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Terra glanced over to his Air General, Naseem. Bald head drenched in blood and mud, the green-eyed shifter answered as if he’d been awaiting this question from the moment Alessandro appeared. “We believe her name is Rowan Dahl, my lord, but she didn’t want to give it to us. She introduced herself only as a concerned citizen.”

Alessandro snorted a laugh as he began walking through the crumbled remains of Draconis, sending out feelers for magicsignatures that were not dragon, or—he still couldn’t believe it—elven.

“And what do we know of Rowan Dahl?” He questioned as he worked, and both dragons fell into step.

Terra answered this time, and it occurred to Alessandro that the two were sharing the burden of responsibility. An indicator of how severe the case was, considering how every dragon always tried to avoid getting on Alessandro’s bad side, even if they had to throw someone else under the bus to redirect attention. “She was in Stone’s Spellcasters’ graduating class. Apparently, the Coven has been interested in her since her entrance exam, when she used an unorthodox solution for the initial test.”

“Which was?” He asked, annoyed he even had to prompt.

“They had to fight their way out of a water bubble surrounded by a barrier. Most people swam to the barrier’s edge and broke it, causing the bubble to erupt. She changed the water into air. Without the pressure of possibly drowning, she established a record. It was the last time she displayed her abilities in public, though. She kept average grades and an average social life for a Spellcaster student throughout her time there. Stone says there were few instances that she did things normal elves were not capable of, but the most notable things that happened came after graduation. Master Japhet took her under his tutelage. That’s all I got from Stone before I sent him to face the press. He’s by far the most charming of us all.”

“Indeed.” Alessandro stopped over where the dining hall’s patio had once stood in shining glory but now lay in shattered pieces of wood, glass, and concrete. There was an ancient signature of magic blended into the ground. Evidence of the caster trying to scrub their presence existed in the missing links of the magical signature.

His displeasure manifested in his scales roiling over his hands. He really didn’t like unknown threats running amuck in his territory, and he realized even if the elf had saved his dragons from irreparable damage, she was one of two new threats.

XOXOXOXOX

Standing at well over six feet with a face of sharp angles that made her a very attractive middle-aged woman, Cherry Young instantly gave the impression that she was not to be trifled with.

Her hair, ginger and peppered with streaks of white, was coiffed neatly at the base of her neck. It matched her all-business attire of a navy pencil skirt and blazer set with a white satin blouse underneath. Her heels tapped on the hardwood floor as she entered the room, louder in Rowan’s head than it probably was in reality.

The triumph in her sage green eyes was enough to let Rowan know the Coven had indeed felt her unleash her power with the dragons.

But as the woman sank into the chair on the other side of her desk, Rowan also noted a hint of sorrow.

The only explanation that came to mind was the recent death of Elder Henrietta Young. Though the woman had been Cherry’s grandmother, the two had never seemed close on the few occasions Rowan had spent time with them.

“Was it worth it?” Cherry asked, without a single show of pleasantry. After all, she had what she had looked forward to for half a decade: a weakness in the lie that Rowan’s true powers were ordinary.

Rowan shrugged, “I assure you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cherry scowled, “We’ve only ever offered you membership to our community; it is not a punishment, but an honor to serve alongside us.”

“Right.” Rowan rolled her eyes and held her arm out. “You’re more than welcome to test my blood. I am nothing but a slightly above average elf spellcaster.”

Painful as the power test unit was, it was the quickest way to get the Coven off her back. The first time all seven needles attached to the black box had pierced all of Rowan’s chakra points, she had almost passed out from the heat that traveled through her veins as the box tested every single node in her body. Two hours every month over the length of ten years had helped her develop mental barriers to the pain while it was happening, but the aftercare of the sessions wore her ragged for at least three days after.

Cherry shook her head and snapped her fingers. In her hand appeared a thick, brown, leather-bound book with glowing runes etched upon its spine. It filled the office with the scents of moths and spices.

Taken by surprise, Rowan leaned forward to examine the pulsing characters. “Is that what I think it is?”

The witch’s eyes misted. Rowan feared the witch would fall into tears, but she regained control and slammed it onto Rowan’s desk.

“If you think it’s the Elder’s Grimoire, then yes. Rowan Dahl, I, Cherry Young, am here to execute the last request of Henrietta Young; you are free, regardless of your true power levels, from the Coven’s recruitment efforts. You are also here unto bequeathed with the Elder’s Grimoire for fourteen days, which, when finished, you will return the grimoire to me, or so help megods; I will raze this entire block and your familial palace to get it back.”

Rowan’s jaw dropped, and she looked from the book to the witch to the book again. “Um, I’ll take the freedom part, but maybe you can keep the book?”

“No.” Cherry pulled her hands back from the grimoire and curled them into fists at her side. “You take the freedom and the book together, or you get neither.”

Still astounded by what she was being offered, Rowan narrowed her eyes at the witch. “Why in the endless hells did your grandmother want me to have it? I thought it was only supposed to pass on to the next elder.”

“I do not know. I do not even really care. All I am concerned with is that you give it back. Do you understand me, Rowan Dahl?” Cherry looked as if she was imagining shaking the elf to make sure she understood the depth of her seriousness.

Rowan scowled and crossed her arms, taking a beat to think it over. It was enticing, the prospect of freedom from the monthly visits of witches determined to get her to work for the Coven. The grimoire not only held witch spells, but information Coven Elders gathered during their tenure and committed to pages, including, but not limited to: prophecies, recipes for potions, historic events, analysis on issues facing the mystic community.

But if she lost the book, the witches would make good on Cherry’s promise. If word got out that the Elder’s Grimoire had left the safety of the Coven Compound, she would have to beat off hoards of mystics who wanted a look at the damn thing.

Still, Henrietta had been a clairvoyant and a damn precise one. If her last request was for Rowan to receive a relic of the Coven, hand in hand with an offer she couldn’t refuse, the witch wouldhave had a reason for it. Could the elf trust these conditions to be in her favor?