Salem looked more or less the same at night as it did during the day, a quaint, innocent little seaside village that somehow defied the sinister evil I knew was brewing just beneath the surface. Indigo and I had finished our workday, waiting for the sun to draw beneath the horizon before setting out. I’d had my share of interactions with witches and warlocks and I knew well enough that their days didn’t end just because night fell. The Darkheart estate was far less busy as I guided Sammy’s Toyota along the meandering driveway, the mourners either moving their pilgrimage inside or somewhere else entirely. I wondered for a moment if those mourners had chosen to relocate or if Ricard and Lucinda had shooed them away like cockroaches the moment their mother had taken her last breath.
“This is where Loren comes from?” Indigo nested up against the passenger side window, eyes wide as the sprawling estate emerged all around us. There were no valets to park my car, so I took a right at the end of the drop-off area and stopped the car in the closest space, just outside a six car garage.
“Sort of. It’s a long story.”
“You gonna tell it? If you don’t, she will.”
I hoped she was right. I’d checked on Loren before Indigo and I had driven back out here and she remained unconscious, but breathing steadily, a big step up from the previous night. Lamar had stopped by mid-afternoon to check on her and in spite of our aggressive conversation a short time ago, I found myself warming up to him. Doris, for her part, was still nowhere to be found.
We exited the car and I stood for a moment, looking up at the elaborate mansion perched atop the wide entryway staircase. Three full stories tall, edged with ornate, decorative dormers, the entrance bracketed by massive columns of gently carved wood. While the manor house had been originally built in the 1600s it had been carefully added to year over year and while the overall stylistic design remained, it appeared far more modern than its age might have indicated.
There was an ever-present hum in the air, that soft brush of static electricity that I’d come to expect when in close proximity to anything with the sheer power that resided within the walls of the manor house. While working for the Caretakers, I’d come across countless mystical creatures, large and small, but there were times the sheer power stole my breath. In the case of the Darkheart manor it wasn’t necessarily any one person or item, but the accumulation of them, an entire state of potent witches and warlocks. Each of them individually could potentially strip the skin from my bones. All of them combined? My spine shivered at the thought. A coven with this much might under the control of two twisted, power thirsty psychopaths— I almost didn’t dare think of what they could do.
“We just going to stand here? I mean, I’m admiring your shirt, but I thought you wanted to actually, you know, talk to someone.”
I glanced down at my Queensrÿche shirt, revealed within the gap of my beige trench coat.
“What exactly is a ‘Queensrÿche’ anyway?”
“Don’t make me regret letting you come.” I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket and walked toward the stairs. Light shone through the countless windows running alongside the walls of the mansion, so I knew there was some measure of activity going on inside. As we approached the steps, a figure made its way down them, little more than a silhouette, somewhat smaller in stature, heading straight toward us.
“Can I help you?” The figure’s voice was tentative, but familiar.
“Connor?” I peered into the darkness as the young man approached. “Sorry— it’s me, Gus. Loren’s friend.”
“Oh, hi, Gus.” Connor stepped forward, revealed by the pool of light from the parking lot. He looked confused, his gaze lingering longer on Indigo than it did me. “Is Loren with you?” He peered past my shoulder, looking toward the car.
“I’m sorry, she’s not. That’s kind of why I’m here. I was hoping to— talk to someone.”
“Talk to someone? About Loren?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Connor looked anxiously back over his shoulder, clearly uncertain if he should even be having this conversation. “I’m not sure now is the best time. Grandmother passed away last night and—”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He studied me with a penetrating stare that seemed far more mature than his years. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“She died. Nadella died— and everything seems wrong. Loren never even came by today. Something happened, but nobody will talk to me.” There was a sudden flicker in his eyes, a crackle of mystical energy. I could feel Indigo stiffen beside me, clearly, she sensed it, too.
“Connor, really— I just need to talk to—”
“Talk to me,” the young man insisted, his voice deepening, his eyes flashing a sudden burst of green light. I drew back and extended my left arm, gently moving Indigo behind me. I’d brought a pair of knives with me, just in case, but I had no desire to use them against the boy standing before us. The sheer power that suddenly radiated from him almost stole my breath, not just because of its sudden emergence, but because of who it had emerged from. Typically it was the females of the bloodline who held the true magic. Either young Connor had already dabbled in demonic rituals, or he’d defied established rules of magic and had been born with—
“I think that’s enough.”
Two more figures had emerged at the top of the stairs leading to the mansion entrance and both of them began approaching, almost in concert with each other.
“I— apologize,” Connor said quietly, bowing respectfully.
“You owe us no such thing.” The two figures were cast in the pale light at my back and the revealed illumination of their faces confirmed what I’d suspected. Ricard and Lucinda framed young Connor, standing at each shoulder. They were both clad in dark violet robes, the robes of mourning for the loss of their mother and Lucinda put a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder, squeezing. “Why don’t you go inside.” It wasn’t a question.
Ricard placed himself between Connor and me and brought himself up tall and broad, not even trying to conceal his threatening posture. Connor’s mouth opened as if to protest, but decided better of it, bowed again, and withdrew, walking back toward the stairs. Ricard moved forward and leaned closer, sniffing gently at Indigo’s hair.
“I thought I smelled— something.” He made a face, his nose cinching as his eyes roamed up and down the length of Indigo’s body.
“Easy there, tall, dark and creepy—”
I held up a hand and shook my head, warning her away from whatever path she was headed toward. Lucinda crossed between Ricard and I, studying Indigo just as intently.
“Honestly, Gus?” She didn’t even look at me, getting uncomfortably close to the young woman. “You bring a vampire to our house?” She gave me a narrow, accusatory side eye.
I pinched my lip between my teeth and silently berated myself for my lack of decorum. Witches and vampires, as with many supernatural species, had a generations old conflict. A tension only tightened by centuries of infighting and turf wars and somehow, I’d let that slip my mind when I’d agreed to let Indigo come along on this trip.
“It was an— oversight, I assure you.” I bowed my head, using every ounce of self-control. If these two had already taken up their place at the head of the coven they could incinerate us both with a single thought and face no repercussions for doing so. The delicate system of checks and balances would have already been toppled over and shattered like the vase containing the pink roses I’d found in Loren’s rental.
“An oversight. A few decades spent amongst the filth and you’re already smelling of it.” Lucinda turned her disgusted look on me. “You should know better. Were you still working for the Caretakers, they would—”
“I’m not.” My firm voice hacked through Lucinda’s response and I could see her shoulders flex with barely concealed rage. “And I think you’re happy I’m not.”
“Why would that make us happy? We were on the same side— once.” Ricard took over the conversation and his sister respectfully stepped away, allowing us a direct path to each other.
“We’re not anymore?”
“You tell me, Angus. You’re the one sneaking around in our parking lot in the dead of night less than twenty-four hours after our mother has died. Does that sound like someone who is on our side?”
“Perhaps I was coming to pay my respects.”
Ricard chuckled, his laugh the sound of breaking bones. “Don’t insult us.”
“Okay,” I continued, showing my hands, “if you’re so smart, why do you think I’m here? Answer truthfully, Ricard.”
His tongue moved just beneath the surface of his lips, running across his teeth. Even in the pale light of the parking lot lamppost, his pale hair seemed to glisten as if woven with silver.
“I think you know why I’m here,” I continued, not giving him the chance to respond. “I think you know damn well what brings me to this parking lot in the dead of night just after your mother’s passing.”
Lucinda and Ricard shared a quick look.
“Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside?” The tall, slender warlock gestured toward the staircase leading up to the front door. He leaned forward, staring directly at Indigo. “But I apologize— no pets allowed.”
Indigo’s teeth pressed tightly together, both fists squeezing so hard I thought her nails might gouge her palms.
“We can have this conversation out here.” I pressed my hand to Indigo’s back. “All four of us.”
Lucinda exhaled, her nostrils flaring. “I grow tired of this.”
“Your sister was attacked last night.” I waited for them to feign surprise— but they didn’t even bother.
“Oh?” Ricard tilted his head curiously.
“Attacked by an assassin. A Shade.”
“Is that right?” Ricard crossed his arms over his chest. “Such a pity. So shortly after mother’s passing as well.”
“She survived.” That brought a glint to Ricard’s eyes. I tried not to let my face show the smug satisfaction I felt. “That— surprises you.”
“Where is she now?”
“Safe. And she’ll remain that way.”
“Well, I would hope so.” Ricard pressed a false smile to his lips. “She is our sister, after all.”
“And next in line to coven leadership.”
“She’s made it quite clear she’s not interested. Mother asked her time and time again—”
“The choice may no longer be hers,” I interrupted, “and I think you know that. Once the matron queen passes— it becomes a matter of inheritance, not election.”
Ricard’s smile faltered, his narrow jaw flexing, the pale flesh tightened at his hairline. “She’s— not here. The inheritance ceremony may just have to continue without her.”
“I’m sure the council would be very interested in hearing what I have to say in advance of that ceremony.”
“You might be surprised, Angus. You might be very, very surprised.” He gestured toward his sister. “Lucinda and I— we have friends on that council. There are elders there that have been waiting for this moment for a very long time.”
“Waiting for what moment? The opportunity to take over? The chance to tear down everything Nadella spent thousands of years building?”
“The opportunity to take our rightful place,” Ricard growled. “To not bow our heads in service to others.”
“What rightful place is that? The Darkheart Coven is already widely respected as the premier coven in—”
“Widely respected. Words. Mere words.” Ricard gestured with his long fingers. “There needs to be a hierarchy, Angus and the Darkheart Coven needs to take its rightful place within that hierarchy. For years we’ve been compromising with the other covens, exchanging trades and bargains to retain this delicate balance. Well, the time for compromising has passed.”
“I’m not sure Loren would agree.”
“Pity she’s not here to tell us that herself.” Ricard was standing inches from me, looking down at me from his stall stature.
“Tell me, Ricard,” I replied, looking up into his steel-glinted eyes, “where does Dornac fit in this mythical hierarchy? Which throne does your demon sire sit upon at the council’s table?”
Ricard ran his thumb along the edge of his other fingers, and I could almost feel the static charge of power building at the point of contact. There was a long, drawn out moment of quiet, the shrill chirp of crickets from the long grass at the edge of the parking lot the only sound.
“I am giving you this last opportunity,” Ricard finally said, “to take your pet and go home. Do not meddle in the ways of witchcraft. It will not end well.”
“I started my career with the Caretakers by meddling in the ways of witchcraft, Ricard, and it occurs to me that if I hadn’t— you might not be standing here right now.”
“Ancient history. Best left in the past. If I recall, your last moments here, before this all happened, were not met with much gratitude.”
“I don’t represent the Caretakers anymore.”
“I don’t much care who or what you represent, Angus. And if you insist on pressing this matter, we will exchange more than words, I promise you that.”
I pressed my palm to the hilt of the dagger nested in the sheath at my hip. “Nothing would bring me more pleasure.” I knew I was goading him— trying to lure him into doing something stupid before leadership in the coven was established.
“I know what you’re doing. Think for a moment, Angus, think about what’s already happened— what’s already been done. And yet, here we stand on the precipice of elevation to coven leadership, in spite of all that.”
My blood chilled. He’d all but admitted the assassination attempt on his sister, he’d more or less said it in plain English. He’d said it without worry, without fear, and without repercussions. Perhaps what he’d said about friends on the council was true— perhaps his and his sister’s elevation to leadership was more or less pre-ordained. If that was the case, things had already gone too far and we were already teetering on the edge of possible catastrophe.
“The ceremony hasn’t happened yet.” I removed my palm from the knife handle and stuffed both hands into the pockets of my coat. “There’s still time.”
Ricard shook his head and his white hair shifted along the broad contours of his shoulders. “It’s happening sooner than you think. Whatever game you’re playing— my sister and I have already won it.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that statement, mostly because I sensed the truth in it. We were merely passengers on the speeding train, with little to no control over where the train was headed or what sat at the end of the tracks. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure exactly why I’d come— I’d hoped to get some face time with the council, to tell them what I believed had happened. I’d had the misconception that they might care about the attempted assassination on Loren, that they might listen to reason in regard to her siblings.
But this direct admission from Ricard, his blatant disregard for the repercussions of his actions spoke volumes. He was right— he did have friends on the council and the elevation of him and his sister was all but pre-ordained.
“The ceremony is happening very soon, Angus. Check your mail— perhaps I’ll send you an invitation.” Ricard turned, the flowing robe sweeping with the motion. Although they wore the clothes of mourning, they showed no outward signs of it. Their mother had just died— their sister was clinging to life, poisoned by an assassin’s blade. And the two of them strode up the stairs, shoulder-to-shoulder, as if they’d already won this little skirmish.
As much as I hated to admit it, I was starting to think that perhaps they had.