Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Iget into the front passenger seat of Marie’s car.
The excitement fades as the finality of everything hits me.
Not because I think she’s going to kidnap me to some Covenstead or whatever it’s called and I’ll never return, but because after this, there’s no going back.
There’s no more wondering what it’s like to be around other witches.
What I’ve dreamed up, and the stories I’ve written in my head won’t be just stories anymore.
It could be worse. It could be better.
Maybe this is one of those ‘don’t meet your favorite celebrity’ kind of things. I could be extremely disappointed by what it’s actually like.
But isn’t reality better than desperately clinging to the hope of a dream?
“There’s a notebook,” I start as I pull my seatbelt into place. “It was in a bag that either Vivian or Marco Russo brought with them. It was full of names.” Marie starts the car and slowly drives down the driveway, patiently waiting for me to continue.
“Names of other witches. My name was in there,” I say, remembering the slap in the face feeling and the way my blood ran cold when I saw it. “Most of the names were crossed off. I think that means they were dead. But there were some names that weren’t crossed off.”
“Do you think the Order has other witches in their clutches?”
“I do,” I say. “Not only do I think it, but I feel it.”
“Is the notebook still where you last saw it?”
“As of, like, maybe an hour or so ago, yes.” I close my eyes, not quite understanding how much time has passed since everything went to hell. Or, more correctly, since hell came here.
“Well, let’s get it, then,” Marie says. “Tell me where to go.”
Nerves prickle inside me at an alarming rate, and I hate having to sit with this discomfort, but I have no other choice.
It’s funny, really. If anybody were to look at me, they’d see me sitting here quietly, not realizing the absolute battle going on inside me right now.
And all of this doesn’t erase the heartbreak I still feel over Xavier’s betrayal.
If that’s even what it is.
He did something I didn’t want him to do, knowing it would make me mad. He did it to save me, but it was at pretty much the entire world’s expense.
Is that love? Selfishness? Both? Can love exist without selfishness?
If he said he loved me, but did nothing to keep me out of harm’s way, I wouldn’t feel like he loved me. But where does someone draw the line when it comes to keeping another person safe?
If the harm is my own doing, is it more loving to step back and watch, even though it hurts, or to stop me because the idea of living without me is more painful to bear?
Being controlled isn’t love.
There are plenty of people who are controlling because they are, simply put, abusive assholes. But then there are people who are controlling because they genuinely believe they know best and that what they think is best must also be best for you.
We sit in relative silence for the rest of the drive to the warehouse, and it feels weirdly familiar pulling into the parking lot.
Marie drives slowly as we make our way through, and I scan back and forth for more demonically controlled bodies.
She turns the car off, and we both get out, but she pauses before moving forward, holding out her hands as if she can feel the air.
“What exactly happened here?” she asks, tipping her head. Then she looks at me.
“Someone was sacrificed.”
“More or less.” I reach into my purse and pull out the small silver knife Leo gave me.
The air still feels charged with dark demonic energy, but everything is quiet.
Marie summons a ball of energy and uses it like a flashlight.
I stand there, mesmerized as I look at the swirling fibers of energy, woven together like a yarn ball of strings of blue and white glowing energy.
I’ve summoned energy balls before, but nothing like this.
Is this something I can be taught? My knowledge of magic is so limited.
Are all witches able to do the same kinds of spells?
Are some more powerful than others? And what about active powers like clairvoyance and telekinesis, like Marie mentioned?
Are those common? I have absolutely no idea, and I’m both excited and terrified to find out.
“Careful,” I tell her as we enter the warehouse. “The building is really unstable.”
We carefully make our way inside, retracing my steps from only hours before. The bag and notebook are still where I left them, and I quickly scoop them up. Marie stops at the crack in the floor as we make our way back toward the exit, shock and fear crossing her face.
Definitely not a good sign.
Once we’re back at the car, she closes her fist, and it’s like she squeezes the energy ball into nothing. She starts the car but doesn’t shift into drive. Instead, she clicks on the overhead light, and we look at the notebook together.
“Wow,” she says softly as I turn through the pages.
“I’ve heard of things like this happening before,” she says in disbelief. “I just never realized how much was still going on in this day and age.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re too young to remember, and I don’t know how much history the Order teaches, but there was a time when our government was very interested in anything paranormal and how it could be used for military advancement.”
“I’ve seen a few documentaries,” I say. “I think the closest thing I’ve gotten is, uh, watching Captain America.”
“It started out innocently enough,” she says.
“They paid witches to volunteer for clinical studies. We wanted to figure out what gave us our powers. We told them it was simple. It followed bloodlines. Really not any different than inheriting a physical trait from someone.” She exhales.
“But people voluntarily showing up and telling the government they came from powerful lines of witches only made things worse. They wanted to experiment on siblings. Children. See what kind of magic was passed from mother to daughter.”
She pauses. “The volunteers became, well…not volunteers anymore, if you know what I mean.” She takes a breath as we flip through a few more pages of notes.
“It seems to have gotten better in the late eighties once the Grand Coven got involved. The world doesn’t know witches exist, but governments do in one sense or another.
” She gives me a half smile. “The same way everyone knows the CIA is covering up the existence of aliens.”
“I never thought about it,” I confess and stare down at a page of notes until my vision blurs. It’s about a thirteen-year-old girl named Lindsay who showed promise until she was put under too much stress and her powers went inward, whatever that means.
There are no more notes after that…and her name has been crossed out.
“So you think the Order is still doing what the government claimed it stopped doing?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says definitely. “The Order and different factions of governments around the world have always worked together.” She almost winces before continuing.
“And I do think the Order started with good intentions. If you look at the black and white of it, what they’re doing sounds right.
Demons are bad. Getting rid of bad things is good. But where do you draw that line…”
“…is where the water gets muddy,” I finish. “The Order thinks witches and werewolves are supernatural creatures that should be killed. So my theory that the Order is trying to make super soldiers they can control using magic is correct?”
“Yes,” she says. “Along with figuring out one other thing.”
“What?”
“If they can figure out where our magic comes from, they can put a stop to it.”
I stare at her in horrified disbelief.
“Think of it as magical birth control.”
“I feel like I’m living in a science fiction movie,” I say.
“You’re telling me.” She laughs. “Come on. Let’s go to the Covenstead. I can make copies of this notebook, and you can keep the original if you’d like. Is there anything else useful in that bag?”
I look through it, finding another vial of blood, though this one is unlabeled. There are a few weapons and candles too, probably used in the ritual to summon Vaelric the first time.
“Not really,” I tell her.
I close the notebook and put it back in the bag, then I pull the seatbelt over myself and resist the urge to check my phone.
I’m doing nothing wrong by going with Marie to learn where I came from.
If we want to lock Vaelric back in a cage, I’m going to need other witches to help me do it anyway.
But I also know how much Xavier would not want me here right now.
So I’m not going to tell him. And that alone feels icky.
We make it maybe ten minutes from the warehouse before a very obvious thought smacks me upside the head.
“You’re from New Orleans, right?”
“Born and raised,” she replies.
“How are we gonna get there in an hour?” I ask. “You said I’m going to your home.”
She chuckles as a smile spreads across her face. “Honey, portals don’t work that way.”
“Portals?”
She reaches over and pats my knee.
“You are in for such a treat. I’m so excited I get to be the one to show you all this.”
I look at the black screen of my phone in my hands, my mind whirling over what to text Xavier.
I haven’t heard from him since he left, which means whatever he’s dealing with isn’t good.
With everything else going on, the fact that I’m married to the boss of a supernatural mafia is almost lost on me.
Xavier and Theo keep a precarious hold over a group of very different, very powerful individuals.
They’ve kept peace and order for centuries, and losing that order could be catastrophic for the entire city.
Marie pulled off the interstate several minutes ago, and now we’re driving down a road in serious need of repaving. There’s a motel at the end, and the “T” in the neon MOTEL sign is burned out.
“No, I’m not here to murder you,” she says, glancing over at me with a smirk. “This is a cover. Just a place for us to park our cars so we can walk to the portal.”
“Oh.”
I realize there are a significant number of cars here compared to the number of rooms the place seems to offer.
“Does anyone actually stay here?” I ask.
“No,” she tells me. “It’s warded to keep humans away. They’ll pull up and feel the urge to just keep driving. Plus, the fact that it looks like you’re guaranteed bedbugs and a staph infection doesn’t exactly make it the most desirable location.”
I laugh. “Yeah, this place definitely looks like a rent-by-the-hour kind of motel.”
Sucking in a breath, I unbuckle my seatbelt and swipe up on my phone, opening a text to Xavier.
With Marie. I’m looking for answers. Love you.
I hit send, then quickly silence my phone.
I open the group chat with my brothers and send one word.
Here. Then I put my phone in my purse and get out of the car, following Marie toward the main entrance.
Dim light glows through the curtained windows, and I can hear old-timey music playing from a radio inside the office.
Marie waves her hand in front of the door, whispering some sort of incantation.
The door opens on its own, and we step through.
The office fits the time period of the motel—early nineties with doctor’s-office waiting-room vibes.
But it’s clean and carries the calming smell of lavender and sage.
There’s no one at the front desk, and Marie doesn’t hesitate.
She motions for me to follow her through the office.
We go around the desk, through a door, down an empty hall, and emerge outside into a courtyard.
The whole thing is startling and makes absolutely no sense in terms of how a motel should be laid out.
But again, she said this place is just a cover.
The courtyard is pretty and well-kept. A cobblestone path leads away from the exterior door and stretches several yards toward a large, round garden bed.
Two trees stand in the middle, their branches arching toward each other.
Pretty white flowers adorn the branches, and normally by this time of year, they would’ve already fallen.
Something tells me these trees always look like this.
“Come on,” Marie says softly.
She takes a small onyx brooch from the strap of her purse, pricks the tip of her finger, and steps right between the trees.
“So,” she says, squeezing her finger until a single drop of blood falls in front of us. Almost instantly, energy swirls through the air, creating a door between the two trees. My mouth actually falls open in shock. I stand there unmoving, blinking several times because I can’t believe this is real.
Marie reaches behind her for my hand. “You just step right through,” she tells me. “You might feel a little dizzy since this is your first time, but you get used to it fast.”
“And if I want to leave?”
“Then you just leave.” She shrugs. “Simple as that. From the inside, the door is always open. From the outside, only someone who has been accepted by blood into the coven is able to open it.” She holds up her finger. “Hence the pinprick.”
“Okay.” I force myself to take a calming breath, take her hand, and step through.