by Nadine Mutas
And just like that, she twisted the shard of glass in his heart further, almost making him wince with the pain. He took a breath, his chest tight, too tight, the chaos inside him churning, and he was just about to open his mouth to tell her the truth, when Merle uttered a strangled cry beside him.
He whipped his head around. “Merle?”
She was bent forward, clutching the edges of her seat, breathing heavily. Her hair was a ginger curtain, hiding her face from his view, but from the way her knuckles flashed white against her skin where she held the seat in a death grip, he could tell she was in major pain.
He tightened his hold on the steering wheel. “What’s wrong?”
She cried out again, her spine snapping straight like a rod, her head slamming back against the seat. Sweat beaded on her paling skin, her breath coming in fast pants.
“Merle, dammit, talk to me!”
She moaned, panted, pressed her lips together. “Balance,” she ground out after what felt like an eternity in hell for him. “Have to…give…back.”
“Ah, fuck…” The realization hit him like a blow to his guts. She was the head of her family, and as such, she had to bear the burden of upholding the balance. The fucking balance, he thought furiously. Nothing was for free in this world, everything came with a price, with a condition, a toll one had to pay, and for all the magic witches held and wielded—more than any otherworld creature could muster—they were not exempt from this law. The Powers That Be allowed the witches to borrow magic from the layers of this world, but they also demanded payback—from each head of a family, in the form of blood, powers, and pain.
“It’ll pass,” she pressed through gritted teeth, “but I need a quiet place…to get through it.”
“Hold on, little witch.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, careful not to cause her more pain, while every muscle in his body was taut and vibrated with some pain of his own that had no outlet. “I’ll take care of that.”
He managed the impossible task of maneuvering through the afternoon traffic while his mind splintered at Merle’s obvious agony beside him. It nearly drove him insane to see her like this, and the fact he couldn’t ease her suffering set his blood on fire.
He found a deserted parking lot behind a closed-up store and parked the car out of the line of sight from the street. When he turned to Merle, she was half-unconscious, drenched in sweat, trembling violently, convulsing as if caught in a seizure. He cursed a blue streak under his breath.
And then, one by one, gashes opened up all over her body. Her skin was slashed by invisible knives, cut open, her blood poured out—and evaporated. It dissolved into the air as if inhaled by the fabric of the world itself, and Rhun realized that was exactly what was happening. The Powers That Be took back the magic she had drawn from the layers of the world.
Merle’s tortured screams filled the car, and Rhun’s soul fractured along with hers.
He grabbed her, pulled her over the middle console and gathered her in his arms, and right at this moment, he would have given anything to carry her pain. Anything to stop her screams.
Take it from me, he begged, silently imploring the powers he’d shunned all his life. Please, take it from me instead. Over and over he prayed, as he rocked the broken body of his witch.
Merle screamed again, her voice hoarse from agony, and Rhun closed his eyes, despair lancing his heart.
“Just fucking take it from me!”
Pain seared through him. His eyes shot open. On the hand cradling her head, his skin split in a wide gash. Slowly, his blood poured out into the air, dissolved on a sigh of the powers beyond.
He froze, held his breath, gritted his teeth against the piercing agony wrecking him, as more parts of his body were ripped open, bled magic. In his arms, Merle grew still. Her screams stopped, subsided in labored breaths, and the wounds on her skin closed, one by one. For every gash on her that healed, another was cut into him.
And while he sat there, bleeding, burning with anguish, holding Merle’s healing body in his arms, he truly knew, for the first time in his life, the meaning of mercy.
Merle had lost consciousness, and now breathed deeply, peacefully, free of pain. When his own wounds closed as well, he slumped back in the seat, every muscle in his body thoroughly wrung out, his skin chafed raw, his mind numb, as if hazed. With his blunt daytime senses now even less acute, he noticed the impending danger far too late.
So when the car door flew open, he didn’t have time to dodge the spell. It hit him straight on, plunging his world into darkness.
Chapter 16
Words drifted through the black velvet veiling Merle’s mind. Murmurs, spoken in hushed tones, the voices familiar. Something about them should have alerted her. If only she could remember what… If only her head didn’t feel as if it were about to split from the inside out, as if weighed down by a hundred tons of concrete and still pulsating painfully with every slow beat of her heart.
It was always like this after giving back to the Powers That Be.
Giving back… Yes, that was what had happened. A sliver of a memory pierced the haze inside her mind. A car. Pain. Magic, bleeding from her body. Strong arms, holding her with such care.
Rhun.
Merle sat up with a start as it all came crashing back, at the same moment as the identity of the voices registered. The niggling feeling she’d had formed into a certainty that chilled her blood. Her rash movement spiked another throbbing wave of pain in her head, made her gasp before she could help herself—and the hushed conversation stopped at once. Two pairs of eyes focused on her.
Juneau and Isabel stood at the large windows of the Murray’s living room. The dimmed light of the chandelier glinted off Juneau’s white hair, threw Isabel’s face in soft relief as they both stared at Merle.
Grasping the cushion of the couch she sat on, fighting down the surge of pain from her headache as well as her rising panic, Merle stared back, unflinching. “Where’s Rhun? What did you do to him?”
A slight tilt of the head from Isabel. “These are your first questions?”
Lily’s aunt stepped closer, light and shadows playing on her beautiful features—benignly lined with age and experience—as she sat down in an armchair across from Merle. Her hair had the same ebony color as Lily’s, her eyes were of the same dark blue, but the power they held… It spoke of magic that ran deep, so deep, it made Merle’s skin prickle, let her heart beat faster. To be near a witch of Isabel’s caliber, her powers among the Elders only eclipsed by Juneau’s, was—as always—unsettling. Not to mention the fact that the other great witch among the Elders was also present, and now regarded Merle with eyes as cold as Isabel’s.
“Considering what has happened and what you are charged with,” the oldest living witch of the Murray line went on, her scrutinizing gaze holding Merle as immobile as if she’d strapped her to the couch, “your first inquiry is to the wellbeing of a demon?”
He’s my demon, Merle thought, and the fierceness of that immediate response was an iron fist clenching around her heart. Thankfully, though, she kept that response to herself. Making any such claim right now surely wouldn’t sit well with the two Elders in front of her. They were pissed enough as it was, and Merle had to tread carefully here in order not to dig herself in deeper.
Maybe, if she smoothed the waters a bit, she’d be able to talk her way out of the worst of it. Right now, Isabel and Juneau focused on her with the lethal quiet of a snake sneaking up on its prey, and Merle’s every move, her every word, the smallest shift in her body language or flicker of her aura would be noted and analyzed. If she wanted to get out of here, she needed a break from that chilling scrutiny that held her, just a tiny relaxation of the thick layers of power suffusing the room—and then she’d be able to weave some magic, unnoticed, subtle threads working toward an escape.
She willed her features to calm in feigned resignation, slumped back on the sofa, her gaze dropping to the table in front of her as if in deference to
her Elders. “How did you know where to find me?” A deliberate choice of words, excluding the demon that had come to be her own. The need to know where he was, though, to make sure he was unhurt, it beat against her skin from the inside, with every pounding of her heart. It was all she could do not to let it show in her aura.
“Ah,” Isabel said, the slightest note of warmth in her indigo eyes, “now you are asking with more reason.”
“Enough reason,” Juneau cut in quietly, drawing Merle’s gaze to hers, “to smooth the waters a bit.”
Juneau’s echo of her earlier thoughts made Merle wince before she could catch herself.
The Elder’s deep green eyes studied her attentively, her power drenching the air, and Merle shrank a few inches under the force of it. The fact that the other witch had broken into Merle’s thoughts and read her mind without so much as batting an eye, without Merle noticing, bore testament to just how powerful the head of the Laroche family truly was.
The knowledge of it stole Merle’s breath, and she frantically repaired her breached mental shields. Her headache still throbbed heavily, which was probably part of why she hadn’t felt the intrusion. But now that she knew what Juneau was capable of, she’d be on her guard, and she reinforced her defenses with additional care. Just how much had Juneau read? If she’d seen the convoluted mess of feelings Merle harbored for a certain demon…
Isabel now turned a questioning glance at her fellow Elder.
“Lily,” Juneau said to Merle, not explaining her previous statement further, “is indeed a loyal friend of yours.”
At the mention of her niece’s name, Isabel’s facial expression tensed. A sudden, nauseating cold crept through Merle’s veins. Her gaze flicked from one Elder to the other, and she sensed the unspoken, understood her best friend had broken. Had been broken.
“Is she all right?” The question came out as a rasp, Merle’s voice charred by her concern. There was no anger, no sense of betrayal, just bone-chilling fear for her friend’s wellbeing. If Lily had been hurt because of her…
“She is now,” Isabel said, ice in her voice, “that she has reconsidered where her loyalty truly lies.”
And right then—as if on cue—Lily walked into the room, carrying a tray of tea. She kept her eyes averted from Merle, barely glanced at her Elders either, and set the tea down on the low table in front of the couch. Her aura subdued, her expression shuttered, she moved in a careful and measured way as she sat on the larger couch next to Merle’s. Even with an experience of more than twenty years of reading each and every emotion in her friend, Merle found it impossible to gauge what Lily was feeling.
“After she so deftly lured her aunt away from your house,” Juneau went on, passing only a fleeting glance at Isabel that albeit held volumes of silent reproach, “it did take some effort to glean information from Lily.” A glint of sympathy shone in her eyes as she looked at Lily, and she sighed. Her gaze then settled back on Merle with a deep, regretful sadness, and suddenly, Juneau appeared as old as she really was, her wrinkled face carved with weariness. “This has gotten out of hand, child.” She shook her head, closed her eyes briefly. “While I understand your motives, dear, I cannot condone your actions. You went against the law, against explicit instructions of your Elders, and you unleashed a dangerous creature you cannot control. You have risked the safety of your community to fight a losing battle. You do know we cannot let this go unpunished?”
Something snapped inside Merle. Fire flared through her veins as she glared at Juneau. “And what about the fact it’s an Elder witch who kidnapped my sister? Will you let that go unpunished?”
Juneau froze and Isabel blanched. For the longest moment, the air stood still in the room.
“That,” Juneau whispered, her power thrumming around her, “is a serious accusation, Merle. Unless you have proof of it, you shouldn’t raise such allegations.”
Merle didn’t flinch, didn’t back down even one inch. “The demon who took Maeve is being blocked by witch magic. Powerful witch magic.”
Isabel cocked her head, her eyes narrowed. “And you know this how?”
Merle started to answer, then realized, hesitated. Setting her jaw, she said, “Rhun felt it when he searched for the other demon.”
Juneau sighed and closed her eyes.
Leaning back in her chair, Isabel slowly shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and pity. “And you take his word at face value. A demon’s word.”
Juneau’s gaze slammed into Merle’s. “A demon, no less, who is as of yet bound to you and undoubtedly seeks to free himself of that bond. Have you not considered that?”
Merle swallowed, took a shaky breath, her heart in her throat. “My wards,” she said after a moment. “The ones I put up around Maeve’s apartment. They were broken down so Maeve could be taken. Only an Elder witch can do that.”
Isabel held her gaze for so long, it made Merle’s skin crawl, turned her insides to goo. The Elder’s stare seemed to strip all the years from her life, and suddenly, she was a girl again, a young, inexperienced witch, never strong enough to live up to her grandmother’s expectations.
“Your magic,” Isabel said, “is still developing. You know that, don’t you?” Her voice was gentle, kind, as if reminding a cancer patient of her condition. “It takes time to grow into your full power. Your wards might not have been strong enough to hold by themselves.”
Merle pressed her lips together, lowered her head. This time, her deference wasn’t an act. The intimidating presence of two witches as strong as Isabel and Juneau truly humbled her, utterly put her in her place. Tears prickled at the edges of her eyes, and she closed them, shutting out the image of the two Elders in front of her, the sharp contrast of their power to hers. Maybe they were right. Maybe her wards really had failed. After all, she was still so young, her power not established yet and…
I’ve seen how strong your magic is—your wards would never have vanished just like that.
She held her breath as Rhun’s words echoed inside her mind. Unbidden, the memory of his voice stroked along her senses, nurtured something within that had started to wither at the older witch’s patronizing tone.
“After all,” Isabel continued, still so gentle, “there is a reason why you are not yet an Elder.”
The words cut her, harshly, reinforcing her deepest fears and—
You’re hiding behind your fear instead of stepping up to your destiny and accepting who you are.
Merle’s eyes snapped open. Focused on her hands, clenched to fists in her lap. On the ring circling her right middle finger, the heirloom of the MacKenna family denoting the current head of the line. Merle was so used to wearing it, she’d all but forgotten it was there—it had become part of her, a given. She’d accepted the ring after her grandmother’s passing. Deep down, however, she’d never accepted the role that came with it. How could she, when her grandmother’s legacy loomed over her, an example of strength to which she could never compare? When the power she held just wasn’t enough to fill the gap her grandmother’s death had torn?
You are strong enough, and it fucking beats the shit out of me why you can’t see that.
The ring caught the light of the chandelier, the amber jewel flaring as if lit by a fire from within. Magic, raw, strong and unbridled, unfurled inside Merle, thrummed through her veins.
You are strong enough.
Merle raised her head. Straightened her spine. Met Isabel’s gaze, and smiled grimly.
“My wards didn’t fail,” she said with a newfound strength pulsing in every cell of her body.
The power drenching the air this time held the heat of fire and the combined force of one of the oldest magical family lines this side of the Atlantic. And it answered to the call of a witch of twenty-six.
Isabel blinked, opened her mouth to speak.
The phone rang, interrupting whatever she had been about to say. Juneau and Isabel turned to the door to the kitchen, and a moment later Hazel appeared holding
the phone. Hair the typical ebony of the Murrays, her features almost identical to her sister’s, Lily’s mother could have been Isabel’s doppelganger—if it wasn’t for those warm brown eyes, same as Basil’s. Where Isabel radiated power and authority, making Merle’s spine snap straight in attendance every time the Elder witch looked her way, Hazel’s aura glowed like a hearth fire in the darkness, drawing those around her in with promises of warmth, care and love. A gentle presence in the shadow of Isabel’s strength, Hazel had raised Merle and Maeve as much as Rowan.
She now handed the receiver to Juneau. “It’s for you, ma’am.”
Juneau took the phone, listened, her forehead wrinkling impossibly further. “Have Estelle take care of it,” she said after a minute, mentioning her oldest daughter, a capable middle-aged witch with a quick laugh. “I am not finished here.” Whatever was being said on the other end of the line now put a spark of anger in her eyes. “How did that happen?” The chandelier flickered with the rise of the Elder’s power in the air. “Call Sophie, she will handle it.”
One of the chandelier’s light bulbs went out with a crack. Merle surreptitiously pursed her lips. Apparently Juneau’s younger daughter was unable to handle it either. Whatever it was.
“Fine.” A heavy sigh from Juneau. “I will be there shortly.” She ended the call and turned to Isabel. “Are you able to take care of this on your own for a few minutes?”
Merle could virtually see Isabel’s pride bristle. It had obviously taken quite a beating when Lily had outsmarted her before.
“Of course,” the head of the Murray line said tersely, clearly not appreciating her competence being questioned by a fellow Elder.
Juneau nodded, glancing at each of the witches in the room, her gaze lingering on Merle, and she studied her with newly-sparked interest. “I will be back soon.” And with that she left.
Isabel slanted a hard look at Lily, glanced at her sister, then stared at Merle. “I will not be made a fool of again,” she said quietly, her powerful words charging the air with a lethal edge.