Chapter 4
Four
IZZY
“Remember, don’t look any of them in the eye longer than a few seconds at a time. Never address them by their given names, only their titles. Show reverence and respect, regardless of the conversation.” Amanda twists her hands together as she continues to rattle off rule after rule for me to abide.
A leaden, sinking feeling settles in my chest.
We walk down a long hallway decorated on either side by framed photographs and paintings.
Some depict majestic landscapes; others are of people, the majority women but some men.
All of them have their lips set in haughty sneers and their chins tilted upwards imperiously.
If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that these people are previous Maidens, Mothers, and Crones.
There are no doors that I can see, except for one at the very end of the hall, nearly twice the width of me and three times the height. The wooden monstrosity has a single gold knocker, the metal carved to resemble a dragon.
It’s there we stop, though Amanda doesn’t make a move to lead me inside. She simply stands there, nibbling on her lower lip, her hands creating intricate patterns in front of her stomach as she fiddles with them.
“You’re going to be fine.” She flicks her eyes in my direction. “You’re going to be fine.”
I don’t know if she’s trying to convince me or herself.
“Can you tell Hale and Gerry where I am?” I ask hesitantly, keeping my gaze glued to the door.
I wish I had X-ray vision. I hate not knowing what threats I’ll have to face on the other side.
Amanda opens and closes her mouth repeatedly—a fish plucked from water and forced to flop around on dry land. She doesn’t immediately respond to my request, and I can practically see the wheels churning in her head, smoking and spitting off fire.
Then she blows out a breath, lowers her arms to her sides, and nods, the barest dip of her chin. “All right.”
She shoulders past me to grip the knocker. The repetitive tap-tap-tap sounds ominously loud in the quiet of the hallway.
For a moment, there’s silence, and then a croaky voice calls out, “Enter, child.”
Amanda grips my shoulder before I can open the door, her expression earnest. “Remember what I told you.”
“Blow smoke up the witches’ butts. Got it.” I nod sagely, and the barest hint of a smile quirks up her lips.
“I’ll make sure to get in contact with your foster dads.” She gives my shoulder a final squeeze and then releases me. “Don’t keep them waiting.”
I nod again, then I straighten my spine and step up towards the door. Before I can lift a hand to the doorknob, however, the door creaks on rusty hinges and then swings open. Shock lowers my jaw, but I quickly conceal my reaction.
Magic. Right. Duh.
I step into the room.
I don’t know what I expected—maybe a throne room or something similarly ostentatious—but instead, I enter what appears to be a dining room plucked straight out of the Victorian era.
An ornate brass chandelier dangles from the ceiling, the lavish lighting fixture illuminating the room in shades of burnished gold. The wallpaper is patterned with damask designs, all in vibrant shades of red, blue, and green.
There are two windows, one on either side of the room, and each of them is accentuated by heavy drapery tied away with golden threads.
A mahogany dining table dominates the center of the room, surrounded by six intricately carved chairs.
A plush area rug completes the room and adds to the elegant ambiance.
Three of the chairs are occupied.
The youngest woman sips daintily from a teacup, her lips curved in a sensual smirk as she assesses me. Her red hair, each strand straightened to perfection, frames a face almost too ethereal to be real.
Soraya, the Maiden.
Across from her sits an older woman with a severe face, prominent wrinkles, and shrewd eyes.
Ara, the Crone.
And then the final woman, positioned at the head of the table, her back towards me. All I can see is a shock of golden hair, the strands collected in an elaborate braid that cascades down her spine. I know that her face will be heart-shaped and delicate, belying the fierceness in her blue eyes.
My aunt.
Delaney, the Mother.
“Come. Take a seat.” Soraya offers me a smile and gestures towards the seat beside her.
I curl my hands into fists and step farther into the room, stopping when I reach the seat Soraya indicated. From this angle, I can finally see Delaney’s face, and my breath catches, as it did the first time I saw her.
She looks so much like me.
For a moment, I feel restless and adrift, like a pebble flung from a catapult. My heartbeat is embarrassingly loud in my ears as I gaze at one of my only living relatives.
But Delaney only regards me with cool indifference, one of her elegant eyebrows drifting upwards.
I realize I’m standing here like an idiot, gaping at her, so I quickly claim the seat.
Immediately, a silver kettle floats through the air and begins to pour into a tiny white and blue teacup.
“Do you take anything in your tea, Isabella?” Soraya asks, waving her hand in the air to lower the magical kettle.
“Um…” I struggle to wrap my head around the display of magic I just saw. “Just some sugar, please.”
Soraya waves her hand again, and a tiny bowl levitates off the table and moves towards me. Two sugar cubes are dumped into my cup before the bowl returns to its initial place on the table.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Delaney’s curt, no-nonsense voice makes me turn my head in her direction.
She takes a sip from her teacup, her calculating eyes never leaving my face.
My ribs squeeze my heart like a vise.
“Because I’m half witch.”
“And half dog,” Ara bites out with a curl to her lips.
Irritation flares within me at her tone, but I push it down. The last thing I need to do is start an argument with the three women who hold my fate in their hands.
Delaney waves a hand in the air, her tone decidedly flippant. “Semantics.” She then turns towards me, finally lowering her teacup back to the table. “You’re here, young Isabella, because you possess powerful witch blood. Your mother—”
The first flicker of emotion I’ve seen before distorts her features, but only for a fraction of a second. It’s not nearly enough time for me to get a read on what she’s feeling.
“Your mother was immensely powerful.”
“Until she whored herself to the wolves,” Ara murmurs.
This time, I can’t stop the white-hot anger from crackling within me.
“Don’t talk about her like that,” I snap, indignant on behalf of a woman I’ve never met.
Ara meets my stare with a frosty one of her own. “It’s the truth, child. Your mother could’ve been the most powerful witch our coven has ever seen, yet she threw it all away for those damn mongrels. Hell, she could’ve even been the Mother if she had stayed—”
“Enough!” Delaney slams her fist down on the table, causing the teacups to rattle.
Her lips remain set in a thin line, but her eyes… Her eyes tell a different story. They shimmer with barely concealed rage.
“That is my sister you’re talking about.” She squeezes her eyelids shut and takes a deep, calming breath. “But we’re not here to discuss her or her decisions.”
“No, we’re just here to discuss your sister’s idiot daughter.” Ara sneers at me. “Like mother like daughter, huh? Don’t think we’re oblivious to your relationship with those…furry beasts.”
I dig my nails into my palms hard enough to draw blood.
I want to defend my mates the way I did my mom, but Amanda’s warning rings like a death knell in my head. The last thing I need is to draw more attention to myself…or my mates. I need to keep my head on straight if I have any hope of making it out of this mess.
Soraya volleys her gaze between the Crone and me. Concern etches lines onto her forehead. “Is that true? Are you in a relationship with wolf shifters?”
I don’t bother to respond, mainly because she already knows the answer. Her “concern” is nothing but a ruse designed to make me lower my defenses.
“We’re not here to discuss Isabella’s dating life.” Delaney gives both the Crone and Maiden a droll look before refocusing on me. “We’re here to decide if she exhibits any power.”
“I don’t,” I blurt automatically. “I’ve never been able to do magic in my life.”
Delaney’s lips purse as she considers me before she seems to reach some conclusion. She leans back in the chair, her lips stretched in a taut line.
“That may be the case, but we’ll know for sure at the end of this month.”
“What’s this month?” I flicker my gaze between the three women.
“The witching moon,” Soraya answers, still determined to play good cop, despite the cunning gleam in her eyes.
“It’s where our magic is heightened,” Delaney explains. “Even the most…subpar witches are able to perform exemplary magic.”
“So I’ll return here at the end of the month, during this witching moon, and you’ll be able to tell if I have magic?”
That doesn’t sound so bad…
Ara chuckles darkly, and Soraya’s face creases with feigned sympathy.
Only Delaney’s expression remains impassive, her blue eyes sweeping over me once.
“No, Isabella. You’re not leaving here until after we’ve tested your capability.” She steeples her fingers together and places them on the table. “Until then, you will attend classes designed to train you on the art of all things witchcraft.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait.” Panic thunders inside of me.
She can’t be serious, can she? I need to get back to the shifters and tell them what I discovered about Kain and the vampires.
I need to ensure with my own two eyes that my mates are okay.
I need to talk to Kyle and Silas. I need to find Christian and help free him from the hold of his wolf. I need to—
“We have excellent teachers who will be willing to work with you,” Delaney continues, oblivious—or choosing to ignore—my growing unease.
“I have school. A family. A life—” I begin, but the Crone waves off my worries.
“You can continue your schooling here, at least for the time being. And aren’t you a foster child?” She snorts. “You don’t have a family, child. You have people paid by the state to look after you.”
Anger like I’ve never felt before blasts through me, tinting my vision red. How dare she negate everything Hale and Gerry have done for me? How dare she suggest that blood is the only thing that equals family? How fucking dare she?
But I keep my mouth shut like a good girl.
“We will inform your foster parents where you are,” Delaney says, as if that somehow is a consolation.
“I need my phone,” I grit out. “And supplies. And—”
“You won’t have access to your phone while you’re in training,” Delaney says. “And as for supplies, we will provide them for you.”
Panic pulsates inside of me.
No. No. No.
This can’t be happening.
“If that’s all, then the meeting’s adjourned.” Delaney takes a delicate sip of tea. “And you, Isabella, will start classes straight away.”
“But—”
My protest cuts off when the world beneath me disappears.
Literally.
One second, I’m sitting on a wooden chair in a dining room. The next, I’m falling through an abyss of darkness, interspersed here and there with purple and pink streaks. I’m falling, falling, falling, falling…
A scream lodges in my throat as I land on the ground, hard, the movement jarring my knees.
I’m back in the dorm room I woke up in.
Alone.
And this time, I truly am a prisoner of the witches.