Marked for grace, p.32
Marked for Grace, page 32
He shook his head. “Don’t go there, Crys. Not yet.”
Don’t go there. Don’t go there. Don’t go there. She chanted it like a mantra in her mind and forced her muscles to unknot. He was right, there wasn’t anything to be done for it then, which made it a later kind of problem.
His amber stare held hers for several long breaths. Warm. Piercing. He glanced away. “When you were in trouble, you called me.” It was a statement, and yet very much not.
She swallowed hard. “Will I be punished for it?” Her voice was steady, which was impressive because the terror of facing that wrath almost made her sick.
“No. Elijah’s decided it wasn’t technically against the rules since you carry dual blood.” His eyes held a rogue smile. “You’re lucky he likes you.”
Like might’ve been a strong word, but she’d take it. The relief that washed over her settled into her bones as she dropped her shoulders.
“We’ll need to revisit The Chronicle when you’re better to start the process over.” At her questioning glance, he added, “There’s concern Ben left out more than just your affiliation.”
She frowned. “What do you think?”
The single, sardonic laugh he released was the only answer she needed.
God, she’d missed so much. Everything. How had she been so willfully blind? “Do you think he’s the one who outed me?”
He rubbed his jaw, and her brows rose. Gideon’s loathing for Ben paralleled her own, so any hesitation on his part spoke volumes. “I wanna blame the guy, but I’d rather find the right person, not the convenient one. He did what he did because he wanted you. Having demons murder you is counter to that purpose.”
She hated how logical it was. She wanted an answer, a face, a name. To know who was behind it. Who to blame. She wanted to feel safe. Whoever it was had a hand in the Claimed Mark. It was the only explanation for them siccing the demons on her. “Will they come for me again?” she asked as she fought the tremor that gripped her throat.
He rolled his neck. “I don’t think so. By now they’d know they’re compromised, especially since we’ve still got one of them. I doubt they’ll risk exposure by coming after you again.”
She blew out the heavy breath that rattled around her lungs.
“We’ll find them, Crys.” His tone was dark. Serious. A promise. He’d find them. He’d kill them. He chucked his chin Noah’s way. “He was worried about you.”
“I should hope so. I’m his best friend.” She stroked her arm and glanced down at herself. “Someone changed my clothes.”
“Noah took the honor.” A slow, lopsided grin slipped across his face. “But say the word and I’ll take the next round.”
She rolled her eyes.
His laugh rumbled through her. “There she is.”
Oh, but he was proud of himself. A cascade of tingling shivers swept across her body, over her scalp, and through her soul. “So this is your home,” she mused. It suited him. Sharp. Stylish. Comfortable with its confidence and swagger. She’d eat dirt before she’d ever tell him that though.
“It is.”
She smiled. “I thought you said no one came back here?”
“I guess you must be someone, then.”
Heat burned her cheeks, crawling across her flesh before it aimed low. She raked her tongue across the back of her teeth. “Now that it looks like I’ll be a Lesser Demon, will I fall under your jurisdiction?”
All mirth left him. “You will.”
She wanted that simpering expression back. Needed it for some reason. “Does this mean I’ll be forced to submit to your will?”
“Oh, Crys. How I enjoy those words from your lips,” he crooned. “But alas, tempting as that may be, as Head of the Sect, I have my own rules to adhere to.”
Her fingers trailed the long lines of her throat. “Rules? You?”
He flourished his hand. “Some nonsense about not abusing my power, although your suggestion is tempting.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Gid—”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
A phone vibrated and drew her gaze to the bedside table. Her eyes widened when she found the device was her own. Its glass was cracked, but otherwise, it was fine. Her daggers sat next to it. How it’d all survived was beyond her.
Ben’s name flashed across the screen, and she scowled so deep she worried it might be permanent. She had half a mind to throw the thing across the room and instead hit decline much more aggressive than necessary.
“The tow truck driver found everything when he retrieved your car,” Gideon said.
“At the rate I’m going, you should just give me his number.”
“You expect me to introduce you to another man? You’re already in my bed with one, Crys. There’s only so much a guy can take.”
She swallowed her grin.
The roll of his laughter was deep and rich. “Go back to sleep,” he said as he readied to stand.
No, he couldn’t go. Not yet. Tension built in her chest. It pressed in and crushed her heart, needing to be freed. Her hand shot out and took his. It was warm and calloused, his square knuckles torn. For her. He’d fought for her. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and blurred her vision.
His brow furrowed. “Crys?”
The weight of it all came crashing down, and a sob broke from her. He closed the distance between them with a snap, sheathing her in his arms. His hold was crushing as she buried her face in the curve of his neck.
“You came,” she said, voice muffled. Her breath hitched and she clung to him. Safe.
He loosed a rough exhale when his hand knotted in the hair at the base of her neck. She stayed that way until the burning in her lungs subsided. He’d risked everything to come for her. Everything. They still had so many unanswered questions, and the road ahead was long, but he was there.
She withdrew just enough to see him. He didn’t yield an inch. She tilted her head, and her pulse quickened. “I suppose I’ll have to find a way to pay you back?”
He tracked his thumb under her eye, brushing her tears aside. “Promises, promises.” His voltaic stare dropped to her mouth, and the electricity it kicked off sent a feverish shockwave straight to her core. His heat brushed her sensitive flesh as he leaned closer. And closer.
The bed rustled when Noah moved.
Gideon froze while his gaze flicked past her. His fingers flexed then released. He lowered his hand. “Rest, Crys,” he told her, then rose, his stride easy as he headed for the door.
“It wasn’t an accident, Gideon.”
He stopped, half-turning as he glanced over his shoulder.
Her heart rate kicked up a notch, then another. It took her longer than it should’ve to figure things out. She’d made a chain of bad choices since she’d joined the Shepherds but trusting him would never be one of them. “When I called you for help,” she shook her head, “it wasn’t an accident.”
His mouth pulled up at the corner. “I’m glad to hear it,” he replied, then left and closed her in.
She bit her lip and rolled to face her best friend.
“Did I just interrupt something beautiful?” Noah asked, fluttering his sleep-tired eyes at her.
Fire burned her cheeks when she smacked his shoulder.
“Are you alright?”
She settled her hands under her chin. “Better than I was.” So much better. Knowing Gideon was there, that she could trust him, that she wouldn’t lose him, soothed her damaged soul. She had people to turn to. People to help. People who’d come, no matter what.
“I’m guessing things with you and Ben are—”
“Over!” So far past over she couldn’t believe they’d ever begun. There were mistakes, and then there was Ben. People like him chipped at the foundation of who she was, making her question herself as they stripped her soul piece by piece. He’d tried to hold her back, to interfere, to lock her away. But she’d be damned if he’d take another thing from her.
Every line of tension in Noah’s body relaxed when he sagged.
“You knew, didn’t you? That something wasn’t right with him?”
The smile he offered held no joy. “He had an unnerving edge.” He brushed several hairs back from her face before his expression transformed and he beamed. “I’m in Gideon Ryczek’s bed.”
“Does Kyle know?”
“Kyle knows I’d do anything to help my Gracie.”
“Including climbing into Gideon Ryczek’s bed?”
He settled his palm over his heart and grinned. “Anything!”
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Sneak Peek of Foul is Fair
Half-a-dozen heavily lined faces beamed at me. Why? Why were they beaming?
“You must be Aurora,” the shortest, roundest one said, her words so fizzy with excitement it made my eyes water.
Oh. Shit. Me. They were excited about me. One of them took my arm and towed me further into the room. “Your grandmother told us all about you, dear.” Hellfire. I hoped that was an exaggeration. “It’s so good to see a young witch coming on board! Look, everyone, Aurora is here!”
“It’s Rory.” But my protest was lost beneath their effervescent welcome.
I just wanted to get to work, but apparently stage one of my induction involved a spread that could’ve come off a bake stand at a school fair—and, before witches were legalized, that probably would have been a common side hustle.
Scones, breakfast muffins, slices, cakes—all homemade. The tea was weaker than the water I used to wash my dishes. To top it off was a handwritten banner that read Welcome to the East Melbourne Coven, Aurora! It had been decorated with pressed flowers.
“Wominjeka, Rory,” said a woman wearing paint-splattered pants and a somewhat wary smile. “I’m Janet.”
Trust the First Nations elder to have heard my preferred name. “Hi, Janet.” I caught a jar of jam as it slipped from the nicotine-stained fingers of a grinning witch. Grimly amused, I watched the way she turned the situation to her advantage, using my momentary pause as I held the jar to press a plate into my hand.
I felt like a kid while I tried to smile, remember names, respond appropriately, and not drop the scone all at the same time. Note to self: next time I want a change, I’ll get a new hair color, not a new job.
Behind the veterans, a younger woman with awesome jet-black hair and sapphire-blue highlights sent me a look of sympathy before she quietly removed herself from the fray. Smart woman. I should’ve gone sapphire blue, too. And also hightailed it out of there.
Some of the cream wilted down the side of my scone to puddle on my saucer as the jam-fumbling witch planted herself beside me, blocking the nearest exit, filling the air with chatter. “Oh, and you really ought to try Suzie’s blueberry bar before we get caught up on the humdrum. Suzie’s grandson owns a blueberry farm out in Silvan. Brings her fresh berries, doesn’t he, Suzie?” Her eyes glittered. “He’s a handsome young lad, isn’t he, Suzie?” she went on, patting my arm knowingly. “Great butt,” she said under her breath in an aside to me. “Looks like he knows how to use his hands, too, if you know what I mean!”
I estimated the likelihood of said grandson knowing the difference between a clitoris and a haemorrhoid as slim to none.
“I should find Arthur,” I said firmly, before the grandson idea could gather any momentum. “I’ll be back for that slice.” Gazes of a half-dozen women, who were all obviously accustomed to people submitting to their affection, swung to me. Well, curse it, if I’d wanted to be fussed over, I’d have gone to work with my own grandmother. “This is such a great welcome. But I won’t feel right until I know what I’m doing.”
The jar-dropping witch, who might’ve been Bernie or Becky or even Esmerelda, for all I knew, made a harrumph of disapproval. “Well, you won’t get that from Arthur. Half the time, that boy doesn’t even know what he’s doing, and the other half of the time, he’s pulling on his own—”
“Hush, Bernie,” another said with a disapproving frown. “I’m sure Aurora knows all about wizards.” She cleared her throat, and I tried very hard to smother a grin. “Well, you go on up, dear,” she said, her frown melting as she gazed up at me like I was the one grandchild who hadn’t spilled food on their party dress at Solstice. “And when you come on back, we’ll get you all settled in. Let her go, Bernie. She’s quite right. Whether we like it or not, we all have those to-do lists now.”
“The old days were much simpler,” said a woman whose handmade name badge read Cici—she/her. Cool. Pronouns. I could get in on that. “No data or performance reviews. Just you, your wand, some herbs and foci, your coven and your flock. Now there’s paperwork.”
Plus a wage, superannuation, sick leave, holiday pay, and tax deductions.
I kept that to myself, sending them all my warmest, I’m-a-good-kid-with-good-manners smile as I went past the fussily decorated table in the direction I’d been pointed.
There wasn’t space to get lost. Budgets being what they were, I hadn’t expected a massive, multi-story complex. “Cozy” was a nice description for the little townhouse with its high, old ceiling and narrow rooms overflowing with furniture, plants, and piles of Really Important Stuff. Still, it had character that even the governmental grey paint and grey-flecked grey flooring couldn’t overwhelm, vases that overflowed, doilies, donated mismatched furniture, and candles. Of course. Put a coven in a place long enough, it’d become a home, albeit a fussy one, if it was an old-school coven. And this was a very old-school coven.
I kept my face neutral as I went up the stairs. Well, I wanted different. I wasn’t going to get anything as different from my last job as this, was I?
Should’ve gone for the blue streaks. Or maybe purple. I’d look great with purple hair.
A thirty-something, weekend-warrior type looked up from a coffee machine that perched precariously on a hallway table. His expression was equal parts curiosity and commiseration. “Aurora?”
I put out my hand. “Rory,” I said, as he took it and shook.
“Arthur. I heard the welcome party banging their drums. Forgive me for not being present, but it sounded like they had you covered.” He took an extra coffee cup. Not a flower in sight. “Anyway, word on the grapevine is you’re a hard arse, so I figured you’d be okay. Coffee?”
He didn’t look at me to deliver any of that. I didn’t care, just sighed in pleasure at his offer. “Please.”
He smiled down at the coffee machine. He had dimples, and he knew how to work them.
The coffee-making ritual gave me time to look around. He mentioned a few key points of interest: a bathroom, storage, his office—which he didn’t share with anyone, I noticed—a meeting room, and the tech hub of the coven, currently unstaffed.
“It’s not much,” he said with false humility. “But we’re two blocks from the local police station, and the tram line right around the corner makes travel a breeze.”
“Uh huh.” I wasn’t here to give a real estate appraisal.
Inside Arthur’s office, I was waved towards one of the chairs across from his desk.
I glanced around. Big windows overlooking the neighbour’s brickwork. A few framed landscapes. His staff mounted on brackets on the wall.
Old school.
And he definitely had the most space in the building. The rooms I’d passed showed desks and office chairs crowded in so close I’d have my knees in my ears trying to work there.
With some grim thoughts about middle managers, I settled into the chair.
“So, I thought I’d give you a quick rundown of the coven’s core values before we get into the nitty gritty of your work.”
I folded my hands, reached for patience, found some, and marvelled. “Sure.”
“Mutual respect and equality is, of course, the foundation of this coven,” he began. This from behind his big desk, sitting in his new leather chair, in the one office that didn’t have seven other people crammed into it.
“Mmm.” I shifted a little, wishing, not for the first time, wizards came with a skip button.
“I know you’ve heard that before,” he said in a way that he probably thought was charmingly self-deprecating. “So, I won’t bang on about it. You’ll see it in action. Accountability is, of course, critical. Risk assessments and case notes need to be kept updated so I can manage any situation that arises. We aren’t police; we’re here to tend to our flock, to keep them on the straight and narrow.” He nodded at his own wisdom. It was kind of like being near someone sniffing their own farts. “To engage supernaturals in our society, help smooth over any bumps, and to ensure magi use their powers wisely. We’re first responders.”
So he didn’t know what a first responder was. He did know what paperwork was though, obviously. That was the bottom line.
He flashed his dimples again. “And, of course, we need to discuss integrity,” he went on, leaning forward.
At that point, I totally zoned him out.
When he finally fell silent, I said, “Thanks, Arthur. So, about the work. I’m assuming I’ll get a rundown of my caseload from one of the coven?”
He nodded his agreement. “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to do a thorough hand-over due to the nature of your predecessor’s departure.”
Sure, sour grapes didn’t give much juice. I ignored the opportunity to garner gossip. I didn’t value this guy’s opinion. There would be someone in the know I could talk to. Confidentiality between a coven and the world was sacrament, but I was on the inside now.
