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Thirty-Two

HARLOW

“A few months ago, two vampires attacked the house. Mom and Dad fought them off and told me to go, but I couldn’t leave them and stayed to help. My magick exploded greater than I’ve ever felt before, and it lit my house on fire. It was chaos. The vampires burned, and it was all I saw before passing out. I woke up outside with paramedics over me. The house was fine, but my parents were dead.”

Morgan’s frown of sympathy is hidden by her sip of tea.

“After that, there was a protection spell around the property, except I no longer had access to my powers.”

“Magick is driven by emotions, which explains the barrier,” she remarks. “Your magick used the last bit of itself to keep you safe. As for losing them…I’d never heard of such a thing.”

“For the following couple months, I fell into a depression that only broke when I had to survive, when Alec came for me.”

She sucks in a breath. “You wouldn’t mean Alec Dormer, would you? The vampire who’s been after your family ever since Elizabeth Sinclair.”

“That’d be the one.” Of course, the coven would know about him. “He captured me, locked me up, and later revealed his history with Sinclairs, except with me, he wanted to sell the cure to other vampires.” I skip over the party and other details of my time with Alec.

Her gaze goes to my neck. “So he’s not the one who bit you?”

“Uh, I’ll get to that.” I pull more hair over my shoulder, ensuring the marks are well covered. “The first vampire who bought the rights to my blood drank from a goblet.” At her paling face, I quickly add, “It was fine. Fine as it could be, anyway. Didn’t hurt. Once the vampire drank, he transitioned into a human. It was really miraculous to see—he was my first. But the change didn’t last long. He started puking up my blood and died. Alec determined that because I didn’t have my magick, the cure wasn’t at its full strength.”

She lets out a grunting noise but leans back in her chair, tapping her fingers along the mug. “A vampire pieced that together?”

I shrug, not really knowing how he came to the conclusion, nor caring. With my powers now functioning, it no longer matters either.

“He was really determined for me to get my magick back. But he wasn’t all that bad.” At her lifted brows, I add, “He was pissed and locked me in a smaller cell than the first, but when my claustrophobia got bad, he took me from there. Gave me a bedroom. A really comfortable one.” My cheeks warm with the memories of everything that occurred in that room.

“A bedroom doesn’t make him a good person.”

“I know.” The heat flashes hotter in embarrassment and defence. “Besides, once I learned why he was doing all that, I was more determined than ever to escape. So one day, when he was locked up away from sunlight, I used the bedroom’s furniture to break the window and escape.”

“You are a Sinclair,” she murmurs dryly, affectionately. “Wouldn’t expect anything else. That’s when he caught you?”

“I got away…kinda. He caught up and bit me.” Hiding the fact I’m his Bride might not be the wisest in case he comes here and has an entire coven battling him. I don’t want to see him dead, no matter what.

I don’t want him to get killed. A fact as striking as everything else I’ve learned in the past twenty-four hours, but one I push aside for later.

“He claims I’m his Bride,” I finally admit, her reply the distinct thud of her nearly empty mug landing on the table.

“You’re mated to a vampire? Oh, this is bad.”

“How’s it possible?” I lean onto the table, hoping this woman, this High Priestess, knows things. “He says vampires typically mate with their own kind.”

Her eyes flick to the ceiling. “Only She’d know.” Her tone is sharp when she checks, “You’re absolutely sure?”

“He’s acting like it’s the truth.” Images of Alec flit through my mind. The way he chased me from my room to the front door. His expression, the betrayal and hurt when I slammed him against the wall. The threats he made.

“I’ll find you. There’s nowhere on Earth you can hide that I won’t be able to get to you.”

“Also…I think I’ve been hearing his voice in my head long before we met. Like even before my parents—Arthur and Violet, I mean—were killed.”

“That’s not possible. Witches don’t hear voices.”

“I can’t deny what happened. I’m telling you all this because I think he might come for me, if he can track me here.”

She laughs once without humour. “Oh, he’ll come. He won’t be able to resist his instincts to be close to you.”

Which makes me a danger to this entire coven; I can’t be certain what Alec would do if I’m kept away. It’s a fight between him and me, and the coven shouldn’t get in the middle. “I can leave so no one gets hurt by accident.”

Ice freezes her gaze. “ This is your home. We are your coven. I’m welcoming you back to the place you should have always been. Banff is protected by a spell, and we have deals with the shifter pack by the base of the mountains. He won’t get to you, or any of us, for that matter.”

“He’ll try.”

“He’ll fail.”

The thought doesn’t make me relax, because I truly don’t know what to do about Alec—how to feel. What his claims mean long-term. My entire focus so far was getting away, but I never considered after.

“Why would you risk the coven?” I ask, using the conversation as a distraction from my unknown emotions.

“You are the coven.” She reaches to rest her hand over mine. “We protect our own here. But please, finish your story, because I have my own to tell.”

Although my worries are an uncomfortable nagging sensation, I force myself to continue. “After returning to my room, I found a shoebox of stuff. An old wedding portrait of my parents when they were younger, and Mom didn’t have red hair, which I found strange. Stranger were the IDs labelled as Violet and Arthur Hartman, and letters she—Violet—wrote. Letters about me. Kidnapping me. Wiping my memory so I don’t remember my life before them. Binding my magick to make me weaker.” As panic constricts my throat, my words come out quicker. “I realized they weren’t my real parents. Nothing was real. The people I loved—the people I called Mom and Dad—were liars. What…?” Anguish makes my eyes heavy as I focus on her, pleading for the rest. “Morgan, what happened? What happened to my real parents? Why wasn’t I raised here? Why did you assume I was dead? Please…I need to know.”

She squeezes my hand tighter, a gesture I feel is more for her than me. “I hate what I’m about to say, but I hope it provides clarity.” With a sigh, Morgan pushes her mug to the side to slide her palms flat against the table. “You were seven when they joined us. They escaped their old coven because their High Priestess practiced black magick.”

That term has only popped up once in my lessons—within Gram’s grimoires when she wrote warnings about it. Black magick is believed to be the ultimate form of Darkness a witch or warlock could fall into. It’s spurred on by death; to receive the abilities, a sacrifice must be made. The more murders, the more powerful the practitioner grows. Those who remain on Hecate’s side are considered Light, but those in the Dark lose their souls and turn away from the Goddess and everything She stands for.

“Inherently, witches don’t know how to properly function with black magick,” she continues. “We’re not Dark creatures, not like vampires, and when our powers get caught up in it? It’s evil, and for that reason, forbidden. When Violet and Arthur came to us, we took them in. They refused to tell us which coven they’d come from, which should have been my first clue, but my mother, who was High Priestess at the time, believed their resistance was only from their fear. She allowed them into our coven, our circles, and our family. All was well for a while…until it wasn’t. Until after a full moon ceremony, when we often gather. Your parents loved them and often were the last to leave—which you were always pleased about. You and Carina got to hang out with Jasper—Carina’s cousin—and the other children.”

Jasper. I wait for the name to spark a memory, but like Carina, nothing comes.

“I don’t remember him,” I admit.

With an affectionate smile out the window, she replies, “I anticipate my daughter is at Jasper’s with news of your arrival. You’ll see him later. Your parents didn’t hang around long after that particular ceremony. No one really saw them leave, and feeling it was unlike them, I stopped by on my way home.” Her jaw moves back and forth before her whisper slips out, one so full of grief it slices across the table and into my own heart. “What I found—they were dead. And you…you were gone.” Her eyes flash away from the window. “I’m so sorry, Harlow, for not doing more. For not checking five minutes sooner. For doing nothing .”

My chest constricts. Is it possible to grieve people I don’t remember? To grieve what was? What should have been? The couple who lived in the house nearby, never able to grow old together or see me grow up.

“Violet and Arthur turned away from Light like the rest of their coven. Seems they were only here on orders, but they hid that part of themselves well. To this day, I don’t know what their exact commands were, which coven they came from, or the reasoning behind their actions, but we suspect it had something to do with you, because you were what they took. We went after you, of course, following your signature.”

“Signature?” She mentioned that before but never explained its meaning.

“Every witch’s magick leaves a trace typically only their coven’s High Priestess can recognize. As a Sinclair and the creator behind the coven, yours has the strongest signature compared to, say, mine. Your signature was still active, so we knew you were alive, and never stopped searching. Two days later, my mother stopped feeling you. That same night, the human police called about a car accident and traced the last registered address of the licence plate to us. Three bodies, no survivors. Two adults—a woman and a man—and a…a female child, Harlow. You . The girl had red hair. She was your size. Your magick disappeared. Everything lined up. We had every reason to believe you were dead and had no choice but to give up.”

My back falls against the chair, unsure how to process this. Violet and Arthur murdered my parents, kidnapped me, and then faked my death. Seems like a lot of work if they were following orders, especially considering I never met another coven growing up.

Unless those memories were stolen as well.

“They murdered innocents,” I realize with a strike to my heart. “You said there were bodies, but it obviously wasn’t us three.” Who was in the car, then, if not me and the Hartmans? Who did they use in their cruel games?

Who were these people? The people I called Mom and Dad? The people I loved . The people I nearly died for, whom I wept and grieved for fucking months over.

They were a lie.

They might have fed me, clothed me, taken care of me. Were there through every life stage, cheered me on and held me during bouts of sadness. Taught me enchantments and to control my powers.

But did they love me?

They were strangers who stole me from my family, my coven, and kept me for themselves. They killed my parents, deceived the coven, and murdered innocents in a cover-up.

“That’s why you assumed I was dead.”

“We mourned you all, Harlow. Held memorials. Your parents’ bodies got buried. The coven wasn’t the same after the betrayal. Years passed, and whomever’s orders they were following, no one else ever came. It was like a nightmare that never really happened. Until mere hours ago.” She huffs in partial amusement. “I was convinced I was imagining it, but for the first time in years, I felt your magick. The signature, the heat…it’s the same. I thought there’s no way, it’s a trick of the mind, but had to check. Followed the trace until finding you wandering the side of the road. And now, here you are. Home.”

Home. This still seems like a fever dream.

“If their orders were to kidnap and fake my death, to what end? I don’t recall meeting any other witch as a kid.”

She shrugs, pursing her lips. “You’re one of the four most powerful bloodlines to exist, Harlow. You’re also the holder of the cure to vampirism, and vampires are our enemies. You have a lot of value, and perhaps they wished to capitalize on that.”

“Maybe…” I replay what she just said. “Wait—one of the four?”

Morgan leans back in her chair, her lips curling in disgust. “Don’t tell me they didn’t even give you a proper education?”

“I’m guessing not.”

“Hecate, give me strength,” she mumbles, rubbing a hand over her face. “Seems we have a lot to catch up on, but for now, to answer your question, the hierarchy goes as follows.” She lifts her hand, gesturing with each name she lists, moving it down the invisible column. “Hecate, the Goddess of Magick, Witchcraft, and Earth; Freya, the First Witch as Her representation on Earth, and then the covens made up of witches and warlocks. Amongst them, we’re all descended from one of four bloodlines. Four humans that were given the gift of elemental magick, becoming the first group of witches answering to Freya as their High Priestess. The Brooks, the Deverauxs, the Yarrows, and the Sinclairs. Freya led them through all the teachings of witchcraft, elements, nature—all things Light—while identifying who revealed a stronger connection to which element. Your descendant was gifted fire.”

Damn. I stare at my palms, where centuries of fire magick course through my veins. Descended from one of the first witches is…wow.

“What were Violet and Arthur’s magick? I only ever saw them use fire.”

“Earth. Had you been raised here, we would have trained you on the basics of the other elements. They obviously had enough knowledge of fire to fake it.”

That’d explain Mom’s enjoyment of gardening, though it’s strange she never decorated with plants.

“Did I learn this history before? I mean, before I was taken?”

She offers a small smile of empathy. “The history of the witches is something you would have been taught when you were about twelve.”

There’s too much unknown, blocked within years of charms. So much I’d like to know, especially being back with the coven. Even if it became too much after a lifetime without a coven and I opted not to stay, I’d be doing myself a disservice by not giving every honest attempt to become the witch I should have always been.

“Do you think I’ll ever get my memories back? I’d like to remember my parents, and what my life was like.”

“I promise, Harlow, I will do everything in my ability to get them returned to you. And I have an idea on how we can do that.”