Christopher stood at the top of the stairs on the skirted front patio. Paisley sat to his left, face lifted toward the sky, eyes closed, as if she were sunning herself. Still barefoot, the clairvoyant’s blazing white gaze was riveted to the driveway. The gate, which should have been closed, was half hanging off its hinges, as if it had been flung to the side with great force.
That was rude. And completely unnecessary. The wards could have been breached without inflicting property damage.
Water dripped steadily from every edge of the roof and the gutters as the snow continued to melt. Long, thick, dripping icicles ringed the patio overhang, as if we might have been standing within the giant maw of the house. That image pleased me. Though the emotion storming through my veins might have just been the anticipation of wielding my blades. I couldn’t completely deny the impulses that had been bred into me. I had no desire to reject the aspects of my past that benefited me and those I owed protection to.
Two wide swaths cut through the wet snow covering the driveway. Tire tracks from all the vehicles that had been coming and going from the house, exposing the packed gravel.
“Wards are down,” Christopher said observationally. “All around the property. That was a hell of a breaching spell.”
The clairvoyant could sense magic more accurately than I could. “Stupid,” I said. “Showy. A massive expenditure of energy. There’s no way a telepath tore Aiden’s wards down.”
“Witches.”
I nodded. “Two bodyguards. Twins, Samantha said. Called Onyx and Jet.”
Christopher snorted. “Of course they are. How far onto the property do you want to let them get?”
“Away from the road, but still out of range of the house. They’re moving cloaked?” I couldn’t see or sense any movement, magical or otherwise.
He nodded, then grinned nastily. “Also a stupid expenditure of energy.”
I sniffed derisively. “They were always going to be outmatched here. Let them show off if they want. It won’t change the outcome.”
“No, it won’t.” Christopher grimaced. “But it’s still going to sting.”
I brushed my fingers over Paisley’s broad head, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t. The demon dog offered me a toothy smile, pressing her wet nose to my wrist. The clairvoyant’s magic shifted and shimmered, but he didn’t offer any hint of the future he saw unfolding.
“It’s going to sting me?” I finally asked. “Or …?”
“Don’t worry. The rose bushes are going to get the brunt of it.” His tone was even, easygoing. The future he saw apparently held no real challenges.
And that was fine by me. Once I cleared the trespassers from the yard, I could focus on getting Opal back to school and figuring out a fix for Samantha.
Unless I was about to behead the mystic. That was a surefire way to lift the mental block on the telekinetic’s magic.
“I’m sorry about the roses.”
The clairvoyant shrugged, twisting his sword in tight circles, first warming up his right wrist, then his left. “I was having a problem with black spot. I’ll just replace anything that gets damaged with hardier heritage varieties. Plus, I have the roses Aiden found in London.” He grinned. “As close to black as I could source.”
“Black roses? For me?”
“Always.”
I smiled, but then got us back on point. “Did you cast cards while we were gone?”
He nodded. “They didn’t reveal anything other than what I’d already seen.”
Again, I waited for him to elaborate. And again, he didn’t. I was on the patio, holding my blades at Christopher’s behest. He usually gave me more. Not necessarily instructions, but guidance. “But you see clearly.”
He laughed. “Yeah, Socks. I see clearly. This plays out as it always does, with you standing.”
I frowned. I was missing something, some nuance in his phrasing.
“Socks,” the clairvoyant said, exasperated. “Since when have you hesitated when the opportunity to use your blades presents itself?”
“When the house behind me is filled with people I owe protection to.”
“No one in the house is going to get hurt. Not in any way.”
Again, there was a specificity to his phrasing that bothered me. Samantha was clearly compromised. Aiden had already been injured. “More than they already are, you mean?”
“Are you going to pull all my words apart? Or are you going to trust me?”
“I always trust you,” I said. “But you’re being vague.”
He shrugged, the white of his magic spilling across his cheeks. It wasn’t unusual for the clairvoyant to be distracted, terse, when navigating the future in his mind as the present unfolded.
Perhaps it was just the incident with Samantha in the kitchen, and Christopher using me to hurt her, that had me on edge.
A wave of magic shifted across the dense layer of wet snow near the center of the yard — between the orchard and the driveway — pulling me from my dithering. The barrier hiding the trespassers was losing integrity.
I smirked, crossing my blades before me. “Want to see what the witch magic stored in the gems does?”
“Well, yes. According to Zans, I need to earn my keep around here.”
“How generous of her to provide you an opportunity.”
Christopher laughed quietly.
I took a step forward, leveling my right blade toward the shimmering wall of magic that had been creeping toward us. The barn and the house would provide some cover, but the leaf-bare trees in the orchard weren’t going to be much of a screen between us and the Wilsons’ property. I knew that I needed to at least try to mitigate the situation before resolving it with magic and violence.
Though my rudely broken gate was irksome.
“I invite you to retreat,” I shouted, unable to stop myself from grinning in anticipation. “Your encroachment on our property will be met with deadly force. There will be no further warning.”
The magic cloaking the interlopers thickened, as if the still-invisible casters had just realized they’d been losing hold of it. But I caught the sound of laughter. Two voices, intertwined — the twin black witches.
I traversed the wooden steps, marching steadily forward through the wet snow, blades at the ready. Christopher kept pace with me, slightly behind and to my left. Positioned so that Paisley guarded my right flank.
I picked up my pace, pressing my palms firmly over the raw diamonds embedded in the hilts of my blade. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” A thin beam of light-blue magic shot up both blades, settling into a cold burn along the edges — a more intense version of the sharpening spell that Aiden had added to the gems before walking them into the demon dimension for me.
I laughed.
Magic bloomed behind the barrier, which was now plainly shimmering about three meters ahead of us. The invisible witches were about to hit us with something.
“Now!” Christopher roared.
Paisley transformed. The slick ground under my feet trembled under the onslaught of her magic. She grew to the size of a lion, her mane of tentacles sparking with dark energy, double rows of sharp teeth edging her massive maw.
Magic erupted from the invisible barrier.
I spun right. Christopher stepped left.
The demon dog leaped forward, directly into the path of the black-edged spell hurtling toward us. Paisley swallowed that spell, her massive, sickle claws raking deep gouges in the wet turf under the snow as she slid to a stop. Then she roared, releasing the spell back against the barrier, shredding the center section.
I caught a glimpse of the wide eyes of the mystic as I slashed my blades across the right side of the frayed magic still hiding her and the witches.
Christopher did the same to the left. “Step right. Drop. Kick.”
My magically sharpened blades slid through the barrier, bringing me face-to-face with a pale-faced, dark-haired witch with blood-red lips. She was dressed in shades of light gray. She flicked her fingers toward me.
I stepped right.
The witch’s spell splattered against my shoulder, dissolving my clothing and searing me. I crouched, spinning into a sweeping kick as I did. The magic ate into my skin.
I took the witch out at the ankles.
She tumbled, magic lashing out from her hands.
I dropped my right blade, lunging to grab her wrist, already wrenching her magic from her. She howled, convulsing. Her unfocused magic raged against me, tearing into my clothing, slicing into my skin. Shallow cuts, but it still hurt.
The barrier hung in shreds — revealing Chenda, the so-called Mystic of the Golden Peninsula, and the second black witch. Chenda was in the same blue silk dress and quilted jacket she’d worn earlier. The black witch was identical to her twin, including the blood-red lips, except she was dressed in shades of dark gray.
Paisley prowled forward, belly low in the snow. Her red-eyed gaze was pinned on the mystic.
The second twin stumbled back from Christopher, narrowly missing a strike that would have taken her head off — possibly only because she’d twisted her ankle in the wet snow.
I yanked the witch I held to her feet, bringing my left blade across her throat and holding her against me. Her back to my front as I continued to drain her magic. Slowly, steadily — and meeting the horrified gaze of the second witch as I tortured her twin.
“What’s your name?” I murmured in her ear, holding the other twin’s gaze.
“What do you care?” Her defiance dissolved into a moan as I drained another chunk of her power. She panted in pain. “Onyx,” she growled.
That meant the charcoal-clad twin was Jet. I kept my blade to Onyx’s neck and my grip tight, but I eased off on the power drain. I had to assume that the black witches didn’t automatically deserve a death sentence just for doing the job Chenda was paying them to do. Guarding her. Though the encroachment on our property was clearly an assault, they were under orders from a superior. And I wouldn’t murder them for that unless I needed to.
The mystic was gazing at Paisley with wide, delighted eyes. She’d seen the demon dog in the park, but not her magical capacity.
“Paisley,” Christopher said sharply, checking the demon dog’s forward motion. “To Emma.”
Paisley growled, directing her rage toward Chenda. But given the look of avarice on the mystic’s face, I agreed that I didn’t want the demon dog anywhere near her.
The second twin, Jet, steadied her footing, placing herself in front of the mystic and pulling a short obsidian knife from the sleeve of her tight-fitting jacket. I would have expected black witches to wear cloaks, not gear that resembled flexible armor. Jet’s gaze flicked to me.
I deliberately pulled on Onyx’s magic again. She mewed. Jet’s face hardened. Then she glanced at Christopher as he stepped up to my left. Paisley settled on my right. We stood, facing off.
“Clairvoyant?” Jet asked Chenda.
“Delightfully, yes.” The mystic cast a self-satisfied gaze across all four of us, seemingly not at all concerned for Onyx or the blade I held to her neck.
Jet sliced her short blade across her palm. She clenched and unclenched her hand three times, calling magic forth. Then she swept her bleeding hand forward, flinging drops of blood before her and the mystic in an arc across the melting snow.
Magic sprang forth between us. A blood ward.
I grinned. Jet likely referred to the obsidian blade as an athame and housed it in a silver container at night, feeding it with a mixture of herbs and blood.
Black witches.
So predictable.
Including how they presumably shared magic in order to strengthen their spell work. I dropped my blade from Onyx’s throat, grabbing her by the back of the neck instead of the wrist I’d pinned to her chest. She fell forward, landing hard on her knees in the wet snow.
“Twins,” I mused as if thinking out loud. “The cloaking spell was impressive. The defensive spells would have been more effective if implemented earlier, but they certainly stung.”
Christopher started laughing, the white of his magic completely obscuring his eyes. I was pausing to taunt the trespassers, but I was still exceedingly aware that nothing untoward had happened to Christopher’s rosebushes. Yet.
More was to come.
I stretched out my left arm, still holding my blade, making a show of examining the unblemished skin under my torn clothing. “But what do you think happens to blood-bound witch twins when you completely drain the magic from one of them?”
I ripped a large chunk of power from Onyx. She screamed, lashing out wildly at me with hands and magic. I shook her by the back of the neck. She subsided.
Jet’s eyes widened.
Chenda lost her smug look.
The stillness of the day settled around us.
Onyx started weeping. But in anger and frustration — felt through the involuntary empathic connection I’d made the instant I touched her skin — rather than fear.
That was okay. The fear wasn’t far behind. Because soon, I’d be done with being gentle.
Jet wavered, glancing back at the mystic. Chenda frowned at her imperiously.
“What do you think, Christopher?” I asked conversationally. “Drain and kill one twin, and incapacitate the other at the same time?”
“Most definitely,” he said agreeably. “But why don’t we put it to the test?”
“No!” Jet cried. Involuntarily, given how she then snapped her mouth closed and grimaced.
The twins appeared to be in their midthirties. Powerful, well trained, and presumably usually prepared. The fact that they wore flexible clothing, likely magically resistant, rather than cloaks told me that much. And for all my mocking, I expected that Jet would definitely be capable of hurting me before I managed to take her down.
A witch willing to cut herself, to cast with the magic flowing in her own blood rather than what she could pull from external sources, wasn’t to be trifled with. A death curse from her would be difficult to thwart. So I would need to move quickly.
I’d be triumphant — I knew that even without Christopher telling me so. But quite possibly weakened or temporarily incapacitated. And with Opal still on the property and Samantha compromised, I didn’t have time to spend healing.
Still, I hesitated, because the witches did appear woefully misinformed. So the mystic hadn’t known that she’d be facing Christopher. And she also hadn’t told her bodyguards what to expect if I laid hands on them.
Isa had indicated that Silver Pine had been magically gagged so that she couldn’t discuss the Five with anyone outside the Collective. Based on this ill-conceived skirmish, Chenda was similarly muzzled. So could I use that to my advantage? Did I want to?
No.
They had invaded my territory, broken my gate.
I shifted my attention to Onyx, who was hanging limply in my grasp. I started draining the last of her power. She moaned, her magic welling up to batter me — ineffectually. As predicted, Jet grimaced, picking up her twin’s pain.
“That’s enough,” Chenda snapped. “I came to talk. As we previously discussed.”
But …” Christopher tilted his head to the side, his eyes still blown-out white. “Being a member of the Collective, you thought a power play was the best approach.”
“Had I known you were in residence, clairvoyant, I would have called ahead,” Chenda replied, completely unflustered. “Three of the Five. Now that is a bonus. Might I assume the other two aren’t far away?”
Christopher didn’t answer. His magic stretched out as if tasting the area around him. It settled on the blood tattoo on the back of my neck, seething.
“The witches aren’t the only ones who are blood bound,” he murmured.
Chenda’s grin widened. “Exactly.”
I was fairly certain Christopher was speaking to the future. But the mystic was in the present. With me. And I really wasn’t big on chatting.
I yanked a stream of magic from Onyx, allowing it to gather in the palm I’d pressed against her neck. I still held my blade in my left hand. The black witch screamed. Her agony abruptly quelled as her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and she passed out. Unconscious, not dead. I could still feel her pulse hammering away under my fingers.
Jet stumbled. The blood ward between us flickered.
I let Onyx fall to the side, thrusting my hand and all the magic I held toward the second twin, unleashing it on her blood ward. The power spattered against the barrier, spiderwebbing across it. It wasn’t a focused spell, just a push of power. But I was fairly certain that one twin’s magic would destabilize the other’s.
Jet gasped weakly. She settled down on her knees, anchoring herself. She raised her hands, one of them still bleeding, as if she could physically hold the barrier in place between us.
“Hold her,” I barked at Paisley as I scooped up my second blade.
The demon dog stepped on the unconscious witch’s back, pressing Onyx’s face into the mushy snow. Large sickle claws shot out to score the witch’s flexible armor.
I raised my blades, stepping forward.
“I said that’s enough!” Chenda snarled. “I demand retribution against Tek5! As the leader of —”
I sliced at the blood ward standing between me and Jet, carving a thick gouge through its magic. The sharpening spell on the blades held. Jet swayed on her knees, muttering to herself. The ward resealed. But it was scarred.
I locked my gaze to Jet’s. Her eyes were bloodshot. Deep blue veins stood out starkly against her pale skin. “As I’m sure you’ve just figured out for yourself, the problem with a blood ward of this type is that you can’t cast through it.” I lifted my gaze to eye Chenda. “That includes the so-called mystic. No telepathic strikes for you.”
“An oversight,” Chenda said stiffly.
“Two more hits and I’ll break through. Shall I give your witches a chance to walk away from your employ?”
The mystic sneered, tugging at a gold chain tucked into the collar of her dress. The artifact of power I’d sensed in the park, no doubt. “There is no walking away, Amp5. Just as there was never any escape for you, not unless it was by my leave.”
I stepped back so I could lunge forward, throwing my weight into two more successive strikes at the wards. I scored the magic again. Jet slumped to the side, bleeding from her nose. She wiped her face. Then, grinning nastily at me, she flicked the blood from her fingers, reinforcing the ward.
Christopher stepped up beside me, uncharacteristically laying a hand on my shoulder to hold me back. I glanced at him quickly, reluctant to take my gaze off Jet or the mystic.
The clairvoyant’s magic writhed around him in a halo of intense power. His gaze was pinned to the mystic. “Speak, Chenda, Mystic of the Golden Peninsula. We will assess your truth.”
Like hell we would. The blood ward wouldn’t hold against another dual strike. And since tearing through it would incapacitate the second witch, the mystic would be the most dangerous player on the field once it was down. But I needed only a moment to lay hands on Chenda, and I could easily quash any physical assault she could throw my way.
That she could hurt me mentally was evident in what she’d done to Samantha. But I had a high resistance to all magic.
Christopher tightened his grip on my shoulder. “Just a moment, Emma. Please. I’d like to hear her assertions voiced in the present.”
Chenda, smiling benignly again, finally freed the gold chain from her collar, revealing that it was strung with five charms. She held the loop aloft toward us, peering down at it.
The charms appeared to be glass bulbs set within platinum housings. The metal was scribed with runes, though I couldn’t distinguish the exact shapes from where I stood. Each of the glass bulbs held what appeared to be a dark liquid glistening with magic. Intense, vibrant magic, given that I could feel it even through the witch’s blood ward.
Just like I’d felt it in the park, over and above the magic the mystic wielded.
The tattoos on my back stirred. But Christopher was still gripping my shoulder, so I kept my gaze on the mystic and my blades at the ready.
Jet, still on her knees, started gathering magic to her, pulling it through the earth this time. So her soul wasn’t so blackened that earth magic no longer heeded her.
I stomped my foot, pointing my left blade at the witch without looking at her. “My land. My magic!” The command rang across the property, backed by a push of my power.
Jet hissed, losing hold of the energy she’d been trying to harness. I might not have been able to wield it myself, but I had legally claimed the property — and thus all the magic contained within it.
Thwarted, Jet yanked back her sleeve and fumbled with her tiny knife. We were giving her too much time to recover while Christopher was locked in a staring contest with the mystic.
I shifted my shoulder, tugging at Christopher’s hold on me. Once again, he simply tightened his grip. Still holding me back. It would have been idiotic to question him. He’d never held me back, not unless my actions were going to get us into trouble. But as I cast my gaze quickly across the yard, I could see no reason for his caution.
“Well?” Christopher finally said. “Speak your terms or I’ll let Emma loose.”
I frowned, peeved at the implication that I was under his control, but I let it go. Now wasn’t the time to bicker.
“Please. Amp5 cannot quell me with a simple touch,” Chenda said, giving her necklace a shake. The glass-and-platinum charms tinkled against each other. “Certainly you didn’t think I would let you go wandering off from the Collective without holding protections against you. All five of you.”
Five charms on the gold chain.
She carried the blood of the Five with her. At least that was what the mystic was implying. That was why I could feel the power of the artifact even through the blood ward.
“My blades will make quick work of dismembering you, mystic,” I said coolly. “No skin contact needed.”
“But I’m reasonable,” she continued, gaze pinned to Christopher, ignoring me. “Surrender the telekinetic, and I’ll let you be.”
“Until you have use for us,” Christopher said darkly.
She laughed. “Well, of course.”
“Or what?” I asked, just to see how far she was willing to go with her threat.
“Or I’ll kill you all, one at a time. You last, Amp5. So you can watch.”
I sneered. “Please. You think I don’t know? That we all don’t know? You have to kill me last, because killing me will kill the others.”
“Or at least incapacitate us,” Christopher said agreeably. “Severely.”
Chenda frowned. She hadn’t put together that little tidbit about the blood tattoo bindings.
Jet had started carving into the flesh of her forearm. Arcane symbols.
I raised my blades, pushing my right foot back for greater leverage.
“You’re implying you let us go,” Christopher said, finally letting his hand fall away from my shoulder. “But Silver Pine was the overseer at the time we decided to leave.”
“I am sorry I had to witness you taking down the compound remotely. The footage was rather … spotty. It was a spectacular tantrum.”
“She’s implying she was the telepath on the rooftop,” I said. “In LA.” When the Five had been tasked to rescue the sorcerer Azar, Aiden’s father, from rogue shifters, I had been forced to stand against a greater demon. Silver Pine’s demon. But the black witch had had multiple co-conspirators in her attempt to wrestle control of the Collective from Azar. One of those was Isa Azar. Another had been a telepath who’d taken out Knox and Bee, whose identity was unknown. Until now.
Chenda smiled, sharp edged and pleased with herself. “And how long did I knock you and Tel5 out, clairvoyant?”
Christopher raised his sword. “Long enough that I lost my entire team.”
She laughed coldly, shaking the charms on her necklace again.
I moved. Lunging forward, I slashed my blades through the remnants of the blood wards. The magic barring my advance crumbled.
“Paisley,” Christopher commanded, already moving toward the mystic, “step back from the witch, please.”
Paisley snarled.
Jet raised her blood-crusted hands toward me, slamming magic against my chest. I’d waited too long to strike, given her too much time.
I recognized the spell instantly.
A death curse.
I lost hold of my blades, falling to my knees before her. The curse tried to curl around my heart, to smother it, stifle it. Pain froze me in place, my awareness shrinking to a focus on … just … getting … air … into … my lungs …
Jet grinned at me. Her teeth were caked in blood. She crawled forward to run a bloody finger down my cheek. More magic pulsed against my skin …
I clapped my hands to her face. She had a moment to look startled, then I was pulling her magic from her, amplifying it. She shrieked, bucked. But even fighting a death curse, I was the stronger.
I couldn’t breathe.
My heart thumped madly against my rib cage.
I stripped power from the black witch, amplifying it. And with that power in my grasp, I reached to my chest and ripped the curse away.
Magic exploded to my left, then behind me.
Two separate locations. Two different spells.
Paisley roared, hitting the ground hard enough for it to shake under my knees.
Christopher grunted. The magic of the blood tattoo that tied us sputtered.
I slammed the death curse into Jet’s chest, hard enough to throw her backward, sending her sliding through the snow for a few meters.
I staggered to my feet, finding myself face-to-face with Onyx. She raked clawed fingers across my exposed shoulder, delivering another curse. Still moving toward where I could feel Christopher struggling — or at least his magic sputtering — I slammed a sharp jab to the black witch’s face.
She fell, blood spraying across the snow.
I stepped over her.
Paisley was struggling to rise to her feet about three meters to my right. I was fairly certain the dormant rose bushes wouldn’t survive being crushed under her weight. Onyx had hit the demon dog with something painful, but thankfully not deadly.
Christopher was poised in a standoff with the mystic. Her hands were flung forward. The tip of his sword slowly crept toward her neck. She was holding him off — barely — with her mind. It was exactly the situation I’d assumed I would have to move through to take her down.
I had an unnaturally gained resistance to all magic, including telepathy. But the longer I allowed the mystic access to Christopher’s mind, the less control he’d have. And I didn’t need him turned against me. I didn’t want to find out if him fighting me, going against the connection of our blood tattoos, was even possible.
I forced myself to slow. To fully assess the situation. The mystic already had Christopher in her grasp. I could grab her, of course. But I wasn’t certain I was fast enough to do so before she shredded his mind in retribution. That wouldn’t stop me from killing her. But I wasn’t certain the clairvoyant would survive the process.
I needed to distract her, to pull focus so Christopher could gain control. Or until I could get near enough to guarantee I could drain her quicker than she could destroy his mind.
I wasn’t certain how to guarantee any such thing. The mystic was one of the Collective. That meant she was powerful enough that everything she’d done so far might have just been to toy with us — including the mental block on Samantha’s magic.
“So …” My voice was far steadier than my heart. “Jealous? How pathetic.”
“What?” the mystic snarled, flicking her gaze to me.
Christopher’s sword slipped forward, all his weight pressed into it. The problem with his sight, as it had always been, was that he didn’t see his own future. He had to guess it based on the movements of everyone around him.
The front door of the house slammed open. Then I could feel Aiden striding toward us, his magic intense, furious.
“You and Silver Pine?” I said mockingly. “Spurred by Kader Azar. That was what the rooftop in LA was about, wasn’t it? Jealousy. A bid for power.”
The twins were rallying on the edge of my peripheral vision, crawling toward each other. I had no doubt that even mostly drained, they were more powerful when casting together.
“Please,” Chenda scoffed. “The sorcerer Azar? My predilections don’t lean that way.”
I laughed, taking another step toward her. “Silver Pine, then? She was expansive with her affections. Does every Adept sleep with every other? Or is the dating pool just that shallow?”
The mystic’s gaze settled on me.
Christopher’s blade slipped closer to her neck.
Aiden was only steps behind us now. He’d slowed to check on Paisley and take in the situation.
“What do you mean … was?” The mystic had picked up my past-tense comment about Silver Pine. Her voice was deep now, intense.
Christopher’s blade started trembling. He moaned quietly.
She was crushing his mind, all the while talking casually to me.
Three more steps. Then I could lunge. Distract, distract. Apparently, I really needed to practice the art of bantering with too-powerful assholes who wanted to control the Five.
Actually, on further assessment, maybe I was getting too much practice.
“Didn’t you know?” I asked coolly. “I killed Silver Pine. Months ago. Didn’t she mention me before she paid us a visit? I guess you weren’t that close. Though …” I tilted my head toward Aiden, slumping my shoulders casually as I took another step toward Chenda.
Two more steps.
“She was rather enamored with Aiden at the time.” I grinned at her. “You recognize the sorcerer, don’t you, mystic? Silver Pine definitely had a type.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Aiden said, perfectly pleasantly. He stopped near enough that I could see him without turning my head, but not so close that we were in the same line of fire. Paisley was at his side, growling menacingly. Aiden flipped through his notebook, keeping his gaze on the witches.
The twins had linked hands, slumped together, eyes closed.
Chenda curled her lip. “What’s most pathetic is that you think one such as I would be ruled by such base emotions.” She nodded toward Christopher. “Give up the telekinetic or I’ll shred Cla5’s mind. Not even Tel5 will be able to put him back together.”
Aiden tore a page from his notebook, crumpling it in his hand.
“Nope,” I said. “I don’t trade lives. I might have been willing to mediate. But then you broke my gate. And that’s just rude.”
I wasn’t close enough, but I lunged for the mystic anyway.
Aiden flicked the crumpled piece of paper. It exploded. A ward snapped into place between us and the witches.
My foot slipped in the fucking slushy snow.
The mystic, inexplicably, reached for Christopher’s blade with the flat of her hand, effortlessly pushing it aside. She stepped into him, rising on her tiptoes and whispering in his ear.
I got my footing, grabbing Christopher’s sweater and yanking him back, away from the mystic, throwing him to the ground. Out of her reach.
Paisley instantly fell back, guarding the downed clairvoyant.
Aiden flicked two more crumpled pages. More spells exploded between him and the witches.
I stalked toward the mystic. She raised her hands, stepping back even as her magic lashed around me, trying to latch on to my mind.
“You’ve forgotten who I am,” I said. “Allow me to remind you.” I reached for her, realizing belatedly that I’d left my blades where they’d fallen on the ground. I’d been distracted fighting the death curse, and then by my concern for Christopher.
No matter.
I could kill with my hands. And doing so was generally less bloody.
I lunged. The mystic spun away, running toward the twins. My fingers brushed through her long white hair. She tore away from me, leaving a twist of that hair entwined through my fingers.
Magic snapped out from the black witches.
And suddenly the yard before me was empty.
I hesitated, scanning with all my senses. I could feel Christopher, Paisley, and Aiden. I could even pick up a muted hum of magic from the half-spent gemstones in our weapons.
“Fuck,” Aiden said, flipping madly through his notebook.
“It’s a cloaking spell,” I snarled. “They’re still here.”
“No footprints.”
“Same spell as in the park. No footprints there as well. Paisley?”
The demon dog prowled to my side, sniffing the air. Then she grumbled.
Aiden crumpled up three more pages, activating the spells he’d inked on the individual sheets, flicking them forward. Magic shot out from three distinct spots, spreading across the slick snow. Then it slowly faded, leaving a dark smudge in a trampled area — the last location of the witches and the mystic.
“No residual trail,” Aiden said. “Teleportation.”
“Seriously?” I coiled the strands of hair I’d ripped from the mystic into a circle, then tucked them into my pocket. I couldn’t do anything with the hair, of course. But Aiden — or even Ember or Capri — might be able to. I just couldn’t figure out where I’d made my misstep. I’d thought I had it under control, except that —
I whirled on Christopher. He was sitting in the wet snow, elbows on bent knees, head in his hands.
“I had the upper hand,” I snarled. “Easily. The witches were down. You never should have faced the mystic. I’m less susceptible, you know that!”
Christopher didn’t answer.
I sighed, trying to quell my anger and assess the situation. “No matter how drained the twins are, they’ll be back. And now they know too much about us, about me.” Laying hands on the black witches was going to be harder the second time.
“I know,” Christopher whispered. “But you didn’t have all the information.”
“I trust you,” I said, trying to be reasonable “I have to. I didn’t need to know the future to know what I was facing. I knew I could vanquish what stood before me. Instead, you held me back, then you got between me and the mystic. What was so important? What could possibly have happened if I’d taken Chenda out?”
Christopher dropped his hands from his face. The white of his magic still edged his irises. He looked desperate. “It was never important to you, Socks …”
Samantha exploded out of the house, stumbling down the stairs and loping toward us. Paisley was prowling the area in tight circles, slowly moving toward the fence. Aiden, notebook in hand, stood off to one side, trying to watch over all of us at the same time.
“What the hell?” Samantha raged. “You let her go?”
Christopher had dropped his head again, obviously not interested in explaining himself. Utterly frustrated, I stepped over to scoop up my blades.
Samantha slid to a stop beside Christopher. “Are you hurt?”
The clairvoyant shook his head. “No. But Socks took a death curse.”
Aiden swore under his breath.
Samantha waved a hand in the sorcerer’s direction. “Not her first, don’t worry.”
I held both swords awkwardly in one hand, rubbing my aching chest, toeing Christopher’s sword. He’d made no attempt to pick it up. “Still stung.”
“I warned you.” The clairvoyant sounded as if he was teasing, but I wasn’t going to be cajoled.
“What did the mystic whisper to you, Christopher?” Aiden asked. “When you let her knock your sword away.”
“What?!” Samantha cried.
Christopher sighed heavily. “She said that I belonged to her.”
I snorted. “So? She said the same to me.”
He lifted his head, meeting my gaze. “No. She said she … she’s one of my donors.”
Silence fell as I absorbed the implications of the clairvoyant’s words.
Then I laughed. The noise was harsh. It felt as brutal as it sounded — presumably because I was still healing from the damn death curse.
“Please! She’s claiming parentage? And for that you let her get away? For that, you let me take that curse? She’s screwed with your head. And you let her in.”
Christopher just stared at me, his face sorrowful. “Like I said, I know it never mattered to you.”
“She is not your … genetic relation!” Unintentional magic lashed out with my words. Samantha and Christopher flinched under the assault.
“Excuse me,” Aiden murmured, moving off toward the gate with Paisley guarding his right flank.
I got myself under control. I was going to need another action plan. Apparently, Samantha and Christopher were now both compromised. I started back toward the house. I was going to have to go hunting. And I needed shoes.
“Emma, please,” Christopher said, scrambling to his feet as I passed. “Zans … tell her.”
“Yeah,” Samantha said, though she still looked pissed. “As far as I’ve figured out, the bulk of our genetic makeup came from the main members of the Collective. Though obviously, it’s seriously diluted, and —”
“Chenda is my mother,” Christopher said, pleading with me. “I couldn’t let you kill her!”
With my heart pounding and my chest a seething mass of pain, I rounded on the clairvoyant, stepping into his space, up to his face. “We’re your family! And you just fucking betrayed us. So now you’re a liability. And as always, that leaves me to clean up your mess.”
He grimaced. “We don’t feel the same —”
“Don’t include me in that sentence, Knox,” Samantha growled.
I whirled away, but managed only two more steps before spinning back and shoving myself in Christopher’s face again. “You’ve jeopardized our life. You allowed Paisley to get hurt.”
His mouth dropped open indignantly, but I cut him off.
“You allowed me to get hurt.”
“You can take —”
My voice came out harsh, low and deadly. “You’ve placed Opal in harm’s way. I’m going to have to get her out of town, which will divide my attention. And …” My voice cracked. I firmed it. “You’ve ruined any chance … any chance we had to keep her, to make her ours. To share our life.”
“What?” Samantha whispered, blinking. “What do you mean?”
“Emma …” Christopher’s magic snapped to me, seeking out our connection.
And possibly for the first time ever, I brushed it away. “No. You’ve made your choice. I will react accordingly.” I turned toward Samantha. She looked confused, glancing between me and the clairvoyant. “I need to be debriefed. Now.”
I walked away.
“What is she talking about with Opal?” Samantha asked. “Knox? What does she mean?”
“What does she always mean?” Christopher snarled. “That it’s her way or no way.”
“Don’t be a fucking moron,” Samantha spat.
I leaped the stairs, stepping into the house and leaving their argument behind me. I set my blades by the front door and strode down the hall toward the kitchen.
Christopher had chosen the mystic — over me, over Paisley, over our life.
That was fine.
Life changed.
But no one determined my path. Not magic, not even when wielded by a clairvoyant. And not genetic ties.
I hadn’t asked to be created, but I could make my creators regret my very existence.
And I could do so even better if I didn’t have to protect Christopher at the same time.
He had chosen the mystic over me. Over Paisley. Over Opal. Over Zans as well.
I thought we’d built a life, a family, together.
I was wrong.
Because all it took was one whisper from a member of the Collective for Christopher to tear it all down. And not even the actual whisper. Just a vision of the future, of what the mystic had to say.
I’d been wrong all along.
There was a desperate, terrible freedom in that revelation.
Magic shifted behind me as Aiden and Paisley followed me into the house.
I had built a life.
But it didn’t have to include Christopher.
His choice. His decision. As it had been eight years ago.
Life changed.
I couldn’t force people to love me, blood bond or not.