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I should probably slow down on my drinking, but after the day I’ve had, I’m willing to take my chances. I walk to the bar and top up my drink. Remi’s face is deep in thought for a long moment before she shares with us. “That’s why you were so mad. Because things are precarious for us as it is. Technically, we should be the strongest and incontrol, but with Dad…” she swallows hard, “we’re not. And that’s why you think marriage and doing Eric a favor will make us look good.”

She’s always been too smart for her own good. Both of them. I lift my glass in salute to her because she’s figured it out.

“I want you to study the business. Both aspects of it, then come back to me in a week to see what interests you. Pray to Hecate if you need to. In between completing your studies and your training, you will intern in the business in your chosen area. Once I’m confident that you’ve mastered your craft, we can evaluate if either of you are a better fit for the business than I am. Since you seem to have an issue with the way I run things, prove to me you can do it better than I can.”

Raising my eyebrow at Remi, she understands the subtext. I am being hard on them, but I’m also giving them an alternative, and I know she will respect me for it.

“Well, you both have your assignments. Let’s get going and show them what Hecate’s bloodline is made of.”

Chapter 9 | Rich People Problems

Jude

Only a few days ago, Lexie was still alive, and I was still at school, and we were all living our version of normal. Now, I’m home for good and trying to figure out how to crawl through my grief because I have no idea how. Lexie is gone, and nothing will ever be the same again.

Since I’ve come home, I’ve gotten into the habit of getting up before the rest of the house and finding solace in Dad’s study. There is a mountain of work that’s been neglected since Lexie’s murder, and someone has got to plan her funeral. Using Dad’s study is a temporary solution because I definitely need my own, but with him being gone so much, it’s good enough for now.

The unsettled feeling I have from being home isn’t helped by the fight Brooklyn and I had last night. After the guards reported odd behavior outside our gates and a strange package that they disposed of, I suggested to Brooklyn that she should stay home more for her safety. That, in turn, led her to accusing me of trying to take Lexie’s place, and that I should trygoing back to school so that her life could go back to normal. Her insults hurt more than anything my parents have ever flung my way.

Reaching Dad's office, I open the door to find that this time, I’m not alone like I had hoped for. Dad is there in his wolf form with some random dude tied to a chair. It's not the first time I’ve seen a situation like this. For us, it's actually quite normal. I’m just more irritated with the inconvenience. Spying a tray of deadly looking blades on the desk behind him, the sun from the window glints off it. The tools are clearly untouched despite the array of wounds across the exposed chest of the guy on the chair. It seems Dad got carried away with his animal instincts. Since I know Dad still understands me in his animal form, I ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Dad shifts back into his human form, and there are flecks of blood covering his chest. When he speaks, it’s barely discernible from a growl. “He’s from that Children of Christ group. One of my contacts thinks their group knows something about what happened to Lexie, and I will get it out of him one way or the other.” He’s got to be fucking kidding me. My temper flares, and I shove Dad in the chest, and he stumbles as he looks at me with wide eyes.

My voice overflows with all my pent up rage and frustration. “You have an entire estate to choose from, and you have to do this HERE? I’m not even touching on when someone realizes he’s missing. We’re the first place the police and the Children of Christ are going to look for him. Stop thinking with your heart and more with your head.”

Dad starts growling at me in his human form, which is more disturbing than threatening. “What’s wrong with you!?” I scream into his face. “I’m trying to plan your daughter's funeral because you won’t! None ofthis will bring her back.”

Beau’s footsteps echo down the hall, and he comes running into the study to play referee between my dad and I. His timing is perfect because I’m pretty sure Dad’s about to attack me, judging by the tense state of his neck muscles. It’s not exactly wise to go up against Eric Rhodes, even if you are his daughter, but the Druids know I would give it everything I’ve got.

Beau’s voice is a perfectly practiced tone designed to calm and placate as he sizes up the scene in front of him. He has the ability to soothe some of the rage I feel as he makes his suggestion. “Jude, why don’t you go for a run on the estate and burn off some energy? I’ll set up an office for you in one of the spare rooms while I discuss someboundarieswith your father and his guest. He knows how I feel about blood on the carpets.”

After a few more tense moments of the standoff between me and Dad, I nod and leave the room and start getting undressed as I leave my clothes in a trail behind me. There are three things you can count on with a Druid shift. The first is it’s painful and something we learn how to manage from a young age. Second is that we always lose our clothes during the process of a shift. That’s why we’re comfortable with nudity and try to avoid shifting with clothes if we can help it. The third is that we have gold eyes in our animal form.

As long as the animal exists and a Druid can visualize it, they can shift into it. Exiting the front door of our estate, I select a black panther favoring the lithe build that comes with this animal, perfectly suited for speed. The magic takes over my body as I embrace the feline within and start running through our gardens. Sometimes, things are so much simpler this way. No first assignments to plan for Brooklyn, no fights, no pressure. Just the pure joy that comes from the speed I’ve now temporarily got. The rhythmicthudding of my paws on the dry ground, the slight whistle of the wind through the thick foliage as it whips past me, a cooling caress through my thick fur.

If you know what to look for, there are signs our family is not holding it together. Aside from lashing out at me, Brooklyn isn’t talking to anyone, and with the recent safety concerns, she doesn’t leave her room much. When I excused her from school recently, the principal let me know he was less than thrilled with another absence, and then Brooklyn’s anger made more sense to me. While everyone grieves differently, I knew her anger resulted from something else, too. Going to school with humans means she pretends to be normal when our family is anything but normal. And with this girl bullying her, I know it's infuriating pretending to be weak. But if we want to keep our secret and maintain our lives, incidents like this are a part of life.

If you ask anyone to describe Edie Rhodes, they will tell you she’s always perfect. Her blonde hair is styled to perfection, and she’s usually wearing the latest designer label trend. Since I’ve been home, I’ve seen her without makeup more now than I ever did as a child. Even if Mom barely leaves her room too, she makes an exception for guests who come to pay their respects. While this may seem normal to some people, I know the truth. She’s always craved attention, so at least that part has remained consistent.

Then we have Dad. He disappears for long periods of time and then comes home covered in blood at late hours. I’d assumed he was trying to track Lexie’s killer, and today’s exhibition proves that. That’s the thing with my parents. They’re so consumed by their own grief; they never stop to think about what their remaining children are going through. That’s why I don’t regret my decision to come home; Brooklyn needs someone inher corner, the way Lexie was for me. As I slow again, other thoughts creep in.

Lexie’s body on that morgue table. At first I thought it was some horrible joke that she was going to jump up and tell me it was going to be okay, and I would hear her laugh again. But when I saw her lying there, so unnaturally still with the silver burns and unhealed puncture marks around her heart, that’s when I knew. They got her the only way you can kill a Druid, a wound to the heart made with silver. I threaded my trembling fingers through hers and squeezed them, hoping she would squeeze back. Maybe she found a way around the lore. Except her stiff fingers never moved.

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, I still couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she looked in death. Her silky, brown hair, so much like mine, laid over her shoulders, longer than I remembered, and her skin was much paler than it should have been. Separately, the three of us sisters look so different, but if you put us in a room together, you would easily see we were related.

Rounding a corner of the estate on my run, there is a part of me that briefly entertains running away again. It's so easy in this form. But no, I won’t do that to Brooklyn. She deserves better. Instead, I move towards the house, long tail flicking and twitching behind me, ready to deal with the final stages of planning Lexie’s funeral. Funerals are such a strange thing. We act like the dead need closure, but they don’t. They’re dead. Funerals are for the people left behind. It's why I’m so set on doing this right, even if no one else cares about it. Brooklyn and I deserve this.

Shifting back to my human form and stretching away the lingering ache of the change, I find Beau waiting for me in the foyer with two options of clothes to change into. Selecting the fluffy robe option–after the comfort of your own fur, real clothes seem almost repulsive–he hands methe matching slippers. He turns away, his voice calming. “Come, child, let me help you. We’re going to figure this out together.”

Beau shows me to one of the spare rooms where he has set up an office for me, and the small jar of daisy flowers on the desk puts a smile on my face. He used to call me Daisy as a kid, and I can’t believe he remembered. “When things have calmed down, we can decorate this room more to your liking, but it should do for now.”

Hugging him, he pats me on the back as he leaves me in peace as I call the minister. I think we’re ready for tomorrow, but I need to make sure. He answers after a few rings, and I say, “Hello Minster Davis. I wanted to check we’re all set for tomorrow. Do you need me to sign off on anything else?”

I can almost imagine his smile at my question. While I’m not religious, he’s a kind man, and I’m grateful for his help in planning Lexie’s funeral. “Ms. Rhodes, I’m so glad you called. There was a mixup with the flowers at the last moment. We can still get peonies. Will that be okay?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I confirm it will be fine, and he then goes on to assure me everything will go off without a problem tomorrow. Thanking him and ending the call, I lean back in my chair, and for what feels like the millionth time today, I try to wrap my head around the fact that I need to bury my sister.

Lexie and I should have been closer than we were. And now I’ll never get the chance to repair the distance between us. Our whole lives, if Dad wasn’t playing us up against each other to see who was stronger, we wanted different things. It didn’t mean we didn’t love each other, though. I just can’t remember when was the last time I told her that, and it's what bothers me morethan anything.