Sitting in the foyer, I pull my feet up under me and relax back against the chair. James is filling Theresa in about our meeting with Benedict while Will lets his hand graze my thigh with slow touches that make me want to melt.
My attention turns to the stairs as soon as footsteps sound against them. Even when I was on my own, I don't think I was as alert as I am now. This is how the situation is changing me. Whether it's for the better remains to be seen.
Relief sets in as soon as I realize it’s Hank making his way down, but it fades almost straight away. Something is wrong. He doesn’t say a word. He just stands still, his soft brown hair disheveled and his eyes wild.
“Hank?” I'm on my feet in seconds, worry lacing through every word. My gut churns. I’ve never seen him look this scared. I close the short distance between us and wrap my arms around him, squeezing him tight.
He takes a deep, shuddering breath as if it's painful to even do as much as breath. "We need to talk." His voice cracks, taking my heart along with it. What happened to cause this devastation in him? There's no doubt in my mind how bad it has to be to have had this effect.
Hank pulls away from me and walks into the living room. He sits on the empty couch, looking so lost for such a confident man. I rush over and sit beside him, taking his hand in mine.
"What is it?" I ask softly, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand.
Theresa’s guys have followed us in from where they were standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The three of them stand behind Theresa as she sits in the single armchair. Each of them wears a serious expression which is hard to work out. It's odd how little I know about them, given they live in the same house as us.
Hank meets Will's eyes, pain evident on his face. "It's about your mother."
Will tenses. "Did he get her?"
"Not exactly. I was told she left sometime last night." Hank's voice is strained, almost as if there's more he isn't saying.
Will's eyes sharpen and narrow. "On her own?"
Hank nods, his tone gentle. "Yeah. But she never came back."
Will blinks several times but otherwise shows no response. "Okay."
Should I go to Will? I'm not sure if he wants any reassurance or not. It's hard to tell what's going on in his head right now. And with Hank still visibly shaking, it's tough working out which of them needs me more.
"Okay?" Hank repeats, disbelief coloring his tone.
I'm not sure what all of this is about. Will's mom didn't seem like the most stable person when we met, nor from what Will's said about her. Perhaps this is normal for her?
Will looks resigned. Not worried. "Man, she's disappointed me my entire life. I'm not surprised this time.”
I lean forward and touch his hand, being careful not to break my connection with Hank in the process he needs me, too. "It's okay to be disappointed,” I say softly, hoping it offers him the comfort he needs. If not, I'll have to work out the best way of doing that in the future.
Will crosses his arms over his chest, and I can feel him shutting down. “Is everyone else okay?”
Hank goes quiet for a long moment. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your mom.”
Will gives a sharp nod, but I'm not fooled. Will's mom isn't the only person missing..
Hank takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll give you some time.”
Another nod.
After a minute, Hank continues. “My mom is also missing.”
Will's jaw hardens. "Your mom?"
Hank sighs. "We have a report of her being seen in a van heading into the king’s territory.”
“Shit,” Will says, and something changes in his face, almost as if all of what's happening hits him at once. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Hank tells him, but he doesn’t sound okay.
Will gets up and sits by his friend, pulling him into half a hug.
Hank hugs him back and mumbles something under his breath.
My heart swells with affection for the two of them. They're a team; watching them now, there's no doubt about that.
Will squeezes him tighter for a minute, then releases him. “What’s the plan?”
Hank looks like he’s trying really hard to keep it together. “We can't do anything for her until we defeat the king. We are in no position to storm the castle, no more than we were before she was taken."
He looks like he's about to break. The room is silent, respectful of the grief he's feeling.
"She's not particularly powerful," he continues. "At least I can feel pretty good that they won't try to use her for the blood sacrifice."
The tears I've been trying to hold back spill over.
Will reaches over and takes my hand, drawing it into Hank’s lap, and we just sit there for a minute in silence, trying to get a hold of ourselves.
“I’m sorry,” Eric, one of Theresa’s lovers says, and the big blond looks away from us.
“This whole thing is tragic, but we’ll figure it out.” Theresa sounds so damn confident. I hope I'm that confident when we're all more settled.
Her guys all nod as one.
I try not to get weighed down by the tragedy of it all. No one should live in a world where they can be dragged off the streets in broad daylight.
My mind moves over all the many places where people have to fear such cruelty, and then it just stops. I can’t save the world. But I can save this town.
I sit back and take a deep breath. "I'm going to claim the throne. Soon. Maybe even tonight. And then I'm going to abolish this antiquated, outdated system. The magic should be able to choose any eligible witch to be the catalyst."
"It's not that easy," Fran says. "You can't just claim it, and it's yours. First, you have to be of the king’s bloodline. Of your mother's bloodline."
"We've established I'm that," I say with a nervous laugh. I'm starting to think nothing is straightforward when it comes to witches.
"The throne itself isn't important. You could call the catalyst anything. If you want, you could declare yourself Goddess of the Nine Realms or Priestess of the Pink Unicorn Club. What matters is that the magic chooses you to funnel the power that most of the coven uses."
"I understand that part. It's more than a kingdom. It's a supernatural energy source, right?" Does she think I don't get it?
"Yes, but it's not easy to transfer power to a new bloodline." Fran stands from her perch on the far arm of the couch and paces. "First of all, most witches don't want to be the catalyst of a coven. There are always those that are power-hungry, of course, but being a catalyst is exhausting and usually comes with all the other complications of being a leader. Government running, so to speak."
Nodding, I watch her move. I know this already, but knowing Fran, she'll have a point to make, even if I'm not clear on what it is yet. "There are always those after power," I acknowledge. I don't add that I'm not one of those. She knows that.
She waves off my concern. "Of course, but most of the current coven would do anything to protect you even if you were the last of your bloodline."
"But I'm not. My cousin, the little baby, has a claim as well. The magic doesn't care who is older, right?" I hope I've understood everything I've read and been told correctly, or I'm going to inadvertently end up making a fool of myself.
"Right. When your mother died, and you weren't presented to be chosen as the catalyst, then your grandfather died. The only option was Robert. And once he's the catalyst, he's one until he dies. The magic chooses the bloodline, and then that's it. Until that bloodline is gone, that's who is in power."
The information sinks in. "We can't present multiple people," I whisper, speaking more to myself than to her.
She shakes her head. "Nope."
"It's me or the baby. Period." Every head in the room whips back and forth between me and Fran.
"Yep." She pauses. "Well, unless another close blood relative, a first cousin, for example, presents themselves."
"If my uncle or mom had another baby."
"It seems unlikely." She smiles cheerfully. "That's something, right?"
Sure. Yeah. That's something.