Page 49 of Wicching Hour

Mom and Gran shook their heads.

“I know I shouldn’t be shocked,” Mom said, “given what my sister and niece have done, but I suppose I’ve become used to thinking of this lust for power at all costs being a Corey failing. That the Swans—or at least two of them—would poison innocents to curry favor is hard for me to accept. We’re not living in the Middle Ages.”

“She covets your power,” Bracken said. “And Mary’s. She always has.”

“Do we have any recourse?” I asked, taking more time with the familiar stalker’s face.

Mom tipped her head side to side. “We can report them to the Council, I suppose.”

Gran shook her head at the suggestion. “To a council that fell apart more than a decade ago? What would be the point?”

“What’s the Council?” Declan asked.

“Every wicche family has a leader,” Mom explained. “Sometimes it’s one person, but more often than not, it’s a triad, like ours.”

“Maiden, mother, crone,” I clarified. “Basically, three generations of the most powerful wicches in a family.”

Declan nodded, watching me draw.

“It isn’t always the most powerful,” Bracken said. “Sometimes it’s the most sane, or the ones most able to work well with others.”

Gran sighed. “True. Some of the most powerful have gone mad with it.”

“Okay,” I said, “but I don’t remember hearing about a council other than the Corey Council.”

“It existed for ages,” Mom told us. “A representative from each of the old wicche families sat on a council that met regularly. They settled squabbles and dealt with threats to wicche survival. Had the Council not existed, far more of our numbers would have been lost in the Dark and Middle Ages. As it was, most accused wicches were just human women that someone had an issue with.”

Gran nodded. “Midwives, early apothecaries who had some knowledge of medicinal herbs, women who refused to marry powerful men.”

“Poor women, as well,” Mom said. “The vast majority of women burned, drowned, or hanged were humans that some pious person pointed a finger at for their own highly dubious reasons. We know how to hide and when that doesn’t work, how to cast the spells that keep us alive.”

“In the modern world, the Council seemed less important,” Bracken said. “The days of ritual burnings were long gone. Also, as more families intermarried with humans, our power was diluted.” He paused and then looked at his sister. “This family excepted, of course.”

“Oh, yeah,” I grumbled. “We all know about the importance of pure bloodlines.”

Gran’s back went rigid. “Mock if you must, but notice which family still has real power.”

I can’t tell you how I knew, as Declan was sitting behind me, but I could feel him bristle. He was as pissed off as I was about my Gran and Great-Gran making Mom give up Dad because he wasn’t a wicche.

Still drawing, I lifted my left hand and wiggled my fingers. “Speaking as a mongrel, I’m plenty powerful, Gran.”

Shetsked. “I didn’t mean you and you know it.”

I sat back from my sketchbook and looked over my shoulder at Gran. “Okay. If you knew that my having a fae father would make me strong enough to survive being a Cassandra, why didn’t you let Mom stay with Dad? We could have had more fae blood strengthening our line.”

“Arwyn, please,” Mom said, shaking her head.

“We are one of the oldest and strongest line of wicches in the world,” Gran said. “We respect and value that.”

I’d heard this all before and never pushed her on it. Today, I was feeling pushy. “Does it bother you that my last name is Corey, considering my fae DNA?”

Gran blew out a breath. “This isn’t helping. We need to decide what to do about the Swans.”

Mom stared at Gran with an expression I’d never seen before. If I had to guess, I’d call it a combination of disbelief and disillusionment.

Bracken laid his hand on my shoulder. “My sister was taught by a severe and unbending woman. She may not be able to bring herself to say that she is proud of you and proud to call you Corey, but she is.”

I patted his hand. “Deep, deep down, right?”

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