Magic Rising (7 page)

For a moment, I flashed back to my old flat in London: the creeping mould, the loneliness I felt before I knew what and who I was. I hadn’t felt that way for months upon months. Despite a brief separation from Evan, courtesy of Eleanor’s attack which left him severely injured, he was my constant companion, my lover, my teacher, my friend. I needed to feel his arms around me, his comforting words as he told me everything would be all right. So much for my resolve that this week apart would be nothing but a blip. I
ached
for him.

With my hand firmly clenched around the phone, expecting it to ring any moment, I moved towards the doorway and Etoile‘s small home office. There was barely more than a desk, a chair, and a bookcase that doubled as a filing cabinet. Though sparse, it was pretty, as well as utilitarian. Instead of blank walls, a metallic fleur-de-lis wallpaper covered the wall her desk rested against. The desk was white and shiny, with an open laptop, but Etoile ignored it while she spoke into her phone. Seconds later, she hung up and turned to me, her expression even more grim.

“Seren and David both received summons to testify.”

“That’s good,” I decided. “They can tell the court exactly what happened.”

Etoile nodded. “I still haven’t received mine.” A beep emitted from her phone and she picked it up, quickly scanning the screen. “Astra got one too.”

“How is she?” I asked, maintaining an even tone. Astra was something of an enigma to me. While Etoile and Seren exemplified strength, confidence and self-assurance in their demeanours, the youngest sister didn’t seem to be cut from the same cloth. The magic that made my friends everything they were was also the one that had driven Astra wild. Etoile didn’t speak about her often, but I knew she kept close tabs on her. I knew she was released into the custody of their parents.

“She’s well. Very well, actually.” Etoile smiled. “She’s been through a lot and she’s… she’s changed, Stella. She’s stronger than she used to be. Much more… I don’t know the word. Possessed, I think. Like she really knows who she is now. That said, I’m not sure the trial is the best place for her.”

“Will it stress her?”

“Maybe. We don’t know everything that happened to her during those two years. I’m not sure we ever will. This trial is bound to cause her undue stress, which she doesn’t need now, especially when things are going so well.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t testify?”

“She already said she would.” Etoile set her phone on the desk, then rested her arms on the slim armrests. “She said she would right her wrong.”

“She didn’t kill anyone,” I pointed out.

“She allowed her magic to be extracted for ill will and she
did
hurt people,” Etoile pointed out matter-of-factly, even though it clearly pained her to do so. “It was only her precarious mental position that prevented her from being indicted during the investigation. She might prove to be an excellent witness in your favour.”

I agreed with that, but I couldn’t in all good conscience allow it. “Not at the expense of her mental health!” I shook my head. It didn’t seem fair to make her suffer all over again. I was working hard on forgiveness towards her.

“Astra is very much stronger now. I doubt I can talk her out of it, if this is what she’s chosen to do. She’s a lot like you, you know. Stubborn. I can feel her now, actually. She’s a little tense, but very determined.”

“How do you do that? Feel each other?” I asked. I was curious. I wasn’t sure how their bond worked, and if it were a sisterly thing that all families shared. Etoile and her sisters possessed many of the same abilities, and their powers were boosted whenever they were together, creating a formidable force. Though they were weakened considerably when Astra was ill, Etoile and Seren were still two of the most powerful witches I knew, which were few, at most. This Summit was supposed to change all that. Eleanor Bartholomew might have put me off the Council, but my real friends, including Anders, offered me renewed faith that some of the witches were decent. Etoile ran a hand through her short hair while she thought.

“It’s like there’s a web connecting us,” explained Etoile. “I guess it’s something to do with our telepathy and the sisterly bond. I can always feel them and if I concentrate, I know their basic moods. Happy, sad, hurt, worried. They can do the same for me. I can use it to locate them too. We can always mask it, if we want, but it’s nice to know they’re nearby. It didn’t feel right when the bond was broken.”

“Daniel and I just use the phone,” I said. My cousin, Daniel, and I had only known each other less than a year. I didn’t feel any connection to him, physically anyway. I knew he was in the city, but I couldn’t feel him or attest to his moods. Perhaps if we’d been raised together, things would have been different, or maybe not at all. Funny thing was, I’d been more concerned about the information about his powers being involuntarily used and exploited by the Brotherhood to locate and hunt down witches getting out, and its effect on his reception at the Summit, than what I’d done.

“Maybe if you’d known each other since birth, it would be different,” Etoile said and we left it at that. “Not all witch families bond in our particular way, though similar bonds can be created between lovers.”

“So, what now?” I asked, pondering this new information. “Did you find out anything?”

“Nothing yet. I’m calling Marc next, then we’ll order food. Anything you particularly want?”

“What’s local?”

“Just about everything. Menus are in the kitchen. Second drawer from the refrigerator. Take your pick.”

“Okay.”

We ate Chinese, and Etoile took a brief reprieve from her calls when Marc didn’t answer. Over dinner, we spoke to Kitty, who called in a panic at being summoned. Then Seren and her husband, David, both tried to console me, saying the whole thing was ridiculous and a waste of everyone’s time, which was nice, but it failed to reassure me. Later, Steven called to say he had the prosecution’s discovery paperwork and wanted to meet us for breakfast in the morning, but he wouldn’t elaborate on anything else. The only person who didn’t call, and the person I wanted to speak to most, was Evan.

“You know it doesn’t matter if they call every last one of us on the stand,” I said in despair as I helped Etoile clear away our dishes. “The answer to ‘did Stella Mayweather kill Eleanor Bartholomew?’ will always be the same. Yes.”

“That’s not the point,” argued Etoile. She took the cartons from my hands and dumped them in the trash, then stacked the dishwasher. “All we have to do is prove that you were acting in self-defence in an effort to save your life and ours. And we can do that. No problem. No problem at all,” she repeated to herself, but that didn’t erase the worried look I caught on her face as I turned away.

FIVE

I woke with a start and rolled my head towards the curtains, blinking at the sliver of light slicing through the little gap where they met in the middle. Something had awoken me. A little sound like a footstep or a whisper. I blinked again and yawned, not bothering to clap a hand over my mouth.

A large, dark shape shifted at the end of my bed. In a flash, I had my hands in front of me ready to ward off any attack.

“Don’t scream,” said a male voice, accompanied by a flash of sharp, white teeth. The words and teeth combined were enough to make the average person scream long and hard, except I sensed something familiar about my visitor. My magic, which should have bubbled to the surface by now, remained unactivated within me. It didn’t seem to feel threatened.

I narrowed my eyes and peered into the dark. “Micah?” I asked, my voice as dry as my mouth.

“The one and only,” said Micah, a full-blooded demon, smart ass and Evan’s assistant. He shifted on the bed and allowed the light to drift over him until he sat back in the early morning gloom of the bedroom. For the briefest of moments, I wondered what the hell he was doing in my bedroom. Then I remembered I was at Etoile‘s… and then I wondered what the hell he was doing in her apartment. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and picked up my watch. The hands showed six thirty a.m. I dropped it back on the nightstand and gave the covers a tug as I shuffled upright. They didn’t budge.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, giving them another tug. This time, Micah moved and I nearly thumped myself in the chin as the covers suddenly shot upwards.

“Watching you sleep. You snore like a water buffalo.”

“I do not!”

“Prove it.”

I threw a pillow at him. He didn’t make any move to avoid it, instead allowing it to bounce off the side of his head before hitting the floor. He didn’t even blink.

“You might want to be a little more polite since I’m here to save your scrawny witch butt,” he told me.

“It’s not scrawny!”

“You prefer…” he hesitated. Then his teeth gleamed again as his lips curled with amusement, “Rotund?”

“Shut up!” I hissed, taking a sideways peek. Not that I could see it clearly, but I didn’t think scrawny or rotund were good adjectives. We sat in silence, with me blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dark. “No offence, and I really mean it, but I kind of expected Evan.”

“He kind of knows that, but he can’t be here. Lucky me, I get to be instead. It is almost like winning the lottery. Can you see how happy I am?” Micah’s face didn’t move a single muscle.

“Yeah, you’re like a Botox party of one. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be,” I told him. “I know you. You’re not as bad as you make out.”

“Which just goes to show, you don’t know me at all. Where is your good-looking witch friend?”

“In her bedroom, I guess.”

“Just my luck I ping into yours.” Micah sighed. A snap of his fingers caused a pale glow to hover around us. “I hear you’re in trouble. Care to share?”

I picked at a stray thread from the covers. My initial surprise at his presence was suddenly replaced by a heavy feeling in my stomach. “I’m being indicted for murder.”

“Of what?” He picked up yesterday’s jeans from where I’d dropped them over the armchair beside the bed, and held them up. With a raised eyebrow, he inquired, “Fashion?”

“No! A person. Eleanor Bartholomew.”

“I feel like the name should ring a bell, but I struggle to bother. Please elucidate.”

“She was the wife of the last Council leader and she was nuts,” I explained, with emphasis on the crazy part. “She killed a bunch of people and tried to kill Evan, so I…”

“Offed her?” Micah helpfully supplied. “Good for you. What’s the problem?”

“The indictment,” I reminded him. “The one where they’re going to excommunicate me and strip me of my powers if they find me guilty.”

“You
are
guilty,” he pointed out, none too helpfully.

“No, I’m not. Ugh! It’s not that simple, Micah.” I sat up, pulling my knees up under the covers so I could hug them to me as my conscience suggested otherwise, but… There was always a caveat for the situation.
I killed her, but…
She was hurting us so I… She was hurting us and…
It went round and around in my head. I rested my chin on top of my knees and exhaled through my nose. I needed a hug. A big, squashy hug. “Where’s Evan?”

“Indisposed.”

“He couldn’t find a better pep talk coach?”

“No, your witchiness, he couldn’t. I’m here to serve. Please don’t take that literally,” Micah added.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

He poked my knee. “I’m waiting,” he said as he drew back, somehow able to look both expectant and bored.

I repeated the story for the umpteenth time. At the end of it, he yawned. “You are in a pickle,” he said, dryly. “I shall remain here throughout the trial.”

“Thanks.”

“Evan’s orders,” he said, just to prove it wasn’t his idea, and he wasn’t being nice.

“Thanks anyway.” I waited for him to suggest something, some kind of clever counter measure, or even news that Evan was due to arrive imminently. I hoped he wasn’t disappointed and that my predicament hadn’t complicated his job. Again. “So… you aren’t going to do anything?”

“Nope.”

“Fat lot of good you are.”

“What is it you would have me do?”

“Rescue me? Give me some tips on how to get out of this? Find out who set me up? Tell Evan to get his daemon butt over here? All of the above?”

“I’m a demon, not a miracle worker, and the daemon is unavailable. Will you settle for coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Micah moved faster than I could see. One moment, he was sitting on the edge of my bed, the next he was by the door, with his hand on the handle. “Do you still have the ring Evan gave you?” he asked unexpectedly.

I held up my hand. “This one?”

He nodded. “Keep it with you. Is Etoile alone?”

“No,” I lied.

For once, I got a reaction, but it was little more than a dark frown before his face evened out. “Who’s she with?”

“The New York Yankees. All nine of them.”

He laughed and left, closing the door behind him, but not before I yelled, “Etoile! Company.” They got on pretty well from what I could see. Micah might even have liked her; a thought that was mildly troubling because he was lethally dangerous and not averse to using his super sharp teeth as well as other innate traits. It was only fair to warn her that a demon was in her apartment.

I dressed quickly in my nicest clothing, granted the grave schedule for the day, and followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen. “The trial starts today,” I told him. Micah focused his eyes on the coffee pot and quadrupled the brewing speed. “Don’t mutilate the coffee. It might be my last chance for a decent cup with a demon,” I added, thinking of my own half-demon and wondering where he was. I checked my phone for texts, but there weren’t any, not even a little message to show he’d gotten mine. I had to suppose Micah was a fairly big reply, but it would have been nice if he’d returned the two calls I’d left him.

“Keep it up. There won’t be a dry eye in the house.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?”

Micah pulled a thoughtful face and appeared to be trying to make up his mind. I rolled my eyes. His superior expression showed me precisely what he thought of the “pesky” witch business. “Forget I asked. Where is Evan, anyway? I tried calling him twice and all you said is that he’s ‘indisposed.’ What does that mean anyway?”