Page 59 of Fallen Court

“Ready to face the music?” he asked as he raised his glass in a toast.

I took a sip, too numb to feel the burn. Everything was a mess. “I think the covens will be more forgiving than Cate.”

“That’s optimistic.” Roark laughed before downing his drink in a single swallow. Then he clapped a hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward the door. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

Chapter Fifteen

Lach

We were late as sin by the time we strode into the Avalon’s largest conference room. An eclectic collection of creatures was gathered around the grouped conference tables, each coven having brought four or five representatives, and every single one of them looked like they were contemplating murder. Namely, my murder. But what was new? Even my mate had it out for me.

I pushed the thought from my mind. I couldn’t afford to be worrying about shit like that in a room full of the most powerful, and therefore dangerous, creatures in New Orleans.

Each coven had self-divided among the others’ tables. On the right, the devout witches of the Second Parish Coven who made their home in the city’s affluent Garden District glared across the table at the familiars and vampires who comprised most of the First Parish Coven and controlled the French Quarter as a result. On the far side of the room, the werewolf contingent from Third Parish looked bored to find themselves stuck in another meeting. As a rule, the pack resisted being dragged into the constant political battles of the other parishes, and since their magic couldn’t be used for spellcasting, they were only here in case a vote was called—a rare occurrence when I was in the room.

All in all, there was no love lost between any of the bickering factions present. Anytime we walked away from a meeting without bloodshed was a small mercy.

Romy and Fiona had already left for the Astral Court, which was probably for the best. My sister seemed to prefer collecting enemies to making friends.

Roark claimed a seat to the side of the table, leaving me the central one. The one my sister should be occupying as acting heir. The memento mori burned on the back of my neck like a reminder that a throne was no place for a dead man.

“Think we should do an icebreaker?” I muttered to my penumbra. His soft laugh was more of a sigh as I gripped the back of the chair. I remained standing, surveying the room, waiting for any lingering conversation to die. “If we could settle down…”

Setting off a bomb would have been less destructive.

“Settle down?” Corinne, a familiar from First Parish, shot from her seat, her red hair whipping around her shoulders. “We are burning through our magic for you, and the first thing you say is to settle down? That spell caused a magical outage for all of us, but we should just fall in line, right?”

Murmurs rippled through the room, associates from every coven nodding. The tension was palpable, hanging like a dark cloud over the space. How had Ciara convinced any of them to work together long enough to raise the bona fides spell?

Corinne continued, her voice going higher with each syllable. “We are being dragged into a fight over fae laws. This has nothing to do with us, but if you can’t—”

I raised a hand to stop her before she burst a blood vessel. “Poor choice of words.” I paused, weighing my next statement. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure the outage was a fluke.”

The room exploded. Half the people present were on their feet, and everyone was shouting. At me. At each other.

Okay, so that was also the wrong thing to say.

A reed-thin witch rose and pointed a finger across the room, looking down his beakish nose at the werewolves gathered there. Ambrose, one of the elders of Second Parish, never failed to make his disdain for other covens known. “What about the rougarou? We’re trapped in the city, and they’re letting their mutts loose.”

Taran’s lip curled, a low snarl rumbling from his chest. It wasn’t wise to offend the leader of the Third Parish pack. The broadness of his chest and shoulders belied his true nature. Even in his human form, he could rip most of the people here limb from limb.

As accusations continued to fly, my temples throbbed.

The only thing keeping Corinne from coming over the table was Étienne, a vampire elder, holding her back. His dark hair fell across his eyes, shielding his face, but I could tell by the muscle twitching in his strong jawline that he was rapidly losing his patience with the situation. The female vampire to his right met my eyes and smirked as she tossed a glossy, platinum curl over her shoulder. Baptiste was one of the few not screaming. Which was strange, since yelling at me was usually one of her favorite hobbies. Their third, a younger vampire I’d never met, sat quietly at Baptiste’s side. He was unusually scruffy for his species. Between the thick stubble shadowing his face and his shaggy brown haircut, he looked like he might fit in better with the werewolves. But the pitch blackness of his eyes suggested his silence was the result of reining in blood rage, not disinterest.

We needed to lock shit down. Now.

I glanced at Roark and found his head drooping in resignation, propped up by a single finger pressed between his eyes.

Sighing, I sent shadows to swallow the room, smothering every light. The arguments died, snuffed out by the darkness. When the room had fallen silent, I raised my voice. “Perhaps someone could explain why we’re all panicking.”

“Turn the lights on, please,” someone called in a small voice.

I allowed a crack of it through the darkness, enough to test the waters. When they all behaved, I sent the shadows back to the corners of the room.

“The outage may be a harbinger that the goddess is displeased with the bona fides spell,” one of the devout beside Ambrose said.

The whispers began again, half the room agreeing with her, the other rolling their eyes.