“What are you doing here?” Ilea demanded.
Harper scowled, instantly defensive. “He was visiting me. He’s my guest. A better question is, what areyoudoing skulking around my door again?“ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she remembered the loose gravel strewn about the path. “Are you the one who was digging next to my door? You need to knock it the fuck off, Ilea. I already told you — you’re not welcome here. My property begins at that line in the driveway. There is no reason for you to be beyond it.”
Both of the familiars ignored her, staring each other down.
“It seems you have not registered your presence in town, kittling.” Holt’s voice was casual, but Harper could sense the trap there. Sheathed claws but ready to pounce.
“I haven’t managed to find the time to make it all the way into the city,” Ilea sniffed. “The coalition —“
“The coalition has very specific bylaws,” Holt interrupted. “If you are an imp actively working in the vicinity, you are required to register your presence. To avoid doing so makes it look as if you are trying to hide something, Ilemauzer. I wonder what that could be?”
“I don’t answer to you.” Harper had heard Ilea’s sneer a hundred million times before, but she had never before heard the slight edge of panic behind it. “For that matter, I don’t know that I need to answer to the coalition either. I am bound to my witch, and the bylaws of her current coven state that no outside agency or organization is to supersede their doings. I think if you were to check statute number 487, you would find —“
“Do not speak tomeof magical law.“ Holt’s voice was a pitch-black hiss, advancing on Ilea in a way that made the other familiar gulp.
Harper felt frozen in place, her heart hammering and the tiny hairs at the back of her neck standing on end, watching the two cats parley. If she thought she’d witnessed the evidence of Holt’s power in her little cottage, she realized now that what she’d seen was a mere suggestion. The very air around him seemed to ripple, and his eyes were a green inferno. The only power she had ever seen from Ilea was in their poisonous tongue.A commonplace talent, comparatively.
“I am older than you, kittling.” Holt’s face was mere inches from Ilea’s, his voice a menacing whisper, silky like black satin. “I was there, dancing before the fires when the old ways were first forged. I was there to be named by the first witch who claimed an imp. Do not presume to tell meanything.”
Holt stepped back, opening his arms wide, and the fraught moment was broken. “Do not think that the actions of this high crone have gone unnoticed by the coalition. This coven is poisoned, rotten from the root.” A swift glance back to Harper, accompanied by a sharp-edged smile. “Consider yourself lucky to not be one of their numbers, lovely girl.”
Ilea stiffened when Holt turned to them once more, but the supernatural chill that had rippled around him for several moments had thawed.
“Do not get comfortable, kittling. Their time is nearly at its end. Now be gone with you. Let’s see if you can get to the office to register before I make it there to report you.”
He backed them into the cottage, slamming the door shut on her mother’s familiar, whirling on Harper as soon as they were alone once more.
“You mentioned something about your door? Do you think they’re trying to break in?”
She swallowed hard, attempting to marshal her spinning thoughts. “Um, when I got home a week or two ago, there was loose gravel in front of the door. I thought maybe an animal was digging in the rocks.”
“Or an animal jumping from your window sill into the rocks.”
She sputtered in outrage at the thought of Ilea’s fluffy white form peering into her window. “FuckingIlea! There was another time, right after we moved in. Like, the same day. I opened the door, and they were standing on the stoop, stretching.”
“Stretching?”
She closed her eyes, attempting to envision the way Ilea had been stretched up against the doorframe, gasping when she realized what they were doing. “When I was little, we used to keep a key on the top ledge of the door, just in case Morgan and I ever got locked out after school.” She gasped again, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Do you think — do you think they’re after the books in the cellar? Are there rare, valuable spellbooks down there?” She began to pace, caught up in the story writing itself in her head. “Maybe Ilea is working for the high crone! The coven is going to try and work some dark magic that’s only in one of Aunt Pernella’s grimoires, or maybe —“
She cut off when she realized he was laughing at her.
“Wow, calm down, Nancy Drew. You went from, like, zero to sixty on that.”
Harper scowled as Holt continued to chuckle.
“Everything of value was moved already. The books are still there, it’s true, but some extremely rare ritual tools, recipes, and spells Pernella crafted over the years were gifted before her death. They’re all safe at the Brackenbridge house, and there is literally no safer place in this town or any other. I would love to see Ilea attempt to break in there. Actually, that would be a fun thing to organize. That’s agoodidea . . .”
She huffed, and he shrugged off the thought, turning to her with a smile.
“But you’re right. Ilea likely does not know that. What I can promise you is they’re not smart enough for subterfuge. If they think you have anything of value, they’ll be looking to sell it on the black market. Bad news for them, because Iamthe black market. Take heart, little one. There will be a new coven coming soon. It might cause some tension with your family, but you will find the place where you belong, and a circle of sisters to welcome you.Thatis the power of a witch.”
He exited through the same door upon which he had entered, nearly two hours ago, Harper realized. She had been attending the junior coven since childhood, had gathered herbs and practiced charms, completed her core competencies at the Collegium, and sat in a circle every week, shoulder to shoulder with those of her kind. It was ironic, she thought, that the last two hours were the first time in her life she’d everfeltlike a witch.
She hoped, wherever he was, that her father was laughing at the amusement of it all . . . and that her grandmother had heard the black cat that was currently trotting through the garden, his tail in the air, calling her a commonplace talent.
OOTD:crushedvelvetslipdress over sheer Swiss dot blouse. Fishnets with ruffled ankle socks. Lug sole Mary Janes. Oversized cable knit cardigan.
Harper sucked in a low, slow breath. The table was beautiful. A dark stained walnut, inlaid with gold. It depicted the moon cycle along the top edge, with signs of the zodiac lining each side. She read over the instructions again, knowing she couldn’t procrastinate any longer.
