Flamebound (25 page)

“Mom, stop.” I croak out the words. “It's too late.”

I can see from her face—from the way she looks at me—that she already knows the truth. She knows what my power is, knows that it was too late the moment I could sense my sister's distress. And yet she can't go there, can't—

At that moment, the rescue crew manages to unearth the upper half of my sister's body. Even though I know what's coming, it's a shock to me—her eyes wide open, her mouth frozen in a silent scream, tear tracks still damp on her cheeks.

My mother takes one look at her and falls to her knees, starts to scream. Tsura grabs onto her, turns my mother's face into her chest and rocks her much as Declan is rocking me.

I watch as my mother collapses into her sister, her body shuddering with sobs. I try to push away from Declan, to stand so that I can make my way over to her, but the moment his arms fall from around me, the nausea returns tenfold.

The room spins, and then suddenly I'm on my knees again, vomiting up what feels like my stomach lining. Declan pulls my hair back, holds me, but even his touch can't make the sickness go away.

This time I don't think anything can.

I
t's been a long night, maybe the longest of my life.

I spend most of it sitting next to Declan's bed. Watching him heal a little bit more with each hour that passes. We've moved to my family's ranch, about ten miles outside of Ipswitch. My dad originally bought the land—which surrounds Ipswitch on all sides—for safety reasons. When Texas started developing a couple hundred years ago, he didn't want to have to worry about human towns springing up too close to our borders.

About twenty years ago, he built a house on the land for our family. Protected by the most powerful Hekan charms in existence and under constant surveillance by my parents' security, it still provides us with a lot more privacy than the house in town does. Did. For years now, he and my mother have used it a couple of times a year as a kind of retreat. Now, however, it's become the seat of our coven's government. The home of the royal family.

I wanted Declan to go to the hospital in town, but he insisted on coming here instead. He told me it was because he didn't like hospitals, but I know the truth. It's because he wanted me here, surrounded by security, safe. Or at least as safe as I can be right now.

He stirs in his sleep, moans a little, and I stroke a soothing hand over his hair. Murmur a few words to him. At the sound of my voice, he settles back into sleep. And I get up from the armchair I've been sitting in for the last eight hours.

I cross to the window that overlooks the pastures and horse barns. Normally, it's so dark out here that you can see every star in the sky. But tonight, the whole area is lit up. Jared has rolled in security troops by the dozen to ensure that the house—and, more importantly, my family—are secure. Or as secure as we can be right now.

As I look out over the land, I relive every second of the day. Of the last few days. And wonder what I could have done differently. I'd do anything, give anything, to have a different outcome than the one I'm living.

Declan, badly burned. Hannah, dead. My father gravely ill and not responding to treatment. My family in shambles. My coven in chaos.

I'm so sick with sorrow and anger that I can barely breathe. Barely think. The darkness is creeping up on me, getting worse with each impotent moment that passes. There's a part of me that wants to fight it, but it's a small part. Because there's strength in the darkness. There's control and power and action. And right here, right now, I want to embrace all of those things.

Is this what Declan feels?
I wonder. When he performs his magic? When he walks in the shadows? Is this what it feels like? If so, I don't blame him for embracing it. For craving it. I know the dangers, know how easy it is to be seduced. And still I want to give in. To take the vengeance that is due to me and mine.

There's a soft knock on the door and my aunt Tsura pokes her head in. “How's he doing?”

“He's sleeping. I slipped him a tranquilizer in the healing draft Rachel made him. He's been resting pretty comfortably ever since.”

“Good girl.”

She crosses to the window, wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into her embrace. “How are you doing?”

“I'm fine.” I shrug off the concern I hear in her voice. I'm not the one she needs to be worrying about right now. “How are Mom and Dad?”

Tears glaze her green eyes, and she looks away. Takes a moment to compose herself. “There's been no change in your father's condition. He isn't getting any worse, which is good. But he's not getting any better, either, no matter what I try.”

“And Mom?”

“I slipped her a tranquilizer, too. She's a wreck. Not that I blame her. Losing Hannah like that. Maybe losing your father.” She sighs heavily. “Your mother is the strongest woman I know, but what happened today is enough to break anybody.”

I nod because I know exactly what she's saying. I feel more than a little bit broken myself.

“Why don't you take a break? Go downstairs and get something to eat. The housekeeper made some soup. It'll do you good.”

“I don't want to leave him alone.”

“I know. That's why I came up. I'll sit with him, do some healing while you stretch your legs. Maybe check on your mother and Rachael—I can see that you want to.”

She's right. I do. Even more than that, though, I want to talk to my brother. See what Donovan has to say about all of this.

“Thanks.” I lean over, brush a kiss across my aunt's cheek. She smells like lemons and spearmint, the same as always. Somehow it isn't as comforting a combination as it usually is. But when she squeezes my arm and I feel the wave of heat where her fingers wrap around my bicep, I find myself relaxing despite myself. Which is exactly what she intends, I'm sure.

While she takes up vigil next to Declan, I slip out of the room as quietly as I can. I don't want to be gone too long, but there's a lot I need to cover in these next few minutes. I can't afford to dawdle.

First stop is to look in on my mother. Rachael and Noora are in her sitting room, talking quietly. I take one look at their red noses and swollen eyes and feel the darkness grow. Feel my resolve stiffen. Whoever did this to my family is going to pay.

Next stop is the kitchen for that bowl of soup. I don't really want it, but I'm determined to try to eat. With everything that's happened in the last three weeks, I've somehow managed to lose twelve pounds—pounds I can't afford to lose if I plan to take on the bastards who did this to my family.

And I do. Dear goddess, do I ever.

Besides, my head is back to its painful throbbing and I need something in my stomach before I pop some Advil.

Donovan walks in while I'm ladling up a bowl. I hand it to him, then pour another bowl for myself. Then grab a couple of chunks of bread from the basket sitting on the counter before sitting next to him at the breakfast bar that runs the length of the back wall.

We don't talk as we eat. Instead, we spend the time looking out over the ranch. Down here, I can see things so much more clearly than I could on the third floor. There's a security guard posted at every point of entry around the house—including the window where we're currently sitting. Others are patrolling the acreage while others guard the borders from inquisitive reporters and unknown threats.

Even more are at the house in town, working with the police and firefighters to comb through what's left of my parents' home.

When I've choked down as much soup as I can—which turns out only to be a few bites—I push my bowl away, then wait for Donovan to finish his. Considering his appetite isn't much better than mine, it only takes a couple of minutes.

He starts the conversation. “How's your head?”

I reach up, trace gentle fingers over the golf-ball-sized bump that's sprung up at the crown of my head. “It hurts.”

“I bet. You should let Tsura take a look at it.”

“She's got enough to do. Besides, Declan already healed most of it.”

“Yeah, well, if it gets any worse, I want to be the first to know about it.”

His voice is so full of command that I can't resist. “Yes, Your Majesty. And shall I curtsy while I inform you?”

He retaliates by tugging on a lock of my hair from the uninjured side of my head. “Brat.”

“Bossy.”

We grin at each other, enjoying the few seconds of normal before everything crashes back in on us. Finally, Donovan stretches out his legs with a sigh and asks, “What are we going to do about this, Xandra?”

“The only thing we can do. Find out who did this. And make them pay.”

For long seconds, he doesn't answer. Just stares at me through narrowed eyes as if trying to sense my resolve. “Is that you talking? Or Declan?”

I don't take offense—it's a valid question, after all, considering that this darkness isn't characteristic of me. “Oh, it's me. It is, very definitely, me.”

He nods. “Okay, then. So how are we going to go about doing that?”

“My first thought is to get rid of the bull's eye that seems to be painted over every single one of us. We need to restrict access to the royal family, especially to Mom and Dad and you.”

“And you,” he reminds me. “You are right behind me in the line of succession to the throne.”

“I try not to think about that.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should start. These are dangerous days.”

“In my opinion, that's just one more reason to keep you alive.”

“I'd like to keep all of us alive, if possible.”

At his words, my thoughts turn to Hannah. From the look in his eyes, so do his. “Where is she? Where's Hannah's—” My voice breaks. I can't bring myself to say the word
body
. Hannah's body. It just sounds so final and I can't go there yet. Can't accept the idea that my beautiful, carefree big sister is really gone.

“Jared and I arranged for her to be taken to the Kasseras'. We agreed an autopsy wasn't necessary considering we already know . . . how she died.”

Another benefit to having me around. Who needs a coroner when I can tell you in excruciating detail, exactly how people die? Admittedly, being in a witch town—with citizens who generally live for centuries—we don't have much need of coroners or mortuaries anyway. Hannah is only the second member of our family to die in my lifetime, though I have dozens of aunts and uncles and cousins. My mother's family, especially, believes in big families.

“Makes sense. When will we—” Again I can't bring myself to say the words.

“That's up to Mom. And hopefully Dad. When she's ready, we'll talk about the funeral.” He pauses, thrusts a hand through his hair. Drums the fingers of the other hand on the counter in front of us.

“Just spit it out,” I finally tell him, exasperated.

“Sorry.” He grimaces. “I spoke with Declan this morning.”

“I know.”

“Do you agree with him? That the Council is behind all of this?”

“Not the whole Council, since two of them are dead. But, yeah, I think someone's gotten way too power hungry. And it only makes sense that it's one of them.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Do we know anything yet? About what actually happened at the house?”

“We know more than I thought they would at this juncture, actually.” He crosses to the coffeepot, pours himself a cup, then lifts an eyebrow in my direction. I shake my head—I'm exhausted, but caffeine is the last thing I need right now. “All four of the bombs—”

“Four? I thought there were only three?” I was sure I'd heard only three explosions.

“There were four,” he tells me grimly. “One was set in the middle of Mom's garden—it took out the ceremony circle, along with the cabin that houses all our tools. Mom's plants were also decimated.”

Dear goddess
. I fall back against the chair and try not to think about what he's said. How could anyone be so malicious? So evil? It's one thing to bring the house down—that is more than awful enough. But to go after the ceremony circle? Our wands and athames? The plants my mother and sister use to work magic and heal people? “It's vile.”

“Yes,” my brother agrees. “But it's also stupid. Whoever did this was so worried about taking everything down that they didn't do enough to cover their tracks.”

My heart beats more quickly. “You have a lead?” While I'm thrilled at the thought, I can't help wondering if maybe our suspicions are misplaced—because careless, rushed, sloppy work just doesn't sound like the ACW. When they want to cause damage, they do, but they are masters at covering their tracks. I know this from intimate, personal experience.

“Well, whoever created the bombs didn't bother to hide the magic woven into them. It's all over the fragments. They probably thought the bomb would destroy all traces of the spells that were used, but it didn't. Particularly the one in the gardens. It was such a wide-open space—nothing for the bomb fragments to decimate themselves against—that WI managed to piece together a bunch of shards. Those shards, when combined, have given Jared a partial magical thumbprint.

“He's running it through the database right now, waiting to see what pops up. It won't be definitive—there isn't enough to make an absolute call—but they have five partial matches already. Once the program is done running, they'll have a list of suspects. And we'll go from there.”

I think of my assumptions earlier, the conversation I had with Declan. And feel the prickles of unease get worse. Could the ACW really have been so incompetent? All my knowledge, every instinct I have, screams, “No way.” If they're found culpable for this, then they are all dead—witches, wizards and warlocks aren't exactly known for their ability to forgive.

Even if my parents don't eviscerate them—which I have no doubt they will—the covens will never tolerate being governed by these Council members again. Even the Council structure itself would be in jeopardy if such a thing came out. This isn't to say that one Councilor wouldn't be this stupid. But more? Suddenly the conspiracy we've been looking for seems awfully shaky.

“Would any of the Councilors really be that stupid?” I ask Donovan. “Would one of them really be careless enough to leave a magical imprint?”

“They were stupid enough to hire Kyle,” he answers.

“Or so he claimed. There's no actual proof of that.”

“Except for your torture and near-death experience?” His fists clench with a rage that clearly hasn't abated in the last week and a half.

“What if this is just a setup?” I ask, voicing the suspicion that's just taken hold inside me. “What if all this is just an elaborate ruse to pit us against the ACW?”

“You don't really believe that.”

A few hours ago I didn't. But here, now, in the bright lights of the kitchen, I'm not so sure. My arguments just aren't standing up. “Think about it. We're on hair triggers over here—even before the bombing. Declan is just looking for an excuse to go after them and I know you are, too. Hell, if I'm honest, so am I.