Since Goody Estate had enough space and rooms for an entire coven, this was where I’d been staying, and mostly like where I would be staying until I could find a permanent solution. While Eleanor had been gracious enough to open her doors to Ocean and me, it was never meant to last. And I especially couldn’t see Eleanor and Kioni each day, look in their eyes, knowing I was the one responsible for taking Winta’s life.
One night, Clarence had drunk too much whiskey and stolen my ear to indulge in the history of Goody Estate, his most prized possession. The Greek Revival and Italianate style mansion had a white exterior, black shutters, black iron railings, multi-level wrap-around porches, and massive white square columns surrounding the fifty-something-thousand square foot home. And I’d only ventured into less than five percent of it, spending most of my time in the library.
Outside, an assortment of trees draped lawns, gardens, and a lake with a footbridge, and I imagined the array of color during the fall season to be artwork.
Julian, Beck, and Phoenix left me in the entry hall, advising me to do my best to keep blood off the original hardwood. Under the brass chandelier, I cradled my hand, flexing my fingers, my skin ripped open on every knuckle.
Zephyr’s sister, Winnifred, appeared, walking toward me, carrying a handkerchief and gauze. She was taller than Adora by an inch or two. Julian had warned me about her, referring to her as a promiscuous creature with a sexual appetite and many personalities. The others mentioned finding a distraction, but my only thought, my only fantasy, my only desire was Adora. It seemed the obsession had left my cock and traveled to my brain.
Winnifred took my hand into hers and dabbed my knuckles.
“What happened?” she asked with a sensual drawl.
“A girl.”
She smiled. “It’s always a girl.”
“So the story goes.”
She finished wrapping my bandage, then draped my arm around her waist, laying my palm on her hip as she pressed her breasts up against my chest. Her other bold hand pressed up against my cock, and her eyes opened wide, her mouth falling open. “Monstrous,” she purred, massaging the front of my pants. “My room is next to yours. I can make you feel better, take care of you. Whenever you want, whatever you need.”
I grabbed her wrist and turned until her body moved with her. “You’re not a fraction of the woman I want, nor could you satisfy or handle what I need,” I said into her ear, squeezing her wrist tightly. “Touch me again, and I’ll accept your offer, use this cock to break your jaw and rearrange your stomach, then drop you off at the morgue so Fallon can put you back together again.” I released her and adjusted myself. Winnifred looked at me stunned, so I held my wounded hand in the air. “Ah yes, and my deepest gratitude for the bandage.”
“You’re an asshole,” she said as I stalked off.
Nearly every door in the mansion was eleven feet tall. The heavy oak door at the back of the house, where the other Heathens were waiting, was no exception.
When we entered, the sweet and smoky aroma of tobacco, vintage leather, and cedar noir comforted me as the others sat in regal Gothic thrones around a circular table. Clarence was already present with his back turned to us, admiring a library of wooden cigar boxes made of Spanish cedar tucked into slots on the back wall. Not an inch was wasted.
“Your father was the last to sit in that chair, Danvers,” Clarence said, closing a box and sliding it back into its resting place. “Go on, take your seat, son.”
There were two empty chairs almost identical, apart from a few features.
They were both medieval-like with deep ornate hand-carvings into the mahogany, the cushioned seat and back upholstered in tufted ebony leather. But one of the chairs was flanked by sculptural spider arm rests, with the Earth symbol carved into the wooden back above the leather. An upside triangle slashed by a horizontal line. The other chair was intended for the high priest.
I took a seat, sliding my palms down the cool wood of the armrests as energy buzzed through me. I lifted my head and looked around the circle.
All four of them were staring at me, Beck with tears in his eyes, Phoenix trying to conceal his, Julian a relieved grin, Zephyr an approving nod.
We all felt at ease. The end of a long, tiring battle we’d all fought in our own ways. Neither of us could hide it, deny it, or push it away.
“For our entire lives, we’ve been staring at an empty chair,” Beck choked, then pinched the corners of his eyes. Julian leaned over and grabbed his shoulder. “Seeing you sitting there ... fuck.” He wiped a palm down his face. “None of us ever thought it was possible, but we couldn’t let go. And I don’t know what we were holding on to. Hope. The hollow. Hell, I don’t know, but we couldn’t let go.”
“Aww, baby Beck,” Zephyr cooed. “You sentimental softy.”
“Beck’s right,” Julian stated. “This is a big moment for us at a time we needed you the most. With Stone completing the circle, we now have the ability to access magic we’ve never been able to access before.”
Clarence took his seat, his straight white hair curtaining his face. “Go on.”
Julian nudged his chin toward Zephyr. “Zeph, your idea. You’re up.”
Zephyr had his ankle crossed on his knee, elbows resting above each side of a moth’s wing, fingertips pressed together near his visible mouth. “What we do know is that the Shadows are five ripples of smoke that are killing people in their sleep. I have a theory that they are accessing their dreams because it’s easier when a person isn’t conscious. Which means they’re weak. Either way, we can’t kill them in the shadow state. We tried. With Stone, the earth element, the revolving door, I think there may be a way we can access a dimension we’ve never accessed before.
“You want to access people’s dreams? Get into their heads?” Clarence leaned back, amused. “Yes, this certainly sounds like an idea you would come up with.”
“We can cross from one dream dimension to another in search of the Shadows. In this state, they could take on different forms. Something whole, tangible. Something to wrap my bloody hands around,” Zephyr clarified. “I know it’s possible. I’ve seen it before in one of the books. The Heathen Athenaeum should have what we need.”
157 years ago, I would have thought the idea to be absurd, but if there was a way to protect Adora from these Shadows the town was so afraid of, I’d do anything. “With everyone refusing to sleep, we can use this to our advantage. The fewer minds we have access to, the better.”
“Stone’s right,” Zephyr agreed. “This narrows it down.”
Clarence stood. “There’s only one way to find out if it’s possible.”
The others walked with him to the cigar wall.
I followed, and the room fell quiet.
Clarence reached for a box, slipped a fingertip into a crevice, and slowly pulled until there was a click. “Pull too hard, you’ll sound the alarm.”
The center of the cigar wall pushed back on its own, then slid to the left, revealing a hidden passage.
Clarence walked through first, and I walked through last, the six of us in a single file line through the passage and down a spiraling staircase.
Phoenix whipped his head around, a mischievous grin growing. “Welcome to the Heathen Athenaeum.”
I marveled at the two-story room hidden underground just as Phoenix sparked flames in the massive masonry fireplace on the opposite wall.
Dark, aged brick with wood detailing surrounded it and stretched from one side of the wall to the other. Melted candlesticks and lanterns stacked on the hearth.
On the other side, from where we were descending, were two levels of bookshelves packed tightly from the ceiling to the floor. Bordering it was an iron railing with scroll detail along the upper level, and the same design descended down the matching spiral staircases on each side.
In the middle of the room, on the lower level, were two sunken-in leather couches facing one another and five mahogany desks surrounding them, papers and scrolls strewn across.
When we reached the lower level, an apothecary was tucked into the wall on the right. Dozens of bottles glowed inside with labels dated and worn from the passing years. To my left, a wall of portraits in antique frames.
The wall of portraits drew me in, and on this wall, all but five men had their faces covered. One portrait in particular stood out to me. This man was wearing a mask, his eyes the color of the night sky. Under his portrait was a plaque with the name Foster Danvers, and then 1836.
“That’s your father,” Zephyr said, appearing at my side. “And this here without a mask is your grandfather. One of the five men who started it all here in Weeping Hollow.”
“I always wondered what my father looked like,” I confessed. “I thought perhaps if I knew what he looked like, I’d know what I looked like.” I bowed my head and adjusted my stance to try and contain myself, then looked back up at the man who gave me life. “I never thought him to be cursed, too. It seems we looked the same after all.” I turned to Zephyr. “Do you know what happened to him?”
Grasping his hip bones, Zephyr swung his eyes to me. “We were told from an ancestor that your mother was desperate to break the curse.” He looked back at the portrait of my father. “When she found out she was pregnant with you, she abandoned Foster. I suppose he couldn’t go on without her.” He sighed. “From what I know about him, he was a good man.”
Behind us, the volume in Julian’s voice multiplied.
“You stole all this magic?” he demanded to know.
Zephyr and I exchanged glances before falling back to find out what he was talking about.
“I have not stolen magic,” Clarence countered, locking the case and dropping a key into his pocket. “It’s magic I’ve been saving, and magic you’ve always had full access to. Do not question my intentions, Blackwell.”
Julian gestured toward the other Heathens. “It was magic extracted out of the four of us through torture. And for what?”
Clarence’s eyes narrowed. “You have to trust me. I am on your side.”
“And I’m on theirs,” Julian said, his voice calming as he tried to control his emotions. “While the coven treats us as objects, it is my job to remind the Heathens of their humanity. Please, do not patronize me, the one you torture—tearing the flesh off his bones—and tell me you’re on my side.” He raked his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “It is true, you put the coven first, as my father would have wanted, but it is my job to put the Heathens first.”
Silence swelled in the room.
I’d come to know the dynamics of the coven. Though Clarence was the high priest and the ultimate decision maker for the coven, Julian was the voice of the Heathens. Each day, he was the one to check in on Beck, Zephyr, Phoenix, and me. He was the strength the others looked to when theirs had faltered. He was the rock. He was the soul.
Beck was the heart. Despite how equally intimidating each of them seemed to others, and how often they’d fought and disagreed among themselves, all three of them had a weak spot for Beck, the youngest. Since living with them, I have not witnessed any of them raise their voice to Beck, mock him, or humiliate him. It was as if they knew Beck would be affected by it much differently.
Zephyr, the mind, was always the calm, reasonable one when everything got too loud and chaotic. Out of all the Heathens, I surprisingly felt the most at ease with him. Perhaps it was the mask he wore that brought me comfort. Perhaps it was the way he spoke and the subjects we discussed. At times, we often were the only ones in the room who understood what the other was saying.
And Phoenix was the spirit. He brought life, truth, and motivation.
It was fascinating to watch the way they moved about, none of them realizing their roles. But as I looked upon the four of them, my only thought was where did I fit in?
Julian took a breath. “It is our right to know, Clarence. What is it you’re not telling us?”
Clarence looked at Beck. “Go on, Parish. It’s time to tell him.”
Julian’s brows were bunched, confusion obscuring his expression.
In the Heathen Athenaeum, only the crackling fire and the clock cared not to wait. The rest of us were counting the seconds to hear from Beck.
Beck reluctantly turned to Julian. “Over the last few years, I’ve had premonitions.”
Julian lifted his chin. “What kind of premonitions?”
“War,” Beck said in an ominous tone. “I don’t know when, and I’m not exactly sure why, but a war is coming. And now that the curse is broken, I can only assume it will be a war for power.” Julian stood frozen, as did the other Heathens as well. Beck continued, “One decision can cause a domino effect, setting this process in motion, Julian. If that happens, we can’t stop it. And I fear this domino effect will begin with the Shadows.”
Julian turned to Phoenix and Zephyr. “Did you two know about this?”
They both shook their heads, and the energy in the room shifted when Julian faced Beck again. “Why haven’t you told me?” Julian seemed hurt, bruised. But then a knowing dawned on his face, and he threw his head back and looked at the ceiling. “You couldn’t tell me because someone I care about is dying,” he gathered, then looked at Beck again. “Am I right?” Fear slowly stole Julian’s face, his silver eyes turning lethal. “Who’s dying, Beck? Fallon? Agatha? Jolie?”
Beck shook his head. “Don’t do this.”
Julian flexed his jaw and raised his brow. “Is it Fallon?”
“We made a deal, man.”
“Is it Fallon?” Julian badgered, his voice growing more urgent.
Beck raised his palms in the air. “Calm down, all right?”
“Julian,” Clarence called, feeling Julian’s buzz raise the energy in the room.
“Tell me!” he ordered, but Beck shook his head. “You know I can’t.”
Julian grabbed Beck by the throat and walked him backward until he was pinned against the fireplace wall. His silver eyes watered. Metallic tears. It was the first time I’d seen him snap since I’d met him.
Zephyr stepped up, laid a hand on Julian’s shoulder, and whispered in his ear. Phoenix stood waiting, knowing, as though Zeph had the power to dissolve just about any situation.
As soon as Zephyr took a step back, Julian dropped Beck and wiped a palm down his face. He gripped his sides. “Just say it,” he whispered, a plea. “Fuck the moral code. You have to tell me, brother.”
“It’s not Fallon, all right?” Beck said, words tight in his throat. “It’s you.”