Page 130 of De-Witched

Bastian cocked an eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

When he told them what Leah had said, they both grimaced.

“Shit,” Henry said again, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, only a high-level warlock can cast that kind of magic.”

“I do.”

“And you have a suspect?”

Gabriel wanted to beat his already torn-up fists against the brick, lift all the stones in the area and crush them with telekinesis. He held it in as he said, “My uncle.”

“August?” Henry goggled. “Are you serious?”

“There’s nobody else who stands to gain anything from my failure. Now he stays CEO.”

“He likes the job?” Bastian voiced.

“He does. He says he’s happy to hand it back, but power, that kind of power, can do strange things to a person.” Gabriel’s hands tightened into fists, signet ring cutting into flesh. “He doesn’t like Leah, made a point of berating me in front of the board for letting myself be weak.”

“Putting you down to make you look even weaker.” Henry rubbed his hands over his face. “But Gabriel, August’s been there since...”

“Since my parents died.” Gabriel firmed his jaw before it could tremble. “I know. I don’t want to believe it. Which is why I’m asking for your help.”

28

It was like facing down a firing squad.

Gabriel stood by the windows, hands locked behind his back. His uncle and the board members sat at the long rectangular table, judge and jury. He couldn’t read their faces but he could imagine how disappointed they were. Just like his parents always had been. He’d failed once again.

Leah’s voice crept into his head. You don’t even want the job, Gabriel, not really.

At the far end of the room, Henry and Bastian lounged against the walls, expressions neutral. His uncle had at first questioned their presence but conceded when Gabriel explained they were here for his defense. Will echoed their posture on the other end of the room, closest to August, pen and paper at the ready.

Gabriel studied his uncle now, framed by the light from the afternoon sun. August had always absorbed light, mirrored it back to encourage everyone around him. Was all that a lie? Was everything?

The idea was like shaving a grater over his heart.

Finally August linked his hands together on the table. “Ultimately,” he said, deep, regretful, “we are where we are. It falls to you, nephew. Tell us why you voided the clause. Speak your truth.”

Gabriel ignored the tremble in his hands, tightening their grip on each other. “Actually, Uncle,” he said with no trace of emotion. “I was hoping you would speak your truth.”

August cocked his head. “I’m sorry?”

“The shelter I’ve been working at for the past three months has been plagued by incidents. Multiple counts of vandalism. Phony reports to the police. Irritants designed to trigger a reaction.” Gabriel swept his gaze across the table, ensuring he made eye contact with each member. This was a guess at most, but the idea had formed when he’d looked at all the pieces. “Meant to provoke me into getting frustrated enough to use magic or even leave entirely.”

“Why would any witch do that?” James spoke up, sitting back in his chair.

Because the question wasn’t combative, Gabriel answered. “The same reason someone knocked out the human I’ve formed an attachment to and locked her in a burning building behind a high-level spell.”

Murmurs of surprise, dismay, rippled.

“Is she okay?” someone ventured.

“Only because I cut through the binding.”

More murmurs. August’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward. “Was there no other recourse?”

“Henry and Bastian were outside. By the time I got to them, it might have been too late. It almost was.” He would never get the image of Leah, lifeless in his arms, scrubbed from his mind. “I believe the person who had the most to gain from my failure to complete this clause was responsible for this final act.”

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