The bedroom very nearly took my breath away. I’d managed to catch up to Loren before she’d breached the large, double doors, which contained hand carved oak patterns edging the vibrant wood surface. Fine lined grain almost glistened with residual energy beneath the glow of the chandeliers and as Loren pried the doors open, a sudden waft of lavender and mint coasted out into the hallway.
Those scents played havoc in my mind, thrusting me back hundreds of years to the last time I’d dared set foot within the Coven’s four walls. Loren’s mother had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that even though I’d helped her family during the Salem trials, I was not welcome here anymore. Conflicts between the coven and the Caretakers had boiled over and anyone who represented their side wasn’t welcome in her home and wasn’t welcome with her daughter. It was an opinion the Caretakers themselves happened to share. Trying to ignore the nearly overwhelming aromatic scent, I trailed closely behind Loren and watched her every step. There was a laundry list of protocols when it came to coming before the Coven Queen and I feared her disrespect almost as much as I feared her wrath.
To my surprise, Loren didn’t appear to adhere to any specific protocols, she simply nodded to one of the queen’s handmaidens, who stepped aside and ushered her forward. The handmaidens were dressed in flowing gowns of deep purple, lined with gold and while they looked little more than elegant waitresses, the truth was, handmaidens were also the queen’s chief bodyguards. Each handmaiden was an especially talented and powerful witch, hand-chosen from generations of Coven students, trained and conditioned for up to a century to be in service to the queen up to her death. I had no idea how long this particular handmaiden had been in service to the queen, though one look at the narrow spark in her dark eyes sent a barbed chill down the length of my spine. The ferocity of handmaidens was well known within supernatural circles and in some cases, they were feared far more than the queen herself. I was reminded of that fact as I stepped past the woman in the ornate, sleek gown, feeling the simmering heat of her stare on the side of my face.
When a certain group rises to a seat of power, especially ultimate power, that group gains enemies. That was precisely what had happened throughout the millennia as the Caretakers had established their place within the supernatural hierarchy. As far as the handmaiden was concerned, I still represented the Caretakers and was still a potential villain to keep her eyes on. Not that I could blame her.
I followed Loren and a moment later, I saw Nadella— or what remained of her— nestled within the oversized billow of blankets atop the king-sized bed. There was an elaborate, hand-carved headboard pressed against the wall, a dark wood finish, spills of vibrant red curtains draped over curved edges. Within the cascading mountains of bunched up sheets, I could almost barely make out Nadella buried within. I struggled to wrap my mind around the frailty of the woman, when even a hundred years ago, she’d seemed the pillar of strength and raw power. Her long, twiglike fingers twisted the patterned quilt within their fierce, bony grip, her hair tossed over her head in thin, silver strands, fanned out along the pillow beneath. Another handmaiden stood on the opposite side of the large bed and she shot me a nasty look as she swept away, reluctantly giving Loren a moment of peace with her mother.
The woman in the bed stirred as the blankets shifted and her amazingly bright eyes turned toward us both. They lit up when they fell upon Loren, her thin lips curling into a smile, but as they moved toward me, they darkened and dimmed, the smile faltering.
“Good afternoon, mother.” Loren reached forward and took Nadella’s narrow hand in her own, and gently squeezed.
“It’s so good to see you, dear.” Her voice was thready, like she was standing too far from the microphone. “I am not sure— why you brought him.” She said the word ‘him’ with an impressive amount if distaste, tossing a scowl at me as though it was an assassin’s dagger.
“Unfinished business, mother— business I thought you might like to put behind you before—” Loren’s voice faded.
“Before I die.” An expression fell upon the old woman’s face that I couldn’t translate, a mixture of acceptance and reluctance as she faced the inevitable next stage of her existence. “What makes you think I have any desire to finish that business?”
“Because you love me? And you want me to be happy? To return to the family?”
Nadella looked hopeful as she flexed her fingers within the firm grip of Loren’s clasped hands. “You would? Return?”
Loren swallowed, looking down, but kept her palms clasped against her mother’s. “It’s possible.”
“Does he mean that much to you?”
“He did— once.”
The words felt sharp and pronged as they stabbed into my ears, but I said nothing. The history I had with Loren had consumed so much of my life throughout the years I was in the middle of it, and yet I’d pretended to have moved on, to have separated myself from the inner workings of the Darkheart Coven. Yet, with a single visit from her and a single afternoon spent within the estate— it had all come rushing back.
“Angus.” Nadella pried her fingers from her daughter’s grip and gestured with a long, narrow pointer, drawing me closer. “You loved my daughter.”
I nodded.
“Do you understand why I could not permit your marriage to continue?”
“It wasn’t just you, Queen Matron.”
She scoffed a whisper of laughter, rolling her eyes. “Look at me— do I look like a queen matron?”
“You do.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Savage.” Her voice seemed to have warmed slightly, though her jawline hardened as she fixed me with another penetrating stare. “The Caretakers wouldn’t permit it either. That— doesn’t surprise me. I’m surprised they’re allowing you this visit.”
“I— don’t— represent them anymore.”
Nadella drew back, her wrinkled brow tightening into a furrowed bunch. Her head tilted, spilling a swath of thin, silver hair which she swept away with gnarled fingers.
“We’ve gone our separate ways— the Caretakers and I.”
“Your choice or theirs?”
“I like to say it was a— mutual decision.” I liked to say it, even if it wasn’t necessarily true.
“My narrow, wrinkled ass it was,” Nadella replied with a sudden bark of unmatronly laughter. “Nobody walks away from the Caretakers, boy.”
“Fair point.”
“What happened?”
I sighed, unsure if I wanted to rehash all of the drama here— or anywhere for that matter. “We had a difference of opinion when it came to the value of human life. It was— a complicated situation.”
Nadella tilted her head slightly, and her expression shifted as I met her eyes, moved into an expression of— respect? The look faded even as I tried to translate it.
“And what are your intentions with my daughter?”
“I suppose that’s up to her.” I saw Loren’s cheek’s flush and she forced herself to continue looking away from my general direction. Nadella greeted this interaction with a wry smile that reeked of poorly concealed satisfaction.
“Well— I suppose I owe you perhaps a bit more respect than I have paid you in the past. Standing up against the Caretakers— having a direct conflict with them and still standing afterwards. It’s not anyone who can manage that.”
“Well, I guess I’m an exception.”
Nadella nodded, her head moving slowly and somewhat weakly, any look of humor had drifted from her eyes. “Thank you for coming, Angus. Thank you for being here— for my daughter.” Tears glistened in the old woman’s eyes, a low shimmer beneath the glow of yet another chandelier. Loren again took her hand and squeezed it, then leaned forward and whispered quietly into the woman’s ear. Nadella pried one hand free and rested it gently on Loren’s left cheek. After a moment like this, Loren peeled herself away and we walked from the room, the scent of lavender and mint still trailing along behind us.
#
“Thank you.”
“For what?” We stood in the broad foyer of the mansion, atop the intricately patterned carpet, the room similar to what I imagined the Taj Mahal to resemble. A domed ceiling, lined with crystal chandeliers, as flowing velvet curtains blocked the windows. Various dark wood tables lined the walls, an assortment of vases, some of them filled with flowers, others empty, adorned each narrow tabletop. Several large portraits of various witches hung on the broad expanse of wall that surrounded us and it only took me a moment to let my gaze fall upon Nadella’s. She looked just as I remembered her. It was a long way away from the withered shell of a woman I’d seen resting in her bed moments before and quite abruptly the reality of my own mortality rested, heavy and thick upon my shoulders.
It was easy to forget that the same end awaited us all, even if it took some of us far longer to get there.
“You know for what. For agreeing to come. For allowing my mother that moment of closure she would never admit she needed.”
“Do you think she regrets it? The part she played in separating us?”
Loren’s gaze shot away from my own. “Honestly? No, I don’t think she regrets it. I think she’d make the same decision again, for the good of the coven. But I think she regrets how that decision affected our relationship— mine and hers, I mean.”
“It did? Affect your relationship, I mean?”
“Of course it did, Gus. It drove me from the coven— from the entire family. I’ve been spending the last hundred years, just— enjoying my life. Traveling the world, meeting people, enjoying my measure of freedom.”
“Freedom from me?”
“From everything.” She scanned the large room we stood within. “You have no idea what being a part of the coven means— the responsibility and expectations. Not to mention being the eldest daughter of the Queen Matron. It’s— not easy.”
“But here you are— back where it all began.”
Loren sighed, her eyes pressed closed, and I sensed the uneasy shift of seas just beneath the surface.
“What is it?”
“She asked me to take over leadership of the coven. When she’s gone.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Gus, really. I wouldn’t lie about that.”
“Even after you spent the last century trying to free yourself of those shackles?”
“My mother often believed— and I share this belief— that those who actively seek power are the ones who least deserve it. My brother and sister have always been eagerly waiting in the wings, desperate to take their place at the head of the Darkheart table. I think my mother fears what might happen if that were to come to pass.”
“So— what did you say?”
“I said no, Gus. What else would I say? After so many years of freedom, why would I voluntarily shackle myself to this place— this organization? Why would I let myself be trapped after successfully freeing myself?”
I didn’t have a good answer for that. Unlike me, Loren had taken full advantage of her freedom, apparently traveling the world, enjoying herself, having unique experiences outside of her responsibilities. I’d rented an ugly apartment in a nasty part of Boston and gotten tangled up in a tabloid newspaper. I’d simply replaced one series of responsibilities for another and hadn’t gotten the opportunity to really enjoy any measure of freedom. But be that as it may— I realized even as those thoughts came to my mind, that I wouldn’t have changed it for anything.
“Seems like you’re conflicted on that point.”
“Of course I am. My mother has already begun to elicit outside help in establishing a hierarchy for coven leadership. But those things take time and it’s time she doesn’t have. If they don’t put the pieces together, it’s quite possible that leadership will fall to my brother and sister. If that happens— it could be catastrophic.” She looked at the floor, her fingers curling into tight fists. “Or they could force me to take over leadership anyway, in spite of my wishes. As you know, the preference is to pass leadership to the next in line, and essentially, that’s me.”
“And you don’t have the power to fight that?”
“To fight the Coven Council? Are you mad?” She pulled her head up and twisted it toward me.
I shrugged my silent reply. “It worked for me and the Caretakers, right? I managed to pull myself away.”
“You’re the exception, Gus, not the rule. Besides, when you’re family it’s— different.”
That was a point I found difficult to argue. I tried to formulate some sort of sensible response, but I was finding it difficult to put the words together. Standing there in Loren’s ancestral home with Loren by my side was having an effect on me I wasn’t prepared for. I thought that hundred years of separation from the woman I’d once been married to had been sufficient to truly move on. But the last day had only gone to prove how much of a fallacy that was. In fact, within seconds of seeing her standing outside the door of my apartment had told me that.
“Well— look who we have here. I must admit, Angus Savage, I never expected to see you here again.”
The voice was a cold chill, a stake of pure ice driven into my chest and as I turned toward it, I already knew who it was, and sure enough Loren’s twin siblings strode through the archway across the room and approached.