Page 60 of The Unbound Witch
“Don't threaten me with a good time.”
Three solid knocks on the paint chipped door before I turned the brass handle and stepped inside. My mother, stepping into the parlor from the kitchen, dropped the dinner plate she was drying, and it shattered on the wood floor. I lunged to help her pick up the broken shards.
I didn’t say hello, jumping straight to the apology. For the broken plate, or worrying them, or disappointing them, I wasn’t sure. “I'm so sorry.”
“Raven! Good heavens! Where in the world have you been?” She untied the floral apron from her waist to gather the broken pieces. “Your father and I have been worried sick. Nikos stops by every single day. It's as if you vanished. And with the Dark King's murder on your hands ... We thought the shifters had gotten you.”
“The shifters? No, Mother. Not yet. Where's Father?”
“Dein? He's been a ghost of himself, Raven.”
“Speaking of ghosts …” I warned, hoping Kirsi had been given enough time.
A moment passed before Kirsi appeared near the kitchen door. “Hey,” she said, the sadness in her voice was not lost on me. It must have been so hard to accept her new form in front of witches she’d known for so long.
My mother’s voice cracked. “Kirsi?”
“Bless us,” my father said from the door, the smooth tones of his aging voice nowhere near as comforting as I thought they'd be. As if the sounds that once soothed me were now betrayed by the lies they’d told.
He came to stand before me, his worn boots scuffed heavily at the toe. I rose to my feet, dumping the ceramic pieces into the apron in my mother’s hands. Solid palms landed on my shoulders as he yanked me forward, embracing me. I'd seen my father angry, sad, scared, and determined. I'd never seen him shaken. He pulled away, staring down at me with a gleam in his eye as he wiped away a tear.
“You've really done it. Our daughter has killed the Dark King and escaped our enemies.”
I opened my mouth to retort, then snapped it shut, catching myself. If they were proud of this rumor, then undoubtedly, they would take my slip of the tongue to the coven leaders. To Willow, wherever she may be. I couldn’t trust them with the bits of truth I’d planned. I wasn’t sure I could trust them at all anymore.
Kir cleared her throat, breaking the spell over us.
“How are you here, Kirsi?” my mother asked, dumping the shards into a bowl. She closed her eyes for a second, coaxing her magic forward before casting, a marking on her collarbone glowing orange. The plate, now mended, remained in the bowl as she turned back to Kir. “We went to your funeral.”
Kir looked to me for help. “It's a long story.”
We'd had a plan, even discussed what we were going to say before Bastian cast a door to send us here. But she must have realized the same thing that I did. We were going to have to wing it. I hoped her part of the plan was already done. She’d remained unseen at first, giving her just enough time to slip away.
“I don't know,” she answered. “I was gone, and then, somehow, I came back.”
“Nikos will be glad to hear it,” my father said.
The adoration mixed with the sound of that name was like talons dragging themselves down my throat, squeezing until I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. My power boiled in my veins, eager to take revenge, to deal death upon a man that had scorned me so badly his heartbeats were on borrowed time. Something about standing before my parents, remembering everything, all the memories from our childhood since he was twelve and joined the Moon Coven, since we became friends, based solely on the fact that we were the outcast witches. He had been kind and good, and it was all a lie. One my parents had so easily fallen for, but then, so had I.
Kirsi moved closer, brushing a shoulder against me, as if she could see the unbridled rage within me. I let my shoulders sag, unclenched my jaw and fists, and took a deep breath, content to give the biggest show of my life.
Stepping across the room, I sank onto the couch, trying to remind myself that my parents loved me, despite their flaws. They believed they were right, as all the witches did. As we'd been groomed to believe for many, many years. And the truth was, I didn't even know how deep the poisonous roots had grown. Had my grandmother been fooled? Tasa, the former Moon Coven leader? She must have been. But those truths gutted me.
As the others took their seats, eyes glued to me, I began.
“The stories you've heard are true. I did kill the Dark King. I received the power of death and cast it upon him. He sent me to the human lands to try to stop the spell from working. But it didn't work. He is dead.” I tried not to think of those silver eyes, of Grey's laughter, of the shadows. Instead, I focused on my feelings before I'd learned the truth. The sorrow and guilt that plagued me shining through my lie. “Nikos tried to warn me, but I didn't listen to him. And now I'm not sure where to find him.” Forcing a tremble to my lips, I sold a story of the scared and foolish daughter they thought I still was.
“Right,” Kirsi added. “We're hoping he can help hide Raven from the shifters.”
I kept my eyes trained to the floor, convinced my father would see anger in the eyes that matched his.
“He will come by,” my mother said, sitting to grab my hands. “He will protect you, darling.”
I swallowed, keeping my body loose and started on the other reason we came, aside from planting information. “I need to ask you something, Mother. Something that will be difficult to talk about, but I need the answers. Can I trust you?”
“With your life,” she said, patting the hand she held. “Always.”
I shared a glance with Kirsi before looking straight at my father, still standing, staring at me as if trying to put together a puzzle.