Chapter 13 Fracture Between Them
Foster Collins
When I slipped through the open door, I discovered that Arabesque’s office still smelled like blood and brimstone from yesterday’s demon summoning.
I’d been summoned myself, this time for something mundane: Her pre-departure instructions while she gallivanted off to Chicago for her witch conference.
Her eyes flashed with promised violence if I failed her, which would have been terrifying if I hadn’t built immunity to threats after years of living without my wolf at the surface. Hard to fear death when you’re already half-dead inside.
“Foster.” She packed an ancient grimoire into her sleek leather briefcase. “It’s unlikely Amabel or Eluned will listen to you, but remind them of my orders if they try following me to Chicago. Maybe one will live long enough to regret it.”
“Do you want them alive?” I asked.
“That’ll depend on the scope of their ambition.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I kept my tone neutral, hands clasped behind my back like a good little soldier. “I’ll remind the twins of your directive should they inquire or attempt to depart.”
“See that you do.” Arabesque’s pale green eyes dissected me like I was a particularly disappointing specimen. “The conference is for established witches only. Not children playing at power.”
I bit back a smile. If Amabel and Eluned were “children playing at power,” then I was the tooth fairy.
Those two were vicious in their own unique ways, Amabel a calculating chess master and Eluned a tornado in a trailer park.
But I kept my thoughts to myself. Surviving Arabesque Harrow meant knowing when to shut the hell up.
“The rogues will need supervision this weekend as well,” she continued, snapping her briefcase shut. “I trust you can manage both responsibilities?”
“Of course.” I gave a slight nod, just enough deference to stroke her ego without appearing pathetic. “The pack respects my authority, however temporary.”
That got a thin-lipped smile. She loved being reminded that she’d managed to collect a wolf shifter with alpha blood to do her bidding. What she didn’t know was that my loyalty had never been anyone’s but my own.
“This conference is vital,” she said, turning to gaze out the window at the Michigan countryside. “I’ve spent years cultivating relationships with key covens across the country.”
“Building alliances is always wise,” I offered, fishing for more.
She took the bait, preening slightly. Arabesque loved explaining her own brilliance.
“Not just alliances, Foster. I’m creating a network. A hierarchy of covens, each with specific territories and responsibilities.” Her eyes gleamed with ambition. “A witch mafia, if you will. Each ‘family’ answering to me.”
I raised my eyebrows, feigning impressed surprise while my mind filed away this information for my next report.
“That’s innovative.”
“Some of my more hesitant associates required a demonstration of my capabilities,” she continued, running a perfectly manicured nail along the edge of her desk. “Six years ago, I showed them exactly what one witch could accomplish.”
“The Buenos Aires incident.” My blood chilled as the pieces clicked into place.
“You remember. How flattering.” Her smile was all teeth.
Who could forget? Six years ago, the supernatural world had been rocked by news of an attempted coup in the South American vampire kingdom. A lone witch had nearly toppled the Matriarch of the South, a vampire queen who’d ruled for over two centuries.
“You nearly succeeded,” I said carefully, watching her reaction.
“I would have, if not for an unexpected alliance between the jaguar shifters and S?o Paulo’s night cartels.” Her face tightened with old rage. “The Matriarch had kept them at each other’s throats for decades. No one anticipated she would unite them.”
“Hmm.” I nodded thoughtfully. “I must say, you using Boraro mercenaries was inspired.”
“They’re excellent shock troops, fearless to the point of stupidity.” She waved a dismissive hand. “But that’s ancient history. This weekend, I share my grand plan for claiming a true throne.”
My ears perked up. This was new information.
“Which kingdom have you set your sights on?”
Arabesque gave me a look that said I’d pushed too far.
“Patience, Foster. You’ll know when I need you to know.”
“Of course,” I backpedaled smoothly. “I simply wondered if I should prepare the rogues for specific combat scenarios.”
That mollified her.
“Your diligence is noted. For now, continue their standard training.”
As she turned away to gather her coat, I mentally assessed the likely targets.
Given her base of operations here in Michigan, she was probably aiming for either King Lucian’s vampire throne or King Julian’s werewolf kingdom.
The Woodland Realm seemed too distant. Prague was a long way from her power center here.
As for the Ice Cloud Kingdom? While the Iverson family’s rumored madness might make them vulnerable, Arabesque wasn’t the type to hide away in the frozen north. She craved the spotlight too much.
Personally, I’d have gone for the Ice Cloud Kingdom first. Insane kings make soft targets. Take down the smaller, isolated realm, use their resources to strengthen your position, then carve a path toward your true goal.
But Arabesque had never been one for subtlety or patience. She wanted glory, and she wanted it with an audience.
“I’ll be sharing just enough with my associates to secure their loyalty. They need to feel included in something momentous, but not know enough to betray me.”
“Wise,” I murmured as she pulled on her coat.
More info for the Cimmerians when I checked in later. Those three would be particularly interested in any threat to their father’s throne, even if their relationship with King Lucian was complicated at best.
“Remember your duties, Foster.” Arabesque glided toward the door. “My daughters remain here, and the rogues remain controlled.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I bowed again as she swept past me, trailing the scent of belladonna perfume mingled with Dark magic.
After she left, I stayed in her office for a moment, taking the rare opportunity to breathe freely in her private space.
My connection to this whole mess was a favor owed to King Julian.
He’d asked me to investigate rumors of rogues organizing into packs in this area, a potentially dangerous situation that could threaten his throne’s stability.
I’d agreed because when a werewolf king asks for a favor, refusing isn’t a healthy choice.
I hadn’t expected to find Arabesque Harrow, a Dark witch on five supernatural kingdoms’ most wanted lists, at the heart of it all.
By the time I realized who was pulling the strings, I was already too deep to pull out.
So I’d done what I do best. Adapt and survive.
I’d presented myself as a wandering alpha with no pack, willing to work for the highest bidder, and Arabesque had snatched me up to keep her growing collection of rogues in line.
Now I was so entrenched that even faking my death probably wouldn’t extract me from this tangled web.
The Cimmerians were my only reliable allies, and even they didn’t know everything about me.
I liked those boys, respected them, but my loyalty extended exactly as far as my survival required.
If things went south, I’d be gone before the first body hit the floor.
Which might not be too far in the future.
Just yesterday, I’d stood in this very office and watched Arabesque summon a greater demon, a twisted, oily thing that smelled like sulfur and rotting meat. She’d pulled a diamond ring from a small black box and held it up to the light.
“Lord Mordecai Wince,” she’d said conversationally, as if we were discussing a grocery list.
I’d recognized the name. A vampire who’d gone missing weeks ago. One of King Lucian’s top advisors.
“You’ve had him all this time?” I’d asked, genuinely surprised.
“Just his soul.” Arabesque had smiled that terrible smile again. “His body proved disposable.”
She’d placed the ring in the center of a complex sigil drawn in what I smelled was human blood, then spoke words that made my ears ache. The diamond had glowed, then cracked, releasing a wisp of silvery light that the demon had inhaled like a junkie taking a hit.
“A soul for a favor,” Arabesque had told the creature. “To be called upon when I need it most.”
The demon had grinned with too many teeth, passed her a token she could redeem for her favor, and vanished in a puff of foul-smelling smoke.
Arabesque had tucked the token in the open beak of a taxidermied raven perched on a low bookshelf, then cut her eyes at me, as if she were contemplating stuffing me someday…
I shuddered at the memory. I’d seen some Dark shit in my time, but soul trafficking with demons?
That crossed lines even I preferred to avoid.
I didn’t mess with diabolical forces any more than I sought divine intervention.
My philosophy had always been simple: Keep your head down, mind your business, and look out for number one.
Some might call me a shit-stirring opportunist, too slick for my own good. They wouldn’t be wrong. But I knew my limits. And I knew that when the time came, I’d bail on this situation and, yes, even on the Cimmerians if necessary. We might be tight, but my self-preservation instinct always won out.
I enjoyed one last moment of quiet in Arabesque’s office, then slipped out, closing the door behind me. Time to make myself scarce before the twins realized their mother was gone and decided to take advantage of her absence.
With my luck, they’d burn the place down just to spite her, and I’d be the one explaining the charred remains when she returned.
#
Exactly forty-three minutes after Arabesque’s sleek black Bentley disappeared down the gravel driveway in a cloud of dust, Amabel and Eluned emerged from their rooms like vengeful spirits, faces tight with matching scowls and eyes gleaming with rebellion.