18. NOT THE WORST BUT CLOSE ENOUGH
NOT THE WORST BUT CLOSE ENOUGH
DADDY DID NOT DIE. BUT IT WAS A NEAR THING.
He was severely injured by Oakley’s furious family. The ambush was violent—though the coven had more than three times as many members as the vampire huddle, not a single witch had ever fought a vampire.
Or, well, anyone.
It wasn’t as if modern decorum went out the window in the magical community.
The Table didn’t preside over the Wild West. And, aside from some draining-but-worth-it defensive stun spells, the coven didn’t have much in its arsenal.
It’d never needed to. But the vampires—as vulnerable as they were to poaching in the recent past—were well trained. Skilled. Brutal.
In their grief and anger, they drove into the coven with a swarming force the moment Daddy went down. Embry had made it to Daddy with Rye on her heels, falling to her knees, magic at her fingertips as she tried to stanch the bleeding by spell, by pressure in her palms, by any means necessary.
Rye had the wherewithal to toss a protective shield around them, and for that Embry was grateful.
The moment she’d yelled, she’d outed herself as the exact witch the vampires were looking for.
Ames and Fairfax flanked Rye, powerful stunning spells shooting every which way.
But the vampires were so fast, the witches’ magic sprayed like spaghetti on a wall, barely sticking and roughshod when it did.
In fact, it was only when Ames broke out the skills that made her a medal winner on the junior boxing circuit in Miami that any hits—magical or physical—landed.
Then Fairfax used every ounce of his rower’s strength to shotput Hiram’s Bell into a knot of vampires, and a successful counterattack gained traction.
Surprisingly, Merle led the charge among the witches.
He wasn’t a veteran, but his father was, and whatever military-grade childhood he’d been raised within held lessons that kicked in immediately.
He shouted orders, formed a protective line, directed witches more accustomed to tussling with QuickBooks than people to drive the vampires back and away.
The witches forced them to retreat through the wards they’d breached, dumping them into the cemetery before sealing up the Woodcross Residence anew.
Even better, they’d done it without a single vampire casualty. Embry knew this was out of practicality—and lack of actual fighting skills—instead of care, but the fact that no one died on either side made her heart squeeze.
Oakley’s family had already gone through the unimaginable, losing their daughter only weeks after allowing her to finally enter the outside world. It would be impossible to bear another death so soon in a tight-knit family.
Embry wouldn’t have been able to shoulder that for them any more than she would have for herself if a coven member had died because of a fight started in her name.
And if that person had been Daddy? She might just die herself.
But now, alone in her room, that threat was over.
Daddy was safe and healing in his own suite down the hall.
After her lifesaving measures of both the magical and medical kinds, the coven physician, Dr. Goldman, took over.
She’d made certain Lazarus was stable, comfortable, and guaranteed rest via an enchanted sedative that would knock him out and allow him to wake only when his body was healed enough to handle consciousness.
It was basically the magical equivalent of a forced hibernation.
Even if the doctor suspected it might only last twelve to twenty-four hours in Daddy’s case.
Embry had, of course, tried to sleep in Daddy’s room, but Lazarus was still lucid enough to have none of it as the sedative seeped in and the good doctor made herself comfortable in their guest bedroom, on call all night.
“I’m not frail, Em; don’t make me feel like it.
The doc says I’ll be fine, and she’s right down the hall.
I just need to rest. And so do you.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he shook his head, definitive even propped up on pillows.
“The magical output you did to save me drained you. Don’t try to tell me otherwise, I’ve been a witch more than three times longer than you’ve been alive.
I know what you did, I’m more than grateful, and you can repay me by getting some sleep. ”
“I can’t just leave you. This is my fault, and—”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t hurt Oakley; you didn’t force those vampires to be vengeful instead of holding their judgment until the investigation’s conclusion.”
Embry’s stomach clenched because that was exactly what members of the coven did to her.
“And you certainly didn’t cause me to reason with them instead of being smarter about it. In no way is what happened tonight your fault. Get that idea out of your head right now.”
Embry could feel Daddy’s blood pressure rise with this argument. So, she didn’t argue, or even pout about the coven’s hypocritical decision. Instead, she stood from the accent chair. “Please don’t do the stubborn man thing and hesitate to call me if you need help. Understood?”
“Embry, I’ll be calling Dr. Goldman because that’s why she’s here. You can play nurse later, okay?”
No, it was not okay. Embry wanted to argue more, but then Daddy’s face softened, and he pointedly slid down the pillows and shut his eyes, the spell taking hold. “Good night, Em.”
Embry didn’t sleep. She went through the motions all right—her extensive skin care routine was nonnegotiable and actually quite comforting.
But when she lay in bed, carefully braided hair slipping across her silk pillowcase, all she could do was stare at the ceiling, tears still coming, and replay the night.
The motion to delay her Coven Ascension.
The ambush.
Daddy in the grass.
Embry closed her teary, puffy eyes, trying to will herself into slumber.
But instead, she saw the vampires flying forward, faster than the blink of an eye, meaner than anything she’d ever seen.
The coven had only been able to hold them off by sheer numbers.
If it had been equal? Someone would’ve surely died, if not several someones.
All of which made Embry’s exhausted mind wonder how on earth anyone managed to kill Oakley.
Sure, she was seventeen, but she was still a vampire.
She had the same vicious speed, inhuman strength, quick strike capability.
Even if she wasn’t aiming for vengeance, the moment she realized her life was on the line, all these ingrained traits would’ve surfaced. Yet, as far as Embry knew, they didn’t.
Her view of Oakley’s lifeless body had been brief, yes, but there’d been no obvious signs of a struggle. No scratches, contusions, wounds of any kind. Which was exactly why, even without the video, Embry had become suspect number one.
Powerful magic was the only true explanation unless the medical examiner found anything more.
Surely, they’d know that soon, wouldn’t they?
Embry had only TV and the movies to go on as far as what to expect in a criminal investigation—Daddy did estate law for magical people, not criminal defense. What would—
A creak of wood.
Embry’s line of thought extinguished as she shot up in bed and reared toward the window to the right side of her headboard.
It was ajar. A man’s hand was pushing up on the sash, while another hand was gripping the sill. Embry stumbled out of bed, snatching the first weapon she saw—her heavy, ceramic lamp—off the nightstand.
“Come any farther, and I won’t hesitate to use this!” she hissed, brandishing the lamp high above her head. She set her feet and tried to look mean, even though her vision was so waterlogged she was pretty sure she’d mostly be swinging at random.
To her surprise, a low laugh seeped into the night.
“Woodcross, you’re a witch. You don’t need to use a blunt object as a weapon. You are a weapon.”
Rye.
She had to be hallucinating. Rye Knighton did not climb trellises and appear at windows. Not hers. Not anyone’s.
Yet when she blinked and breathed deeply enough to calm her rabbiting heart, his face sharpened in her blurred vision.
Stupidly handsome and currently very smug, because, well, he was right.
Even with all the magic she’d done that night to keep Daddy alive, she had enough in the tank to defend herself.
“Maybe I want the satisfaction of cracking this over the head of an intruder.”
Again, that laugh. Proof that this was real as much as the cool hardwood beneath her toes and the breeze ruffling first his mess of a mop and then the ends of her braid. “May I come in first before you take a swing at me? I’m not very accustomed to clinging to the side of a gabled roof.”
“Why are you on the roof anyway? Last time I checked, you had a key.”
“Because I have a flair for the dramatic.”
“So do I.” Embry raised the lamp higher. “Give me a real answer. It’s been a shit night and nothing about this makes sense.”
“I wasn’t sure if Lazarus was downstairs or upstairs, and I didn’t want to disturb him.”
That was fair. They’d started treatment in the living room and then moved Lazarus to his bed later.
Rye pushed up the sash farther, then leaned in. “I saw your light, rushed over, and levitated up here. I wanted to talk to you. Face-to-face, not over text.”
Embry lowered the lamp a fraction. Her eyes narrowed, and she blinked again. Not trusting them in her exhaustion and their sodden state. “You’re really here?”
“Yes, Em.”
“And you thought it would be a genius move to crawl in my window just hours after an entire vampire coven tried to kill me in vengeance?”
“I—I thought I was being whimsical, but… when you put it that way, I just sound like an asshole.” Rye glanced over his shoulder, into the night, and then back at Embry. “Do you want me to try again, through the front door?”
“You’re already here.”
It was more of a statement than an answer, but Rye took it as an invitation, even though she didn’t move a muscle. He hauled himself through the open window with enviable ease.
Solidly inside now, Rye stood and turned to her. He was wearing tartan plaid pajama pants and the same Raven’s Head drama sweatshirt she favored in a navy blue. His green eyes crinkled, not in a smile, but in an expression that Embry recognized as determination.
Finally, Embry’s body responded. She stepped back but didn’t discard the lamp. The cord tugged, at its end. Undeterred, Rye came to her and gently released the lamp from her grip. She surprised herself by letting go so easily. And also by softly asking, “Why?”
Rye placed the lamp safely on her nightstand and looked to her. Embry felt oddly naked even though she was completely dressed in one of her many matching silk pajama sets. The one she’d picked tonight was black, like her mood. Like recent events.
Perhaps because of this sense of vulnerability, Embry struggled to look him in the eye, but she did. Therefore, she saw as that earlier determination flashed stronger across his familiar features, hardening his jaw, his crinkling eyes, his full mouth.
“I’m here because I think you’re innocent,” Rye said slowly, carefully. As if he were sure she hadn’t believed her ears the first time he’d said basically the same thing at the coven meeting from hell. “And I’m going to help you prove it.”