“I-I have a-a boyfriend,” he stutters. “A boyfriend who wouldnotlike this conversation.”
It’s hard to believe that man is related to Minnie at all. I see it in their eyes, in the round tips of their noses and their square jaws, but Lance reminds me of a damned soul, while Minnie is so much more.
It would be easy to blame Lance’s skittish nature on his Father–so I do. And it makes me wonder what a man like Arthur le Fay would do to a woman like Minnie. No, not a woman, to a child–to the smiling little Minnie I saw in the photos on her bookshelf.
“Hey, Devil-Man,” Amber calls from below, somehow noticing I’m lost in thought from the depths of the stairwell.
I narrow my eyes at her, now concerned she’s more powerful than she seems. I’m winning Minnie over to my side, and within time, I know she’ll keep me here. But that matters not if Amber is the stronger witch of the two.
She continues, “I meant what I said back there. Minnie means the world to me. Hurt her, and you won’t have to worry about being sent back to Hell.”
I raise a brow.
“Because I’ll chain you to this plane ‘til you wither away. Lock you in some church basement where all you’ll feel is light and love and emotional mush ‘til you starve.”
Kas and I glance at each other, both a bit shaken by her threat. “You sound rather eager,” I say, feigning nonchalance, “but I don’t need to be teased. Come back with those chains, and I’ll take you seriously.” I smirk. “I’ll even get on my knees if you’d like. Make Minnie jealous.”
Amber doesn’t offer a response, instead storming out of the building.
Lance hesitates. “Tell Minnie I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“I don’t pass on messages. Especially sentimental ones.” I push off the railing and head back to Kas’ apartment.
Lying on Kas’ couch, I reflect on Minnie’s curse, her relationship with Amber, the mild figure of Lance, and, of course. Arthur le Fay. Holding a vendetta against a man I’ve never met is foolish, but for the le Fay’s patriarch, I’ll make an exception. What a pleasure it will be to watch him fall from the pedestal he’s placed himself on. And hewillfall. All things die. All things come to a crashing, burning end.
I can’t stop thinking about Makena, wondering what the woman in the portrait would look like sickly and dying. How those brown eyes could turn hollow and distant but somehow still alive. I wonder, though I’ve seen it myself. My own Mother… nothing but a mortal soul chained to her master, my Father.
I try to recall if she ever held me the way Makena held Minerva in that portrait. I know when she looked at me, there was no spark behind her eyes that would convey attachment. As if a wandering soul could feel anything beyond emptiness, a painful yearning for a body, for life, for free will. Yet she held my hand. I know this to be true. On more than one occasion, she led me through the halls of our home.
My Father’s home. She had no claim to his lands or titles. She barely had a claim to me: the younger Rosier, the Princes’ heir. The spare. I have to chuckle, even now. For so long, I was an afterthought… until it was too late. One moment my Father held a kingdom in his hands, and the next, it was gone.
And now, it’s mine: every mining cavern, every corridor, every grain of sand–it’s mine, because I was smart enough not to get caught up in grudges. I refused to partake in a silly war game. Instead I sat at home, looking upon my Father’s empty throne, knowing well enough then that it would be mine.
I sat on that throne as I watched her fade away, like a statue of sand, bit by bit carried away on the winds. My Mother’s face was never something I found all that remarkable until it was gone. When I shut my eyes, when I focus, I can see it: her curved nose, her full lips, her curly black hair. As I lay with my eyes shut, I realize I don’t remember her at all. I only remember the things she left me.
This mortal form of mine, short and useless, is her living memory.
Perhaps I can do something with it while I have it.
Minnie is a force to be reckoned with. Even when she’s not upset, not bubbling over with rage, there’s a crackling energy around her. I thought it was a matter of her being a witch, but having now been in a room with two other witches, I can confirm that her energy is unique. And I know now that she’s going to get her revenge with or without me.
I should stick around for the show.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
MINNIE
I’m about halfwaythrough my second book on my e-reader when I finally feel some sense of peace. Sitting alone with a cat next to my knee and a nice cup of coffee fixes most things, I think. Not that anything is fixed. Not that anythingneedsto be fixed. Amber and I just have different ideas about how to handle things.
I finish up my now lukewarm cup of coffee. Home brewed. The two cups of coffee Amber brought us are abandoned on my kitchen counter. Amber said I’ll regret not passing onto the Veil… as if any of us know what the Veil even entails. It’s easy to imagine a paradise, some sort of heaven. Likely, it’s more like Amber said, a place to reunite with one’s ancestors. I guess it would be nice to commiserate about dying young together, but that’s making a lot of assumptions. As nice as it would be to see my Mom again, I would rather she still be here and now.
Leaf stretches, yawing to show off his pink tongue.
“How are you tired?” I ask. “You’ve been napping all day.”
Leaf blinks slowly.
“You’re missing out on a great book.” I show him the screen. “Secret relationship, a family fortune, a masquerade ball…”
