uncomfortable tension had settled between us, and as I nibbled at my sandwich, I racked my brain trying to figure out how to fix this. Bran was right—I should have told him about the call and the texts, but I wasn’t sure how many ways there were to apologize. Besides, our partnership was still lopsided. My only hope was that we’d find Celeste and the Book of Sindal, and then Bran and I could see if there was anything left of our tenuous relationship to salvage.
That was, if he wanted to salvage it… There was no denying that in high school, he’d been known for discarding girls like old magazines.
He set down his sandwich and lifted his gaze to mine, his green eyes warm and full of reassurance. “Truce?”
His unexpected olive branch caught me by surprise. “You’re angry with me for not being honest with you. But I’m not the only one who’s kept secrets.”
Instead of becoming defensive, he gave me a soft smile. “We’re headed into a dangerous situation, Phebes, and we need to be on the same page. To trust each other.”
I nodded. I could see the truth in his words. “But how can I trust you if I know you’re hiding things from me?”
He sighed. “I know. And I’m sorry, but maybe this will help you understand that you can trust me to have your best interests in mind.” He paused to make sure he had my attention. “I know we’re after the book and your sister, but if we get into a dangerous situation, your safety will be my highest priority.”
I blinked, sure I’d misunderstood. “What?”
“You heard right.”
The blood rushed from my head. “Bran, what the hells are you talking about? The book of Sindal has the power to bring the world as we know it to an end. Besides, it’s your job. You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will, Phoebe.” He turned to glance out the window, emotion swirling through his eyes, before he turned back to me. “If we are in a dangerous situation and it comes down to saving me or the book, which do you choose?”
Ice filled my veins. “That’s not fair, Bran.”
“It is,” he insisted, reaching over and snatching my hand as though keeping me from escaping the conversation. “I’m not asking you to choose me over your sister. I would never do that. I understand choosing family over duty. We’ve been taught practically since birth that family trumps all, that history has shown us we need to rely on ourselves first, family second, then the Valeria community third.”
His words were scaring me. “You’re not talking like the captain of the Protective Force, Bran.”
He let go of my hand and sat back in his seat. “No, I suppose I’m not, but this whole situation is making me question my job and what it actually means.”
My eyes narrowed as I struggled to keep up. “I don’t understand.”
“For the past six years, I’ve put my job before everything else, Phoebe. But in my gut, I can feel that the Council is setting me up to fall.”
My sharp intake of breath stung the back of my throat. “What?”
He glanced around, then started scooting to the edge of his side of the booth. “This isn’t the place for this conversation. Let’s go.”
The thought of the Small Council turning on us made me lose my appetite anyway, so I joined him at the end of the table, then let him put his hand at the small of my back as he led me toward the SUV. He surprised me by stopping at a patch of grass in a median, about ten feet from the car. When I gave him a questioning glance, he looked grim.
“I’ve been thinking about how they managed to find us last night, and I think they’re tracking our car. It’s possible they even spelled the car so they can listen to our conversations.”
“What?”
He shifted his weight. “In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think it wasn’t Celeste who called at all, but someone who’d spelled their voice to sound like her.”
His words washed over me like a bucket of ice water.
“When they stole the book, they didn’t kill you and Rowan; they spelled you both to sleep for twenty-four hours.” He paused and gave me a sympathetic look. “Phoebe, that further implicates Celeste.”
I held up a hand and took a step back. “Whoa! How does that implicate my sister?”
“Because these people think nothing of killing people. Why didn’t they kill you two?”
Why hadn’t they? They weren’t afraid of punishment and they had no moral compass. Killing us would likely have been easier and would have bought them a whole lot more time before the book’s disappearance was discovered.
Horror stole my breath and I shook my head. “No.”
“Yes. Celeste loves you and Rowan, and she would never hurt you. Leaving you two alive and spelling you to sleep for an entire day bought them more time to get away, but we both know they could have gotten much more time. Or maybe they took Celeste by force, but she only agreed to cooperate on the condition they didn’t hurt her sisters.”
“But Celeste knew she couldn’t open the book without our blood. Obviously she didn’t tell them if they’re just now trying to kidnap us.”
“You’re right. And she must have held them off a couple of days before they figured out they couldn’t open it without the blood of all three sisters.”
“Which proves she didn’t help them willingly,” I insisted.
He frowned, not admitting I was right, but not contradicting me either. “However long it took them to figure out that they needed your blood, they failed in their attempt, which means they are still after you. And since I think they might be tracking us through my agency car, we need to get a new one.”
I cocked my head. “And how do you propose to do that?”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Rent one.”
He quickly found the nearest rental car agency and reserved a car, then called Uber to pick us up and take us to the agency.
A half hour later, we were back on our way to Kansas City, and I was more worried than ever.
“What do you know about the Salem witch trials?” I asked after we’d gotten through St. Louis.
He inhaled sharply and shifted in his seat. “The Dark Set was behind it.”
“Every witch and mage knows that. Do you know anything that’s not public?”
“What makes you think I would?”
“Because you’re the leader of the group charged with rooting them out. Know your enemy and all that.”
He grimaced. “I know they were trying to locate the Book of Sindal, whose existence is only rumored and speculated by most witches and mages.” He cast me a glance. “They burned witches they thought would know the location.”
“But they never found it,” I murmured, looking out the window at the suburb on the western edge of St. Louis. There’d been one after another for the past forty-five minutes.
“No. The witches refused to give up the location. They knew what would happen if the Dark Set gained possession of those spells.”
“But why then?” I asked, turning to face him. “America was in its infancy. And why here? They’d been in Europe for centuries.”
“And after centuries, they’d still failed to gain a foothold. The Dark Set saw an opportunity to claim the New World as their own. They hoped to make America a country ruled by the Valeria, with mages at the top of the pecking order above witches and everyone else—meaning nonmagicals as second-class citizens. No more hiding. No more worrying our secrets would be discovered. But the Council disagreed, which only made the Dark Set more determined to find the book. They started burning powerful witches as a scare tactic.”
I’d never heard this version, not that I was surprised. The Valerian Council believed in sanitizing the past to maintain a united community. “Obviously it didn’t work.”
“But it did at first. What the Council doesn’t want people to know is that the Dark Set infiltrated the Council and ruled for nearly a decade before the witches regained control.”
I stared at him, slack-jawed. That had definitely not been in my parents’ history lessons.
“My mother’s family came to the New World before the mess in Salem. They lived in Virginia at first, but Mom said the family of one of my many-great-aunts had moved up to Massachusetts. The Dark Set thought she had the book. She was one of the first to be accused.”
“Sarah Osborne,” he said gravely. “She had the book, Phoebe.”
I jolted at his comment. “What?”
“The Valerian Council had settled in New England and they thought it best to keep the book close. But suspecting she wouldn’t make it out of prison, Sarah Osborne smuggled the book out with a group of witches who smuggled the book out and brought it back to the rest of your family in Virginia. I was told your mother’s family moved around to keep it hidden, but they and the book settled in Ohio in the late 1700s. Your many-times-great-grandmother Edna felt an affinity to the land your family home is on. The book has resided there ever since.”
“Until it was stolen.”
His grim look was enough of a response.
We were quiet for a few moments and I thought about the fact that Sarah Osborne had been in possession of the book. How had I not known? All witches and mages learned about her, of course, and I’d known she was a family member because my mother had insisted I learn about as many family members and their magical abilities as possible. Our father used to say that girls with such a noble heritage owed it to the future to learn how to harness and control its power.
“We were lucky she’d thought to sneak the book out when she did, then,” I said. “She was old and infirm and died in prison before she even made it to trial.”
His eyes darted to me, brow raised. “That’s not what killed her.”
“Oh my gods,” I gasped.
He nodded, as if to acknowledge what I was beginning to understand.
I pressed a hand to my mouth, dread and horror making me nauseated. “She was murdered. Not by the Puritans…
I turned to him, dread and horror making me nauseated. “That’s why she was accused. Not by the Puritans for suspected witchcraft, but by the Dark Set for possession of the book. Not only that, Sarah Osborne had expression magic.”
Just like my sister Celeste.
Chapter Seventeen
“Shit,” Brandon cursed, then added a few more choice words. He turned to face me, his entire body wired with tension. “How many other grandmothers or aunts have had expression magic in your family?”
I could barely form the words to answer. “Sarah Osborne. An aunt in Denmark in the 1500s.” I breathed in and out, telling myself it would be okay. “Celeste.”
“Fuck.” His hands gripped the steering wheel. “The Dark Set started an uprising in Denmark in the 1500s.” He shot me an anxious look. “We’ve got to find Celeste. They need her magic for something, but gods be damned if I know what. They killed Sarah Osborne, probably thinking they could use expression magic from any witch, but it likely has to be from a guardian of the book, and at that point, Sarah was no longer a guardian.”
My hands shook in my lap.
“The good news is I’m even more certain they won’t kill Celeste,” Bran said, reaching for my hand and squeezing. “At least, not until they use her to get the book open. They only killed Sarah thinking they could just take the book from her, and they learned the hard way. They needed her alive. As far as I can tell, all magical hell hasn’t broken loose just yet. We’ll find her, Phebes. I promise.”
The gesture reassured me more than the promise. I was scared to death for my sister, but at least I wasn’t dealing with this on my own. “Do you have a plan for when we get to Kansas City? There are an impossible number of suburbs here. The whole damn city is like an hour from one side to the other. They could be anywhere.”
He was silent for a moment, then shot me a guilty look.
My stomach felt like it was filled with a ten-pound weight. “What?”
“I wasn’t entirely truthful, Phoebe. I got a better lead at the Cauldron.”
My eyes flew wide. “What?”
“I heard Markus Bieler had a meeting in a hotel, but I didn’t know it was in Kansas City until I found out in the Cauldron.”
I gritted my teeth. “What hotel?”
“The Phillips, downtown.”
“And how do you know it’s downtown…?” Gods. I felt like an idiot. “You looked it up already.”
“Phoebe…” His tone was apologetic, but then his back stiffened. “Do you blame me after your stunt with Celeste?”
“Oh, no,” I said, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you even try that. You looked it up while I was in the shower at the hotel.”
He didn’t respond, which was answer enough. So was his lack of apology.
I was so tired of having to constantly evaluate whether I could trust him, and how much. Even after I’d slept with him.
“Do you have a plan?” I asked sounding as exhausted as I felt. “One that you’re willing to share at least a scrap of information about?”
“Phoebe…”
“No! Don’t you try to patronize me. You just made some pretty speech about how we’re in this together—Brandon and Phoebe against the world—yet you keep treating me like your clueless sidekick.”
“Phoebe, that’s not true.”
“You keep saying things like that, Brandon, yet actions speak louder than words.”
We hit the edge of Kansas City and, after that, the suburbs—Blue Springs and Independence, which flowed right into the city itself. The few high-rises in the city center greeted us from miles away, and I wondered if one of them was the Phillips Hotel.
A few minutes later, we were finally pulling off the highway into the heart of the city. After a few turns, Brandon pulled up to
a building with an intricately carved façade and a modern-looking overhang that held half a dozen huge globe lights. Gold letters proclaiming this the “Phillips Hotel” reflected the setting sun.
“Fancy,” I remarked. “Do you think Markus Bieler is selling his potions to pay for this?”
“We don’t know that he stayed here,” Bran said as he put the car into park. “Only that he was meeting someone here. We’ll find out in just a moment.” He got out of the car and handed his keys to the valet, explaining that we likely would be heading back out very soon, then grabbed our bags out of the trunk. I got out and met him on the sidewalk, apprehension filling my marrow. Not only was I nervous about Celeste, I was now uber suspicious of Brandon.
Great.
We entered the massive, marble-encased lobby and walked up to the counter. A woman was helping another couple, but a young man in his twenties was free and greeted us with a welcoming smile. His name tag read Austin. “Welcome to the Phillips Hotel. How can I help you?”
Brandon wrapped an arm around my waist and snuggled me to his side. “We’re checking in. The reservation is under Tom Jones.”
The desk clerk turned to his computer. “Right away, Mr. Jones.”
I gave Brandon a sidelong glance and rolled my eyes. Tom Jones? Like the old singer? But obviously the clerk was too young to notice.
Bran gave me a devilish grin.
“I have your reservation here for one night in a king corner room. I’ll just need your ID and a form of payment.”
Brandon smoothly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing over his driver’s license and a credit card.
I expected the clerk to protest the disparity between the names, then realized Bran had glamoured both, something any semi-competent mage could probably pull off with a nonmagical. A Valerian would see right through it.
“My girlfriend and I are meeting our friends here,” Bran said in a nonchalant tone. “Can you tell me if they’ve checked in yet? The reservation will likely be under Markus Bieler.”