Chapter 9
C HAPTER 9
AUDEN
There’s a definitive point to the end of the sentence, a stern jab of a finger to the sternum, the desk, a waiting open palm.
The study is again deathly still. Something in the air has changed. A shift in pressure. Perspective. Weight.
Everyone in this room has a chance at ultimate, rare power for the first time in nearly four hundred years.
From Ursula’s death don’t come the twin pillars of continuity and stability, but opportunity—raw, ripe, dangerous opportunity.
To rule the Four Lines and the thousands of witches within them.
Technically, practitioners of the Four Lines are all equally skilled, simply different vessels for the magic. But with the master relics comes something impossible otherwise.
Control.
The High Sorcerer holds the masters, which means they hold the eye through which each line’s powers thread.
Like a satellite signal, every single witch within the lines sends their powers to its master relic, which then amplifies and narrows the magic until each spell cast is the tip of an arrow, a blade, a bullet. Without the masters, our powers would be like the wind, always there, but unbalanced—strong at times, weak at others.
With the masters come safety and protection—as long as the High Sorcerer doesn’t intend to harm the lines. Masters literally in hand could make the High Sorcerer holding them so powerful every other witch on the planet couldn’t stop them.
Which is exactly why the master relics have been in one family, in one place, for so long.
I scan the three families before me, left to right, as if reading a newly turned page.
The Cerises whisper like contestants on a syndicated family game show.
The Starwoods watch each other, already in silent, closed-circuit communication.
The Blackgates are divergent. Lavinia looks like she wants to leap into the fireplace. Kaysa stares at the will as if it has more answers to give.
Flanking me, my cousins are barely breathing. That chill on my neck spreads with the new silence, plunging below my collar and down the ridge of my spine. The only audible sound is the snapping of the flames in the hearth.
“So, it’s a game…?” Kaysa Blackgate asks slowly, breaking the quiet like a weak jab from an ice pick.
“I wouldn’t call it a game,” Evander grumbles. He’s bent over, meaty shoulders hunched to his ears, green eyes flicking from Kaysa to the traitorous paper still beneath my palm.
“It may not be a game but it is a competition,” Hex counters with a foxlike grin. He’s doffed his suit coat, tucking it under an arm and releasing his cuff links for a chance to literally roll up his sleeves and get to work. His tiger stripe of tattoos is bare on his left arm, magicked ink as eye-catching as the ruby ring on his right index finger. “We all heard the woman. Let’s find her relics. Let’s do this.”
I swallow down the feeling that the Cerises are a little too eager. I’m all for compartmentalizing, but this isn’t meant to be fun.
“Hold your horses, and give it a second,” Luna says, settling back into the embrace of her armchair. “Parameters are a-comin’, child, couldn’t you feel it when we signed?”
“Parameters? You mean rules to a game ?” Hex asks, with a cock of a dark brow.
Evander’s lips flatten into a serious line. “It’s not a—”
The rest of Ursula’s spell hits in a skein of lightning that flashes within everyone in the room like a vein of wildfire, leaving nothing but cooling, ashen embers hardening into place. It pushes outward until it coats our skin, heavy as lead though thin as frost. The world has the cool countenance of a winter midnight filtered through that familiar emerald green of Elemental magic. Glittering, frigid, still as death.
We can’t move. We can’t speak.
All we can do is listen.
This time, Ursula’s words aren’t amplified by the page. They’re conducted in our blood. My vision narrows, blotting black from the corners until the paper before me disappears and all I can see is Ursula, speaking to me in a direct manner—a group hallucination, propelled from our shared blood into our field of sight. A second spell, prepared individually not simply for the reading of the will but for each person in this room.
“Bound by my power, the following rules will be agreed upon by every one of you,” Ursula intones, unblinking. “Break any of my rules, and you will be suspended in an impenetrable, air-rendered prison for twenty-four hours. You will be as immobile as a marble statue, trapped where you stand. No chance to search for the relics, no chance to hunt for the killer, no chance to clear your name of whatever the magic has deemed you did wrong.”
As one the lot of us verbally answer “Yes.” Ursula’s secondary spell literally has us by the throats, there isn’t anything else to do.
“Rule one: All of you must be present at the reading of each clue. Each of you will have the opportunity to locate any relic upon Hegemony Manor estate. All security wards surrounding the relics have been disarmed and will not harm the individual who finds them.”
My heart stutters at the mention of the security wards—I’m sure Evander’s and Winter’s did the same or worse. Again, we verbally agree.
“Rule two: There will be no use of magic against each other during the search for the relics or during the murder investigation. Moreover, no relic should be taken from its rightful line after procurement until the group can elect a new High Sorcerer and voluntarily release the master relics to the title holder.”
With as much power as is on the line, this is necessary. Everyone seems to be agreeable to working together in this game, thus far, minutes in. But it’s not hard to imagine that changing as soon as the masters are in hand.
“Rule three: There will be no vigilante justice in punishing my killer. Anyone suspected is to be questioned and confirmed by all of you, a jury of peers. Do you understand?”
Again, we concur as one.
“Break any of these rules, and, to repeat, you will automatically be bound in a prison of your own making via this spell and the magic herewith. Do you understand?”
We do.
With our chanted verbal acknowledgment, Ursula recedes from our shared vision, her spell fading into our blood like an ebbing tide. It’s part of us now, until the magic is satisfied.
The will and my hand sharpen back into view, my breath kicking out in a hasty exhale. In my periphery, Luna jabs a geriatric elbow at Infinity’s kidney.
“This grand dame knows a few things, doesn’t she? I’m two for two!”
That she does and is.
“Wait.” Lavinia’s voice is hollow, unsure. She swallows and tries again, visibly shaken by the deepness of Ursula’s binding spell. “What about the other task? How are we to punish the murderer?”
Hex’s teeth flash in a double take. “You’re—she’s kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding,” Lavinia insists.
“You’re a hundred percent serious right now?” Hex prods, lips curling into a smirk as he catches eyes with the rest of us, expecting someone to break or laugh. “This isn’t some joke? A lie for Blackgate shits and giggles?”
I don’t think Lavinia’s lying. Beside her, Kaysa’s brow is knitted in confusion. And… it seems genuine, Blackgate genes or not.
“The crime of murder can only be punished by death,” Evander answers, bluntly. “Which I can only assume is why Marsyas Blackgate is currently missing.”
Both girls pale, lips dropped open, their hands scrabbling for a better grip on each other while the rest of their limbs seem to freeze up.
They truly didn’t know.
Don’t know.
It strikes me then that perhaps this is why Lavinia has seemed so unlike herself. It wasn’t time or distance or maturity… something’s been done to them to make them forget. They’ve been spelled to forget. What happened, why, all of it.
That’s either cruel or genius—maybe both. Until the truth catches up.
“Especially,” Ada cuts in, something nasty in the baby blue of her eyes, “considering what happened with Marcos.”
“Our father…?” Kaysa’s voice trails off.
“Your father is of no consequence to this game,” Sanguine answers, pointedly cuffing her daughter’s wrist and forcing it to be at her side, an apology.
Ada isn’t having it, and squirms away from her mother’s taloned grip, crossing her arms over her chest, her pink mouth twisting into something sharper than her twin’s smirk. “Unless your family murdered Ursula in retaliation for his fate?”
Now both Blackgate girls look like they want to leap into the fire.
“I, what, no—” Lavinia sputters.
“Of course not!” Kaysa insists, aghast.
“Where is your grandmother, girls?” Hector asks like a perturbed principal, and though Sanguine stepped in at the mention of Marcos, she now squares her shoulders, clearly in line with her husband on this. “Isn’t it mighty suspect that Marsyas vanished right before Ursula’s last breath?”
“It isn’t a crime to use the loo,” Kaysa claps back with a very Winter-like roll of her eyes. “Nona’s lucky her bladder saved her from watching her friend die.”
Hector spears Evander with an inquisitive glance. “Given your tardiness, I’m assuming you checked the restroom when you came inside.” His eyes flick back to the Blackgates. “And yet you didn’t locate your grandmother?”
“We haven’t checked all sixteen washrooms,” Kaysa snaps.
“Did she leave?” Sanguine tilts her head, both inquisitive and demanding. “Did she abandon you?”
“We don’t know where she is, but we’ll find her,” Lavinia answers, much more measured than her younger sister, but her eyes betray her, because even at this distance, even with the fire across the room, I can read in the dark depths that she’s uncertain—maybe even scared. Scared that Marsyas did it or that she met the same fate as Ursula, and we haven’t found her yet.
Perhaps they can smell it in Lavinia’s blood, or maybe they just have plenty of practice from leading a highly volatile line, but Hector and Sanguine seem to home in on that fear. Hector winds up to push more but Evander interjects, big, blunt hands in the air, placating.
“Perhaps,” my cousin says, “so that we can answer some of those questions, it might be best to use tonight to pause on the search for the masters and instead spend the time taking statements regarding Ursula’s murder. I believe the best scenario is the use of a truth spell—”
“That you control?” Hector scoffs, all eyebrows and surprise—his voice has its usual jovial tenor, but there’s something about his delivery that’s rushed, fevered. He holds up a ringed hand. “Evander, I will agree to anything to help the lines but that’s a bridge too far. There’s no way to control the result without an independent investigator.”
The man has a point.
“Then we’ll perform truth spells on each other,” Evander tries again, his tightly woven edges fraying as he offers diplomacy but really wants his way. I wonder if the others can see it like I can. Like Winter must. “Given Marsyas’s absence, the Blackgates will submit first, and we’ll work from there.”
“You want us to what?” Lavinia asks, stricken.
Hex tips his chin, eyes twinkling darkly. “How do you even do a truth spell with the elements? Burn flesh until they cave?”
Winter grins at him with more grit than she’s had in an hour. “Depends on if we like them or not.”
I clear my throat. “I think this perhaps might skirt too close to breaking the rule of using our magic against each other, unless the participant verbally submits and all of us agree it’s fair.”
There’s a general mumbling of “fine” and “okay” before Luna primly places one gnarled hand on top of the other and tosses a metaphorical bomb onto the desk.
“Hector makes a fine point about the independent investigator. We don’t have one. And while I appreciate your budding leadership acumen, Evander, what if Ursula’s murderer is a Hegemony?”
Evander stiffens, my heart drops, and Winter gasps.
“Luna, you know I love you, but that’s completely out of bounds,” Winter says, voice breaking. She swallows, a shaking hand covering her mouth. “We would never. None of us would ever.”
“But one of us did,” Infinity points out in support of their grandmother.
“ Marsyas did,” Ada scoffs.
“We don’t know that,” Lavinia bites back.
“Which is why we should start questioning the Blackgates tonight,” Evander states flatly.
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. I can’t believe I’m about to say this but… “You suspect these Blackgates? The Blackgates that are so magically cloistered— altered? —they didn’t even know their father was punished by death by the woman who died here tonight until we told them?”
“Hey, we’re not idiots,” Lavinia snaps at me like I didn’t just defend her and Kaysa. “We’re just uninformed.”
“Yeah, we shouldn’t be punished for our childhood trauma,” Kaysa adds. “Or for the fact that Nona seems to have wandered off at the worst possible time.”
Luna’s whole body sags in a frown. “As someone two years more senior than Marsyas, I’d like to note that she’s old, not senile. Sharp as a tack and cracking the whip, that one.”
Hector resets, both hands up and taking a step forward toward us as a group, placating. “I think we should read the clue. Punishing Ursula’s murderer is important— obviously —but it’s not nearly as crucial to the continuation of the Four Lines as locating the master relics. By my count we now have a little more than fifty hours to find all four of them. We need to know what type of clues we’re working with, so we have an idea of how to pace ourselves to successfully locate the masters in time.”
He’s right. I hate it, but he’s right.
Ursula was adamant that we do—that I do—whatever necessary to continue the Four Lines. The masters are key. Even with Ursula’s murderer punished, we can’t continue the lines without the relics in hand. And if Marsyas is missing because she killed Ursula… well, we might be spinning our wheels by spending the night taking statements.
I blot a clammy hand on my pant leg and prepare to place it again on the page to call the clue, but then Hector steps toward the desk, rubbing a thumb across his jaw. He manages to appear casual but I’ve seen him use this approach—the careful, thoughtful, seasoned friend—a dozen times with Ursula. He wants something.
“Before we begin—Evander, the High Sorcerer’s ring, you took it off Ursula’s body. I think we need to discuss a better place for it than your pocket.”
“We don’t need to discuss it. It’s safe with me.”
Hector’s teeth flash gold in the firelight—he grins harder but doesn’t relent. “I’m sure it is, but I was thinking perhaps it might be appropriate to have Luna hold it until the relics are found and the High Sorcerer is named, as the eldest head of family here.”
“I don’t want it,” Luna spits without hesitation. “Should’ve left it on the body.”
I’d have to agree except all of us expected Evander to be the next High Sorcerer. That ring was supposed to be his, as it had been for generations of Hegemony heirs before him.
And while Hector’s interest in its location could simply be sim pering concern that a mere teenager will mishandle something so valuable… I don’t know. It’s very pointed .
Evander produces Ursula’s ring from his pocket. It’s silver, inset with a gem for each magic line—garnet for Blood, emerald for Elemental, onyx for Death, opal for Celestial—and the symbolic key to controlling every known Four Lines witch in North America. Well, and the actual key, given it is spelled to be bound to each of the master relics.
For something so powerful, it sits unremarkable in Evander’s wide palm.
“It should stay with the Hegemony family until the High Sorcerer is elected.” Evander’s fingers close around the ring, swallowing it from view.
“Fine,” Hector stiffly concedes, all his attention fixed on Evander’s fist as he fishes for what to say next. “However, it’s blasphemy to wear the ring without rights. Punishable by ten to thirty years of censure of powers by a panel of your peers.”
Evander nearly rolls his eyes at the hand-wringing. He would if he’d been alone with Hector, I’m sure. Instead, he maintains an aura of professionalism as he fishes his own chain and heir’s key from beneath his snow-white button-up. Without another word, he unclasps the chain and slides the ring onto it. It sinks down the length until it clinks softly with his key. Evander’s is larger than mine, and iron, not copper, with more jags on its edge and a more ornate fob at its top.
Evander returns the chain to his neck and slips the ring and key out of sight beneath his shirt. “Is that satisfactory, Hector?”
“Yes,” the patriarch agrees, almost automatically. He straightens his suit jacket and backs away from the desk.
“Okay, now that we’ve settled that matter,” Evander says in a way that makes it obvious he did not care for Hector’s lapse in agreeability, “Auden, the first clue, if you would.”
I press my palm into the will. My thumb is again lined up perfectly with the bloody print, but this time no magic sparks under my skin.
The paper is cold, dull, lifeless.
After a beat, there’s a collective shuffle and lean.
“It hasn’t yet appeared.” I glance first to Winter and then to Evander, but it’s obvious they see nothing but the sheet we started with—looping with Ursula’s signature and marked by our bloody thumbprints. “Perhaps the clue must be read by someone of the appropriate line?”
Testing this theory, I present the single page again to the other families.
Hector and Sanguine crowd the desk, squinting—nothing.
The Starwoods don’t move from their home base of the guest chair, but both shake their heads, unable to read a thing upon it.
The Blackgates—
My eyes dart around the room. The corners, the shadows.
The Blackgates are nowhere to be found.
Just like their grandmother, Lavinia and Kaysa are missing.