Page 14 of Alpha Charmed

“I appreciate you sharing that.” I offer a practiced smile that reveals nothing. “Was there anything else?”

“Only this.” Cordelia leans forward, her expression shifting to what might pass for sincerity if I weren’t watching so carefully. “Mathilda was old. Her death was sad but natural. Stirring up suspicion only damages the coven’s unity—and we’ve had quite enough disruption lately, haven’t we? First Iskra. Then Valesh. The community is on edge. The last thing we need is our coven leader suggesting that yet another elder was…” She pauses delicately. “Murdered.”

The word hangs in the air.

“I haven’t used that word publicly.”

“But you’re thinking it. I can see it in your approach—the interviews, the questions, treating this like a crime rather than a tragedy.” Cordelia’s smile doesn’t waver, but steel lurks beneath it. “I’m simply suggesting that discretion might serve the coven better than… examination.”

“And I appreciate the suggestion.” My voice could frost glass. “I’ll certainly take it under advisement.”

Cordelia rises, smoothing her lavender skirts with practiced grace. “Think about what I’ve said, Coven Leader. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do for our community is let the dead rest in peace. Continuing to dig will only cause pain—” A pause that feels theatrical. “—for everyone involved.”

She leaves. The bell above the door chimes pleasantly as it closes behind her.

I stare at the empty chair for a long moment, replaying every word, every flicker of expression, every carefully chosen phrase.

Pain for everyone involved.

That was a threat. Wrapped in maternal concern and coven unity, but a threat, nonetheless. She knows I suspect her—and she’s pushing hard for me to stop asking questions.

Either she’s genuinely worried about destabilizing the coven. Or she’s terrified of what I might find.

“Coven Leader Darkwater?”

Bryony appears in the doorway, holding a cup that glows faintly purple. Thistle drapes across her shoulders, watching me with feline inscrutability.

“I made you a new creation.” She beams. “You looked stressed when that elder left. Very pinched around the eyes.”

“What is it?”

“I call it ‘Midnight Clarity.’” She sets the cup on my desk with the pride of an artist unveiling a masterwork. “It’s supposed to enhance focus and calm the nerves.”

I take a cautious sip. The taste is… actually not terrible. A hint of mint, a whisper of lavender, and underneath⁠—

“Is that nightshade?”

“Just a tiny bit! It’s supposed to⁠—”

“Nightshade is poisonous.”

“Not in small doses! The grimoire said⁠—”

“Which grimoire?”

Bryony’s confidence wavers. “The one with the skull on the cover?”

“That’s the grimoire of things we absolutely do not put in consumable beverages.” I set the cup down with careful deliberation. “Bryony. We’ve discussed this.”

“You said to be creative!”

“Creative with flavor. Not with toxicology.” But despite everything—the investigation, Cordelia’s veiled threats, the creeping exhaustion—I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. “Points for presentation, however. The purple glow is aesthetically pleasing.”

Bryony brightens. “I added powdered moonstone for that!”

“Moonstone is not toxic. Well done on that particular choice.” I push the cup toward her. “Please dispose of this safely. And perhaps review the ‘do not consume’ section of your training materials.”

She retreats with her illicit creation. Thistle gives me one last look before they leave—a look that suggests the cat knew exactly what was in that cup and found the entire situation beneath her dignity.