Page 42 of Muddled Magic

“But why? What vow did you make?” I demanded, voice cracking. “Why me?”

Grandmother’s gaze flicked not to Arthur, but to the tattoo on his chest. Coalition enforcer. Protector. But from what?

Now his arm slid around me, the weight of it inexplicably comforting. Every instinct screamed for me to turn into his side and bury my face into his chest, but I fought against it. Hiding away in his touch, as delicious and soul-enflaming as it was, wouldn’t solve my problems.

“Because power always attracts attention,” he rumbled quietly, “and there are things out there who seek those who have it.”

I shook my head, not fully understanding. “The magic hunters?” I asked.

But he didn’t reply, his focus riveted on Grandmother. “It seems your family and mine have the same goal after all, despite our different bloodlines.”

“It’s what you’d have us believe, anyway,” Grandmother sniffed. “But Coalition or not, you all serve the same master in the end. Your beastlike nature prevents you from doing otherwise.”

“That is a lie.” His words sliced through the air, Grandmother flinching as if they had actually cut her.

Arthur’s arm around my shoulders trembled as he fought to contain himself. His… rage. I’d never seen him so incensed, his jaw clamped so tight I could hear his teeth grinding, his hazel eyes now fully amber as the bear inside him threatened to burst forth. And yet, I wasn’t afraid of him. His fingers remained light on my arm, ever aware that he held me and knowing I wasn’t the subject of his wrath, nor would I become the collateral damage of it.

“What master?” I asked, more confused—and angry about my confusion—than before. They were speaking in riddles!

“I will not speak his name in these woods,” Grandmother said. “And neither will you, bear, if you truly mean to protect my granddaughter. We’ve risked much out here already.”

She snapped her fingers on both hands, startling the coven. There’d been no magic, but the witches suddenly abandoned their scowls and anger and turned business-like. Mission-focused. There was something more important happening here than a discussion of a coven matriarch cursing her own spell book and family and whatever that business was about the shifters’ true master.

Their vow to protect me, I realized.

“There is no time to explain, Meadow,” Grandmother informed. “We must leave, now. Then we’ll—”

“I’m not taking another step until you answer me!” I shouted. Magic laced my words this time, so strong that half the coven stumbled back in either surprise or from its force. Not a strand of hair had stirred on Grandmother’s head, but I had her full attention now. Her granddaughter would not be tucked away and coddled and kept in the dark any longer. “What. Vow?”

After giving the surrounding forest an impatient glance, she let out a short sigh through bared teeth. “It has been long rumored that Violet’s essence did not die with her, that it was waiting to be reborn in one of her descendants. It was just a fanciful legend, until Hare found ancient texts in one of his dig sites—some long-lost ringfort in the backcountry of Ireland.” Wetting her lips, she paused her rushed explanation and took another careful glance around, but the trees were silent. “Meadow, we truly must—”

“Go on,” I interrupted firmly, green magic glowing from my eyes. If I had truly been at the center of this from the beginning, I deserved to know the truth. She was not going to escape with her secrets and a promise to reveal all at a later date that would never come to pass. Not this time.

“Fern and I immediately joined him in Ireland,” she said, begrudging me every word. “We pored over the texts, the ringfort, everything, and came to the singular conclusion: it was from my branch that Violet’s true heir would sprout. We took precautions immediately, of course—”

“Why?” I asked sharply. “Why would Violet’s heir need protection? Violet was the strongest Hawthorne to have ever existed. She was a literal force of Nature.” I swallowed, unsure if I really believed her claim about me. “Whom would her heir need to be kept hidden from?”

Grandmother turned her attention to the lumberjack shifter, her gaze traveling down the arm that was still slung across my shoulders, down to the hand whose fingers now gripped my arm a little tighter.

She didn’t answer me, instead clamping down on her vault of information as she clasped her hands in front of her, resuming her characteristic, unflappable persona. “I’ll not speak of it with him present, nor that Nemean wolf. Suffice it to say I made a deal to keep you hidden and the coven agreed to the terms. Now we need to get you back to Hawthorne Manor immediately.”

“So you can lock her up like some kind of prisoner for the rest of her life?” a familiar voice shrilled. “I think not!”

Across the clearing charged the Crafting Circle ladies, led by none other than Flora Ironweed and her blazing beechwood wand. Freed from her cocoon-like restraints, Ame raced beside her. Apparently they’d gone as far as it took for the caliby cat to be released before turning right back around.

Sawyer jumped down from my arms to greet his mentor, rubbing his head against hers. Even Shari was there, face pale and trembling. She somehow reached me first, immediately taking hold of my hand. I squeezed her shaking fingers. Flora scrambled up on Daphne’s shoulder, holding on to her braid for support as she whipped her wand back and forth in a clear promise to curse anyone who approached with chronic poison ivy.

“These hillbillies can’t take a hint,” Marten huffed; Dad immediately cuffed him on the back of the head.

“I go where she goes,” Arthur growled at my grandmother as my friends crowded around us. “She is m—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Grandmother threatened, absolutely livid.

“Let’s sort this all out at the farmhouse, okay?” Aunt Peony suggested, her voice impossibly chipper. “Where there is a hearth? You’ve kept it burning every day all this time, haven’t you, Meadow?”

I nodded. The farmhouse was a compromise I was willing to make; we could go there to finish this discussion. It was inside, which was what my grandmother seemed most to want, and it was my home, which meant I had the upper hand. In theory. There was always a chance my hearth might betray my trust to obey my grandmother, as we were both Hawthornes and she the leader of our coven.

“Ah, yes, that’s a good little hearth witch.” Aunt Peony flashed me an approving smile before she wiped it off her face to stare daggers at everyone else. When she spoke again, she was using that voice she reserved for children who had been particularly naughty. “We’ll finish this discussion over tea and some little snacks, like civilized people. Now, shall we?”

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