Hedge Witch Diaries Complete Series Boxed Set, page 28
“Don’t ‘Miss Bloom’ me,” I snapped, anger rising hot inside me. “You brought this up. Tell me what you know about my mother.”
Evander’s lip curled in a sneer. “Watch your tone, girl,” he stated coldly. “You are speaking to the High Sorcerer of the Grand Coven!”
I whirled on him, hands clenching into fists. “And you’re avoiding my question. What are you hiding?”
Evander’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Mind yourself,” he growled. “I spoke hastily. I defer to the High Sorcerer’s judgment in this matter.”
Fury surged through me, and I opened my mouth to accuse Evander outright. To call him a murderer. I knew the Sharpes killed my parents. Dorian was there. They framed him for it, but he told me the truth. The accusations were on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill out in a torrent.
Yet something held me back. Some instinct warned me not to reveal how much I knew. Not here, when I was alone and outnumbered.
I swallowed the accusations down like broken glass and choked out, “Bullshit. You know more than you’re saying.”
Evander’s eyes flashed with anger, but Balzac stepped between us before he could respond.
“Please, let’s not argue,” Balzac implored, raising his hands placatingly. “Evander is right. He spoke out of turn. We know little more than rumors and theories.”
I shook my head, crossing my arms defiantly. Getting more information on the lady of the lake wasn’t going to happen. Maybe if I could corner the Sharpes without Balzac looming over—well, technically under—them, they’d tell me more.
Not that I wanted to be in a room with the people who’d killed my parents or that I’d trust them in the least. Still, if my mother was out there, alive or as a spirit, I had to find out for sure.
I drew a deep breath. “Never mind. I’ll drop the question for now. If that woman appears again, though…”
Balzac’s expression softened. “Of course. Forgive me, we’ve gotten off track.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Locating Gareth must be our priority. If he continues down this dark path, I fear for us all.”
He paused, regarding me thoughtfully. “You possess a rare gift, communicating with nature spirits. Perhaps you could use it to aid our search?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know. The spirits I know have been quiet lately. If they knew where Gareth was, I think they’d have told me.”
“Understandable.” Balzac nodded. “Your power is untrained. With guidance, you could accomplish so much more.”
He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They stayed cold and calculating.
“If you joined us, I could teach you myself. Help you reach your full potential.”
I tensed. Here it was, the recruitment pitch. Should have seen that coming.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I replied evenly. “I’ll help find Gareth, but I’m not joining any coven.”
Balzac’s smile faded. Behind him, the Sharpes whispered to each other, their expressions dark.
Whatever they were planning, I wanted no part of it. I needed to figure out what the hell the Sharpes knew. Why did Evander spit out his theory about my mother, clearly in calculated defiance to Balzac, if he wasn’t up to something?
I turned on my heel, striding for the door. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll consult the spirits and see if I can find out where Gareth is hiding.”
Before I could leave, Balzac called out. “Miss Bloom, one moment, please.”
I paused, hand on the doorknob. Balzac’s tone brooked no argument.
After turning back, I met his gaze warily. “Yes?”
“A word of advice.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “You are young and passionate, but take care where you direct that passion. Forming certain attachments would be unwise.”
My eyes narrowed. He was talking about Dorian.
“Don’t trust blindly,” Balzac continued. “Even those closest to you may have ulterior motives.”
I bristled, biting back an angry retort. I wouldn’t take relationship advice from this manipulator.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I responded tightly.
Balzac smiled. “Excellent. Well then, I wish you the best of luck in your search.”
I didn’t respond, but before I could turn and leave, Balzac cleared his throat again. “Miss Lance?”
Sydney had been quiet the whole time. She stopped and turned, bowing her head. “Yes, High Sorcerer?”
“Keep her safe, would you? She’s more important than you know. And if you can convince the young Miss Bloom that joining us might be in her best interest…”
I deadpanned, “Hello. I’m standing right here.”
Balzac ignored my interjection. Sydney simply nodded. “Understood, High Sorcerer.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed through the door into the stone hallway of the Morai headquarters. “Balzac really has you by the ball sack, doesn’t he?”
Sydney winced. “You don’t understand. He’s like a king to witches all over the world. Don’t let his appearance deceive you. He’s the most powerful witch I’ve ever met. There’s a reason he’s the High Sorcerer.”
I snickered. “High Sorcerer. Ironic.”
“The term doesn’t refer to his stature.” Sydney refused to laugh at my quip. “You must watch your tone. He’s punished others for far less than how you addressed him before. Be thankful that he apparently remembers your parents fondly.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Speaking of my parents, Evander spoke up, knowing full well Balzac didn’t want me to think the lady of the lake was my mother. I have to find out what he knows.”
“Briar…I wouldn’t.”
I shook my head and ignored her. Rather than heading for the exit, I beelined for my father’s old office. If the Sharpes were digging through his old stuff, if they suspected my mother was alive, one way or another, I needed to find out what they knew.
Sydney hurried behind me, her footsteps tapping rapidly like a rabbit’s. “Briar, please be careful. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“I can handle myself,” I muttered, pushing open the door to my father’s office.
The bookshelves lining the walls and the large desk in the center were as I remembered. However, plenty had been moved around. Drawers stood open, and papers scattered haphazardly on the floor.
I gritted my teeth, stepping over the chaos. The Sharpes had no right to be in here, rummaging through my father’s belongings. It was bad enough they’d killed him and my mother.
“Looking for something?” a voice asked from behind me. I turned to see Evander standing in the doorway, a smirk playing across his lips.
“What’s it to you?” I spat. “Gareth told me all this stuff is mine.”
He shrugged. “It could be if you joined us. If you pledged yourself to the Morai.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Just because my father was Morai doesn’t mean I have to join this little secret society to claim what’s mine. Besides, why should I trust you? You killed my parents.”
Evander stared at me blankly. I knew the lie he was about to tell before he’d formed his words. “Dorian killed them. We tried to stop it.”
I snorted. “Bullshit. You framed him.”
Evander cleared his throat. “You’re clearly taken with the warlock. I can’t blame you. Power is alluring. He’s strong, maybe the strongest witch in the world outside of Balzac. He’s also dangerous. I do not intend you any ill will, Briar. I’d intended you to marry my son. For years, I’d expected you’d be my daughter. I’m not your enemy.”
I pressed my lips together. I didn’t know if the Sharpes had found out about the betrothal spell or how my father had deceived them by betrothing me to Dorian instead. Best keep those cards close to the chest, especially if the false betrothal gave the Sharpes reason to embrace me. I needed to know what they knew, which meant playing along as best I could.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him coolly. “Right now, I’m looking for something. Something I think you might know about.”
Evander’s expression turned guarded. “What might that be?”
“I think you know something about my mother.” I watched his face for any tells. “I think you know she might still be alive.”
Evander’s eyes flickered, and his lip curled. “I’m not supposed to talk about that. Balzac forbids it.”
“Didn’t stop you from blurting it out before,” I pointed out. “Why risk pissing him off? I don’t know you, but I don’t think you’re that dumb. You wanted me to know about your theory. Why is that?”
“Because your parents were our friends,” Evander insisted. “I know Dorian thinks he saw us kill your parents, but I swear it wasn’t us. There was something else, someone in that lake. Lilith and I tried to save your parents. Regretfully, we failed.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You seriously want me to believe something like the Loch Ness Monster is responsible? Dorian knows what he saw.”
Evander shook his head. “He blames us because we were the only other witches present, even as we blamed him. Surely you know by now that Dorian and your father were great friends insofar as Dorian’s curse allowed it.”
“Why would you risk telling me about this?” I asked. “Clearly, Balzac doesn’t want me to know.”
Evander sighed. “There’s a chance the lady you encountered isn’t your mother but the spirit that killed them both.”
I shook my head. “That lady protected me. She wasn’t evil.”
“Which is precisely how a siren behaves. She deceives. She lures you in. If she cannot seduce you, she earns your trust. Appears, perhaps, as your mother.”
I snorted. “You seriously think a siren is involved? I mean, what the hell? You’re saying there’s a mermaid in the lake?”
“A siren is not the same as a mermaid,” Evander countered. “Not at all like you’re imagining. They are insidious, deceptive creatures. They crave flesh, but they also crave power. They can blend with the spirits of those they consume. The question is not whether that woman is your mother or a siren. What Balzac worries about is that your mother might be the siren. If that’s true, she’s more than your mother now. She’s also everything she was before.”
As Evander was speaking, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed on the floor with a thud. Behind him stood Balzac, his hand glowing with silver energy, a spell he’d used to silence Evander. “I told you to leave, Miss Bloom.”
I stepped forward. I was testing my luck, especially given Balzac’s recent display, but I had to know. “Did Evander tell the truth? Is that what you’re afraid of? My mother might be united to some kind of siren now?”
Balzac’s gaze bore into me, searching for a sign of what I was thinking. “It’s possible,” he admitted at last. “The siren is a powerful and dangerous creature, and if your mother is linked to it, she is not to be trifled with.”
“What does that mean?” I demanded. “Is my mother alive? Can we find her?”
Balzac’s expression darkened. “I do not know,” he stated. “The siren’s powers are ancient and beyond our understanding. I will tell you this, Briar. If your mother is alive and has embraced the siren’s power, she is no longer the woman you knew. She is a force to be reckoned with and one we cannot predict or control.”
I swallowed, feeling an icy fear grip my heart. My mother, alive? Linked to a siren? It was almost too much to process.
Balzac continued. “The look on your face is precisely why I did not want the Sharpes to reveal our theory. I can see that you intend to seek her out, but you mustn’t. The siren craves in you what she once consumed in your parents.”
“You mean both my parents might be part of the siren?” I asked.
Balzac shook his head. “Your mother had an affinity for water spirits. It’s why she might be part of the siren now, even if your father did not survive. His power was more like yours, Briar. The siren could use it, absorb his power to become stronger, but I’m sorry to say, he’s surely dead.”
“If my mother is part of that siren, she wouldn’t hurt me,” I insisted.
“Which is what the siren wants you to believe,” Balzac replied. “It’s too dangerous, Miss Bloom. You must steer clear of the water until we know what we’re dealing with. We must focus on the task at hand. Will you help us find Gareth?”
I tilted my head. “Will you help me sort out the mystery about the siren and my mother? If there’s a way to save her, will you?”
“If there is a way, I’d certainly embrace it. I would have tried to do so years ago when your parents were lost to us.”
I inhaled deeply, considering Balzac’s words. My mother, alive and possibly linked to a siren. It was a lot to take in. Yet, as I grappled with the implications, I knew I couldn’t let the mystery go unsolved. I needed to know the truth, no matter how dangerous or painful.
“I’ll help you find Gareth,” I offered at last. “But I need your help, too. Whatever it takes to figure out what’s going on with my mother, we have to do it.”
Balzac regarded me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded.
“Very well. We’ll do what we can to help you. But be warned, Briar. If your mother is part of this, she will not be easily swayed. The siren will stop at nothing to get what it wants.”
“And you think the siren wants to eat me?” I rolled my eyes.
“She craves your power,” Balzac clarified. “She cannot yet consume you, though. A siren cannot take a witch unwillingly.”
“Why would my mother allow it?”
“To save you,” Balzac replied. “As a child, you were still vulnerable. If our theory is correct, your mother gave her power to the siren, and your father sacrificed himself trying to stop her from doing so. He thought he could protect you from the siren, but no one could dissuade your mother.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I thought all this was only a theory.”
Balzac shuffled through some papers scattered on my father’s desk until he retrieved a small leather-bound book. “This journal belonged to your father. Suffice it to say, there’s reason to believe from your father’s own records that our theory is true. Take it with you, if you must. These things belong to you. Read what your father wrote. Then, I implore you to leave this matter alone until we’ve resolved the situation with Gareth.”
“And if I help you with Gareth, you will help me find out if this is true? If there’s a way to save my mother?”
Balzac nodded. “You have my word.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The trailer door banged open, and I stumbled in, the stench of stale beer and Aiden’s dirty laundry assaulting my nose. Speak of the devil, there he was. He sprawled on the couch in nothing but his stained boxers, eyes glued to the football game as he cursed at the TV.
“That damn quarterback couldn’t throw a spiral if his life depended on it! Not like I could back in high school. Should’ve gotten that scholarship if Coach hadn’t been such an asshole,” Aiden grumbled.
I bit my tongue, vividly recalling Aiden on the field. More interceptions than touchdowns with his wobbly arm. He only made quarterback because the Camden County High School was short on talent, and he only took the position because of his delusion it’d help him score chicks.
Sydney breezed past me, perching beside Aiden and stroking his arm soothingly. “I’m sure you were incredible. Who knows how far you could’ve gone if that coach had given you a real chance?”
Aiden grunted, mollified, as Sydney shot me a sly wink. I stifled a snort. Bless her for humoring him.
I led Dorian away from the pathetic scene, lowering my voice. I’d already briefed him on what we’d learned from Balzac and Evander. “It all makes sense. Not that I ever believed in sirens until now. There was strange music when she appeared, though. Almost like singing. What if they’re right? What if this thing in the lake is a siren that consumed my mother’s spirit and melded with it somehow?”
Dorian stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It’s possible. As one with an affinity for water spirits, I’m familiar with such beings. Yet sirens of that caliber are rare. For one to exist here, in a man-made lake in Missouri…” He trailed off, frowning.
“Someone would have had to bring it here. On purpose.” The truth hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.
Dorian’s eyes blazed with anger. “The Sharpes. It had to be them. I know Evander claimed they were trying to save your parents from the siren, but clearly, that was a ruse. They knew the siren was there and used its power to kill your mother and father. This doesn’t exonerate the Sharpes. All it means is the weapon they used to murder your parents was different than we thought.”
I nodded, my hands trembling as I opened my father’s journal. The one Balzac had given me. As I flipped through the worn pages, skimming my dad’s messy scrawl, one passage in particular caught my eye.
“The siren is an imminent threat to Briar’s safety,” I read aloud. “We must find it and banish it before it finds her. If she were to step foot in the lake even once, the siren might devour her. I cannot let that happen.”
Dorian’s brow furrowed. “This is news to me. Why wouldn’t your father have warned me of this threat? Especially with my affinity for water spirits, I could have helped.”
I met his intense gaze. “Maybe they wanted to protect you. This thing consumes witches. If it can mingle with water spirits…” I hesitated. “Maybe they kept it from you to keep you safe. Because of our betrothal.”
Dorian looked thoughtful. “That makes sense. If one of us had died before we fulfilled the betrothal, it would have left the other unable to love again.” He squeezed my hand gently. “Your parents were protecting both of us.”
I closed the journal with a sigh. “This confirms Balzac and the Sharpes were telling some truth. It still doesn’t prove who unleashed the siren on my family.”
Dorian’s expression darkened. “Oh, I know it was the Sharpes. They had everything to gain from your parents’ deaths. The siren was their weapon.”
I watched him, turmoil churning in my gut. He seemed convinced of their guilt, but something still nagged at me. “I’m not sure. It certainly makes sense, and they had motive, but Evander insisted they were there to help.”
