Page 38 of Bewicched

17

Blackmail Is Such an Ugly Word. Accurate, but Ugly

The message could not be clearer. They’d be more than happy to deal with our dark presence situation and to keep Declan from being investigated by the cops. What they wanted in return, of course, was for me to take my place on the Corey Council.

I got it. They were trying to take care of the family and keep the magical influence from leaking into the mundane world. Today was a good example of what they were trying to stop. If I’d joined with them years ago, it was doubtful a cursed fetish could have sat under my home without being noticed.

The miasma of evil clinging to me meant Christopher’s killer probably wasn’t a garden variety psychopath. If I had been working with them on the Council, it was possible Christopher and his mom would still be living happily in their hidden home.

“You won’t be happy until I’m dead, will you? Just like the rest that came before me?”

Declan, having no idea what was going on, reached over and laid a reassuring hand on my arm.

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’re nothing like those poor girls who came before you.” Mom waited a beat and then added, “I was on my way to the hospital when you called. Sylvia’s in a coma.”

I hopped out of the truck and stalked toward them. “What do you mean she’s in a coma? No she’s not. She’s healthy. I just saw her. There was nothing wrong with her.” Aunt Sylvia often felt more like my mom than my mom. Sylvia was the one who checked on me, dropped off soup if I was sick, took me shopping just because. My eyes filled with tears. “No.” It was all I could get out.

Mom cleared her throat. “This is what we’ve been telling you. There’s only so much your grandmother and I can do without you. If this was a peaceful time, we could wait for you, but it’s not. We both feel it. There’s something poisonous within the family and it’s bleeding out into the mundane world.”

Declan had stepped out but was hanging back by the truck, unsure of the family drama being played out.

I blew out a breath, angry at the world—Mom and Gran most of all—for stripping away the semblance of choice and leaving me with only one path, the one that led to insanity and death.

I blew out a breath, my heart sinking. “You win.”

“Wait,” Declan interrupted. He might not have known what was going on, but he got the gist and sounded concerned.

“Stay out of this, wolf,” Gran warned.

I pulled off my gloves, closed my eyes, and lifted my arms to the heavens, allowing all my mental blocks to slide away. Voices, emotions, visions swirled around me, but I cloaked myself in the light of the Goddess and vowed, “I, Arwyn Cassandra Corey, accept my destiny, maiden to your mother and your crone. I will share the power and the responsibility. I will protect this family and rout out, by whatever means necessary, those who would endanger my people. I offer, without reservation, my power that it might be used for the safety and betterment of the Corey coven.”

I’d smelled the sage as soon as I lifted my arms. Mom and Gran had been circling me while I spoke, chanting to remove the evil stalking me. I felt them move off and knew they were cleansing Declan and his truck.

When they came back, I lowered my arms and opened my eyes. They each took a hand, and we stood in a triangle. Without me, they’d been off balance, a corner left open, inviting evil to creep into the heart of the family.

Gran began the incantation that brought me into the triad of power. I felt the spell bubbling inside me, as though my organs were made of Champagne. Soon Mom added her voice to the spell and the bubbles multiplied. When at last it was my turn, their voices thrummed inside me like the beat of my heart. Our voices, our magic, each of us a thread woven with the other two, creating a tapestry of power forever intertwined. Our magic, ourselves, more powerful together. The chant ended on a shout as fire raced through my veins, sealing our promise.

A little girl is coloring in a book on her back porch. She looks up, intrigued, and follows, her crayons forgotten, as she moves deeper into the woods, a smile of wonder on her face.

Detective Hernández sits with another sobbing mother.

My cousin Serena and her shop are in the news. Eleven people have been poisoned by her tea. Seven dead. Four in critical condition. Headlines call her a witch, a murderer. Her sister Calliope makes a statement, assuring people of Serena’s innocence.

A man in a bar is bumped by a hapless guy carrying four beers. The man growls, his rage immediate. He backhands the bumper, sending him sprawling, beer glasses shattering. The angry man picks up the other from the floor and drags him outside. Muscles bulging, spittle flying, he beats the other man to death. When the police cars arrive, the aggressor, whose eyes have lightened to wolf gold, rushes them before he’s shot dead.

My gallery is consumed in flames, a pyre upon the water. Burning planks fall into the ocean, floating on dark water. The posts beneath heat, flames dancing down the wood to Charlie and Herbert, to Cecil. The roof collapses, crushing my home, my heart.

A ring of a dozen wolves surrounds one. Growls shake the earth. They slink forward, readying for the attack. A black wolf stands in the middle. Though they outnumber him, they are no match for him. A gunshot cracks through the silence. He’s hit. They see he’s weakened and leap, trying to take him down. He tears them apart. One by one, they fall to the side, bloody, panting, as their lives drain out of them. A man steps out of the woods, white fangs glistening in the moonlight. Eyes black, he holds out a hand and a tan wolf, standing apart from the bloodshed, trots to him.

Gran lying on her flagstone patio, foaming spittle on her darkened lips. Magic, power, light, knowledge, love, experience, all gone. Just her lifeless body discarded. On the table a teapot and two cups. Someone she knew, someone she trusted, took tea with her on her back patio, overlooking the ocean. Mom screams.

“Arwyn!”

I heard Declan’s shout, the pounding of his boots across the drive to me, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel my body, though I was sure it was still there. I stared up into the canopy of trees overhead.

Declan’s handsome bearded face blocked out the trees. “What happened? Are you okay?” He looked over where Mom and Gran laid and then back to me. “You’re not all dead, right?” He ran a finger down my cheek and I felt it, both the physical touch and the concern.

He seemed to have broken the paralysis because I blinked.

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