Chapter Four
Bast O’Connor
Whispers of Stolen Power
Smoke clings to my nostrils as we file into Lila’s cottage at the edge of the village. Acrid. Bitter. A reminder of what we’ve lost.
As I duck through the low doorway, the rich aroma of dried herbs and simmering potions assaults my enhanced senses. It’s familiar. A second home. I grew up with Alice, Lila’s daughter. Lila and Meredith both taught us how to make medicines and brews after school every day.
For a moment, I’m transported back in time.
I see myself as a gangly teenager, fumbling with mortar and pestle, while Alice giggles at my clumsy attempts.
Meredith’s voice, warm and patient, guiding us through the intricacies of herbal lore.
The memory hits me like a physical blow, and I have to brace myself against the doorframe.
“You okay, little brother?” Liam’s voice pulls me back. Concern etches his features.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Grief clogs my throat, threatens to choke me. Liam squeezes my shoulder as he passes. His touch anchors me to the present and I follow him and Gen into the main room.
The interior’s dim. Beeswax candles flicker, their warm glow a stark contrast to the ache in my chest. A fire crackles in the hearth, shadows dancing on rough-hewn walls.
Every surface teems with jars, bottles, bundles of drying plants.
The ceiling, a forest of hanging herbs. Lavender.
Sage. Rosemary. Their scents mingle, a tapestry of memories.
We crowd in. The space feels smaller than I remember, or maybe it’s the weight of our loss making the walls close in. I lean against a weathered beam, bark rough under my palm. My eyes adjust slowly, wolf-sight sharpening the shadows.
A large iron cauldron bubbles in the corner fireplace. The scent wafts over—sweet, medicinal. It reminds me of long-ago summers, skinned knees and laughter.
Lila stands by the fire, stirring. Her movements are precise. Practiced. I wonder idly what she’s brewing. A potion for strength? For protection? We could use both.
I scan the faces around me, each a mirror of my own pain.
Liam and Gen, hands clasped tight. My brother’s jaw clenched, eyes haunted. I know he blames himself. Wishes he could have done more.
Aiden, our alpha. His presence is a steady calm for all the wolves of the pack. But even he looks shaken, the events of the past days etched in the lines around his eyes.
Lawrence, looking like he’s aged a decade in a day.
Alice, her face painted with a sorrow that mirrors my own.
And me? What do they see when they look at me? The angry wolf, itching for a fight? Or the grieving friend?
“What happened to Meredith’s magick?” Alice’s quiet voice breaks the uneasy silence. It trembles slightly, betraying her fear. “It should have returned to the coven after her bones were blessed and burned. Why wasn’t it there?”
The question hangs in the air, giving voice to the fear we’ve all been dancing around. My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, sensing the tension in the room. Hackles raised. Ready for a threat we can’t see or smell.
Lawrence runs a hand through his hair, his face haggard. Defeated. “Someone took it. It’s the only explanation. Except the only people who would’ve been able to do that are with me, and my people wouldn’t have dared.”
The words fall like stones, heavy with implication. Betrayal. Theft. More loss.
“Could Oliver have taken it somehow?” Liam asks, voice tight. The bastard had already indirectly cost us our youngest brother and Meredith, a woman we considered family.
Gen leans into him. “My father is smart, but there’s no way he could’ve done it. He wasn’t anywhere near the basement. And he would’ve needed another witch. Meredith would never have given it to him.”
Lila shakes her head, her stirring never faltering. The rhythmic sound fills the room. Scrape. Swish. Scrape. “No witch, no matter how powerful, can simply steal another’s magick. Except male witches, and I trust that Lawrence and his coven wouldn’t go against Meredith’s wishes that way.”
“You’re correct. I never would’ve done that to her and none of my people would’ve either.”
“But you’re capable of doing it?” I growl, shoving off the beam. The wolf is too close to the surface, itching for another fight, for something tangible to lash out against. Anger is easier than grief. Simpler. “How?”
Lawrence’s eyes darken, mouth flattening into a hard line. But before he can speak, Alice steps forward. Her hand on my arm is like a shock to my system, instantly calming my restless beast.
“It’s why male babies are taken from witches,” Alice explains softly, her hand still on my arm. A lifeline in the storm of emotions. “Male witches are dangerous. They can steal a witch’s magick and take it as their own.”
The anger seeps out of Lawrence. He sighs, suddenly looking every one of his years. The weight of centuries in his eyes. “It comes at a steep price. The ghost of the witch follows that magick. So, if a male witch continues to take—”
“It would be like experiencing schizophrenia,” I finish, the realization dawning. The implications stagger me, and I feel a grudging respect for the burden Lawrence and his coven must bear. “You would be haunted by them. By their voice?”
He nods, a slight tilt of his chin. “Yes.”
“Then where did it go?” Alice asks softly. “Magick doesn’t just disappear.”
Silence falls again, heavy as a burial shroud. I can almost hear the gears turning in everyone’s minds, searching for an explanation that makes sense. That doesn’t spell disaster for us all.
“Could it have been transferred before she died?” Aiden suggests, his deep voice startling in the quiet. “Could Meredith have hidden it somewhere?”
Lawrence’s head snaps up, hope flickering in his eyes for the first time. “Is that possible?”
Lila hesitates, her stirring slowing. The scraping of wood on iron falters.
“I’ve never heard of anything like that, but I only know what Meredith has taught me.
Had she stayed in the Salem Court, she would’ve been a Mathair herself.
The amount of knowledge she has…had…compared to mine is astronomical. ”
The use of past tense hits me like a punch to the gut. Had. Has. The finality of it all crashes over me all over again. Meredith is gone. Really, truly gone. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. The pain grounds me, keeps me from howling my grief to the rafters.
“So the likelihood of us ever finding it is low, if she hid it?” Aiden says slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration. “But it’s likely that Oliver didn’t get it either.”
Lila nods, a sharp jerk of her chin. “Yes, to both of those things.”
Lawrence curses under his breath, folding his arms over his chest. Anger radiates off him in waves. “She wouldn’t have hidden it.”
“Perhaps not,” Lila answers, her voice gentle but firm. Steel wrapped in silk. “But it’s not with her, so something happened to it. It’s somewhere.”
“Wherever she’s stashed it, it will keep, won’t it?” I ask, grasping at normalcy.
She nods, her smile sad but genuine. “I assume so. Making it a problem for another day. We have the Ren Faire starting in the morning. She would want us to focus on that for now. We’ll come back later to the mystery of Meredith’s missing magick.”
I chuckle at the alliteration, the sound surprising even me.
It feels wrong to laugh, like I’m betraying Meredith’s memory.
But she always loved wordplay, didn’t she?
Lila flashes me a smile, and for a moment, I just see the woman who helped raise me.
Who always encouraged me to be my best self and soothed my teenage heartbreaks when I couldn’t talk to my own mother.
Alice steps forward, a big notebook clutched to her chest like a shield. “I have everything ready for the memorial at the Ren Faire for the second day’s opening ceremony. The mayor insisted that Meredith be honored.”
The mention of a memorial brings reality crashing back. My smile fades, replaced by the now-familiar ache in my chest.
“It’s ridiculous that you’re all leaving the safety of the Court for a stupid town festival.” Lawrence grinds his teeth, glaring at Lila. For once, I find myself agreeing with him.
“Meredith founded the Ren Faire. It’s become a huge event for the town every year.
” Lila adds a few things to the pot and continues stirring.
The scent changes from medicinal to floral, filling the air with memories of summer days and laughter.
“Oliver will dictate our actions no longer,” she declares, her voice ringing with conviction.
“We will not cower in fear. We run half the booths at the Renaissance Faire. He’s already taken Meredith—we’ll not let him take this too. ”
I catch Liam’s eye across the room, seeing my own skepticism mirrored there. I hate to agree with Lawrence, but worry gnaws at my gut. The memory of our last encounter with Oliver is still too fresh. The scent of blood and fear in that basement lingers in my nightmares.
“My wife is dead. Her magick is missing. And you want to throw a party for human tourists?” Lawrence’s voice cracks on the word wife, and despite everything, I feel a pang of sympathy for him. Loss recognizing loss.
“Your wife,” Lila spits back at him, her eyes flashing dangerously. Magick crackles in the air, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “The wife you haven’t seen in over twenty years. You don’t get to dictate to us either. Meredith would’ve wanted us to carry on.”
“Meredith died to save you.” Lawrence’s words are a lash, meant to wound.
“No.” Lila’s voice drops, deathly quiet. The kind of quiet that precedes a storm. “Meredith died to save them.” She points to Liam and Gen, then to me. Her gaze burns, fierce and protective. “And she would do it again.”