Mixed in were little asides in brackets like as per HV and consult YSN for confirmation. Books or fellow academics he was gathering information from, presumably. I had no idea how to decipher those. But the fragments of a picture were enough.

  My stepmother wanted a binding. A binding that had to do with my consort ceremony, unless she had some secret daughter who just happened to be undergoing that partnering at the exact same time. Something to do with reversing it or turning the connection against itself? What did that even mean?

  “Rose?” Philomena ventured. She settled into the armchair beside me and peered down at my hunched form. “What’s the matter?”

  The enormity of the situation clogged my throat. It was real now. It was utterly real. “My consorting,” I said. “Celestine isn’t just meddling with my marriage using money—she’s trying to change the actual ceremony somehow.”

  Not a chance it was to my benefit, either. Even if I’d been inclined to give my stepmother the benefit of the doubt, which I wasn’t, daggers were only used to aid focus in more complicated magicking that involved severing or separation—or outright violence. None of which were factors anyone would welcome at a consorting.

  “I’ve always said she’s the worst kind of witch,” Phil said. “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.” All I had was Seth’s second-hand report. He’d left the notebook behind in Master Cortland’s house—as he should have. Who knew what chaos would result if my former tutor discovered a book like that missing?

  But if I understood what Celestine was trying to accomplish better, I might be able to interrupt her magicking. I pushed myself to my feet. “I think I’d better start asking some more questions.”

  Meredith had been out back when I’d returned to the house, checking the new planting in the gardens. I darted to the stairs and down, my gut still twisted tight.

  “Rose!”

  My father’s voice carried from the doorway of the front living room. I stopped halfway down the hall and turned. He was smiling when our eyes met, but his expression fell as he walked closer to me.

  “Is everything all right, lamb? You look upset. And you were running off in quite the hurry.”

  My lips parted and then pressed shut again. An ache formed at the base of my throat. I wanted to tell him. Wanted to see his hazel eyes fill with affectionate concern, wanted to hear his warm baritone tell me he’d see that the problem was solved.

  When it’d been just the two of us in our family, no matter how busy he’d gotten with his work, I’d been able to turn to Dad for anything. The nights when the boys had been home and Meredith off-duty, he’d been my whole world. Reading stories to me in the library. Sneaking down to the kitchen with me to grab that last slice of pie to share.

  But Celestine had started to worm her way into our lives when I was ten, and nothing had been quite the same since.

  Whatever he saw in her, he cared about her enough to have promised her his loyalty. Anything else, anything she wasn’t involved in, I could have trusted he’d be on my side. But this?

  I needed enough proof to make him sure, beyond any doubt. I needed there to be no way for Dad to argue that I was simply making unfair assumptions. When I had that, he’d have my back completely. I just didn’t have it yet.

  I swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Everything’s fine. I just remembered a message I forgot to pass on to Meredith. A little distracted with everything going on, you know.”

  Dad chuckled. “Of course. Well, you’d better hurry and find her then.”

  To my relief, I found Meredith in the gardens where I’d expected. She was scowling at a couple of newly planted lemon trees at the end of a bed of flowers. “These were meant to go on the other side,” she said as I came over to join her. “Well, the boys will just have to dig them up and move them over tomorrow.”

  Evening was falling—the gardening staff had gone home for the night. I pitched my voice low so no one could hear from an open window. “Meredith, there’s something else I need to ask you about.”

  She turned to me, her pale eyebrows rising. “Go ahead, Rose.”

  With the number of strange questions I was coming to our estate manager with, she was going to start wondering if I’d developed some sort of psychosis. I wavered and decided I was better off playing along with that idea.

  I clasped my hands in front of me. “I just—I guess it’s nerves. With the consorting so close. I can’t help worrying about things that seem silly. There isn’t any way that the ceremony can be… adjusted, to, I don’t know, change the outcome somehow, or hurt someone…”

  Meredith shook her head. “You’ve spent too much time holed away with all those books. I promise you any story like that is only a fairy tale, child. It’ll be your stepmother conducting the ceremony. I know the two of you haven’t seen eye to eye all the time—and the Spark knows I’ve had my share of complaints—but you must know she wouldn’t mean you outright harm.”

  I didn’t know that. Not at all. But this was exactly why I couldn’t talk to Dad. If even Meredith reacted like this, to a question without any accusation—

  I focused on the other part of her answer. “Books? I don’t actually remember reading anything about mixed up consorting.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you did when you were younger. Your father collects everything, and you read everything.” She let out an amused huff. “Clearly some idea got stuck in your head somewhere. But the ceremony is all very straightforward. You’d have to really be trying to get it wrong. So set your mind at ease, you hear?”

  I ducked my head. “Sorry to bother you.”

  She waved me off. “Oh, badger me whenever you want. I’m glad to talk your head out of the clouds as needed.”

  I didn’t think she’d have been very happy if she’d known I’d taken her advice and then headed straight to the library. Philomena reappeared beside me as I trailed my fingers over the books’ spines, scanning for the section I wanted. Dad’s system of organization wasn’t entirely intuitive.

  “Do you know what we’re looking for?” Phil asked.

  “Witching stories. Our legends and that sort of thing. There’ve been some collections gathered over the years when people got around to writing them down. It sounded like that’s what Meredith was talking about.”

  My hand stilled over one shelf. Tales of the Witching Past. Witching Folklore. A Compilation of Witching Stories. “Here we are.”

  “And what are we looking for in these?” Phil leaned her head over my shoulder as I pulled the first volume off the shelf.

  “Any stories that have to do with consorting,” I said.

  I glanced over the first book’s table of contents, shoved it back into the row, and grabbed the next. “The Autumn Consort.” That could be it. I flipped to the right page and skimmed the story.

  Nope, this was a romantic tale about a young witch meeting her great love just before she reached the dreaded age of twenty-five. A little too close to home right now, and not at all useful. I put that one back and moved on.

  I’d paged through at least ten books when I found it. “A Twisted Consorting,” the title said. My pulse hitched as I found its starting point.

  The story was about an orphaned witch taken in as a girl by a sadistic low-family couple who wanted to use her for their own ends. The man dissolved his consorting with his wife and persuaded the orphan to partner with him. Fine, fine, none of that related to my situation.

  Then I reached the part where the woman of the couple conducted the consorting ceremony for her former partner and her adopted daughter. When the glyphs were drawn, she drew a dagger through the symbol of the spark. Then, as she drew the energies of the consorting between the two, she twisted the ties back on themselves, locking the girl’s spark to her husband’s will. Her magic kindled, but only with his blessing could she call on it. And if he demanded and she tried to refuse, the pain of a dagger’s cut would slice through her chest.

  I lowered the book, my stomach churning. It was too easy to imagine being trapped like that, forced to bend my magic to someone else’s will…

  But it was just a folk tale. Meredith had said they weren’t true.

  Of course, Celestine hadn’t been sure what she wanted to do was possible either. That was why she’d gone to Master Cortland in the first place.

  An icy prickle ran down the center of me as my gaze lingered on the story’s title. “A Twisted Consorting.” On an impulse, I flipped back to the front of the book. This one’s title was Witching Tales of the Yesteryear.

  Something about those words felt far too familiar.

  My fingers tightened around the book. I nudged the other volumes on that shelf so the gap wasn’t obvious. Then, tucking that one under my arm, I hurried to my bedroom.

  “Did you find it?” Phil said. “Do you know what that witch has up her sleeve?”

  “Maybe,” I said. I’d wanted answers, but now I almost hoped I hadn’t found one. I shut my bedroom door, locked it, and retrieved my prepaid phone from beneath the bookshelves. My nerves jittered as I brought up the notes I’d saved from Seth’s now-deleted texts. The second I laid eyes on them, my heart sank.

  There it was. The reference right next to Master Cortland’s note about the dagger. Via WTOTY/ATC. The letters couldn’t be clearer. Witching Tales of the Yesteryear/A Twisted Consorting.

  I didn’t know where he’d gotten the other ideas for Celestine’s “binding,” but that one had come from a copy of the same book I held in my hands right now.

  “She wants to bind my magic to Derek’s will,” I said. My voice shook as the words spilled out. “So I can’t use it without his permission, and if he wants me to use it, I have to.”

  Philomena’s eyes widened. “And she can accomplish that?”

  “Master Cortland told her he thought it would be possible.”

  My imaginary best friend made a disgruntled sound. She stalked from the bookcase to the end of the bed and back, her skirts rustling against the floor. “And what do you think your fiancé knows about all of this? A spell like that wouldn’t do her much good if he didn’t agree to use it.”

  That question jabbed even deeper than my initial revelation had. I dragged in a breath, a burn forming behind my eyes.

  “You’re right. He has to know.”

  I pressed my hand to my temple. My consort-to-be was conspiring with my stepmother to take control over my magic. Just because he wanted to? That was so much worse than simply not liking me all that much. You’d have to hate a person to do that to them, wouldn’t you?

  Was there any possible explanation? Celestine had sent that money to his family—she could have told him anything—maybe he thought the binding would help them somehow?

  It didn’t really matter what the explanation was, though. One thing was perfectly clear.

  The words popped out. “I can’t marry him. I can’t take him as consort. Not if he was willing to be a part of this, for any reason.”

  “Well, fine. I didn’t think you should marry him anyway. Call off the engagement!” Phil let out a little cheer.

  “And then what? I don’t have anyone else. I only have two months left before I turn twenty-five.” Could Dad arrange a new consort for me that quickly—one I’d be able to tolerate spending my life with—when it had taken so long just to find Derek? A few of the tears that had been threatening spilled out. “Phil, I think I’m going to lose my magic.”

  The power I’d been training my whole life to take. The spark I’d been longing to feel light inside me since I was a little girl. I’d lose that.

  I’d lose my home. A magic-less witch couldn’t inherit. The estate would go to one of my stepsisters, I guessed. I didn’t even know where I’d go.

  A magic-less witch was nothing. Worse than nothing.

  “No,” Phil said firmly. “You’re not losing anything. I refuse to allow it. We just have to consider the situation thoroughly.”

  “There’s nothing to consider,” I said. “I need a witching man as my consort, to complete that magical bond and show my commitment, or my spark will never light.”

  I paused, a memory tugging at me. Except… maybe it had lit, just a little, once already. With a man who had nothing to do with witching at all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rose

  I knew how a seduction was supposed to work. I’d read enough of those scenes in the copious novels I’d devoured.

  Put on some slinky clothes that showed off however much cleavage was just slightly inappropriate for the time period. Primp hair and dab on some alluring perfume. Then head over to that guy ready to knock his socks off.

  What those books hadn’t generally mentioned was how awkward you could end up feeling wearing clothes both fancier and more revealing than your usual casual blouses and jeans. Or how easy it was to overdo it on the perfume when you pretty much never wore the stuff.

  After several changes and a lot of hasty wrist scrubbing, I was here. Standing in the stairwell beneath Seth’s apartment, one of the two that sat on top of his dad’s hardware store. Smelling mostly of my usual soap, but at least I didn’t smell bad. The silky V-neck blouse and somewhat more modest skirt I’d finally settled on still felt out of place on me, but nowhere near as out of place as the dresses I’d considered, so I’d call that a win.

  But I was having an awful lot of trouble convincing my legs to climb those stairs.

  “I look okay, right?” I said to Philomena.

  She tipped her head with an amused smile. “You look lovely, Rose. My little girl, all grown up.”

  I rolled my eyes at her, and she giggled. Then she swatted me with her fan. “Well, are you going up there or not?”

  I dragged in a breath. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

  “Darling, I think the only one who can answer that is you.”

  “I have to know. I can’t make any decisions if I don’t know.”

  “Well, there you go. Consider how many men I’ve kissed just to find out if I found the experience worthwhile. You’ve got much more urgent reasons than I ever did.”

  Even though she was only in my head, it was comforting having her there with me. Which was why it stung a little for me to say, “All right. I think you’d better give us a little, ah, privacy.”

  “Why, of course. A lady wouldn’t intrude.” She fluttered her fan and her eyelashes. “But I do want to hear all the details when I see you next.”

  I was doing this. Yes, I was. One step, and then another, and then another. My hand settled over my opposite wrist, where I’d wrapped today’s ribbon. Green, for Seth’s steadiness and strength. I could use some of that for myself right now, oh yeah.

  My heart thumped faster. Those stairs passed by far too quickly. Just like that, I was stopping in front of the apartment door.

  He was going to think I’d gone crazy. Or pity me. Or—

  No. I’d seen the way he looked at me when we were alone in Master Cortland’s house. I might not be experienced, but I was pretty sure I could recognize desire when it was written all over someone’s face.

  When I felt it echoing through me at the same time.

  I raised my hand and knocked.

  At first there was nothing on the other side. Then hesitant footsteps brushed across the floor. Seth eased open the door.

  He was wearing glasses I’d never seen before. Rounded rectangular frames, a glint of glass over his gray-green eyes. Eyes that were blinking at me in confusion.

  “Rose?” he said. “Why are you— Did something happen? Are you all right?”

  “I—” I started, and my throat closed up. The sense of just how not all right my life was right now hit me in a way it somehow hadn’t before.

  “Come in,” Seth said, guiding me with a hand on my shoulder. “Sit down. If there’s anything I can do to help, you know I will.”

  I didn’t think he was the slightest bit prepared for the kind of help I was going to ask for. But first things first.

  Everything in Seth’s apartment looked as if it’d been chosen for function or comfort over style. Nothing on the walls except a set of coat hooks in the hall and a pot rack in the kitchen. A set of weights stood in one corner. The boxy sofa and tables filled the living room’s space efficiently. The rug was the perfect beige to swallow just about any stain.

  But when I sank onto one end of the sofa, I found the cushions were enjoyably cushy. I shifted my weight, settling right in.

  Seth took the other end of the sofa, turning to face me. I couldn’t help staring at his face. “When did you start wearing glasses?”

  “Oh!” He took them off and set them on the coffee table next to a sports magazine he’d left open. “I just need them for reading. I guess I’m not the twin you’d expect to see in glasses, huh?”

  My lips twitched upward. “I guess not. But I like them.”

  Had his neck just turned a tad red? He gestured toward the kitchen. “Do you need anything? I can get you something to drink.”

  I shook my head. “No. That’s all right. Thank you. Just give me a second.”

  He watched me gather myself. His gaze skimmed briefly down my body, over the bare skin above the neck of my blouse, the curves it accentuated beneath. The skirt I’d picked was riding just a few inches up my thighs from my knees. He schooled his eyes upward a moment later, but his Adam’s apple bobbed. He’d noticed.

  But the efforts I’d gone to felt suddenly horrible. I didn’t want to try to tempt him into anything he wouldn’t have done if he were thinking clearly. I wasn’t here to trick him. The guy sitting across from me was my friend, one of my closest friends, before anything else. He deserved honesty.

  I tugged my skirt closer to my knees. “The information you found,” I said. “I figured out what it was for. It’s… It’s hard to explain. I guess you could say my marriage was being planned as a trap. So obviously I’m not getting married anymore.”

  Seth’s face darkened. “Your fiancé was in on this too?”

  “He had to be. I don’t know exactly how much, or why—” I made a jerking motion with my hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120