“Sign it, Miss Meadows,” Esther says, dropping the use of my first name, moving into a command. “That’s an order from your Superiors.”
I stare down at the paper. The paper that says I did not see anything, that I was not a witness, that I would not claim otherwise in the future.
A paper that lied while a wolf was dead.
“You have your own to think about,” Esther whispers. “Little witches who need you.”
“Leave them out of this,” I snap.
Esther leans forward over the table. “Let me be clear; they will not be left out of this. Not if you don’t sign this paper… To be blunt, this is not a request.”
She turns one of her hands palm side up, where it rests beside the unsigned contract. Magic swirls in the center of her palm, producing an image of Echo and Winter, fast asleep in their beds.
A live, magical feed of the two people I love the most in the world.
A gross show of power, a flexing of muscle, a blatant aggression.
I stare daggers at the bitch. “Are you threatening me?”
Esther stares back at me. Unwavering. “Just keep your mouth shut, and sign this.” She slides the quill toward me with her free hand; the one not holding my nieces at its center. “For their sake,” she adds.
Tonight, I have seen a man get shot right beside me, but only just now am I awake enough to be truly scared. The Coven did not fuck around when it came to following orders. To disobey would be foolish.
But I cannot do it. I won’t do it. I won’t sign this paper of lies. I fold my arms over my chest and meet her gaze.
Esther Jennings clicks her tongue again. “You know what one of my strongest affinities is, Miss Meadows?” she asks.
I only look at her.
“Air,” she says, and I follow her gaze back down to her palm.
Echo and Winter appear there again, still asleep in their beds. But their little bodies start twitching… as if they are not getting enough air.
I try to summon some magic. I realize the handcuffs they’ve placed me in must be blocking my magic. I consider leaping at her across the table.
“Stop it,” I growl.
“Sign it,” she insists.
My nieces twitch more violently in their beds.
“Fine, you fucking bitch,” I say, snatching up the silver quill, clutching it like a knife between my fingers.
A knife in the back of the wolf who’d saved my life, and in turn, had paid with his own.
4 5:54 a.m.
As far as shitty starts to a day go, this one is really up there.
I sigh and stick the key in the lock, but do not get to turn it before the door opens.
Hazel eyes grow wide as saucers as I am pulled into a fierce hug.
“Oh, thank the Goddess,” my sister, Flora, exclaims as she squeezes me before letting me inside.
She shuts the door behind us. Then she shoves me, just a little, but I am so drained it makes me sway on my feet.
Concern floods her face. “What the hell happened?” she whispers. I can tell by looking at her that she has been up all night. “I was so worried. I called you a hundred times. You should’ve been back hours ago. I called Jackie, and she said you’d left Sasha’s house around midnight. I thought you were lying in a gutter somewhere!”
I should be, I think.
In fact, that’s surely how the vampires would’ve left me–bloodless and facedown in the sewers beneath the city somewhere, discarded like a fast food wrapper. I shudder at the thought.
Flora leads me through the hall and into the parlor. “Sit,” she says. “I’m going to make some tea, and then you are going to tell me what happened.”
I don’t bother arguing. I want to crawl into my bed and sleep, but know better than to even try.
While she fixes the tea, I sneak upstairs and check on my nieces, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as see they are both okay. I stare at each of them for a few moments before making my way back downstairs and into the living room.
I sink onto the daybed near the bay window, pulling up the fluffy white blanket draped over the end of it. The daybed, like the rest of the furniture in the house, is old but well cared for, things handed down to us from our foremothers. My eyes wander around the room as I wait, settling on items that bring me comfort by simply being.
On the mantel above the fireplace hangs a portrait of our mother, and I stare at her face as I contemplate the events of the day. The grandfather clock in the hall chimes six times, and I can see thin columns of light appearing beyond the window, night keeping hold with slipping fingers.
Damn, I’m tired. Once I’m done talking to Flora, I am going to sleep for the rest of forever.
My sister enters the room with the promised tea, the steam and scent rising up from the ornate teacups—the same ones served by our departed mother.
I sit up and take the tea. The saucer clinks against the cup in my hands.
Flora’s mouth draws down. She flicks her hand at the fireplace, and flames magically appear there, heating the room in heartbeats. My little sister always was good at wielding the fire element.
She sits beside me on the daybed, folding her legs beneath her and pulling the other end of the blanket over her. I fold my legs too and face her. I open my mouth to speak, but for a long time, no words come out.
It is only then that I make the connection. Of course I couldn’t speak about it. That paper I’d signed must’ve contained a binding spell. Leave it to the Coven to be so thorough.
I get up and grab a pen and notebook, but sure enough, I am unable to write about the
