Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
I land back in my body with a thump, my pulse pounding in my fingertips, my throat, my chest. The room isn't dark anymore. The lights have come back on, the candles have gone out, and Mrs. Grant is sitting opposite me, looking like her normal self again. For a moment, I wonder if I imagined all of it. But my palm still aches, and when I unfold my fingers and look down at it, I see the scroll and dagger branded there.
I don’t even realize tears are streaming down my cheeks until Mrs. Fontaine presses a tissue into my hand. “Here, dear,” she says, her voice filled with sympathy.
I take it, dabbing at my face. But I can’t manage to form a word. All I can picture are the vivid details of that terrible memory. Rage at those hooded men blends with grief over what I’ve lost, so profound that my body feels too small to contain it. I wrap my arms around my knees, rocking back and forth.
Who were the men—and maybe women—beneath those hoods? Why would they commit an act so atrocious? Who are the blood witches, really, and what did they want with my family? Why did they spare my life? And are they the ones who cursed me?
I have so many questions. They bubble up inside me, one on top of the next. I hardly know what to ask first, and my throat is so thick with sorrow, it’s hard to swallow.
Mrs. Hernandez grips my shoulder, half-sympathetic, half-urgent. “What did you see, Rune?”
I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not sure I can talk. But if I’m to have any hope of getting justice for my parents, of lifting my curse and maybe saving Donovan, I have to try.
Swiping the tissue beneath my eyes one last time, I sit up straight. Maybe I can’t trust the Sinsters—but I have to trust someone . I’m in way over my head, and I'd rather confide in women I’ve known all my life than Officer Asshat. Sure, he helped me control my premonition, but that's not reason enough to believe he's on my side. For all I know, he’s working for these Blood Witches, and was told to do whatever he needed to in order to gain my trust.
By contrast, the Sinsters have been looking out for me since I was small, obnoxious Facebook posts aside. Mrs. Grant has been feeding me milkshakes and burgers for years; if she wanted to poison me, she could have done it long ago. And thanks to her, as devastating as witnessing my parents’ death was, I gained something no one can ever take away: the indelible reality of their love.
I draw a deep breath and tell the Sinsters everything I just witnessed. As I talk, their eyes grow wider and wider, but they don’t interrupt. By the time I describe seeing my father crumple to the floor and watching my mother die, all three of them look glassy-eyed. Mrs. Grant pales, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Rune,” she whispers. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“The man who killed my father,” I say, looking between the three of them. “His voice was so familiar. And what he chanted when they cast that symbol— Non sine something?—”
“ Non sine sanguine gloria, ” Mrs. Hernandez says, her nose wrinkling with contempt. “The motto of the Blood Witches, those despicable excuses for human beings.”
“He was like some kind of cult leader.” I sniff, wiping beneath my eyes with the sodden tissue. “I don’t understand any of this. How did my dad make those dragons and lions come out of nowhere? Is that a…thing people can do?” I sniff harder, but it doesn’t help. The tears are flowing down my face now, splashing into my lap. “My parents seemed so…so nice. Why would anyone want to hurt them that way? And why save me?”
The three of them glance at each other, as if trying to come to a decision. Then Mrs. Fontaine nods, and they look back at me once more.
“Rune,” Mrs. Grant says carefully, “what did you say your father’s name was?”
“My mother called him David.” I peer at her through my tears. “So did their leader. Why do you ask? Do you…do you know who my parents are? Who I am?”
“David. You said he was tall and bearded, right?” Mrs. Hernandez’s hands are knotted in her lap. “And your mother had long brown hair?”
“Yes. Like mine.” I lean forward eagerly. “Did you know them?”
Mrs. Grant doesn’t answer me. Instead, she turns to the other two Sinsters. “Could it be? They did die in a fire, after all…and they had an infant daughter… But everyone said she was killed, too. The police found bones…”
I jump to my feet, adrenaline pumping through me. “Who died in a fire? Who are you talking about?”
“The bones could have been planted,” Mrs. Fontaine says, ignoring me. “Stolen from some poor soul. As for the method of death, everyone said there was barely enough left of the Duvals to identify them…” Her eyes drift to me, and her voice trails off in horror.
I can’t take the back-and-forth anymore. “Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?”
Mrs. Hernandez clears her throat. “Rune,” she says, squaring her shoulders, “thirty-one years ago, in a town not far from Sapphire Springs, two powerful witches who match the descriptions you’ve given us died when their house burned to the ground. Their names were David and Lorelai Duval. They had a young daughter, Iris, and everyone thought she perished in the fire, too. But if we’re right, Iris Duval didn’t die at all. If we’re right”—her voice catches—“she’s standing right in front of us.”
My vision goes fuzzy, and I have to steady myself on the curio cabinet. Inside, the Hummels rattle and shift. “Iris Duval…is my birth name? And my mother’s name was Lorelai?”
Next to me, Mrs. Grant is pacing. “This is a crime of unspeakable proportions. Two of our own murdered that way, with their precious daughter forced to watch—and then to steal the child…” She takes my chin in her hands, shifting my face left and right. “Your eyes are like Lorelai’s, now that I think about it. But I never suspected… Who would? To have you growing up right under our noses—one of our own?—”
She drops her hands, her eyes hardening with anger. “All those years, going from one foster home to the next. There are protocols for the orphaned children of witches. A system, so that when your powers begin to manifest, you’re not alone. What happened to you is a travesty, Rune. And I’m sorrier than I can say.”
Tears rise in my throat again, and I push them back. “But…why put me in the foster system, then? If the Blood Witches wanted me so much, why not raise me themselves?”
“It would have caused too much suspicion.” Mrs. Hernandez is on her feet, too, shaking her head. “They operate in secret. Their identities are a mystery—you saw those hoods. They walk among us. They look like us. But they’re not like us.” She spits the last few words. “If one of them suddenly acquired a small, traumatized child, questions would be asked. And that’s the very last thing they can afford.”
Mrs. Grant comes to a stop in front of me. “What are your powers, Rune? You do have them, yes?”
“I—”
“You can tell us,” Mrs. Fontaine coaxes. “We’ll help you. Guide you. We should have been doing this all along, if only we’d known.”
I try again to describe my curse. To explain. But once again, the electricity crackles in the air. Once again, the word catches in my throat, and I can’t speak it.
Grimly, Mrs. Grant folds her arms across her chest. “We’ll get to the bottom of this later. For now, tell us what you can.” She points at my branded hand. “How did this happen? And what did Ella read in your cards?”
I can’t explain about my hand, since that’s connected to a premonition. But I tell them what Ella saw. “ I see darkness surrounding someone you work with is what she said. And she drew this symbol.” I dig the napkin out of my purse again. “She said the person was connected to my parents’ deaths, which means they have to be a Blood Witch, or aligned with them, right?”
“Most likely.” Mrs. Fontaine’s expression is fierce.
I look from one of the Sinsters to the next. “I’m going to find out who they are,” I vow. “And when I do, I’m going to bring them to justice.”
The Sinsters link hands. And then they reach out and weave their fingers through mine.
“Damn right you are,” Mrs. Hernandez says. “And I’ll tell you one thing, Rune Whitlock. You won’t be doing it alone.”