Page 21 of Seas the Reckoning

The shockingly pricey cars continue to roll past us.

“I guess everyone had the same idea of wanting some time to meet with my father in a smaller setting.”

Probably for different motives than ours. The way she describes him, Councilman Taylor has his hands in all sorts of businesses and has created a name for himself as someone who can make powerful connections between supernaturals. Or break them.

The manor in front of us speaks to such a personality. It looks one turret away from technically being a castle. There are statues lining the entrance carved to resemble kelpies, Fae, and other supernatural creatures. It does not escape my notice that the statues most resembling humans are standing upright, their noses in the air and their faces proud.

The kelpies and shifters are in motion, looking violent and unrestrained.

Jackal huffs.

“Not subtle in his opinions on who is the more noble species, is he?”

“This has to be difficult for you, too. I know you’ve been with Starla to a few of her father’s functions before, and he didn’t care for you.” I squeeze his hand.

Jackal shrugs, but I can see the tension in his movements.

“True enough. But I never minded helping out a friend and giving her an escape from these functions.”

His eyes are more amber than brown as he surveys the grounds. My heart feels a small squeeze. Jackal doesn’t even hesitate to face danger so long as he’s helping people.

Although my hope is that we deal with nothing more than the annoyance of Starla’s father and a few forward, pompous supernaturals tonight.

Even if I didn’t have the curse, I’d be feeling a bit powerless. Grammy was clear. Starla participates in the whole weekend. While she didn’t explicitly state that the rest of us had to play nice, starting a fight or getting thrown out would be likely to derail Starla’s participation as well.

I reach up to brush my fingers over my siren necklace, only to realize that it’s tucked under the neckline of my dress.

When we get to the front steps, the estate workers move as one, bowing to Starla as she approaches. She lifts a haughty eyebrow in what I imagine is an imitation of her father, and they sweep their arms out, gesturing us inside the manor.

From there, we’re personally shown not to the main ballroom, where I can see people gathering, or out to a veranda, where there are even more individuals milling about with glasses in their hands, but to another room on the opposite hall.

“Councilman Taylor wants to greet you personally,” one of the men says by way of explanation.

We’re gestured into a sitting room that reminds me of those I’ve seen on period dramas. There’s a grand piano facing the far wall, multiple small seating areas, even a couple of tables where you could set out tea or snacks.

But in those dramas the sitting rooms are often used for receiving suitors and are bright and cheerful. This place is all dark wooden accents and furniture in deep burgundy, coal, and cigar shades.

Councilman Taylor’s light, sandy hair stands in stark contrast to the dark brown fireplace and the wooden mantle he rests an arm on. He turns toward us as we enter, his voice not betraying any anger or impatience. But his brown eyes flicker and crackle like the flames behind him.

“Have a seat.”

Starla’s fingers spark, and her eyes flash.

I don’t think this family reunion is starting off well.

11

PLUS ONE

“Sit,” the councilman repeats, “please.”

Even with the hastily added nicety, Starla’s expression is already mutinous. I lean toward her ear as discreetly as possible.

“The event has begun,” I remind her.

The witch snaps her mouth closed, plastering on a smile and dipping into an actual curtsy.

“Thank you for your hospitality.”