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“I’m assuming you also accounted for humans coming here?” Carlotta asks, taking the stairs after her.
She glances back with a confident smile. “Of course. There’s a mild wariness spell surrounding the property that makes humans reluctant to enter the home.”
“Isn’t her husband human?” I inquire, equal parts impressed and disturbed by the layers of magic cast on Neva. It makes far more sense why less powerful covens have their leaders wear arcane focuses designed to protect them against spells. It doesn’t justify that they are made by sacrificing witches’ lives though.
“It seems their marriage couldn’t stand up against unfettered truth,” my nan answers from halfway up the stairs. “Neva had opinions on the hierarchy of importance between witches and humans that wasn’t in his favor.”
“How do you know this?” Kaleb asks, squeezing my hand as he takes the steps ahead of me.
“She gives me a daily report when I arrive to manage the coven’s affairs,” Mildred answers, waiting for us at the top of the landing.
“Wait? You come here every day?” I exclaim, only now realizing how separate our lives have become over the past several months. I’ve been so busy with everything going on in my life, I haven’t really taken the opportunity to ask how she’s been doing.
“It made far more sense for me to come here than to transport all the boxes of documents to our home,” she explains, stepping to the side to allow Carlotta to pass. Exhaling a frustrated breath, she absently rests the grimoire on the banister. “I’ve spent most of my time digitizing everything so it will be a smooth transition when the Yonu matriarch reclaims the territory.”
“What?” I squawk when I finally reach the top of the stairs.
“We really don’t have time to get into it,” she states, picking up the grimoire and leading us down the hall to the left. “You asked why I’m here every day, and I answered.” Stopping in front of a plain white door, she shifts the grimoire against one hip while her other hand reaches for the doorknob. “All the business with the Yonu Coven will have to wait for another day. We have more pressing issues at the moment.”
“I hate it when you’re right,” I grumble, narrowing my eyes on her. “But when we’re not in the middle of a life-or-death situation, we’re so talking about it.”
“Yes, of course,” she replies while opening the door.
Kaleb mutters, “Isn’t everything we do life or death?”
I flash him a tight smile as I elbow him in the ribs.
The bedroom appears shockingly normal for the lair of evil incarnate. The way Gina obsesses about Nolan, I half expected a stalker board with the eyes crossed out of every person he’s ever interacted with. Underneath would be a shrine with a lock of his hair or stolen nail clippings.
Instead, it looks like any other teenage girl’s room, with pop idol posters on the walls, high-quality wood furniture painted white, and a full-length mirror with pictures of her and her friends stuck around the edges. I guess she could be keeping her more unhinged hobbies locked away in the closet.
Lying in a four-poster bed with sheer lavender curtains tied to the bed posts, Gina appears to be in a dreamless sleep. She’s so frighteningly still, it would be easy to mistake her for a life-sized doll. Her thick black hair neatly frames her head against the pillow, and her hands rest on her chest, her nails freshly manicured. Even in a coma, she looks perfect.
A frustrated Dalia and a panicked Neva stand at her bedside. When we enter, Dalia exclaims, “She values her daughter most.”
“Still can’t take her life,” Mildred reiterates, walking briskly to the other side of the bed where a small table and rocking chair sit. After placing the grimoire on the side table, she moves the chair to an empty corner of the room.
Fisting her hands at her sides, Dalia hisses, “Fine,” then she focuses on the cowering woman next to her. “Show me what else you value.”
With hunched shoulders and eyes that refuse to lift from the floor, Neva silently leads Dalia out of the room.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply ask what she values instead of having her show Dalia?” Carlotta muses as she approaches the window that faces the backyard.
My nan returns to the grimoire and begins flipping through the pages until she reaches one bookmarked with a crimson ribbon. “I already know what she holds most dear besides her daughter.”
“Then why sic Nolan’s grandmother on Neva if you already know the answer?” I ask, standing awkwardly near the door with a death grip on Kaleb’s hand, hating just being in Gina’s vicinity.
“Because I’m unsure how to go about taking it from her without the council’s assistance,” she answers, glancing up from the grimoire.
“Then get the council’s assistance,” Carlotta retorts and then hisses when Mr. Mischief swipes at her again. “I swear to the goddess, if you don’t knock that off, I will roast you.”
He seems unperturbed by the threat, sauntering away with a flick of his tail and settling near my nan’s feet.
Ignoring the exchange between my paternal grandmother and the mysterious fae, Mildred states, “You bloody well know why I can’t go to the council.”
“She’ll have to face them eventually,” Carlotta replies, placing her hands on her hips. “They are going to wonder why I haven’t returned with her.”
“Then I guess you will have to come up with a decent lie,” my nan counters, her lips taut as she runs her finger down the open page.
