“The Tiara of Ix-Chel. It’s gone missing.” Aiden paces the ancient Oriental rug, growling under his breath. He’s dressed for work in one of his well-tailored gray suits.
“Missing?” I echo. It’s a ploy to get more information, and it works.
“Houserman just called. Apparently someone broke in earlier today and took it, and he waited until now to break the news. I was on my way to purchase it.” His lip curls, and I feel a moment of pity for Dr. Houserman, having to disappoint Aiden. No wonder he waited until the last possible minute.
“He suspects us.”
“Us? Why would we steal it? We were going to purchase it.”
“That’s exactly what I told him.” Aiden stomps around the room, sneering at gilt framed oil paintings and Tiffany lamps alike. “In fact, I would’ve taken possession of it immediately after you confirmed its power had I known the museum was going to completely bungle its security and allow it to be stolen.” He marches around a Louis XIV era armchair to stand over me, glowering. “You didn’t have any vision, any premonition that it would be taken?”
“No,” I say clearly because it’s not a lie. “When I have a vision that would help the pack, I share it.” I’m still telling the truth. I just refuse to share any visions that lead us to war. Or put a spotlight on the man who held me in the elevator.
“Would you?” Aiden asks in a soft tone. Danger, my intuition blares. “Otto tells me you were reluctant to expose yourself to its power again. If I find out you had anything to do with this…”
A picture flashes through my mind. The man’s face, the one I’ve been seeing, dreaming about. Could he be involved? My intuition says yes.
I lick my lips, and Aiden’s eyes flash silver, as if his wolf has scented prey.
I need a diversion, and I need it fast. “Why would I? I seek power to guide the pack toward its purpose.” I sweep a hand out toward the fire. “Ever since yesterday, I’ve been here, centering myself, preparing for the ritual.” Beseeching the Grandmothers for a way to thwart it and avoiding Vera, who’s staying in the room next door. “Do you think the director could’ve managed it? He didn’t want the tiara to be taken from the museum. You can ask Otto.”
Aiden stares at me. Testing me for weakness.
I inhale the soothing scent of lavender and wait for the storm to pass.
“Otto tells me you’ve been eating meat.”
“I required strength after handling the tiara. It left me drained.”
“The seeress shall not eat the flesh of any animal. So it is written in the Book of the Moonborn, according to the Warden.”
Yes, the Book of the Moonborn, the one that only the Warden is allowed to read. I’m sure it says a lot about how to starve the cult members as a way to keep them under the leadership’s thumb. Liora, one of the Moonborn who helped raise me before I was sent to train with Oma, told me that every month there are long fasts she and the others are required to participate in, even if they’re underage or nursing a pup.
I stop my lip from curling, but Aiden smirks, sensing my insubordination. “The Warden is keen to aid you in accessing your gift again. He will oversee your fast.”
I know what’s happening here. They want me weak. I'm already underfed. My wolf needs meat. I rise to my feet because I’m done taking this sitting down. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I think it is. And don’t worry,” he adds silkily, “I understand that all this opulence,” he waves a hand at the over-decorated room, “Impedes your visions. You’ll be returning to Adalwulf land immediately.” He strides to the door where I can scent Otto and the others waiting outside, ready to drag me away. “There you will remain in isolation in the tower until you produce the intel we need.”
“Exactly what intel do you need?” I ask. I’m feeling desperate, and he can probably smell it, but I’m getting better at asking questions, probing for information, taking the power back.
“Any intel that helps us destroy the Blackthroats.”
I hesitate. This is the exact intel I don’t want to give.
But what choice do I have?
Aiden opens the door and signals my handlers to enter. “It’s your choice, Aster. Give me what I want, or I’ll give you to the Warden to breed a new generation, and he’ll make sure your children will be trained to serve the pack properly.”
Chapter Seven
Aster
The tower is exactly what it sounds like: a big old phallic structure built of weathered stone. One of Oma’s ancestors had it built, claiming they saw it in a vision. Maybe the same sort of vision that led Carl Jung to create Bollingen Tower although ours predates Jung’s alchemical oasis by decades.
Unlike Jung’s tower, this one is sweaty in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. There’s no fire. No furniture. No creature comforts. Nothing that would distract me from my visions.
Six days ago, the Warden locked me in here with a bowl of water and no food, instructing me to cleanse my flesh. The water is replenished once a day. I use the medieval garderobe for a toilet. There’s a guard at the door–I’m not allowed to leave at all.
