Twelve

 

Once again, we were standing in front of the coven’s mansion. Alasdair was dressed in a pair of smart jeans and a pale blue shirt with a gold tone to it that made his eyes stunning. I focused on the task at hand and braced myself to deal with the witches. Grayson was positively bouncy that morning. He’d healed entirely and looked as though he’d had a good eighteen hours of sleep followed by a gallon of caffeine. I was envious. Maybe the goddess would grant me whatever hellhound magic that was when I was initiated.

The house mistress looked down her nose at us as we stepped into the foyer.

“We’re here to talk about the made fae you illegally produced,” Alasdair said.

Her mouth puckered, and she turned on her heel and strode off towards the room we’d spoken to the coven heads in previously.

I took the seat next to Alasdair this time, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to get away with wandering a second time. The house mistress made a point of closing the door behind herself, leaving us with the two coven heads, who could have been statues given how still they were sitting.

“How and why did you illegally produce a new strain of made fae?” Alasdair demanded.

The crone showed no reaction. The coven mistress, however, flinched slightly.

“You dare level such accusations at us? We are a strong coven with good standing in the supernal community. It is your little pet you should be questioning,” the mistress spat.

I looked at Grayson.

“Did she mean me or you?” I asked sweetly.

“I assume you have evidence for such a thing?” the crone asked.

“Are you denying that the made running around your front lawn yesterday was created by you?” Alasdair asked.

“Did they plant him?” I asked innocently.

The mistress ground her teeth.

“Oh, no, he must have escaped from the local sanctuary,” Grayson said with a hand gesture saying he’d figured it out.

The crone narrowed her eyes. A small ripple of fire ran over her hair.

“He bore the sigil that is unique to your coven,” Alasdair pushed.

I hadn’t heard anything from Saoirse on that front, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t received a text or some such.

The mistress deflated.

“Fine, yes, we created it.”

“How and why?” Alasdair growled.

“We adapted the making ritual and made use of the drug Tempo. After a couple of our lesser males were caught using it, we investigated the drug. Upon inspection, we found that it allows non-magic users to have temporary magic.”

“Why did you want to give made magic?” I demanded.

The made were notoriously unstable, myself being the exception. The idea of giving them magic was ridiculous.

She sighed.

“Your type always have so little imagination and drive,” the crone said.

“Answer the question,” Alastair growled.

The crone levelled a glare at him.

“I do not bow to your goddess, Guardian.”

“What does your Crone think of your experiments?” I asked.

She sniffed and looked away.

“She believes that the making ritual is only the beginning. Now, what are you doing to find our witchlings?”

“Were they involved in your experiments?” I asked.

The crone narrowed her eyes slightly.

“How is that relevant?”

“I don’t think she wants us to find them. The Council will be eager to pull this place apart, though. There must be all sorts of interesting bits hidden here,” Grayson said.

“Yes, Roisin and Tania were involved in the experiments. They helped us alter the base Tempo into what we needed for our uses.”

“And who else knew that?”

“Outside of the coven? No one.”

“Where do you get your Tempo?” Alasdair asked.

“We pay a rather large sum to have it shipped over pure from a reputable dealer.”

“Give us their address,” Alasdair demanded.

“And lose our supply entirely?” the crone asked.

Alasdair gave her his best predatory glare. She huffed and gestured to the coven mistress.

The mistress scribbled down an address on a page from a notebook that likely cost a small fortune and thrust the paper at Alasdair.

“We will return when we have more questions,” Alasdair said.

We all stood and left for the car.

“What the fuck do you think they meant by the crone saying the making rituals were only the beginning?” I asked.

“I think it means the gods are playing their games,” Alasdair said wearily.

“So, we’re visiting a dealer?” I said.

“It looks like it,” Alasdair said.

“They’re still hiding a lot,” I said.

“They always are. We need to focus on the task we’ve been given, Niko,” Alasdair said, giving me a sad smile.