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In the late afternoon hours of a Sunday at the apothecary shop, sunlight filters through the array of suncatchers in the windows and casts dappled patterns on the polished wooden floor.
The store is tranquil and quiet. I am not.
I’m trying not to freak out, but the more I think about the next trial in the high priestess competition, the harder it is to ignore.
Shifting on my stool behind the counter, I do my best to turn my attention back to the book in front of me—one from Elara’s personal collection upstairs detailing the magic properties of plants.
It’s an interesting read, but I’m barely skimming the pages. I close the cover and abandon the attempt. Maybe learning the inventory and puttering among the display tables and shelves will help spark an idea.
I need a potion that is potent, useful, and unique. For the millionth time, I wish my grandmother was here to help me. But she’s not. And if she were still alive, I wouldn’t be here. I would never have felt the power of standing in my ancestral lands, I would never have found out the truth about Adelaide and Egan, I would never have been bound to Finn, Rune, and Sebastian.
I feel the tug of my mates over the bond. Where only a few weeks ago, I hated the intrusion, now I’m learning to take comfort in it.
Finn is in the back garden with his laptop, playing the part of my escort—cough—babysitter, and Rune texted me half an hour ago saying he’s taking Sebastian on a witchstone fact-finding mission to see a witch turned vampire in one of the other wards.
They aren’t here, but I’m not alone.
And now, with Phi tethered into the mix, I don’t think I’ll ever be alone again.
I pause in front of a shelf of dried herbs, and idly trace the delicate white blossoms of the water hyssop.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the hardwood if you keep pacing like that.” Elara is arranging vials of colorful potions with practiced precision, her calm demeanor a soothing contrast to my inner turmoil. “And these boards are original.”
I hold up my hands and let out a frustrated sigh. “Sorry. I can’t help it.”
I move over to watch Elara work. The two of us have become fast friends and I’m thankful to have someone I can talk to here in the city.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I meet the concern in her gaze and am about to wave it away when I realize I do want to talk about it. “This whole competition for high priestess is driving me insane. I can’t figure out what kind of potion I should make for the trial and I have to present it tomorrow night. Summer and Beatris will make something incredible. I’ll look like a fool.”
Elara turns to face me fully, her expression gentle yet firm. “Destiny weaves its threads around us, whether we seek it or not. Deep down, you know you have all the qualities you need to dazzle the elders.”
I run rough fingers through my hair and give the lengths an angsty tug. “What’s the point? It’s not like the witches in this city will approve of me. They hate me.”
“They don’t know you.”
“They know my mother and my grandmother.”
“And that is neither here nor there. Many witches recognize the women in your family as incredibly powerful members of the coven.”
“And others think they destroyed the coven and left them to hang out to dry.”
Elara shrugs. “Then it’s time they learned you’re a different kind of witch. You grew up away from here, so you haven’t been corrupted by the politics of this city. You could bring genuine change. You’re a natural-born leader.”
I laugh. “Me? You think I’m a leader?”
She eases back and grins. “Of course, I do. You’re thoughtful and smart. You’re not jaded by the state of things, and you aren’t intimidated into conforming to the politics that have been running the wards for decades. I think you’d be a great high priestess.”
Screw the politics side of it. Adelaide set the bar low for the next witch to fill her shoes. If I don’t make a pact with the enemy to have my sister witches murdered for power, I’d already be miles ahead of the last High Priestess.
Of course, I can’t say that.
As awful as Adelaide was to me and mine, she was good to Elara and she’s still mourning the loss of her mentor.
“It’s not just that,” I say.
Elara’s gaze lifts from her work and her smile dims. “Then what is it? How can I help?”
