Dad’s fingers yanked at the button again and I half-expected it to tear free and sail through the air like a miniature missile. “You don’t understand the complexities of the case, Izzy. It’s not how it appears. I was exploring. . .”
My father’s words trailed off. He’d always been a terrible liar.
I took a step closer to him and lowered my voice. “They just approached you out of the blue? Sent an email saying, ‘Hey, we’re the Guild of Supernatural Beings, wanna work with us?’ Right?”
Dad was so still I was afraid he had stopped breathing, but I couldn’t stem the flow of words now that I had started. “How do you know the fairy, Dad? She said she’s known you for years. And Chesca, that day we came to the forest? She heard the fae, didn’t she? We spent years convincing her it was a hallucination. All that therapy—she thought she was going insane. When you started working with the Guild, did you realize what we’d done? How we’d made her feel crazy—when we were the ones who had it wrong? Did you try to make it up to her?”
I swallowed the lump that was scratching my trachea. “Or did you know you know she was speaking the truth all along and watch her slowly hollow herself out by doubting her own mind?”
“We were only trying to keep you safe, Isabelle. To keep all of you safe. That’s all we ever wanted.” My father’s arms fell loosely by his side and he seemed to sag in his skin.
Mac rushed across the hall and dragged a chair from the study to my father’s side. He caught my dad by the arm and eased him into a seated position. My father clung to Mac’s shirt and my stomach churned with a cocktail of concern and anger.
Blackwood was the first to break the silence. “Dr. O’ Neill, we’ll give you some time alone with your daughter.” He extended his arm toward the dark-haired lady. “If you’d like to retire to the living quarters, Ma’am.”
“No.” My father’s voice sounded exhausted. “No, Alexander. There’s no need, it’s nothing you don’t already know.” Dad lifted his chin and stared into my eyes. “Isabelle, you’re a witch.”
Chapter Ten
The leaves crunched under my boots as I pounded through the forest. I pumped my legs as fast as I could, delighting in the burn in my calves. Physical pain was good. Physical pain distracted me from the ache in my heart. I ran out of steam at the edge of a clearing and I bent over double, resting my palms on my knees and heaving huge gasps of air into my lungs. The footsteps that had been trailing me since I burst out the door of the manor, slowed to a halt a few feet behind me. I didn’t bother to lift my head. “If you’re here to cuss me out for disrespecting my elders, you can turn around right now. I’m not in the mood to be chastised by anyone, Blackwood.”
Especially not a self-satisfied prick like you. I kept that part of myself.
Blackwood’s boots appeared at the edge of my peripheral line of vision, no closer than he had been before, but facing me now. He spread his legs a little wider and grounded himself. I wondered was he preparing himself for a brawl. Might have been a wise move—I was itching to punch something. “You knew I was following you?”
I drew myself into an upright position and rested my hands on my hips. “I’m not hard of hearing and you’re heavy on your feet.”
Blackwood cocked an eyebrow but didn’t rise to the bait. “How did you know it was me and not one of the others?”
I massaged my right temple with my knuckles. “Teddy would have overtaken me, Mac would have tried to make me go back and talk to my dad, and Jonathan appears oblivious to my existence. Left only you—lucky me.”
“You should feel privileged, I’ve never chased a girl before.” I snapped my face in Blackwood’s direction—had the world’s most uptight man just made a joke? Before I could make up my mind, Blackwood’s eyebrows drew together again. “I’m not here to cuss you out, Miss O’Neill. You just found out that your parents have been hiding your family’s supernatural identity from you and your sisters all your life. I think you have the right to be upset. You did well to hold your cool as much as you did. I would most likely have lost my shit.”
“Alexander Blackwood losing his shit—what exactly would that look like? I can picture you closing your door with a little bit of extra force and exclaiming, ‘Good day to you, sir.’ Something badass like that, right? Wild.” I stretched my lips wide in a sarcastic show of terror.
Blackwood lifted his jaw and a smile crept over his perfect mouth, disarming me completely. “The pack tells me I make a hideous first impression. It appears they were sparing my feelings and being overly kind. I apologize if I came across as a little cold, Miss O’Neill.”
“A little cold? The Antarctic is probably warmer. Although, I would have used other words besides cold,” I said.
Blackwood tilted his head. “You would?”
“Oh, yeah. Ignorant, rude, arrogant, conceited. Asshat. I think that one a lot.” I shrugged my shoulders.
“Cock block,” Blackwood said.
A sudden flush exploded from my neck. “What?”
“Isn’t what you called me today when I interrupted your conversation with Teddy outside the study? I’m pretty certain it was. Cock. Block. It’s got a nice ring to it. Lyrical.” Blackwood’s expression was deadpan, but I would have bet my samurai swords that the bastard was smirking on the inside.
I stretched my arms and started to jog slowly back towards manner. Blackwood ran alongside me. I pushed a sweaty strand of hair out of my eyes. “So, the Guild employed my father to break the curse over the forest because he’s a witch, not because he’s a scientist?”
“It was a bit of both, really. Mac was able to figure out pretty quickly that the vampires had used a living curse, which meant it had to be lifted by a witch. But he really is a huge fan of your father’s work, so the Guild agreed to try and get your father to work with us.” Blackwood’s breathing was perfectly even. I guessed cardiovascular fitness was a breeze for werewolves.
“And my father couldn’t refuse the job because he owed the Guild for helping him control my sisters’ supernatural abilities and mine,” I said.
Blackwood slowed to a stop and caught me by the wrist. A dart of static energy danced up my arm. I pinched my fingers together in irritation. Since I stepped foot in Blackwood Manor, I appeared to have regressed into a hormonal teenage state. My body was on fire every time the men touched my skin. I needed a good shake. And a cold shower—minus the lust-inducing fae touch.
“Isabelle, there’s nothing easy about the life of a witch. Of all the descendants of the gods, the witches have been the most hunted. Especially powerful witches. I’m not saying I agree with your parents’ choice, but I do think they were trying to protect you. They did it out of love,” Blackwood said.
I crossed my arms and stared at the outline of Blackwood Manor through the trees. “Is it a coincidence that my father grew up a few miles away from this supernatural safe zone, or whatever the forest is?”
“No. Your grandmother came to Oak Crescent to seek refuge under the protection of my grandfather. From what the archives tell me, she fled Ireland with your father in her arms after her husband was taken captive by a rival family. The Irish witch clans are some of the most powerful in the world as several of their gods still live amongst them. Still breed with them. But power and trouble often go hand in hand. Even now, the Guild fears the supernatural community is on the precipice of war because of the Irish witches and their feuds.” Blackwood watched my face closely.
I closed my eyes and drew the crisp afternoon air in through my nostrils. “Was my father angry when I walked out?” By angry, I meant hurt. And by walked out, I meant ran—controlling my temper had never been my strong point. Neither had apologizing.
“He looked more worried than angry to me,” Blackwood said. He tipped his head in the direction of the small bridge that led to the manner. “You can find out for yourself in a minute.”
Part of me wanted to turn and flee in the opposite direction as I caught sight of my father leani
ng over the waist-high stone wall that lined either side of the humpback bridge, but I kept moving. Mostly because Blackwood still had a hold on my wrist and was tugging me along. I dragged my feet like a sullen toddler. When we reached the bridge, Blackwood raised his hand in greeting. “Dr. O’Neill.”
“Alexander.” My father nodded and turned sad brown eyes on me. “Belle.”
Blackwood released my wrist and I raised my glare to my father’s face. “Will you keep working on the Blackwood project? If I tell you it’s important to me?”
“Belle.” My father leaned his weight against the bridge and shook his head. “You don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t!” I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t get it. I understand why you might be mad at the Guild for forcing your hand at making you work on the project, fine. I understand why you might have wanted to hide the supernatural world from us, I’m still pissed about it, but I understand. But why are you making the pack and the fairies suffer? I don’t care about the Guild. I care about helping people if we can—”
“We can’t!” My dad grimaced and turned to face Blackwood. “I can’t break the curse, Alexander. I unraveled the final elements of the spell last night. It’s a blood curse. I’m sorry.”
Blackwood’s expression remained entirely neutral, but his fingers dug into the stone of the bridge. There was a moment’s silence before he responded to my father. “Thank you, Dr. O’Neill. I’m eternally grateful for the time you spent trying to help my pack and the other creatures that seek refuge in Blackwood Forest. I’ll pass this information on to the Guild.”
“What does that mean—a blood curse? Why are you both acting like you’ve given up?” I stared from Blackwood to my father.
My dad’s shoulders bowed even further as if my question weighed him down. “A blood curse means that I can only undo the spell using the blood of the vampire who gave the command for it to be cast.”
“Then get his blood. I thought the Guild was in charge of all the supernaturals, you know who gave the order to cast the spell, right?” I glared at Blackwood. “Sick the Guild on the vamp and get as much blood as you need to fix this.”
Blackwood’s mouth curved upward at the corners, but it wasn’t a smile, just the ghost of one. “It’s not quite that simple, Miss O’Neill. There are legalities and diplomacy to consider. The supernatural communities are already uneasy, the Guild can’t just burst in on a vampire’s nest and demand their pound of flesh. They have to follow the proper channels. And a smart vampire like this will be well protected legally—he’ll keep us tied up in red tape for weeks.”
I spread my arms wide. “You don’t have weeks!”
“Like I said, he’s a smart vampire.” Blackwood held my gaze for a moment before he nodded and turned back toward the manor.
Fire scorched the inside of my stomach as I stared at his retreating back. “So, don’t play by the rules.”
Blackwood stopped walking and looked back over his shoulder. Dad shook his head. “Isabelle, no. This is exactly what I was worried about.”
“How much blood will you need?” I asked.
“Not much, barely more than a drop,” my father said. “But that’s not the point.”
Blackwood met my eye. “Your father’s right, Miss O’Neill. If one of my pack so much as scratches a vampire, it could start a supernatural feud that the Guild might not be able to contain.”
“I’ll get it. The only people who know I’m a supernatural are standing in Blackwood Manor right now. What’s the big deal if a regular human accidentally scrapes a random vampire and catches the drop of blood on a napkin? I could make it look like a total accident. They couldn’t prove anything,” I said.
Blackwood stared at my father, who looked at the ground for a long moment before he lifted his head. “It’s not a random vampire, Isabelle. The head of the vampire nest is Julian Gastone.”
“Julian Gaston.” I stared at my father. “Julian. Gastone. Julian—“
“Yes, Isabelle, Julian Gastone. Please stop repeating his name, it’s not helping anyone.” My father started to make his way between the water features and shaped bushes. The manor loomed in front of us like a hulking giant.
Blackwood had already reached the steps that swept up to the front door. I sprinted past him and blocked his path. When I stood on the first step, our eyes were level. And our lips. I frowned. “That’s why you’re trying to buy the property in town before he can? Because of the curse? To get revenge?”
“Not quite.” Blackwood side-stepped me, but I bounded up the steps beside him and managed to grab hold of his sleeve in front of the door.
“You said you couldn’t even take a drop of his blood without starting a feud, or something equally dramatic, but somebody ripped the heads from a bunch of Gastone’s men—that wasn’t you? Or any of your pack?” I raised a dubious eyebrow.
Blackwood glanced at my father over my shoulder and shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s a complicated situation, Miss O’ Neill.”
“Uncomplicate it, Blackwood.” I folded my arms as my father came to a stop beside us.
Blackwood crossed his arms over his own chest, mirroring my pose, and glared at me in silence for so long that I was afraid he was going to tell me nothing. Then he started to speak. “Julian and I went to school together. Jonathan too. The same school your father attended, actually.”
“Oak Crescent High?” I asked.
My father sat down heavily on a stone ledge and sighed. “Dagda Prep.”
“Dagda Prep?” I twisted to examine his face. “Is that the name of some secret supernatural school in the city?”
“Ireland. It’s a secret school for Guild member’s children in Ireland. Or it used to be.” My father looked exhausted. The fire of my anger was calmed by a wave of concern. I brushed my hand over his baby-soft halo of hair.
Blackwood leaned his shoulder against the door. “Dagda Preparatory school is one of the oldest centers of education for supernatural students in the world. It’s been run by one of the largest witch clans since the 1600’s. A few years ago, when the witch clans declared open hostility between each other, the school closed its gates to anyone who wasn’t part of the Dagda bloodline, but for centuries before that, the finest supernatural students from across the globe traveled to attend the Dublin school.”
“Exceptional students like you? Exceptionally wealthy?” I asked.
Blackwood ignored my tone. “Yes. And people like your father and Jonathan who had less money but far greater talent.” My brow creased at the description of Jonathan as gifted. So far, he had made zero impression on me—if I had to describe him as a color, I would have chosen beige. Blackwood looked like he might have guessed what I was thinking but he made no mention of it. “Julian Gastone was also a student at Dagda Prep, in the same class as Jonathan and me. His family is descended from Romanian nobility. My father had attended Dagda with his uncles and he said they were good men; charismatic and sincere. Julian inherited their charm but not their disposition.”
“He was a shitty teen?” I said.
“He’s a shitty person,” Blackwood snapped. He looked away from me, eyebrows drawn together. “He was the kind of kid who took pleasure from tormenting people he considers below him and his flurry of devoted followers would gather around him as he devoured his prey, feasting on the remains of the carcass when he was done.”
My father squeezed my arm gently. “He’s speaking figuratively, Isabelle. The boy wasn’t literally eating his classmates.”
“No,” Blackwood said. “Just tearing their self-esteem to shreds.”
“Including yours?” I asked.
Blackwood’s eyebrows peaked. “Mine? No. I didn’t make his list. I was from a well-known family, played on the sports teams, hated Latin—I was the kind of kid Julian Gastone wanted on his side.”
“And you didn’t want to be in with the cool crowd? The noble teenager. ” I tucked my hands into the pockets of my leather jacke
t.
“Look, Miss O’Neill, I’m not trying to pretend that I’m perfect.” Blackwood stared into the trees again. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes and there are many things I’ve done that I’m not proud of, but my family raised me to judge people on their own merit. Bullying people because of their parents’ bank balance wasn’t something I wanted any part of. Still isn’t.”
I pulled my jacket tighter around me. “Did you take him on? Gastone?”
Blackwood let out a dry laugh. “I wasn’t some heroic kid if that’s what you are imagining. I didn’t like the way Julian treated people, but I didn’t want to lead a crusade for the greater good or anything like that. I wanted to go to class, play hurling and football, and look at pretty girls from a distance.” He glanced at my face. “Some things never change.”
I bit my lip, unsure how to respond, but Blackwood had already continued talking. “Taking on Julian wasn’t my plan, it just sort of happened. He started picking on some of the younger kids on the hurling team, he wouldn’t let it go, I couldn’t stand back and watch—that was the start of what became a pretty bitter feud. But it was just kid’s stuff, you know? We graduated, Jonathan and I joined the Guild forces, we formed our pack in training, went into the field and I forgot Julian Gastone ever existed.”
My father lifted his head to look at Blackwood. “Until he appeared in your hometown and started tearing it apart?”
“Yeah.” Blackwood pressed his fingers against his mouth. “Something like that.”
I shook my head. “You think Julian Gastone decided to make Oak Crescent his stamping ground just to piss you off? Whoa, must have been some teenage feud.”
“He wanted to spit on your grandfather’s legacy, show you that your family was wrong to give their people their independence.” My father began to pull at his jacket button again. “I should have left Oak Crescent the minute he arrived in town. Should have contacted your family sooner, we all should have—the supernatural community here. We let it go too far. I’m sorry Alexander, your grandfather was a good man, I’m sad his dream came to this.”
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