Chapter 3
Isat perched on the very edge of the sofa, every cell buzzing with anxiety.
Beside me, I could literally feel the nervous energy rolling off my mother in waves.
Persi, unable to stay seated, was pacing back and forth like a caged animal behind the sofa, while Rhi channeled her restlessness by gazing out the window at the ocean crashing onto the beach.
We all waited, stewing in anxiety, for the Conclave to arrive and, with them, the visiting Durupinen.
Jess had explained that the Council was rather like our own Conclave.
Just as we had covens, the Durupinen had clans, and members of those clans formed a sort of legislature which created and enforced rules and laws for the Durupinen world.
Our guests for the meeting today were a member of that Council, the head of the Council, and several of their guardians, who acted like security.
These guardians had an official title, but the word was in Gaelic or something, and I forgot it almost as soon as Jess said it to me.
I glanced at the door, listening for Ostara’s brisk, clicking footsteps that would announce their arrival, wondering if she would even go through with it. She’d been frankly paranoid from the moment we’d heard the Durupinen were coming.
"How do we know we can trust them?" Ostara had ranted when they first contacted us, a wild light of panic in her eyes.
"Mary Vesper trusted them all those years ago," Xiomara replied, her voice falling like a calming blanket over the conversation. "Trusted them enough to leave her coven's most prized possession with them."
"Yes, and look how that turned out," Ostara snapped. "They didn't keep the grimoire safe, did they? In fact, they seemed to have lost track of it completely!"
"Yes, well, a lot can happen in four hundred years, I'd imagine," Lydian said, scratching thoughtfully at the whiskers on her chin.
"What do you mean, imagine?" Davina chuckled. "You've been alive at least that long, havenae ye, old girl?"
"Feels like it," Lydian agreed.
"To Lydian's point," Xiomara went on over Davina's continued laughter, "we can't know how the grimoire came to be... misplaced. But I think we have no choice but to trust the Durupinen. They understand the Source. Their whole purpose is to protect it, and those like it."
"Then why haven't they protected it?" Ostara asked. "Why did they seem utterly unaware of its very existence, let alone that it had been compromised and damaged?"
"These are all good questions to ask them, don't you think?" Xiomara said. "And as to trusting them, surely you can see that they are taking as great a risk as we are by coming here to meet with us."
"What do you mean?" Ostara said. "I see no risk."
"If you see no risk, then you must have your damn eyes shut," Xiomara said, hoisting a single, incredulous eyebrow.
"In many ways, we are alike. They operate in secrecy for their own protection, just as we do.
They are exposing themselves to another community that does not understand them, and I really shouldn't have to explain the risk of that to you. "
Ostara's mouth twisted, like she had tasted something sour.
Rather than acknowledging Xiomara's point, she changed tacks.
"My fear," she said, "is that they will want to exert some form of ownership over the Source.
How can we be sure that they are not going to.
.. to claim the land out from under our feet or something? "
"Well, they felt no need to do so when Mary Vesper went to see them," Davina said.
"Perhaps not, but as Lydian said, a lot can happen in four hundred years," Ostara said, deftly turning their own argument upon the others.
"Look, I think we're tilting at windmills here," Davina said.
"We haven't even met with them yet, and you're already catastrophizing.
You talk of takeovers and ownership, but the Ballard girl gave no indication of any such plans.
Her primary concern seemed to be the stability of the Source.
Once that had been achieved, she left. I don't think we have anything to fear from these Durupinen, but if we do, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. "
Well, we had reached the bridge. Any moment now, the Durupinen would walk in the door of the Claire library, and then I supposed we’d find out if Ostara’s fears were unfounded, or if she was right to be paranoid all along.
Despite the fact that I was already inclined to trust the Durupinen, even I was starting to feel incredibly anxious as the seconds ticked by.
Finally, we heard the formidable sound of the Manor’s front door and a chorus of footsteps and low voices in the hallway.
“And away we go,” murmured my mom under her breath.
As the voices came closer, I heard Ostara say, rather huffily, “I assure you there is no need for the security stationed outside.”
“It’s protocol,” a deep male voice replied shortly.
“I assure you, it is not at all a reflection on you, Ms. Claire, or indeed on the covens of Sedgwick Cove,” chimed in a velvety smooth voice, a woman’s this time.
“Regardless of where I travel, my guardians follow the same security routines. It is an unfortunate fact that the Durupinen have enemies in all corners of the world, and we must practice constant vigilance to ensure our safety.”
The rest of us only had time to exchange a quick glance before the doors opened.
The other members of the Conclave entered first, taking their usual seats around the room.
Lydian winked at me as she wheeled herself into place, nearly running over my foot in the process with her mobility scooter.
Then, at last, came Ostara, flanked by three others.
“Our guests have arrived,” Ostara announced, and then stepped back to allow them to cross into the library.
If you had asked me five minutes earlier, I would have sworn there could be no woman more stately and put together than Ostara Claire.
But now, as High Priestess Celeste Morgan strode into the library, I had to make a concerted effort to keep my mouth from falling open.
She had an almost unworldly aura about her—or at least, that was how it seemed to me, but maybe that was just because I knew she was akin to Durupinen royalty.
She wore a deep blue, perfectly tailored pantsuit over a winter white cashmere turtleneck.
Her thick, glossy hair cascaded in curls over her shoulders, and her makeup looked professionally airbrushed as her face broke into a warm, serene smile.
She was flanked on her left by a stunningly beautiful blonde woman with a haughty, almost bored expression, and on her right by a hulking man dressed all in black, whose eyes scanned the room expertly, taking in all the points of entry and the relative positions of everyone present.
Every muscle in his considerably bulky frame seemed tensed, as though he was assessing us all as possible threats to the High Priestess.
The realization shocked me. It was hard to imagine anyone in the room around me as a threat, but then again, I was one of them.
I suppose, a year ago, I would have been on edge too, walking into a room full of self-professed witches.
"Hello everyone," Celeste's voice was melodious as she raised a perfectly manicured hand in a general greeting, and was met with a volley of polite nods in return.
"As I am sure you are all aware," Ostara said, her face forcing itself into a decidedly wooden smile, “this is Celeste Morgan, High Priestess of the Northern Clans of the Durupinen."
Celeste inclined her head in acknowledgment of the introduction, and smiled at us all in turn—a smile surprisingly devoid of any condescension or coldness that I would have expected from someone with a title as impressive as hers. "We appreciate you all agreeing to meet with us,” she said.
Ostara's smile flickered. "I was not under the impression that we had much of a choice."
"I'm sorry if that was the impression I gave.
I suppose I assumed the choice was a foregone conclusion, given the importance of the Geatgrima to your community," Celeste said smoothly, and I noticed just the slightest pink flush creep into Ostara's face. Over in the corner, Lydian cackled hoarsely under her breath, and behind her, Persi was smothering a smirk behind her hand, and looking at Celeste with new interest. She’d been almost as ready as Ostara to distrust the incomers, but Persi’s enjoyment in seeing Ostara be put in her place outweighed that distrust.
If Celeste noticed any of this silent exchange, she didn’t acknowledge it, but rather breezed on with the conversation.
"Please allow me to introduce one of our Council members, Catriona Harrington. She is also the head of our Tracker office, which means she oversees matters like these. In the future, she will be your contact point regarding the Geatgrima."
The blonde woman nodded in acknowledgment of the introduction, but did not speak. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere than where she was at the moment, her posture ramrod straight and tense.
“And this is my guardian, Cillian Shea. If, in the future, the Geatgrima requires additional security, he would be happy to coordinate it for you,” Celeste said.
Cillian didn’t look like he’d ever been happy about anything in his entire life, but he nodded in agreement with Celeste’s words.
"Let me introduce you to our Conclave members," Ostara said, with the air of someone determined to take back control of the conversation.
She led our visitors around the room as Celeste shook hands with everyone one by one, her bodyguard following along just behind her like a burly shadow.
Catriona did not follow them, but took up a post in the corner, and contented herself with observing silently. Finally, Ostara reached me.