“Onlíhte ,” Lore shouted.
Light spread through the crypt. The drizzle dampened the air, and the musty odor of the ancient ground mingled with the scent of roses. Sloane spotted James’s flowers under Alice’s niche. “Why are we here?” she asked.
Lore pressed the tip of her wand into Sloane’s side, shoving her toward the back wall. “Becnawan gemynd ,” she whispered.
Sloane’s muscles tightened, expecting a curse to bring her to her knees, but nothing happened. Her hands clenched. If she let the anger inside her go and drew on her desire to protect, she could stop Lore.
“Embrace your anger or don’t. It doesn’t matter. I will kill you before you have the chance to move.”
“Get the fuck out of my head, you whack job.”
Lore shoved the wand deeper. “My, my. A sore spot. Let me guess, Jane slipped inside your head whenever she wanted. Did she change the way you felt to suit her needs?”
Sloane refused to answer.
“Just imagine how different your life could’ve been if you had entered Jane’s mind. Discovered the truth behind her lies. Decided for yourself who you would become.”
“Yeah, well, unlike you, I happen to like who I am.”
“Do you?” Lore laughed. “Poor thing. You’re so used to lies that you even lie to yourself. I’ve watched you. Drinking every day. Probably so you can live in your own skin. Charles did the same. And he kept so many things hidden. You’re so disillusioned that you’re suspicious of everything and refuse to get close to anyone. You can’t even call your mother, Mother. I can go on detailing the myriad ways you love yourself.” She thrust Sloane toward the cold stone wall. “But I really don’t care. I only need you to make the tree appear.”
Sloane stumbled forward and stared at the stone. The tree. The Degas. Why was Tagridore so important to Lore? Why was she willing to kill to get there?
Lore pointed her wand. “Now!”
“You’re just crazy enough to scare the hell out of me. But I’m not letting you through the portal.”
“I see killing Elvina wasn’t enough to motivate you. Perhaps I should set my sights on the last member of your newfound coven?”
Sloane scoffed. “Now, you’re just making shit up. You aren’t strong enough to battle my cousin. She would crush you.”
“Who said I would be the one to kill the High Priestess?”
Sloane thought about Dorathea being exposed outside the hobbit house without Alfred’s protection. She frowned and approached Lore until the wand’s tip pressed into her chest. “Fine, you win, but leave Dorathea out of it.”
“Wise decision. You should think about her safety. It’s not as if you have anyone else left.”
Sloane stepped backward. “But before I show you. I deserve a few more answers, don’t you think?”
“There isn’t anything left to tell. Like I said before, you’re good at what you do.”
“Yeah. That’s why I know there’s much more to your plan. So don’t lie to me. I think we’ve both had enough lies. How about the truth. Let’s start with the Precinct in New York when you accompanied Charles to identify Harold’s body. You were surprised to see me. Why didn’t you finish Morris’s job?”
“I decided to change my strategy when I learned you had overpowered him. I had to find out just how powerful you were.”
“Jacobson wouldn’t have told you I killed Morris. Did you read his mind?” Sloane studied her face. “You did…But why? Who was Liam Morris to you?”
Lore narrowed her eyes. “Let’s just say he was an associate in a more important endeavor.”
“Ending the West Coven?”
“Good God. Self-importance runs deep in your DNA. You’re just like Jane. Everything was always about her, too.” Lore stepped forward, forcing Sloane to the wall again. “Destroying the West Coven is a means to an end.”
“A hundred-and-fifty-year-old revenge plan?”
Lore’s brow arched. “Something like that.”
“So how did you figure out the Wests were wiċċan? I know Alice wouldn’t have told you because if she was at all interested in any of it, she would have taken out her family’s revenge years ago.”
Lore jabbed the air with her wand. “Don’t say my mother’s name.”
Sloane lifted her hands, palms forward. “Okay. Fine. Touchy subject. I get it.”
“I didn’t need my mother’s help. Your mother’s dishonesty and recklessness exposed your coven. When we were twelve, Jane told me she was leaving for boarding school. Just like that. No other warning. I came to see her the next morning to say goodbye. She was in a dark-green cloak and standing next to a trunk. She and Dorathea sat on the luggage and just disappeared. I looked at the ground thinking maybe they shifted, like me. But there was no animal in sight. They were gone. That’s when I knew they were another kind of supernatural. That more existed.”
“That must have hurt. All the lies. I understand that.”
“Oh, please. I wasn’t upset. My parents told us that we could never reveal our differences to anyone so I understood why Jane hid her secret from me.”
“But you considered Jane your best friend. That must have hurt. Did you go against your parents’ wishes and tell her you were a Ġewende? Did you show her you could shift into a rat? But she still wouldn’t tell you the truth about herself. You must have been so angry. Is that why you followed her? Watched her pass through the tree. Did you beg her to tell you where she went? But she lied again, didn’t she? You were both different. You didn’t know what was behind the wall, and Jane was not going to reveal anything.”
“Enough!” Lore lunged and jabbed the wand at Sloane’s heart.
Sloane didn’t move. “I just can’t figure out how evil turned you when you had Alice’s protection and guidance. She forgave the Wests and gave up your ancestors’ plan to kill the coven that banished them, right?”
Lore looked up into Sloane’s eyes. “My, my. You do know more than I expected. But you’re wrong. Alice was a deceitful coward, not worthy of her family name. She withheld her entire duty from my father and me.”
“Harold?”
“James!” Lore thrust the wand under Sloane’s chin. Her voice shrill. “My father is James Reed. And he thought he’d married a Nogical.”
Sloane lifted her chin, unwavering. “He knew who Alice was.” Sloane stopped speaking and searched Lore’s eyes. “Oh, how tragic. You didn’t discover Alice couldn’t have been a Nogical until you learned your father was Harold, who was a Nogical. That had to mean it was Alice who passed her Magical status on to you. It was the only way you could be a Magical too, right?”
Lore shook with rage. “Alice let me believe I was a misfit. A mistake. A Prey among Predators. I spent years not knowing what I was meant to be.”
“Your mother isn’t the only one to blame. James is still lying to you. He knows you’re Harold’s daughter.”
“You’re lying.” Lore thrust the wand’s tip deeper.
Sloane felt a trickle of blood run down her neck. “Every magical creature has a passageway to Tagridore. The tree is my family’s. James and Alice hid the Reed’s from you and Quinn. They couldn’t tell you. Or maybe they didn’t trust you. Did you give them a reason not to?” Sloane paused. “They found out you were teaching yourself wiċċedōn. That’s what scared them, isn’t it?”
Lore pushed Sloane away and flicked her wand. “Hete! ”
“Ábýge!” Sloane shouted, deflecting the curse.
Lore steadied herself. “Impressive. You are a quick study.”
“And you have a volatile temper. From what I understand, Alice and Harold were easygoing.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” Lore pointed her wand and stepped closer to Sloane. “No more questions.”
“Oh, c’mon. That’s not fair. I’m about to give you everything you’ve wanted since you took over for Alice, right? You can amuse me a little longer. How did your great-grandmother do it? Where’d she go after conceiving? And I still want to know how you learned about your mother’s family obligation.”
“My great-grandmother raised my grandmother alone here on the Island. She might as well have been banished. Alice’s mother fared the same. They made sacrifices for a greater good. The plan.” Lore stopped speaking.
“She refused to tell you, didn’t she.” Sloane glanced at Alice’s tomb. “Until she couldn’t resist you.”
“Like I said, my mother was weak. She was unable to kill the Wests. We didn’t have any use for her.”
“Who’s we?”
Lore ignored her question.
Sloane reached back, feeling the stone wall. There was only one way Lore could have forced Alice to tell her. “How did you kill your mother?”
“Let’s just say, she had too many cups of my special tea blend. It didn’t agree with her.” Lore turned and pointed her wand at a sarcophagus. “Undō .” Its thick lid scraped open, releasing a cloud of ancient dust.
“So you drugged your mother to learn all about the revenge plan? Is that when the Demon found you? After you killed her?”
“No more questions. You seem to have all the answers you need. Now show me how to open the tree, or I’ll summon Dorathea, and she will face my associate.”
“Go ahead. We both know you have to kill Dorathea and me whether I show you how to enter the tree or not.” Sloane carefully watched Lore’s wand. “You’re not as smart as you think you are.”
“Oh, my. That hurts, dear,” Lore mocked, and her lip curled up.
“It will.” Sloane held Lore’s gaze. “Haven’t you figured it out for yourself? You and Quinn are also the only ones left. The last with the original Emley Protector’s blood. The last of the Emley Coven.”
“I am an Emilie, not an Emley! Quinn is not an Emilie! He is a Raptor. His blood is spoiled with the Reeds’. It is my blood we have an obligation to keep pure.”
“Mixed with another Magical, yeah. But not spoiled. Emley blood is still flowing through his veins.” Sloane glanced at Lore’s wand. “Don’t you know what happens when a Demon ends a Protector coven? Evil is unleashed upon the world. Why do you think it will let you and Quinn live? Whatever Demon you are conspiring with will end the both of you as soon as it gets what it wants.”
Lore narrowed her eyes. “You’re wrong. It fears us. I am not the only hidden one.” She pulled a necklace from her pocket. “Recognize this? It belonged to your grandmother. I know it’s a key. I know it grants access to the magical world. And you will show me how it works.”
Sloane glanced down at her chest.
Lore flicked her wand. “Āsċacan .”
The Tree of Life tore from Sloane’s neck.
Lore caught it and clicked her tongue. “Your eyes keep giving you away.” She turned to the gray stone and pressed the pendants into several notches. “Tell me how these work. Now!” As Lore searched the mineral veins in a frenzy, jamming the pendants into every notch she could find, Sloane ran toward the door. Lore spun around. “Besċūfe ,” she shrieked in frustration.
The curse struck Sloane, a force that lifted her off her feet and slammed her inside the stone sarcophagus.
“Goodbye, Sloane West,” Lore shouted. “Clỳse .”
The slab ground shut, stone to stone, leaving Sloane in complete darkness. Her thoughts raced. Her breathing quickened, and she pushed on the thick stone top. Could the pendants work for Lore? Was she trying to open the magical world and give the Demon access to it?
Sloane’s thoughts moved to Dorathea. Her cousin would fall into a trap if she entered the crypt, and she wouldn’t let that happen. She slowed her breathing and opened her third eye.
“Lecgan lāstas,” she whispered and appeared in front of the coffin. She reached out with her hand. “Āniman,” she shouted.
Lore spun around and deflected Sloane’s spell. “My, my. You’ve been a busy little wiċċe, and you’re a show-off, just like your mother. But you’re nowhere near her speed.” She stepped toward Sloane, barely moving her wand, but Sloane saw its tip twitch and dove behind a sarcophagus. “Amyrdrian,” Lore shouted.
The deadly flash hit the coffin and evaporated in a green light. Sloane crawled to the farthest sarcophagus. A vibration spread through her. Dorathea.
“Perfect,” Lore said. “Your cousin arrives.”
“You’re going to need backup, Lore.” Sloane’s voice sounded calm, but her heart raced. “You and your little stick are no match for her.”
“Unfortunately for Dorathea, she has brought Nogicals to the party. Their presence will make her hesitate. And then, well, you know what happens next.”
Sloane scrambled to her feet and reached out her hand. Āniman, she cast silently.
Lore had no time to react. Her wand flew to Sloane’s hand. They looked up. Footsteps tromped across the floor above them. Lore turned to Sloane, and her mouth curved into a wicked grin. Her body began to shrink, her back curving, hair sprouting on her face.
“Sloane?” Voices called out above them.
Sloane thrust out the wand. She knew Lore was shifting.
“Besċūfe,” she yelled, hoping the curse Lore had used earlier would stop her transition. The wand shook violently, releasing a torrent of light, knocking Lore off her feet. Her body flew across the crypt and crashed into the stone wall. The flash grew brighter, blinding Sloane, but she couldn’t let go. The wand burned her hand before turning to ash.
“Sloane?” The voices were in the stairwell.
She ran to the other side of the dank room and found Lore. Blood streamed from her head, and her eyes were lifeless.
“Son of a bitch,” Sloane whispered.
The old wooden door creaked opened. Dorathea was the first into the crypt, followed by Lieutenant Sharma, another officer, and Quinn Reed. “Oh, pet. Thank goodness you are okay.”
More footsteps sounded on the steps and Rose ran through the door to Sloane. “Oh, my God, West, you scared us to death.” She wrapped her arms around Sloane and held her close. Sloane breathed in the bergamot scent of Rose’s thick auburn hair, and her eyes welled. Rose released her, looking her over from head to toe. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Yeah. I’m good, Keane.” She wiped her eyes with her forearm.
Veena spoke on her radio. “10-22. Missing person located.” She crouched next to Lore and pressed two fingers on her neck. “She’s dead.”
Quinn lowered to his knees next to his sister’s body.
“Radio for Ident,” Veena said to the other officer.
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned and moved to the back of the crypt.
Quinn laid his hand on Lore’s arm, closed his eyes, and lowered his head. No one could hear what Quinn’s moving lips were saying, but they watched him in silence.
When Quinn stood, Veena motioned to the door. “I need to move you all outside,” she said.
Sloane glared at her. “Why the hell would you allow them inside an active hostage scene anyway?”
Veena opened her mouth but only stuttered a quiet apology.
“There will be time for arguments later,” Dorathea said. She slipped her arm around Sloane’s arm. “Let us go outside.”
The sky had cleared, and steam was rising off the gravestones in the bright morning sunlight. Dorathea turned Sloane around. “Let me look at you. Cuts. Abrasions. The one on your leg is deep.”
“We have a medic coming,” Veena said.
“I will be taking Sloane for medical treatment,” Dorathea said, uncompromisingly.
Veena shifted on her feet. “We’ll need a statement from you before you go. It would be better for our medics to see you first.”
“You can arrange a better time for your questions, can you not?” Dorathea lifted her chin, peering down her nose at the lieutenant.
Veena looked down and dragged her foot through the damp grass. “Okay. That’ll be fine.” She turned to Sloane. “Tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. I’ll need to interview you.”
The officer who arrived in the crypt with Veena approached them. “Ma’am, I found some jewelry by the back wall.” He held out a plastic evidence bag holding the Tree of Life necklaces.
Veena held them up to the sky, examining them. “Now, what do we have here?”