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And right then, Ysandra ceased to be a terror and suddenly became a very humane, if magic-born, person to me. I looked in her eyes and saw the glimmer of tears, and realized that everything else—all the brisk business and nononsense part of her persona—had paled compared to losing an old friend.
I reached out and pressed her hand. “I’ll let her granddaughter know. We’re good friends, and I’ll make sure she passes on the message.”
“Marta’s daughter, Anadey, was always sour about the Consortium. I understand she might not want to hear from me, but my sympathies are there if she wants them.” As Ysandra started to gather her things, she paused. “Oh, and you’ll be starting the Society up again, of course.”
“Say what?” I stared at her. “Why would I do that? The Society disbanded with her death.”
“You inherited her business, and therefore you inherited her place as elder. Since the Thirteen Moons Society disbanded, it’s up to you to choose up to twelve other members and bring it back to life—with a new name, of course. That goes with being the witch chosen to watch over any particular village or town.”
“I’m confused. What do you mean, chosen?”
“Marta was chosen to lead the Society, and her business was not only to sell magical potions and charms, but to watch over New Forest. She knew that by choosing her successor, she would automatically pass on the position. Usually it would be a direct lineage, but since her daughter chose not to involve herself with the Consortium, apparently, you were her choice. I’m surprised she didn’t choose your aunt, but she must have had her reasons. Heather was always Marta’s right-hand woman.”
“My aunt . . .”
“Mother is so busy with her studies that she had to bow out of the Society for now.” Rhia spoke up, her voice steady and calm. “And the Society never recognized me, so I was not a viable candidate.”
Ysandra gazed at her, silent for a moment. “Yes, we never understood Marta’s position on that. You will be accepted if Cicely chooses to include you in her roster.”
And with that, she headed toward the door, briefcase in hand. “Get me those forms as soon as you can. I’ll be in charge of your applications, so mark them to my attention. It was nice meeting you, and you, too, Kaylin. You make a lovely couple. Since you’re married, you’ll have to provide me with a copy of your marriage certificate so it can be recorded. All partnerships by members of the Consortium are on record, whether they be poly or monogamous.”
Before we could respond, she swept out into the frigid air, down the steps, and her dark sedan glided up the street again.
I stood there, gaping at the door. “What the fuck do we do now?”
Kaylin laughed from behind me. “Get married, I suppose.”
As we gathered back around the kitchen table, I accepted a cup of tea from Kaylin, who had returned the still-full pot back into the kitchen.
Rhiannon brought the others up to speed while I gulped down the scalding drink, supplementing it with a piece of cold toast.
“We have to keep them from finding out about Myst, and yet we’re supposed to join their little club?” I shook my head.>“I’ve decided to wait—just not a good idea. Leo was right.” I looked up at him, a faint smile on my face. “It’s too dangerous.”
“The day I’m right around you women is the day hell freezes over,” Leo said. He glanced out the window. “And it looks like it has. I’d better get back outside to shovel the walks again. I feel like crap, but it has to be done.”
“Let me do it,” I said. “I need the exercise.” Truth was, I just wanted to be alone for a while. “Peyton, would you mind watching over the fort? Call me if anybody comes in and I’m still on shovel detail.”
“All right,” she said, frowning. “Cicely . . . are you sure you’re all right?”
I nodded, vigorously, forcing a smile to my lips. “Yeah, I’m fine. Good breakfast. Thanks to the cook.” As I pushed myself to my feet, I noticed Leo watching me, a thoughtful look on his face. I engaged his stare, feeling altogether too hostile, then turned away.
Grabbing the snow shovel, I headed out the front door. The cold took my breath away, but I cautiously began scraping the snow off the steps leading to the walk, making sure to scatter rock salt to melt the underlying ice.
Myst’s winter had hit and hit hard. A good two feet of snow blanketed the front yard, but where we were shoveling the walk, we’d built snow banks over three feet high. I slid the edge of the shovel under the layer of white and began to scoop it away. Too bad we didn’t have a damned snowblower, I thought. I should ask Regina for one. She’d probably buy it for us.
As I scooped shovelful after shovelful of snow away and tossed it on the ever-growing pile, I began to calm down. Breakfast had been difficult, but this was no different from the scams we’d run on the men Krystal attracted. All it came down to was playing a part. And I’d developed into a pretty good actress over the years. I’d had to learn—that was how I won my 1966 Pontiac GTO in a game of street craps. Bravado and bluffing was what it was all about.
After a while, the cold settled into a gentle numbness and I worked silently, clearing the sidewalk. The sound of a car made me stop, and I leaned on the shovel, watching as a long black limo eased down the cul-de-sac. It crept toward me, and I waited, a tingling racing down my fingertips. As the limo stopped, easing into the driveway, I caught my breath. Myst’s people didn’t drive, as far as I knew—they hadn’t assimilated into society that far. Or at least I thought so. And it was daytime, so it couldn’t be the vampires.
The door opened and a lean, wiry woman stepped out of the car. She looked yummanii, but the sense of magic tingled around her. She was one of the magic-born. As she swept up the sidewalk I’d just cleared, I found myself tensing.
Watch what you say, watch what you do. Ulean’s warning came sharp and clear.
I gave a gentle nod.
“You are Cicely Waters?” The woman’s voice was husky. She wore an ankle-length dress, almost Victorian in nature but made from a warm purple jersey. Over the top, she was wearing a white fur coat, and her hands were swathed in ivory gloves made from brushed suede. And she was carrying a briefcase that looked like it had been fashioned in the early 1900s.
“Who wants to know?” I didn’t mean to be belligerent, but her nature put me off. She had a nosy energy about her, and my instinct was to head inside and lock the door. But she wasn’t vampire, she wasn’t Fae . . .
