Page 22 of Magic and Matrimony

“For years, we’ve not used our power to its full potential because we’ve been ignoring a very important part of our magic. We require the balance of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone, and that’s how I intend to form this council. I will be looking for witches who will help establish that within our coven. The upcoming trials will test traits that embody all aspects of magic, but also bravery, intelligence, compassion, selflessness, and power.”

“This is boring,” Ambrose grumbles. I lightly jab him with my elbow.

Members of the coven whisper, and Lucida waits for them to settle before continuing. “The selection of those peoplewill happen now.” Lucida looks out over the crowd, her eyes connecting with one witch after another. “There are always those who will step up to lead, whether it be for altruistic reasons or because power fuels them, and so I will not ask you to volunteer.” Lucida pulls a vial from out of her cleavage. Nervous laughter titters across the room, and she smiles out at the crowd with a shrug.

“Okay, this is slightly more interesting.” Ambrose raises one eyebrow.

Lucida shakes the bright red potion before uncorking the vial. “This is a beacon spell. It has been specialized to seek out those who will best serve our coven. If the spell settles on you, you must come forth. You will be part of our trials.”

The spell floats out of the bottle like amorphous smoke. It’s slithers over our heads, breaking off in multiple directions as it hunts out the members of the coven most fit for this challenge. It doesn’t zip across the room. It’s almost as if it's hunting prey, sniffing out the people who meet Lucida’s criteria.

There’s a gasp as one of the tendrils stops and dissolves into a sparkling mass over the head of a blond man.

“Who is it?” Ava stands on her tiptoes, craning her neck back-and-forth, but she’s too short to see over the crowd. Bram, who is much taller than her, squints at the man. “Andrew Bartleman.”

“Who’s that?” Odie signs.

“He’s an accountant.”

Another smoke snake slithers out the door and I gnaw on the inside of my lip. Where is that going?

Several wisps of smoke cross the crowd and head in our direction.

“Whoa,” Stellan says as sparks float above Roman’s, Odie’s, and Ambrose’s heads. The three of them look up, shock on Roman’s and Odie’s faces, humor in Ambrose’s eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Josephine grunts when the smoke sparkles above Anastasia Lexington’s head. She’s a horrible person who tried to assault Roman and was left with the word Predator scarred across her chest in retaliation.

“How is this spell picking people?” I murmur and frown when another burst of color hovers over Ambrose’s mother’s head.

“Look.” I tug on his sleeve, and he peers down at me. His attention focuses entirely on me in that moment, and I lose my train of thought.

“What?” he murmurs. We’re in a room full of people, and are in the thick of serious coven business, but right now, I can’t think of anything else but Ambrose’s lips. The way they sucked a mark on my neck, the large hands that held me. And I willingly–no, assertively–told him we couldn’t have sex again. Why did I force him into that stupid sex bargain?

“Piper.” His eyes drop to my lips, as though he’s thinking about kissing me. I know he isn’t–he can’t–but it appears that way.

A sliver of common sense slides into my thoughts, and I blink away the trance. “Your mother’s been selected.

Ambrose’s head snaps up. He narrows his eyes as he finds Bianca preening near the edge of the stage.

“Holy shit, Piper.” Ava’s exclamation pulls my attention back to her. She’s pointing over my head. When I look up, there are red sparks floating above me. A warmth tingles down my body as if someone has dusted me with a spell. I guess that’s exactly what’s happened.

“This has to be a mistake,” I whisper.

The door to the amphitheater bangs open, and in walks Josephine’s mother, Francesca Delvaux. She’s a horrible woman who should currently be under house arrest.

“No,” Josephine gasps, but I can’t concentrate on her panic, because my own is about to choke off my breath. My uncle strides in behind Francesca, a smug look on his disgusting face and red sparks dancing over his head.

12

AMBROSE

“No, no, no,” Piper hisses through clenched teeth and backs into my side. I’m still focused on the red sparks over Piper’s head, so I don’t know what prompted this response. I throw an arm around her shoulder and tuck her against my side. She melts into me, and I’ll admit, I’m not sure anything has ever felt so good.

“What is it?” I murmur, but she doesn’t need to respond. I follow her unblinking stare to the entrance of the room, where her piece of shit uncle is walking in like he owns the place.

Tucker Beaumont is the kind of dickhead who thought he ruled the halls in high school, but was actually only popular because of his money. As he grew up, he held on to that false sense of superiority, but he never aged out of being an eighteen-year-old wannabe prince. These days he’s a middle-aged bully. He still has muscle on him, but it’s hidden behind a layer of too many greasy burgers and beers.

He walks to the front of the hall, grinning at people as he passes them.

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