Reconstructionist 3: Ch 1, Part 1 – excerpt

WARNING: The following excerpt contains spoilers for book one and book two of the Reconstructionist Series. Click here for the full reading order of the Adept Universe.

Unproofed. [I shared an unedited version of this scene in my August 2017 newsletter].

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CHAPTER ONE

The moment that Jasper reclaimed the manor … the moment he regained control of the magic embedded in the Fairchild estate, I fell to my knees in the produce section of a Whole Foods in Chicago. Losing hold of the lemon I’d been about to add to my basket, I gasped as the magical connection was ripped from me — torn from what felt like my very soul, my very essence.

Then, with a wash of brownie magic, rough-skinned fingers I couldn’t see brushed my arms, and a disembodied voice whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Lark,” I murmured, struggling to focus through the aching emptiness radiating out through my chest and into my limbs.

“You must come.” The brownie’s hushed request was woeful.

Lark had pledged herself to me after I’d claimed the Fairchild estate magic almost four months before, in a rash attempt to free Jasmine and Declan from the clutches of three vampires. Even as I struggled to regain my equilibrium, I felt a moment of honest surprise that it had taken Jasper so long to wrestle control of the ancestral magic back. Though I didn’t doubt that it had taken some terrible feat to break the connection, anchored as it was to the power of three — namely Jasmine, Declan, and me.

That same manner of dreadful magic had most likely been responsible for my uncle getting out of his wheelchair. He’d been walking when I saw him in Litchfield, for the first time in more than twelve years. But I’d chosen — selfishly perhaps — to once again walk away from Connecticut and everything it represented only a day after rescuing Jasmine. And I had no plans to return, despite my aunt Rose’s repeated attempts to woo me back into the Fairchild coven.

The energy of the brownie’s magic lingered around me for the space of a single breath. Then I was alone.

Once again, I was disconnected from the magic of the Fairchild coven. Severed from the power that it was my ancestral right to wield.

I should have felt relieved of the burden, of the obligation. Instead, I knelt on gray-stained wood flooring and felt … bereft.

Weak.

Incomplete.

Missing.

A low pulse of frenetic energy nearby informed me that Jasmine was running back through the grocery store toward me. I’d left her drooling over the candy bars and chips a couple of aisles away. I could feel her magic and her panic before she cleared the towering display of organic Royal Gala apples, then slid to a stop as she spotted me.

Her dark golden curls tumbled across her shoulders. She was pale, frantic. Her bright-blue eyes were wide with tension and simmering with her witch magic. The vivid and unusual power display was likely a residual of whatever effect Jasper’s reclaiming the estate was having on her — on us — since I’d inadvertently bound her and Declan, along with myself, to the estate’s magic.

Jasper. Our uncle. The bane of my existence. Reaching out once again and playing with my life, as easily as the wind stirred the leaves in the apple orchard that had once been a haven from my childhood.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have walked away so readily. But there was no place for me in Litchfield. Nothing but constant reminders of an abusive childhood, despite us holding the ancestral ties to the magic of the Fairchild estate. The coven was corrupt from within, and I had no ability to forgive and forget. Honestly, I hadn’t wanted the responsibility of confronting our elders, purging the corruption and destroying the coven in the process.

Jasmine took another step toward me. Her expression twisted with despair, reacting to whatever she saw on my own face. Reacting to a decision I hadn’t even made yet. But Lark wouldn’t have asked me to return to the manor if it wasn’t crucial.

“You aren’t his keeper, Wisteria,” she said. She meant Jasper.

“If not me, then who?” I whispered, placing my palms flat on the floor and pushing myself to my feet.

Jasmine’s phone buzzed.

Glancing around and hoping I hadn’t drawn any awkward attention from the few patrons quietly grocery shopping alongside me, I smoothed the fabric of my fitted, dark-navy, stretch-linen dress, making sure the subtle black lacework appliqué that ran from the center neck to the hem wasn’t oddly twisted.

Jasmine pulled her phone out of the pocket of her figure-hugging brown suede jacket, answering the call but not taking her gaze from me. “She’s here.”

Declan. He would have felt the severing of the connection to the estate magic, as Jasmine had.

Ignoring the way my heart rate momentarily ramped up at the thought of Jasmine’s brother calling out of concern for me, I checked to make sure my white-to-teal-blue gradient silk scarf was still draped around my neck, artfully tucked underneath my open Burberry heritage navy-blue trench coat.

“We’re on a job in Chicago,” Jasmine said, still eyeing me as she spoke to her brother. “A missing girl.”

Turning away from her conversation, I collected the items that had spilled from my basket — two bananas, an orange, and the lemon I’d lost hold of. We’d been shopping for light breakfast items for the following morning, filling the hour between our flights and the meeting that had brought us to Chicago. Well, along with snacks for Jasmine, though she appeared to have left her basket elsewhere.

“You know I can’t stop her,” Jasmine said crossly. “But duty will keep her in Chicago. For now.”

I contemplated the apples. Jasmine was partly correct. Duty did drive me. Duty to my job as a reconstructionist for the witches Convocation. But despite my resolve and resistance, I understood that Lark’s plea was going to force me back to Connecticut once again.

Because of Jasper. Because of whatever malicious spell he’d cast to reject the brownies’ dominion over Fairchild Manor. Whatever magic had let him tear through the familial ties I’d grounded in my own, Declan’s, and Jasmine’s magic.

Because investigating terrible deeds was our job. My duty.

Even if it meant facing our family again. Even if it meant facing our own ingrained fears and nightmares.

Unfortunately for me, those were one and the same.

“It’s time,” I said to Jasmine, heedless of whatever Declan was saying to her. “We’re just hypocrites otherwise. Investigating the crimes of Adepts not powerful enough to hide from us, from the Convocation. But ignoring those crimes committed by our own coven.”

“A child is missing …”

“And we’ll find her,” I said, interrupting the beginning of my cousin’s protest. “Then we’ll go and collect enough evidence to bring Jasper to a tribunal. We’ll depose him. Properly.”

Jasmine stared at me, utterly aghast.

I placed two apples in my basket.

Declan shouted something through the speaker on Jasmine’s phone. I didn’t catch his words, just the furious intonation.

Jasmine snapped her mouth shut, then spoke into the phone rather than to me. “If you want to stop her, then get your ass over here.” Then she ended the call, hanging up on Declan.

“No one in the family is clean,” she said to me. “None of them are without some tarnish. Are you prepared to head the coven?”

I shook my head. “Rose will. Officially, as she does now. And the coven magic will naturally settle on her.”

Jasmine snorted. “If you rip down the facade, she’ll be the first conspirator to be condemned.”

I closed the space between us, gently placing my hand on Jasmine’s arm. She shuddered at the touch of my magic.

“It’s time,” I said quietly. “You don’t ever have to be in the same room as him. But it’s time.”

“Just tear it all down, hey?” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Just expose all our darkness? Invite the world to witness our wounds?”

“Yes. It’s time to move forward.” I dropped my hand. I crossed through the produce section, adding seedless red grapes to my basket, then moving toward an open-front refrigerator that held freshly blended juices.

Jasmine trailed after me.

I couldn’t carry the pain any longer — mine, Jasmine’s or Declan’s.

I had almost lost myself, almost allowed myself to be consumed within my own reconstruction of my happiest childhood memory in order to flee that pain. We were all lost within it even now, clinging to each other — though none of us stood on solid ground.

Jasper wasn’t a monster. He was just a man. Flawed and depraved, yes. Insurmountable, no.

So though I felt like sobbing at the devastating loss of the magic that had just been torn from me, I would move forward. I would force the three of us into the future. I had no other choice, really.

It was time to put an end to the feud with Jasper. And it would be better to do so before Kett was compelled to demand my acceptance of the conditions of the contract with the Conclave. Time-sensitive stipulations, which required my lifeblood but would gift me with immortality and invulnerability.

It would be better to defeat Jasper as a witch, on witch terms, and within the bounds of Convocation law.

Because after I was a vampire?

Well, depending on how the transformation affected me, I expected it was going to be much better for the health of the coven if I never set foot in Connecticut again.

And I wanted my vengeance cold and calculated. After all, that was exactly how Jasper had ruined our childhoods. He deserved the same in return.

A violent, terrifying death would be too simple for him. And too easy for the coven to cover up — as they had already covered up the mental and sexual abuse our uncle skillfully inflicted on Jasmine, Declan, and me, under the guise of training the next generation of Fairchild witches.

No, I didn’t want Jasper’s blood. I wanted to strip away everything that gave his life meaning and worth. And I’d do it all aboveboard.

Then we’d finally be even.

But first I had a job to do, and a missing girl to find.

READ THE FINAL BOOK IN THE TRILOGY AUGUST 31, 2017

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Oracle 2: A glimpse of a WIP

The muttering and fretting of the crowd grew, but it was just a wash of useless noise. Beau had drilled me with contingency plans, over and over again. I was supposed to call Audrey if we got separated. I was supposed to make it back to the pack if anything ever happened to him.

I cleared the crush of the crowd, but stayed nearby on the grass in the shadow of the brick building. I dug my phone out of my satchel and pulled up Audrey’s contact info.

Except … if I went to Portland that meant I had to just let whatever was happening here happen.

Beau would be pissed. But how long would it even take Audrey to get here? And then what?

I scrolled from the As to the Bs. It was a short scroll. A shallow flick of my thumb. I had a dozen entries total, at most.

I stared down at the contact I’d selected.

Blackwell.

– I See You, Oracle 2, Chapter 6, First Draft

Misprint giveaway #5 – last but not least!

GIVEAWAY CLOSED. WINNER AMANDA FROM OKLAHOMA, LUCKY #7

To recap a fourth time. I had fifteen misprinted paperbacks. The covers of the paperbacks were all oddly tinted to various degrees with pink and red. And, in a few, the top and bottom margins shift down or up around the halfway point. Since I’m a fan of decluttering, I thought I should give these ‘rarities’ away.

box of misprints
Remember these?
I given away fourteen so far.

I’ll autograph and label the book as a misprint. I’ll even throw in an I See Me postcard and some butterfly tattoos.

Would you like a chance to own this misprinted, but still pretty, Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic (Dowser 3) paperback?

Treasures (Dowser 3) with Leo
Leo kept insisting he wanted to be in the photos, so I finally let him.
You would?

Then #1. Comment on this blog post with your favourite quote from Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic (Dowser 3).

And #2. Tell me why it’s your favourite quote.

Remembering #3. To include your email address in the comment form so I can contact you.

OPEN INTERNATIONALLY. Giveaway closes 9 a.m. PDT Saturday, April 25, 2015. Each entry will be assigned a number, and the winner will be selected by random number generator.

May the random number generator be in your favour!

Misprint giveaway #4

GIVEAWAY CLOSED. WINNERS: Cori from Texas, Deb from the UK, and Janine from Pennsylvania! Congrats!

To recap a third time. I had fifteen misprinted paperbacks. The covers of the paperbacks were all oddly tinted to various degrees with pink and red. And, in a few, the top and bottom margins shift down or up around the halfway point. Since I’m a fan of decluttering, I thought I should give these ‘rarities’ away.

box of misprints
Remember these?

I given away eleven so far.

I’ll autograph and label the books as misprints. I’ll even throw in an I See Me postcard and some butterfly tattoos.

Would you like one of THREE chances to own one of these misprinted, but still pretty, Oracle 1 paperbacks?

I See Me misprinted paperbacks
You would?

Then #1. Comment on this blog post with your favourite quote from I See Me (Oracle 1).

And #2. Tell me why it’s your favourite quote.

Remembering #3. To include your email address in the comment form so I can contact you.

OPEN INTERNATIONALLY. Giveaway closes 9 a.m. PDT Saturday, April 18, 2015. Each entry will be assigned a number, and THREE winners will be selected by random number generator.

May the random number generator be in your favour!

Misprint giveaway #3

GIVEAWAY CLOSED. Winners: Megan from Chicago, Linda from Wisconsin (which might be a first for me), and Michelle from New Jersey!

To recap a second time. I had fifteen misprinted paperbacks. The covers of the paperbacks were all oddly tinted to various degrees with pink and red. And, in a few, the top and bottom margins shift down or up around the halfway point. Since I’m a fan of decluttering, I thought I should give these ‘rarities’ away.

box of misprints
Remember these?

I given away eight so far.

I’ll autograph and label the books as misprints. I’ll even throw in an I See Me postcard and some butterfly tattoos.

Would you like one of THREE chances to own one of these misprinted, but still pretty, Dowser 1 paperbacks?

misprinted Dowser 1 paperbacksYou would?

Then #1. Comment on this blog post with your favourite quote from Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Dowser 1).

And #2. Tell me why it’s your favourite quote.

Remembering #3. To include your email address in the comment form so I can contact you.

OPEN INTERNATIONALLY. Giveaway closes 9 a.m. PDT Saturday, April 11, 2015. Each entry will be assigned a number, and THREE winners will be selected by random number generator.

May the random number generator be in your favour!

I’ll give you three guesses …

… but you’ll only need one.

I just finished something.

My right hand is aching so fiercely I can barely type this, and my fingers are covered in green ink.

My brain feels like mush. I really need a heavy dose of chocolate and to bake something, stat.

I’m also off-the-wall pleased with myself.

Can you guess what has me feeling this way?

How about a visual hint?

Mystery writing notebooks
                                                 Can you guess what is in these notebooks?

Yep, you got it. You’re looking at the first draft of Dowser 5.

!!!!!!! 😀 😀 😀 !!!!!!!

Misprint paperback giveaway #2

GIVEAWAY CLOSED. WINNER: WENDY FROM ALASKA!

To recap. I have fifteen misprinted paperbacks. The covers of the paperbacks are all oddly tinted to various degrees with pink and red. And, in a few, the top and bottom margins shift down or up around the halfway point. Since I’m a fan of decluttering, I thought I should give some of these ‘rarities’ away.

box of misprints
Remember these?

I gave the first four way last week.

I’ll autograph and label the books as misprints. I’ll even throw in an I See Me postcard and some butterfly tattoos.

Would you like to own this set of misprinted, but still pretty, paperbacks?

Four misprinted paperbacksYou would?

Then #1. Comment on this blog post with your favourite quote from any of the books.

And #2. Tell me why it’s your favourite quote.

Remembering #3. To include your email address in the comment form so I can contact you.

OPEN INTERNATIONALLY. Giveaway closes 9 a.m. PDT Saturday, April 4, 2015. Each entry will be assigned a number, and the winner will be selected by random number generator.

May the random number generator be in your favour!

A reconfigured office and a giveaway

GIVEAWAY CLOSED – MISSY FROM NEW ENGLAND IS THE WINNER THIS WEEK! YAY!

So I’ve been spoiled this week. I treated myself to a walking treadmill for my standing desk, then Michael decided that he was going to repaint my office along with reconfiguring my desks.

We just threw the office together when we moved here in September to get it as function as possible as quickly as possible so I could get Oracle 1 published.

Now when I complain about my ‘writing cave’ I will actually be joking.

New paint, new treadmill, and new reconfiguration.
New paint, new treadmill, and new reconfiguration.

The paint colour is the ever classy ‘cloud white.’ I still need to hide all the wires, but I spent two hours on the treadmill today and actually hand wrote 2k of Dowser 5 this afternoon while walking! And, not to worry, I have another regular desk underneath the window on the opposite wall for when my feet get tired. 🙂

While we were pulling everything out of the office I unearthed a box of misprinted paperbacks.

IMG_0219
Remember these?

And, since I’m a fan of decluttering, I thought I should give some of these ‘rarities’ away.

To that end, for the next five Fridays, there will be a giveaway here on the blog. I’ll start with two full sets of Dowser 1 – 3 and Oracle 1, then three Dowser 1s, then three Oracle 1s, and finally one lone Dowser 3.

The covers of the paperbacks are all oddly tinted to various degrees with pink and red. And, in a few, the top and bottom margins shift down or up around the halfway point.

I’ll autograph and label the books as misprints. I might even throw in an I See Me postcard and some butterfly tattoos.

Shall we begin?

Would you like to own this set of misprinted, but still pretty, paperbacks?

Misprinted paperbacks

You would?

Then #1. Comment on this blog post with your favourite quote from any of the books.

And #2. Tell me why it’s your favourite quote.

Remembering #3. To include your email address in the comment form so I can contact you.

OPEN INTERNATIONALLY. Giveaway closes 9 a.m. PDT Saturday, March 28, 2015. Each entry will be assigned a number, and the winner will be selected by random number generator.

May the random number generator be in your favour!

Dowser 4 – excerpt

FIVE DAYS OF GIVEAWAYS START TOMORROW HERE AT 8 AM PST!!!!

Shadows (etc) ebook cover

How about an excerpt to tide us over until then?

*SPOILER ALERT for Dowser 1 – 3*

SHADOWS, MAPS, AND OTHER ANCIENT MAGIC

CHAPTER ONE

The blade was inches from my neck before I felt it. Thankfully, I had my blond curls clipped back today. Otherwise, I would have gotten an unwanted and unneeded haircut. I flung myself sideways, rolling over my shoulder and coming up on one knee to block the reverse strike with my jade knife.

The over-the-head blow glanced off my knife and was knocked to the side, but the force of it reverberated down my arm in a wash of pain. I slid back on the white stone floor even as I rolled forward onto the balls of my feet to step into my attacker. This close, his sword was all but useless.

Unfortunately, he was faster than me, or I would have managed to gut him.

Instead, he grabbed the wrist of my knife hand and twisted my arm up over my head, then around my back. This forced me to pivot away or have my shoulder dislocated. He pinned my knife hand, the wrist still painfully twisted between my shoulder blades. I had to rise up on my toes to lessen the pain of the hold.

“Branson!” I screeched, completely forgetting the formality with which I was to address the sword master of the dragons. “I was meditating.”

He brought his blade up to my neck. I managed to get my left hand around his wrist, but had to practically lay my head back against his shoulder to avoid having my throat slit.

“I don’t think you are capable of such, warrior’s daughter.” Branson’s voice was deep, his tone brusque. He was wearing traditional black training leathers, with a laced vest that left his well-muscled arms bare.

I twisted his wrist to try to get the blade away from my neck. His forearms were adorned with tattoos of water dragons, which I’d mistaken for snakes when I first met him.

I gained an inch.

The sword master hadn’t spoken directly to me for over a week after that display of ignorance. Drake — the fourteen-year-old apprentice to Chi Wen the far seer and adoptive son of Suanmi, the fire breather — had delighted in relaying Branson’s drills during my period of punishment.

“Are your fingernails green?” Branson asked now, completely bemused.

“Jade is the new black, baby,” I said. “You should see my toes.”

Then I kicked him in the head.

Well, first I twisted my own head quickly to the right, dropped underneath the blade at my neck, and spun away to face him again. Unfortunately, he was still holding on to my wrists, so my arms were now crossed in front of me. I threw all my weight backward. This off-balanced the sword master enough that he stumbled forward, letting me snap a kick between our crossed arms directly underneath his jaw. I had always loved having long legs.

Oh, yeah. Befuddlement of ancient beings was my new secret weapon.

Branson grunted, lost his hold on my wrists, and staggered back. My entire right leg went so numb that it wouldn’t actually take my full weight.

I’d been sitting cross-legged and eyes closed in the center of the dragon nexus when Branson attacked me. The circular room was supported by gilded columns, between which nine ornately carved doors were situated. Two archways stood across from each other, leading deeper into the nexus — to the residences of the guardian dragons, as well as the library and the training rooms.

Still listing to the left, I raised my knife before me as I faced off with the sword master.

I was wearing my standard uniform of printed T-shirt and jeans. And though my brand-new teal-with-white-piping Liz Fluevogs offset my black-and-white ‘UM — Element of Confusion’ top in an utterly cute way, I really needed to see about getting the shoes fitted with metal plates and toes. All the better to kick indestructible people in the head.

It was my day off from training and the bakery, so I really hadn’t expected to be attacked. But I was never without my jade knife, not since I’d found the large stone along the Fraser River outside Lillooet and hand carved it myself. I hadn’t even known I was an alchemist at the time, and therefore capable of creating magical objects. I’d just seen the stone and known it should be a knife — a knife imbued with so much of my magic now that no one could disarm me, not without knocking me out. Nor could anyone touch the knife without my permission without being burned by it.

Branson shook his dark head as if clearing it.

I smirked. I’d never managed to rattle him before.

He slowly raised his golden double-edged sword to answer my poised knife. His blade was a slimmer, longer version of the bejeweled broadsword that my father Yazi, the warrior of the guardians, wielded. Its pommel and hilt were utilitarian, though.

Branson had been in training for the mantel of the warrior before he’d been gravely wounded as a fledgling. No, dragons weren’t completely indestructible. Just don’t mention that to any of them. Occasionally, the sword master’s old wound showed up as a limp. Despite that, and the fact that he was at least a hundred years older than my three hundred and fifty year old father, I’d never knocked him off his feet.

“I’m not here for a lesson, sword master,” I said, struggling to remain polite — and to hide the fact that I still couldn’t feel my right leg. My wrist also felt severely sprained from being twisted harshly behind my back. “I await the treasure keeper.”

Branson grinned, but it did little to lighten his perpetually stern face. He had that same hint of Asian ancestry to his features that Drake did. I didn’t think he and the fledgling guardian were related, but I was far from an expert on dragon genealogy.

“Life is a lesson,” Branson said.

Ah, damn. Dragons only got all preachy right before they kicked my ass. Granted, I usually deserved an ass kicking — I attracted trouble almost as easily as I attracted or found magic. Except that dragon-inflicted bruises usually took a couple of days to heal, and I had a birthday party to go to tonight.

I narrowed my eyes at my trainer, causing all the overly golden hues of the room to blur together behind him. Dragons adored surrounding themselves with gold and jewels and art, and it was a little much sometimes. The heart of the dragon nexus was all gaudy Greek temple mixed with oriental motifs, though each door was carved in artwork that represented the specific territories of each guardian. The room was also saturated with guardian magic, hence me not tasting Branson’s magic as he approached.

The narrower my eyes got — I was working on my intimidation factor — the wider Branson’s grin grew. Indigo eyes, blond curls now falling out of my hair clip, and sun-kissed skin didn’t much help in that department. I was fairly certain it was my ample assets that made me less than imposing, though, since I was the spitting image of my father and he scared the crap out of everyone even while laughing. Actually, it was the absolute power that rolled off him when he laughed that was terrifying.

I’d narrowed my eyes too far. Now my eyelashes were making my vision fuzzy.

I sighed, opened my eyes, and gave my knife hand a roll. The overly stretched tendons and ligaments crunched, but then snapped back into their proper place.

That was better.

I smiled, extended my left hand forward to balance my right, and stepped sideways to circle Branson.

If he wanted a tussle, I was up for it. Bruises or no bruises.

The sword master lost his grin as he stepped opposite to me. He watched my every move, my every twitch, with deadly intent. I was never going to get the upper hand when he was focused like this.

I thought about flashing him to throw him off — and not just because I kept wondering how his sword-callused hands would feel sliding up my inner thighs. A totally inappropriate thought, yes. But then, I hadn’t had sex in way over a year. I hadn’t been kissed in ten months. Even my constant chocolate high couldn’t keep my serotonin levels up perpetually.

I decided against the flashing because I knew Branson would be utterly aghast — and might even refuse to be in the same room with me ever again. Plus, I wasn’t wearing my prettiest bra at the moment. It had been far too long since I’d had any reason to wear anything other than a serviceable sports bra.

Attempting to not massively broadcast my intent, I abruptly lunged forward, thrusting my knife for Branson’s heart.

Then, completely blindsided, I got shoulder checked by a small mountain.

This knocked me flying off my feet and cracked my head against one of the nine pillars that encircled the heart of the dragon nexus.

Remember the only way to reliably disarm me these days?

Yeah, knock me out.

So that happened.

reblogged: A Difficult Funeral, aka a scene from Dowser 1.5

I noticed that a few visitors to my blog found this piece of flash fiction from Sept 20, 2013 today. I’d practically forgotten all about it. I think I’d intended on writing more shorts, but then just focused on the novels. I thought you might get a kick out of it, so I’m reblogging.

———————–

This 1300 word flash fiction — inspired by the Spin the Wheel of Conflict challenge issued by Chunk Wendig — is set three weeks after the events in my urban fantasy novel, Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic. As such, it contains SPOILERS for that story. Please read the following at your own risk … wow, that sounds ominous.

Also, this has not been professionally edited or proofed (yet), but I hope you enjoy getting a glimpse of Jade in between novels none-the-less.

———————-

A Difficult Funeral

I hadn’t been sure what shoes to wear. What shoes I was supposed wear to the funeral of the man my sister murdered and then ate.

Actually, I had that order wrong — consistently — in my head. But I couldn’t seem to bear the understanding when I reversed it.

So, yeah. Shoes. And cupcakes. I baked cupcakes. A new recipe, but I didn’t mention that part to anyone.

It wasn’t really a funeral, as in a ceremony set in a church or anything formal. Rather a day set aside by the family for grieving … for saying condolences.

Gran had insisted we make an appearance. But now, faced with the dingy around the edges Georgian mansion of the Novaks, I wasn’t sure I could do it. I wasn’t sure I’d make it out in one piece. Mentally. With Gran and Scarlett by my side, no one would lift more than a sneer to me. If that. The Godfrey coven was formidable. A fact I’d only just learned even though I’d been a de facto member for twenty-three years now. I’d chosen boots instead of shoes. My black Babycake Minis, to be exact. The Vancouver spring had been unusually warm and dry. But today, it was appropriately threatening to rain.

“Ten minutes,” Scarlett murmured to my right. I was getting a crook in my neck from staring up at the house. The Novaks were old money, as old as money got in Canada. But I hadn’t known that until Scarlett turned the car towards Shaughnessy five minutes before we’d arrived. I’d hoped the drive would take longer.

Scarlett brushed her fingers down my arm. Her charismatic magic tingled in a wake across my skin. I should have worn a sweater, not just a black lace scarf. And the boots were wrong too. Not formal enough.

Gran stepped forward, and I automatically followed. She’d rolled her long gray braid in a bun today. That was as formal as she got. Scarlett, of course, outshone us all — in her navy dress that was cut just so and the perfect length — as always. Her strawberry blond hair gleamed against the gray backdrop of the cloudy day.

“Should we be here?” I asked and not for the first time. No one answered me. They’d stopped after the first two times.

Other cars lined the curved driveway. We’d parked at the curb. Vancouver boasted a very small Adept community, but this was still a tiny turnout. And we were late.

As we approached, I could feel the magic of the Adept gathered in the house even with the familiar taste of Scarlett and Gran beside me.

Something caught my eye and I looked toward the blooming rhododendron bushes edging the property. The vampire, Kett, showed himself to me and then slipped further into the shadows. His presence didn’t help. Sienna had tried to kill us all not three weeks ago. I didn’t need the reminder.

A necromancer opened the door. Not Rusty’s mother or sister, who I’d never met, but some familial connection. I could tell by the underlying taste of her magic. An aunt, perhaps.

She smiled tightly at Gran. “Pearl. Thank you for coming.”

“We won’t stay,” Gran answered.

We stepped into the entrance way. It was marble. Stairs, the carpet runner down the middle worn with use, swooped up from in front of us to the second floor. A few more Adepts —  their magic tingling my senses — stood through an archway that led to the drawing room. They’d all stopped to pretend they weren’t staring at us.

Someone — deeper in the house — was weeping. The handle of the plastic tray I was holding cracked in my hand. The cupcakes tumbled to the side. Three landed on the ground before I steadied the tray. A boy, his features painfully similar to Rusty’s, darted forward to pick the cupcakes up.

“Oh, so sorry,” the necromancer aunt said. “I should’ve taken those. You’re lovely for bringing them.”

Her apology hit me in the gut. I smiled. My clenched jaw shot pain into my temple, which was good as it cleared my head a little. “My condolences,” I said as I passed the tray to her. I kept the broken piece of plastic clutched in my left hand. The boy — a cousin I guessed from my little knowledge of the familial line — placed the three squashed cupcakes on the tray and then carried the whole thing through to the drawing room.

The person — a girl, I thought — was still crying. It was obvious that no one but I could hear her.

“Those cupcakes won’t last five minutes,” the necromancer said. I was fairly certain I was supposed to know her name though she was from out of town.

I wondered if she was here for moral support during the tribunal that was set to start Monday. I hoped so.

“Danica?” Gran asked.

“Of course. Please, this way,” the necromancer said. She turned to lead us into the drawing room.

I followed Gran. Scarlett stopped to speak to someone I hadn’t even noticed as I passed. I felt muffled, as if I was wrapped in gauze. Even all the magic swirling around me barely made an impression. Normally, I’d be getting a buzz off being around this many of the Adept.

The room was filled with pictures. Literally every inch of the wall and table space was covered in family photographs. Some black and white dated way back. Some showed the characteristic yellowing of the seventies. Even more were obviously recent additions. And if they weren’t of Rusty then they contained someone who looked like him. Obviously, genes ran true in the Novak clan.

Gran bent over a woman sitting on an overstuffed, floral print armchair by a bay window that overlooked the lush green of the side yard. Danica. Rusty’s Mother. However, it was me Danica locked gazes with over Gran’s shoulder. Her red-rimmed eyes were the shape of Rusty’s, and her hair a shade lighter. The underlying tone of her magic — sugared violets — the exact taste of her son’s. She wasn’t the person weeping. The weeping that was suddenly all I could hear, but then maybe that was just because everyone had just dropped the pretense of conversation.

The boy from before passed Rusty’s mother one of my cupcakes on a china side plate. She accepted it and didn’t drop my gaze as she bit into it. Then she smiled at me. A tight smile full of pain.

Some people thought I laced the cupcakes I baked with a bit of my magic. These chocolate carrot cake with chocolate cream cheese icing cupcakes I called, Solace in a Cup.

I turned and left. It was rude and probably unforgivable according to Gran, but I still couldn’t hear anything but the weeping. My own tears were lodged in my chest, collected around the permanent pain that was all I had left of my sister, because how could I cry? How could I mourn for a sister who’d murdered her boyfriend all because she wanted to be special? Because she wanted to be more special than me. So Rusty was dead because of me. Because I was stupid, slow, and foolhardy.

And still I couldn’t cry.

I stepped out into the fresh air. It had started to rain.

I began to walk home. The vampire followed never showing himself, but always at my back.

It was cold comfort.

I looked down at the piece of broken plastic in my hand. It had sliced the skin of my palm — cut that would have needed stitches on a human. The wound, released from the plastic shard, instantly healed.

I wished that Sienna had stabbed me through the heart instead of twice in the gut, because at least that would have a chance of healing.

Before she ate and then killed Rusty.

Well, at least I had the order straight now.