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Tom gave a little bow that would've seemed more appropriate for Victorian London than modern-day St. Louis, but who was I to judge? He gathered his security guard companions and exited the room. I reached over to engage the deadbolt on the door before turning back to take a seat across next to Ava and directly across from my brothers.
Our pretty little Beacon was staring down at the plain metal box as if it were a snake that might bite her hand if she touched it. Empathy stirred inside. I knew she was once again thinking about the fact this might be the last gift or message she received from her sister. Assuming there were no other unexpected surprises set in motion before tonight's assassination. I briefly settled my hand atop one of Ava's and caressed it comfortingly. Her somber eyes locked onto mine and she forced a small smile.
I let every ounce of compassion and admiration I felt for her echo inside my voice. "Whatever this box contains, the four of us will face it together."
Connor placed his hand on top of mine. "That's for damn sure."
Finn's hand followed our youngest brother's more slowly, but I knew no less sincerely. "Just like the fucking Four Musketeers. You're stuck with us now, Blondie."
Her lips trembled and her eyes looked suspiciously damp. But she flashed each one of us a more sincere smile. And then she sent a mischievous one Finn's way. "I suppose we conniving, manipulative spies can't afford to be choosy."
Finn flinched slightly but must have picked up on the fact she was teasing, because he gave a smile of his own before removing his hand. Connor and I reclaimed our hands a little more slowly. I squeezed Ava's hand before tapping the metal box in front of us. "Shall we?"
"One for all and all for one."
Ava touched the metal box and instructed each of us to do the same. My skin tingled as she presumably cast a Radiant Seal around our side of the table so only we could see and hear. "Clever little Beacon," I praised.
She looked one part pleased in one part annoyed. "I'm not your pet, Wolfie."
"Never said you were, Blondie. Pets are generally a whole hell of a lot more obedient." Fire started to flash in her eyes but I raised my free hand. "Something I would never expect or want from you." I nodded toward all of our hands pressed against the metal box. "We gonna do this?"
Ava rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Moon Mother save me from obnoxiously cocky wolves." My lips twitched but I held back laughter. Magic made my skin tingle again and the safety deposit box began to glow with incandescent light. It grew in intensity until the lid suddenly popped open. At which point the eerie glow faded.
None of us expected a signed confession from Alexander himself or anything so dramatic, but the sight of several manila folders seemed exceedingly mundane. Ava reached inside and withdrew the one on top. She set it in front of her, took a steadying breath, and flipped it open.
We three brothers leaned in as close as possible and began reading. My brow furrowed when I recognized the first document as a newspaper clipping from several decades previously. That wasn't the surprising aspect, but the subject of the article was. It had nothing to do with Alexander Kincaid Donnelly. Instead, it appeared to focus on Muriel Sheridan. A much younger, somber-looking Muriel Sheridan. A quick check of the date revealed it had been written on October 28 precisely 40 years earlier. Just a week after she took power over the Circle in a legendary and ruthless coup.
Ava's finger drew our attention to several lines that had been highlighted.
Accusations have swirled that Muriel Sheridan sacrificed her own husband, Patrick, to cast the spell that ultimately allowed her to emerge the victor after she challenged the previous High Seat to trial by combat following accusations that he had committed unspecified atrocities. Other rumors claim that Patrick himself attempted to stop his wife and failed. The Circle has closed ranks around Sheridan, claiming that Patrick chose to throw himself in between a fatal magical attack from the former High Seat and his wife.
Only two things seem clear for now. Muriel Sheridan is the new High Seat and her husband, the Boston Packleader, is now dead. Leaving Beantown in morning--and Patrick's five children without a father.
Ava's body stiffened and her widened eyes met each of hours in turn. "This must be a misprint. My grandparents only had four children: my aunt Bridget, the eldest and only Beacon; my mother Erin, the only Spellbinder; my aunt Keira, a Shadow Shifter, and their brother Joseph, who has served as Boston’s Packleader ever since their father died."
Finn frowned and asked, "Was your grandfather married before Muriel?"
She shook her head. "No. Theirs was a political union arranged primarily by their parents, although they did grow to love each other. Which was why the rumors that she might have sacrificed his life to gain her power was so salacious at the time. The fact that they were so openly besotted with each other. Or so everyone believed. I'm sure someone would have mentioned a previous marriage had there been one."
I pursed my lips. "Is it possible they lost a child in infancy or even to miscarriage? I know many parents understandably include children they've lost as part of their family."
Ava tilted her head before nodding. "I suppose that's possible. Either way, we should keep reading. Maybe the answer to our question is buried a little deeper."
She flipped to the next page, which was simply another article from the same time period. This one from a New York newspaper rather than Boston. In fact, the next several documents were articles from all across the nation. In each one, presumably Kayleigh had highlighted the same basic claims. That Muriel Sheridan may have sacrificed her husband, or he chose to sacrifice himself, so she could take power over the nation's magical ruling body. And that Patrick left behind five children. Not four.
That took us to the bottom of the first folder, so Ava scooted it aside and reached for the next. Finn claimed the first folder himself and began reading it more closely. Something I found interesting since he was the least scholarly among us brothers, but I focused my attention on the new folder as Ava opened it.
This folder contained several mythological stories from early magical cultures that would have fit in better with the fairytale collection back in Ava's condo. Each spoke about "Shadowed" Radiance, which was a type of magic most humans would have referred to as necromancy. Some Packs and groups of magic users over the millennia believed that Shadowed Radiance could be used for remarkable feats, most notably resurrection of the dead in a way that did not make them some sort of zombie, but all had been disproven. Or more accurately, nothing as miraculous as resurrection had ever been proven.
Ava's body grew even more tightly wound as she worked through the stack of stories. And then she flipped to the last page in the folder, which wasn't a story at all. At least not one painted with words. Instead, a talented artist had created a series of still images similar to a panel of comics without words. In the first panel, Muriel Sheridan stood over the dead body of her husband Patrick in his human form, grief and rage evident in every line of her body. The second drawing showed Muriel casting magic over her fallen husband and a glowing, slightly transparent Patrick rising from his human form. In the final panel, Patrick's glowing form was superimposed over a shadowy wolf wearing a collar, with a leash in Muriel's hands. On the far side of the image, a battered and bloodied corpse that appeared to be a vanquished Radiant caster lay upon the floor.
Connor glanced up from the drawings and arched a brow. "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing here?"
I shook my head because I wasn't even sure what to make of the artwork. Ava, however, must have seen the same thing that Connor had. "I can't confirm the accuracy of these drawings, but it definitely appears that someone believes my grandmother used Shadowed Radiance to resurrect her dead husband, who apparently became a ravening beast that she had to magically collar, and then the two of them defeated her rival."
I frowned. "Is Shadowed Radiance a thing? And if so, how come I've never heard of it."
Connor tapped a hand along the table. "I thought Radiant energy consisted of both Shadow and Solar magic. Isn't it by definition Shadowed?"
