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Hazel hung up and, leaving the book about complex spells open to get back to later, hurried out to her car. Basil and Isa were out camping in the woods, and Rose was cooped up in her room, studying, but Hazel had made sure there were sandwiches waiting for Rose in the fridge should she venture into the kitchen later.
It had taken Hazel the better part of the past seven months to feed Rose back to what her ideal weight should have been. Rose’s insatiable hunger for whatever edible things she could find helped a great deal—like an orphan of war and famine, she gobbled down meals in record time, and even now, despite her ample access to food, she’d sneak pieces of bread and fruit from the table to take to her room. Hazel’s heart roared with a mother’s fury just thinking of the kind of trauma Rose had suffered that would make her think stockpiling food was a necessity.
Ten minutes later, Hazel parked in the long driveway of the old Victorian of the MacKenna family. Lights shone through the downstairs window, the porch lamps on. Gravel crunching under her shoes, Hazel quickly walked up to the stairs and knocked on the front door.
Merle opened with a smile. “Hey there, come on in.”
Hazel stepped into the foyer and took off her coat while peering through the open doorways left and right. “No one else is here yet, right? I didn’t see any cars outside.”
“Nope, we’ve got a little time left and the house to ourselves for now. Rhun is out feeding, and my dad is meeting up with his witch-husband friends, or the Trophy Hubbies, as they call themselves.” Merle rolled her eyes, but her grin belied that gesture.
Merle’s father, Frank, had been mentally damaged by the magical outburst of Maeve’s inner phoenix when she was eight—the same fiery explosion that had killed Merle and Maeve’s mother as well as their sister, Moira—and he’d spent the past seventeen years locked inside his own mind, unresponsive and withering away in a nursing home. Until Maeve had finally broken the shackles her grandmother had put around the ancient beast in her core, and reconnected with her phoenix seven months ago—and the phoenix’s tears had managed to heal the damage to Frank’s mind, freeing him from his catatonic state.
Both Merle and Maeve were understandably overjoyed to have their father back. And Frank had started reclaiming his life these past months, including reviving old friendships with the other human men married to witches in the community.
Robert and Frank had been casual friends in the past, brought together through the deep bond Hazel had had with Emily, Maeve and Merle’s mother. When Frank had come back to his senses recently, he hadn’t been surprised to learn of Robert’s death years’ prior—even though Frank had already been catatonic at the time, apparently some of the things Merle had told him when visiting his nursing home had penetrated his shredded mind.
Frank had simply given Hazel an assessing, perceptive look and said, “I’m glad you’re free of him.”
The comment had caused a bittersweet sting, because while Frank’s concern had been soothing, it had reminded her of the fact that so many others had seen what Hazel had been blind to all these years. The humiliating way Robert had treated her, the ease with which he’d dulled her shine and crushed her spirit while wrapping her in layers of charm that had been a choking illusion of love.
She took a deep breath and shook off the memories, focused on the present. “Since we don’t have much time,” she said to Merle, “let me give you the quick rundown of what I found last night.”
Sitting at the kitchen island, Merle listened to the details of the case, her brow furrowing more and more. “Shit,” she murmured in conclusion.
“While I don’t condone that language,” Hazel said with a raised brow, “I agree with the sentiment.”
“And we can’t blow this thing up huge and let everyone know, because it’ll only alert the killer that we’re on to her.”
“Not to mention it would be like kindling thrown into dry woods with the sweltering resentment within the former Aequitas.”
A sharp look from Merle. “You think the killer is a former Draconian?”
Hazel pursed her lips. “Who do you think is more capable of this kind of butchery—the ones who started attacking other witches and violated our most sacred law to prove a point, or the ones who fought back?”
“Yeah,” Merle muttered, her expression pensive, “while all of us have blood on our hands, my instinct says one of the Draconians is more likely to have done this.”
“And even if that is not true, even if one of the former Aequitas did it, what do you think it will look like to the rest of the Aequitas who aren’t in on it?”
“Like the Draconians did this.”
“Exactly.” Hazel crossed her arms. “And with the way most of us are still holding those grudges—that includes you, Merle—the latent animosity and mistrust toward the former Draconians will boil over with news like this.”
“Well, hell.” Merle rubbed both hands over her face. “How are we supposed to find the witch without officially looking for her? Asking every able-bodied witch of age where she was at three o’clock this morning won’t be suspicious at all.”
“I know.” Hazel bit her lip, her gaze unfocused on the marble of the kitchen island. “We need to—”
The doorbell rang, and Hazel fell silent as Merle sent her a We’ll talk more later glance and hurried to let the arriving Elders in.
Shobha Gupta and Elaine Donovan were the first to arrive, followed shortly by two former Draconians, Thea Callahan and Tanya Kaminski. Merle led them into the dining room with the large table and enough chairs for all fourteen Elders—plus Sophie Laroche, who joined the group next.
The greetings between former Aequitas and the ones who had favored Juneau’s side in the conflict were full of frosty smiles and murmured platitudes. Like street dogs, Hazel mused, who’d once fought and now had to tolerate each other, inwardly still growling but deciding that escalating to flashing teeth and biting was not worth the hassle.
Once everybody was seated at the table—eight former Aequitas Elders facing six former Draconians, plus Sophie—Merle cleared her throat.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said from her place at the head of the table, the seat of honor for the hostess of the meeting. “As this is the first meeting with the full set of Elders from our community after the recent war, I think it’s only fair to address the tension we all know is charging the room.” She paused, and to anyone who knew Merle better, it was obvious she was trying hard to rein in her temper.
Inwardly growling indeed.
