Devious Magic (22 page)

“No.”

He ignored me. “I’ve known about you your whole life, of course, but you’ve been hidden such a long time. When you finally surfaced, I sent my men to find you as soon as I realised you had come into your powers. Such a shame. Magic is an abomination. Blights so many lives, you know.”

A year ago, my life was changed in the course of just a few hours. I had a dull job, a dull life, but it had been all mine. Like every other woman, I was well aware of the witch hunter murderers. One night, I was chased by a group of men who were intent on killing me. I narrowly escaped them twice; the second time with Étoile’s help.

It came to me then. That was why the man looked so familiar.

I’d seen him once before on television. It had been that same night that Étoile rescued me. A broadcast went out across all stations simultaneously, announcing that the Brotherhood claimed responsibility for the killings of witches throughout Europe.

The common feeling amongst the media, since that broadcast, was that this Brotherhood was comprised of mad, deluded serial killers, though it did add extra drama to their reports. Only a small faction knew the truth about what they were and that they really were assassinating witches. The killings had spread briefly from Europe to the United States, and further afield. Then they stopped, just as abruptly. Things had been quiet for a while, not that any witch dared to take a relieved breath and think it was all over.

No, everyone I knew had been waiting tentatively for the Brotherhood’s next move.

Strangely enough, I hadn’t seen them on television since then, but their one and only broadcast had been enough to fuel the hysterical websites that I spent so much time picking through on my quest for information. It also added some weight to Anders’ suggestion that this man was somewhat untouchable. He was able to broadcast his responsibility for murder, and yet, here he sat, in the comfort of his home. Someone was protecting him. The Brotherhood went further than this.

“You’re the Brotherhood’s leader,” I said, concealing my thoughts. “Your men didn’t come to find me. They firebombed my flat.”

“Some of them are quite enthusiastic.” The man shrugged, like it wasn’t anything of consequence. “They were reprimanded, of course.”

Like that made me feel any better. If anything, I felt more nervous than ever. Suppose those men were here tonight? After having been punished, who knew what kind of grudge they held against me now? I had the uncomfortable thought that, aside from the cellar prison, this room was probably the safest room in the whole house for me right now. Thinking of the cellar reminded me of Annalise, alone in the dark, and I concentrated on my breathing, instead of flying into a screaming rage, which was tempting.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, because simple questions are sometimes the best ones.

“To rid the world of something that should have never been in it. No one should have such power, no person should be able to teleport, or use telekinesis, or all the evil things you do.” If he’d been thirty years younger, I would have expected him to add
well, duh!

“We’re not evil. We don’t kill people!” I fought to keep my composure. I didn’t have much choice. Arguing might have been a foolish move, but it went against my nature to meekly take what this man was dishing out.

“We’re a necessary evil, like executioners, politicians and taxes. We do the dirty jobs no one wants to think about.” The man leaned forward, his eyes boring into me. “We keep the world safe without them
ever
having to lift a finger.”

My voice was cool and calm, icy even, when I said, “You’re ruthless murderers.”

He smiled unexpectedly, but it was such a cold expression. “Such a pejorative term, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Who are you anyway?”

“I didn’t introduce myself? Do forgive my manners. My name is Auberon Morgan. You can call me Uncle, if you prefer.”

“Why would I do that?” I frowned.

“It’s a polite way to address one’s relative,” he answered succinctly, before dropping the bombshell. “Your mother was my sister.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Do I look like someone who...
kids
?” He looked at me like I just said something completely absurd. I suppose I had.

Auberon Morgan rose and walked around the wingchair to a table nestled in one of the large windows. When he returned, he had a large silver picture frame in his hands, which he passed to me. I had no choice but to take it and study the photograph it contained. There was a couple, aged around forty or so, with two children, a boy in his teens and a slightly younger girl, probably around nine years old in a pale blue dress, her hair in bunches. All four of them were sitting with their backs against an ancient oak tree, parents behind, children in front. A check blanket was spread out in front of them with the remains of a picnic and an open wicker basket. There was something content and lovely about the faded scene.

“Isadore was eleven then. She was four years younger than me. This was taken when I was home from boarding school for the summer.” Auberon returned to the window and was looking out as he raised one hand, waving it off to the left. “You can just see the tree from this window if you crane your head a bit.”

“So, you’re a witch too? A warlock?”

“Oh no, only your mother was unlucky enough to inherit that curse, but she loved it, loved the things she could do. She wasn’t the type who taunted, or did anything cruel, but it was unnatural the way she could be there one moment, disappearing the next.” Auberon turned back to me but his eyes were far away, somewhere in the past. “I always felt sorry for her, tried to help her stop but she couldn’t, she insisted it was part of her. Then she married your idiot father and he was just as bad, whispering spells. She brought you here once, when you were a baby, and I begged her to stop with the magic, for you, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“They’re dead.”

“I know, and I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but perhaps it’s for the best.” Auberon slid back into his chair, resting his head against the back, closing his eyes for a moment like he was so weary of the world that he couldn’t keep looking at it.

I was still struggling to take in what he told me. I couldn’t fathom how this awful man could possibly by my mother’s brother, and my uncle. My only living relation was the man who masterminded dozens of murders? Who for the past year had made me live in fear? Anger bubbled inside me, and I felt my magic agitate.

“You tried to kill me once, why not just do it now?” I hoped I wasn’t having a too-stupid-to-live moment, but the question just begged to be asked. He hated witches; he wanted us all dead, so why keep me alive?

“I don’t have much family, I’d hate to destroy what’s left,” said Auberon, ruining the warm, fuzzy, family-bonding moment when he added, “so I’m giving you a choice.”

“What kind of choice?”

“Work with me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Auberon seemed to have expected that because he was ready with his answer. “You can’t be enjoying the life you have, Stella. Parents dead, attacked by witches – yes, I’ve done my homework – the strange little town you live in, under a constant threat. And what’s the common theme here? Oh, yes! Magic!” Auberon shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe the predicament I’d gotten myself into. One hand reached up to smooth his beard. “Help me get rid of the witches and I’ll help you bind your magic. You’ll be able to live a nice normal life without fear and I can give you everything in return: a family, safety, money. You’ll never have to worry again.”

I couldn’t lie to myself. There was a part of me that thought if he’d found me in my teens, and asked me then if I wanted my magic bound, in exchange for a family, I might have said yes. But I had a family now, my very own, and powers that I controlled. I couldn’t ask for a normal life in return for betraying everyone I now held dear. What he was asking was untenable.

“What’s the alternative?” I asked.

Auberon turned sad eyes on me. “Death, Stella. That’s the only alternative.”

We stopped talking then because the door was opening, letting in a little rush of cool air. Auberon leaned back in his chair again, not bothered by trivialities, while I craned my head around to see. Two men entered. One carried a tray with a teapot and cups with saucers. The other stood with his back against the door, like I was even going to bother trying to escape.

“On the table, here, man,” Auberon instructed, clearing the few things off the table between us, setting them on the floor under his chair. The man holding the tray crossed the room and set it down between us, not even glancing at me. Picking up the teapot, he poured each of us a cup, adding sugar and milk to Auberon’s, none to mine. When he was finished, he backed away silently; then they were both gone.

Something else occurred to me then, something to keep me from having to choose between life and death. “Why do you use magic here if you hate it so much?”

“You noticed? When one is trying to defeat evil, one must also be protected from it.”

“So, who’s doing it?” They must have a witch, someone who’d turned against the supernatural world, or someone who was being forced into performing magic for them. My questions came thick and fast. “Is that how you found me? And the other witches? By magic?”

“You don’t really expect me to answer your questions, do you? Don’t let your tea get cold.” Auberon leaned forward, stretching his hands towards the fire, warming them, while I picked up the delicately striped china cup. Just as I was bringing it to my lips, I noticed it swirl strangely, far more than it should. I paused and stared at it as two very distinct letters formed.

NO
.

No? I frowned at it. Someone, or something, was interfering with the liquid, and whoever it was, apparently, didn’t want me to drink the tea. Puzzled, I put the rim of the cup to my lips, pretending to drink as Auberon turned to look at me, silently watching.

While I pretended to sip, I took a moment to think. Of course, I didn’t expect Auberon to answer my questions, but if he were planning on killing me, it would be useful to have a little extra knowledge. If nothing else, I might be able to transmit it to Étoile before I bit it. Besides, the bad guys in movies always gave terrific soliloquies and admitted everything right before the heroine was saved, and they got their comeuppance, so I really, really hoped we were going to have one of those moments.

I should be so lucky.

Auberon might not be willing to tell me much, but at least, I did know now that there was someone supernatural working with them and that person was willing to risk sending a message to me. Maybe that meant there was another prisoner in the house, or, at the very least, someone who wasn’t so enamoured with the Brotherhood that they wished to sit idly while I drank... well, it clearly wasn’t just tea. Poison, perhaps, or a sedative would be easy to conceal. Maybe they knew other things that would help. If I could just get to them, maybe they would help me. There were an awful lot of maybes to consider there.

“Drink, dear Stella. You must be cold.”

I pretended to sip again, careful to make sure that not a single drop of the tea landed on my lips.

“I imagine you’re tired after your flight, and, well, everything else. I’ll have one of my men escort you to your room so you can rest. You must have a great deal to think about. We can talk over your decision at dinner tonight.”

“You’re not sending me back to the cellar?”

“Of course not.” Auberon sounded surprised. “We’re not uncivilised here.”

What about Annalise? I wanted to ask. Was she okay? Hurt? I hoped Nameless wasn’t mistreating her. I hoped his cuts from her claws got infected.

“Take a moment or two to clean up when you’re in your room. Someone will collect you for dinner.” Auberon turned away, and just like that, I was dismissed.

I was going to protest, but a man hauled me up by my arm. I hadn’t even seen him enter the room. Before I could ask any more questions, I was marched towards the door, now standing ajar, and Auberon sat back in the wingchair, out of sight.

Just as we reached the door, it opened further and a young man stepped through, causing me to immediately step back. The guard barrelled into me and I started to fall. The newcomer, a young man, grabbed me and set me to rights, holding me up for a moment longer than was necessary; our hands touching. As our eyes connected, I caught the faintest scent of magic from him. He wasn’t much younger than I, maybe only a couple of years and he had sad eyes.

I knew I should have ignored him, shrunk away, pretended I didn’t feel a thing, but there was no denying what he was. As I recognised him, he knew it too. He shivered for a moment, his eyes burning into me, but didn’t say a thing. Then he stepped past and I was propelled outside, the door clicking shut behind us. Our brief encounter couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds.

The house was less of a rabbit warren than the cellar and I tried to draw up a mental blueprint from Anders’ old plans. We crossed the foyer but, instead of turning into the room that led to the cellar, I was pushed towards the stairs, almost tripping as we ascended quickly. Halfway up, I paused when I saw a picture of a lovely woman, her dress formal but in a much newer style than any of the other portraits. She was breathtakingly pretty. My mother. The guard pushed me on and I tried counting the turns we made before he paused at a door. I was hungry and disorientated and wasn’t concentrating as well as I should be so, instead of being able to pinpoint my location, I simply felt lost.

Opening the door, the guard pushed me inside with a firm shove between my shoulder blades. As I skidded to a halt on the carpet, righting myself, the door shut quickly, a key turning. I hammered my fists against it even though I knew it was fruitless. After a while, I just stood there, resting my forehead against the wood, breathing hard.

Turning around, I leant my back against the door and looked at the room. Dominating the large room was a four-poster bed, piled with cushions and a thick quilt, and velvet drapes that were tied at each corner. There was a wardrobe, and an armchair, and a tall chest plus a nightstand. The walls were covered in floor to ceiling tapestries hung in long panels. I couldn’t make out the pattern so, curious, I stepped forward and found them embroidered with flowers and birds. It was very pretty, accentuated even more by being in this place, which deserved nothing beautiful. Though the room was distinctly nicer than the cell below the stairs, I was still a prisoner all the same. If Auberon thought that being in a comfortable room would make me forget that, or even find his offer more appealing, he was wrong.