Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 33
My coffee pauses halfway on its journey to my lips. A trickle of excitement and hope wrap around me. “I do. If my parents somehow got wind of the necklace being in the coven’s possession, they might be more inclined to share what they know about the tonic in favor of its return.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Callie says, her tone a touch impressed. My chest puffs up an inch at the praise but deflates when reality sets in.
“It might be a decent idea, but that doesn’t mean the pack or witches will go along with, especially if they know it was me who came up with it. Notwithstanding my current position in the pack, my last suggestion didn’t go over well.”
Callie shrugs, her hip bumping against one of the kitchen chairs. “Then I’ll pass it off as my idea.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s a good idea, especially if nothing comes out of the interrogations.”
The coffee, still only lukewarm despite its time in the microwave, brings with it a modicum of comfort. “Thank you,” I say around the mug's rim, my eyes meet Callie's across the room.
She tips her head, her hickory-colored eyes narrowing on me. “Now let’s talk about your cousin. How do you plan on helping her?”
Her question catches me off guard, and rightly so. I’ve managed to make June’s fate second to the needs of my new pack, and giving her attention now seems unfaithful—no matter how absurd it sounds. After all, it's my loyalty to her that brought us to this scenario in the first place.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, fighting off the panic that comes with the unknown valiantly. “I just have to wait and see what happens with Zoelle and the necklace. Maybe after I can convince Xander to send a team up to negotiate for her.”
The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as Callie turns it about-face to sit backward in it. “How much time do you think you have to get to her? Realistically?”
I shift uncomfortably at that, not liking one bit the thought of the immediate dangers she faces in my parents' venture to spur this war to its conclusion, no matter what the cost is.
“Best-case scenario?" Callie nods. "My parents will drag out the engagement. They’ll make June go through all of our packs sacred ceremonies and make a public showing of it. She’ll be made an example of to the pack to prove that when one wolf steps out of line, they endanger the whole of the pack.”
“And the worst-case scenario?”
The room remains thick with silence as I will myself to say the words.
“They don’t drag it out at all. They rush June through the ceremonies without giving her time to heal before handing over her leash to Jeffrey.”
Calliope’s eyes go flat. “What kind of sacred ceremonies does your pack play host to that it harms your members?”
I turn my gaze away from her hard stare. My throat constricts as I set aside the coffee and grip the counter behind me instead.
“A fair few, as it happens,” I murmur, “but it’s the last that hurts the most.”
Callie waits patiently for me to continue, crossing her arms over the top of the chair's back and resting her chin there.
“They’ll strip her of her soulmark,” I say.
“What?”
Heat sprawls across my neck and cheeks. “It’s considered a testament to one’s commitment to the Blanc pack. The physical removal of the soulmark implies the dedication to the Blanc pack’s survival. You can’t bond with your soulmark if you don’t have one… or so the sentiment goes.”
“That is… so fucked up.”
Begrudgingly, I nod, not expecting her to continue.
“The Wardens of Starlight have their own fucked-up practices,” Callie says, her eyes going distant as she no doubt recalls them. “But why is it that one hurts the most?”
“They say the sensation is akin to ripping out your heart's hope. It sounds sadder than it does painful, but I’ve heard the screams that tear out of the men and women who do it.” I tremble.
“How exactly is it for the survival of the pack?”
I smile sadly. “Haven't you heard?" I attempt to joke. "The Blanc pack is the reason for the lycan curse, but we were also saddled with a separate curse. The second denies us the ability to conceive a child with our soulmark.”
Callie reacts as predicted. Her face pales and her lips part in astonishment.
“That’s terrible.” I can only hum my acknowledgment back. “The information on the lycan curse was somewhat limited at the Banks Facility where the wardens base out of, but I never knew of your soulmark curse. There has to be a reverse, right? Every curse and spell and potion or tonic—they all have a workaround, a back door to undo what’s been done.”
My sad smile stays firmly in place, though it becomes strained at its edges. “Nobody knows the parameters of the curses. Anyone with substantial knowledge didn’t bother to pass on their thoughts or findings, and now they’re long past dead. Without the knowledge, they can’t be undone.”
Callie slumps in her seat.
“It’s too bad the coven’s seers can only look to the future and not the past. I mean, I know the curses aren’t high on the priority list right now, but that would be a real game changer.”
“I guess,” I all but mumble. “But you’re right. It isn’t high on the priority list. I don’t think Xander or the witches will want to devote any sort of time to something like that. Everyone is focused on Zoelle right now and finding the reverse for her tonic.”
Callie stands and spins the chair around about-face. She swings her leg over the seat and sits once more.
“Everyone?” she asks, raising her voice at the end along with an eyebrow. My eyes widen in mild alarm at her tone. “Every single witch is working on it? They couldn’t spare a just a few?”
I gape. “Why would they want to?” My head moves side to side. “The pack is in bad standing with the coven because of me. They’re not going to want to help.”
“Probably,” she admits with a shrug and a growing grin. “But why not just ask? The worst that happens is what we expect—they refuse. On the other hand, they could decide to keep the matter on their radar or on the back burner.”
My heart skips a beat. “Why are you pushing this?” I ask tentatively as my confusion grows. “The chances of it working at all are slim to none.”
“Grandiose plans are kinda my thing,” Callie says, and then she softens. “We aren’t going to accomplish anything just sitting here. We should take action when the opportunity presents itself.”
“Callie, I—”
“Let’s go now.”
My spine snaps straight at the bold suggestion.
“We can’t go. We’re not supposed to go anywhere.”
“There’s no time like the present,” she says and stands. “Besides, I’ll be with you to make sure you're safe. We can check in on the coven’s progress with the necklace and the Wselfwulf too.”
My heart starts to speed. I lick my lips in anticipation.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
A New Order
Chapter 19
They are glaring. All three of the Elder Triad are glaring—at me.
It comes as no surprise, but I can't help but wonder if my presence was subtracted from the equation if they would sport such looks for Callie. Her delivery of the idea is the perfect mixture of thoughtfulness, persuasion, and tact. The idea comes across as the next course of action rather than a suggestion.
Callie's proposal certainly intrigues the witches, but their hesitation is evident.
“Does the coven have a seer with that kind of ability?” Callie asks.
She stands in front of the three seated witches, her arms folded over her chest and chin held high. The witches share a look, but it’s Aunt Lydia who responds for the group. Her hair is pulled back into a tight chignon, and her cat-like eyes narrow upon our pair.
“There is one,” she says begrudgingly. Her sights shift not-so-subtly to the witch at the other end of their semicircle of chairs. With an unhurried air about her, Aunt Lydia's cat-like eyes move back to us. “But we will not risk her energy and spirit to such a powerful spell. What you ask for is a profound act of retrocognition. To perform such a spell will require the aid of our best seers.”
“All of whom,” Diana adds with deceptive calm, “are working diligently to wake my granddaughter.”
The room spikes with latent hostility. Diana’s piercing gaze never once leaves my seated form behind Callie. I show no outward sign of discomfort as the air thickens with biting static, except for the occasional flinch when said static breaks against my skin.
“Not all of them,” Aunt Mo corrects. “Other tasks are taking up the coven’s energy as well, Diana.”
For a brief moment, Diana’s heated gaze is directed at someone other than me.
“Are you talking about the necklace?”
The question tumbles past my lips before I can stop them. It is the first time I have spoken since arriving, and from their looks, my question isn’t exactly welcome. Regardless, Aunt Mo answers.
“Yes.”
“Honestly, Maureen,” Diana snaps.
“Don’t start, Diana,” Lydia warns right on the heel of Diana’s remark.
The Elder Triad passes measured looks to one another. An entire silent conversation traverses between the three, but it is unclear what decision they come to. Aunt Lydia rolls her eyes with a huff of frustration as Aunt Mo and Diana continue to stare each other down.
Finally... finally, Aunt Mo turns her regard back to us.
“Some might call it a coincidence that you came seeking answers to curses long since left untouched and unknown. Yet, after an interesting turn of events around three this morning, I’d safely call it fate.”
Callie dares a look over her shoulder at me, her eyebrows raise conspicuously high before drawing back down to look at the witches.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asks, sans-tact.
Diana makes a growling noise low in her throat, spearing Aunt Mo with one of her potent glares. The lights in the room flicker. A sneeze threatens at the tip of my nose.
“Not another word, Maureen.”
“It’s meant to be, Diana,” she argues back, unfazed. There is a fire that blazes in her murky blue eyes as she glares back at her friend. “Let us not fight, and work instead toward the inevitable end. I can perform the spell.”
Diana stands, a visible tremor running over her body. “This isn’t a discussion, Maureen Clybourne. Our focus will remain on reversing the tonic. There will be no talk of this nonsense, and you most certainly will not be performing any spells after yesterday.”
Aunt Mo bristles, her spine straightening as rigid as the chair she sits in.
“As I recall, the decisions that guide the triad are made by the majority.”
Diana flushes, her dark cheeks taking on redness. “You are not strong enough. Besides, the pursuits of the coven need to be targeted at one project, not split. What you deem so recklessly as fate is nothing but a wild goose chase.”
“What say you, Lydia?” Aunt Mo asks, leaning forward to peer around Diana’s imposing figure. Her long silver-white hair cascades over her shoulder, hanging so long that it almost touches the ground.
Aunt Lydia's features tighten in thought. Her silence clearly rankles Diana who stands akimbo. When Aunt Lydia sighs, brushing imaginary dust from her gray velvet sweater, the bangles dressing her wrists jingle merrily.
“She’s right, Maureen. You cannot do the spell.”
Diana puffs up in smugness. Then Aunt Lydia continues.
“You’ll need a small collective to do it. Have Moon lead the efforts—she’s our most promising seer. And your daughter, Charity, should oversee the collective. She needs to start—”
“You cannot be serious, Lydia!” Diana exclaims, rounding on the other dark-skinned witch.
“You know I have no fondness for jokes, least of all in times such as these. Fate cannot be fought, Diana,” Aunt Lydia says.
Unrest rides the friction between them. It makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat.
A lightbulb shatters from a nearby lamp, and Aunt Mo rolls her eyes. A scoff is halfway out of her mouth when Diana speaks again.
“So be it,” Diana says darkly. “But do not expect any help from me.”
She storms from the room. The lamps and light fixtures she passes breaking in succinct bursts as she goes by. The room, now considerably dimmer, is also quite thankfully relieved of its most prominent source of tension. Aunt Lydia and Mo watch her go with varying levels of concern.
“I’m sorry,” I say, licking my lips nervously. “This doesn’t need to take precedent over Zoelle. We can wait—”
“We’ve made our decision,” Aunt Lydia tells me tartly. “There’s no going back now.”
Aunt Mo surveys us in quiet contemplation before another tired sigh issues from her. “Pull up a seat, Calliope, and don’t dawdle over there, Winter. Scoot your chair in closer so we can speak more comfortably. Lydia, the lights, if you please.”
As Callie grabs a wooden chair from the neighboring room, and I pull mine closer to the witches, Lydia begins to lift her hand. Her fingers, which started as a tight fist, slowly uncurl as they rise higher. I spare the broken lighting my attention, watching in wonder as the fractured pieces go back to their original state.
By the time Lydia’s hand is well above her head, her hand is closed once more, and I’ve sneezed three times.
Callie looks at me in mild amusement before she directs her attention back to the room’s power duo. “What exactly happened with last night? Did it involve the necklace?”
Aunt Lydia snorts, a wry smirk curling over her lips as she stares with half-lidded eyes at us. “It did involve the necklace. We made quite the discovery... your necklace is the vessel for a curse, girl.”
“Lydia,” Aunt Mo’s tone very clearly indicates a warning.
“My apologies,” she says without any sincerity. “Your necklace is a vessel for two curses.” By Aunt Mo's cross look, she is unimpressed by Lydia’s delivery. Callie, on the other hand, is thoroughly enjoying it.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Callie asks, her disbelief radiating off her. “How the hell can it be cursed and Winter and her family never knew? Did you not just witness her sneezing fit? Magic and wolves don’t exactly vibe well.”
Aunt Lydia cocks a brow, unimpressed at Callie’s attitude.
“Well?” Callie prods.
The two remain in their stare off for a painfully long time. Until Aunt Mo gently coughs to break the tension. We share a tired look, and I clear my throat as well to gain their attention.
“Callie does make a fair point. Magic leaves a palpable trace in the air. I'm fairly certain I'll start to get hives if I keep coming over," I say.
“It’s dark magic.” Aunt Lydia’s says with exasperation as if it explains everything. “It leaves a different trace, child,” she continues patiently. “Think of dark magic as a shadow—”
“A corrupt shadow,” Aunt Mo adds.
Aunt Lydia nods, unperturbed at the interruption. “It’s far more malevolent than the tickling of your senses. It disturbs you. Even a human can recognize the feeling and steer clear of cursed items. And as Winter witnessed last night, the magic is far more violent. We do not practice the darker arts of magic because of how uncontrollable it can be.”
“Right,” Callie says, drawing out the I. “But that still doesn’t explain why Winter and her family never knew it was cursed. If anything, they should have known right away.”
“You do realize your questions would be answered by now if you would allow me to finish?”
Another standoff between the two formidable women occurs. Callie’s stubborn nature is almost an equal match to Aunt Lydia’s. In the end, Callie concedes. Her shoulders sink an inch submissively as she tilts her head a fraction in Aunt Lydia’s direction.
Satisfied, Aunt Lydia continues. “The only spell strong enough to conceal and constrain the curses attached to the moonstone is with a soul sacrifice.”
I scan Lydia and Aunt Mo’s faces, both are drawn into somber expressions. Squirming slightly in my seat, I cast my gaze to the tufted rug on the ground to keep from looking at their faces.
“Something tells me that’s not good."
Aunt Mo makes a noise of agreement in her throat at my small comment. “Soul sacrifices are powerful things, whether done willingly or not.”
“And was this soul’s sacrifice willing?” I ask. “Can you even tell?”
Raising my eyes to Aunt Mo, I catch her slight nod. Neither witch makes a move to say more. Instead, they look to one another and partake in another round of silent conversation. Callie looks to me in the meantime, her eyebrows doing a dance as if to communicate to me as well. Our efforts are admirable, but all I can garner from Callie is a general feeling of unease and frustration. Both are feelings I can relate too.
“Go on then, Mo,” Aunt Lydia says at last. “We’re already this far into it. No turning back now.”
Aunt Mo heaves a sigh fit for a battle-worn soldier on their last front. “It’s complicated,” she confesses, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she leans forward. “From what our witches can gather, the soul sacrifice connected with the concealment was willing—albeit tainted.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, beating Callie to the question.
“The soul was tainted. Weak. Sullied. There’s no way to tell why, only that it was. It explains the imperfection in the moonstone. The crack that rides its center. The soul was barely strong enough to conceal the curses,” Aunt Mo explains.
“Oh.”
My flat response goes unacknowledged as Aunt Mo forges on.
“As to the other soul sacrifices—"
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Callie exclaims, hands shooting up and shaking. “Just how many soul sacrifices are contained in that thing?”
“Three,” Lydia replies. “The first and second sacrifices were unwillingly given, and the third—no doubt given by the witch who cast the curses—was given willingly. For the third to contain the other two… she must have given away all her power as well.”
