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“I’ve never been,” Fey said honestly with a shrug. She hadn’t been to any temple, not since her Awakening.
Sana blinked in surprise. “Oh. Oh, well, you must come sometime. We would love to have you join us.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Fey answered. She felt uncomfortable standing here, talking to the High Priestess. Her skin felt too tight, too awkward around her body.
When Sana cocked her head in question, Fey sighed loudly.
“Do you want your temple to see me, Sana?” Fey held her arms out, the raised scar tissue of her sigils covering her arms and fully visible. “Do you want them to see an example of how their power could be used? Not to heal, but to hurt? You don’t like the way I use my gift. Do you want me to inspire anyone else?”
Sana was shaking her head. “What you do with your powers is between you and the Goddess, Fey. I hold no judgment.”
Liar.
Fey sighed. “I’m sorry, but it’s a bad idea and you know it. I’m not a healer. I’m not the sort of Witch you want in your coven, okay?”
“Please just consider it,” Sana insisted. “You’re welcome to join us whenever you please. No matter what you think, Fey, I would love to have you there.”
“Fine,” Fey said. “I’ll consider it.”
She wouldn’t, and they both knew it. But before Sana could say anything more, Fey had already turned and walked away.
Chapter 13
They barely had time to process the disastrous meeting with the High Priestesses before it was time to prepare for Willow’s induction.
More tradition, and more posturing, but at least this ceremony was something to look forward to. Fey refused to bring any negative energy to Willow’s special day, and she took an extra ten minutes in her shower to go through her breathing exercises, calming her irritation and bad mood, and grounding herself.
By the time she was showered and dressed in her fighting leathers and mask, she felt like a new Witch. She took in her appearance in the full-length mirror. A killer stood before her, nothing of her face visible but her eyes. Fey smiled at her reflection, and the monster in the mirror didn’t smile back.
She was ready.
To some, the rite of induction must seem like a cruel thing. But cruelty doesn’t necessarily negate the beauty of something. Is a lioness any less beautiful for being deadly?
They entered as a group. Dameon, in front, and Willow behind him. She wore her uniform, freshly commissioned for her, but her hair and face were uncovered.
Lilith, Fey, and Joy entered behind them, a triplet of dark shadows.
The Queen sat on her throne. Four identical high-backed chairs had been brought for the Priestesses, and Fey was only moderately surprised to see they were all full. She had thought Lilith’s outburst may have cost them Linh’s support, at the very least. But there she was, present, though perhaps not as thrilled as she could have been.
“Who do you bring to my throne room?” Queen Edelin asked, her voice strong enough that it filled the entire room.
It was tradition, this song and dance. A ritual of sorts. A play they all knew by heart.
“A recruit, to the Queen’s Blades, Your Grace,” Dameon answered.
“And who claims her?”
“I do, Your Grace,” said Leandra.
“As do I, Your Grace,” echoed Claudia.
“A Witch of Fire and Earth,” the Queen mused. “And has she passed her trial?”
Has she made her first kill, was the real question. The day after their celebration at the club, Dameon had given Willow an envelope with her first assignation. The name, photo, and known locations of her first kill. She could get no help from her sisters, not for this first time. They were forbidden to know the details, forbidden to offer any aid at all. In this, Willow had to act alone to prove her worth.
“She has, Your Grace,” Dameon answered. Willow preened with pride behind him.
Queen Edelin’s eyes traveled from Dameon to Fey and her sisters.
