Thorne
Maddox and I spent four grueling hours answering emails, getting ahead on reports, and deep cleaning not only our workstations, but our manager’s.
The grunt work of interns, even ones with magical abilities, was never-ending.
To ensure our overseers didn’t come looking for us during our school break, Maddox and I both put enchantments on our desks that would deter anyone from overloading us with work that had a time crunch.
Simply, the one trying to delegate to us would find the sudden and unexplained motivation to do the work themselves.
The charms won’t last long, and it’ll be a tossup whether the universe will see our taskmastering as a shortcut or essential to keeping our nonmagical lives separate from our budding careers.
But, being abnormally productive around the manor wouldn't be the worst punishment.
Our solarium could use a deep clean. Not that we have time to think about what the future holds as we get closer to the Morey estate.
Edmund Morey resides in a gated community several miles from the legacy manor.
The same community that more than half the coven lives in these days, including my family.
Unlike Fox and Asher, I still have three younger siblings at home.
Not that I actually know my younger brother and sisters.
We were given different roles, different destinies to keep the Bishop line thriving.
Several generations ago, our lineage almost went extinct.
Ever since, there’s been pressure to procreate quickly and often.
My mother was young when she went from sacrifice to wife.
She was freshly twenty when I was born, and my parents are always quick to remind me that they not only expect me to uphold the mantle of legacy, but that it is far past time for me to settle down and produce my own heir for the cycle to continue.
The Moreys are more lenient on Asher’s timeline, as long as the four of us continue to provide their family with their rightful share of magic from each harvest. Edmund Morey values power and prestige.
When Asher’s abilities presented at the tender age of thirteen, no one was more prideful than Edmund.
It didn’t matter that I was able to command fire only two months later or that Maddox’s father was torturing him every night just to prove that the Elwells’ heir was just as worthy as the Moreys’.
Pulling into the Moreys’ driveway now, I can’t decide whom I hate the most. Edmund or Clayton Elwell.
The pissing contest didn’t stop at their sons.
Edmund’s home is twice as large as Clayton’s.
The sprawling estate sits on ten acres, complete with champion show horses and a garden that the Barefoot Contessa would envy.
I shift into park and turn in my seat to face Maddox, who has been silent the entire drive. “Ready?”
“I hate this house,” Mads answers, staring out the window at the bright white exterior. “He paints the grass and trees.”
I lean down and peer out the window to strips of grass lining the walkway to the front door. If it weren’t for the cloud cover, you’d swear it was the middle of summer. The sickly bright green shines against the white sandstone inlay, not a single blade out of place.
“It’ll be quick. He knows the harvests haven’t been great in the last few months. We’ll give him a sip and promise more after the next.”
“The next?” Maddox’s head swings back to me, a far-off, glassy look in his eyes.
“Harvest. We have a few weeks until then. It’ll just have to be enough. He can’t argue,” I assure him.
“Right.” He opens the door and steps out onto the gravel.
Taking one last solidifying breath, I open my own door and step outside.
The chill in the air doesn’t compare to what we’re about to step into.
I raise my fist and knock once. The door flies open and we are welcomed inside before the maid runs off to alert Edmund that his own personal magical batteries have arrived.
My hand dips into my pocket for the unknownth time to the gold locket.
My thumb rubs over the etching on the back then flips it over to feel the touch-smoothed adornment.
We need to get this over with as soon as possible.
My stomach knots at the idea of Fox and Asher being home with Elsbeth.
The two of them can handle her trying to escape, but what if that isn’t her plan?
We step farther inside, and the house is more of a museum than a home.
While our ritual space carries the protection of our ancestors from each legacy line, Edmund has only warded his home against the outside world.
So when permitted, his halls are stalked by creatures that would give any living soul nightmares.
The twelve-foot canvases that meet us in the entry depict images of the family’s history.
On the right is a full portrait of Sarah Morey and her family after she was exonerated.
Three figures stand proudly in front of a small home that was torn down ages ago, the land long since developed into suburban homes.
The second painting is of the modern Morey family. Emilie Morey’s signature bright red attire is a stark contrast to the rest of the piece. Her blonde Hollywood waves drape over one shoulder, leaving the other bare.
Emilie is as powerful as she is beautiful.
She hails from one of the oldest families in the coven, just as Maddox’s and my own mother do.
Not all legacy matriarchs find friendship in one another, but Emilie and my mother have been thick as thieves for decades.
Long before either made their decision to volunteer their body, mind, and soul to the legacy cycle.
Beside her, Edmund’s blue suit makes him look positively presidential, complete with a coat of arms pin on his right lapel.
A single streak of gray at his exposed temple is the only sign of his waning youth.
The spitting image of him sits between him and his wife.
The familiar hazel eyes, long nose, and heavy brow stare down at me.
Though it was initially done years ago, Edmund has recommissioned it so that Asher’s image reflects his current age.
Not that he’s done the same for himself or his wife.
Their faces are frozen in time, never aging in the backdrop of their son.
The full representation of their vanity in oil on canvas.
Maddox and I see ourselves into the study, the only place we’ve ever been welcomed. Along the way, we pass the familiar stone pillars separated by sculptures, more canvas, and the occasional quiet luxury trinket that Edmund or Emilie have brought home from traveling.
Mads walks to the fireplace and stares at the stone badgers holding up the mantle.
The unmoving gray animals seem to be standing at attention.
Maddox isn’t just a magical master of the earth beneath our feet or the plants surrounding.
He’s a proxy for Mother Nature, using her gift to protect those who worship and praise her.
That results in a flourishing greenhouse, an abundant orchard, and the occasional wounded animal showing up at our doorstep for his help.
Today, even the image of woodland creatures immortalized in stone feels oddly drawn to him.
His hand reaches out for the snout of one, but a voice behind us causes him to stall. “Hawthorne. Maddox. Come sit.” Edmund strides to his desk, determined to command us like he would his own son. “Explain to me why Asher and Fox are not here to fulfill their duties.”
He’s not at tall as Asher, even with the lifts in his loafers.
The shocks of gray along his temples is looking thinner than the last time I saw him.
In fact, all of him is thinner and more gaunt.
Edmund passed along his daring good looks to Asher, but with his near fanatical determination to keep his line at the pinnacle of purity, he’s worn himself.
He melts into his leather armchair and waits for Mads and me to follow his order.
Maddox hasn’t turned around, his eyes still boring into the fireplace ornaments. I clear my throat and solidify my stance with Maddox, not relenting on the stalemate he’s created. “Asher and Fox have important obligations this afternoon.”
Edmund looks me up and down. I can see the battle warring inside of his head. He won’t question me outright, though I know it’s killing him not to.
“Well, I won’t keep you long.” He finally breaks and shifts his tone into flattery. “Emilie and I are grateful for your blessings.”
Maddox sighs, turning around to address Edmund. “Let’s get this over with.”
Edmund’s eyes lock on Maddox. He gets to his feet, waiting for Mads to come closer.
The air in the room thickens and the smell of damp earth fills my lungs, burying me in Maddox’s essence.
My own magic tingles at my fingertips, trying to come loose and join the party.
I have to restrain it. We need every ounce we can reserve while not raising alarms. It’s up to the two of them whether we will succeed in that goal.
Maddox holds his hands out, palms facing the floor as he calls upon his ancestors to relinquish what is rightfully his to give—or keep. Edmund begins mouthing the incantation to receive, his shoulders heaving with every labored breath.
There’s a shift in the room. The sense of something otherworldly surrounds us and makes itself known.
Something sinister lingers just outside the study door, sensing the raw bits of the universe that have nestled into the fabric of our beings.
The ebb of Maddox’s ability pushes farther until it reaches Edmund.
He takes a sharp inhale of air, but it catches in his throat.
Maddox lifts his hands higher, indicating that he is drawing magic from the pockets of space between his muscles and bones. Edmund sputters and gasps for breath.
I hold my position. My magic is becoming more agitated the longer it’s restrained and every time I blink, I not only see the raging flames behind my eyelids, but I can feel the lick of them against my ribs.
Edmund’s wheezes get louder as the tension building in the room reaches its highest point.
But what I don’t expect is the sudden silence and relief the end of the transfer brings.
Maddox lowers his arms, but his eyes are still empty, unseeing voids.
The tips of his fingers are stained, as if he’s been digging through soil.
My stomach sinks as I realize Maddox is locked within the spirits of his lineage.
He lets out a ragged laugh before addressing Edmund, who is leaning over his desk, trying to catch his breath.
“What’s the matter, Morey? Didn’t your father teach you how to take a hit?” Maddox’s voice echoes around the study, but I know the man behind the statement isn’t my friend.
Edmund lifts his head, leveling the body-snatched version of Mads with a hateful glare. “Why don’t you ask him yourself, Jonathan.”
Jonathan Elwell, Maddox’s grandfather. Before being welcomed across the veil, he was one of the most powerful legacies of his lifetime. While Daniel Morey outlived Jonathan, he held their grudge long after Asher and Maddox ascended to legacy status.
“I will not be disrespected in my own home.” Edmund stands to his fullest height and points toward the door behind me.
Jonathan chuckles and looks down at his vessel’s arms, then brings his dirty hands up to admire them. As if he’s pleased by the mess he’s made, he says his final word to Edmund. “You’re just as repugnant as he is.”
Edmund remains silent, watching as I cross the room to get ahold of Maddox’s arm to drag him away.
My heart is pounding the closer we get to the front door, and I hope that we at least get to my car before Edmund realizes that the transfer he just endured was only a fraction of the magic stores he’s typically given.
Footsteps behind us get louder, and I push Maddox’s body faster. The gold knob is a shining beacon of freedom as we get closer, and my free hand reaches out for it.
“Sir,” the maid calls from behind me. “Mrs. Morey would like for you to take her son this gift. For his birthday next week.”
She holds out a black bag, and I snatch it without a word.
I slam the heavy door behind us, taking a lungful of fresh air.
Jonathan strolls past me, walking over the lawn that now looks overgrown, raw, and unkept.
With every step he takes, the earth cracks and roots from nearby rise in his wake.
I look back to the front face of the house, where ivy has crept up to the highest windows and wrapped around the stone like it’s been there for decades.
I won’t ask if it was Jonathan or Maddox who let his ability loose, but I know we’ll hear about it from Asher later.
When my gaze shoots back to Jonathan, his shoulders are fixed with ease that only a man who has evened a score can hold.
“That was reckless, Jonathan,” I scold, quickening my pace and getting into the driver’s seat before Edmund can stop us.
“My grandson called upon me. You know better than most that ancestral bonds are too great to ignore.” Maddox’s body lowers into the passenger seat next to me. “I suggest you focus on the problem at your own manor before the Elwells or any other coven figureheads.”
Ice plunges into my stomach and I meet the eyes staring at me across the center console.
“We’re handling it.”
“Then I’ll leave you with one last admonition: Our blood is our history and our future. Do not spill it for the wrong reasons.”
The muscles of Maddox’s face relax and his eyes shift from pure black to his usual ocean blue. And any hope of answers to the million questions I have die in the chilled air between us.