Chapter 5
Amabel Harrow
I paced to the tall arched window that overlooked the sprawling fields of the Bell homestead.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the Michigan countryside, painting the farmland in deceptively peaceful hues of amber and gold.
My reflection stared back at me. Dark hair sleek around my shoulders, eyes narrowed with calculation.
The robin’s vision still played in my mind like a theater reel I couldn’t shut off.
I’d seen everything through its beady eyes: the hawk’s perfect dive toward Serafina, the flash of the curse as it activated, and then…
Chaos. Those damn dhampirs moving with inhuman speed, that big blond one taking the hit for her.
“The curse worked,” I whispered to my reflection.
That was the only consolation. The Withering Veil had taken root. I’d felt the telltale pulse of magic that confirmed successful embedding, but the satisfaction was hollow.
I closed my eyes, imagining what should have happened.
Serafina would have begun to fade slowly, like a photograph left too long in sunlight.
First, strangers would look through her as if she weren’t there.
Then acquaintances would forget conversations mid-sentence.
Eventually, even those closest to her would struggle to remember her name, her face blurring in their memories until she became a ghost in her own life.
And she would never even know why it was happening.
“They were ready,” I said, pressing my palm against the cool glass. “How were they so damn ready?”
Had Serafina warned them?
No, I decided, dismissing the thought as quickly as it had come. She was many things, but not a seer, and there was no other way she would have known.
So, what, then? Those husbands of hers simply operated on a level of paranoia that accounted for magical attacks?
That sounded more plausible for the monster hunters known as the Cimmerians.
I turned away from the window, crossing to my vanity where I’d laid out the grimoire with The Withering Veil curse. My fingers traced the ancient script, feeling the power still humming within the pages.
“They weren’t just strong. They were prepared. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
A cardinal landed on my windowsill, its crimson feathers bright against the darkening sky. I stared at it, calculating. Perhaps birds weren’t the right messengers. Perhaps we needed something more subtle.
“Fighting prepared enemies head-on is how idiots die,” I told the bird, which cocked its head as if considering my words before flying away.
I wasn’t afraid of those dhampirs; fear was for lesser beings without my abilities. But I wasn’t stupid, either. Mother had taught me better strategy than rushing into battle against opponents who clearly had resources we hadn’t anticipated.
Hell, Sun Tzu had taught me better when I read The Art of War at age nine.
“We need to be smarter. More patient.”
I ran my fingers through my hair as I sank onto the edge of my bed.
The curse had taken root; that much I knew. Even now, it would be doing its slow work, but on a male dhampir, not a female witch. How would that change its effects? Would it have an effect at all? The spell was specific to females.
I stood again, restless energy coursing through me. What I needed was information. A different approach. Something that would slip past their defenses while they were focused on the obvious threats.
“Next time,” I promised myself, “we’ll make sure she suffers properly.”
The thought brought a smile to my lips as I returned to the window, watching night settle over this pathetic little farm. I couldn’t wait until we could move to a home more befitting our station.
The door to my bedroom crashed open without so much as a knock, and Eluned burst in like a summer storm, all wild energy and gleaming eyes.
“Did you see their faces?” She twirled into the center of my room, her extravagant dress billowing around her like she was auditioning for a music video. “They were terrified! We actually did it!”
I didn’t turn from my window, just reached for the glass of bourbon I’d poured earlier. The amber liquid caught the fading light as I swirled it slowly, ice cubes clinking against crystal.
“They weren’t terrified,” I corrected. “They were surprised. There’s a difference.”
She seemed not to hear me, or more likely, chose to ignore my assessment. She flopped onto my bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress.
“We should hit them again.” She rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. “Tomorrow. Or tonight, even! They won’t expect us to come back so quickly.”
I took a deliberate sip, letting the liquor burn down my throat before responding.
“No.”
“No?” She sat up, her excitement giving way to irritation. “What do you mean, no? This is the perfect time, Am. They’re reeling right now, trying to figure out what happened. Mother always says to press an advantage when you have one.”
“Mother also says to understand your opponents before engaging them fully,” I countered, finally turning to face her. “Those dhampirs were ready, El.”
“So? We’ll send something stronger next time.”
I exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.
“They aren’t just strong. They are prepared. That level of readiness isn’t random. They were expecting something.”
“All the more reason to hit them now, before they can build up more defenses!” Eluned stood, pacing the floor with quick, agitated steps. “If they’re so dangerous, we can’t afford to give them time to regroup.”
“And charging in blindly is how fools die. Mother has a plan, and it doesn’t involve us exposing ourselves prematurely.” I set my glass down with a sharp click against the windowsill.
“Mother’s plan is taking forever,” she whined, her lower lip pushing out in that same childish pout she’d perfected when we were five. “You and I both know we could handle this ourselves.”
“Could we?” I arched an eyebrow. “Because what I saw today was us failing to incapacitate a single witch because her protectors were better prepared than we anticipated.”
My words landed like stones, and I could see her face harden.
“Why are you always like this?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly. “Always so cautious, always waiting. For once, I’d like to see you actually do something instead of just talking about it.”
“And for once, I’d like to see you think before you act.” I felt a flicker of anger rise in my chest.
“At least I act,” she shot back, stepping closer. “You hide behind your plans and your schemes, but when it comes to actual confrontation? You’re a coward, Amabel.”
“A coward?” I repeated, my voice dangerously soft as I set down my glass. “Is that what you call someone who ensures they win before the battle even begins? Someone who doesn’t rush into situations half-cocked?”
“I call it someone who’s all talk!” She folded her arms across her chest. “Always planning and plotting, but never pulling the trigger. I’m the one who gets things done.”
“You’re an impulse-driven idiot who’s lucky you haven’t gotten yourself killed already,” I said coldly. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I’m consistently three steps ahead of your blunders.”
Eluned’s eyes widened, genuine hurt flashing across her face before anger replaced it. This wasn’t our usual bickering. No, something had shifted between us, a fundamental fracture forming where once there had been alignment.
“My blunders?” she laughed, but it was brittle. “Wasn’t I the one who figured out that there was no aerial defense at Evermere? Wasn’t I the one who perfected The Withering Veil when you couldn’t get the incantation right?”
“And what good is any of that if you can’t exercise basic strategic patience?” I countered, stepping closer until we were face to face. “You constantly undermine our long-term plans with your need for immediate gratification.”
“And you undermine our power with your endless hesitation,” she hissed. “Those bastards should fear us. Serafina should be suffering right now. Instead, you’re up here, drinking and thinking and doing absolutely nothing.”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to.
“When I strike, Eluned, I make sure my enemies fall. I don’t give them warning shots. I don’t alert them to my presence. And I certainly don’t rush into their stronghold when they’re at their most vigilant.”
“You’re not a strategist,” she said, her words dripping with contempt. “You’re just afraid. Afraid they’re stronger than you.”
“I’m observant. And you’re not brave. You’re reckless.” I felt my fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. “How many times has Mother pulled you out of the fire recently? Three? Four? That incident with the fairies in Traverse City comes to mind.”
“Low blow.” Her cheeks flushed poppy-red.
“Accurate blow. You’d have us charge into battle because it tingles your nerves. I prefer victories that don’t end with your entrails decorating some backwoods tree.”
“At least I’m not still crying over losing Mother’s favorite—”
“Finish that sentence,” I whispered, “and I’ll sew your lips shut with spidergrim silk.”
The tension between us had never felt so palpable, an actual force pushing us apart even as we stood mere inches from each other. For eighteen years, we’d moved as paired blades, her flourish balancing my precision. Now her edge turned toward my throat.
“You didn’t use to hesitate,” she accused.
“You didn’t used to ignore plans. We had one task today. Test their defenses. Not indulge your theatrics.” My words died mid-snarl.
Our heads snapped toward the eastern window simultaneously, twin tuning forks vibrating to the same discordant note. The last of our curse had just unraveled.
W o r t h l e s s
That word.
That word!
One I hadn’t authorized.
One I’d explicitly forbidden.
I went rigid as Eluned’s smirk bloomed like a bloodstain.
“What. Did. You. Do?” Each word fell from my lips like a stone.