All Just Glass

She turned the radio down to barely a whisper, until she could hear the mournful wind again. In front of her mother’s house, the trees were already nearly bare, except for a few golden leaves they still managed to cling desperately to. She sympathized; some part of her had been ripped away, as well, when she had let her sister die.

It took her two tries to get the car door open with the damage to her arms. The frigid air that rushed in to replace the warmth in the car was bracing and helped her calm her thoughts. She managed not to limp as she approached the front door.

Her mother was waiting for her in the kitchen, at the antique oak table where Adia had spent countless hours as a child studying ancient Vida laws.

Forty years old, Dominique had been the only child of her father’s second wife. She had survived the deaths of her parents, her sister, a niece and a nephew closer to her age than her sister had been, and Sarah and Adia’s father, and all Adia had ever seen from her was stoicism and the grim acceptance that a hunter’s life was dangerous. Her practical short blond hair had occasional bits of gray and her Vida-blue eyes were perhaps a little more tired, but she still stood as if carrying the weight of the world were simply a task she had to accept.

And at that moment, she wasn’t alone.

Adia’s cousin, Zachary, had a spread of weaponry in front of him and was in the process of cleaning and polishing the collection of knives as Adia walked in. His blond hair and immaculate appearance were a marked contrast with the slightly scruffy features and dark hair of Michael Arun, who was flipping through the heavy tome of pictures and notes on known vampires.

Michael was from another line, but he was still a witch. The Arun line wasn’t known for self-control or following all the rules, and Adia had never quite been able to relax her guard around Michael because of the vampiric taint to his aura, but at least he was a hunter. The Vida and Arun lines had fought side by side for generations, so his presence wasn’t surprising, despite the hour. Most vampire hunters were nearly as nocturnal as their prey.

Adia was startled, however, to see Hasana Smoke sitting stiffly across the table from Zachary and staring pale-faced at the weaponry as her daughter Caryn read a paperback romance novel in the corner. Smoke witches, though every bit as respected as Vidas, were healers. They wouldn’t engage in a fight even to protect their own lives, and they usually showed up at the Vida household only if someone was hurt.

More unusual still was the presence of Evan Marinitch. Nearing fifty, Evan had a lean body that made him seem younger. He was at that moment perched on the counter, hazel eyes brimming with fatigue and disapproval. The Marinitch line sometimes included hunters, but that wasn’t their primary vocation. They were mostly scholars. Though technically kin to the Vida, Arun and Smoke lines, the Marinitch line kept to itself most of the time.

All the surviving lines were represented. Had Dominique called them to witness Sarah’s trial, only to have them arrive just to hear about her death?

How had everything happened so fast? Two weeks before, Sarah had been complaining—softly, when Dominique couldn’t hear—about having to move from New York City to the small suburb of Acton, Massachusetts. Ten days ago, Adia had discovered that Sarah was being socially polite with two of the vampires who attended her school. The relationship had grown dangerously close before Adia even realized it was happening.

Two days ago, Dominique had bound Sarah’s powers in anticipation of a trial for crimes against the line. Alone and without her magic, Sarah had gone up against one of the infamous vampires of the modern age in an attempt to clear her name.

And then … Adia looked at the clock on the mantel. Just twenty-four hours ago, Adia had walked away and let that creature change her little sister into a monster. He had claimed that it was the only way to save her life, and in that moment, Adia had let herself believe the lie that her sister could still be saved.

But twelve hours ago, that monster had awoken and fed, and now—

Oh, god.

Adia had memorized pages and pages of Vida law, and now at last the one that mattered came to mind. The other lines weren’t here to witness a trial.

“Adia, what have you learned?” Dominique asked.

Hasana looked over her shoulder at Adia and her eyes widened. She shot to her feet. “You’re injured —”

Adia shook off the healer’s concern and answered Dominique’s question.

“According to numerous sources, Sarah has chosen to … live.” She hesitated before the last word, knowing that it wasn’t exactly what she meant. “She has fed, and is now staying with Nikolas and Kristopher, wherever they are.”

Hasana sagged with relief. Evan closed his eyes with a wince, undoubtedly knowing what was coming. Zachary nodded, his expression remote, and Michael paled. Michael Arun had always been a mystery to Adia, but he and Sarah had been close. They had even dated for a while, before deciding they were good partners when hunting but weren’t compatible romantically.

Dominique didn’t even blink. Impeccably controlled as always, she simply said, “Well.”

She stood, and her gaze swept the assembled witches.

“My daughter is dead,” she announced. “I know her killers.”

She placed on the table a pencil drawing of the twin vampires Nikolas and Kristopher, provided by the fiends themselves. The one called Kristopher had courted Sarah with drawings. He had befriended her, and Sarah had let him, despite Adia’s begging her to be careful. She had always been headstrong.

“As a child of Macht, I am invoking the Rights of Kin,” Dominique said. Adia had known that it was coming, but she still consciously had to keep her expression controlled so she wouldn’t flinch. “Please witness.”

Now Hasana paled visibly. Apparently, she had finally caught up to the rest of them. A Smoke witch’s training was not as intensive as a Vida’s. They were taught to heal and tended to be less aware of the laws that governed all their lines, but Hasana’s reaction made it clear that she recognized the name.

“Dominique, don’t do this,” Hasana said. “Or at least give yourself some time to reconsider. Sarah isn’t —”

“Sarah is dead,” Dominique said flatly. “There is a vampire out there wearing her shape, her skin, but that creature is no witch, no Vida.”

Zachary spoke first, as the eldest of the Vida line after Dominique. He said simply, “Witnessed.”

“Is this truly necessary?” Evan asked.

“Yes,” Zachary replied.

Evan Marinitch drew a breath and said, “Witnessed.” He swallowed thickly. “We have only one hunter in our line this generation. My son. I will see that he joins you.”

“Dominique, please,” Hasana begged. All eyes turned toward her, the witches waiting. “Think about—”

“No,” Dominique interrupted, her blue gaze cold as ice. “My line has been savaged this generation.” She swept the room with her eyes, catching each gaze in turn. “Rose was bled dry as part of a sick game after she walked into a trap, after her husband was stabbed with his own knife by a bloodbond who claimed she was allied with SingleEarth, and their daughter Jacqueline was slaughtered despite having tried to give up our ways. Her son Richard, who was only a child, was taken—and god only knows what happened to him—and never seen again.” Zachary was one of the few who held Dominique’s gaze as she referred to the events that had brought him, an orphan, into their household when Adia had been a baby. “And then the father of my children was tortured to death and dropped on our front steps.”

Hasana looked away. Caryn seemed about to argue, but her mother put a hand on her shoulder; the young witch shook off the touch and stormed out of the room.

Still, Dominique was not done.

“Through the generations we have played it safe, and not sought personal vengeance—and now we who stand in this room are the last of the Vida line. The least we can do for our fallen kin is destroy the creature inhabiting Sarah’s skin before it can use her shell to commit crimes no Vida could ever condone. So I call on the ancient laws now to help me, so I can bury my daughter and let her rest in peace.”

No one said another word; there was no point in arguing. This was a formality, not a choice to be debated.

At last, Hasana choked out the word: “Witnessed.”