Page 138 of De-Witched

“We can’t let you take all the blame.” Tia ran a hand through her hair in one agitated movement. “Aren’t you meant to be an asshole?”

“Aren’t you meant to be a bad-tempered shrew?”

Her lips curved. “Yes. And I am. But I have layers.”

“Then you understand.”

She considered him. “I think I do.”

Leah took them in, their bar, but didn’t go so far as to say goodbye. She refused to believe this was it. Not when she had so much to fight for. “We’ll let you know. How it goes.”

“Sure,” Tia murmured. “Good luck.”

With one last nod, they turned and headed out.

Back in the bar, Emma glanced at Tia. “We’re not seriously sitting back here, are we?”

“What do you think?” Tia clambered up on the stool, balancing the stool with a flick of telekinesis. She clapped her hands. “Folks, if I can have your attention? The bar’s going to be closing early today for a family emergency...”

Gabriel’s heart was pounding but he didn’t let it show as he offered his calling crystal to the butler. Dressed in a form-fitting navy suit, Bianca accepted it with a nod toward one of the high-backed chairs that sat in the grand foyer. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did she show surprise at Leah’s appearance. “You may wait there, Lord Goodnight.”

He didn’t take the chair, didn’t think he could contain the nervous energy that thrummed within him if he did. Instead, he stood perfectly still, calling on a lifetime of training to appear nonchalant. He could feel the fine tremors running through Leah’s body as she stood next to him, dressed in a simple tea dress that matched her eyes. He’d ensured they both presented a respectful appearance, knowing the High Family set store by such little gestures. He’d dressed in his best suit, a navy three-piece Prada, and even pinned the symbol of his family crest to his tie, as was traditional at High functions. Every little bit helped. He wouldn’t consider the alternative, not now he’d put his trust in them. In her.

Instead of pacing, as he longed to do, he let his gaze roam the elegant foyer, from the Italian marble terrazzo floor to the two gleaming staircases at either end, curving delicately upward. He lingered near the round walnut table, where an abundance of flowers and a statue of the Goddess waited, and where he could see the many closed doors that lined the hall. They could be called into any of them.

“So, who will we be meeting?” Leah’s voice was barely a whisper, showing how ill at ease she was. He hated it, hated that they’d had to come here, but more, he hated that her confidence had faltered with every step into the mansion. Appearances mattered, in more ways than one. If they saw her as weak now, that would be it.

He grazed his knuckles along hers, making sure she looked at him. “You got this,” he said, deliberately using the human phrasing to make a glimmer of humor dance in her eyes. Goddess, he adored that.

When she nodded, inhaling, he focused on her question. “Each member of the High Family takes responsibility for different sectors of witch society.” He was aware that he could be making things worse by telling her these intimate details, but at this point, he doubted it. That she knew was enough. “Some focus on relations with other High families around the world, others take an interest in developments in potions and spell-casting. Others manage the security forces that could be called on in an act of terrorism or war.”

“So, will we be seeing the ones that oversee security?”

He shook his head. “It’s always a panel of at least four when hearing and deciding on pleas of this magnitude.” A panel of judges and executioners, if need be. The thought was like ice spreading through his soul. Never.

“Four.” Her breath was soundless as she exhaled. “I can deal with four.”

He almost smiled. There she was.

The butler appeared out of nowhere, her skill clearly teleportation, a rare gift.

“They will see you in the Rose Room.” She gestured for them to follow and clipped off down the hall.

He’d been to the Rose Room before. It was one of their grandest salons. Their choice of it now indicated respect for him. Perhaps they didn’t know why he’d requested an audience and the butler hadn’t revealed he’d brought a human—perhaps they did know, and were toying with him. The latter sounded more likely. They put a hard line on revealing magic to humans without permission.

It was the siblings they’d see, he realized, entering the salon ahead of Leah to gauge the threat. His gaze fell on the golden twins first, a man and woman with light brown skin and gleaming blond hair. Their faces were relaxed and almost identical, both retaining certain quirks that gave them their own edge. Two sets of amber eyes surveyed him neutrally before sliding to Leah. Their job was overseeing the security forces and both were prone to protection over all. Not a bad thing, as they weren’t aggressive idiots, but if they deemed his actions a threat, he couldn’t count on their vote.

“Luisa, Julian.” He nodded at both so Leah would know who was who.

“Gabriel,” both replied in dusky tones that rang in harmony. “And guest...”

He didn’t linger, moving to the third sibling, a man with dark brown skin who stood at six foot five with a shock of white hair and dark brows over darker eyes. He was large in every way that counted and yet, he was their most persuasive talker and was often sent on diplomatic missions when a High Family member needed to be present.

“Arlo.”

Arlo inclined his head. “Gabriel.” He made no mention of Leah, which could be good or bad.

Finally, he looked at the fourth sibling, a startling amalgamation of the others with curling white hair and amber eyes. Isabella was the sibling most embroiled in local politics, a compassionate nature firmed with the hard edge witchkind demanded. Most Higher childhoods could be competitive between siblings, especially as magic weakened with each sibling born. Not so in the High Family, one of the reasons they were the High Family. Each member was as powerful as the next. Childhood must have been...interesting.

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