Chapter 8
EIGHT
Joan’s head whipped around like one of those inflatable guys in front of a car wash, trying to ascertain who might have overheard, but the two of them had a little circle of space around them.
Joan was a little bit of a radical, sure, but she wasn’t enough of one to talk about Moon Creatures casting at a witch party. She might mention it in a one-on-one or behind closed doors, certainly. To herself in the mirror, late at night, in a soundproof room.
“I heard about your best friend, the LaMorte vampire,” Wren said, nonplussed by Joan’s cartoonish panic. “I thought you might hold similar values. Values that are certainly rare among named witch society.”
Joan tried not to look like she’d been run over by a car. “I… Is this a trap?”
Wren shrugged a little. “No, but I guess there’s no way for me to really prove that.
Just know, Astoria might be here to do what her mother says, but I am under no such constraints.
There’s no reason only witches should cast—it’s an incredible ability, and I don’t believe in whatever genetic deterministic bullshit currently dictates things.
I also don’t believe in the disgusting, fearmongering police system that Poppy Wardwell runs in California.
If you feel similarly, we might help each other.
And if not, well, then it would be bold to accuse a guest witch here with the heir to California of saying all this. Publicly.”
Joan performed another evaluation of Wren, scanning her from head to toe. “How are you both trying to get on my side and threatening me?”
Wren sipped her drink. “It’s an art I unfortunately had to hone running in the same circles as Astoria. We met when we were only three, you know. Grew up together. A friendship like that… sometimes your values diverge, but you find ways to stay together.”
“Does she know you’re trying to convince me to help you give casting magic to Moon Creatures?”
Wren downed her glass, glossy manicured nails clinking against the cup. “I better go rescue Astoria. She can’t hold a conversation that isn’t about fighting tactics or swords. Or romance novels.” Her face was soft, fond.
She turned to Joan, flashed her a bright smile. Her dark eyes had a gorgeous iridescence to them. “We’ll run into each other again.”
Her tone did not indicate a question, and Joan was left baffled as Wren slipped into the conversation Astoria was having. Astoria visibly sagged with relief.
Hmm.
“I still can’t believe Poppy let her come,” Molly said, sidling up and poking Joan in the side. “How did the thing with Grace go? Will there be a second date?”
“Let who come?”
“Wren.” Molly looked at Joan expectantly, and when Joan failed to deliver whatever recognition she was looking for, elaborated with a sigh. “Because of the whole fae thing?”
Joan absolutely could not connect the dots.
“Wren Dahl-Min is half fae, half witch,” Molly supplied. “She was adopted by a witch family as a kid. But Poppy’s a purist about her inner circle. Astoria must have lobbied hard to bring Wren. Are you avoiding my Grace question?”
Joan focused in on Wren’s nails, a little bit too long.
Her ears, just slightly pointed. Both signs of the fae.
Adopted into a witch family… Joan wondered, rather rudely, what had led to her being put up for adoption.
Mixed kids weren’t always accepted by their birth families, depending on the species, and witches were usually eager to get the children into witch training as soon as possible.
“Joan. Please. Grace?”
“Did you tell Aunt Val about it?” Joan grumbled, swatting Molly’s still poking hand away.
“Was it a secret?”
Yes, absolutely, and also… “No, but I don’t think it’s going to work out.”
Molly deflated. She looked stunning in a dark red dress, her hair pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry, I hope you keep trying.”
Joan kept her eyes glued to Astoria and Wren, trying to puzzle out their presence and apparently diverging interests. Wren Dahl-Min, half fae herself, wanted to give casting magic to Moon Creatures. Astoria Wardwell represented the desire to use casting magic to oppress Moon Creatures further.
Maybe in the race between New York witches, California witches, and Moon Creatures, Joan was on Mik’s side, but she could also be on the side of Moon Creatures.
It would fundamentally transform the magic world if vampires and fae could cast too, if they could manipulate others the way witches so easily did, nudge the stock market in a certain direction, grease some political palms, create wards on their own.
Not that Joan felt people should be manipulated.
But it would make it impossible for witches to do something asinine like invade the Night Market.
Which could happen at any time, apparently.
But not tonight, not while witches were getting drunk uptown.
And she had CZ right there with her, if they found the answers first. She could give them to him or Abel. To the LaMortes.
“Joan?” Molly was saying, voice fuzzy in Joan’s ear.
“I’m going to go,” Joan said. The world sharpened. “Mol, if the family tries to go after the market, I need you to stop them.”
Joan might as well have asked for Molly to rip the sun from the sky, reverse the tides, alter the orbit of the planet—but she asked anyways, because she could. Because if either of them had a chance, it was Molly.
Molly’s gaze was sad, the corners of her lips slightly downturned. “What are you going to do, Jo?”
Joan leaned in, bumped her sister’s shoulder. “Plausible deniability, Mol. Promise me you’ll try.”
Molly hesitated a moment before bumping Joan back. “I can only stall. You know the moment they feel really backed into a corner, they’ll do whatever they think they have to.”
“I know,” Joan said. “I’m going to try to fix it before they hit that corner.”
She patted Molly on the shoulder, snatched another glass of prosecco, and downed it as she walked out the door.
In Hell’s Kitchen, Joan entered CZ’s apartment to find him standing on the kitchen island with a fistful of popcorn in his hand and Mik, mouth open, below him.
The two of them froze comedically upon her entrance.
Joan broke the silence. “You have a kidnapped person and didn’t lock your door?”
“No one ever comes by!” CZ protested.
At the same time, Mik replied, “Isn’t he kind of an apex predator?”
Which was so blissfully normal after the string of conversations she’d had at her family’s house. Joan was overwhelmed with the desire to gather them both into a hug and kiss their faces in gratitude. Instead, she joined Mik by the counter and opened her mouth.
CZ plucked out a popped kernel and threw it.
Joan was no athlete, but she was a pro at this game and caught the popcorn to raucous cheers. She bowed dramatically at the waist.
“CZ,” she said without preamble. “I need you to get me into the Night Market.”
The cheers cut off. Mik shuddered. CZ tossed the popcorn back in the bag and scrambled to grab Joan by the arms.
“Why, what happened?”
Joan gave him the rundown. The Greenwoods thinking of invading the market for answers, their knowledge that Mik had stumbled out of there, Astoria Wardwell’s presence in New York, and Wren Dahl-Min’s odd proposal.
Mik rubbed at the stubble of their shaved head, agitation rising. “So we’re no closer to having enough witches for a sealing spell and they’re getting closer to us?”
CZ was staring contemplatively out the window, like he was in an old movie, but Joan knew him well enough to know he wasn’t being faux dramatic. The usually ever-present humor had dropped entirely off his face.
“It’s a risk,” he admitted. “Giving us casting magic. You don’t know what we’ll do with it any more than you know what your aunt will do with it.”
“Actually, I think I do have a good sense of what Aunt Val will do,” Joan said.
“And Merlin. And California. The gamble of Moon Creatures is feeling best to me; at least in the uncertainty, there’s some possibility this doesn’t all go totally sideways.
If I were a spellmaker, maybe I could study Mik right now, but that’s not my wheelhouse, so we need to either get a spellmaker on our side or find the original one. ”
“You want to join up with Wren? What if it’s just a way of weaseling into your trust?” Mik said. “Do you know her?”
No. Before today, Joan had never even heard of Wren. “I think this is a ‘rock and a hard place’ kind of situation,” Joan admitted.
“A rock and a hard place with my life liable to be crushed between them,” Mik muttered.
CZ rubbed his chin, turning from the window. “Alright, I’ll go back to the Night Market and look around again. I haven’t been able to retrace Mik’s steps exactly, but I’ll try. Abel can probably meet me there, and he’ll be able to help. I filled him in on the phone. He is not pleased with us.”
“Probably for good reason, and me too. I’m going,” Joan said. “I can help you cover more ground.”
CZ was already shaking his head. “Absolutely not, the Night Market is no place for witches.”
“Witches go there,” Joan argued.
“Not Greenwoods.”
They quickly descended into a sharp little bickering match, interrupted only by Mik.
“I’ll go, then,” they said a bit snappishly. “I’ll be able to guide you best; it’s my footsteps you’re trying to retrace.”
CZ and Joan wasted no time before uniting in a shared cause.
“And what happens if you accidentally get upset and suck some magic in again?” CZ said, opening his fridge and pouring himself a glass of blood.
“Or get scared of the dark? If people start reporting a weird magical fluctuation in the market, or worse, see you casting again with their own eyes, it will only strengthen Valeria’s case. ”
“Or what if whoever kidnapped you takes you back?” Joan added. “I can’t protect you, and CZ can only do so much.”
“Yet another reason why you shouldn’t attend,” CZ said to Joan. He tipped the glass back, and Joan absently handed him a napkin to wipe his mouth.
“I’m going if I have to walk to Owl’s Head myself and wander around until I hit the market wards,” Joan said.
“I’m not taking a backseat on this one, not with so much on the line.
” Just like your father, Valeria had said.
All posturing. Not tonight—tonight Joan was going to grab the world in her fists.
Mik’s voice pitched toward a shout, gaze sticking to the red-tinged glass CZ set down on the counter. “Can you two stop talking like I’m not here, and grown, and capable of making my own decisions? If I want to put my fucking life in danger, I sure as hell will—oh no.”
Mik lunged toward the kitchen sink as magic in the room shifted, drawn toward Mik in their agitation. The sharp scent of vomit pierced the air.
Joan and CZ avoided eye contact, both with each other and Mik, as Mik rinsed their mouth out and rested their forehead on the cool counter.
They looked small there. Hunched over, skin flushed, and arms braced around their head. They couldn’t keep letting magic funnel through them like that—it would kill them. And Mik didn’t know how to control their channeling. Joan could try to teach them, but that was a Band-Aid at best.
“Both of you go,” Mik said, on the edge of tears. “And leave me alone for a while. I promise I won’t break out, and if I do, I won’t snitch on you two. But if I don’t get some alone time, I’m going to begin to act out in a way that would have gotten me swiftly institutionalized in the 1800s.”
This was very hard logic to argue with. Worse, Joan didn’t want to argue with it.
She didn’t want to keep Mik here, being watched by strangers, even though it was safest. If it were her, if she had been the one to get kidnapped and transformed…
if it had been Joan who had woken up alone and scared in that market, she’d have lost her mind much faster than Mik seemed to be losing theirs.
One glance at CZ revealed a look of guilt Joan assumed she was mirroring.
“Two hours,” CZ said finally. “We’ll be back in two hours, three max. Okay?”
Mik did not respond, only curling tighter in on themself.
“Mik,” Joan said, thinking back on their prior conversation. “If you disappear, we will notice. Okay? We will notice, and we’ll be devastated. We’re doing everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen to you. When I get back, I’ll try to help you control your channeling.”
Still, silence.
Properly sobered, Joan followed CZ out the door.