Grandmère turns to me. “Allies and enemies can exploit weaknesses, like love and desire. And you have too many weaknesses as far as I can see—and honestly, so does Demetri.”
Upset bubbles inside me.
“Why do you trust Demetri to run private missions, if you worry about his weaknesses?”
“He’s better at following directions than you are. Besides, after losing Grace, we can’t afford to risk losing you too.”
My anger surges. “Are you saying he’s disposable?”
She scoffs. “I’m saying you’re valuable.”
I bite my tongue. Love should never be about the value of someone’s power or how you can use them.
I want to go to Philadelphia. I want to see what a scouting mission looks like. I want to be there to help protect my brother… especially since no one was there to protect Grace. I turn to Grandmère. “Magic is stronger with the women in our family. That’s why you should trust me to go on this intel mission. I can do it. I swear I can.”
“Doesn’t matter, you won’t. Enough of this.” Grandmère grabs me by my shoulders and spins me to face the stairs. “I wish I could continue to spare you the burden of the truth. But there are things you must see to understand.”
She lifts her pointer finger. A glittery spiral of moonlight swoops and swirls from a window across the room, encircling her thin finger. She aims that finger between my eyes like the barrel of a gun.
A wave of dizziness hits me. The dance floor flickers, darkness slinkingthrough the corners of my vision, turning the people around me into whirling silhouettes. Light claws into me.
The last thing I see is the blur of my grandmother’s beautiful blue dress.
In the vision Grandmère shows me, a young man and woman are sprinting through a dense forest, their feet pounding against the dirt and leaves. They emerge from the trees and reach a beach of black sand, and then a gunshot rings out, followed by a piercing scream from the young woman. Blood oozes from a wound in her stomach as she falls to the ground, a hiss sounding as a snake slithers toward her.
I stare in horror as a witch taunts her and the snake comes closer to the young woman’s vulnerable form. My heart races and my hands shake as I struggle to process the gruesome scene before me.
“Little bird.”
I blink. My vision clears, and my grandmother’s silhouette sharpens before me. I jump, but I’m back in my own time. The dessert tables, the band, and the people dancing at the party come into focus around me. “Was that real? Did you send me back in time?” I say, out of breath. I never want to go back that far again.
“What did you see?”
My heart races. “Everything. Titus and Venus. The witch. The bargain.”
Tears rush down my cheeks, and she quickly wipes them away.
“Just an illusion, Emma,” she whispers. “But you needed a vision of the past to understand what’s to come.”
It takes everything I have not to be disrespectful and knock the champagne flute from her hand. “You keep saying—‘what’s to come.’ Just tell me!”
She smiles and clicks her long red nails on the monogrammedCBetched on the flute. Clair Baldwin, her initials. “I already did, my birdie. Or rather, Sabine did.” Grandmère’s eyes pierce mine. “The Tether.”
“The Tether?” The words send a shiver through me. “What exactly is it? A fight? A game?”
“A competition, little bird,” Gran explains. “Between us and the Davenports. A contest of wills between one member of our family and onemember of theirs. Three rounds of magical challenges. Each requires the competitors to showcase the full extent of their power and strength.”
My mind is whirling. “And who decides who wins?”
Her gaze hardens. “Let’s just say that Sabine is always watching.”
My stomach clenches. I didn’t want to think she was still alive, but after I witnessed the way she seemed to grow younger before my eyes, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. “So what do we win?”
Grandmère nods. “The winner gains the loser’s power.”
Our powers are everything—our identity. How would we make our livelihood without them? “How is anyone supposed to cope if their power is stripped away?”
My grandmother sighs, her eyes solemn. “Darling birdie. The loser doesn’t survive.”
