“The very one,” Eleanor answers, and I start to wonder why the other two witches are here when Eleanor is the only one who talks.
“And you’re sureshewrote the note?” I press, not convinced at all that there’s not something we’re missing here.
“There’s no question,” Eleanor confirms.
“May I see it, the note?” I ask as I slide Nikki’s picture back to Orion.
“I’ll have it brought up for you,” Eleanor chirps happily, but when none of them get up as though they’re going to get it, I assume either someone on the other side of the glass is getting it or my seeing the note will happen some other time.
“Your grandmother had an odd dream that she felt the need to report. She worried it could be a warning of some sort, a prophecy perhaps. Did she discuss what she saw with you?”
I try hard not to roll my eyes at her question. Why do I need to go through this with them, didn’t they talk to Marx already? Didn’t he tell them that he and Rogan told me about the dream. That I didn’t even know I was the next in line, let alone have deep conversations about potentially prophetic visions with my grandmother.
“Can we just save ourselves some time here, and I’ll just tell you that I don’t have anything to do with these missing witches. I didn’t know I was going to be chosen when my grandmother passed. We never talked about her work or her magic. I had no idea that my grandmother had a dream that bothered her. I don’t know Nikki Smelser. I never met the missing Osteomancers. I have nothing to do with this other than I was asked for help, by a stranger, and I agreed,” I state evenly, hoping we can skip past the part where they suspect me and dive right into trying to find who really is behind all of this.
“And why did you agree to help...a stranger?” Fiona asks, her voice smooth and intoxicating.
I almost jump in surprise when someone besides Eleanor finally speaks, but luckily I keep my butt firmly planted in the seat.Vox Witch alert, my senses scream, and I work to not get lost in the creaminess of her voice.
“Because that’s how it works,” I answer simply, looking at each of them with judgment-tinged bewilderment. They all know the give and take Osteos deal with when it comes to our magic. “I read for people the bones choose, I help those my magic encourages me to,” I add as though these Order members need the reminder.
“And your magic chose Rogan Kendrick?” Fiona presses.
“Yes,” I declare confidently.
Eleanor’s gaze slides quickly over to the mirror on the wall to my left before returning back to me, but I don’t miss it. Who is she looking at? Rogan? Someone else?
“How old was your grandmother when she passed?” Eleanor asks, and I’m taken aback by the abrupt change in subject.
“She was eighty-three.”
Eleanor’s eyes grow more intense as the next question spills out of her mouth. “And who found her body?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I’m forced to pause. I almost said my Aunt Hillen, but that’s not right. Tad told me that someone had called them with the news. Was it Magda? No, that can’t be the case because Hillen called them to rub it in that they didn’t have the bones. They also didn’t have the Grimoire long enough to read through it and destroy it. If she and Gwen had found Grammy Ruby the day before, that Grimoire would have been toast by the time I showed up looking for it.
Unease settles in my soul as I respond the only way I can. “I don’t know.”
Eleanor’s thin eyebrows jump with shock, but it’s obvious it’s feigned. There will be no Oscar awards in this witch’s future, that’s for damn sure.
“How do you not know? Were the necros not called in?” she asked, over-the-top shocked.
“Of course they were, it was natural causes,thatwas undisputed.”
“And how do you know that? If you didn’t see your grandmother’s body, don’t even know who did, how can you be sure?” she queries innocently, but there’s a conniving glint in her blue eyes.
I want to saybecause I was told so, but the argument sounds weak even to my ears.
“Were you close with your grandmother?” Orion pipes up out of nowhere to ask.
“Yes.”
“But not close enough to discuss magic with her, to know about her troubling dreams, or her standing in our community?” he goes on, the judgment clear in his voice.
Flustered, I want to tell him to fuck off, but all I can say is, “We didn’t talk about magic, that was the way I wanted it, and my grandmother respected that.”
“Not want to talk about magic?” Eleanor exclaims loudly as though she’s never heard a more absurd statement. “Why ever not? Was your duty as a member of your line treated so cavalierly?”
I flinch slightly at the jab. “No, but contrary to popular belief, not everyone wants to be like you. Magic isn’t the be-all and end-all for some people.”
