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“Send them away or I will slaughter those witches,” the Boogie Man says.
“Grandma, you’ve got to believe me.” The words tumble from my lips. “There’s a strange man in the corner, threatening to kill you all.”
Her eyes narrow, and she flicks her gaze from Aggie and Aunt Klara to me.
“What do you see?” she asks, her voice measured.
My throat dries. This is the same tone of voice she would when I was little use to ask if I was playing with her crystals again or interfered with some important potion. No matter if I lied or told the truth, the result would always be an unpleasant punishment.
I can’t meet Grandma’s assessing gaze. Instead, I stare at the Boogie Man, who glares back as I describe him in detail. At the end, I add, “He told me his name was Henry.”
“Henry what?” Grandma asks.
“Cut-something, Duke of Normandy.”
“Curtmantle,” Grandma and the Boogie Man say at the same time.
“You know him?”
“Henry II of England,” she says. “Also known as Henry FitzEmpress or Henry Plantagenet. But he was also the husband of our ancestor, Aliénor d'Aquitaine, also known as Eleanor of Aquitaine.”
I turn back to the Boogie Man. “Were you really the King of England?”
“You are no descendent of Alienor,” he hisses. “You are her.”
Aunt Klara helps Aggie to her feet. “Those were some rather nasty wounds,” she says, her voice sharp with a reprimand. “If it wasn’t for her ribcage getting in the way, that strike would have torn out her lungs.”
My stomach churns, and I turn from one accusing face to the other.
“It wasn’t me,” I rasp.
My aunt meets my gaze but doesn’t speak. She probably thinks I’m in denial.
I turn to Grandma. “Please—”
She holds up her palm. “Do you know what kind of attacks can penetrate the magic protecting each member of our coven?”
I shake my head.
“The locket protects against witches from other covens, magical beasts, but not from humans.”
“But he’s not—”
“Let me finish,” she says. “The only other magical beings who can hurt us are members of the coven.”
The weight of her words settles on my chest like lead bricks. In a moment, she’s going to accuse me of having untamed kinetic magic or use some other reason to bind my power.
“You think it’s coming from me?” My voice wavers, and I glance from Grandma to Aunt Klara. “I swear to you, it’s not. Do any kind of spell on me—mind-reading, truth-telling, even a magical trace—I’ll prove to you that it was this Henry guy.”
“It’s not safe for you to live alone,” Grandma says.
My heart sinks. “You’re not listening.”
She sweeps her arm across the room. “Klara and I both saw you lift a heavy mirror with kinetic magic. When your power spun out of control, you shielded your cousin with your body, knowing no harm would come to you.”
I gulp, my gaze darting to the Boogie Man, who stands in the corner and smirks.
“But what about Henry Coat Mantle?”
