Chapter 7
A new world requires a new order. If we are to control the alien threads that are now part of our Weave, then equality cannot be the way forward. The most able must be given the greatest share of power, and if that means an amalgamation of covens, then so be it.
It didn’t take long for me to conclude that my body’s reaction to Vitra was in my head. I’d imagined the feelings because his presence was so potent, that was all. I was cursed and pleasure was off the table, that was a fact.
Unpacking took less than ten minutes because I’d traveled light.
I’d brought only one outfit change, my comfy PJs, a small bag of toiletries, my cryptozoology journal, and the box from under Mother’s bed.
The voice of doubt in my head whispered that I was being premature in settling in.
That I might not be allowed to stay, and as always, I told it to take a hike.
But as soon as I silenced the doubt, another part of me questioned this entire idea—what was I doing, coming here, putting my life on the line for a truth that might not even exist?
Dharma’s journal entries ended after she wrote to say she was headed to the vault. Nothing but aging blank pages, which suggested that she’d never made it back.
Coming here and locking myself in these wards was more dangerous than I’d admit—but this cage was nothing compared to the one I’d lived in all my life.
A cage built by a lie that the upper echelons of supernal society had woven for my family.
Why was the biggest question. One that had burned a hole in my mind ever since I read Dharma’s fractured account.
And yes, she might have been mad, delusional even, but my ever-reliable gut screamed at me that she wasn’t.
Now all I needed to do was gain admission and find the proof that she’d been searching for so I could expose the Arcanum Imperium and get justice.
Revenge. Something for every Onyx that had come before.
I could use that power to finally bring Sterling Damascus to his knees. I could demand his head as retribution.
The risk was worth the reward.
I couldn’t regret coming here. I did, however, regret bringing only one change of clothes, since my traveling outfit was covered in mud.
I doubted that Darla would be able to get it back to me by morning.
I’d have to wear the extra outfit to the meeting tomorrow.
At least the bathroom had a tub, so I could soak before bed tonight.
And once they gave me official admittance, I’d see about getting hold of some more clothes.
A sharp rap sounded on the door followed by hushed, heated whispers. Were the Unwoven back? Vitra had instructed me not to leave these quarters, but he hadn’t said I couldn’t fraternize. Besides, I wanted to know what Unwoven were.
Another knock.
“Maybe she isn’t here yet,” an irritated female voice said.
“She was seen,” a man replied.
“There are muddy footprints,” another female voice said.
I yanked open the door, and the three whisperers jumped back. Two women and a man.
“Hi,” one of the women said. “I’m Clary, and this is Dori and Benedict. We wanted to welcome you to Bramble.”
There was something about her that put me immediately at ease. Maybe it was the big smile set into a heart-shaped face, or maybe it was the warmth in her big brown eyes.
Dori rolled her heavily made-up eyes. “You sound like the prima incantors. This isn’t a holiday resort, and no one wants to be in Bramble.”
Clary’s eyes lit up. “But you do,” she said to me. “You’re here because you want to be.”
“Which leaves us wondering how mad you are,” Dori added.
“Dori!” Clary admonished. Then to me, “We don’t think you’re mad.”
“Speak for yourself,” Dori muttered.
While Clary was short and curvy, Dori was tall and svelte, her shoulder-length hair parted to one side, partially obscuring one eye to give her a sultry air. She had the voice to match, that slight drawl that said, I know I’m gorgeous, so you’ll stop and listen to me no matter how slowly I speak.
“We heard the tram was attacked,” Benedict said, wandering over to the sofa. “Go on, spill. What happened?” He stretched out his wiry frame on the longest sofa, tucked his arms behind his head, and surveyed me with kohl-rimmed eyes beneath messy dark hair. “Mudarks and Echoes, right?”
Three more people treating me like I didn’t have the plague. Interesting.
I stepped into the sitting room. “News does travel fast here.”
“You can say that again,” Dori drawled. “The information mill is forever active.” She threw herself into the armchair beside the empty hearth, slung both her stocking-clad legs over one arm, and flipped her sandy hair over her shoulder.
“I want to know about the attack,” Benedict said. “How in Nova did you get away?”
Clary took the second armchair, leaving the two-seater free, and then they were all looking at me, a clear invitation to join them. They were acting like we were friends, like my name meant nothing to them.
Wait, maybe they didn’t know who I was? “I’m an Onyx. You know that, right?”
Dori’s eyes flew wide. “What? Oh. My. Trinity.”
Benedict snickered.
“Shut up, you guys,” Clary said before throwing a kind smile my way. “We know, and we don’t care.”
This was starting to get weird. “Why not?”
“Why should we?” Benedict countered. “It’s not like you personally wiped out a bloodline. Kinda shitty that your whole family paid the price for one person’s actions.”
“It’s messed up,” Dori said.
“But I get it,” Clary added. “Not everyone feels that way, and you’ve probably met your fair share of them. But we’re not like that. We have our own…issues.”
Now I was intrigued. “Okay.” I crossed to the sofa. “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”
* * *
Unwoven were Arcanus whose connection to the Weave had been blocked as a disciplinary action, Clary had just finished explaining.
She pulled up her sleeve to show me a symbol that marked her as Unwoven. I’d seen it plenty of times, except on me it was faded into the skin of my thigh, a part of me because I’d been born with it.
“Once our sentence is over, they remove it,” Clary said. “Then we get our familiars back and can return to Hunter duty.” She wrinkled her nose. “Domestic duty sucks, and Pip is a hard taskmaster.”
“And combat training hits harder when you can’t throw up a shield,” Dori said.
“That’s not even one of your spells,” Benedict replied.
“Well, it should be.”
I didn’t get it. “What do you mean it isn’t one of her spells?”
“Dori’s with the Embercrest Coven,” Benedict said. “They’re allocated spells at birth and aren’t allowed to learn any others.”
I searched the archive of my mind for that coven name.
It was an ancient coven created by Embercrest, one of the oldest incantor bloodlines.
They had an ancient grimoire which contained all of their powerful spells.
Mother had explained that the head of the coven—always an Embercrest—was able to gift spells to its coven members, incantors from various bloodlines who’d pledged themselves to the coven.
The spells were copied onto enchanted parchment before being gifted to ensure that only the new owner could read them.
Mother had explained that this way, they ensured that the coven members worked together, united in power.
No one incantor in the coven was more powerful than another.
“It’s bullshit.” Dori picked at imaginary lint on her skirt. “Especially for those of us who get the crappy spells.”
“So what did you do? Steal spells? I mean, is that even possible?”
She smirked. “Nope.”
“She encouraged spell sharing,” Clary said, answering for her. “Encouraged but never forced. That point should have mattered.”
“Not to my aunt it didn’t,” Dori said.
“Dori’s aunt is the Trinity Tower Master,” Benedict elaborated. “And Embercrest Coven leader.”
“Which is also bullshit,” Dori said. “All the other covens have senior students as leaders. We call them prima incantors. She’s just a power-hungry bitch.”
“But doesn’t your coven have to be run by an Embercrest?” I was so confused.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it does, but the branch of the coven here is only a small offshoot of the main coven. Heidi can’t allocate spells, only the true coven leader outside of Nightsbridge can do that.
There’s no reason for her to run the Nightsbridge faction.
She could hand down the power, train the next generation. ”
“You mean like you?” I arched a brow, biting back a smile.
“I mean…yeah. But, like I said, she’s a power-hungry bitch.”
“She’s hot, though,” Benedict added. “I’d fuck her.”
“You’d fuck anything,” Dori replied.
“Not true,” Benedict said. “I have standards.”
“And nasty bitches make the cut?” Dori asked.
“I don’t feel as guilty giving them a good spanking,” Benedict said. “But it’s the good girls that get me going the most.” He winked at Clary, and her face turned red.
“You’re not Clary’s type,” Dori said.
But the look on Clary’s face, just before she hid behind the curtain bangs of her bobbed hair, said that he was exactly her type.
Dori and Benedict, however, seemed genuinely clueless.
So Dori’s aunt was the Tower Master, which meant she was the one to ask about radio guy and his punishment. Good to know. “What about you two?” My gaze bounced between Clary and Benedict. “What covens are you from, and why did they bind your powers?”
“I’m with Evergreen,” Clary said. “I refused to heal someone after they attacked another witch and got hurt. Evergreen preaches forgiveness, and I failed…”
“Oh no,” Dori drawled sarcastically. “You failed at being a doormat. Seriously, Evergreen needs to sort its shit out. Three months for that? Bullshit. Benedict set someone’s arm on fire and got the same. This time.” She shot him a grin. “You’re such a waste of space.”
Benedict opened his arms and grinned. “But I’m such a sexy waste of space.”
Dori threw a pillow at his face.
He caught it neatly and slipped it under his head. “I’m an Ironhart,” he said to me.
My brows went up before I could school my expression. Ironharts were supposed to be huge, said to be descended from overseas invaders who claimed to have the blood of ogres in their veins. Benedict did not fit the profile typical for the sorcerer bloodline.
He chuckled. “I know, I know. The big guy gene skipped me.”
“But you make up for it with a huge chip on your shoulder,” Dori quipped.
He winked. “It is pretty impressive.”
His humor was infectious, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. “And you set someone on fire?”
“It was an accident,” Clary said, jumping to his defense. “It’s not his fault he’s attuned to Chaos Magic.”
Rare for an Ironhart. They tended to do low-level telekinesis. And not many of them carried a focus because their connection to the Weave wasn’t powerful enough to risk them becoming overwhelmed by it.
“He’s been bound twice.” Dori held up two fingers to emphasize the fact.
“I can speak for myself, you know,” Benedict said, but he didn’t look upset by them spilling his story. In fact, he seemed almost amused.
“Whatever,” Dori said.
“We’re all due to get our powers back in just over five weeks,” Clary said. “Maybe if your meeting goes well, you’ll be joining us.”
“I doubt it will be so easy for her,” Dori said. “A bloodline block is a lot harder to undo than a personal one.”
Benedict eyed me from his spot on the sofa, dark eyes speculative beneath his mop of messy hair. “So, what is it? What’s your curse?”
I tensed, surprised that he’d asked. The fact that the block on my bloodline had produced a curse as a side-effect was common knowledge, but it was also something people didn’t directly enquire about.
Arcanus were usually big on etiquette, and other supernals didn’t often give a damn about what my curse was.
“Don’t be so rude!” Clary admonished him, then turned a kind smile my way. “I’m sorry, sometimes Benedict has no filter.”
“Like you weren’t wondering the same,” he muttered.
Dori shot him a glare.
“Fine, forget that,” Benedict said. “Tell us about the tram attack.”
One of the first lessons I’d learned out in the big wide world was to utilize all the resources available to me, and these three were the perfect resources to help me navigate Nightsbridge.
“How in the world did you survive it?” Dori asked.
It was time to make friends. I sat forward in my seat and fixed a serious expression on my face. “I ran.”
I’d been running all my life, but tomorrow I’d begin the path to laying down roots.
At least for a little while.