Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
"Stop fussing, Pops. You look amazing." Asher slaps my hand away from where I'm tugging at my corset to make sure my girls are secure. "Your ride is here."
The mantel clock in the study is still chiming the half hour as the sleek black sedan glides up the driveway.
Vale takes punctuation seriously.
Asher shrugs my great-grandmother’s peacock feather wrap across my shoulders and kisses my cheek. "You're sure this is safe?"
"As far as I know. And Mom seems to think the members of the Order are honorable folks, so I'm going to hope she's right."
The two of us step out onto the covered porch, and I straighten and try to portray an air of confidence while my stomach does gymnastics, tossing around my dinner.
Vale's driver parks the car and gets out to open the back door. My centuries-old solicitor unfolds himself from the back seat, and I blink.
He's wearing a purple velvet suit with a fur collar—white and luxurious. It’s like something a wealthy Victorian gentleman or possibly a ‘70s pimp would sport.
The ensemble is completed by a green felt hat with a feather so long it nearly brushes his shoulder.
His split-colored hair catches the porch light, half shadow, half snow.
For some reason, seeing him dressed up settles my nerves a fair bit. I spread my arms and execute a slow turn. "Does this qualify as 'interesting'?"
His mauve-gray gaze sweeps over me, and approval flickers across his severe features.
"I went theatrical." My black velvet corset is embroidered with constellations, and when I move, the silver and gold stars shimmer and catch the light.
The skirt is layers of midnight blue tulle, shorter in front to show off black boots with silver buckles, longer in back where it trails like a comet's tail.
I braided silver ribbons through my blue hair and painted my lips navy blue. And with the vibrant colors of the peacock feather wrap, I think it works. "I went for celestial witch with an attitude."
"It will do nicely." Vale dips his chin and offers his hand. "M'lady."
"You kids have fun." Asher waves from the porch and blows me a kiss as I hurry down the front steps.
Vale opens the passenger door for me with a slight bow, and I slide into the leather interior. The car smells like old books and something crisp—cedar, maybe.
After rounding the vehicle, his driver opens his door and Vale settles in beside me, setting his ridiculous hat in his lap as we pull away from the house.
"I trust you've worked yourself into a mental frenzy and have a million questions and concerns buzzing around in that head of yours?" His voice carries that precise, measured quality I'm getting used to.
"You know me so well." I watch as trees blur past the window. "Do you know anything more about why they want to see me?"
"Actually, I do, but I've been sworn to secrecy."
I blink at him. "But you're going to tell me anyway, right?"
"It would be inappropriate. The Order prefers to maintain certain protocols, and as your legal counsel, I have given my word not to disclose their intentions prematurely."
"But you work for me, don't you?"
"In the strictest sense, yes, but everyone has higher-ups to answer to, and in this instance, loose lips sink ships."
We drive in silence for a few moments while I mull that one over. I fidget with the silver chains on my corset, trying not to nag him like I want to.
"Oh, I should tell you. Something big happened last night. Right after you left."
Vale turns on the seat to look at me. "Oh?"
"A ghost showed up. The ghost of Davina Draven, to be exact."
Vale's brow pinches as he takes that in. "Davina Draven disappeared more than a decade ago. Why would her ghost visit you now?"
"Because she only just died. And she wasn't nine. She was nineteen." I watch his profile. "She's been alive somewhere this whole time, at least until recently."
Vale processes this with the same careful consideration he applies to all things. "And she sought you out specifically? Why?"
"I think that was happenstance. She was a friend of Violet's and knew Mom was a spirit witch. I think she came to the house, wanting to tell us something."
"And did she?"
I sigh. "No, someone cast a powerful binding spell on her. She couldn't speak, but more so, she couldn't seem to formulate what she wanted to tell us. And the more she tried, the more chaotic things got."
"So, where is she now?"
"She was in terrible pain, so I helped her cross over."
"Merciful." Vale's tone softens marginally. "But not helpful."
"No, but here's the thing—when I crashed that secret meeting at Ashcroft Manor, I heard them mention Davina's name. They said something about 'what happened to Davina can't happen again.' It didn't mean anything to me at the time, but now I think it's all linked to Laurel and my sisters."
Vale goes very still. "If that's true, you're suggesting this conspiracy extends back more than a decade."
My hands ball into fists in my lap. "So, if Laurel's been orchestrating something for at least a decade: taking young witches from powerful families, hiding them, and eventually killing them, the question is why?"
"Why do bad people do anything? Money, power, or revenge."
"Well, she's already got money and power, and I'm not sure revenge is right either. Why else?"
Vale waves away my response. "Tell me more about the others at the clandestine meeting you interrupted. What else did you hear? Who was there?"
I tick them off on my fingers. "Marcus Lott, Jane, and Stuart, not sure of their last names. And two I didn't recognize. A woman, maybe mid-thirties, dark hair and eyes. And an older guy, with intense gray eyes and a salt and pepper beard."
"And you didn't know them?"
"No."
"Poppy, do you trust me enough to allow me to access your memory? Perhaps if I can identify them, we'll be closer to unraveling Laurel's secrets."
"Access how?"
"A simple memory walk."
Okay, that sounds sketchy and the opposite of something simple. "You mean, like a Vulcan mind meld?"
He stares at me, looking vacant. "You've lost me."
Vale is my lawyer. He’s also a centuries-old warlock. He has knowledge and powers I don’t know or comprehend and wants to use some of that to help me find my sisters.
I close my eyes and check in with my gut. Even when my memories were stolen and I didn't know who I was, my instincts served me well. They've always been my guiding force, and I've learned to trust them.
No mental warning bells are ringing.
"Okay, go for it. Will it hurt?"
He makes a face. "What sort of warlock do you take me for?"
His level of offense actually makes me chuckle. "All right. What do I need to do?"
He slides a gentle hand against my cheek and brushes his thumb over my temple. His hands are warm and surprisingly soft for a man of his considerable age. Then again, he doesn’t look a day over forty-five. "Simply pull the memory into your conscious mind and I'll take a quick peek."
Alrighty then.
I relax into his touch and let the memory resurface.
I remember shoving through the door to the coven meeting room… Laurel stiffens at the head of the table… Marcus sits to her right… Jane is standing, her palms braced against the table… Stuart sits rigid and sniveling beside the two strangers.
The woman has sharp cheekbones and calculating dark eyes.
The man has a salt-and-pepper beard and looks angry as hell to be seen.
Laurel's hand slams down on a leather-bound ledger, snapping it shut, equal parts fury and panic flashing across her face.
With that, Vale makes a thoughtful sound and drops his hand. "Very well, leave that with me and I'll do my best to discover their identities."
"You don't know them?"
He blinks at me. "I assure you, there are a great many people within our supernatural communities who are a stranger to me. Still, I'll do my best to suss them out. And in the meantime, we have arrived."
I look up and realize we've stopped on the side of a private country road. To our right, a red carpet marks a path away from the road and into a copse of trees. Through the trees, I make out the golden glow of lights twinkling between the shadows of swaying branches.
My heart takes off, fluttering inside my chest like a hummingbird’s wings.
Whatever's about to happen, there's no backing out now.
The gathering of the Order of the Arcane defies everything I know about logic…
and physics… and parties on a whole. I'm fairly certain we walked through a normal forest at the side of a country lane, but the space we step into stretches upward toward impossible darkness, the ceiling of night sky and stars lost somewhere beyond comprehension.
Floating orbs drift lazily overhead, golden globes dancing to project intricate runes and swirling constellations rooted in some ancient language or sect.
Gossamer walls flutter in the background, creating a pentagonal boundary that stretches around us on all sides. The sheer fabric of the translucent walls shifts in color like a beautiful oil slick shimmering on water, never quite settling on a single color.
It's mesmerizing.
Two figures flank the elaborate floral arbor set just inside the entrance. Their skin is that of weathered stone, textured and mottled in shades of gray, and they each have a set of wings that are gathered against their backs, hovering well over the spiked horns on their bald heads.
Gargoyles are a race of supernatural beings I’ve never seen before. I’ve heard they are quite secretive and aggressive.
Perhaps that makes them effective as event security.
As we approach, one blinks at me with bulbous green eyes. "Invitation."
Vale produces a blue business card from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and hands it over. The sheen on the magical card gleams faintly with a silver script that seems to shift and dance across its surface.
Then, as the gargoyle takes possession of it, the words coalesce and burst off the card, taking the form of an iridescent Morpheus butterfly.