“Wanted a drive. Didn’t feel good.”
She scans me head to toe clinically. “Feeling well isn’t an excuse to skip your duties. Come, we only have a few hours left, and the coven is assembling shortly.”
I trail her inside the house, just going for it. She’ll deny me either way, so there’s no point in putting it off. “Maybe this year I’ll stay back with the kids. I still kinda feel off.”
She glares over her shoulder in that mom-way that makes me want to shrink into the ground. Or kill myself and let Hecate save my soul from her. “Next year, you’re leading it. Sitting outagainis not an option if you are to learn what to do.”
She’s never mentioned this tidbit before, but it shouldn’t be surprising. Mom’s been on my ass about taking on more and more of her tasks, to prepare me to become High Priestess. Meanwhile, I’d like to avoid that unfortunate future for as long as possible. Being a leader holds zero interest for me, but Mom decided long ago I’ll be following tradition and take over from her, exactly how she did for her mother.
She gestures to the staircase while on her way to the kitchen. “Get changed. Be down in fifteen.”
Every minute of those fifteen and not a second less will be used.
Inside my room, my yoga pants and zip-up sweater get swapped for a simple knee-length black summer dress. Mom, for some reason, has a very strict dress policy for Treaty Day. The pack literally arrives as animals, according to Jasper’s reports, and only the Alpha ever shifts and changes into whatever clothes he brings, which is usually jeans or sweats. Yet, Mom insists on us dressing up, probably trying to make a statement about us versus them and our lifestyles.
Thinking about it now, if that is the case, it kind of bothers me. It’s an entitled bitch move and something I’ll immediately change.
Once dressed, I root through my closet for my black cloak lined with a deep blue silk, representing my element of water. It’s supposed to be hung to remain wrinkle-free, but that would require caring. A quick spell removes the wrinkles so Mom will never know.
I wrap it around myself, clasping the metal at the base of my neck and lifting the hood over my head to arrange my hair. A final peek in the mirror reveals me appearing as every bit the coven’s heir as she’ll want me to be.
Once I’m downstairs, Mom scans me clinically before nodding her approval. She grasps my hand and forgoes mortal methods of transportation to magickly transport us to the field always used for the meetings.
It’s an ability I’ve never mastered because she refuses to teach me, as some sort of control mechanism, I’m sure. Having the ability to pop myself wherever means it’ll be more difficult to track me, and Goddess-forbid she can’t find me at every second of the day.
Our arrival comes after half the coven, and Mom immediately heads to talk with some of the older members. I’mhalf surprised she didn’t drag me along with her for more “High Priestess practice.”
Jasper approaches, his cloak draped over a button-down shirt and pressed slacks. Because this is how witches standing in the middle of the woodsshouldappear, right? I roll my eyes at the errant thought about Mom’s dress code.
“Blessed Be. Glad to see you’re still alive.”
My nose wrinkles, reminding myself he’s being snarky and doesn’t actually know his statement hits closer to the possibility. “As always, I stayed out of view.” Not a lie. This time, the wolf found me.
Jasper’s a stickler for rules, but he’s also loyal to a fault. Given we’ve grown up together, I wrangled more of that loyalty from him than Mom has. “He usually attends these meetings,” he remarks, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Means you get to see him twice in one day.”
That’s the problem.
“Yay.” It’s utterly forced and probably as transparent as the wind, but Jasper seems to take my fake excitement as it was intended.
“Carina, only you’d enjoy seeing our enemy. Wonder what they’ll ask for this year.”
If the Alpha’s son tells his father about today, they could very well be asking for a few things to maintain the peace.
A billion years ago—not actually, but close enough—the wolves owned the mountains shortly before the Sinclair family initiated Highridge Coven and chose this territory. They refused to back away from the budding town, but the pack protected the mountains with everything they had. War lasted only weeks; the coven was still new to magick and couldn’t fight at full-strength, while the shifters conceded because they didn’t like that the Canadian government was establishing Banff as an actual town and popular tourist destination. Shifters being the human-haters they are didn’t want to deal with it, so they exchanged the town for centuries of peace and annual boons provided by the coven.
Usually, they request healing herbs or potions to better equip themselves going into winter. Very rarely, it’s monetary things, like money, though according to Mom, they generally avoid anything mortal in nature and prefer to live off the land.
Jasper leads me towards his friends. I ignore them in favour of the setting sun, while fisting my cloak and trying to come up with a way to get out of this before the shifters arrive. Maybe as the sun goes down, no one will see me slip away into the dark forest.
The hour of waiting is spent with me jumpy as hell and ignoring everyone until Mom announces the pack is nearing.
The coven spreads in a wide arc to fence the entire area. Jasper’s parents, my aunt and uncle—Dominique and Frederic—step beside and a little ways back from Mom on her left. Jasper takes up an identical position on her right, while I stay beside him and between them, because Mom would kill me if I hid amongst the ranks and missed out on the conversation.
When Jasper straightens upright, my shoulders do the opposite and cave in, to hide my face from the approaching pack. Maybe he won’t come. Maybe I’m doing a good enough job of hiding. Maybe, just maybe, Hecate will murder me now and claim my soul.
A moment later, through the barely-there glow of the sun, wolves emerge in a V-formation. Twelve of them, nearly matched to our numbers. My eyes sweep the lines, once, twice, searching for the Alpha’s son. Victory is creeping over my anxiety, the tense muscles keeping me on edge slowly unknotting. One more sweep, this time much slower to ensure I haven’t missed him, before pausing on the Alpha, trying to recall Jasper’s description of the aging man.
Heshouldbe old, but the shifter—the man; the only one in mortal form—walking in the centremost spot, the Alpha’s position, isn’t old at all. He’s young, about my age. With dark hair pushed behind his ears. And water-coloured penetrating eyes that immediately snap to me.
