“Do you have soda here?” I ask. My cheeks betray me as a wave of heat strikes them.
The waitress dips her eyebrow. “Soda?” Her accent is strange and unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.
Jezi leans into me. “You should order the Witch’s Brew. It helps open your mind. Makes you more receptive to what’s around you.”
I turn to the waitress. “I’ll have the Witches Brew, please.” Glancing over at Jezi, I offer a small smile. She smiles back, and I can’t help but think she’s trying.
“I am,” she says in my mind. “Fighting with you is pointless, especially when we have larger problems to worry about.”
Jaxen tenses a little next to me. None of us were prepared to share thoughts.
“Thank you,” I say to Jezi. She nods and looks down at her menu.
The waitress takes her time manifesting each of our drinks. I can’t help but stare. Even though we have the ability to conjure most anything, it was never practiced in my home. My mother loved sticking to the human tradition of cooking and tending to ourselves. My stomach tightens at the thought, and it takes most of my strength to keep from dwelling on how homesick I am. How much I miss her.
When the waitress finishes with our beverages, she manifests a basket with steaming rolls. I almost don’t want to take one, but Jaxen hands me one. I don’t bother with butter. I tear into the bread, unable to control myself.
Cassie snorts. “Geez, did Clara not feed you?” she asks, almost sounding appalled.
“I haven’t had an appetite in days,” I say with a mouthful. “Too much blood and death to even think about eating.” My cheeks are on fire. I’ve forgotten my manners.
“That’s awful,” she says, looking to Gavin.
“Clara’s one cold-hearted bitch,” Gavin says, fists balled against the table. “Mack’s going to freak when he hears about this.”
“There’s nothing he can do about it now,” Jaxen says, picking at his roll. There’s so much sadness in his voice. “We have no way of contacting him, and I’m sure they aren’t going to let us leave just so we can talk to him.”
Gavin shakes his head. Exhales loudly. “This is such a cluster. He urged us to come here. He signed us up for this bogus mission, and not a single freaking thing has happened except Faye getting tortured and us showing how awesome we are in front of all the other Elite wannabes.”
I finish swallowing, and then take a long sip of my drink. It warms as it spreads through my body, and a sense of relaxation passes over me. The corners of my mouth settle into an easy smile as the little things that bother me wash away.
“Please stand for High Priest Seamus Sullivan,” the waitress announces a moment later.
It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening. Everyone stands, and then Jaxen grabs me by the arm to help pull me up. Everyone in the entire restaurant is standing as the High Priest makes his way toward our table. They all slightly bow their heads as he passes them, whispering things under their breath.
Even though my stomach is a little full, it suddenly feels like an empty pit as every eye in the restaurant slowly turns and finds the table we sit at. As they settle on me. My feet turn inward, but I keep my hands firmly at my sides and my chin held high. I won’t cower to their curious gazes. Not anymore.
When he approaches the table, Gavin pulls out his chair, and we all wait until he sits to take our seats. He pushes the hood of his crimson robe back, and his gray eyes settle on me. There’s a gentle quality in the way he holds himself, but the power in his gaze alone demands respect.
“I trust you’re feeling better?” he asks me, his eyes only set on me. He’s oblivious to all the stares in the restaurant… or maybe he just doesn’t care.
I smile tightly. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good.” When he smiles, it deepens the creases around his thin lips. He lifts the menu.
“Who are the empty chairs for?” Gavin asks, pointing to the open seating next to Seamus.
“Oh, I just invited a couple of friends of mine. They should be here any moment,” Seamus replies, never once looking up from his menu.
Jaxen’s hand brushes my thigh under the table. Sparks ignite under his touch, and I almost gasp because of it. I catch him smirking to himself out of the corner of my eye. Grabbing the menu, I peruse it, overwhelmed by the choices.
Roasted duck. Steamed lobster. Broiled Chicken, and a plethora of other options that all make my stomach growl and my mouth water.
The waitress appears a moment later and takes our orders. I settle on braised pork and herb-roasted mashed potatoes. After the orders have been taken, an awkward silence settles over the table. I don’t think any of us know just what to say in front of the Priest. Though he seems to be on our side, there’s no telling. Not anymore.
Trust is a fragile thing. It’s easily broken and even more difficult to mend. The Priesthood lost our trust the moment Clara tricked us. Earning that trust back will take more than a fancy meal and meaningless conversation.
Seamus clears his throat and sets his eyes on each and every one of us. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I summoned you to dinner. In a public place, no less.”
“To showboat, I’m sure,” Weldon says snidely under his breath.
My eyes grow wide.
I’m not sure if Seamus heard him because he doesn’t acknowledge the remark. “I’m sure we’ve all encountered the ghastly creatures named rumors. They spread like wildfire whenever a new subject has entered the City, and they are highly contagious. I’ve called you here to help me squash these pestering things, bringing you out into the public eye to show them that you are indeed just like us and not some otherworldly creature to be feared.”
My hand clenches around the napkin I’m holding as the heater inside of me flips on. I hate that I suddenly feel the weight of every single eye in the room, all centered on me.
“And how is bringing her out into the open going to help?” Weldon asks for all of us.
Seamus finally acknowledges Weldon’s presence. He tilts his head in his direction and paints on a civil smile. “It’s Weldon Jacobsen, correct? Twin to Elder Maddock Jacobsen, and son to Elites Joseph and Harriett Jacobsen?”
Weldon’s jaw goes tight. “What is this? An attempt at flexing your knowledge so you can impress us? Anyone in the Coven has access to that information. So what?”
“Yes, but does everyone have the access to know that both your parents and your brother have committed enough Coven crimes to guarantee banishment? I’m the only thing between their names being defamed and remaining respected members of this Coven.”
Weldon’s fists ball against the table and his face darkens. The golden hue of his eyes deepens and swirls with a fury I have yet to see in him before. “My parents are six feet under,” he says through his teeth, cold eyes set on Seamus. “How dare you threaten me!”
Seamus blinks once, his face taut with polished placidity. The eyes of everyone around the table find each other, each silently asking the other what to do. I remain focused on Seamus. “This is not a threat, Weldon. I’m simply stating that I’m a friend, not an enemy.”
Weldon grunts. “Cheap way of demonstrating that,” he shoots off, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. “You know, you people sit here in your fancy city with your fancy robes, and you look down on those who are out there in the real world, toughing it out. You look down on those who keep you in your nice office and comfortable beds.” He looks around, his voice growing louder and louder, ensuring that everyone in the restaurant hears him. “I think it’s about time that you all show us some respect. I think it’s about time that you admit just how corrupt things are in your Priesthood,” he spits out. “Give us the choice to decide if we want to continue fighting for you or not, because frankly, I could give two shits what happens to this city.”
“Weldon!” Jaxen says sharply.
“What?” Weldon says, throwing his napkin on the table. “I’m sorry, but I can’t sit t
hrough another minute of this.” He flicks a bitter glance in Seamus’ direction. “The Priesthood always has a way of leaving a bad taste in my mouth.” He stands and walks away from us, ignoring the protests from Jaxen and Gavin.
I’m left staring at Seamus, blinking rapidly, trying to process everything that has just happened. A thought pushes forward, and I do nothing to stop myself from saying it. “What was the point of that?” I ask, feeling deeply for Weldon. Jaxen protests, but I don’t listen. He doesn’t understand what it feels like to be prodded. To be an experimenter’s fantasy. “You want me to trust you, yet you condemn my friends. How is that any better than Clara? You should know what he went through better than anyone at this table. Putting others down just to build yourself up only reflects on you. Only shows how poor your character really is.”
Seamus jerks his eyes toward me. With lips pressed thin, he says, “Careful with your accusations, young lady. You may be a unique asset to this Coven, but that doesn’t warrant disrespect. Your friend Weldon hasn’t been the most supportive member of this Coven since his return. I’m well aware of what he went through, but that is not an excuse to rebel against our ways.” His voice is far too calm to match the riled look in his eyes.
Jaxen shifts in his seats. Lays his napkin down way too carefully. “Excuse me for speaking out,” he says evenly, like he’s trying to maintain control over his tone, “but can you blame him? He wasn’t exactly welcomed by the Coven after his return.”
“Nonetheless,” Seamus says, dipping his head, “I, and a few other trusted members of the Priesthood, reached out to him shortly after. After he rejected our invitation, he closed himself off. He chose segregation as the answer. I will not sit back and allow him to openly disrespect me in our Coven’s capital. He will learn one way or another that he must respect his Elders. One of these days—”
The woman’s voice that always alerts us blurts out through the speakers around the restaurant, cutting Seamus off. “Please welcome High Priest Edgar Robinson and High Priestess Clara Ravensmoore.”
Everyone in the restaurant stands. An energy I’ve tasted before surrounds me. Darkness. Hatred. Pure evil. A riptide of tension threatens to swallow each and every one of us around the table. All except Seamus. I have to force my knees to bend—my muscles to tighten and push me upward. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, feeling each pinprick in my arm, every mark left by Clara’s cruelty burning beneath the leather of my jacket.
Jaxen takes my hand in his and squeezes one time before letting go. Just enough to give me strength, but not to coddle me, because I need to face her with strength, fearlessness. I need to show her that she did not break me.
Clara makes her way through the crowd, wearing a lavender skirt suit with a brooch pinned to the breast pocket in the shape of a small, black cat, and I think my heart drops to the earth.
It has to be a coincidence. It has to.
Her violet eyes expertly find mine, locking in place. A cruel smile curls across her lips. My fists ball into rounded gavels just waiting to convict her of her crimes. I could kill her right now. Every part of me screams at me to.
“Ah, Edgar, so nice of you to join us,” Seamus says the minute the other High Priest approaches our table. Edgar has black hair styled extravagantly, and small, beady eyes. The blue color is so deep they could almost be mistaken for black. A goatee forms around his mouth in the same shade of his hair with specks of silver peeking out. His frame is small compared to Seamus. He couldn’t be taller than I am.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Edgar’s silky voice croons as his eyes prey over me. He gawks at me as if my mere presence enchants him, like I’m a rare jewel he needs to add to his collection. The smile he wears makes me want to crawl out of my skin. “The Everlasting, in the flesh, what an unexpected pleasure.” He giggles like a schoolgirl, using the back of his hand to cover his mouth. “And here I thought you were a mere legend concocted by Clara as a means to get herself inducted into the Priesthood.” He shoots a pursed look in her direction.
My face is trembling from the extreme amount of effort it takes to smile.
Clara sucks her teeth and swats at him playfully. “Oh, stop, you silly goon. You know very well I would never do such a thing.”
“Mmhm. And Elvis isn’t dead,” Edgar says back with enough attitude to outdo Jezi on her best day. It’s clear Clara and Edgar are friends. The kind that helps pick out each other’s clothes and the knives they’re going to use to stab others in the back with.
“Please, sit,” Seamus says after clearing his throat. I focus my gaze on him, watching for any sign of what to expect. For the reason behind this small setback. Why did he invite her? Did she put him up to this? Will I ever escape her? Truly?
He must be reading my expression because the next moment, he says, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked them to dine with us tonight.”
“You’re damn right,” Jaxen says on a low growl. I don’t try to hold him back or squeeze his hand to calm him down. He’s a perfect storm… a force that can’t be contained—that should never be contained.
Clara’s lavender eyes flash up in Jaxen’s direction. “I see you left your manners with your Elder back at the Academy, young man. Must I remind you that you’re in the presence of members of the High Priesthood?” There’s enough poison in her voice to send me back into another lucid state. I crack my thumbs, and then each of my fingers, focusing on the monetary release of pressure.
Imagining that I’m cracking her spine.
Seamus scrambles, smoothing out the ironed linen covering the table. “I asked them to join us because I wanted to put what happened over the past few weeks behind us, so that we can move forward with ample progress,” he says on the edge of nervous laughter. “I’ve never felt that brushing matters under the rug have ever helped a mental state of mind, especially not one with the weight of the world on their shoulders.” Seamus swallows a sip of his water, and sets it back down. “And I believe there’s something we can all contribute to this new mission. I feel that if we can settle this civilly and quickly, then we can all help one another as we enter a new era in the Coven.”
“Wonderful speech,” Edgar says, silently clapping as he looks between all of us with a primped smile. I can’t tell if he’s mocking Seamus or not. His eyes say yes, but his tone says no. When no one joins in, he slowly drops his hands and reaches for his water. Everyone’s attention seems to gravitate toward me. They’re waiting for my reaction—for my opinion.
I can’t escape the awful memories waiting in the shadows of my mind. They won’t let go of me. They won’t allow me to be free of the resentment that has wrapped its large arms around my ability to forgive.
Because the truth is, it’s easier to resent, than it is to forgive.
“I have nothing to say to her,” I say quietly. I don’t say her name. I don’t have to.
“What I did, I did for your own good, and that’s all there is to it,” Clara says as she reaches for a roll. “You’re still alive and whole.” She takes her time peeling it open and smearing the herbed butter set before us on it. “Learning independence is the most important lesson a woman can learn. To have the ability to stand on your own two feet, that’s a quality most feared and most revered.” She sets the butter knife down and looks up at me, batting her lashes once. “But instead, you choose to die for love. You choose to bear their curse and give your life. It’s appalling. Tell me,” she says, looking directly at Jaxen, “how does it feel to know there is no answer… no saving grace right around the corner to keep your precious Everlasting safe from the curse?”
“Clara, please, this is supposed to be a healing meeting,” Seamus says, but Clara doesn’t hear him. She doesn’t care who she has to plow over just to get a reaction.
“The Gramm brothers don’t understand this concept, as well as most other Hunters in this Coven,” she continues. “They all believe that women are weak. Seeing as how most women are
Witches, they believe that Witches are even weaker. It’s you who gives us a bad name.” She’s pointing at Cassie, and I think Cassie might rip her face off right here on this dinner table.
“Excuse me!” Cassie says incredulously. “What the hell have I done to you?”
Clara ignores her and moves on to her next victim. “You’re quite lucky he’s given his heart to her,” she says to Jezi. “Unlike your friend, you have a chance at life by dropping the dead weight. You have a chance to rise above the rest and show the world that Witches, especially a woman Witch, is just as powerful, if not more so than, a Hunter.”
Edgar leans into Clara. “You’re treading dangerous waters, dear,” he mutters through his teeth.
“Why you stu—” Cassie starts to say, but Clara turns on her.
“What? Do you not agree?” She looks back at Jezi. “Look at her, Cassandra. Do you see a shred of regret in those hazel eyes? Because I don’t. I see relief. Acceptance. Maybe even happiness at knowing she got the best of Jaxen Gramm. I don’t offend you, do I?”
Jezi’s eyes squint. Her lips curl as the scent of magic grows strong. She leans into the table slowly and says, “Don’t mistake my forced manners and fake smile for acceptance, because right now, I’d like nothing more than to show you what I really think about you. And I totally would if I knew it wouldn’t be the cause of my banishment.” Her fists curl against the table as she leans back.
Clara isn’t affected by it. She takes a small nibble of her roll, and then sets it down before covering her mouth with the cloth napkin. After she swallows, she continues, “That’s a shame. I guess I should group you in with the rest of the Witches who bow down to their Hunters. If you ask me, it’s really rather primal.”
“Absolutely,” Edgar agrees with a fervent nod. “But try being a male Witch. It’s much worse. To think that our proclamation hasn’t even put a dent in the social issues presented to our Priesthood on a daily basis is so exhausting.”