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“Curtmantle,” she replies, the syllables clipped with annoyance. “I’m surprised you’ve forgotten the history of our coven.”
As Aunt Klara helps Aggie out into the hallway, Grandma flicks her wand and gathers up my clothes. “It’s one thing to tear apart your room while you’re asleep. Quite another to attack members of your own coven. Until we get to the root of your problem, you’ll be staying in my guesthouse.”
“What?” the Boogie Man roars.
Grandma wraps an arm around my shoulder and sweeps me out of the room. I turn my head and fix him with my most venomous glare. He glares back, his green eyes flashing with malice.
Grandma lives in the coven’s ancestral home, where generations of Styx witches have performed magic. Our power is in the soil, in the air, in the plants, and even in the water.
The Boogie Man follows after us but can’t get close through Grandma’s huge bubble of protective magic.
Let’s see him try to reach me while I’m behind her powerful wards.
ChapterSeven
HENRY
If I had known striking the young woman who had set my trap would result in the old witch taking away Alienor, I might have curbed my temper.
Her magic is formidable and has a boundary of protection that surpasses that of my wife. I will have to tread carefully around these other witches. One more reckless act and they really might believe I exist.
I follow them through Alienor’s dwelling and out into the street where three broomsticks await. Two hover side by side, while the third leans against the wall.
“What are we going to do about her?” The healer inclines her head toward Alienor. “That level of untamed power is deadly to our coven.”
“You can’t bind my magic,” Alienor blurts.
My breath quickens. I step outside and wince at the sudden rush of sunlight on my skin markings. As their magic adjusts to the glare, I wait in the shelter of an apple tree at the edge of the witches’ protective bubble.
The healer makes an excellent suggestion. Without her magic, Alienor would be as vulnerable as a human. Without her magic, there would be nothing to power her curse.
The grandmother pinches the bridge of her nose. “Let’s not be too hasty, Klara—”
“If Aggie’s locket hadn’t alerted us of a near-fatal wound, she would have died.”
“It wasn’t me,” Alienor says. “It was—”
“Enough,” the healer snaps. “We’ve coddled that girl for too long, and siphoned enough of our magic in service of her paranoia. Why can’t you all face the fact that she’s unwell and incapable of being a productive witch?”
“Aunt Klara,” Alienor cries.
“I’m sorry to say it so bluntly, but it’s true.”
I bounce on my heels, all regrets of attacking the young witch evaporating in the morning sun. The more Alienor protests, the more convinced the healer becomes that she is delusional. All I have to do is wait for those protecting my wife to turn against her, and she will be mine.
The argument continues, their voices an orchestra to my ears. My wife was once a powerful queen who presided over our court and persuaded our children to vie for my throne. Now she stands, weak and pitiful and at the mercy of older witches.
I want her on her knees, begging me for mercy. I want her sobbing and groveling at my clawed feet.
Alienor turns to me with tears sliding down her cheeks, her eyes burning with hatred. “See what you’ve done?”
I smirk. “It’s only the beginning, my love.”
“You see?” The healer waves her arm. “Now, she’s talking to people who don’t exist.”
“Why don’t you give me the benefit of the doubt and cast a revealing spell,” Alienor yells. “He’s standing right there, laughing at us.”
“Calm down,” the grandmother says. “Both of you.”
