“Good evening, Ms. Johnson.” A woman’s voice spoke up in the background.
“Principal Whitaker,” I said neutrally, wary of anything I wanted to say, needed to say, to Opal. “Aiden Myers, my … fiance is here as —”
Opal squealed. The high-pitched sound tore through the iPad speakers so viciously that I actually flinched.
The squeal resolved into clearer words. Opal must have taken the phone off speaker. “You’re getting married! When! When! Can we have a party?! Who will we invite? Can I come on the honeymoon? What about Hawaii? Or Greece?” She took a breath.
Aiden was grinning at me, amused and just … happy. Really happy. Not the strange, almost-smothering happiness I’d been feeling since the witches arrived.
I shook the thought away, focusing on the now. The young witch was babbling about dresses and cake, and something about surnames that I wasn’t quite following.
“Opal.” I spoke her name as sharply as I could while being inundated with so much pure joy.
I could actually hear her settle down on the other side of the conversation. She might have been jumping around. Principal Whitaker was not going to be pleased. The witch was actually a Sherwood by birth, like Opal, but she went by her father’s surname to maintain an appearance of neutrality among the witches. She had a low tolerance for nonsense — which had pleased me when I met her, of course.
“Why are you in the principal’s office?” I asked.
“A question answered for a question answered,” Opal said, bargaining.
I looked at Aiden. He tried to quash the grin that had swamped his face, then gave up and laughed silently.
“That’s a sorcerer game,” I said. “Witches don’t trade information within their coven, because they are …” I realized that I was hanging out really far on this parenting limb.
“Yessssss?” Opal asked, knowing she had me in a bind.
“Nicer,” I finished lamely.
Aiden’s shoulders were shaking now with silent laughter.
“Well, that’s okay then,” Opal said cheerfully. “Because my daddy-to-be is a deadly sorcerer!”
Aiden went still. His gaze dropped to the iPad screen as if he could see Opal through it. “Are you all right with that, Opal?” he asked softly.
“Hell yeah!” Then she laughed, slightly manically.
“You know she just declared you deadly in front of Principal Whitaker,” I muttered.
Aiden shrugged. “The witch has already met you and Christopher. I have no doubt she’s reporting Opal’s progress back to the Convocation as well. I’m not going to be a shock.”
I could hear another voice in the background. Principal Whitaker, sounding impatient.
“Three questions.” I sighed. “Each. And then you will pass the phone to the principal.”
“When are you getting married?” Opal asked.
I looked at Aiden. We hadn’t discussed anything concrete. He just smiled at me.
“When you’re home from school. August,” I said. “Why are you calling from the principal’s office?”
Opal sighed. “I turned in the vessel. The three of us did, together.”
Relief flooded through me. “And?”
“And … are we going to have a party? With cake and everything?”
“Yes,” I said. “If you help me.”
She squeaked a little, excited. And now I couldn’t stop smiling either. The witches and sorcerers might have all slaughtered each other at home. Cerise and Kader might each be poised to murder us all. But I was grinning like a happy idiot on the side of the road.
I focused on being an adult for a moment.
No. A parent.
“Are they kicking you out?”
Opal mumbled something.
I heard it, but I waited for the full confession.
She sighed. “I got a mark on my permanent record. And detention for three weeks.”
“What does the mark mean?” I asked.
Opal made a sucking noise. “I don’t know. Principal Whitaker is sending you an email. But she needed to hear me tell you in person, because, you know …”
I understood. My own magic didn’t affect technology, but as had been amply demonstrated that afternoon during Opal’s panicked call, tech wasn’t a useful way to communicate with most Adepts.
“Hey, Emma?” the young witch said quietly. “Once you get over being happy I’m alive, are you going to be angry?”
“No,” I said. “We’ll talk about it. But I won’t be angry.”
“Okay.” She paused, then asked, “What about Aiden? I scared him, hey? I overheard the necromancy professors discussing the vessel and the suppression spell … and, ah, it sounded pretty nasty.”
Aiden closed his eyes for a moment, presumably struggling with the vision of the spell that had held Emily in its grip — and with the terror of seeing it spread to Opal if his runes hadn’t helped. But when he spoke, his tone was even. “Yes, you scared me.”
“I’m so glad you were there,” Opal whispered.
Aiden cleared his throat, eyes shining with tears. “Me too, little witch.”
“Okay,” I said. “Pass me to Professor Whitaker, please.”
“Oh, wait!” Opal cried. “Does this mean that I have to change my name to Johnson? Or Myers?”
“No,” I said. “You already have a name.”
“Okay.”
Her tone was odd. I wasn’t certain that my ‘no’ had been the right answer. “You belong to us on paper and in our hearts. But your last name is your own. Your birthright.”
“Oh,” she said softly, thinking about it. “Okay. I have to go now. Jack and Emily haven’t made their calls yet. And then I have to go straight to my room.” She sounded exceedingly put out for someone who’d almost died a couple of hours earlier. “Detention comes with extra course work.”
“Sleep well,” Aiden said.
“Call us tomorrow,” I said. “You’ll still have phone privileges?”
Opal sighed like someone long suffering. “If you arrange it, yes.”
“Pass me to Principal Whitaker, please,” I said. Then, reminding myself that sometimes these things had to be said out loud, I added, “I love you. I would have been very, very angry if you died.”
“Me too.”
Muffled noises came over the speaker, then Principal Whitaker’s voice. “Ms. Johnson. Mr. Myers.”
“Professor,” Aiden responded.
“I’ve sent you an email, as Opal already mentioned,” the older witch said. “It will outline the details of the repercussions she’ll be dealing with. But I’ve been lenient because the children voluntarily turned the object in. I didn’t put this in the email, but I did want you to know that the vessel has been confiscated. It will not be returned to Emily’s family.”
“What does the mark mean?” I asked, not carrying about necromancers or witch politics. “How detrimental will it be?”
“Three marks results in expulsion. No exceptions.”
“And?”
“That isn’t enough?” she asked, sounding amused. “Would you prefer the punishment be harsher?”
“What I want to know, Professor,” I said, my tone icy, “is what Opal needs to do to get the mark expunged. Because presumably, such a system wouldn’t exist if that sort of record wouldn’t be held against her at some point in her future with the Academy. What will the mark bar her from doing? I won’t have her education compromised or her opportunities restricted.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line. I looked at Aiden.
He wrinkled his nose, whispering, “Few elder witches are accustomed to being spoken to in that manner.”
“What manner?” I didn’t bother whispering.
He just grinned at me.
“After a probationary year, Opal can apply to have the mark expunged from her permanent record,” Principal Whitaker said slowly. “It’s not something we usually do, because life lessons are —”
�
�All right, good,” I said, interrupting her. “One year from today. Please send me the application in another email.”
“Ms. Johnson,” she said. “The marks, or lack of marks, are a barometer by which —”
“No,” I said. “Opal will have every opportunity I can give her. If I had my way, she’d be with me full time, but that isn’t what’s best for her, for her future. So when I can’t have her with me, I trust you to be doing what’s right for her. I understand she broke your rules, and the repercussions you’ve outlined sound fair. But I won’t have her dragging around a mark that might be construed as a personal failure. I know how witches work, Principal Whitaker. I know what being deemed deficient means in a witch-dominated society.”
“We give all our students the same opportunities.”
“We’re in agreement, then.”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Fine. I’ll email the extra information you require. Good night.”
She hung up.
Aiden was looking at me with his soul-searing, bright-blue eyes. “Sometimes,” he whispered, “I love you so much it hurts.”
“Yes,” I said, unable to articulate the same back to him without the words clogging my throat. “Yes.”
The iPad trilled.
Blinking at the display — which showed the same phone number — I answered. “Yes?”
“Yes … ah.” It was Principal Whitaker again, firming her tone. “Mr. Myers?”
“Aiden,” he drawled, smiling in anticipation.
“Yes, thank you, Aiden. The necromancy professors and I are exceedingly interested in how you aided Opal in quelling the suppression spell on the artifact. And, well … the children claim to not really remember, so …”
I had to stop myself from laughing. There was absolutely no way that Opal — who seemed to have an acutely sharp recall for spell work — would have forgotten the runes Aiden had sketched for her.
“I’d be happy to discuss it,” Aiden said. “I’m busy at present, but should be able to call back in a day or two. Video might be better. Shall I email you a time that’s convenient for me?”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Mr. … Aiden.”
“You are very welcome.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Aiden ended the call, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You work them your way, and I’ll work them mine. Opal will graduate with honors, become a specialist, and have her pick of assignments. If that’s what she wants.”
“Even witches can be charmed?”
“The way in will be through the necromancers. They’re insular, but generally less snobby, since they have to breed outside their own bloodlines.”
I laughed, though he wasn’t joking.
Aiden just grinned at me. Then he sobered. “She’s okay.”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Let’s get the riffraff out of our house. I need to get the peppers and cucumbers planted.”
I started the car. Aiden settled his hand on my knee, and I drove us home.
Chapter 8
Hand in hand with Aiden, I wandered down the hall toward the sound of an animated conversation punctuated by laughter. I glanced into the dining room as we passed. The table was set with stoneware, glasses, and utensils. Large covered platters were placed at its center.
I looked at the dark-haired sorcerer. “So they managed to not kill each other.”
“Pity,” he drawled. But then he flashed a smile at me. His mood was still relaxed and easy — though I knew that if I could feel his father’s magic in the house, then so could he.
Following the scent of fresh bread and rosemary, we stepped onto the white tile of the kitchen floor. My gaze immediately caught on Kader Azar sitting near the French-paned patio doors in an upholstered chair purloined from the front sitting room. The elder sorcerer nodded at me with a twist of a smile. He looked tired, drained. Dangerous.
Paisley was sitting by Kader’s right knee, upright, with all her attention trained on the gathering around the kitchen island.
The stools had been set back against the west wall. Sky and Ocean stood on the kitchen side of the island. Isa and Khalid were on the stool side, with Grosvenor at the far end. An intricate web of magic simmered between them. Various groupings of cards were set on the speckled countertop beneath those threads. Most of the cards were face up, revealing a wide array of designs or objects with what appeared to be printing at the bottom. But a short stack sat at the center of the island, face down.
As the witches and sorcerers held their collective breath, Ocean slid her hand into the web, the sleeves of her thin sweater pushed up past her elbows. With a whisper and a touch, she shifted a short section of the web, placing it slightly higher and at a ninety-degree angle. A pulse of power shivered through the entire web, then settled. The section that Ocean had moved turned light blue.
She sighed quietly, then carefully withdrew her hand.
Sky threw her hands up in the air, roaring in victory. Ocean laughed boisterously. Isa and Khalid muttered and shook their heads.
“Too easy,” Khalid said.
“Playing it safe never won the game,” Isa snorted playfully.
Playfully.
They were playing a game?
Together.
We had expected them to be at each other’s throats. But they were enjoying each other’s company. If the camaraderie was magically coerced, I couldn’t sense it — nor could I trace it back to any likely source. I looked at Aiden.
He was grinning, one hand casually tucked in his jeans pocket, the other loose and relaxed in mine. “Fortress,” he said. “Whoever takes the opposing tower wins. But first, you have to build and fortify your own structure. It’s usually played one-on-one, though.” He raised his voice slightly. “Three sorcerers against two witches? I guess that gives you a chance to win, brothers.”
Grosvenor huffed. “I’m partnered with Kader.”
“Partnered?” Sky teased. “More like he tells you where to move and you do it.”
“So?” The curse breaker shrugged. “We’re winning.”
“You’re currently ahead by a full turn,” Isa groused.
Paisley prowled across the kitchen toward us, shoulders rolling, red eyes gleaming. She bumped her broad head into Aiden’s thigh, hard enough that he stumbled, presenting herself to be petted. The dark-haired sorcerer obliged.
Paisley turned her head into Aiden’s ear scratches, flashing her teeth at me in a playful smile.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Everyone loves you best.”
She chuffed agreeably. Then a single long tentacle flicked out from her neck, waving a folded piece of paper before me. I took it, unfolding a note scrawled on hotel letterhead in blue ink.
Check your damn phone. – C
The hotel address put Christopher in Prague. Or at least he’d been there when he wrote the note. So the clairvoyant wasn’t on his way back. Yet.
Another tentacle flicked out of the demon dog’s otherwise invisible mane, waving my phone before me. I reached for it, but Paisley pulled it away.
I huffed. “So I get the note for free, but I have to negotiate for the phone?”
She wrapped her free tentacle around Aiden’s wrist, tugging on him, then looking pointedly at the kitchen island.
The witches and sorcerers, with the woven gossamer threads of magic between them, all suddenly looked elsewhere, pretending they hadn’t been watching the demon dog’s interaction with us.
“No one invited you to play?” Aiden asked Paisley.
The demon dog huffed indignantly. Then she lowered her head, narrowed her eyes, and peered pointedly toward the dining room.
“I see.” Aiden straightened, gazing at his siblings. “Paisley would like to be dealt into the game. And we need one more place at the table.”
Ocean’s jaw dropped. “She … she eats with …”
Sky threw a look at her younger sister, then said, “Perfect. The table was imbalanced with
only nine.” She grinned at Paisley. “Did you want to sit near the evil old sorcerer?”
Khalid choked on a laugh.
“I wouldn’t make assumptions,” Isa muttered. “She’s young enough that she could mean any of us.”
Sky patted her thighs, ignoring the sorcerers and still speaking playfully to Paisley. “Yes? Did you?”
Paisley opened her massive maw, displaying her double row of sharp teeth, and chortled darkly. The sound shivered up my arms.
“Holy hell,” Grosvenor squeaked. Then he glanced over at Sky, looking appalled — presumably in response to his own reaction.
The witch was fighting through her own instinctual fear, stiffly holding on to her smile. Though she’d straightened, holding her hands out as if her palms could ward off the demon dog.
Aiden released my hand, stepping over to the kitchen island. “Whose turn is next?”
Khalid cleared his throat, eyeing Paisley and then glancing over Aiden’s shoulder at me. “Mine. If I step back, will Paisley try to rip my throat out?”
“I never really know,” I said casually. “Shall I ask her not to eat you, sorcerer?”
“You haven’t already?” Ocean cried. Then she blushed fiercely.
I didn’t answer.
So apparently, I could play games. For my own pleasure, at least. Though by the look Aiden angled at me, I’d managed to amuse him as well.
Aiden took Khalid’s spot at the island. Paisley hooked paws that were too big for her current body on the edge of the speckled quartz counter and pulled herself up. Her nose skimmed the low edge of the magical grid. Sickle claws shot out from her paws.
Across from the demon dog, Sky meeped.
I wasn’t certain I’d ever heard a human make that particular sound before.
“Paisley,” I said in a warning tone.
The demon dog retracted the claws, laughing at me with her eyes.
I stepped closer.
Aiden drew Paisley’s attention back to the game. “Did you see them build their fortresses?” he asked her.
Paisley’s forked tongue flicked out, dancing across the nearest line of magic.
“Um, is that a yes?” Grosvenor asked.
“Each player — or in this case, each team,” Aiden continued, “is dealt a set of three cards from three decks. With those cards, they build their fortresses. Then, using the defensive and offensive systems they were dealt, they defend their fortress while trying to take or destroy the other players’ fortresses.” He gestured toward the cards laid out directly before him. “Khalid and Isa were originally dealt a very uneven hand. Heavy on offense, but lacking in supplies and defenses.” He pointed to the cards in the middle of the island, underneath the gossamer grid — the small stack of cards facing down, with a few next to it facing up. “They hope to draw cards that help them mitigate that weakness. Otherwise, they will lose in …” He scanned the entire island. “The next two rounds.”
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