Chapter 15
C HAPTER 15
RUBY
I wake with a start. Book smell tingling my nose, my hair blotting out most of my vision. My neck aches, and my skin smarts, and it takes a few blinks and a full-on swat at my hair to realize I’m not in our suite.
I’m in the reading room.
I fell asleep doing research.
I peel the side of my face off the delicate, now smudged, page of a book the size of the seat cushions Dad brought to my track meets last year to survive hours in the bleachers, the crick in my neck audibly sighing with a snap as I make my way upright.
The indigo light of lifting dawn ambles in the windows, which I see now have no curtains. Strange because most of these books should not be in direct sunlight. Maybe magic protects them when the brightness goes from this hazy greeting to the white blaze of noon. I’m about to wonder aloud as much to Wren when my eyes adjust.
My sister isn’t asleep at the table, the window seat, the floor.
I push back my chair and realize I’m still barefoot, my strappy heels crammed next to the window seat. Wren’s are there too.
That can’t be good.
Panic rising, I shut the grimoire that served as my pillow, tuck it against my chest, sweep up both pairs of stilettos, hurry down the stairs—
And run straight into Infinity.
I clip their shoulder as I hit the hallway carpet, barreling out of the spiral stair alcove.
But in one smooth motion, time seems to freeze along with my forward momentum. Suspended in place, I can only watch as In finity tips me back onto an upright axis, before sweeping droplets of sloshing tea away from the front of their shirt and directly back into the mug in their hand.
Then, just as quickly as it froze, time speeds back into motion again. I’m left wobbling on tensed legs, the book pressed against my chest throwing me off-balance even with Infinity’s magical adjustments.
They brace their free palm against my upper arm to keep me from falling a second time.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you—”
“Blind corner.” Infinity shrugs, and gestures with their teacup. “Breakfast is laid out in the solarium if you’re interested. You might need some caffeine to get through…” They trail off, tilting their head to read the spine of my colossal tome, “ The Migration of the Four Lines . Full offense to the dryness of your chosen reading material, not to your comprehension skills.”
I hug the book closer and laugh. “Yeah.” Then I realize that they must be taking their tea up to the reading room, and I go for a tiny gamble to find out why—research, a hunch, an errand for Luna? It might be good information to know why. “You’ve got your caffeine, are you sure you don’t want to take this riveting educational tome for a spin? I don’t want to hog it.”
“I’ll pass.” They slip a small book out of their pocket and wave it between us. “Sudoku in the reading room with tea is my usual go-to on the morning after the meeting dinner. Today’s going to be a shit show, and so I thought, why mess with the tried and true?”
“Good idea.” A little disappointing as far as sleuthing goes, but understandable. I nod, and move to disentangle myself, because I realize the longer I stand here the larger chance there is that Infinity will start asking real questions about my research. Not to mention I really need to find Wren. I paste on my Blackgate smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I make to sweep past when Infinity softly announces, “I don’t think she did it, by the way.”
“Um, what?”
“Your grandmother. I don’t think she murdered Ursula. And before you read that the wrong way, I don’t think you or your sister did it either.”
“You… don’t?”
“No.” They take a sip of tea and lean against the alcove wall, one foot kicked up against the molding, as comfortable as can be while my heart dribbles against my sternum. I need to run to Wren, but as a Blackgate, I have to stay and listen. I swallow and they continue. “I know you haven’t been back here in a decade, and I don’t blame you. But what you need to understand that you might not remember is that Ursula was her own worst nightmare.”
I blink at them. That could mean literally anything. Was Ursula cruel to the other families? Did she pit them against each other? Did she use the master relics to torture them in some way? Or play favorites? Or whatever else people in power do for fun?
I have no idea where to start, so I buy time with something so general I hope they’ll fill in the blank. “You don’t think…”
They purse their lips, dark eyes unwavering under eyebrows that are criminally perfect. “That Ursula did this to herself? It wouldn’t be unheard of.”
Again, the specter of all I don’t know and probably should know if I were really Lavinia Blackgate whispers in my ear. I keep my expression as neutral as I can.
After a moment, Infinity shrugs and toys with their tea bag. “That’s my grandmother’s going theory. I’m inclined to believe that if you’ve known someone for ninety-seven years, you might have an idea about what they’re capable of.”
Ninety-seven years of friendship. It’s almost unfathomable. And it ended before our eyes.
I have so many questions about that relationship, about their theory, and if anyone’s shared that with the others because we’re definitely in a terrible bind if it’s true because Ursula can’t be punished in any way that will get us out of here, as far as I know.
“But what I want to know,” they say, eyes checking the shad owed corners at either end of the hallway behind me, “is why and when did Ursula put this stipulation in her will?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“I believe Evander’s shock—he didn’t know this was a possibility. Which leads me to surmise this wasn’t something in previous High Sorcerer antiquities. Meaning it’s new.” Infinity pauses. “It’s easy to draw a line perhaps between this stipulation and the death of Ursula’s children. A mass casualty like that is a tragedy every way around.”
All the breath kicks out of my lungs.
Mass casualty? God… so they did die at once.
It doesn’t really matter how it happened—car wreck or magic spell, it’s terrible.
And Marcos Blackgate had something to do with it. Maybe.
Infinity continues, their voice low. As they lean in, there’s the hint of something floral edging their frame. Not the nearby lilac or the pretend peony smell of a dead maid, but something akin to Winter’s perfume. God, do all witches smell amazing literally all the time? “Ursula was a leader, but she was also a mother, and that sort of grief may have meant that not only did she update her will to name her grandchildren as heirs, but also to add alternate stipulations should foul play occur. And… I know she had all the reason in the world to want to stick around and prepare them as long as possible, but what if she was thinking long-term? What if she decided that if she were killed by foul play, she’d want to make sure her only remaining family members wouldn’t be offed too?”
I seriously don’t have any words, so I just nod.
“If it’s been like that for more than a decade, well, you’d think someone would’ve found out.” Infinity sighs. “But Grandmama insists she didn’t know. And there is very little she doesn’t know.”
They look to me and I can’t conceivably nod in answer to that because I don’t actually know either of the Starwoods. My mouth is bone dry but I manage a passable “Yeah.”
Infinity kicks off the wall and takes another sip of tea. “Anyway, that took a turn. I have a tendency to talk once I get going.” They smile. “Didn’t mean to be a downer first thing in the morning. This day is going to be hard enough. But I thought you should know. Something to keep in mind.”
“Um, yeah, thanks.” I force a smile. “Enjoy your Sudoku.”
Walking as slowly as I can as to not seem as if I’m completely panicked, I make it to the main stairwell and down to the second-floor landing before I start into a barefoot run across sound-sucking plush carpet. I pass the Cerises’ double suite and close in on the door beneath the mountain lion’s head.
It’s ajar.
My heart skips.
My steps quicken.
I clamp on the massive grimoire in my arms—a blunt object if I need it—and loosen the straps of the twin pairs of heels. I’m ready to drop them or throw them or otherwise discard them in whatever way necessary to ensure Wren’s safety if I walk into an interrogation or dangerous situation or something else I didn’t think likely twenty-four hours ago.
As silent as possible, I nudge the door to our suite with my shoulder. It creaks out a moan—the traitor—as it yawns open.
Straight ahead, the fire is roaring. A tick to the right, I can see into one of the twin bedrooms—the sheets torn back and rumpled. Wren’s ridiculously expensive dress from the night before is heaped on the floor.
But my sister isn’t anywhere to be found.
Raising the book out in front of me as both a weapon and a shield, I cross the threshold. “Kaysa?”
No response. Both bathroom doors are flung open.
Something hot spikes in my pulse, and I suddenly can’t draw a breath. Ursula’s prone body prods at the backs of my eyelids when I blink. The driver and his mask of death.
I can’t see Wren like that. I can’t—
Movement from under the closed bedroom door. I drop the shoes and get both hands on the giant book, wrenching it back, ready for a baseball swing at someone’s head.
The doorknob twists, the latch releases…
And Wren startles at the sight of me.
“Ru— Lavinia !” she recovers, hand flying to clutch the literal pearls at her throat—Mom’s, recovered from her purse, apparently. Wren’s eyes dart over my shoulder, to the open door behind me. “You’re awake. Winter brought us the most awesome stuff.”
Barefoot, she twirls in place, showing off a strapless sundress with an A-line skirt and blue pattern embroidered on the white poplin to look like waves. It must be said that while the dress is very cute, it’s far more appropriate for grabbing a cappuccino and hitting the farmers’ market than spending a day untangling motive in the assassination of a woman who sure sounds like she was recently the most important witch on the whole continent.
I frown. Lower the book. My heart kicks in my chest.
“Don’t look so mad,” my sister coos with a dismissive wave. “It’s not like I’m going to wear this while looking for relics. I just had to try it on. There’s plenty of sporty gear for us, but when else am I going to wear a Dolce & Gabbana dress? Never. If you want to try it on too, go for it, but we both know your boobs would look for an escape hatch in this bodice. It’s just—”
I fumble the book into the crook of one elbow and snatch her wrist.
“I’m not mad about the dress, I’m mad because you left me! How could you?” I let go of her only long enough to kick the door closed, then I’m right back to whisper-yelling. “We promised to stay together! And if we have to separate, we check in with each other. I need to know where you are at all times. And you need to know where I am. We’re all we have, and this place is dangerous. You know that! And you just left me alone, in a room with no door, in a house where at least half the people here think we’re murderers or accessories to murder.”
“I knew where you were. And where else would I be?”
“Dead in one of the sixteen bathrooms? Magicked into a sinkhole? Hidden in two square feet of the ten thousand acres outside this house?”
At this, Wren rolls her eyes like I’m the one overreacting. Then, she raises both wrists out in front of her. “I didn’t take these off. Safe as safe could be with my dead animal shields.” She gestures to my wrists. “And you have yours. You’re good.”
“I… am not. That’s not… We can’t actually use them.” I punch out a frustrated breath. “A suggestion of power isn’t a replacement for power.”
Her mouth drops open in the most perfect, excited little O .
“Oh, that’s a good line! I know books are your jam but when we get out of here, definitely think about screenwriting because you’re a natural with dialogue.” She bops me on the nose. I drop both sets of shoes.
“Our first line of defense is one another. Our second line of defense is our reputation. Including those.” I wave over our entangled bunny bracelet collection. “Can you just promise that from now on you won’t disappear? I need to know where you’re going and who you’ll be with and when you’ll be back and—”
“Yes to all of that and whatever else you were going to blather about.”
I frown at her. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. I didn’t know it was a rule. Now I know. Got it. Go take a shower. You’ll feel much better.” Wren flicks one of the bracelets. “These things are even waterproof.”
I squeeze the thick girth of my book until the leather binding pushes back. It’s all I can do to modulate my tone over the accelerating thump-thump-thump in my chest.
“We don’t know if these people can walk through walls or appear in fireplaces, or God knows what else. Just—assume they can.” It suddenly occurs to me to lock the door to the suite and deadbolt it. I do with a slamming flourish and then round on my sister. “Please.”
Wren doesn’t bat an eye.
“They’re witches, they’re not gods. If they could do shit like that, they’d be ruling this country, not hiding in the mountains, hosting dinner parties.”
“How do we know they’re not running things? Ursula men tioned threats in her speech. You don’t have threats if no one knows you exist.”
“And then Ursula was murdered. And the call was definitely coming from inside the house.” Wren gestures to the book still in my hands. “Speaking of, did you learn anything else after I left? Perhaps by osmosis via”—she bends herself sideways— “The Migration of the Four Lines.” She squints at me and then her thumb is rubbing furiously at my cheek. “You’ve got some ink.”
I crinkle my nose and jerk back. “I’ll shower in a second, but first.” I sigh and plop onto the couch positioned in front of the fire. “I actually did learn some things. But not from this book.”
I discard the tome on the coffee table. “I literally ran into Infinity outside the reading room. They told me they thought that perhaps Ursula changed her will after her kids died.”
“Well, yeah. Forget magic, anyone with the kind of moola to own an estate like this has to keep the legal stuff up-to-date.”
“Yes, but the insinuation wasn’t just because her children had died and she had new heirs, but how her children died. Wren,” I whisper, girding myself for what I have to relay, “Infinity called what happened to them a ‘mass casualty.’”
She gasps. “No—did they say how?”
I shake my head. “No, and I obviously couldn’t ask. But they think that when Ursula rewrote her will that she was trying to protect her remaining grandkids. Basically, that if she died by foul play, then if she removed her grandkids from direct succession of the High Sorcerer title, that it would protect them from being murdered too.”
“God, that’s bleak.”
“It is but it makes sense.”
Wren shivers and immediately begins to rub furiously at fresh gooseflesh pebbling her arms. “Let me just state for the record that while this succession bullshit sounds really good in a movie or book, it blows in real life. Waiting for a loved one to die off so you can get what you want? And then putting yourself in the crosshairs because you finally got it by losing that person you loved? Bull. Shit.”
“Yes, but think about it. We know Marcos Blackgate was executed as punishment for murder—”
Wren freezes. “Wait. You think Marcos Blackgate…” I shrug and nod as she puts two and two together. When she gets there, she squeezes her eyes closed and presses her fingers to her temples. “You’re telling me our dad is a mass murderer and we came to this party and had dinner with the mother and children of his victims like it was no big thing?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Wren’s eyes fly open and she watches me as I toss a hand in the general direction of the study a floor above. “It’s part of the reason everyone is so convinced Marsyas did it. Most mothers think their kids are innocent if they commit a heinous crime, I’d imagine. She probably fought tooth and nail to protect him, or exonerate him, and they— Ursula —executed him anyway.”
Wren runs a hand through her hair and flops bonelessly onto the couch. “First we’ll have to prove your theory, but if it’s true, did it take ten years for Marsyas to exact revenge, or ten years for someone to frame her?”
“Either is possible.”
“God, if I weren’t starving, I might vomit. This is so messed up.”
I punch out a deep breath. “I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse.”