Deceit Can Be Deadly

  Camille studied her, fingers tapping on the arm of the chair. Eventually she stood and descended the steps from the dais. “Enough with the pleasantries. I summoned you for a reason. You’ve ignored all my attempts to communicate with you.”

  “I’ve no time for parading around at your incessant parties.”

  “You’d have time if you gave up your little project.”

  “Club Mystique is not a project. It’s my job.”

  “As if you need a job. We both know you’ve invested wisely over the years. Why you cling to the façade of being an ordinary witch, I’ll never understand.”

  “Not all of us enjoy grandstanding like you.”

  “Grandstanding? A certain image is required. I am the Magissa of all our people, after all.”

  “More like a puffed-up peacock, if you ask me.” Gwyn folded her arms.

  Camille pursed her lips. For long minutes the two witches glared at each other, the chill of the marble room barely counteracting the heat of their combined tempers.

  Eventually Camille tossed her head. “Enough. We don’t like each other. We never have and we never will.”

  “Finally, something we agree on.” She didn’t mention that they’d once been friends. It was so long ago that she could hardly recall what they’d ever had in common.

  “If it wasn’t necessary to speak to you I’d have left you alone in that hovel you call home. But when you failed to attend the full moon gathering and then skipped my party, I had no other option than to arrange a private meeting.”

  “I can’t imagine what we need to discuss that couldn’t have waited until the quarterly Coven court is held.”

  “Can’t you?” Camille paused a few feet from her. “I want to know your intentions.”

  “Intentions for what?”

  “Towards the chair. Do you hope to take over the duties of the Magissa?”

  “Not likely. Why?”

  Camille shrugged. “I’ve held the chair for a long time.”

  “You woke me up because you’re worried about your job?” Gwyn didn’t even try to keep the incredulous tone out of her voice.

  Camille shrugged and then walked away, pausing near an abstract sculpture. “This is a lovely piece, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not in the mood for an art tour. Cut the crap and get to the point.”

  “Very well.” She turned, lines of worry marring her brow. “I’ve had visions.”

  “Visions?” Gwyn thought back to her own a few days ago and immediately felt queasy. The very idea that she and Camille were sharing premonitions made her feel ill.

  “Light and dark. Fire. I’ll not bore you with the details.” Camille shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Suffice to say I fear a change is coming to the Universal Coven. A clash of forces. I don’t know if it is my position as Magissa that is in peril or something else. But I can feel a shift in the balance of power.” She began to pace, wringing her hands. “You haven’t noticed it?”

  “Not really. Minor fluctuations happen all the time; people carelessly using magic without thinking.” She stared at her bed sitting in the middle of the council chamber.

  “Don’t start pointing fingers, Gwyn. I seem to remember you conjuring an unexpected storm last year.”

  She winced recalling the incident. It had been right after discovering Tina might be dead. “There were extenuating circumstances and you know it.”

  “Controlling your temper has always been your downfall.” The woman’s condescending tone had Gwyn gritting her teeth. She knew her own failings and didn’t need someone pointing them out. “But back to the point at hand. Something is brewing. There have been hints for years.”

  “We’ve investigated the anomalies and attributed them to a few demi-witches playing at witchery and spells accidentally gone wrong.”

  “But ever since the blood moon tetrad, it’s intensified.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve not mentioned this before.”

  “I’ve not made a formal announcement. There is no point in causing a general panic.”

  “Casting a spell during the blood moon isn’t a crime, as you very well know. Blood spells only impact the person using them.” Gwyn thought of the scar on her own chest, a mark that was almost identical to the one Camille bore.

  “Not when used with care, but you know as well as I that there are ancient spells; those that tip into the realm of black magic.”

  Black magic, magic used to harm others, spells based on greed and a desire for power. The very idea was enough to send a chill through any witch. Most grimoires contained at least a few such spells, all of which had been outlawed long ago. Their use had to be approved by the entire council, as the power they used was sufficient to upset the world’s energy balance for years unless precautions were taken. Failure to follow the prescribed protocols had grave consequences, even death.

  “I would have noticed something large. Everyone on council would have.” She didn’t want to believe what Camille was saying. Was in fact feeling guilty for not paying closer attention to her duty. The witching world had been calm for decades, the Universal Coven becoming more of a symbol than an active institution.

  “You’re sure you’ve felt nothing?” Camille stroked her chin. “Odd.”

  Something in the woman’s tone made her stiffen. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “No. At least not yet.” The Magissa circled her. “There’s no aura of deceit about you but maybe you’ve found a way to hide it? You’ve been avoiding our gatherings for some time now. What have you been doing with your time?”

  “Nothing nefarious. I practise the craft like any other witch.” Gwyn folded her arms.

  “I—”

  Whatever Camille had been about to say was interrupted by a disturbance near the door. Cyrus suddenly appeared, stumbling into the room before catching himself with two hands on the door knob.

  “What? Well, hello!” He looked about, blinking. “Er…I thought this was my room.”

  “Cyrus!” Camille hurried over to him. “Have you been drinking?”

  “I was at a wine sampling party.” He weaved back and forth while smiling blearily.

  “More like keg sampling, if your breath is any indication.” Camille waved her hand in an ineffectual attempt to clear the alcohol infused air away from her.

  “I was tired and heading for my bedroom but the hallways have moved since this morning.” He began teetering towards Gwyn’s bed. “This will do nicely.”

  “Cyrus, you know perfectly well that hallways do not move. You are drunk!” Camille tugged at his arm.

  “Let him go.” Gwyn shook her head. “He can sleep it off at my place.”

  “We weren’t finished yet,” Camille hissed.

  Cyrus sat down on the bed, yawning. “Did I miss a meeting?”

  “No, it was nothing important.” Gwyn patted his shoulder. “Camille was about to send me back home. Isn’t that right, Camille?” She smiled sweetly at the other woman.

  “Nice to see you two getting along finally,” Cyrus mumbled. “So nice.”

  Chapter 12

  “You’ve thrown me over for an older man, I see.” Matt leaned against the doorjamb of Gwyn’s bedroom trying to affect a mournful look. She was rummaging in the closet and when she turned to face him, he nodded towards the bed.

  She followed his gaze to the lump in the blankets that indicated where Cyrus lay sleeping. By the time Camille had returned them to the apartment, he’d been passed out. It had been simpler to leave him in the bed than to try to wake him.

  “Yes, your buff body was growing tiresome. I decided I needed someone more mature.”

  “Mature?” All he could see of the man was the top of his head and one arm. A shock of snow-white hair showed over the blankets and a wrinkled, blue-veined hand hung limply where his arm had fallen over the side of the mattress. “If he wasn’t snoring, I’d think he was dead.”

  “What can I say? I like a man wi
th experience.”

  “Well, I’m thoroughly crushed.” He pushed off from the doorway and crossed the room to press a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Maybe this will have you changing your mind.”

  “A simple peck? Hardly.”

  “No. I meant this.” He produced a white pastry box from behind his back. “Honey-glazed donuts.”

  “Are they fresh?”

  “Made this morning. Sniff.”

  She inhaled experimentally and smiled as the scent of warm, yeasty bread rose from the package. “Yum. For this, your position has been reinstated.”

  “Good thing I came armed with a bribe.”

  “Damned right.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the club last night. Did Rudy manage on his own?”

  “Yes, it was a quiet night. The rain kept a lot of people home.” She turned towards the mirror and began to braid her hair.

  “Good.” He flicked a glance towards her bed where Cyrus lay sleeping. “Do I get an explanation of your friend?”

  “His name is Cyrus. We’ve known each other for ages.”

  “Oh.” He gave Cyrus another look and then shrugged. “Listen, the donuts will be on the kitchen table.”

  “You can’t stay?”

  He shook his head. “I had thought of a bit of morning sex but given your company, I’d say the timing isn’t right.”

  Cyrus chose that moment to give an exceptionally loud snore.

  Gwyn rolled her eyes. “Definitely not the right time. Maybe tonight, after the club closes.” She rubbed the small of her back. “You can give me a massage. With sleeping beauty in my bed, I spent the night on the couch.”

  “Why do I have a feeling your friend is going to get an earful when he wakes up?”

  “Because you know me too well.”

  Matt laughed and headed to work. He hoped Gwyneth wasn’t too hard on the old guy.

  Once Matt had left, Gwyn approached her bed and stared at the old man. He looked like a kindly grandfather but she knew better. Now was not the time for sympathy. She lifted her foot and joggled the mattress.

  “Get up, you gorbellied malt-worm!”

  Cyrus mumbled and rolled over.

  She jostled the bed again. “Get up or I’ll dump a bucket of ice on you!”

  He cracked open one eye. “My word! I’ve awoken to the sight and sound of an angel singing.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m no more an angel than you, you deceiving old goat. You were not asleep when Matt was here.”

  Cyrus gave a sheepish grin and levered himself up. “How did I give myself away?”

  “Your snore was too well-timed.”

  “My love for the dramatic has always been a weakness of mine.” He clambered from the bed and stretched. “You’ve a very comfortable mattress, Gwyneth. Thank you for lending it to me.”

  “Lending implies a purposeful act of charity. I had no choice.” She stalked out of the room only to return with a towel which she promptly threw at him. “Here. Get cleaned up and then meet me in the kitchen. I’ll pour some coffee into you before starting the inquisition.”

  “Do I get a donut as well?”

  “Don’t push your luck, Cyrus.”

  He smiled sweetly. “Did I ever mention that your benevolent nature is one of your most charming qualities?”

  She tried to glower at him but the corner of her mouth kept twitching. Cyrus’ eyes were twinkling so he damned well knew he’d won her over. Throwing her hands up, she stormed out of the room, calling over her shoulder. “Fine! You get a donut but it will be the smallest one!”

  Less than an hour later, she sat at the kitchen table watching Cyrus devour the last bite of his third donut.

  “I’ve sobered you up and fed you, now it’s time to answer some questions.”

  He licked a bit of sticky sweetness from his finger. “Of course. Ask away.”

  “What were you doing last night?”

  “Last night? I was at a wine-tasting party.”

  “Not that. I mean why did you stumble into the court Camille has set up? And don’t tell me it was an accident. You weren’t that drunk that you couldn’t find your way to your room.”

  “You’re very cynical.”

  “Suspicious is more like it.”

  “Regardless, you’re correct. It was planned. I’d overheard Camille mention she was going to try to contact you last night.”

  “How did you know she wouldn’t come here?”

  “Camille likes to meet in her own space. It puts opponents at a disadvantage.”

  She leaned back and gave him a skeptical look. “So you were trying to rescue me?”

  “Rescue, distract, divert attention…” He waved a negligent hand.

  “I didn’t need rescuing. Camille was rambling on about a vision and me taking over the chair.”

  He nodded. “Just as I suspected. I warned you the other night. There’s something off about her.”

  “It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  “Did she mention the balance of power? The fluctuation? I was worried she might try to blame you.”

  “She mentioned it, even hinted that someone might be using black magic. But why blame me?”

  “Someone is to blame. You’re skilled enough.”

  “So are most of the council members.”

  “True.” Cyrus stared thoughtfully across the room.

  She gave a heavy sigh. “Cyrus, stop being mysterious before I decide to turn you into a toad.”

  “You know very well that’s a myth.”

  “Cyrus…”

  “Very well. I believe it is Camille herself who has turned to black magic.”

  “What?” She straightened in her chair. “Camille? I know she’s a complete bitch but—”

  “Think about it. She’s powerful enough. She’s the only one mentioning a fluctuation.”

  “If she’s guilty of black magic, why would she draw attention to the fact?”

  “To make it appear she isn’t the one. To cast suspicion on the rest of us.”

  “Wait a minute.” She frowned. “First of all, if Camille is, indeed, using black magic, someone would have noticed the draw of power.”

  “She’s found a way to cloak it, just like the Lycans have developed a scent mask.”

  “That’s far-fetched, Cyrus. And if she has developed a way to hide her activities, why mention a power fluctuation at all? Why not continue to practise the dark art undetected?”

  “I’m not sure. I suspect the cloak isn’t perfect. Small leaks at intermittent times. It would only be noticeable if someone was communing with the energy net at the time of the leak. She needs to have a scapegoat if someone picks up on it, so she’s setting you up.”

  She narrowed her eyes, thinking out loud. “Okay. Let assume, for the sake of argument, Camille has developed this cloak. To what purpose? Why is she using black magic? What does she hope to gain?”

  Cyrus licked his lips and looked about nervously before leaning forward. “Eternity. Not just time slowed.”

  “She wants to live forever?”

  “Shh…not so loud.”

  “Cyrus, she can’t hear us. There’s no need to whisper.”

  “Who knows what she is capable of?”

  She studied the old man. He seemed genuinely afraid, but his story was hard to believe. Could he be imagining things? Losing his faculties?

  “I’m not crazy, Gwyn. I’ve felt the fluctuations three times now.”

  “But you never thought to mention them?”

  “At first I wasn’t sure. I’m getting old, not always as sharp as I used to be.”

  She hesitated and he reached out, taking hold of her hands. “You have to believe me, Gwyneth. You have to! Our safety depends on it.”

  “Well…I’ll consider what you’ve told me.”

  He sighed. “That’s better than nothing, I suppose.”

  “Have you told anyone else your theory?”

  “No. Only yo
u. And don’t tell anyone else. Camille may have others on her side.”

  “What about the other council members?”

  He shook his head. “I’m feeling them out; subtle questioning, listening in on conversations at parties. I’ve become quite adept at fading into the background.” He grinned looking pleased with himself.

  She nodded not sure what to think. Camille was dedicated to her job; it was hard to believe she’d stoop to breaking the very tenets she’d helped develop. But was she too devoted? Willing to do anything to hold on to her position, justifying it in her mind by saying it was for a greater good, that there was no one who could replace her? The woman had always had an over-inflated idea of her importance, thinking the Coven would fall apart if she didn’t control every aspect of it. Her stomach clenched to think the Magissa was dabbling in black magic. If it were true, the repercussions would be far reaching. The entire witching community could be torn asunder and disruption of the power balance would impact humans and non-humans alike in ways she didn’t even want to consider.

  “As I said, I’ll think about what you’ve told me, Cyrus, but I still find it hard to believe.”

  Cyrus, having shared his secret, seemed calmer and reached for another donut. “I had a hard time believing it myself at first.”

  “So, what do you propose we do?”

  “Watch. Wait. Once we have proof, you’ll need to present it to the council.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded. “You’re more respected than I am.”

  She had to concede his point. Cyrus had held his place on the council for ages but it was more honorific at this point. He’d enacted a blood spell later in life than most. Even with time slowed, his physical health was beginning to fail, his control over magic slipping.

  “Once there is enough proof against Camille, we’ll approach the other council members who we are sure can be trusted. It will take our combined powers to defeat her.”

  The enormity of what was facing her weighed heavy. She needed time alone to think, to consider a possible strategy. Hell, to decide if she even believed it!