15

Assuming I truly was a Highblood Royal, the only thing regal about tonight was that clubbing with bodyguards was a royal pain

in the ass.

Not only did it severely curtail who I might dance with, and how close, but it was impossible to conceal that I had security,

which added to the deference I inspired merely by being heir apparent. Men took one look at my bodyguards and looked away.

Este, on the other hand, had no dearth of partners, but that woman had dressed to kill and was, as usual, slaying.

I smiled over the rim of my margarita, watching her on the dance floor as men vied to edge out her current partner. Este was

unabashedly who she was, no filters, no apologies. People were drawn to her confidence every bit as much as to her statuesque

beauty, if not more so, and I loved watching her shine.

The Gossamer was young, eclectic, and fun. The music was all over the place, which I appreciated because my taste was, too.

It was totally different from the crowd I'd met at the Shadows. Here, in the cerulean and chrome nightclub, the mood was sexy

with a razor's edge: modern, inclusive, and diverse, as opposed to the elegant, Old World, exclusive, Celtic atmosphere of

the Shadows. Thankfully, no one queued up to meet me; I was so not in the mood for that tonight.

What if this town, this coven is exactly what your mother was running from? Este had asked. Despite being open to having fun, I was on guard, senses alert, studying everyone. Fun, however, was proving hard to find as the few men willing to partner me had to put up with being stared down by four sets of stone-cold eyes, hulking close enough to slit my partner's throat if he so much as breathed wrong. Inevitably the men wilted and slithered away beneath the stress of the mercenaries' regard, leaving me alone but, for a novel change, not feeling underdressed or like an outlier.

I owned the Gossamer, Jesse had informed me on the way down. If something didn't meet with my approval, I had but to say so,

and it would be changed. Perhaps, I thought, with a snort of laughter, I could tell Este I didn't like cerulean and have her

transform it to pink.

I was drunk enough that the heady power of owning this club and so many other things rather appealed to me, which I found

moderately disturbing, given that I didn't know my lineage. We'd been alternating shots with margaritas since we'd arrived

a few hours ago, and I was definitely in my happy place. Well, as happy as I could get, given my totally fucked-up circumstances:

murdered, lying mother and all, coupled with a few million unanswered questions.

"Could you not have simply stayed home?"

I spun to find Mr.Balfour standing behind me, looking utterly exasperated and, in black tie, utterly out of place in the

Gossamer.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, frowning.

"Panicking, frankly," he said flatly. "I abandoned my wife at the opera the moment I heard you'd left Cameron Manor."

"The bodyguards called you?" I'd specifically told them not to and wanted to know where their loyalties lay. I was, after

all, the one paying their bill. Oh, God, was I buzzed! Anger, so much anger in my gut right now. It was making me feel...

borderline obnoxious. That was so far from the Zo I knew, it was nearly incomprehensible.

"I got a call from the parent of a clubgoer."

"I thought there was no real threat," I said pointedly.

"That we know of." He sighed heavily. " Must you be out? I'm sure Este has more to tell you, to teach you," he said meaningfully. "She did tell you things, right?"

I nodded, gaze cool. "I have questions."

"Tuesday. Not one minute sooner."

Bristling, I said tartly, "From what she's told me, I think you need me."

"We most certainly do," he replied, just as tartly. "Which is why I will not, under any circumstances, do one thing to jeopardize

your ability to remain with us. Do you understand?"

Cold eyes bored into me. Cold like the mercenaries' eyes. There was more to James Balfour than a kindly old man, I realized

then. "You're a witch, too," I said.

"Hush! This crowd is mostly Paleblood."

"Paleblood," I echoed.

He leaned in and said close to my ear, "Without magic in their blood. Pale. There are many like you and me in Divinity, but

far more who are not. We do not advertise. Ever."

"How—"

"Stop. I'm leaving now before I say more than I should. I want you to leave, too," he said sternly.

"Is that an order? Do you think you can order me?" I was just drunk enough to get pissy about his tone.

His gaze and voice softened. "My dear Ms.Grey, that is a most fervent request. I will never order you. I will support whatever

you choose to do. I merely hope you'll choose wisely until I can... bring you fully into your own. Until then, you are

at risk from many things, from many sources."

"But you do definitely intend to help bring me fully into my own? After Tuesday?" I demanded. Este was leaving tomorrow. I hungered for instruction, I needed to learn everything I could about myself, and fast.

"I already pledged as much to you the other day. I will do everything in my power to make you equal to the crown you wear,

to protect you and see you thrive. Here, in Divinity."

Then he was melting into the crowd, and gone. Here, in Divinity , he'd said, emphatically separating that phrase from the rest of his words, and I'd gotten the feeling he'd chosen his words

carefully to bear the unspoken warning: But if you leave this town, all bets are off .

I wondered then if choosing to walk away wouldn't be far more problematic and fraught with danger than I'd begun to imagine.

If Este was right, and Divinity was what Mom was running from, Mr.Balfour could just as easily prove foe, not friend.

I wondered, too, if what I'd felt the night I'd stepped across the threshold— but of course, all roads lead here —hadn't been the first real truth I'd ever known.

Then Este's hand was in mine and she was tugging me to the dance floor, laughing, her eyes brilliant with mischief. "Come

on! I requested a song. You have to dance with me. I'm invoking ‘no holds barred.'?"

We'd done that a few times in Indy; taken turns forcing the other to go a little nuts. No holds barred meant we danced, oblivious,

doing whatever the music made us feel like doing. No style, no method, only madness. Men usually decided we were lesbians

when we did that, and tonight, I felt the impish desire to announce brightly, Nope, just witches , and cackle eerily.

"Do I know the song?" I asked as she tugged me through the crowd.

"Dunno, but you'll like it. And the bodyguards will clear us a good circle so we can make waves," she said, laughing.

A single drumbeat began to pound through the speakers of the club, steady and driving, and it had the same incendiary effect

on me as the drumming of "Witches Reel."

I am my mother's savage daughter , a woman's strong voice proclaimed, as Este began to dance.

Joining in her laughter, I gave myself over to it, not caring what anyone thought of me. Oh, yes, I was my mother's savage

daughter. And I would not lower my voice, either.

I love music, and the words of this particular song spoke to me on such a deep level, I was stunned. This was what I'd always

been missing. A kind of... earthy mysticism that I could almost feel but never quite touch, lurking out there beyond my

grasp but not completely beyond my vision. Unseen, yet always felt, even to my dimmed, leashed bones. I was delighted to see

the song was having the same effect on every woman in the club, and within moments, the dance floor was filled with only women,

shoulders back, tossing their hair, eyes blazing with pride and ferocity. For a few minutes, I was so blissfully united with

such raw, conjoined feminine power, it was more intoxicating than any libation, as if we were all filling a cup from a shared

cauldron of pain, grief, trial, and tribulation, and alchemizing it into a tonic of strength, joy, hope, and power.

That's what we women do. From the hour of our birth to the birth of our daughters to the dying of our grandmothers and mothers,

we spin pain on our looms into a joyful fabric, for what would be the point of doing less?

Then the song ended, and the world went back to its normal strange state, rife with self-denial and trivial concerns, and Este was dragging me through the crowd again, insisting she had to pee, while my bodyguards elbowed their way behind us, struggling to keep up.

Like the Shadows, the Gossamer had many side rooms, and as we had no clue where the bathroom was and it was dark in the club,

Este began opening door after door. At the fourth door, she gasped and froze, gaping with such an expression—of shock, astonishment,

and... lust?—that I crammed myself into the opening, avid to see whatever she was seeing.

Devlin.

Oh, God, he was stripped to the waist, his arms full of a beautiful half-naked woman, his face buried in her neck. The shapely

brunette was writhing against him, head flung back in ecstasy, moaning. I don't think of myself as a voyeur, but two gorgeous

people having sex is pretty much guaranteed to rivet me. Feeling light-headed and suddenly short of breath, I stared, crushed

in the narrow opening with Este.

Just then, Devlin lifted his face from the woman's neck, and I couldn't quite process what was happening; I grabbed Este's

arm, clenching it much too hard, and gasped, "What the hell?"

Devlin looked straight at me, burnt umber eyes blazing, and I heard him in my mind, saying clearly, I'd rather it was you, fierce lass. But you said "not now," Zo-d'kai. And in my mind, he said my name the same exotic way he'd said it in the car, but fisted around a groan of tortured lust, and

I shivered, feeling fevered and chilled at the same time.

Then he dropped his beautiful, dark head forward again, and I watched, shocked and aroused, as he resumed what he'd been doing.

Este yanked the door shut and spun, leaning back against it, breathing heavily, a hand to her breast.

"Wait, was he—"

"Hush." She pivoted sharply away from the door. "Bathroom, then let's get the hell out of here! We don't talk about this till we're home, in private," she barked over her shoulder.

Nodding dumbly, I followed.

"I always thought if I ever saw a vampire drinking someone's blood, I'd be grossed out," Este said, dropping cross-legged

on my bed beside me. "That was so not the case."

"Devlin's a vampire ? His fangs were real ?" I exploded, plumping pillows to wedge behind my back. Hot as Hades to begin with, the man was even more intriguing to me

now. A vampire? Seriously? They existed!

"Definitely real. Have you ever touched him?"

"No!"

"I didn't mean slept with him. I meant touched him in any way. Was he icy or warm? This is important."

I'd shaken his hand, danced with him, kissed him, felt the heat of his palm burning through my silk shirt at the small of

my back. Wanted to feel much, much more. "Definitely warm. But he never had fangs before. I would have noticed."

She peered at me intently. " How have you touched him?"

"I shook his hand the night we met," I said, a bit too defensively, even to my ears.

She snorted with laughter. "Oh, babe, you've gone there. Who wouldn't? How far?"

"I only kissed him, and only once."

"Well, take my advice, and don't do it again," she said, sobering. "That man is a warm vampire. Their fangs only present when

they feed or, if they're very old and powerful, when they're feeling aggressive or aroused."

"Warm vampire?" I echoed. Cold vampire , the grimoire had offered, and I'd wondered if that meant there were warm ones, too. Apparently, yes.

"Did you think witches were the only paranormal creatures that were real? Myths, legends, stories, they all possess a degree

of truth. Particularly the ones you find in every culture, in every country."

"So," I said slowly, "there are cold vampires, too?"

"A cold vampire is dead, but undead, a completely different creature, with a completely different origin. However, you should

know, they're known to hang out around powerful witching communities. They'll serve as lackeys for a chance at a witch's blood,

which can sustain them far longer than Paleblood. A warm vampire is a fully alive witch who has repeatedly drunk the blood

of more powerful witches to extend his or her own life. After a period of time, the drinking of blood becomes necessary to

sustain their immortality. A cold vampire won't die if deprived of blood. He or she is already dead. They'll just suffer hellishly.

But a witch who is a warm vampire will die if they don't drink regularly."

"Then Devlin is a witch, too."

She nodded. "I've never seen a warm vamp before. I'd only heard tales. If there are any in Indiana, well... I sincerely

doubt something so exotic would stick around BFE."

Bumfuck, Egypt, i.e., the middle of nowhere, which was what we called Frankfort and basically anyplace in the Midwest. "And?"

I prodded.

"They're usually quite powerful in their own right, but hunger for greater power. Drinking the blood of more powerful witches not only extends their life, but increases the magic in their blood. Supposedly, some are capable of shifting shape, and they're rumored to have the ability to turn invisible, like the eldest of cold vampires. They guard their secrets as closely as the gray house. The magical increase they get is not passed to their progeny, and is theirs only so long as they continue drinking. There were dark days, in ancient history, when Royals were abducted and drunk to death. Now such a thing would see an entire bloodline wiped out in retaliation. If not by the Royal house offended, then by the gray house. No one wants to incur gray wrath, not even vampires. God, was that sexy or what?"

Disturbingly so. I'd never been a fan of vampires. I'd thought, like Este, I'd find their means of sustenance bloody and gruesome,

and how could that possibly be sexy? But with Devlin, blood on his mouth and that primal, lust-filled look in his eyes, his

ripped, half-naked body, his arms full of pale-skinned woman, it had been disconcertingly intimate, erotic, an unexpected,

massive turn-on and, clearly, the woman had been enjoying the hell out of herself. I wondered how it would feel to be naked

in Devlin's arms while he drank my blood. How much did he take? How much did he need to survive and how often? A few drops

or— Whoa, Zo , I admonished myself, sober up, and back that truck up . "Is there a way to tell that a witch is also a vampire?"

She shook her head.

"But Devlin is a light witch, right?" I pressed. Oh, shit, I was definitely intrigued.

She cut me a hard look. "I know that look in your eyes, babe, and I'm telling you, don't go there. Warm vampires are different. Rules the rest of us obey are bendable to them. And how would I know? I can feel Devlin's power, not his lineage. But I would assume if he's here in Divinity, so close to the ex-matriarch, he's a light witch. I do know he's going to want your blood. You're the new heir. He'll try to seduce you. If he hasn't already," she said, arching a brow inquiringly. "Juniper may well have been feeding him. I can't see any other way that gorgeous man would be hanging around."

Well, that was deflating. He wanted my blood, not me. He lusted for the power and longevity it granted, not me. I hadn't even

gotten my brain wrapped around the existence of witches, and now I had vampires to deal with, too.

"That doesn't mean he's not attracted to you," she added hastily. "I'm sure he is. I mean, how could he not be? You're the

whole package, babe. But he'll want your blood. This is in the journal, Zo. It's actually in the first part of it because

Mom and I knew you'd be prey for warm vampires. Read when I leave. Promise me you'll sit down and study that journal."

"I promise," I said, suddenly weary. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally exhausted. And much too buzzed. "How did

you know Devlin's a witch? I mean, what gives it away?" I needed to know who was a witch in this town and who wasn't. Were

Althea and her vegetable coven? If a person could employ deep sight, did that mean they were definitely a witch? Had I been

descended upon, a few days ago, not by merely a group of angry women, but angry witches ? I lacked the most basic skills and was seriously out of my depth.

"That's one of the many things you should have been taught as a child. We can feel each other. The lovers you chose. Why did

you pick them?"

"I got a feeling from them of something... more . I couldn't explain it, even to myself. I just knew it when I found it."

"And when you met me the first time?"

"I felt like you were the first person, besides Mom, that really felt right and made sense to me."

"Exactly. That's what we feel. Did you feel that when you met Devlin?"

I recalled the shock of recognition, of familiarity, when I'd shaken his hand. I'd also felt it in spades my first night in Criollo, which meant the restaurant had, indeed, been packed with witches. Waiting for the heir's arrival? Had that many witches already known who I was, that I was coming, and when? Had I been a walking target that night? What if I'd chosen a witch other than Kellan? Might that witch have tried to kill me? I shivered. Just how many times had I had an unwitting near miss with Death recently? "Yes. It's subtle, then?"

"Not once you have your radar attuned for it. You get to the point where you can walk into a crowd of a thousand people and

know instantly there are three witches among them. Finding them is a different matter. You have to focus and narrow it down.

Like everything else in the craft, it takes practice. There are notes in the journal about this, too. I'm sorry, but it really

pisses me off that your mother didn't teach you this when you were a child. Mom and Dad raised me in tune with all the odd

things I felt, explaining them as I grew, teaching me to stretch and grow my power. You've got a lot of catching up to do."

It pissed me off, too. But then everything did lately. I wanted to protest that Este couldn't leave in the morning. I needed

her to teach me. But with Juniper's rules about guests, her staying in residence simply wasn't an option.

"I'll come back next weekend," she said, gleaning my thoughts from my face.

"You can't," I said sourly, and told her about the contingencies.

"I don't like this, Zo. They're controlling you, isolating you."

"I have a feeling we're going to be renegotiating these edicts. For some reason, they seem to need me."

"Some reason? Babe, this town is a sitting duck without a Royal to guard it."

"Sitting duck how? Guard it from who?"

"Any other magical bloodline out there that wants it. Not just here, but globally. There are practitioners of the way in every

culture. The nine houses we've been talking about are merely those in this country."

"I don't understand. Why would another bloodline want Divinity?"

She sighed heavily. "Oh, Zo, we need to talk about the social structure of the witching world. Power is their aphrodisiac."

"Even light witches?"

"Even. You'll find most witches who stay tightly plugged into the community, who participate and strive for position and sway,

are every bit as power-hungry and success-driven as Palebloods. Some of the most heinous witch hunts and executions in history

have been enacted by witches themselves. Mom and Dad broke away when they were young, raised me apart from it. Many witches

go off on their own, eschew the protection of a coven for a solitary life without the drama. Some even turn their back on

the craft itself."

"How many witches do you think are in this town? You said you could feel them when you walked into a room."

"A room doesn't equate to a town. I feel astronomical power here, but couldn't begin to make a guess. In the club tonight,

excluding the bodyguards—"

"They're witches, too?" I exclaimed. No wonder I'd felt such a magnetic pull to them all!

Nodding, she continued, "There were seven other witches. The hot Jamaican bartender, the woman in Devlin's arms, and three on the balcony. I didn't spot the other two. The town is majority Palebloods, as we call them, who were probably carefully chosen, lured here with a job offer or investment opportunity. Someone, likely a town committee, selects the families they feel suitable to settle here. It's the ultimate in a planned community."

"But why not have a town of just witches?" I asked, frowning.

"There are far fewer witches in existence than Palebloods, and there's strength in numbers. People without magic have a great

deal to offer. They bring loyalty, commitment, willingness to defend a way of life they value—and I imagine life here is pretty

idyllic."

"But why," I said slowly, "would my mother have run away, then? Why take me from such a place?" For that matter, who was my

father, and where did he fit in? Was it truly my father who'd been pursuing us, or someone else?

Este hesitated a moment, then said, "I may have misspoken last night. This town might not be what she was running from. There's

another possibility." She lapsed into silence, frowning. Finally, she said, "I have to throw this out there because I'm leaving

tomorrow. And you must be aware of all the possibilities to be on guard."

"What's this unsavory thing you don't want to tell me?"

"It's possible you're not a Cameron at all."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Are you sure I'm a Royal?"

"Before you'd been awakened, I couldn't feel you fully, but you are definitely a Royal. As was your mother. However, like

I said, I have no way of knowing—nor does any witch—what house you're from. We can feel your power, but we can't tell if it's

dark, light, or gray. Only that you're Royal. It's the sheer quantity of magic that emanates from you that gives you away,

once awakened."

"If I wasn't awakened, how could Juniper have known I was a Royal?"

"Any witch she sent hunting would have felt your mother's power and known her child was Royal."

"But why would Juniper bring me here, if I wasn't a Cameron?"

"This town is a prize. Juniper's fortune is staggering. She left a kingdom, resting on the laurels of enormous wealth, with

an insanely powerful coven to protect whatever Royal seizes it. If she'd been searching for a Cameron heir for a long time

and couldn't find one, but knew she was going to die in a matter of weeks or months, she'd have done anything to assure the

future of Divinity. Any Royal would be able to hold it. She may have simply managed to locate one of indeterminate heritage

that she could pass off as a Cameron and been willing to accept you to protect her life's work, wagering that the reward of

such a staggering ‘inheritance,' plus narrow contingencies to shape you in your early years, would bring out the best in you.

That if you weren't a Cameron, in time, you would become precisely the Cameron Divinity needed."

"I thought you said no other witches could find this town. How could there be a threat?"

"Royals can," she said with a grimace. "Word of Juniper's death circulated fast. We heard of it back home within hours. Once

other houses knew her legacy was unprotected, it was ripe for the taking. Any Royal house could swoop in, make a brutal show

of force, and after sufficient brutality, Divinity would pledge to the new house. A town like this, without Juniper, is prey.

That's why Mr.Balfour had to get you here and awaken you quickly. I guarantee, the other houses had their most powerful witches

inside the boundaries of Divinity within hours of Juniper dying. Everyone was waiting for her to go. She was over a century

old, and it was widely known she had no heir. Not even all the witches in this town united could protect it against a Royal

and their Highblood coven."

"Mr. Balfour said Juniper had selected an alternate. The Alexanders are Highblood, but not Royal. How could they have hoped to hold the town?"

She shrugged. "A Hail Mary? Desperate measures in desperate times, perhaps to buy more time to continue hunting for a Royal.

This is critical: you must never let anyone here know you might not be a Cameron."

"Why not? Wouldn't they still be grateful for the protection?"

She shook her head. "Yes and no. Depending on which house you're from. Your mother was willing to condemn you to a half-life.

What was she trying to escape that she was willing to go to such extremes? What was she trying to prevent by suppressing you?"

"Not following."

"Zo, your mom may have been from one of the dark houses. Fleeing it. Trying to save you from it."

I said nothing for a moment, then, "But surely Juniper wouldn't have brought a dark witch to Divinity."

"None of us can tell whether your power is light or dark, or even gray, although I seriously doubt your mother would have

chosen that last name, if you were. Grey is nearly as common a surname as Brown or White. Juniper may have deemed it worth

the risk when she found you, wagering fifty-fifty odds you were light. Perhaps even better odds, hoping, if you were dark—because

you'd never been awakened—time in Divinity would bring out the light in you. Being born into a dark witching family doesn't

guarantee you will choose to follow that path. It's your choice. Even a death witch can choose to follow the light path."

"So," I said slowly, "not only am I a witch, I might be a bad one?"

What she'd said about me being a gray... She'd doubted my mother would have "chosen that surname." Of course not even my last name was truly mine. We'd been running and hiding all our lives.

"Everything is choice," Este said intensely. " You choose. No one chooses for you. We are not what we are born. We are not our power. We're what we choose to do with it."

We sat in silence a few minutes. All my life, I'd hungered for answers, and now that I was finally getting some, they weren't

as savory as I'd imagined.

"I'm not saying you're not a Cameron," Este said. "You might very well be. But you must keep an open mind to all possibilities

until you find proof of who you are. Because if you're a dark witch, you'll tend to... well, gravitate that way. Especially

as no one is training you. And I really hope they start soon. Then there's the fact that you've been awakened, but your power

hasn't been formally pledged to a house. That, too, leaves you open to going either way. God forbid you spill blood, unpledged."

"You mean kill someone?" Not that I had any inclination to (other than Mom's murderer) but I wanted to understand what she

was getting at.

"God, no, don't do that, either!"

"What would happen if I did?"

She shuddered. "Just don't, Zo. Inadvertently or otherwise. If someone attacks you, don't fight back, not even to defend yourself.

Run, until you're pledged."

"Why?"

"The dark houses would make an aggressive play for you, which, from them, means aggressively seductive. They're pros at intuiting

which buttons to push, making you think you want what they're offering, that the power and beauty of their night will always outshine our day. But, worse, the gray house

could lay claim to you, regardless of your true birthright."

"What do you mean, ‘lay claim'? I could say no, right?"

Este's gaze shuttered. "Just don't spill blood, Zo. We don't talk about the gray house. They have an unpleasant way of sidling

in and observing if you do, and you rarely know they're doing it until it's too late."

"Too late how?"

"Witches have a bad habit of vanishing when a gray appears. Often, many witches. Entire covens. Never to be seen again."

"But they're just witches, right? Like other witches?"

She sighed. "Hard to say. I couldn't tell you the name of a single witch from the gray Royal house. No clue if it's patriarchal

or matriarchal, led by king or queen. They keep it that way. Enough on this subject," she said sharply. "They're an abyss;

if you look in, they look back. They're not like the rest of us. Their purposes are different. They serve a different code

entirely. They are something else entirely. Pray to the great Cailleach you never encounter one."