Lightning Strikes

LIGHTNING STRIKES

I burst through the front door with Tris at my heels. “Esme? Zane?”

They emerge from the kitchen, their faces etched with panic, and Ros trails after them.

Esme wrings her hands. “The council is in town?”

Legs trembling from the run up the driveway, I toss my coat into the closet. “Yeah, Aspen summoned them to perform our ring tests.”

“And Mel invited them here for dinner.” Tris rests a hand against the wall as he catches his breath.

“Shit.” Zane scrapes his hands through his hair, the tangerine strands sticking straight up. “What are we going to do?”

A wildness fills his amber eyes, and I hold up my hands in a calming gesture. “Listen, we just need to get through one dinner without them catching on. Then they’ll leave and never darken our doorstep again.”

“We should run.” Zane shakes his head, panic already setting in. “If we can make it to Silver Hollow, we can seek refuge there until this blows over.”

Esme chews her lip, uncertain. “I don’t know…”

“Slow down and think this through,” I caution.

“We found a council dog pawing at the barrier several nights ago.” Ros walks over to rest a hand on my shoulder. “Rowe destroyed it, but another could intersect you before you reach Silver Hollow.”

“What?” Zane shouts. “Why are we only now hearing about this?”

Ros raises an eyebrow at his outburst. “Because we didn’t want to panic you.”

Esme squares her shoulders. “I think we should stay put. The council isn’t here for us, they’re here to perform ring tests. As soon as they’re finished, they’ll leave.”

“And it may even help clear suspicion from Hartford Cove.” Tris straightens away from the wall. “So long as everyone keeps a level head, we’ll be fine. ”

Esme rests a gentle hand on Zane’s side. “Your wound still needs more time to heal. The poultices are working, but they’re not miracle potions. Now is the worst time to run.”

Zane shakes her off to round on me and snarls, “How could you let this happen? You’re supposed to be protecting us!”

In a blink, Ros inserts himself between us, one hand splayed on Zane’s chest. “This isn’t Rowe’s fault. She’s risking everything to keep you two safe.”

“Oh, yeah?” Zane’s lips pull back to reveal his fangs. “How would you feel if she was the one in danger?”

“Are you challenging me?” Ros hisses.

Tris steps up next to him, a cold breeze ruffling his hair. “Newsflash, genius, she is in danger. Because of you . So take a damn breath and remember who your real allies are before picking fights.”

Haut and Owen come through the door, take in the standoff, and move to back up Tris and Ros. All the men glare at each other, the air crackling with all the testosterone.

I throw up my hands in frustration. “Will everyone calm down?”

Esme tugs on her mate’s arm. “Zane, please. ”

He finally backs away, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine, we’ll stay.”

Esme loops her arm through his. “Come on, let’s get you back to the basement to rest.”

She casts me an apologetic glance as she guides him toward the elevator.

As they rumble down toward the basement, anger bubbles up inside me.

Whirling on Haut, I smack him hard on the chest. “This is your fault!”

Bewildered, he stares down at me. “What did I do?”

“You took Aspen’s side!” I smack him again. “That gave him the confidence to pull this council stunt without consulting anyone else. Your interference in witch business is going to get us all killed!”

Haut scowls. “Okay, first of all, smack me again, and I’ll put you over my knee and paddle your ass. Second, excuse me for trying to protect you from yourself!”

“I’ve protected me from myself for my entire life without your interference!” I consider thumping him again, but I like being able to sit down, and Haut doesn’t make idle threats. “I should have kicked Aspen out of town so he didn’t cause more trouble! ”

Haut’s eyes narrow. “If you didn’t want trouble, you should’ve slammed the door in Zane’s face and left him to the council dogs to begin with.”

Red fills my vision. With an inarticulate screech, I launch myself at Haut, intent on clawing his judgmental eyeballs out. But Tris jerks me back mid-lunge, catching me around the waist in an iron embrace.

“Whoa there, sparky.” His lips graze my ear, setting off blue sparks. “As much as I enjoy a bit of voyeuristic mate-on-mate violence, maybe take a beat and breathe. Listen to your ugliest mate, and say it with me. Woosaaaa. ”

The fight drains out of me. Dammit. “ Woosaaaa .”

Haut smirks at us. “Ugliest mate?”

“Wipe the smug expression off your face.” Tris sways me from side to side. “You’re not at the top of the list, either.”

Haut considers Owen and Ambros. “It’s Ros, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” Owen claps him on the back before he shrugs out of his jacket and heads for the hall closet. “So, how many people are we hosting tonight?”

“Three council members, two treacherous mentors, plus the Brigade.” I count them on my fingers. “Thirteen.”

“Well, isn’t that just lucky?” Tris squeezes my shoulders. “Sounds like a spaghetti night.”

While the cooks try to figure out what we have on hand to feed so many people, Tris and I dash around the house. We gather stray teacups and sweep crumbs off the coffee table, hiding any trace of Zane and Esme’s presence.

My hands shake as I tidy the throw pillows. Council members, descending on our house at any moment. All it would take is one slip-up, and we’re toast.

Tris’s warm hands close over mine, stilling them, his expression soft with concern. “Hey, it will be okay.” He draws me close, the familiar scent of him calming my racing heart. “We’ve got this. The Council has nothing on us.”

“Except the authority to bind our powers and murder us.” I turn my face into the crook of his neck, letting him hold me.

In one smooth motion, he boosts me up onto the back of the couch, settling between my knees. My arms loop around his neck, relishing the hard planes of his body against mine .

“Let them try.” He nips at my lower lip. “They’ll have to get through me first.”

I hum in pleasure, sinking into the kiss, the heat of his mouth and the slide of his tongue. For a blissful minute, I forget about the Council, the secrets, everything except Tris and the fire he ignites under my skin.

The front door bangs open, and I jerk back from Tris as Mel sweeps in like she owns the place.

“We really need to start locking our door,” I mutter.

Her sharp eyes land on us, a knowing smirk curling her lips. “Three-foot rule, children. You have a guest.”

“You’re hardly a guest.” I scramble off the couch, tugging my shirt straight as Tris grins, unabashed. “You’re early.”

Mel arches one perfectly sculpted brow. “We’re right on time. You two can get back to making babies later. Rowe has a lesson plan to come up with.”

She crooks a thumb over her shoulder. “I brought Gael along so we can get through the formalities quickly. Then we can all relax and enjoy dinner without any business talk. ”

At the sound of his name, Gael steps through the doorway and into our living room, and tension crackles through the air, raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck. He had changed out of his suit into a more casual pair of dark jeans. The forest green henley brings out the hazel of his eyes, which still aren’t as pretty as Ros’s.

“Sorry for barging in like this.” Gael holds up a bottle of red wine as a peace offering. “Hope we’re not intruding.”

His knowing look slides from me to Tris and back again, and heat crawls up my neck.

“Oh hush, it’s fine. If you start apologizing now, you’ll never stop. They’re practically attached at the pelvis.” Mel plucks the wine from Gael’s hands and sweeps toward the kitchen. “We need glasses!”

Gael smiles after her. “It’s nice to see such a close-knit coven. You’re lucky.”

“Welcome to our home, Gael.” Spine straightening, I face him. “Shall we get started?”

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “Let’s start with a review of your grimoire.”

I grimace at the sore topic.

“What’s that, Mel?” Tris cups his hand over his ear. “You need help with the wine?”

“Coward!” I shout as he scurries away before turning back to Gael. “Why don’t you make yourself at home in the living room while I grab my spell book?”

Gael inclines his head, ponytail swaying. “But of course. Take all the time you need.”

He settles himself on our sectional, long legs crossed at the ankles and leaning back like he belongs here.

We’ll see about that.

I hurry down the hall to Haut’s room, shoes pounding against the hardwood. Where the hell did I stash my damn magic book?

A quick rummage through dresser drawers uncovers the newest of my journals, a blue faux-leather notebook with a gold embossed butterfly on the front. I yank it free with a triumphant flourish, the motion sending Haut’s boxers tumbling to the floor.

Oops. A mess to deal with later.

I dart back out to the living room, then hover for a moment before perching on the L-section of the couch to the right of Gael. Facing him, I worry at the crisp corner of the journal with my thumbnail.

Gael observes my nervous tick with amusement.

Bastard.

“For your information,” I blurt out, “I believe grimoires have a purpose, but using them to grade witches is exclusionary. It puts first-timers and people who suffer from illiteracy or dyslexia at an unfair disadvantage.”

Gael blinks, clearly taken aback by my little outburst. “Noted. Do you experience any of those challenges?”

“I don’t do well learning from books.” Heat floods my cheeks. “I’m a hands-on type of learner.”

“Relax, I’m only teasing.” He holds out one elegant hand, palm up. “May I?”

Scowling, I thrust the book at him and hunch my shoulders, waiting for the ridicule.

If Gael notices my defensive posture, he doesn’t comment.

My knee bounces as he flips through my grimoire with care, his slender fingers dancing over the pages. He lingers on my bad sketches of lightning rods meant to create fulgurites, and the photocopied protection circle spells from Delilah’s grimoire.

In the middle of the book, he pauses to pull out a wool sock, one dark eyebrow arching in question. “What purpose does this serve, Ms. Rothaven?”

I jut out my chin. “It’s my lucky lightning sock.”

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Was lightning how you first connected to the ethereal? ”

“Yes,” I admit, taken aback by his insight.

He sets the sock back down. “Clever.”

I clear my throat. “What about you? What was your first connection?”

Gael continues perusing my grimoire as he speaks, his voice distant with memory. “I was eleven, playing hide-and-seek with my brothers in this old, decrepit house. I took a wrong step and fell right through the rotten floorboards, down into the cellar.”

I wince in sympathy. “Ouch. Did you get hurt?”

“Broke my leg badly. I was terrified at first. It was pitch black, scurrying sounds of rodents all around me, pain lancing through my body…” He trails off, and I shudder, imagining that scared little boy alone in the dark.

When he remains silent, I prod. “What happened?”

“A body can only stay afraid for so long. Once I became numb to the fear, I realized there was light in all the darkness.” His eyes gleam as they meet mine. “I could see the outline of rocks through the walls, feel the solid earth cradling me. It gave me the strength to crawl out of there.”

He gives a self-deprecating sigh. “It took me another three years to figure out how to connect with the ethereal again at will.”

I nod slowly. “When I connected to the ethereal through fire, the building I was in had been torched with me and Aspen inside. I thought I was going to die. There was no time to think, only react. I haven’t been crazy enough to try it again.”

“Find the beauty in it. Fire isn’t just about death and destruction.” Gael closes my grimoire with a decisive snap and hands it back to me. “The only problem I see with your grimoire is the lack of a quick way to reference the spells. Number the pages and use the back as a glossary. Update it before the test, and you’ll be fine.”

Suspicious, I clutch the book to my chest. “You’re not going to ding me for the photocopies? Aspen gave me so much shit for those.”

A wry smile tugs at his lips. “There’s nothing wrong with a little efficiency in my book. Work smarter, not harder, right?”

“Exactly!” I smack the top of my grimoire for emphasis. “That’s what I keep telling Aspen. He’s so rigid.”

Gael chuckles, a rich, warm sound that attempts to put me at ease. “Well, I’d love to see your practice space, if you don’t mind showing me? ”

“Sure.” I set my grimoire aside and raise my voice for those without supernatural hearing. “We’re going to the roof!”

“Use the stairs to come back down,” Owen calls.

Ignoring him, I lead the way upstairs and into the attic. Walls are now up, and Owen’s skylights are in. We’re so close to moving in that I can already taste the blessed silence from constant construction work.

I lead him to the new stairs, far sturdier than the original, and we mount them to the widow’s walk.

The salty breeze whips at my hair as soon as I push open the hatch. I breathe deep, relishing the tang of the sea mixing with the forest.

Gael climbs up behind me and turns in a slow circle. “Wow, you can see all of Hartford Cove from up here.”

“Pretty sure that was the point.” Elbows on the railing, I look out over the picturesque town below. “You know, there’s a theory about the first Wendall witch being an ethereal.”

Gael makes a thoughtful noise. “It would make sense, based on what I’ve seen.”

Head tipping back, I gaze up at the shimmering dome of the barrier arcing overhead, the fractal pattern shimmering into view. “I think my great- great-whatever grandmother must’ve been so desperate, so afraid and yet so hopeful when she cast this barrier to hide and protect what was left of her village.”

“It’s beautiful,” Gael says quietly from beside me. “The barrier. I’ve never seen its equal.”

Startled, I glance over at him. “You can see it?”

He nods, eyes tracing the shimmering lines. “It’s one of the most complex barrier spells I’ve ever encountered. I’d love a chance to study it in more depth sometime, if you’d be willing to share the details with me.”

“Sure, that’s what the Grim Project is all about.” I glance over at him. “Sharing knowledge like this from anywhere in the world.”

He turns to face me, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, it’s difficult to decide on your first ring test. You’re already performing magic well beyond a beginner. But you’re also lacking in some of the fundamentals…”

He trails off, pondering the problem.

I hold my breath, certain he’s about to declare me unfit, a danger to myself and others.

But then his eyes snap back to mine, determination glinting in their depths. “Let me ruminate on it a bit more. In the meantime, why don’t you show me this famous sock lightning trick of yours? I’m dying to see how it works.”

Unsure if he’s making fun of me, I study his expression and decide the eager, boyish grin on his face appears genuine.

What the hell.

“Sure, come on.” I lead him downstairs to the formal sitting room, the plush rug soft beneath my feet.

“The key is wool socks." I kick off my shoes. “They create the most static.”

I pump my arms and scoot my feet back and forth against the rug, the crackle of electricity building. I point my finger and zap! A jagged bolt of miniature lightning streaks across the room.

Gael laughs in delight, and yanks off his own shoes to imitate my movements, shuffling his socked feet. He aims his finger, and a tiny flicker of lightning sparks out before sputtering.

“You gotta put your heart into it!” I rub my feet faster, building up a tingling charge.

With a dramatic flourish, a sizzling, electric bolt cracks the air.

Not to be outdone, Gael furrows his brow and scuffs his feet faster. Static electricity builds in the air, the hair rising on my arms .

He points with a shout and a blazing lightning bolt shoots across the room and slams into the cushion of the antique armchair. Flames burst from the upholstery with a whoosh.

Oh, shit.

“No lightning in the house!” Haut booms from the kitchen.

Busted.

Mel dashes in, waving her hand to douse the burning cushion.

She takes in the scene, shaking her head with a laugh. “What are you doing playing with lightning in this tiny room? Shouldn’t you be in the living room, using the new rug we hauled up here the other night?”

My stomach clenches at the mention of the carpet I bought to make Esme and Zane’s basement home cozier, and I avoid looking at her. “Oh, it didn’t match anything, so I returned it.”

Mel’s brow furrows in confusion before she shrugs, letting it drop. But I don’t miss the side-eye Gael gives me.

I don’t care how charming these council witches are, they can’t leave soon enough.