17. THIS BITES
THIS BITES
THOUGH SHE RECEIVED A RESPONSE OF MISS YOU, TOO, PRINCESS. See you soon, I hope, Balthazar wasn’t waiting for her in the pentagram when Embry emerged from the house at dusk.
Rye was.
Embry could feel his familiar attention on her as she and her friends approached the woods from the house.
They hadn’t talked yet. Not about the nightmare of Oakley’s murder.
Or the nightmare of suspicion settling on Embry.
Not about the last conversation they’d had, which was a nightmare of its own kind for Embry.
What you said was badly, badly done, and right now there’s no coming back from that.
He’d been righter than they’d known. Between her own fool words and Alistair’s false divination, it could cost her everything. Not to mention a chance at justice for Oakley.
Still, when Embry finally caught sight of Rye in the clearing, it shocked her how much her heart squeezed.
Even in the falling night and rising moon, she could see him clearly.
Sandy-blond hair its usual improbably perfect disaster, unwavering green eyes pinned on her as if it were impossible to look away.
He leaned against a table, ankles crossed, arms braced on either side of his hips—so at ease in every way except in his expression.
Which was so intense it felt as if it could spark hot enough to light the bonfire alone, even at a distance.
She wondered if their conversation replayed in his mind the same way.
If he’d also thought about how different that horrible Saturday morning might have been had she taken him up on his offer to walk her to the dorm.
Embry was living in a shack atop a teetering pile of regrets about Friday night, but her largest beyond her poorly attempted jokes with Oakley was her inability to accept that one kindness from the boy next door.
It wouldn’t have proven her innocent, perhaps, but it would have at least provided corroboration to her story of returning to her room straight after the fight.
Embry waved at Rye but did no more as she arrived at the circle.
He waved back. The rest of the coven was there, somber silence replacing the usual chatter of small talk ahead of a meeting.
In the distance, above the autumn breeze, the werewolves howled, on a run, their own full moon meeting in effect before the coven soundproofing spell kicked in.
The moon looked full for three days, but only one night was a “true” full moon—everybody and their mother wanted to meet on that night.
And, in this instance, one more round of special permission was granted during the lockdown.
As the muffling spell fell around them, Merle stepped forward, his pale eyes stern in the whipping firelight. “Lazarus, if I may, I would like to make a statement to start tonight’s meeting.”
Lazarus nodded graciously, ceding the floor. Merle accepted it without any hesitation.
“Thank you. I move that given the current situation unfolding at Raven’s Head, we delay the Ascension to adult membership for Embry Woodcross.
As her Ascension mentor, I do not say this lightly.
Still, it seems right that the Ascension scheduled for later this month should be put on hold until the conclusion of the investigation into the death of Oakley Riddle. ”
Embry suddenly felt as if her soul was lifting toward the silver moon. “Delay…” she whispered, not a real question, just the most important word in that whole terrible spiel.
At her side, Ames tensed and Fairfax stilled.
The younger members of the coven seemed to fade into the shadows, out of the firelight.
Yet the elders stayed put—mulling over Merle’s proposal.
There was precedent. All those names Embry could rattle off.
These adults she’d known her whole life were actually weighing this as an option.
Even though she’d done nothing wrong. Even though her eighteenth birthday, and therefore her Ascension, was three weeks away.
Embry looked to Daddy, waiting for him to refute Merle’s suggestion. Instead, her father rubbed his jaw. He was considering this. He was—
“Talk of delaying Embry’s Ascension is premature, don’t you think?”
Embry’s head whipped around so fast a wave of nausea rolled through her gut. It wasn’t Daddy who defended her first—it was Rye.
“Embry is innocent until proven guilty.”
Rye paused for effect here, taking the time to make eye contact with each and every one of them. He finished with Embry herself, and something cracked within her as the fire in his gaze sharpened on her, the actual fire in the pentagram holding nothing to what she saw there.
He went on, his voice strong and clear, all that time playing tortured kings evident in how comfortable he was speaking out, up, and holding the attention of everyone in the coven.
“She’s one of us; we all know her character, and we know she would never hurt anyone, let alone a friend.
Yes, she’s part of an ongoing investigation, but she hasn’t been charged with a crime of any kind.
Delaying her Coven Ascension on such grounds as mere suspicion is ludicrous and is a punishment of which she is undeserving. ”
Embry’s heart leaped. Ascension was one of the biggest moments in a witch’s life, even if it was mostly ceremonial.
She’d dreamed of the day she’d become a full coven member for years.
And, yes, she’d vision-boarded it—which tells you how seriously she took the endeavor.
Rye was often vexing, yes, but Embry couldn’t deny the throb of adoration in her heart at his defense.
Rye’s attention strayed to where she was standing—trying not to lock her knees and pass out—as if he could see her heart trying to burst through her skin and leap out of her chest. And when his gaze met hers, Embry mouthed, Thank you, fully aware that he could likely make out the tears sparking in her eyes in the glassy darkness.
“Thank you both for sharing your opinions on this matter,” Daddy began.
“I believe a better use of our meeting today would be to explore what we can do as a coven to clear Embry’s name.
Because she is innocent until proven guilty, as Rye has pointed out.
As her coven family, we should be the biggest champions of that innocence. ”
Embry’s throbbing heart leaped into a motion that would’ve bear-hugged Daddy, had it not been, well, inside her chest. Rye nodded, as did her friends, and a few other witches, too. It was maybe half and half. Merle’s gaze dropped to his loafers—a good sign.
“Therefore, though it’s unconventional, I’d suggest we—”
A loud crash came from the direction of Raven’s End Cemetery, as if the ghosts of the coven’s past had an opinion that needed to be shared.
Daddy’s sentence died out as every head turned toward the sound.
Even Embry looked, though only as a reflex.
As much as she wished it was Balthazar, arriving late, it was most likely a couple of freshman werewolves with a case of full moon zoomies and enough speed to shake the soundproofing.
She needed Daddy to finish that sentence, but when he spoke again, it wasn’t to answer the notion he’d left dangling.
“I’m going to need to have a talk with that Wolverton lass,” Daddy grumbled, his obvious frustration with the Bitch community in the set of his rigid brows. “I’m all for sharing the full moon with the werewolves, but I draw the line at destruction of prop—”
Another thundering sound rattled the grounds.
Then came something more disturbing: bodies moving through the trees.
Beside her Ames gasped; Embry herself felt magic sparking at her fingers.
Her entire mind was overcome with a sense of intrusion.
This wasn’t just pups being pups. This was someone circumventing their wards and entering the estate uninvited during an established coven ritual.
If Skye was behind this, she wouldn’t simply be scolded by Daddy; the Table would be involved.
Except… the bodies racing up through the trees and up the hill weren’t lupine.
They were upright. And moving faster than a human should.
Rye was the first to solve the puzzle. His Hamlet’s gravitas hardened into the kind of stance meant not for fighting with words, but with magic.
“Vampires.” His declaration was low at first, almost whispered. But the second the word was out of his mouth, the rightness of it echoed around them.
“Vampires!” others called, each right on top of one another.
“Everyone remain calm.” Lazarus made a placating gesture before moving forward, putting the rest of the coven at his back like the leader he was. “Let’s see what they want.”
That’s when Rye stepped in front of Embry.
That rower’s back of his was a wall blocking her, purposefully angled to hide her from view.
Embry drew in a shuddering breath and placed a palm between his shoulder blades.
If these were vampires, they both knew—likely everyone knew—who they were and why they were here.
Oakley’s family. Grieving, looking for answers, and demanding them of the last person to see her alive. “Rye, if they want—”
“Shhhh” was all he said before the forms broke through the trees.
Embry’s view was ruined by Rye’s protection, but he had his hands propped on his hips, giving her enough room to peer through the angles made between his elbows and rib cage.
That first day she’d met Oakley, her parents had been in the shadows. Of course, Embry hadn’t known what they were then and hadn’t even suspected as much yet. So, she wasn’t prepared for what she’d see on the approach.
A dozen people, spread out in a line. All were pale as milk between the illumination of the full moon and the firelight, beautiful in a sharp, unignorable way, and very, very angry.
“Hello there,” Daddy greeted the vampires with careful, measured respect. “My name is Lazarus Woodcross, and this is my land. If you’d be so kind as to introduce yourselves and explain why you’ve trespassed on our private Sabbath—”
“Where is the witch who murdered our daughter?”
So much for pleasantries.
The vampire demanding this of the coven was very obviously Oakley’s father.
They didn’t look alike, but his presence matched Daddy’s papa bear energy in every sense of the phrase.
He wore an impeccably tailored suit and bowler hat, as if he’d been dropped through the wards by a portal from a time when Prohibition was fresh.
Lazarus’s expression was mild—friendly but only enough to be disarming. It was the same look he wore in courtrooms. A big man like him could often come off as aggressive simply with a crinkle of his eyes. He had lots of practice in cracking tension by appearing nonthreatening.
“You must be Oakley’s family. We’re so sorry for your loss—it’s such a tragedy.” Daddy’s voice was tender but firm. He gestured toward the pentagram. “Why don’t you all come, have a seat by the fire, and we can hash out—”
“Your name is Woodcross. You’re a witch. The witch who took our daughter is named Woodcross. There’s no misunderstanding. Where is she?” Oakley’s father pointed to the first young woman in his line of sight: Van, who owned the Black Cat Coffee Shop. “Is it her?”
They clearly had not seen the video, then.
Van was blond like Embry, yes, but she was also about a foot too short and a decade older.
Plus, she was never without her cat’s-eye glasses.
Van’s wife, Allegra, stepped in front of her beloved.
The dressmaker was slight, but as sharp-edged as one of her needles and defiant. “No.”
Under his breath, Rye muttered, “Shit.”
Inadvertently, Allegra had answered what they wanted to know: The witch was here. Daddy clearly read this nuance, too. He now held up both hands. “Now, let’s—”
“Is it her?” called another, stabbing a finger at Circe Crofton.
“It’s got to be this one,” replied a female vampire, gesturing toward Ames. “She looks especially mean.”
“Hey, that’s both racist and uncalled for,” Fairfax shot back, as Ames clutched desperately at his arm, dug in her heels, and tried to stop his advance.
Still, he moved forward, until Ames was at his back, and he was in line with Rye.
Yet another brick wall made by the Raven’s Head rowing team and a Goddess-given protective streak.
Daddy remained calm. “I empathize with your frustration, but you must understand that you’ve trespassed on my property, looking for someone who has not yet been charged with a crime or has even officially been named a suspect.
I am willing to have a conversation, but if you are only interested in accusing members of my coven, I will have to ask that you leave. ”
“I am not interested in having a conversation with a man protecting a murderer,” the vampire replied, his teeth flashing, long and white in the firelight. “In fact, I believe we’re done talking to you.”
“Fine, if you say so,” Lazarus replied, taking several steps forward and approaching as if he was about to herd them toward the gate down the hill, walking them out. “Now, if—”
This time, it wasn’t a sound that cut him off—it was an absence of it.
A sprint like streaking lightning.
The flash of silver steel.
A blade buried in the coven leader’s gut.
Then all sound came rushing back. A gurgling moan wheezed into the night as Lazarus Woodcross stumbled and fell onto the grass. Embry’s whole body shuddered in a gasp as she lunged forward, squeezing through the sliver of night between Rye and Fairfax, and called out for her father.
“Daddy!”
And with that single cry, all hell broke loose.