Chapter 1
Chapter One For the hundredth time today, a fist was aimed at my head, rocketing toward me with enough power behind it to knock me into next week. That was, if it hit me, which considering the luck I had today, was entirely likely. Managing to duck the fist coming for my face at the last second, I scrambled to the side before swinging up and returning the favor, landing it in his not-so-soft middle. Honestly, it was like I was bare-knuckle punching a brick wall. I only got to enjoy the pained “oof” for a second, though, because another fist or a leg or an elbow was coming, and if any of the above hit me, I’d be a mushy stain on the floor. My opponent was much better than me on every level—except for the magic one—but I cared too much about the opinion of his pack to fight dirty. Plus, he had a set of sharp fangs he could use to level the playing field at any moment. A leg came out of nowhere and swept mine out from under me. I landed on a hip—the pain of the bone meeting mat knocking the breath out of me. But I learned early on that staying still was just about the worst thing I could do. Scrambling so I wasn’t on the receiving end of the haymaker aimed my way, I managed to dodge another fist. “I swear to the Fates, Marcus, if you let her get a black eye today of all days, I will hurt you in ways you can only dream about.” Barrett’s voice echoed through the gym. A strangled wheeze made it past my lips which only pissed Barrett off more. “And not in a good way,” he added, the threat hanging in the air. Barrett really was the nicest. I should send him a fruit basket or something. Marcus, Barrett’s mate, periodically took time out of his busy schedule to beat me into something more than the weak, combat-challenged hot mess I’d been for the last four hundred years. And when he thought I actually learned something, he set members of his pack loose on me while he critiqued my technique. Kinda like right now. Finnegan Lorenson was a beast of a man, and as his name suggested, practically a Viking. With his white-blond hair, bulging muscles, and can-do attitude, he was one of the larger men I’d fought today. Oh, and by “can-do,” I meant more like a “I’m gonna fuck shit up and eat your entrails for breakfast” attitude. The majority of Marcus’ pack were of the happy, family oriented, inclusive sort. Not all of them were wolves, not all of them were able to shift, but all of them were included, taught, and protected. It was what I would imagine the Weasley’s would be like if they were a pack. But not Finn. He didn’t like fighting me. Hell, it would be more accurate to say he was offended to be fighting someone like me. I couldn’t figure out if it was because I was a woman, a witch, or because I was half-demon. Maybe it was all of the above. Either way, it didn’t feel like Finn was sparring —or after that last hit, not anymore. I ached everywhere, from the tips of my toes all the way up to my scalp, and I was about done with my “no magic” self-inflicted edict. There wasn’t a way on this earth I could beat Finn without a little magical backup. What happens if you can’t use magic, Maxima? What are you gonna do then? Aidan’s voice ran on an auto-loop in my head every single time I sparred. This used to be his job—teaching me how not to be a weakling—but I’d distanced myself from him over the last six months. I wanted to think it wasn’t me being petty, but since his brother, Ian, kicked me to the curb, it was more than likely. The rejection still stung, the pain of it fading slowly like the pink of a brand-new scar. It wasn’t going away anytime soon, and the reminder would always be there. I wasn’t the kind of woman he wanted. Those latent wraith traits of his made him need to protect the “little lady” when I was anything but. I didn’t need for him to tell me what to do or how to do it. I didn’t need him to protect me. All I’d needed was a partner. And that was something he didn’t know how to be. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was the right woman for anyone, but damn if it wasn’t lonely. The musings over my joke of a love life stole my concentration, and I landed on the mat once again, the breath that I so desperately needed whooshing out of me in a single pained gust. But then Finn aimed a kick while I was still down, and I realized I’d had about enough. Served me right for mentally whining over Ian. Before his foot could connect, I wheezed out a command in Latin. Subsisto. Snapping my fingers, Finn froze, his foot reared back to strike, malice on his face. No, Finn wasn’t playing at all. Gingerly, I rolled away from his stationary foot before heaving my body to standing. The world spun for a second, but I managed not to upchuck or pass out. And then I noticed Finn’s foot inching toward completion, my stopping spell barely holding him. No, that just wouldn’t do. Gathering myself, I decided to give the spell a little more oomph. Instead of snapping my fingers, I whispered my commands on the palms of my hands before stretching my arms wide and then brought my hands together. The clap that echoed through the room not only made Finn stop, it knocked him on his ass, his body sliding across the canvas from the momentum of it. The pack of wolves on the risers watching Finn and I “spar” snickered like children as their packmate slid across the room like a big, blond hockey puck. I looked up just in time to see Barrett’s face turn an alarming shade of crimson. “It’s not my fault she was holding back,” Marcus grumbled, not expecting Barrett to hear him. Barrett and Marcus held seats on the Ethereal Council. Barrett maintained the seat for all the witches in North America, and Marcus for all the shifters. When I first met them, I had no idea they’d already been mated for several centuries. Now that I knew, their bickering made so much more sense. It was even kind of cute. They wanted me to take the demon seat, but I’d been on the fence about it. Until six months ago, I’d been a Rogue. Putting me in a seat of authority seemed to be a bigger leap than I was ready for. “It’s your fault if I say it’s your fault,” Barrett scolded his husband. “Spar means light touch to no touch, not tear each other to shreds.” Wolves could heal a hell of a lot faster than I could, so their definition of “sparring” was more along the lines of fighting for my life. And while I would heal, a black eye would put a cherry on the shit pie I was about to eat. “Come on, Max. Wipe yourself up off that mat. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.” Barrett didn’t have to remind me. I knew exactly what was in store for me later tonight. The presentation to the Fates. Only the “p” in presentation was a capital and came with a laundry list of rules and regulations that chafed against me like sandpaper. I really hated rules. Especially when I had no choice but to obey them. Groaning, I blew a wayward strand of blue hair from my face. Half my hair was falling out of the messy bun—messy meaning it took me thirty minutes to make that shit look cute—the sweaty tendrils plastered themselves against my neck and the side of my face like I’d glued them there. Which totally explained why Barrett gave me a bitchy tongue-cluck of derision. “You had to pick a fight today of all days?” Of course I did. If I was going to walk into a room full of Ethereal upper crust and let them look me over like a slab of beef, then I was getting all my rage out now. Really, it was safer for everyone that way. “What? You don’t think you can make me presentable in the twelve hours we have to get ready? Some fairy godmother you are.” Barrett’s lips parted to answer me just as I felt a frisson of magic rake across my skin. I wasn’t supposed to be able to feel magic being spent. I wasn’t supposed to be able to see the motes and hex lines or catch the way each spell’s scent differed from the other. I perceived all parts of magic —how it looked, how it smelled, how it felt. Everything. The sensation of a wolf jumping to his other form had a very specific composition. It was part moonlight and part the breeze flowing through a thatch of trees. It was wildness and blood and freedom. And death. Lots and lots of death. It wasn’t like in the movies where the human side of a wolf would bend and shape into another form, cracking bones and growing hair. No, that was movie magic and a load of crap. Real wolves were two parts of the same soul, fighting for dominance and dominion on which side of the Ethereal coin would fall. Or at least that was how Marcus explained it. Not that it made any sense or explained where the hell the human side went when the wolf appeared in a puff of magic smoke. But that didn’t matter much right now. All that really mattered was that there was a wolf in the room. Not that it was technically a problem right this second, and not that it was my job to deal with it if it actually became a problem. Or at least that was what I told myself so I didn’t start some shit in the Alpha’s house. I wasn’t in charge here, and as far as wolf politics went, I knew exactly dick. Yeah, I’d been fighting wolves all day, but that was at the Alpha’s behest. I knew without looking at Marcus that this phase was not sanctioned, and judging by his growl, it wasn’t welcomed, either. I slid my gaze to Marcus, giving him a little head shake to signal I would handle it on my own. He grinned, likely remembering the time I nearly exploded the high court room with a snap of my fingers. Turning slowly as to not agitate the apex predator, I surveyed the animal before me. Pure white fur from the tips of his ears to his toes made him seem cuddly at first, the texture soft and plush like a puppy. But letting my guard down even a little would be a huge mistake on my part. Especially since this particular wolf was closer to three hundred pounds rather than two, and the top of his head probably reached my chin. Not that I’d let him get close enough to measure. Only one of Marcus’ men had hair that color, or eyes that shade of ice. And only one I’d just knocked on his ass. Finn. I’d only managed to subdue him with a stasis spell that barely succeeded in holding his human form. Something told me that same spell wouldn’t work so well on his wolf—if it worked at all. My only real hope here was if I didn’t have to fight him in the first place. An evil smile stretched across my lips as it finally came to me. “And who’s a pretty puppy?” I used the exact same voice I’d use when I came across any old dog. Denver was super dog friendly. They weren’t allowed in my tattoo shop because of cross-contamination rules—but coffee shops, restaurants, and libraries? Puppers were everywhere. And while I shouldn’t let my guard down for even a millisecond, teasing Finn seemed like the best course of action. “Look at you all floofy and beautiful. You are a big old ball of gorgeous, aren’t you?” Hoots and hollers erupted from the risers along with a few belly laughs, signaling my cue to keep going despite Finn’s vibrating growl. “Now, Finn, are you going to bite my arms off if I pet you? Because that would be rude.” Finn’s growl got louder as he showed me his teeth—razor-sharp canines dripping saliva. “Finny-boy, if you don’t play nice, you won’t get a treat,” I said in a singsong voice, breaking away from Marcus and Barrett and slowly circling back into the room in a wide arc. I wasn’t giving my back to this wolf, and I sure as hell wasn’t letting Barrett take the brunt if Finn decided to charge me. Marcus would kill him for letting his wolf go free, and for some reason that seemed like a waste. Finn’s claws dug into the mat, ripping the plasticized fabric, yellowish mat innards spilling out around the sharp talons. I opened my mouth to make another verbal jab, but old Finn wasn’t having it. He charged, coming at me straight-on like a man instead of how a wolf would. Wolves were pack hunters: sneaky, skillful. Finn was all brute strength and zero finesse. He fought like a man in wolf’s clothing rather than ceding to his animal. He barreled toward me, refusing to heed Marcus’ bellowed shout, ignoring his pack’s yells to stop. But I knew better than to flinch. Finn was playing chicken. I’d bet on it. Granted, I didn’t want to be munched on by a three-hundred-pound wolf, but since my other option was to be presented like a show pony to the bougie Ethereal upper crust, it was really shit or diarrhea at this point. And while I couldn’t help my galloping heart, or the flash fire of adrenaline racing across my skin, a part of my brain—the one with a little bit of a death wish—only whispered a single word. Fun.
Chapter 2
Chapter Two Planting my bare feet, I waited for Finn to leap—waited for him to strike—keeping my face a bored mask. I saw the exact second he realized I wasn’t going to move. Alarm crossed his wolfy face as he skidded to a stop, the tips of his front paws barely millimeters from my bare toes. “Trying to scare me, Finn? Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I clucked, assessing the magic of his wolf. Motes of pale-blue magic danced around his head like an aura. It made me wonder if I could manipulate them. “Ipsum revelare,” I murmured sweetly, snapping my fingers. Reveal yourself. It was a spell I’d used only a few times, and one that made my gut ache every time I used it. It reminded me of betrayal and a hurt that soured the triumph of staring a werewolf down and not flinching. It reminded me that not everyone was my friend. Not everyone cared if I lived or died. Hell, some of them even thirsted for it. It reminded me that even the good guys could turn on you. The ice-blue motes above the wolf’s head roiled, darkening to midnight with threads of silver before he seemed to fade and melt into the shape of a man. I could feel the crowd around us react to me bringing a wolf back to his human form with a snap of my fingers. I could feel their unease. Their panic. Witches weren’t supposed to be able to do that—weren’t supposed to be able to control a shifter’s phase. But I wasn’t all witch, and they needed to remember that. “Do you know why I perform non-lethal spells, Finn?” Even to my ears, my voice sounded damn near dead. I should be safe here in Marcus’ home. I shouldn’t have to defend myself or worry if some idiot will get a wild hair up his ass and attack me. All of the mirth of teasing, all the happiness crumbled to ash on my tongue. I should have known better than to let my guard down. That was how I got hurt. “No.” Finn’s voice was little more than a breath of wind across my cheek as I stared up, up, up into his ice-blue eyes. “It’s because I consider you my friend, and I do my very best not to hurt my friends. Are you my friend, Finn?” His eyes flitted to the side for a second as his nostrils flared, scenting me. Finn was the kind of handsome you’d only see in movies, a shock of white hair atop his tanned face. His icy eyes seemed to glow like stars. His full lips pulled into a smirking sort of smile, and I knew he wasn’t as scared as he should have been. None of them were. And I already knew his answer—whatever it was going to be—was going to be a lie. Just like his sparring, Finn was dirty, shady. He was a cheat, and he liked inflicting pain. He would kick a man when he was down. And the more I looked into his eyes, the more I knew, he didn’t just hate me for being a witch. He hated me because I was a woman, and I’d beaten him. He was a small-minded misogynist and hated other Ethereals. “No,” I answered for him. “You’re not, are you?” What was likely a prank or a chance to poke fun at me incited an urge in my belly that I couldn’t name. Maybe it was bloodlust, or maybe it was just a dire kind of need to make him pay. This was my demon side at work—the side that thirsted for something I couldn’t pinpoint. Not blood. Not revenge. Justice. “Do you know what a demon does, Finn?” He shook his head, the smirk falling off his face. “They make people pay for their crimes. Unfortunately, it’s after death, so there is no chance to learn from the mistakes you made. There is no chance to choose another path.” Finn’s eyes widened just slightly, realizing too late that I wasn’t just some woman he could push around. I wasn’t the weak witch that sparred with his Alpha. Turning my head, I met Barrett’s eyes. “I’ll take the job.” Barrett’s mouth stretched into a sly grin, his blue eyes sparkling like I’d just given him the best birthday present ever. I’d been hounded for the last six months about taking the demon seat of the Ethereal Council. Who knew all it would take was this lone wolf to shove me off the fence? Granted, six months ago, I didn’t know that it was one of seven Councils on this plane. If I didn’t know Barrett better, I’d say he arranged all this, but I did know better. Marcus, however, looked like a proud papa. He put Finn in my path, knowing full well what I’d do when I figured out what a sack of shit he was. He knew I couldn’t sit idly by and watch as he did it to someone else. This was a test—one I’d passed without even knowing how I’d done it. Turning back to the wolf in question, I nearly reveled in the confused horror on his face. Nearly, because enjoying this would make me no better than him, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that reveling in his soon-to-be misery would sour my soul. But Finn couldn’t go on like he had been. He couldn’t keep preying on those he considered weak. He couldn’t abuse his abilities like that without consequences. Not anymore. “Finn, are you familiar with physics? Specifically, Newton’s Third Law?” His confusion only grew at my seemingly left turn to nowhere. Or maybe it was the physics talk. “That’s okay. I’ll just tell you because I have a feeling you’ll remember it for the rest of your life. Newton’s Third Law is one of the cornerstones of modern physics. It states that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Now, you’ve had too many actions with no appropriate reaction. Too many times where you have abused the power bestowed on you by the Fates. And today,” I tsked, clucking my tongue at him, “you finally fucked with the wrong woman.” Finn’s body coiled as if he were preparing to launch himself at me, but I was prepared for that. Before he could strike, I jabbed my three center fingers into his shirt at the line of his sternum just under a bronze pendant with a familiar symbol I couldn’t place. I ripped that pendant off his neck, breaking the clasp at the same time, and threw it aside. Pressing the tips of my blunted fingernails in his chest, I forced myself not to rip the fabric or his skin, managing it by only the faintest of margins. My thumb and pinky fingers were spread wide, while the three center fingers pressed close together. Hand placement was key if I wanted to do this right. At the touch of my fingers, Finn froze. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. I didn’t know if it was the power that flowed through my hands or his fear that solidified him to the spot. “You attacked a Council member in full view of your pack and in witness of two other Council members. You attacked demon royalty and an unarmed woman without cause. You abused your power, against the orders of your Alpha and your pack. Punishment for these crimes is death, but I’m going to do you a favor. I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to give you the chance to change.” At those words, I pivoted my hand to the right like I was turning a key in a lock, feeling my power rise in me—not witch power, but something else. Something that I couldn’t name, or maybe, I didn’t want to name. This was the demon side I tried so hard not to tap into, the side that fed my witch half, made it so I didn’t need an affinity to the moon or water or earth or fire or air. I didn’t draw on anything but myself. The ground beneath my feet began to quiver, and I hoped it wouldn’t be like the courtroom incident. I didn’t want to break the whole room apart just to teach this one man a lesson, but the walls stayed true, and the floor refused to crack. And even though I could feel the fear of every single wolf sing through me, I carried on. I watched as the ice-blue aura above Finn’s head sputtered and died. When the last flicker of light blinked out, Finn fell at my feet in a heap, sucking in a breath for the first time with his new lungs. “Finnegan Lorenson, you are bound to this form, unable to reach your wolf. You will have a human lifespan, healing, senses, and strength. When you learn your lesson, when you understand that this life is a gift to be cherished, when you no longer wish to hurt those who you deem as weaker, come find me. Until then, make sure you work to learn from your mistakes. If you don’t, you’ll meet some of my family members in Hell, and I guarantee you they won’t be as lenient.” Finn gurgled, a mix of rage and fear stealing his speech, and because he tried to kick me while I was down, I refused to do the same to him. Instead of stepping over him—which I really wanted to do because the bastard really had tried to kick me when I was splayed on the mat like a two-day-old fish—I skirted around his heap of man meat. That didn’t stop me from skipping like a kid back to Barrett and Marcus, despite the voices buzzing like bees behind me. I just did something impossible. Again. In front of a boatload of people who might like me a little but didn’t have a single reason to be loyal to me at all. Making enemies wherever I went—that sure was a specialty of mine. Marcus’ warm hand circled my bicep, stopping me from bolting from the room which was my only plan past neutralizing the Viking asshole. His hold was gentle but insistent, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Instead, I met Barrett’s gaze, the pride there soured a little by the fear. “Settle down.” Marcus’ words were clear, his voice only barely raised, but the Alpha in him, the command in his voice, silenced the room in an instant. “If you think Maxima did this without my consent, you are sorely mistaken. Finn has been begging for punishment since he came to this pack, and his actions today against her should have earned her the right to take his head. She gave us all a gift by punishing him without the loss of life.” That’s when I realized Finn had been more than reckless. If he hadn’t charged me, if he’d waited to attack and I hadn’t judged him then, I wondered if Marcus would have had to kill him later. Suppressing a shudder, I homed in on the almost grateful tone to his voice weaving through the Alpha command. “I want you to remember how few wolves there are in this world. I want you to remember our numbers. We are many here, but so many packs are few. This is a gift, a way not to lose another brother. Remember that.” I did a good thing. I did. But why did I feel like even though my actions were just, I was still going to pay for them anyway?
Chapter 3
Chapter Three The same shifters who smiled at me yesterday looked anywhere but in my direction as I stalked down the hallway. Hell, they practically parted like the Red Sea. Just what I needed. A whole pack of shifters either scared of me, or worse—pissed off. It didn’t matter if Barrett wanted me to start getting ready, I was leaving this house before Marcus’ entire pack decided I was a better option for lunch. Sweat-stained and bedraggled, I decided I couldn’t look much worse than I already did. Why not add a hike through a valley in the middle of Colorado during the ass end of June on top of it? I raised my hand, ready to snap my fingers for all they were worth. How many times had I transported myself this way? A hundred? A thousand? More? It was as easy as blinking and just about as fast, letting the magic that coursed through my veins do the dirty work. “Not so fast,” Barrett called before I followed through. “Where do you think you’re going?” Did I want to explain? No, I did not. “I wanted to see Bernadette,” I offered lamely. What I really wanted to say was that I missed my grandmother and wanted her to tell me everything was going to be okay. I hadn’t spoken to her in ages, not since me and a couple of friends slaughtered a horde of Corax demons and stopped one of her sons from murdering her. My father was MIA—standard, really, after a lifetime or ten of him bailing unless he needed something —and she was the only person I really had to teach me what I needed to know. About being on the Council. About being a demon. About what it was to be this freak of nature anomaly that shouldn’t even exist. You know, the basics. “She isn’t there.” My heart fell, but what did I expect? She hadn’t been there the last ten times I tried to visit—why would she be there now? The cabin always appeared tiny on the outside, but under heavy cloaking and some probable time-slash-space continuum wizardry, it was anything but small on the inside. Nestled in the middle of a gorgeous valley barren of roads, very few people knew it was there. Or at least they didn’t before an angel that shall not be named opened her big, fat trap. Letting out a sigh that could rival a teenager’s, I relaxed my fingers. I wasn’t snapping my way out of this one. “She isn’t coming tonight, is she?” I already knew the answer. She loved Samael. And I’d killed him. I’d gone into that battle knowing there would be repercussions. I just never expected her refusing to talk to me to be one of them. “I don’t think so,” Barrett whispered, crossing the length of the corridor to me. I’d like to think he was offering comfort, and maybe a part of him was, but I had an inkling that he was trying to keep me from bolting and blowing my entire Ethereal future to smithereens. “She blames me for Samael. For destroying her escape. Doesn’t she?” Of course she did. Not only did I kill my uncle, but I also crushed the bone blade to dust. I’d taken away her only chance to die in peace. Hell, I’d hate me, too. “She’ll get over it.” I rolled my eyes. “I killed her son, Barrett. That isn’t a thing you just get over.” Barrett’s expression went from consoling to grave. “If you hadn’t done it, if you hadn’t killed him, one of us would have. He earned that death.” Barrett’s hands landed on top of my shoulders, holding me in place so I actually met his eyes. “You saved the lives of hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people. You stopped a war that has been brewing since the dawn of time. She’ll get over it.” I shrugged, and Barrett got me moving, steering me to the room I’d be tortured in for the next twelve hours. “No more stalling. It’s time to get this show on the road.” * * * “I’m sorry, Max.” Marcus’ gravelly voice broke through the swirling deliberation bouncing around my skull, and I stopped staring into the mirror for a second to really look at him. This was the third time he’d apologized, and unless I got my shit together, he was just going to keep doing it. It wasn’t his fault. None of it, but he would shoulder the blame all the same because that was what an Alpha did. Also, his husband was a fucking menace. I was sitting on a spindly-looking stool in what had to be a great aunt’s wet dream of a dressing room. Staring into the Hollywood-style mirror, I assessed the damage. I was all for getting dolled up, and I could do a painted lip and winged eye with the best of them, but this was something else. This was a level of primping I had yet to achieve, and still, I looked about the same. Or at least, I saw myself under the layers of gold eyeshadow, false lashes, and gold-inlaid body oils that made my already-bronze skin practically glow. I’d been buffed and shined like a new penny, my hair had been curled and tamed, and through all of it, I hadn’t gotten one lick of a say. But this was going too damn far. “You want me to do what now?” My voice cracked a bit, but I didn’t blame myself in the least. “It’s tradition. Everything I’ve done so far has been tradition,” Barrett insisted, exasperated, even though he wasn’t the one being pulled and stretched like a damn Thanksgiving turkey. I called bullshit. “No. In no way is this dress, these shoes, this makeup, tradition. This ceremony is for babies, Barrett. Unless you’re putting false eyelashes on an infant, none of this has been tradition. There is no fucking way I am—” “They insisted.” They. The Fates had screwed with me yet again, only this time, it was in a super-gross way. Everything would be hunky dory if I weren’t about to get painted with blood. “Of course they insisted. It’s gross, I don’t want to do it, and it’s going to piss me off. It’s their modus operandi. Do they have it out for me, or is this just for kicks?” Barrett sighed for approximately the three thousandth time. “This is tradition. Every babe that goes through those doors has to be claimed by blood.” He was talking about the doors to the grand ballroom, the same ones I would walk through by myself because Bernadette wouldn’t be there with me. Neither would my parents or my sister or my friends. Sure, Maria, Striker, and Della would be there at the end, but I was walking in alone. Focusing on the bowl of familial blood in Barrett’s hands, a thought struck me. “Whose blood is that?” An expression crossed Barrett’s face like he would rather be boiled alive in a vat of oil than answer me. “Andras donated to the cause.” Andras. My father. The bastard who’d gotten me burned at the stake. The giant flaming asshole who tanked my life on purpose. I parted my lips to protest. “Don’t. Just don’t. Do you think you’re not going to walk in there with every single person judging you? Do you honestly think I’m going to let you walk into that ballroom without every single facet of your appearance on point? You are a former Rogue, Maxima. Add on top of that your lineage, and every single molecule of your being will be weighed and measured and assessed. By every person who is there tonight. Including the Fates. Hell, especially the Fates.” “And if I don’t let you primp me within an inch of my life, I’m going to offend some ancient Ethereal being who will probably want to skin me alive on principle. Right?” Barrett sighed for the three thousandth and one time. “Essentially.” Just pretend it’s chicken blood. Gag. No, pretend it’s paint. Yeah, that’s better. “Fine.” I conceded, but I could tell I looked green. “Oh, give it a rest. It’s only a few drops mixed with face and body paint. No need to get all squeamish.” He probably could have told me that at the beginning instead of dragging out all this drama, but whatever. Something else occurred to me, but I had to wait until Barrett dragged the broad, ornamental brush down the center of my face before I could ask, the coppery tang filling my nostrils. A few drops, my ass. He whispered as he painted a thick, straight line down the center of my face, words so faint I couldn’t make them out, but hoped it was a blessing. “Because I’m dual-natured, will both sides of myself be represented or only the one? I know I’m a freak of nature anomaly and everything, but walking in there denying my witch heritage seems…” I trailed off, unable to articulate precisely why not representing my witch side would be a bad thing. “Wrong?” Marcus supplied the simplest of answers to the question still rooting around in my skull. I nodded. “Wrong.” Barrett pressed his lips together, indecision on his face as he set the bowl and brush down. “You know that means asking Teresa, don’t you?” My mother and I would never be best buddies or have the sort of loving relationship rom-coms were made of, but sometime after she blessed my friends and I, we managed to find some kind of a truce. This was something she should have done four hundred years ago when I was born. Now she could finally make good. That was, if she’d do it. “Which one of us has to do the asking?” I threw the question out there, letting it settle. And if I also happened to shamelessly put my brown puppy-dog eyes to work, I had no regrets. Barrett assessed my pleading expression, harrumphed, turned, and then gave blue puppy eyes to his husband. “Oh, come on!” Marcus groused, before catching the full force of both Barrett’s and my pitiful stares. I even threw in a whimper for good measure. “Fine! I’ll ask her, but if she says no, you two are just going to have to deal.” “Thanks, Marcus!” I called to his back as he slipped from the room to call my mother. Not five minutes later, Marcus stalked back into the room with my mother striding right behind him, the short train of her burgundy dress trailing behind her. I couldn’t recall my mother ever wearing a dress like this one. It had a high, jeweled neckline and long sleeves, but the major thing that kept it from being frumpy was the way the fabric hugged her curves all the way to the top of her hips before falling in a straight column. Then she walked past me to an altar set up inside one of those roll-top desks, and I got a load of the rest of it. Backless. Completely backless. Mom looked hot. Once I got over her dress, I paid attention to what she was doing. Pulling a knife from who knew where, she cut her palm just like they did in the movies, letting the blood flow into a small stone bowl. First off, why? And second? That spot was just about the worst place to cut, ever. It took forever to heal, and the scars jacked with all the palmistry lines. I wanted to ask, but as soon as she got the nod from Barrett that she provided enough, she snapped her fingers, and the blood slowed before stopping altogether, the cut healing in a matter of seconds. She really needed to teach me that one. Once her cut was a thing of the past, she spirited the knife away into a sheath at her thigh, and turned to walk back out the room without ever saying a word to me or acknowledging me at all. “Mom,” I called before she could leave, and at that single word, she halted in a stutter-step as if my lone word was a command. Teresa turned back to me, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I’ll see you out there, okay?” I wanted to ask her if I was doing the right thing. I wanted to know if she was proud of me. I wanted to know if she cared at all. But I didn’t ask. And she didn’t say.
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