Page 12 of Adepts and Alchemists
To her credit, Lydia’s cousin had more sense than she did, because she didn’t appear even slightly impressed by the display. If anything, she looked put out for a second and then flicked a panicked look at her teenage son. I didn’t think the kid was paying any attention to either one of them. Or anyone else, for that matter. Instead, he was hunched over his Cheerios like a witch trying to read tea leaves. As though, if he stared at them long enough, they’d spell out the answers to all of life’s questions. I’d never been good at reading the soggy stuff at the bottom of a tea cup, but I’d had cousins and aunties who swore by it.
Most of them were dead now, thanks to an underground network of American vampires who’d decided to capitalize on our species-wide culture clash. War profiteering wasn’t just an issue for humans, much to my disgust. There were those in ourworld who did it too. I’d told myself that Murrain’s way had been best. That I was only sacrificing in the short term to wipe out a danger that threatened all of us.
But Lydia was right, much to my chagrin. What was right didn’t depend on circumstance. Fighting for my life and the lives entrusted to my care was one thing. I had a right to preserve life. I didn’t have the right to step into the goddess’ shoes and decide who was worth saving, and who wasn’t. It was wrong. I’d been wrong. And now my mistake might kill still more innocents, simply because they’d been in proximity to me.
Wanda thankfully headed off the bickering I could feel coming. We were all on edge, and we were drawing a few curious glances from other motel patrons. It wasn’t often you saw a group as large as a coven and their tag alongs in a budget motel chain. We’d dominated a portion of the breakfast nook. A few sleepy-looking families milled in and out, but we hadn’t been clocked by any of Murrain’s goons yet.
But that was just a matter of time. Good thing we weren’t staying her much longer.
Wanda scooted her chair between the poor flustered gypsy, Finn, and the ill-tempered incubus. Angelo was in rare form, and I wanted to hex him for it. Unfortunately though, if I wanted the help of these witches, I couldn’t go about hurling curses at their dubious allies.
It still didn’t mean I liked him.
“As fascinating as your… ah… culinary experiences might be, Angelo, we don’t have time for letters to Penthouse right now,” Wanda started as she then turned to face me. “We left on your orders, which I only considered because Poppy’s kid—”
“Hey, I’m not a kid,” Finn exclaimed.
“—said you were telling the truth. And I’ve seen Finn in action. I know he’s got a gift, and I trust that gift.” She paused and then narrowed her eyes at me. “But I don’t trustyou.Iwant to know everything you do. Leave anything out that hurts a member of Scapegrace and I will transfigure you into a flailing earthworm or something worse. Got it?”
It wasn’t the words that made my eyes sting. I’d said and heard worse over the years. It was the completely idiotic sense of betrayal that accompanied them. I knew each of them, if only through the filter that Lydia provided. I even liked some of them, based on the little I’d seen of them and their interactions with Lydia. But none of them knew me. And, clearly, none of them really wanted to.
“Got it,” I answered, pleased when I managed to sound terse, rather than absurdly hurt by the whole thing. Stupid. Stupid Indigo, with her stupid, fragile hopes. I knew they’d be smashed. Nothing in my life lasted or came away unscathed from proximity to my mess.
“So?” Wanda prompted, leaning back into her chair, a glass of something that looked like wine clutched negligently in one hand.
Wanda was the definition of a High Witch, though I doubted we’d ever be able to stand each other personally. Regal, intelligent, suitably vicious if the occasion called for it, but most of all, she was loyal. It was more than I could say for my previous group of allies. In Murrain’s circle, lies were as common as the air around me. Secrecy was my bread and butter. I shouldn’t have blamed her for eyeing me with suspicion. Scapegrace purported to adopt every misfit, but apparently, there was a limit to what they could tolerate. And a murdering, thieving, parasitic witch was among that limit.
“So what?” I shot back.
Poppy ducked her head, sensing the fight that was brewing. Smart gypsy. That perceptiveness must have run in her family. She turned her attention to the journal I’d smacked onto the table a few minutes before. True to his word, Angelo had beenable to recover Checkers and my mother’s book of shadows before Andrea and her lickspittles had raided the place. I prayed the house remained intact, for Lydia’s sake, but couldn’t guarantee Murrain wouldn’t torch it in a fit of pique when he realized he’d missed me by inches. Again.
Poppy bowed her blonde head over the pages. Mother had put spells on many of them, locking out anyone but her blood kin from unlocking the secrets within. The particularly deadly, sensitive, or embarrassing entries were spelled so deeply that I’d never been able to crack them, even though I’d tried.
As to the mundane of our group, RJ had fallen asleep not long after he bade me good night the evening before. And, yes, he’d stayed in my room. I’d expected to be annoyed by his snoring, but it had actually been a soothing white noise while I silently cursed my mother and the legacy she’d left me with this damned book. It was half the reason Murrain had pursued me to be a part of his organization in the first place. He’d wanted access to the tome mother had intentionally hidden from him. I still didn’t know how deep their history went, but even the little I’d been able to read in the book since obtaining it told me he could never get his hands on it ever again. It was too dangerous.
The lug in question was peering over Poppy’s shoulder, reading silently along. It felt vaguely intrusive, like I’d stepped into a room to find him fondling my underwear. Spilling my mother’s secrets to a coven-bound gypsy was one thing. Letting a mundane tourist we’d dragged along was quite another.
“So,” Wanda said in a tone of strained patience as she glared at me. “What now? Where do we go from here?”
It was an excellent question, and one for which I still didn’t have a good answer. Flight had been my only option for so long that it had become my default state. Murrain couldn’t kill me unless he caught me. Or so I’d reasoned a year ago. But hehadcaught me. It had been a miracle that I’d retained mysoul after what he’d done to me. If not for Lydia and her freak circumstances, I would be dead or fueling one of my ex-employer’s lackeys with my magic. There was no reason that rendering what was left of me couldn’t have worked. I was a witch. We were monsters, just very human-looking ones. Murrain would do the same to these witches if I didn’t think of a plan, and fast.
“I have a few safe houses here and there,” I said. “And I know a few faeries who might bargain with me to give us safety.”
Finn’s head bobbed up and he cast Wanda a look. “Do we have to make a deal with the fae? I mean, Astrid is a princess now. We could just call her.”
I shook my head. “No. We know at least one of the Masked Lords is a noble from the Winter Court. I don’t trust that Autumn hasn’t been infiltrated in the same way. In their minds, they have to silence me before I provide Lucretia Boline with enough evidence to pursue them. To that end, I’d say we hunker down and wait.”
A round of furious mutters went up around the table, except for RJ, who was still peering at the pages of the grimoire with a frown on his face. He looked like a pensive statue. Angelo’s fists actually impacted the table as he stood, leaning across the breakfast table to get into my face. I was tempted to hex his perfectly straight nose into a curly-q. Or maybe summon warts to pepper his chin.
“You acted like you had a plan,” he snarled. “But really, you’re just bringing us along like human shields, ready to throw us into the meat grinder to save yourself. Just like you did with Lydia. It should have beenyouthat got taken by that fucking creature. Lydia was the original soul—it was her body. You shouldn’t have been able to displace her. This was your fault. You did it somehow.”
I was surprised when RJ stood up, putting a hand on Angelo’s shoulder. “I don’t think it was like that.”
Angelo turned his bestial rage on RJ next, hands fisting around a napkin, shredding it rather than lunging for the mundane’s face.
“Stay out of this,” he said in a low, dangerous tone. “This doesn’t concern a human.”
RJ crossed his arms over his chest, which was admittedly distracting. His biceps strained the cotton of his t-shirt. “It does concern me since I’m basically playing chauffeur here. I’m not the target, but I could still get hurt. If you guys start turning on each other now, what chance do I stand of getting out of this alive?”