Page 53 of Possess Me at Midnight (Doomsday Brethren #4)

Chapter Thirty-Six

A few hours later, everyone under my roof assembles in the dining hall. I sit at the head of my table, Sabelle to my right. I can’t touch her, but I feel her near. It’s enough…for now.

Bram sits on my left, the transcast mirror he uses to communicate with the Council on the big mahogany table in front of him, closed.

Sterling and Tynan sit just down from Bram.

They cannot appear too chummy to the others, but recent events and the horrors of two Councilmen's murders create a bond between them that cannot be ignored. Tynan’s fresh grief for his grandfather settles into the hollows of his face, already deep with sorrow for his love, Auropha, murdered by Mathias several months past.

Across from the them, Raiden Wolvsey sits with a mischievous smile after inquiring about local witches who might be up for a bit of company. I wonder what sort of warrior he can possibly make when he never takes anything seriously.

Bram clearly has the same notion. “Marrok, why don’t you take Raiden and Ronan out for a bit of training? They’re woefully behind.”

Ronan smiles ruefully at his new mate, Kari, then kisses the pretty blonde. Raiden grumbles. Marrok looks more than pleased to have new subjects to torment.

“I’ll help,” Caden volunteers, squeezing Sydney’s hand on his way out.

The younger MacTavish seems thrilled to have newer members of the group to rib. And the Wolvsey twins make such big, easy targets.

Lucan and Duke exchange a glance and follow the group outside. I almost envy them. I’d rather have my arse kicked by one of Marrok’s training exercises or practice my magical fighting skills with Duke than swallow down worry and wonder if my nomination will be rejected today and all will be lost.

Quietly, Sydney and Olivia clear away the last of their evening meal and head to the kitchen.

I sit alone with Sabelle and the other three.

They can afford to put off the nomination no longer.

With every minute that ticks by, Blackbourne and possibly Spencer have more time to devise a counter strategy that will play into Mathias’s hands.

“Ready?” Bram asks with a glance around the table.

My throat closes. Normally, I’d tell these Privileged pricks to sod off, but now… Too much is at stake. So for Gailene, for Sabelle, and for the future, I swallow back the words.

Sterling and Tynan both nod. Then Bram’s stare falls on me. I feel Sabelle at my side, her reassuring presence. I don’t even have to look at her to know that she will catch me if I fall.

“Ready.” I hear the growl in my voice and sigh.

Relax. How the hell will I possibly pass the nomination process if I already sound as if I might take someone’s head off?

With a nod, Bram opens his mirror, touches a few crests, then waves his hand.

It expands to something the size of a wall mirror.

I rear back, surprised, though I suppose I shouldn’t be.

They are, after all, magical. But not many see the inner workings of the Council.

Even during the time I studied with Bram as my mentor, I never attended any Council meetings.

A moment later, each Councilman’s face appears on the reflective surface of the mirror beside their crest. Blackbourne with his jet hair and jowls, pale skin, and beady, greedy eyes. I dislike him at once and hold no illusions that the man will ever vote for or with me.

Spencer’s familiar gray face pops up. The elder looks tired, almost defeated.

And that is a damn sight better than Helmsley Camden, who looks positively petrified.

A moment later, I see why, as Mathias’s golden, almost feline face appears beside the mutton-chopped elder.

Camden, never long on courage by all accounts, has the most notorious wizard of the millennium sitting beside him.

I know immediately how his vote will fall.

Damn it!

Blackbourne convenes the meeting and begins by addressing Tynan.

“Your grandfather’s loss is a blow to us all,” the elder intones. “His service to magickind was respected, and he will be missed. May he rest in peace.”

“Thank you.” Tynan O’Shea says the words politely, but I see the desire to spit at the disingenuous bastard.

A few short words later, Tynan bows his head and accepts his role on the Council.

Some wizards pray their whole lives to be noticed by this body. To be in Tynan’s place—hell, my own—should engender some reaction. Tynan simply laces his fingers and rests his hands on the table, looking impassive.

“And now to the business of filling MacKinnett’s empty seat,” Blackbourne goes on.

“I nominate Mathias d’Arc. He originates from a once-prominent family.

No one can dispute that he is a wizard of great talents with the ability to inspire loyalty in others.

That he’s returned and is determined to do good and bring change for magickind’s cause will benefit us, particularly since he may be the only one capable of quelling any pending Deprived uprising. Anyone opposed?"

Bram grits his teeth, but nothing else gives away his disgust. The effort it takes him to hold back his fury is obvious. His jaw works silently, as if he’s fighting the spell’s influence to stay diplomatic.

Sterling and Tynan also remain silent. Blasting Mathias now will do no good. He meets the formal qualifications. His mettle will only be tested in the event of a tie as a result of the official vote. His character…only time will prove Blackbourne woefully wrong—after it is too late.

“Splendid,” Blackbourne continues into the silence. “Let Mathias d’Arc’s name be registered in the scrolls. If there are no more nominees, then?—”

“I nominate Isdernus Rykard.”

Bram’s voice rings loud, clear. The words are a blow to my gut. After two centuries of wanting this, hearing my name spoken here and now feels surreal.

Blackbourne rears back. “Rykard, the mad one?”

“If it makes one mad to fight against the Anarki who killed his sister, then yes.”

“He’s not Privileged,” Camden argues. “He does not meet the qualifications.”

“I propose a change to the Social Order, then. How can we effectively govern all when only one class is represented among us? If Mr. d’Arc is correct, and the Deprived are planning an uprising, might we not quell their anger by nominating one of their own?”

“This is quite abrupt,” Spencer argues.

“So is replacing a Councilman who’s been brutally murdered in his own home.” Bram sends him a tight smile.

“Eh…indeed.” Spencer’s shoulders sag.

“Honestly, I see no reason to refuse. It would be bad press during these difficult times if word reached the Deprived that we refused to consider a change in the Social Order to possibly include one of their own. Imagine the fervor to rise up then.”

The old Bram—the master politician who could charm or manipulate anyone—takes charge. Thank fuck the darkness Mathias left behind hasn’t destroyed his political instincts.

“I assure you,” Mathias speaks suddenly. “I can quiet them.”

“The way you have the ‘rogue’ elements of the Anarki?”

Bram’s question is perfectly pointed. And with it, he takes his life in his hands. Neatly, Bram has boxed Blackbourne and Spencer into a corner.

“Clearly not,” Tynan adds. “Or my grandfather would be with us.”

With that, Bram calls for a vote. Given that they have no logical argument, as they are suddenly espousing change though they’ve eschewed it for centuries, the Council elders all agree, some clearly more reluctant than others, to change the Social Order to allow Deprived Council representation.

“Any other objections to Rykard’s nomination?” Bram challenges.

Dead silence.

I swallow a lump of nerves. A blast of amazement whooshes over me.

The nomination to the Council seat that should have been mine two hundred years ago is now in my grasp.

It should be sweet victory that the very man responsible for my defeat is now my unwilling champion, but I can’t spare a thought for petty irony now.

Revenge isn’t sweet—or even my motive. Gailene’s memory and Sabelle’s love…

nothing else matters. Putting the past to rest. Getting my future on track.

One step closer…

“Shall we schedule the official vote for, say, three days hence at my estate?” Blackbourne queries. “That will give each of us time to carefully consider our votes.”

And give Mathias a time and location where he can devise a plan to kill every Council member and instantly rule all magickind? Give everyone a glimpse of my magical signature that will display to all the fact that I Called to Sabelle?

I gape across the table from Bram, ready to stand and protest. The other three wizards at the table beat me to it.

“I think times may be too critical to wait,” Bram argues. “Everyone is present, and I see little reason for the delay.”

Heart stuttering, I listen as the others grumble their agreement. Then suddenly, they’re voting.

“I vote Mathias d’Arc,” Blackbourne, the eldest, says, not surprisingly.

“As do I,” Spencer chimes in.

My jaw clenches. I held out some hope, no matter how little, that Spencer was swayed to vote with Bram. But clearly not.

“I vote Rykard,” Sterling MacTavish tells the others.

“Become Rion’s lapdog, have you?” Spencer taunts.

“It’s better than being Blackbourne’s bitch.”

Despite the tension in the room, I laugh. I don’t know the MacTavish clan well. I always avoided them because of their association with the Rions. But now, I somewhat like the outspoken wizards.

“I vote Mathias.” Camden’s voice shakes as he enters his vote, and no wonder, with the evil man himself sitting there.

Rage builds in my chest. I wish I could pour myself through that fucking mirror and attack Mathias, make him twist with pain and writhe in agony as he deserves. Instead, I clench my fists and glance at Sabelle. Her stare clings to me as she nods in support.

“One more vote for Mathias d’Arc decides it,” Blackbourne reminds.

As if anyone needs to hear that.