“There’s more.” My voice is shaking now, and I do my best to steady it. “I need your help. Is your mother around?”
“She’s upstairs. Hold on.” Violet is already pushing back her chair, the shawl bunched in one fist, the mug set down somewhere off screen with a clatter, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Mom! Mom, come down! You need to come down here, now!”
A few years ago, Violet wouldn’t have been caught dead screaming for her mother like this. But then, she had been under the impression that her mother hated her. How things have changed.
Darius looks at me through the camera. Then, his eyes track sideways to Lucas at the desk. He sighs, sipping his coffee and eyeing Lucas warily. I bury my head in my hands.
“You marked her.”
“Yes.”
“After you put my best strategist through hell and convinced her she was nothing to you.”
“Darius.” His name comes out of my mouth sharper than it should. “Not now.”
He looks at me. Whatever he sees in my face holds him off, but only just. He sits back in his chair and folds his arms. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t done.”
“It isn’t. I know.”
There are footsteps approaching. Violet comes back into frame towing her mother behind her. Lillian is in a cream nightgown with a robe pulled over the top of it and her hair pinned at the nape of her neck. Her movements are unhurried. Whatever Violet may have said to her on the way down the stairs, Lillian came at her own pace.
She lowers herself into the chair Violet vacated. Her gaze finds me through the camera.
“Sienna.” Her voice is even. “What is it?”
“Lillian.” My throat closes for a beat. “I’m sorry to pull you out of bed. I need your help.”
“Tell me.”
“What do you know about magic?”
Her eyes sharpen. There’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, a slight tilt of her head. She has been asked this question before in places she did not enjoy.
“Depends on what you mean.”
“Anything.” My voice steadies. “Whatever you have.”
Several seconds pass while she studies me.
“Back in the community, before it was destroyed, there were two practicing hybrids. One of them was older than me. She taught me a little. Not enough to do much with.” Her hand has found her daughter’s shoulder where Violet has come to perch on the arm of her chair. “Lately, with all my traveling, I’ve taken an interest. I have met witches in three different countries. Asked them questions.”
“Curses.” My voice comes out hoarser than I want. “What do you know about curses, specifically?”
Her gaze sharpens further. “What kind of curse, Sienna?”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
I press my lips together and try a different angle. Generational. The word stops at the back of my teeth. Bloodline. The same. Witch. Each one bunches up against the iron bar that wasn’t there ten seconds ago, along with the word marked.
My hand lifts. Thumb and finger drag across my lips, pinch them shut, then turn the imaginary key.
Violet’s hand flies to her mouth.
Lillian’s expression has not changed, except that her eyes are like flint. “A curse.” Her voice drops half an octave. “One you cannot speak about.”
“I can’t answer that.”
