Chapter 13
C HAPTER 13
AUDEN
Ursula told me my role at the year’s turn. The day before I was to return to school after the winter holiday. More than six months ago now.
I’d come into Ursula’s study and shut the door as requested. She was speaking before I’d even completed my approach across the stately room.
“My boy,” she said from behind her grand desk, and I knew then that this was a serious matter because private affection was involved. The silt-gray light of a cloudy morning streaming in the diamond-paned windows only put a point on it. It was as if she’d summoned the dreariness herself. And maybe she had.
Ursula gestured to the set of guest chairs before her. I always sat in the one to the right. That day wasn’t one for trying something new. I lowered myself to the bespoke brocade cushion and the moment I was still again, Ursula began, nearly impatient.
“I will be dead and gone sooner than I would like.”
My gut twisting, I nodded. There was no sense in contradicting her with platitudes and overconfident reassurance. Both were lies. My grandmother was a powerful woman closer to a hundred than most humans would ever see. Her husband had been dead as long as I’d been alive. Her children nearly ten of my seventeen years. She’d lived with death my whole life, a constant companion. One we couldn’t ignore. One that wouldn’t be ignored.
Ursula leaned forward, her eyes as bright as lit matches at midnight. The blaze in the hearth achieved exactly nothing except providing warmth and a low current of power to the High Sorcerer. Every room in Hegemony Manor had a flue for just that reason. Fire was a powerful and pervasive element.
“Auden, when I am gone, you will be the executor to my last will and testament.”
This was where someone else would demur and plea, “Ursula, are you sure?”
I didn’t. Still, she explained, as if I’d asked.
“Evander is the one most loyal to the Hegemony name. Winter is the one most loyal to the Hegemony family.”
This was true. Evander would tattoo the name across his face if Ursula wouldn’t behead him for being so embarrassingly brash. And Winter would do anything for her family, including ditching every responsibility we had to anyone beyond our blood.
“You, however, are loyal to who the Hegemonys are . That is an important distinction.”
It was.
The Hegemony name literally meant power. It wasn’t a mistake or a quirk of language and luck that the word “hegemony”—the prominence of one over others—described exactly who we were. It was a purposeful rebranding choice by Mercy Hegemony after saving the Four Lines from disaster. Since that moment, her descendants were Elemental witches, yes, but also so much more—supreme rulers of the Four Lines for the past four hundred years, as dictated by our hold over the powerful master relics that were key to the survival of modern magic within North America.
And my cousins and I all had very different ideas of what that power meant.
Ursula primly folded her hands atop her desk. The four gemstones of the High Sorcerer’s ring she wore glinted mildly in the dull light. Her movements were always so unhurried, smooth, deliberate. Steady. Just like her voice.
“When I die,” Ursula had announced without an ounce of hesitation or recoil, “our fissures will come to light.”
Sixty years. That was how long Ursula Hegemony had held the title of High Sorcerer. One year after the death of her older brother, Matthias, and two years after the death of her mother, Elvire, who had been High Sorcerer for fifty years.
Ursula had been the High Sorcerer for so long that a power vacuum would be inevitable. The history books along these walls, in the library, the turret reading room, heck, in my dorm room at school, were filled with examples of the same, all over the world.
We were not the same, though our hegemony —so to speak—was quite different.
“We will crack and bleed, and fester until we’re healed,” Ursula had continued, her tourmaline eyes unwavering. There was magic in that, a thread of power that meant what she said in this here and now would never fade from my memory. “Some will see this as a game to be won. What you must see it as is a set of instructions. Auden, it is crucial that you do exactly as I say. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Ursula.”
A stiff nod—curt, hard, decisive. “Now, here is what you must do.”
All those months ago, Ursula had been right.
Our fissures ruptured at the surface.
They spider-webbed every which way, the shotgun blast of ice cracking on a frozen lake before shattering and swallowing whole anything heavier than a feather.
Between the four High Families. Within our own. Within this very room.
Ursula’s murder is simply the first crack visible to all of us. A sign of what’s shattered beneath.
We will crack and bleed, and fester until we’re healed.
I hope she’s right about the end. I fear it’s the first time she’s ever been wrong.
The fissures have just begun, and even with Ursula’s words looping through my mind, I already don’t know how to repair them. I don’t know if I’ll get a chance. The breaks I can’t see—yet—could widen to gaping chasms by the end of Ursula’s final directive. I think that’s more likely than our crevices healing up, our “most unusual and unbreakable family” knitting back together, stronger than ever.
Ruminating, I stare into the flames of the study hearth. There’s always a fire in this room. Day or night, season after season, hour after hour. Until I’d walked into cold embers tonight, I’d thought those flames to be as endless as they were alive. Now I know they died along with Ursula, like the grass outside, like the wilting plants in this room and all along this floor. Death spilling over and tainting anything that had Ursula’s magic in it. Even me. Even my cousins. Maybe everyone trapped in this estate.
Winter returns with the snick of a lock latching closed. I have my back to her, sitting cross-legged in the right-hand guest chair I always used when Ursula was alive. Evander has claimed the large leather desk chair, the fire casting a shimmer of gold on one side of his face. His expression flickers with all the things he’s planning to say.
We haven’t so much as exchanged a word since Winter left with the Blackgates. Just assumed our current positions and retreated to our thoughts.
“I told you not to move,” she scolds with a sigh.
My gaze snaps away from the fire. “I thought I’d get comfortable. This conversation won’t be short.”
Winter drops into the other guest chair. She slips off her ridiculous heels and tucks her knees to her chest, the floral-print silk of her dress hugging her skin as tightly as the vise cage of her strong, tennis-player arms.
“The length of this conversation depends entirely on how quickly you want to tell the truth,” Evander says, leaning on the desk. “What did you know, Auden?”
This time, because he’s seated, his elbows dig into the leather blotter on either side of the page that had been the will and is now our clue, his hands cupping his biceps. His jacket is off again, just as it was in the garden. His shoulders strain against the brilliant white fabric, and his jaw works in his heavily hung head.
I know Evander’s stressed. I know he’s sad. I know he can’t believe this any more than I can.
But I have no idea why, after what’s happened tonight, his first inclination is to aim all his anger at me.
I straighten my trousers where they’ve creased. “I would say you’d have to be more specific, but the answer is the same whether you’re referring to what happened to Ursula or to what was in the will. I didn’t know.”
Evander inhales a thin, angry breath. “I’ll try again, and put it as plainly as possible: Did you know she was going to die?”
I did know Ursula was expecting death. I didn’t know she would be murdered.
“Evander, how can you ask him that?” Winter’s voice tears through my thoughts and the air, a warning shot of anger threaded into each syllable. “Our grandmother is dead— murdered —and your first move as patriarch to the Elemental Line is to accuse Auden of being in on it ? What in the absolute fuck?”
Every ounce of restraint has been wrung out of Evander from this long and terrible night. A familiar sparring partner is never a reason to hold back. He doesn’t.
“I’m doing what Ursula would expect from us at this moment—”
“By interrogating Auden like Ursula whispered in his ear that she planned to be offed at her own dinner party?” Winter thrusts a hand in the general direction of the belly of Hegemony Manor and the residential wings that make up the second floor. Tears spark again in her azure eyes. “By one of her guests? One of the High Families? Are you serious right now?”
“Win, I know you’re upset—”
“Of course I’m upset!” Winter explodes, and the tears break free, spilling onto her reddening cheeks. “Do not try to mollify my feelings, Evander Hegemony. That’s not leadership, that’s dismissal. I’m not a fucking robot.”
His hands raise like a white flag. “I’m sorry, that was the wrong thing to say.”
“Yeah, it was.” Winter sniffs and blots at the wetness on her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
Evander sighs, sinks back in Ursula’s chair, and drags a hand down his face. Then, he changes his mind and leans forward, pressing his palms flat on the desk, as if grounding himself. “I’m not saying Auden was part of Ursula’s murder, I’m just starting my questioning with what he knew as executor that we did not—including the information that he’d been named executor, a fact that he kept from us—”
“At Ursula’s discretion.” My tone is flat. Evander is digging—he’ll find nothing but bare earth. “It was technically a request, but we all know that her requests were orders. I obeyed.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “And you didn’t think that was suspect?”
“Jesus, Evander,” Winter curses. Her slim fingers fist the hair at her temples as if she’s about to yank it out at the root. “The woman’s vanity spells were top-tier but lest you forget, Ursula was ninety-nine years old. Of course she planned to die, she was a High Sorcerer, not immortal—don’t give Ursula shit for being prepared but not wanting to worry us. Don’t give Auden shit about being her executor. You were the heir, Evander, you couldn’t be the executor too.” She pauses. “It was going to be either of us, and he’s older. It makes sense.”
Evander’s head tilts as he stares at me.
“But I wasn’t the heir, was I?”
If he wants a wrestling match, he’ll get one. He’s bigger and older, but that’s never mattered when it comes to words, or to actual wrestling, because I’ve always been quicker.
“You are the heir. To our family. To the Elemental Line and all the thousands of witches who practice within it. Patriarch.” With each new word, the cords in Evander’s thick neck seem to tighten. I keep going. “If you’re implying that I knew Ursula’s will would change in regard to the title of High Sorcerer if she was murdered, no, I did not.”
Evander rubs a thumb along his jaw, the light scraping sound of the pad against stubble the undertone for his unblinking assessment of my expression. “You’re the executor, how—”
“Hey, hi, over here.” Winter waves a hand. “Before you dial in and cost us ten more precious minutes by interrogating Auden more, understand that I tossed you the perfect opening to ask if I have a role too.” She pointedly fishes her own key out from behind the ribbon choker at her throat. “Liaison of the Lines.”
Evander squints at her. “Liaison? Really? We haven’t had one since…”
“Since my mother. Yes,” she answers. Unlike my role as executor, the role of liaison had been absorbed into Ursula’s own duties when Aunt Lana passed—a role that made the High Sorcerer’s life easier but wasn’t a necessity like heir or executor. Important, but a matter of delegation in the scheme of things.
And Ursula had delegated the role to Winter.
“Perhaps,” I say, “we should start by asking what we all knew—”
Evander smirks, but not in the kind way he did at Kaysa when he thought no one was looking only hours ago. “Oh, so you’ve come up with an answer for me now?”
“No, a question. For you.”
I wait to see what he’ll do with that. If he’ll use my own aborted questioning as a shield, or if he’ll let me move forward as a means to prove he has nothing to hide.
Bulldozer in a three-piece suit, he does exactly what I think he will. Evander crosses his arms over his barrel chest, a shield disguised as outward intimidation. “Fine. Shoot.”
“What happened when you left the solarium to question Ursula?”
Winter freezes. “Wait, when was this? After I went to greet the guests?”
“Yes,” I answer because Evander doesn’t. “When you left to greet the Blackgates, Evander announced he was instead going ‘to the source.’”
Now, Winter grips both arms of her chair, stricken. “Evander Hegemony, were you the last person alone with our dear grandmother before her death?”
“No,” he spits, curtly. “I came to her study, but she wasn’t here.” He lifts a thick eyebrow at me in challenge. “Happy?”
“Not entirely.” I shrug. “I thought you might have something useful to say.”
Evander scowls. “Are you certain? Because it very much seemed as if you were making an accusation.”
“Not any worse than you were making of Auden five minutes ago,” Winter reminds him.
Though I appreciate her defense, I hold up my hands—not in surrender but in exasperation. “I’m on your side, Evander. If you didn’t find Ursula in her study, I believe you.” He squints at me. “And beyond that, you’re a terrible murder suspect.”
It’s true. Still, he squints harder.
Between that and his tight jaw, how he doesn’t have a headache all the time is beyond me. I spell it out. “You lost both your grandmother and the guarantee of your future the moment Ursula fell. I understand why Hector doesn’t want you leading the investigation, but in truth you’re the least likely suspect of everyone here.”
Evander plants his elbows on the desk like he’s about to argue, but Winter won’t allow it.
“Auden’s right. You’re pretty much the only one who isn’t a suspect, Evander.”
I clap my hands together, because, as she often does, Winter finds a way to put a finer point on my own thoughts. “Whomever killed Ursula also stands to benefit from gaining control of the masters. That’s the motive—kill Ursula, trigger the change in her will, set up a hunt that can recast the holder of the master relics, and therefore the seat of power for all Four Lines witches in North America.”
“Yes. Exactly,” Winter agrees.
Evander, of course, is not so sure because none of this is his idea. In many ways Winter is the tactician you don’t see coming because her beauty often gets in the way of people’s perceptions, while Evander is the tactician who doesn’t see any other way.
To wit, he literally owns up to it next, grumbling, “I don’t see why you’re down on me questioning the Blackgates immediately—”
“Because I don’t think they did it.”
This stops him cold. Winter too.
“You know I’m no fan of the Blackgates, now or ever, but Marsyas and Athena literally shipped those girls across an ocean to protect them from the Four Lines and specifically Ursula. Why on earth would Marsyas kill Ursula and leave her granddaughters trapped in this spell with us?” The ice around them cracks as they consider this. “Moreover, how the hell do they benefit from a possible change in leadership if they’re both suspects and clearly magically altered to be clueless? It doesn’t make sense.”
Winter aimlessly rubs a finger over her bottom lip, the last of her expertly applied gloss vanishing. “So, you think it’s a setup?”
“I think something’s wrong here.”
Evander shakes his head. “Auden, I know you had a passably friendly reacquaintance with Lavinia—”
“Oh, come on, you were working very hard not to smile in Kaysa’s presence,” I toss a hand in his direction. “We all saw it.”
“We did, ” Winter confirms. “That sourpuss business finally worked on someone—a Blackgate, no less—and you were thrilled enough to smirk .”
Evander doesn’t acknowledge either of us.
“But,” he plows forward, completely ignoring our accusations, “we can’t rule out the Blackgates. They’re the most obvious choice with Marsyas missing—everyone in this room just agreed to it.”
“They agreed because it takes each of them off the hot seat,” I point out. “Listen, if not the Blackgates in vengeance for Marcos, the Cerises have the most obvious motivation. They had control of the Four Lines in Salem—Napoleon Cerise was the first High Sorcerer, after all, before he decided to commit genocide against the other three lines. Maybe before he was executed, Napoleon passed down information that led them to believe this exact hunt could happen. Maybe they’ve been waiting more than four hundred years for the right time to put this in motion.”
My reasoning isn’t ironclad—the ring wasn’t tethered to the High Sorcerer until Mercy saved the Four Lines from Napoleon Cerise—but it’s the best I have, and likely important if not imperfect.
“I do agree with you that Hector’s enthusiasm for teamwork does seem a little… manufactured, ” Evander agrees. “The man’s a textbook sycophant. He attaches himself to power like a tapeworm.”
Winter rolls her eyes. “Or,” she counters, “he’s just a different type of team player than the kind who tries to decapitate people with lacrosse sticks.” She takes a swing that proves she’s a tennis player and has never once attended one of our lacrosse games. Which is fine. Apparently, she was busy schmoozing with the rest of the lines in her free time. “The Cerises try too hard but they mean well. Really. They’re doing some amazing things in the medical field.”
“You mean they’re making a gold mine on blood-testing patents,” I amend.
“Like the Hegemony name wasn’t built on the literal California gold rush.”
I smirk at her. “That money went into clean energy decades ago.”
“And the Starwoods?” Evander asks, forcing things per usual. “They didn’t seem interested in power, only getting out of here and moving on with their lives.”
“Isn’t that motivation enough?” I ask. It should be.
Evander just shrugs at me. Winter sighs. I lay it out for them the way I see it. A way that won’t jump the gun but will be efficient.
“Look, I think we join the game and watch how it’s played.” Evander’s nostrils flare at the word “game” but I continue. It’s the word Ursula used all those months ago and it’s the word I’m going to use now. “That’s our investigation—observation only, which isn’t against the rules. We need to look at the murder probe and the masters hunt through the same lens—two sides of the same coin. If someone killed Ursula specifically to get their hands on the masters, they’ll reveal themselves as the masters are being found by how they react.”
Evander grimaces, ready to argue. I drill him with an unblinking stare.
“And before you shoot down this idea, let me tell you that it’ll simply look like you made your priority the game.”
“It’s not a game. Stop calling it that. And reclaiming our family title as High Sorcerer is my priority. I just don’t want us to lose sight of punishing Ursula’s murderer.”
“Evander, it’s something to be won. Call it what you want—hunt, quest, competition—I’m calling it a game.”
Winter draws in a thin breath and nods in a way that makes me think she’s on my side about this stupid terminology but then wisely goes on.
“And no one is losing sight of the fact that we have twin aims here. You were in that meeting just now, Evander, the same as Auden and me. The determination was to focus on the master relics. That’s what we’ll do while keeping an eye open for clues as to who was the killer, Marsyas or otherwise. Then, we watch, we ask questions, we keep tugging at threads. And if we get to the end and determine it is Marsyas who did it, then we focus all our energy on using those relics to break the lockdown, and then punish her for what she’s done.” Winter turns to our older cousin. “Which was your idea, I may remind you.”
It was. Evander swallows his grimace. “Fine.”
Our logic has hit the mark. But I push further.
“And just so we’re on the same page, don’t make it seem like you’re interrogating someone,” I add. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you don’t have to have already murdered someone to become a murderer. This situation is stressful enough, and keeping our emotions under wraps will go a long way to ensuring we don’t have anyone else do something rash.”
To my surprise, Evander bursts into a low laugh.
When we gape at him, he stabs a finger on the leather blotter, full mouth twisted and incredulous. “Auden, you don’t want to cause discord between the lines. This is you trying to keep me from a confrontation.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing—”
“Because he doesn’t want to see you hurt.” Winter glares at our oldest cousin. “ I don’t want to see you hurt. Those relics are valuable and we don’t know what everyone is thinking when they’re not sucking up to us. You may be a bad murder suspect, but you’re a good target. If someone is motivated to control the lines, you’re in the way, Evander. And hurting you—hell, killing you—is a way to get you out of the way.”
All mirth falls from Evander’s face as he looks at her.
“Ursula’s rules won’t allow that.”
“Her magic isn’t a shield, Evander. It’s a deterrent.” I wish I could knock the reality of it straight through his skull. “If anyone kills you, it’ll be worth a day locked in Ursula’s magic because with you out of the picture, they’ll win. They’ll win the title, have enough power to avoid punishment, and be in charge while you’ll be in a grave next to Ursula.”
Evander’s gaze snaps to my face. His mossy-green eyes are rimmed with red this close, from sadness or anger or exhaustion. It’s impossible to tell. Maybe all those emotions, pressing against his skin, hoping for release but not getting it from the one of us who’s too stubborn and determined to allow it.
“Fine. Fine. Understood. Noted. I’ll be careful with my phrasing and attitude tomorrow. Happy?” We nod. He smooths his hands over the desk blotter. “But I can’t just sit here and do nothing tonight. We have to do something. We have to know what Ursula was thinking.”
I fish out the chain at my throat. “All three of us have keys. Maybe we need to spend time seeing how many drawers and cabinets we can open. We go through the contents, and if there’s anything that won’t open for us, we open it by other means.”
Winter is incredulous. “You seriously want to do this right now?”
I point at the grandfather clock on the mantel above the fireplace. “It’s just past eleven on Saturday night. We have until 11:59 P.M. Monday night to figure this out. We won’t know unless we haven’t completed the tasks and then it’s too late.” I yank the chain from my throat and stand up. “We’re the only ones who can do this search. And I’m with Evander, I need to do something tonight.”