I turn in the garden and smile up at Percival. I slipped to my sanctuary to think after lunch. Hands shoved into his black slacks, the dark-haired man is studying me carefully. I wonder who elected him to come out and check on me.
“And you know this from experience, do you?”
“Firsthand with Rosemond. But I think you knew that, didn’t you?”
I shrug, uncertain how to respond. It’s a bold admission coming from the usually private man.
“I sensed the change. You paid close attention to me and gained a softness in your demeanor toward me that hadn’t been there previously. It made it easy to put two and two together. For the record, I don’t mind you knowing. I’m not ashamed. I loved her. The timing killed any chance we might’ve had. The world wasn’t ready for a union like ours. Not even after the collaboration necessary to end the Reaping. No one likes to mention how we banded together to defeat our foe these days. It’s akin to a dirty secret we all try to keep shoved in the back of our closets.” I remain silent, afraid he’ll stop talking if I interrupt. “Those were desperate dark days. Bloody battles and blood magic were part of the sacrifices.”
“What?” The word is out before I can bite my tongue.
He looks up at me. “I could never deny Rosemond much. The power she needed to harness with the loss of so many in her family required more than she could attain on her own. Your ancestors were silent in those days, dismayed with the actions of their future generation.”
Excommunicating family members for no damn reason would piss them off all right.
“What did you do?” I ask, silently
willing him to continue opening up.
“I bound myself to your line, pledging my power to her cause.”
“You drank from each other?” I ask, stunned.
“Yes.”
“A-Are you still bound?”
He shakes his head. “No, what we did was temporary.”
“You still love her?”
“There will always be a special place for her in my heart. Love is not so easily carved from us, is it?”
“No. Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think it’s time for you to hear it. You doubt yourself and your choices. Yet you’ve already made calls your predecessor couldn’t. They let fear rule them. In this way, you are fearless. Witches like to pretend they’re above pettiness and all-powerful, but they too have their secrets and reach out for help. The only thing you did was be transparent about it. It’s earned you the respect those who came before you never had.”
His words are enlightening and needed at the moment.
“You are about to take two thrones for a reason.”
“Yes. Which means every decision I make affects twice as many people.”
He smiles kindly. “There are too many good people around to allow you to cause irrevocable damage. You’ve yet to realize the superpower you’re assembling. This community has long needed an individual like you. One who can remain fair and just because they’re able to see both sides. The Cortez Court is on the cusp of another power level up. It makes us more noticeable to others, and therefore a target. It’s made it harder to touch us. Thank you.”
“It wasn’t intentional—” I refuse to accept his gratitude.
“Doesn’t matter. Others have ignored the bond. Whatever this family needs to do to keep you safe we will. You’re one of us now. So, if that means spending a day buried in dusty old books to fight your latest enemy we will.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. I surprise myself by allowing it to remain. “Come on, Cristobal will return tomorrow with the one he’s searched for.”
Hope springs up inside of me. We may pull this off yet.
***
Eyes burning and stomach growling, I stumble to the car with a sixty-four-ounce mug full of mocha coffee. Three hours isn’t enough time to feel human. I curse Charlotte as I drag my weary body into the car. If her idea of an emergency doesn’t coincide with mine, she won’t need to worry about a haunting ’cause I’ll kill her myself. I shove half a breakfast bar into my mouth and chew, ignoring the way my cheeks balloon out like a chipmunk. I’m never good company when I’m hangry, and I need to approach this situation professionally.
The frantic woman wringing her hands as she paces the length of the front porch is a far cry from the woman who crept into our office weeks earlier. Frizzy hair, pale skin and manic behavior have taken over. In her long, white nightgown, with a clearly disturbed psyche, she looks set to play Othello’s madness scene.
A malevolent force shrouds the plantation in the form of darkness that can only be felt. The oppression is heavy. I pull up beside the Studi Baker, grateful they waited for me before they proceeded beyond the tall iron gates.