Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Istumble out of the bank half an hour later, my soul shaken to my core. The late-afternoon sun feels too bright, too harsh against the sting of emotion in my eyes. The letter of goodbye my mother wrote me… her instructions about taking care of Dad and my sisters… it’s all wrong.
That’s not what happened. Dad died. We were separated. Everything she wanted is gone. I failed before I even had a chance to carry out her wishes.
The two witch starter boxes, like the one I was given when I turned sixteen, remain inside the bank, locked away in the safe deposit box. I have no idea where my sisters are or when I will be able to give them their gifts.
I didn’t even want to risk bringing them out of their safe place to take home. Not after the crawling sensation between my shoulder blades that told me someone was stalking me.
I quicken my pace toward the diner, my sneakers slapping against the sidewalk. Asher must be almost done emptying the delivery truck. And now, knowing that money will soon be a forgotten worry, we can indulge and eat out for the second time this week.
My heart is heavy, weeping for a mother I so desperately want to remember. Her love for me was obvious in every word she wrote. Her love for me, my sisters, and my father.
She had no idea he would die with her. I wonder what went wrong. How did he end up dying that night too?
Lost as I am in my grief, I miss the danger until a shadow moves in my peripheral vision. I spin around, scanning the quiet street.
There are a few parked cars.
An old woman watering her flower boxes.
Nothing threatening.
Paranoid. You’re being paranoid.
I force myself to keep walking, but the feeling intensifies. Like invisible fingers trailing down my spine.
A block from the diner, I duck into the narrow alley between Dalton Mercantile and a flower shop. Maybe whoever’s following me will pass by. Maybe I can catch a glimpse of them.
I press my back against the brick wall, listening.
The approaching footsteps on the sidewalk slow. Stop.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I’m about to jump out and confront whoever is stalking me when I’m yanked back by the shoulders and pulled into a trellis. My back hits the side of the building as green vines rope around my wrists and legs, tightening to hold me in place.
“What the hell?”
I’m being attacked by the clematis. Is that even a thing?
But even in the few seconds when my mind is spinning, more and more green vines wrap around my shoulders, pinning me to the wall of the flower shop. They move with purpose, with intelligence, coiling around my wrists and forearms like living rope.
And then he’s there. The guy who’d been glaring at me at the diner the other day. Dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and a clenched jaw dusted in stubble. He’s wearing a heavy gray pea coat with bronze buttons over black jeans.
It’s a good look for him, rugged and manly, but is spoiled a little by the homicidal fury burning in those swirling green eyes. I’m not sure how I inspired this level of hatred in him, but whatever it was, he is all-in.
I’m about to scream when half-a-dozen wide green leaves slap across my mouth and tighten against my cheeks. This can’t be real. The leaves taste bitter, earthy. They conform to my face like they’re made of wet leather.
Our eyes meet, and a jolt of energy washes over me. Electric. Wrong.
Is he the one who was following me?
My mind is spinning, spitting out every alarming ‘what if’ scenario it can conjure. The vines tighten, cutting into my skin until I can’t move.
My breathing is too fast and with my mouth sealed by leaves, I can barely pull oxygen in through my nose.
He moves to stand right in front of me, and the energy crackling inside me goes apeshit. His scowl is intense, and there’s no doubt I’m in deep trouble.
Dark hair falls across his forehead as he leans close, his eyes so green they match the vines holding me captive. “Fight all you want, but you won’t break free of my hold.”
His hold? He’s doing this? Of course he’s doing this. This is a witch thing, right? Only, I don’t know enough about witch stuff to defend myself from an attack. The tendrils of clematis stems respond to his presence like trained pets, tightening when I struggle.
S’Nark! If you can hear me, I need help!
What the hell good is it to have a familiar assigned to me if he’s not around when I need help?
Plant Man grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. His fingers are warm against my skin, and power radiates from his touch. It feels like touching a live wire.
“Sleep.” He utters one word, and it hits me like a punch to the face. The magic slams into my skull, scrambling my thoughts. My vision blurs at the edges.
And the world goes black.
Awareness returns in slow, miserable waves. My heart is the first thing I hear, pounding so hard inside my skull it drowns out everything else. My thoughts are sluggish, making everything around me feel distant and muffled.
I try to lift my hand to brush my hair out of my face, but my arms won’t move. Smooth cuffs hold me in place. Thick and tightly cinched to the arms of what feels like a wooden chair. My ankles are tied too.
I’m trapped.
Voices drift around me, clinical and detached. What? Is kidnapping people an everyday thing for them? A sharp pain bites into the flesh of my shoulder, and I scream inside my mind. What the fuck? That hurt.
“Wylder, are you sure she didn’t attempt to defend herself in any way?” a woman asks, close to me. “Her powers are active, and she obviously knows who she is.”
“I didn’t give her the chance,” Plant Man says. Wylder. “But no, she didn’t try anything.”
“Maybe she wanted to be brought in,” another woman says. “Maybe she has plans of her own. To take us down and finish what her mother started.”
I’m still mostly out of it with no idea where I am or how much time has passed since I left the bank. Do they know I’m awake? Do they care? I assume these are members of the Emberwood coven.
My peeps, right?
My mom’s sisters and brothers.
Yeah, if this is how they treat people, it’s no wonder my mom broke trust with them to do what she felt was right. They certainly aren’t engendering my undying loyalty.
“Her magical signature is off the charts, Laurel,” a third woman adds, “but her energy is horrifyingly unstable.”
Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you dam up someone’s magic for five years, dickwad.
“She’s dangerous for more reasons than that,” Wylder grumbles. “She’s Zoe Hallowind’s daughter, she has a spirit affinity, and I’d bet my left nut Sebastian is behind her coming back with her powers unlocked.”
Well done, asshole. Your left nut wins that bet.
My eyelids feel gritty and dry, but I fight to pry them open. I don’t get far. Shapes shimmer through the fog in my skull. Five nondescript figures slowly take form, circling me, poking at me.
“The more immediate danger is her magic fighting to get out. Jane, I’d like you to test her response to elemental provocation.”
Another jab of pain burns into the meat of my arm, and I wish I could hiss or swear or throat-punch whoever keeps sticking me.
Lucky for them, I can’t.
Five people stand around me in a semicircle. Laurel is a middle-aged woman with silver hair pulled back into a stylish twist. Her light gray eyes study me as if I’m a specimen under a microscope.
Wylder hovers at her right shoulder, arms crossed, his familiar scowl etched into his features as if he’s a living example of the adage, ‘Stop making that face or it will stay that way.’
I’m not sure about the other three. A twenty-something girl with sandy hair holds a tablet, tapping in notes.
A middle-aged woman with auburn curls organizes vials of what I really hope isn’t my blood.
And a thin brunette woman with tortoiseshell glasses adjusts some kind of monitoring device. “Her magical output is spiking again. Even unconscious, she’s radiating power.”
“Fascinating.” Laurel picks up a small blade from the metal table. “Let’s see what happens when we—”
“Let me stop you there, bitch,” I interrupt, my voice hoarse but steady.
“I’m awake, and having you slice me up any more than you already have gets a big no from me.
No consent given. In fact, this whole welcome to the coven is getting a terrible Yelp review.
Zero stars. Worst kidnapping experience ever. ”
They all freeze. Wylder’s scowl deepens, if that’s even possible.
Laurel recovers first, setting down the blade and stepping closer. “Poppy. You’re awake. Good. We have questions.”
“And I have a lawyer.” I test my restraints again. “I’ve already spoken to him about my powers being blocked, my mind wiped, and me being dumped alone in a strange city at sixteen. He seemed to think the bigwigs on the witches and wizards’ council would find that equally appalling.”
Laurel’s expression drops as all the color drains from her face. “You didn’t.”
“You’re damn right I did. And the minute I get out of here, I’m going straight to the cops to press charges for assault, kidnapping, torture, and whatever twisted medical experiment you’re running.”
“That’s assuming you get out of here,” Wylder gripes.
Laurel holds up a hand to stop him. “This isn’t us experimenting on you, Poppy. This is a safety assessment. Your mother’s reckless actions cost lives—lives of our own coven members—and we need to know if you pose the same threat.”
Heat flares in my chest. It’s not anger, it’s something deeper, wilder. A powerful survival instinct. “Come near me with that blade again and I’ll show you exactly what kind of threat you’re dealing with.”
Wylder storms forward and leans in, sharp-jawed, his eyes like storm clouds building into a funnel. “Watch your mouth, grave witch. Threaten the high priestess of the Emberwood Coven again, and you’ll learn what real torture feels like.”