Chapter 16

There are two schools of thought behind the reaping hook symbol that represents Hecate. Some believe it was selected by our first witch because it so closely resembles Death's scythe and was meant to honor her friendship with the god. The second theory involves the little we know of Hecate's childhood spent on a wheat farm in a world very similar to ours.

-A Witch's Guide to the Arcane

Rorick

Iheard voices as I finished dressing. Above me, Gilbert circled my head anxiously. The wards surrounding the room hummed with magic, dulling my ability to hear crisply beyond them. Then Quiet was shouting—and her words I heard clearly. With the knotted ward tucked inside my boot for safekeeping, I ripped the door open. Gilbert soared out into the hall.

The werewolf bared his sharp teeth.

"Wait!" Quiet gasped at me.

I charged forward with a speed that was fast even in vampire terms, fueled by the blood my partner had gifted me. The wolf was as light as glass in my arms. I lifted him with ease and hurled him over the banister.

He howled on the way down, crashing into the hardwood floors below with an audible crunch of flesh and bone hitting solid planks. The wolf recuperated quickly, leaping to his feet to snap his jaws up at me. He yowled like a wounded animal, his voice carrying to the ceiling.

"Stay off my floor and out of my wing if you want to live," I told him as soon as he was through with carrying on.

His yellow eyes narrowed to murderous slits, but his furry head nodded in agreement. He sprinted off in the direction of the west wing.

"I was getting somewhere with him," Quiet snapped. "Do you have to throw him like he's a sack of potatoes every time I question him?"

I gave her words some thought, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "Yes," I drawled. "Yes, I do."

"Why?"

My answering smirk stretched my lips compulsively. "You called me ‘your vampire' a few moments ago. I felt obligated to act in a befitting manner."

Of course, that wasn't it. I didn't trust impulsive werewolves, and although Quiet was perfectly capable of handling herself—handling me even—I didn't want that wolf believing it was all right to stand so close to her.

"Heard that, did you?" Her cheeks turned pink. A rush of unreadable emotions crossed her face, brightening her eyes, then wrinkling her brow. "But what you did was acting just now, you said . . ." She frowned, staring at me like she was trying to solve a math problem that had imprinted on my face.

"I'm not sure what you mean." I hated that I'd fallen asleep so soon after sharing such intimacy with her. It irritated me further that she wasn't in bed when I awoke and that our room smelled like putrid bog spray for some reason instead of the ambrosia that was her sweet pleasure.

"Never mind. I don't think we should stay out here," she said, casting worried glances over her shoulder. "It was never safe, but it's getting less so."

Quiet slipped two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

The gesture clearly wasn't meant to be erotic, but I saw it that way anyway, watching the movement of her long fingers gliding between her lips with great interest, remembering how she'd raked those same digits through my hair and kissed me hard.

Spiders and moths came to attention at her call, crawling up the banister, out from under the carpets, and dropping down from the beams above our heads. All except for Gilbert, who took to my shoulder and rested there. With the bossy competence of a top-tier general, she ushered us all back into the bedroom, and as she did, she gave me a quick summary of all that the wolf had shared with her.

"I take it you have a plan now?" I asked, dutifully awaiting my instructions, careful where I put my feet as a flood of her insect assistants filled the floors, finding new homes between carpet fibers, inside boxes, and up the walls.

She kept her eyes down as she drew stacks and stacks of letters out of her pockets, dropping them on the desk blotter. I wanted to grab her chin and make her look at me, but I could sense something simmering in that beautiful mind of hers and as curious as I was, I wasn't willing to interrupt her thoughts.

"Put your gloves on. I may need to attempt to gather fingerprints from these later, and I can't have you soiling them. Give the handwriting a look. Match the signed letters with the threatening unsigned ones." As an afterthought, she added, "Please."

I crooked a brow at her. "Please?"

Her cheeks went from pink to rose red. "Why not please?"

"When do you ever say please?"

She peeked at the bed beside her, and my mind followed immediately. That's right. She'd said please last night, hadn't she? When she'd begged me to bite her.

Well damn. Now I was hungry again—which never happened so quickly. And I was getting hard. Her lips pressed together like she was trying to keep her words inside. I wanted to kiss those lips and draw out those words.

Wanted to earn myself another please.

I nearly did just that, but she was moving again, pacing toward the fireplace. She used her wand to cast a small blue fire, reigniting the coals. The castle rumbled gently in protest around us.

"I'm starving," she said, using the poker to stir coals into position under her metal pot. "I've got enough ingredients for . . ."

She dropped the poker. It clattered against the decorative marble of the hearth. Whatever problem her brain had been chewing on in the background, she'd finally solved it.

"Ingredients! Give me your ward," she demanded, rounding on me so quickly she startled Gilbert into taking flight. He flapped a circle before landing in my hair.

I dug the gilded knot out of my boot and handed it over. The metal was warm from being kept so close to my well-fed skin. I was still hot from her blood. I couldn't feel the chill in the castle at all. She pulled her ward off her wrist and twined it together with mine.

Quiet rushed the armchair with such enthusiasm her skirts fluttered and the wide brim of her hat bounced. She dropped to her knees in front of the torn furniture and reached under the chair, retrieving the journal she'd abandoned on the floor, the one that had belonged to Penance.

"I should have realized Penance would safeguard her words, just in case they fell into the wrong hands." Golden skirts tucked beneath her, she flipped the leatherbound cover open to a random page and began rubbing the ward over the off-white paper.

"It's working!" she cried.

Quiet's efforts cast up a dark mist that hung around the journal. She readied her wand, using the dagger tip to absorb the enchantment inside it.

"Oh Penance," she whispered, staring at the small book. Quiet worked her throat. "A witch's first spell always exists inside their last . . ." She swallowed again. "Her enchantments are made of all the same ingredients. She gave me exactly what I needed all those years ago to take this simple one apart, but I won't be able to open a more complex knot without her wand. We still need to find it."

"It's almost as if she knew you were the one who would need to read that journal one day," I said. "Fate has a strange sense of humor sometimes."

She climbed onto the armchair, sinking into its plush cushions, and began to read. It amazed me anew, watching her eyes speed over page after page after page. I forgot how fast she could absorb words. Other than a wrinkle in her brow, she gave no sign of distress, so I made myself useful.

My gloves were with my things, piled on the floor next to my side of the bed. I put them on as instructed and started on the letters. Gilbert stayed with me, flittering from my hair to my shoulder. I used a pencil I found in the desk to circle loops and whorls of interest. Slowly I began a process of elimination, setting aside the correspondence in which a typewriter was used. Separating authored copies from anonymous ones.

And then I came upon a letter that intrigued me the most. It was yellowed by age and written on thinner paper. In the corner, in a darker ink than what had penned the original, were two symbols drawn side by side: the crescent moon of my coven and the reaping hook that belonged to the Society of Academic Sorcerers.

The letter was addressed to: My dear brother Jonathan Rorick. Signed and dated by Eloise Harker. It was so aged, the ink had faded in places, but I could make out most of the message. In an instant, I understood why Alex had kept this sentimental letter written by his mother to our uncle.

Though we do not see each other often, you always come to my aid, brother. I need you again. Please assist me before I fade from this plane of existence at last, for my time is fast approaching. Yes, I am content with moving on. I see the next life as an adventure filled with exploration, but I do hope I can convince you to share your offer with another in my stead. My dear Alex is sick with a malady of the blood. I know you haven't spoken in much too long. He is too proud to share this news with you. I fear his hubris will doom him to passing from this world.

Despite his more recent behavior, he has loved you since you were boys playing together in that blasted stream Mother and I could never keep you out of. I care not for fortunes or expensive gifts. I care not about this last will and testament of yours, though the gesture is appreciated. My only wish, dear brother, is that you find a way to extend your longevity to your nephew. This I beg of you. The physicians claim that nothing can be done, but I believe in my heart of hearts that you, who conquered death once before, can do so again in the name of family.

Surely this letter served to remind Alex that he'd been fiercely loved by his mother. So much so that she'd begged her little brother for his life instead of her own, and our uncle had granted her wish.

But what was the significance of the coven symbols side by side?

I told Quiet what I'd found. She grunted in acknowledgment but remained glued to the journal. I set aside the old letter and went back to completing a handwriting analysis on what remained. My blood kept me so warm my hands were hot under the kidskin gloves.

I made it halfway through the stack, with at least three anonymous letters firmly paired to an author, when Quiet shut the journal loudly and tossed it away from her, onto the bed.

The magic fire crackled in the grate then snuffed itself out with a smoky sizzle. Gilbert took to the air, completing a quick lap before finding a spot on the desk to perch upon. Lightning beetles floated in around their witch, casting her completely in blue. Their glow made her appear even more haunted than before. Curious as I was, I didn't pry. I waited, twisting my pencil between my fingers, allowing my partner to finish gathering her thoughts.

Quiet rubbed at her brow as though an ache were building behind it. "You were right about your cousin," she began. "Alexander Harker and Penance murdered your uncle thirty years ago."

The news didn't shock me, but I was sorry for the pain I knew it was causing her. At least I'd known for a while now that there was something rotten about Alex. Penance had come as such a surprise for her.

"Reading her words," she said softly, "I just wish I could reach through the pages and shake her. Go back in time and stop her. Stop her from becoming someone so willing to sacrifice everything and everyone . . ."

"Start at the beginning," I said, sensing she was three steps ahead and I was about to lose her.

She frowned at the carpet for a moment and then began anew. "Do you remember the tragedy of the witch they called Lady Wren from Nightingale in the south?"

I nodded. The witch had made headlines, and her situation continued to be discussed to date. The lady was now a household name that had made its way into ged vernacular. When one experienced misfortune, they might say they were as unlucky as a Wren in Nightingale. "A ruling across the province made ownership of land by immortals ambiguous at best. Lady Wren lost her possessions to a desperate mob, and when she used a curse in her defense, she was hung without a trial."

"That's the one." Quiet pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. "That's the match that started the blaze. Penance and Alex began working together to change old laws that favored geds and punished immortals. They recruited Jonathan Rorick to their cause with a romantic notion about having one coven working in service of some greater good. In jest, they called it the Coven of Ill Repute. Penance was always referring to my coven as that teasingly, and I joined in on it. With John's connections, Alex's savvy, and Penance's enthusiasm for vengeance, they brokered a deal with a city councilman. The popular lawmaker would work for them in secret to sway city ordinances, and in exchange they would gift him with immortality after a time."

"I take it that didn't go well." Backhand deals never did.

Quiet set aside her hat and smoothed back her braid out of her eyes. Her insect assistants swarmed around the brim: moths, ants, spiders, and butterflies, until only the lightning beetles remained.

"It succeeded at first," she said, resting her cheek briefly on the top of her knee, like her head had gotten too heavy. "Laws were passed that protected the rights of immortals. John Rorick transformed the councilman into a vampire with a gift of his blood, and all was good for a time."

"And then?"

"And then," she relented, "the councilman turned out to be a cruel and bloodthirsty vampire. He targeted witches. Penance and Alex had no choice but to bring him down by cutting off his head."

"There are always consequences for murder, especially violent murder," I said, guessing at what happened next.

Quiet placed her hat back on her crown, securing the brim so that it shadowed the top of her face. "The first consequence was that John Rorick had lost faith in the plan. He was no longer willing to gift his blood to change more mortals, fearing they'd all end up like the councilman. Because of the loss of witch life, my coven began to see vampires as enemies. But the worst consequence came when the castle was visited by a headless vengeful spirit. Formerly immortal spirits are quite the menace. John called Penance and Alex in for help."

"Judging by the state of the castle, they didn't succeed in getting rid of the ghost." There was no doubt about it. No one had faced their consequences in this old place. It reeked of so much malice it was turning itself into a literal monster, feeding coffin dwellers—becoming one of them.

"No," Quiet said solemnly. "They made everything worse. Penance used her knack for wards and traps to enchant a mirror as a means of catching angry spirits and specters. They let loose the vengeful spirit somewhere in the underground aqueducts and then trapped it there with Penance's magical knots."

I sighed. "A vengeful spirit only grows worse over time."

"And it wasn't the last," Quiet said. "Alex tried to turn a wealthy merchant next and failed. The merchant died but never rose. Or at least, he never rose as a vampire."

"Another vengeful spirit? At least this one hadn't been immortal."

"Penance and Alex enchanted another mirror, brought it to the aqueducts under the castle, and trapped him down there next. They were fully committed after that—to each other and their cause. There was no going back."

"Alex couldn't father vampires?" That didn't make sense to me. Eventually he must have found a way because years later he would turn me after my death in a carriage accident.

"Penance came into the castle during the day and stole blood from John while he slumbered." Then it was John's blood that fueled my rebirth, I thought as she continued. "She paid off the staff, and wards do nothing to the non-hunting classes like witches."

"I've been thinking about that, about who might sneak inside the castle without being stopped by the wards. An immortal with a knowledge of poisons . . ."

Thunder brewed in her gaze. "If you're suggesting it was a witch who killed Penance and Alex—"

"I'm not," I said quickly, showing my palms in acquiescence, because I wasn't saying it. Not to her. I was simply thinking it. There was a difference.

Quiet sent me another warning look and pressed on. "Alex and Penance brokered more deals with important people around Purgatory, turning new recruits with John's stolen blood, growing the strength of their new coven. Because of what happened to the witches, Penance felt it was important that they keep her involvement a secret. She didn't want to upset the Society of Academic Sorcerers. Immortals have long memories, after all. They both thought it best that everyone believed John was using his own blood to turn new vampires to increase his credibility as the new coven leader."

"Then what happened to my uncle?" I asked.

Sympathy lit her gray eyes, and her face softened. "John wasn't a fool. He became suspicious. They had to do something about him, so Penance started controlling him with low doses of powdered blood honey—the same substance they were using to preserve his blood for later use. It made him weak, gave him headaches, and kept him confused. They lied to staff about his health—vampires can't catch diseases, but how would the geds know any better? Alex moved into the castle full-time, claiming he was caring for his uncle through his illness." Then Quiet winced. "Rorick, I'm so sorry. Please know that when Penance came to me, I had no idea what she was using it for."

"Penance got the blood honey from you?" It made sense. There certainly weren't many arcane entomologists like Quiet about, even in Purgatory where the preternatural tended to congregate. Her magical bees wouldn't give up their toxin to just anyone.

Quiet was one of a kind.

Biting her lip, she nodded. "I swear I didn't know. Powdered blood honey is highly toxic, but it's quite versatile. Useful in spell-building and alchemy. Unfortunately, it can also cause a malady of the mind when consumed. I assumed she was experimenting, like we all do. I had no idea—"

"It's not your fault," I told her. "You were lied to. Just like I was."

She shook her head, still beating herself up. "I wish I'd asked more questions. It was an unusually high amount that she wanted. And you know me. I always ask questions."

"You bear no fault in this, Quiet. You trusted her," I said. Just like I'd trusted the man who'd saved me from ichors, who'd found my body in the water and brought me back from death, no matter whose blood it was. I'd spent far too much of my time trusting Alex to condemn her for doing the same. "Tell me how my uncle was killed."

"John slowly built up a tolerance to the blood honey. Penance had to give him more and more to keep him confused." Quiet blew out a long breath. "She gave him too much. He died in his bed during the sun slumber. The moon rose, and he never woke up again. They made up a story about him wandering off, and then Alex did away with his body and fired all the staff. Penance's journal ends after that. I think there was more, lots more, but she must have filled up the pages and then ripped them all out, either because she wanted fresh ones to take notes on or her own actions finally started to get to her. There was just one last entry before she stopped writing in it completely. It was dated around the time the children went missing from the Home for Foundlings."

She opened the journal. Holding it aloft, she read the final passage out loud to me. "‘I am damned. No sacrifice will ever be great enough to fix what I've broken. But once we find a way to harness the gift of immortality, I will use it to create an even better world for my sisters. We will stay the course. I pray every day that when the time comes, the god Death will have mercy on me as I pass through the Nothing in search of my final rest.'"

It shouldn't have surprised me anymore that Alex had lied so much to me, and yet there I sat, shocked once again that he hadn't even told me the truth about how he'd transformed me into a vampire. "I wonder what was so special about Uncle John's blood that he could gift immortality when Alex could not. John was the first vampire . . . but perhaps the issue was with Alex specifically?"

"They had the same questions," Quiet said gently. "Penance never mentioned you by name in the journal, but she discussed stealing vampire blood for testing. Alex wanted to trade children for fairy bone dust, a powerful and volatile substance, in the hopes that mixing it with his blood would unlock the answer to immortality before their many unkept promises and ignored consequences caught up to them, but Penance originally refused. Clearly, she changed her mind at some point."

"I think I understand now why Alex claimed I took so much from him," I said, picturing my cousin's flustered face as we argued in this very castle. "He must have had to use a lot of John's blood to get me to rise. I bet he only had so much left."

"Yes, well, no one asked him to do that, now did they? I still say you owed him nothing," she insisted, and I couldn't argue with her. She was the smartest person I'd ever met. I wouldn't dare doubt her logic.

Quiet untangled the gilded wards that sat in her lap. The thin chains clinked together gently. She slipped one back over her wrist.

I turned in my chair to face her fully and caught sight of the bottle on the corner of the desk in my peripheral. Gilbert climbed the side of the jar, glowing faintly. The glass was full of that sickly yellow liquid. I could faintly scent the bog spray through the nozzle.

"We need to talk," I said, rising from my seat.

Quiet blinked at me, face flushing. "Oh." Her throat bobbed. "Yes, I think you're right. I've been wondering the same thing. We should definitely talk."

"I can tolerate it no longer," I told her.

"I see," she said, lowering her feet to the floor and smoothing her skirts down over her long legs. "I wanted to discuss the situation with you sooner, but . . . well, I think I'm not very good at discussing this sort of thing. A conversation like this has never gone well for me."

I squinted at her, unsure of her meaning. "The bog spray," I said, jabbing a finger at it. "Please keep that vile thing in your pocket where it belongs. I don't understand why you sprayed it in here earlier, but if you do it again, I'm going to have to rip my own nose off."

Her lashes fluttered so quickly I could hear their movements. "The bog spray?" she repeated, features scrunching into a scowl.

"Yes," I said more slowly, worried the stress had gotten to her senses. "The. Bog. Spray. Please be rid of it."

"That's what you want to talk about?" Her glare sharpened on me, and storm clouds brewed in her eyes.

I was accustomed to her ire, but this time it had come about so unexpectedly I was lost. "Yes?"

"Of all the foolish things," she barked. "After everything that's happened between us, that's what we're talking about? The damned bog spray!"

I didn't respond right away—I couldn't. I was still confused. Quiet rose to her feet with a huff. She chucked my knotted ward at my chest. I caught it as she stormed for the door, stopping briefly to snatch the glass spray bottle off the desk. Under her breath she murmured angrily, and then she quit the room, slamming the door behind her.

Well, at least she hadn't sprayed me in the face again. That seemed like an improvement on our relationship. I analyzed the door still rattling in its frame, replaying our conversation in my head.

Did her anger have anything to do with what we'd shared, her blood and our kiss? Worry pierced my chest with its icy claws. But as I'd drunk from her, we'd been connected. I'd felt her pleasure like it was my own. She'd wanted me to bite her.

Hadn't she?

Had she changed her mind? Was it possible to want something and not want it all at the same time? Had I made a mistake, drinking from her? She meant a great deal to me. I'd thought our kiss was confirmation that she felt the same. I'd awoken that evening confident in the two of us as a unit.

Partners.

Lovers.

I tucked the ward into my boot and stomped after her, determined to demand an explanation for her behavior so I could stop guessing at it. I'd hidden away from her for nearly a year because of making all the wrong assumptions. I didn't want to repeat that mistake.

Gilbert followed me overhead, but Quiet was nowhere to be found: not in the hall, not by the stairs, not in the foyer below.

A little black spider dropped from the ceiling. Anita hung there near my ear, the telltale tuft of coarse hair standing up along her back. She held something small and red between her forelegs.

"Is that for me?" I asked. It was a raspberry.

I accepted the lumpy fruit, holding it in the palm of my hand while she situated herself on my shoulder.

"You brought me this lovely treat, did you?" I said, touched by the arachnid's kindness. "This, Anita, is the best little berry I've ever seen. It looks and smells beautiful."

Anita flexed her forelegs at me and preened.

"And you," I told her, "are an excellent little spider. What a lovely gift . . . It's really such a shame that I can't eat it, though. Why don't you enjoy it?" I offered the berry back to her.

Anita's pedipalps flared. She lunged side to side, then bit me hard through the broadcloth of my shirt.

"Ow!" I winced, dropping the raspberry.

Anita leapt from my shoulder, scurrying away down the hall.

"Hell's teeth," I grumbled to myself. "Now I've got two women cross with me and no clear idea what I've done to either of them!"