Page 36 of The Beginning (Covert Moon, #1)

Marigold

The Human Realm

* * *

I t all made sense. Why I was always feeling out of step with the rest of the Blaines. Why nothing ever felt right, even as far back as I could remember.

Oh, my goddess. Oh, holy hell on a popsicle stick.

This was the reason my mother hated me. I'd never phrased it like that, unwilling to say the word even to myself.

But it was the truth. My mother hated me.

Not because of anything about me--but because I was the Vessel Witch.

The one with all the power.

And that's how the universe set things up.

I also knew, however, that my mother, if she knew all this, and realized that the power of the Vessel Witch wasn't ever going to be passed to her, she would be doubly angry. Furious. A seething anger that would never dull.

Oh man... of course.

No wonder she'd sworn Aunt Beatrice to silence. Selfish, selfish woman. I could never let her know that I knew. That I knew who I was to this family. It must burn her nearly alive to know that she needed me, that she couldn't just strike me down and be rid of me.

The thought of which made me smile, in a sad kind of way.

A pang in my side reminded me that I needed to take care of myself.

"Just like I always have," I muttered.

I stepped out of my robe and peeled the gauze off my abdomen, careful not to disturb the butterfly bandages closing the wounds.

Then I eased into the shower, holding my bandaged hand out of the water and letting the hot stream wash away the tension of the day.

It all seemed so surreal. So distant, fuzzy at the edges, and sharp in the center but still no more real for it.

I closed my eyes and ran my good hand through my hair.

Feeling my skin prickle at the memory of the man with the emerald-colored eyes.

Who was he? Why didn't he appear tonight? He’d been in every dream I’d had about the church.

How did he fit into this? Wincing, I let the water run over my wounds.

As the blood and stench washed away from my skin, coloring the water at my feet, I tried to gather up all I knew.

They may have knocked me down, but I got back up. I always did, I realized. Always. Now that I was up this time, I was angry. It was going to take more than this to shut me down.

I pulled on my bathrobe, wrapped my towel around my hair as best I could, and padded through my bedroom to the windows in the loft overlooking the courtyard behind my house. I looked out at the woods and marveled at how quickly everything could change.

I'd started this day feeling sorry for myself, hurt that Calyx had used me, and annoyed that Mother had used Calyx's actions for political gain, but I was defiant against all of them for treating me like garbage.

Now, I felt like I was rallying for battle.

Preparing to save all of them from some hidden enemy.

And maybe save myself, or find myself while I was at it.

I fingered my necklace, willing it to reach out and find Calyx. But there was nothing. Whatever connection was there had been broken for good. "I will find you, sister."

I was sure that Calyx had no idea of the danger she was in now that I had escaped.

And she didn't know they were using her to get to me.

Was it just me? Or was it also my parents?

Was this also political? Was there some rival in the human world who had hired this priest to do their bidding?

None of this made any sense. And I had no idea where to start.

Well, that wasn't exactly true.

I had that sleaze-ball, Silas.

I fought with my non-existent healing magic for a few minutes before giving up and moving to the counter and the prescriptions that the doctor had given to me.

I popped two pills, one for the pain and one for infection.

I lay down on the couch, my skin still warm from the shower, and stared out at the treetops while I contemplated my next move.

Aunt Beatrice had said that the power of the Vessel Witch traveled down through the women.

That meant one day, one of mine or Calyx's children would become the Vessel Witch for the family.

What would happen if I decided not to have children?

We had no younger female witches in the line, yet. The Blaine family wasn't large.

Would the power die off if the Vessel had no children? Would it just jump to another person in the family tree the way it jumped from Aunt Beatrice to me? Was that something I was willing to risk?

I had some research to do. I wouldn't wish this kind of lonely life on anyone, especially a daughter or a niece. Oh, my God. What if they intended to kill me and then Silas and Calyx had a child?

Where did one do research, discreetly? I’d have to inquire within the magical community. With any luck, maybe they didn’t like my mother, and I could find information without her learning about it.

I shook off a shiver, feeling cold now that the warmth from the shower had dissipated. I eased myself off the couch, every muscle screaming in protest as I made my way back to the bedroom and slipped into my pajamas.

I brewed some tea, brought the mug with me to my bed, and curled up into the sheets.

Closing my eyes, I leaned back on the pillow, questioning myself and the events of the day.

How did I let myself get caught up in that vision?

There were ways to prevent such a thing.

Who had sent that priest to me? He wasn't working alone. That much I was sure of.

Whomever I was dealing with, they were much more powerful, or at least much more skilled than I was. I had to get to the bottom of this. That also included learning more about my family, about the Vessel Witch, and the Original Vessel. Why hadn't my mother told us about this?

That one I thought I could answer.

She wanted power for herself, and to hell with the rest of us. If she couldn't have it, she'd make sure no one could. Whatever it was, whatever her motivation—I was determined to figure it out.

But like, tomorrow.

I could be forgiven if I took it easy tonight.

After all, I'd lost a fucking finger.

A restlessness overtook me as I slept. I fell into a fever, sweating, and fighting against the heat in my hand and the wounds on my shoulder and my belly that throbbed and burned.

I was aware of myself as I fought the fog.

Was I asleep? Was I dreaming? Was this another vision being sent to lure me into more danger?

I was in a state of semi-wakefulness, aware that I was dreaming, aware that I was fevered, but at the same time unable to snap through it, unable to break the spell.

A noise in my apartment jolted me awake.

I sat up, clutching the comforter to my chest. The room was completely still, the apartment silent. I was unable to grab onto the exact sound that I had heard which had woken me.

I slid out of bed, and walked toward the door to my bedroom, grabbing the baseball bat that I kept propped up against the wall.

Magic was all well and good, but nothing sent a warning message like a baseball bat.

Or hit quite like a baseball bat. Even magical folks could be hit with a well-swung Louisville Slugger .

Lifting the bat over my shoulder, I choked up as best I could with my swollen hand, ignoring the pain and tightness in my fingers. One of the stitches popped and a trickle of warm blood oozed down my wrist, but I did not let go of the bat.

I moved along the hallway, careful to stay against the wall as I tip-toed into the loft that overlooked the downstairs.

When I turned the corner, I froze.

A man stood with his back to me, looking out the window. He wore a bizarre outfit of weird leather armor and a long cape that draped down his very broad and very nice shoulders to the carpet. Shoulder cape? What the hell?

He didn't seem to have heard me. So I inched across the floor, careful to avoid the coffee table and the ficus tree that swooshed whenever I walked by it. I skirted around the far side, pulling the bat back, ignoring the pain and the blood now dripping down my chest from the wound on my shoulder.

The man turned, slowly, inching around toward me, then a shadow fell across him, obscuring his face in darkness.

All but his glowing emerald eyes. It was as though a beam of light had come right across his face at the perfect angle.

This was the man whose eyes I'd been seeing in my dreams—even before the visions.

This was the man who had been watching me in the church from my vision.

"Don't move," I said. "Stay where you are."

As if seeing me for the first time, he blinked, and startled, his eyes going wide.

Then he took a step toward me, his arm outstretched, his mouth opened as if to speak, although I didn't hear anything.

His hand reached for me. I took a step back, choking up on the bat, hefting it behind me, preparing to strike.

"Stop! I'll swing."

He moved toward me again, oblivious to the danger he was in, his mouth moving silently.

I swung the bat as hard as I could, aiming right for his head.

The bat moved through him, as though he weren't there. The image of him dissipated like a figment. He was like a phantom made of dust and smoke. He was an apparition, a vision, and he faded into the air as though he'd never been there.

The scent of old, well-oiled leather, and the clean smell of sweat overcame me. I turned around, disoriented, holding the bat in my bleeding hand. Wondering what the hell was going on.

"Marigold!" a man's voice shouted my name. Deep and rich, the one word ricocheted through my body. It echoed through the room, through my ears, and vibrated through me as though his voice had been wired into me through my skin.

I woke and sat up straight in the bed, my sheets damp from sweat, and the baseball bat leaning against the wall near the door, untouched. It had been a dream. Just a dream.

I blinked. This was too much. Mr. Green Eyes, with his Ren Faire costume and his shoulder cape wasn't going to lure me into another trap. I was already down a finger.

Sorry guys, fool me once... but never again.

I leaned back against the pillow, trying to shake the cobwebs of the dream.

When it became clear I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

I refused to sit back and let this happen to me.

If they wanted to mess with my family, then I would be ready.

I pulled on my boots, grabbed my leather jacket, and walked down to the front door and into the night.

Calyx might not know what she was mixed up in.

Hell, I didn't know what she was mixed up in.

But I wasn't going to let her fall. Not to these monsters.

If I was the Vessel for the family, then the Vessel was the one who was going to be the protector, too. Isn't that what Aunt Beatrice had said? We were the cornerstones of the family, even if the rest of the family didn't appreciate us.

At the corner, I stepped into the garage lobby and took the elevator down. As I walked to the car, my cell phone buzzed. It was Mother. I clicked the phone off, pulled out the sim card, and dropped both it and my phone in the garbage can.

I pulled out the keys to my dad's Corvette and opened the door, surprised to find so much blood all over the seats.

Oops. Sorry about that, Dad. Not. Dropping the keys to the car into the footwell of the driver's side, I slammed the door to the Corvette and moved across the garage to a car that stayed parked in the corner, under a cover.

I pulled the cover off and admired my Aunt Beatrice's old classic Mustang with a smile. She'd left it to me when she died, but I'd never had the heart to drive it much. Tonight felt like the right time.

I slid in the driver's seat, breathed in the familiar smell of the worn leather interior and oranges from the clearly magically enhanced air freshener on the dashboard that reminded me of my aunt.

I turned the key and let the car warm up, then I pulled out of the parking spot, eased through the exit gate, and peeled out onto the street.

I would discover more about my family's Vessel, and what it meant for me. I'd find Calyx. And I was going to find the man with the dreamy green eyes. I didn't know who he was, or why I kept dreaming about him, or how his shade ended up in my apartment, but I was going to find out.

But for right now, if Calyx and Silas wanted to play with fire, they had just woken the dragon.

I drove on into the night.

The future, good or bad, was waiting.

This time, I wouldn't be hiding, hoping not to be seen.

This time, I was running straight toward it.

I hoped I was ready. The future better be ready for me, too.

A smile slid across my face for the first time in days as I stepped on the gas.

A memory burst into my mind as the moon set down on the horizon. When we were little, our parents hired a tutor for my sister and me in our studies. Even then, my mother wouldn't allow us to disgrace her, even in human school.

Our tutor, a woman from New Orleans, had a phrase tattooed on her forearm.

I only saw it one time, when she was out in the small yard of the guest house she occupied.

She never wore sleeveless shirts while she worked with us—my mother wouldn't allow it.

She hadn't known I was there, and I'd been fascinated by the tattoo.

I had to remember the words so I could look them up later. They had been dark against her brown skin, the cursive letters full of artistic curlicues.

Cave. Venio.

Beware. I'm coming.