Page 63 of Morning's Light

“Being with me is not a curse.” Why was she this willing to defend her involvement? Things with Elon were casual. A one-time deal. Right?

Right.

“That’s not what I said.” Varvara sighed and reached out to run her hand down her daughter’s cheek. “Just end it. Before it comes back on him. Once we figure a way out of this mess, once Darkness is defeated permanently, then what you do with him is your business.” It was clear she thought little of the idea. “You can have all the mad human sex you want, until you can’t walk.”

“God, you’re lewd.”

“I want your head in the game. Your sisters and brother need your head in the game. Because if she takes one of them, then there is little we can do except pray. And I’ve never been the praying type.”

Aisanna straightened her back. “Fine. I understand.”

Varvara wasn’t often surprised, and she didn’t care for it. Which was probably why surprises didn’t happen often around her. The force of feeling she’d seen in Aisanna’s eyes was more intense, more intimate than she’d expected. Especially considering her arrangement with Israel James.

She should have been prepared for it. She knew love could take many twists and turns. Each action caused an equal reaction. Fate was not something that could be denied, and even now, believing in fate, she couldn’t imagine Elon Fayer being chosen for her daughter.

What in the goddess’s name could she do to make this right? Aisanna was bound to a human. Bound when she needed her power to defeat the chaos ahead.

Instead of another warning, or an argument, Varvara grasped her oldest daughter’s shoulders and squeezed lovingly. Then she addressed them all. “Now, girls. If you’re looking for information, you know better than this.” Varvara scowled and looked around at the mess. “It’s a needle in a haystack and now you have cleanup to deal with.”

Astix raised her eyebrow. “And you have a better idea?”

Varvara smiled, beckoning for them to follow her. “I may. You should know better than to think there’s anything valuable in here. We keep the good stuff locked up.” She bent forward, hands on hips, and when she spoke, it was business. “We don’t say a word of this to your father. He’s been upset about the little…interruption…on Imbolc. I had to promise to take him antique shopping to calm down. If you would come with me, please.”

Seeing nothing better to do, and leaving the clutter in place, they followed her upstairs. Aisanna ignored Karsia’s helping hand though she moved slowly.

Varvara turned to make sure her girls were behind her. She stretched her shoulders, taking the stairs two at a time in her excitement. “I’m sure you know your father throws nothing out. I let him have the office to do what he pleases as long as he keeps the rest of the house neat and tidy. It’s my only requirement.”

“You mean your housekeeper keeps the house tidy.” Astix could not help the jab at her mother.

Varvara scowled. “You hush. I’m not ashamed to hire help. In any case, the important papers and spells require special attention. Certainly not the half-assed ministrations of Thorvald Cavaldi.”

She came to a halt at the dead end of the hallway. Bedrooms stood behind closed doors on either side.

“I think this house may be too big for you, Mother. You’re getting lost.” Astix put her hands on her hips and looked longingly back the way they came, anxious.

Instead of answering, Varvara pressed her hand to the wall panel and pushed down hard. After several clicks, a tumbler turned and the entire piece of wood swung out on hidden hinges.

“This has wards from both your grandmothers set in place,” she told them. “Anything important is kept here instead of in a safe. It’s…safer.”

“Pun-ier is what I think you meant to say.”

“I’ll ignore that. Any information you are looking for would be here. I keep the bank records, insurance papers, you name it. Birth certificates, marriage certificate—” She paused, drew in a deep breath, and closed her eyes. Her hands rose, fingers dancing in a complicated rhythm in the air. “The wards draw their power from my blood and soul. Passed down from generation to generation.”

A green hue, so rich and dusky it was almost blue, raced from her fingertips along her arms until it engulfed her entire upper half. The spell dissipated within seconds and the final tumbler clicked into place. The wall itself opened with a sigh of dry, musty air.

Varvara opened her eyes, controlled power evident in every line of her body. “Go ahead. Take a look.”

The square alcove was about the size of a full-length cheval mirror, with alternating elbow-deep shelves. Most were packed with neatly organized file folders and small metal boxes. There were dried herbs. Crystals charged and ready to work.

Varvara thrust her arm toward one shelf, and when she withdrew it her dainty hand clutched a large dusty tome. She drew in a breath and blew to uncover a title printed in careful calligraphy.

“The Cavaldi Birthright…for your perusal. If you can read the writing.” She ran a painted fingertip along the words and faded title. “I’ve never been able to. It contains spells older than any of us can remember.”

“Dating back to, say, the Dark Ages?” Karsia asked hopefully.

Varvara shrugged. “I don’t know. There are some in here in a language I’m not sure exists anymore. Here, take it.”

Aisanna held out her hands to receive the book, cradling it like a newborn child. “Where did you get this?”

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