Page 80 of Curses and Cauldrons

Whoever has hold of my arms is strong. It’s nearly impossible not to struggle with my whole body, but if I kick out with my legs, I’ll hit Pen or one of my friends. How the hell am I supposed to get out of this?

The man behind me yanks hard enough to pull my legs free from the car. He slams the door, muffling the screams of my sister and Piper.

“Stand up.” The man who ripped me out of the car shoves me forward. Like I’m the one who inconvenienced his day and asked him to hold me up. It’s Piper’s uncle, Tucker Beaumont. He’s a horrible man, but why is he here? His meaty hand wraps around my upper arm, and he drags me toward the coven house.

I fight, trying to dig my shoes into the snowy ground but I slip along behind him. Piper’s car door opens, and my sister comes running out. Piper and Odie are right behind.

“Thanks for the help, niece,” Tucker guffaws, and I frown in confusion. I don’t have time to think about his words because he already has the door to the coven house open. Piper and Odie haven’t even reached the steps. Penelope manages to slip inside before the door slams shut. I gasp and skid my way across the wood floors. My father steps out from the back of the hall and waves a hand. My ears pop at the magic. He’s sealed us in. There’s pounding on the outside door, but it’s muted. Piper and Odie are stuck on the other side. Or maybe it’s more appropriate to say that Penelope and I are trapped inside. Penelope launches herself at Tucker, but my father grabs her out of the air, holding her tight while she fights like a banshee.

“Pen. Save your strength,” I tell her. Whatever we’re headed toward can’t be good.

Tucker marches me straight through the entryway and to a doorway that leads down to the lower level of the house, where they used to hold tribunals in the past. His fingers dig into the back of my neck as he shoves me forward. I don’t fight because I’m afraid he’ll push me down the steps.

The downstairs of the coven house is nothing like the elegant upstairs. The ground is hard-packed dirt, and the walls are original limestone that seeps moisture. The smell of must and earth combine with the scent of burning torches. The space down here is not made for modern times and technology. There’s no electricity, no Wi-Fi. This is a throwback to the early days of the coven.

I’ve only been down here once. That was to observe a punishment for a witch who was eventually kicked out of the coven. The room itself is terrifying, as though centuries of discipline and coven decisions have lingered in the very airthat occupies the space. Three steps lead down into a recessed circular area. That’s where whoever is on trial is made to stand. On a raised stone platform, forming a semi-circle around the person on trial, are seven seats. The one in the center is for the head of our coven and is much larger and grander than the other six carved stone seats meant for the council.

The council seats are empty today. My mother sits on the leader’s throne, even though she’s simply a council member. My sister Camille is standing next to her, grinning down at me.

Tucker yanks my hands behind me and ties them tight enough that I immediately begin losing sensation in my fingers. My primary magic is healing, so I’m not sure what the point is. He shoves me down the steps, and I stumble, just barely regaining my balance before I fall on my face. My father still has Penelope trapped in his arms. I see them in my peripheral vision, but my eyes stay on my mother.

She’s furious. Her back is ramrod straight. Her gaze, devoid of all emotion except for rage, warns me that this is not going to go my way. Honestly, I don’t care what happens to me. But what about Penelope? And Roman. My heart sinks in my stomach. I didn’t get to him. Whatever happened that caused my magic to burn in my chest in warning is still there, but I’m trapped.

My finger itches, and I rub it against my back. The mark on my finger? Is it truly a bonded mark? Could I be so lucky? Although, that’s an interesting thought considering what’s happening right now. How the hell are we going to get out of here?

“What a fuss your girls have kicked up, Francesca,” Tucker Beaumont says, his voice whiny. Every time I see him, I want to slap his face. He just has one of those smug personalities that makes him incredibly unlikeable. Predictably, he thinks he’s a gift to society.

My mother waves Tucker off like a pesky gnat. “We are gathered here to discuss crimes committed against this coven and determine punishment for Josephine Delvaux,” my mother announces, as though there’s a full tribunal. “Among other things.”

My mother scowls. She looks tempted to spit at me, but she would never do something so undignified. She hasn’t even looked at Penelope since she was dragged into this room. Her twelve-year-old daughter. She only ever cared for her as a bargaining chip. I shake my head at the woman who gave birth to me. How can she be so callous and unfeeling?

Tears waver in Penelope's eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. She stands tall, shoving off the violent hands of my father. “I’m not going to run. I’m not a coward like the rest of you.” She levels a look at my mother, Camille, Tucker, and then over her shoulder at my father. “You can stop handling me like you're trying to make more room in a garbage bag.”

Our father snarls and lifts his hand. I gasp, ready to throw myself across the room, even though I know I won’t make it there in time. Penelope dips and spins out of his hold, shuffling away until her back is pressed to the wall.

“This is boring. Can we please move on to the punishment?” Tucker Beaumont yawns, rolling his head back as if he’s had a hard day. I doubt Tucker has ever done a full day’s labor in his life. Piper is technically the Beaumont family heir, inherited after her father died when she was sixteen. She was taken in by her uncle, who lives off the family fortune.

Tucker’s hair is a much lighter shade of red than Piper’s. He keeps it buzzed short because of his receding hairline, which is honestly the best he can do with it. Tucker Beaumont has an abundance of pale, squishy flesh. While his middle may be soft, that doesn’t mean he isn’t strong. I’ve seen the bruises on Piper’s body to prove it.

“Excuse us, Tucker. I didn’t realize you needed to get back to your day of laying around and sticking your dick in pathetic social climbers,” my mother snaps.

Tucker sneers at her. “You just wish you had a dick so you could fuck everyone in the ass with more than your personality.”

“You can go. We can handle our family business from here,” my father barks out.

Tucker narrows his eyes. “Consider my debt repaid,” he sneers at my mother and stomps out of the basement without another word.

“Let’s focus on the task at hand.” My mother’s raised voice echoes around the stone chamber. “You are charged with theft of a sacred coven artifact, Josephine. What do you have to say for yourself?”

For a moment, I consider lowering my head and accepting my punishment as I’ve always done in the past. Except, why is my mother the one making this ruling? If this was a crime against the coven, then why isn’t Selene here? That ache in my finger flares again, and a shot of warmth flows up my arm and straight into my heart. It’s a boost of courage, reminding me that I’m not the same person I used to be. I’m not the blindly obedient wallflower who does whatever her mother instructs. I’m the woman who’s been falling in love with a dark witch from the Tenebris coven. Who started digging into the past of this town’s history to learn the truth about our curses. I’m the witch who discovered that my mother has been robbing me of my magic for years, and that our magic is lacking something because we’ve forsaken the Mother and the Crone.

I close my eyes and plead to the Triad for strength. Not just for me, but my sister as well.

“I didn’t steal anything. As a member of the Lumen coven, I merely borrowed a grimoire that, by rights, belongs to me as much as any of you.”

The reactions in the room are all over the place. The shock on Camille’s face is almost comical. My father sneers at me. My mother’s face is the most predictable. She’s furious. Ice coats her fingers, crackling and breaking into tiny pieces as she makes a fist.

“Unacceptable. How dare you talk to your betters this way.” My mother looks down her nose at me.

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