Chapter Nineteen
Blair
Blair stumbled through her danu and into the narrow hall of her townhome, her winds cooling her wine-locked limbs.
Tannins still gripped her tongue, but she couldn’t discern if it was the remnants of the fifteen-year-old wine she’d drank or her sour mood.
The onslaught of a headache formed at the center of her forehead, and Blair let out a stream of curses as she kneaded the pain away.
“Pass the bottle, will you?” a female whispered.
Blair stilled. Had she drank so much she was hearing voices? Was the wine laced with a hallucinogenic tonic? Goddess, she really needed to read the fine print on those wine-bar menus.
And water. Yes, she needed to hydrate—
“Damn, this is good. Think she’ll notice it’s gone?”
“If you keep drinking it like water, then yes.”
Both voices were familiar, and as Blair crept around the corner and into the front wing of her townhome, her aunt and second cousin’s faces blurred into focus. Seated on the love seat by the bay window, Josepha and Rodrick smiled at her arrival.
“Good of you to show up. We were getting worried,” Rodrick said.
Blair rolled her eyes. “How uncharacteristic of you.”
Worried? She almost laughed. Her coven fretted over Evelyn and Mirella while they overlooked her.
A dusty collectible bottle resting on the ottoman table whispered its sweet notes, beckoning Blair to have another drink, but her early buzz dwindled thanks to the unexpected company.
She sauntered into the kitchen and readied herself a glass of water.
Behind her, Rodrick and Josepha discussed in hushed voices.
“How did you both get inside?” She leaned against the counter, sipping her water—Goddess, it tasted divine.
Josepha pointed left. Curtains ballooned like some breathing ghost around the kitchen’s open window.
“I left that open for Rook, not wine smugglers.” Though her familiar was nowhere in sight—the snarky raven had abandoned Blair after she’d stormed out of the coven meeting hours ago. Blair swallowed, unsure sure how to interpret the opinion of the creature tied to her soul.
For what if his absence mirrored the regret she held for hurting Evelyn? No amount of wine numbed that ache.
Rodrick held up a finger. “The bottle was an afterthought.”
“He’s right.” Josepha nodded. “We came to check on you, and when you didn’t show up for hours . . .”
“You opened my most expensive and oldest bottle of wine.” Blair tilted her head to the side.
“Precisely!” Rodrick said.
“Hmm,” Josepha agreed as she sipped her glass.
Pain pulsed through Blair’s forehead. “Well, I’m back and fine, so you can both leave now.”
Rodrick pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. Josepha’s dark stare—much like Blair’s father—pinned her in place.
“You Carson sisters are all so stubborn.” The scholar set her wineglass down with a loud clank. “We paid you a visit because . . .”
Rodrick leaned in. “Neither of us knew you were feeling so alone, books.”
As a child, she’d earned the nickname amongst her coven.
Where there’s Blair, there’s a book, and where there’s a book, there’s Blair, her father and mother had teased.
Her parents practically begged her to sleep instead of read while Josepha and Rodrick snuck her new texts like aunts and uncles handed out candy.
But it wasn’t the nickname that had Blair’s insides twisting.
For it was the word alone. The fellow Carson coven scholars stared at her expectantly. How did she admit that the sense of otherness had engulfed her as much as the winds she conjured at her fingertips? Yet, they’d noticed a decade too late. When would she have a chance to be seen?
Tiredness washed over Blair, and she lumbered over to the seating area and plopped into her oversize reading chair. Yes, water, now sleep. The leather hugged her on all sides, but no amount of comfort eased her wary conscience.
“It’s getting late, and I think you should both leave.”
Tension bristled through the townhome, and on uneasy feet, the fellow Carson scholars rose and retreated towards the door.
Josepha paused, a frown etched into her expression. “We weren’t there for you these last nine months because we didn’t think we needed to be. The truth is, we were proud of you when you sought Kade out.”
Blair blinked, certain she’d misheard. “But I lost my position—”
Josepha snorted. “We don’t care about some fancy title. You’re still Blair without it, still our books.”
Was she? Blair sank deeper into the chair, unconvinced by Josepha’s flippant attitude. Without her position, there was no order, structure, or purpose, leaving Blair stretched too thin and wild.
“Agreed,” Roderick said. “The Blair we know wouldn’t abandon her sister in a time of need.”
The door clicked shut, and they left Blair alone. Her stomach roiled, and burgundy threatened to ruin her decorative rug. She gripped the chair’s arms and focused on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. She’d built this home, life, all of it around being a scholar. What was she without it?
A caw broke Blair from her brooding. Rook shot through the open window and landed on the reading chair’s wing. He clacked his beak, staring down at her, as if to say, Hello, hello.
Since the earliest tales of witch folklore, ravens, with their dark, glossy feathers and haunting calls, were painted as dangerous omens since the Gods War—singing over the slain, their shadows falling over those who neared death, and bringing mischief wherever they landed.
Blair was partial to believe the latter, but she’d ignored the tales and whispers regarding Rook for over a decade.
Nothing compared to the zap of power between a witch and a familiar, not even the superstitions of witches, and Rook was her companion in otherness.
She was less alone with him on her shoulder.
Her chest warmed, and she ran the back of her finger down Rook’s neck in greeting.
“I’m glad you’re back, little one.”
Rook blinked, his deep-black-almost-blue eyes far too knowing. He ruffled his wings and stomped, as if to say, I’m not little!
“Anymore,” Blair whispered. She’d found Rook as a chick, a mere puffball of black feathers wedged—to no one’s surprise—between two books in the small, hidden corner of a werewolf library.
He stomped his feet again in response, and Blair laughed. The sound was forced and jagged in her throat. Here she was, slumped and drunk, pretending her sister wasn’t in the middle of breaking Kade out of Tùir. She sighed, absently brushing Rook’s dark feathers.
Boots clattered down the street, and a voice called, “The Son of the God has escaped!”
Blair sprinted out of her chair. Two Guards stood outside her townhome, and Blair ducked under the window, holding her breath as she eavesdropped.
“How did he get out?”
“Evelyn Carson. They found a Guard dead in his cell—dark magic.”
What?
Blair stilled, slumping against the wall. No. That was neither Evelyn nor Kade—they wouldn’t kill a witch or touch dark magic. She refused to believe it. Something or someone else was at play.
“Elder Circe has ordered units to surround the Nūa Library. She spotted them inside.”
“Goddess, this is madness.”
“I’ll gather my unit and surround the east exits.”
“Good. My unit plans to enter the library and ambush them with Elder Circe. Alert those on the Wall, too. No one gets in or out of the city, per Elder Circe’s orders.”
Their boots clattered against the sidewalk again, growing distant until only silence and dread sat with Blair.
Evelyn and Kade didn’t stand a chance with that many Guards.
But they disobeyed orders, a voice hissed in the back of Blair’s mind.
She winced. Did her sister deserve to be treated like the enemy?
Could she stomach her sister getting captured?
Blair’s magic surged through her. Not her winds, the otherness.
Shadows flicked around her boots, snaking like living things.
The darkness she kept dormant rose like the mists of the Void—tall, mighty, and dark.
The truth beat in her heart, as if wickedness weaved into her magic egged her to step out of line.
Rook landed at her feet, tilting his head as if in question—What are you going to do?
“Save my little sister,” Blair whispered.