Calli made it to the front door with Persephone. Her fingers were fumbling with the door handle when the hairs on the back of her neck shot up. She ducked, just as something shattered the glass panel of her front door.
With a terrifying crack, wood splintered. She glanced over her shoulder to see the door at the far end of the hall in splinters. The shadow of a dog stood there, legs braced apart, accompanied by a familiar growl.
Hades. What was he doing here? Was Malcolm here?
“What the hell? Two familiars?” The hunter snarled as Hades charged him. The gun went off as the dog tackled the man, and Hades howled in pain. They landed on the ground with a thud. The hunter shoved the dog’s limp body off him.
“Hades!” Calli wanted to go to the dog, but the hunter was between her and the giant schnauzer. There wasn’t time. She had to get away. She clutched Persephone, who’d gone quiet in her arms, as she opened the front door.
A hand fisted in her hair, jerking her head up to stare straight into the eyes of the Hunter.
“You should have gone quietly.”
He slammed the butt of his gun into her temple, and everything went dark.
In less than a week, Malcolm had broken someone’s heart, had his familiar leave him, learned he was responsible for a fatal accident, and destroyed the safety and security of a whole town.
He had also learned to control his magic better than ever before. Given how numb he felt during the tests, he wondered if his lack of emotion had somehow made it easier to reach out and connect to his magic. No, that had started before his life had fallen apart. Back when he thought a different life was possible.
Now the aptitude tests were over, and the others seemed pleased with the results. Malcolm retired to the Council chamber cloakroom and set his robe inside his private locker.
What was with arcane societies and cloaks? His fingertips brushed over the blue velvet, seeing his name embroidered with silver thread upon the left breast. Was it just to feel important and unified by wearing the same outfit? At least they didn’t wear masks and hide their identities.
Malcolm considered what a twisted joke his life had become. The one thing he dreaded, being forced to serve as a council member, was now the only thing that could give him some sense of purpose.
He closed the wooden locker door, the seams of which glowed faintly with a magic seal, and left the cloakroom. He was in no rush to return home and unpack more boxes, so he wandered aimlessly through the halls to become better acquainted with the building.
He came upon a lounge with dark green walls and framed portraits of previous council leaders. Most of the figures in the portraits were content looking around the room, but a few were arguing with each other in low voices.
The room had several cozy armchairs and a drink cart which made it a place where Council members could relax before or after a meeting. Lady Batsford had invited him there for a drink after his first spell casting with the council. He’d had a chance to meet the other council members.
In childhood, Malcolm had imagined the Council to be a band of superheroes like the Justice League. After his disillusionment, he’d come to believe they were power hungry autocrats bent on control. But the truth was they were far more human, far more likeable, and shockingly far more relatable than he’d imagined.
He had learned that the Council’s primary duty was to hear complaints and concerns from all over the country. They visited towns like Moonstone Falls when there were disputes local covens couldn’t handle, offered guidance on magical safety to researchers pushing the boundaries of arcane knowledge, and voted upon the rules that governed all witches in the United States. It was up to the Council to see that all witches were treated fairly and justly. He had been carefully using his new position to point out that the treatment of hedge witches needed to be addressed, and he was surprised that many of the council were more than willing to listen. It was a start. And he owed Calli everything he could do to make changes.
Malcolm next wandered into the Council library where books and crystal balls filled the shelves. He jerked to a halt at the sight of a young witch with golden hair pulled back into a ponytail. She stood out because of her age. She looked like she was only in her twenties.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s okay.”
“And here I thought I was the youngest person inside the Council chambers.”
The woman blushed. “Technically, I shouldn’t be here, but my mother is the head of the Council.” Despite the blush, the woman didn’t look the least bit regretful for breaking the rules.
There were seven witches on the Council, but only one had those same cheekbones and pointed jaw. “You’re Lady Batsford’s daughter?”
The woman laughed. “Guilty. I’m Tamsin.” She held out a hand to him. “And you must be Malcolm Wellesley.”
He took it. “You know me?”
“How could I not? You’re the wayward Wellesley.” Tamsin said with a mischievous grin.
“Don’t tell me they’re calling me that.” It made him sound like a misbehaving child.
“Afraid so.” Tamsin said with mock solemnity as she put away the book she’d been looking at. “But I hear they like you.”
Something in his chest quivered, then stirred, like a bird with a broken wing looking skyward, still wanting to fly. Acceptance had that kind of effect on people.
