wasn’t designed to make her look younger. It was designed to allow Rhianna to impersonate Athena—and was made from Athena’s skin.
Devlin’s tone hardened. “Maybe that’s what you think you saw. But you’re wrong.”
Gar chuckled. “Lionel, you do realize how crazy you sound?”
“Th-that is what I saw.”
“Maybe you should speak to a psychiatrist,” Chloe said quietly.
Lionel punched a fist against his thigh. “I’m telling the truth.”
As Gar and Devlin continued to gang up on Lionel, Chandler’s shoulder muscles pinched so tight that she winced from the tension. She couldn’t stand this. The coven and the witching world’s anonymity had to be protected at all costs. But messing with Lionel’s head like this wasn’t right. It was painful for him. And painful for Chloe, Devlin, and Gar, she was certain of it. She had to stop this, for everyone’s sake.
Chandler rested her hands on her hips. There was only one way out of this stalemate as far as she could see. She needed to give Lionel the full truth and then make him believe it was a lie. It was a technique—used along with sarcasm—that had served her well on many occasions, like when potential customers walked in on her using magic to weld sculptures. Hopefully, everyone else would get what she was up to and play along.
She raised her voice above everyone else’s. “You’re right, Lionel. We are real witches. Heritage witches is the term we prefer. Magic is real. It’s also true that the woman who cast the spell on you was not our high priestess…” She went on, revealing the entire truth about Rhianna, Athena, and the necklace charm, and ended by saying they hadn’t known for sure until now who killed the goth.
Lionel blinked at her, openmouthed like an archeologist struck dumb by unearthing the Holy Grail.
Chandler raised a hand to keep everyone else silent. Then she tilted her head to one side, then the other, as if weighing what she’d said. “The question is: was what I said the truth or a lie?” She fixed her gaze on Lionel. “You believed me, didn’t you? There are people out there who will try to take advantage of trusting people like you. We aren’t that way. The Northern Circle coven is nothing more than a group of people who live together because we share similar spiritual beliefs and an interest in discovering truths that remain unproven—that is the real story. In some respects, we aren’t much different from you. We aren’t the fantastical, magic-wielding witches or bloodthirsty evildoers you believe us to be.”
His gaze remained on hers, unflinching. When he spoke it was with unobstructed clarity. “If that’s so, then explain one thing to me. What makes me so willing to believe things others dismiss as unreal?”
Chandler’s mouth went dry. Word for word, that was the same thing she’d asked herself only a few moments ago. She covered her surprise with a nonchalant smile and shrugged. “That would be a good question to ask the psychiatrist that Chloe recommended.”
Chapter 3
Take me, sweet slumber.
Give my flesh to the Shade. Give my breath to the sky.
I have no use for either. I crave neither thorns nor rose.
—Suicide note found on clairvoyant goth’s body
What makes me so willing to believe things others dismiss as unreal? Chandler couldn’t get the question out of her mind. She also had a sneaking suspicion the Circle wasn’t going to be able to shake Lionel until they knew the answer.
Mostly, she was just glad when Devlin called the impromptu meeting finished and escorted Lionel out to his car. She was also glad that no one jumped down her throat about the technique she’d used to tell Lionel the truth. Both Gar and Chloe agreed it was a good move, though it had taken them by surprise at first. She was even happier when Peregrine raced into the living room with a big smile on his face and a trio of squirming kittens squished against his chest. Em followed in his wake.
The kittens technically belonged to Em, though the coven had adopted them. Like Chloe, Em was a recent initiate to the coven. She was a slight woman in her early twenties, an alcoholic recovering from her addiction and a horribly abusive past as a legendary psychic medium. The coven had offered Em sanctuary at the complex, similar to the way Em had rescued the tiny kittens and given them a second chance at life. And, very much like the way Athena had given Chandler a safe haven when she’d discovered she was pregnant with Peregrine.
Peregrine released the kittens onto the floor and grinned up at her. “Did the shapeshifter turn into a gigantic loup-garou?”
“We aren’t even sure he saw a loup-garou,” Chandler said, hoping to put an end to his interest.
He scowled at her answer and turned toward Gar. “Why don’t you change? You’re part wolf.”
“Peregrine,” Chandler said sharply. “It’s not polite to ask personal things.”
Gar brushed off her concern with a flip of his hand. He smiled at Peregrine. “Not everyone with loup-garou blood chooses to change.”
“Why would anyone not want to be a wolf? I’d be a big gray one with yellow eyes.”
“Believe me, there are better ways to unleash your inner beast.” Gar winked at Em. “Right?”
Her cheeks reddened. She hooked a length of mousy brown hair behind one ear and gave him a coy smile. “By other ways, you mean like jogging or playing frisbee? Or poisoned darts?”
Chandler smothered a laugh. Of course, the unleashing Gar was referring to happened in Em’s bed and didn’t involve shifting or the outdoors, at least that she knew of. A week ago, when Gar had arrived to investigate the coven for the High Council, she wouldn’t have believed him capable of joking around, let alone that he’d hook up with an introvert like Em. But in truth, their lives were interconnected in a myriad of ways. They’d met briefly years earlier when Em had first escaped from her abusive aunt and mother. Saille Webster—the ghost of a Northern Circle high priestess—had been influential in Em’s bottoming out and entering recovery. Later, Saille’s spirit had attached herself to Gar in hopes of having him solve her murder, a haunting that Em noticed when he’d arrived to investigate the coven.
Peregrine gaped at Gar. “You have poisoned darts? Can I see ’em?”
“No darts for you, young man,” Chandler said. Then the earlier redcap scare slipped into her mind. Just because Peregrine didn’t have faery sight now, that didn’t mean the ability wouldn’t manifest at some point, making him a target for the fae. Gar had top-notch skills when it came to weapons, skills that would be a nice addition to the martial arts Peregrine was learning from Devlin. “Unless—maybe Gar would be willing to coach you in weapon use and safety?”
Gar grinned. “I’d be happy to. I’m headed back to Council headquarters the day after tomorrow. When I come back, I can bring something appropriate to start with. Maybe a boomerang.”
“Really?” Peregrine turned to her. “Please, Mom. Can I really?”
“You have to do everything Gar says and be very careful.” The thought of Peregrine growing up and the imminent onset of his abilities made her heart heavy. She understood better now why her biological mother had freaked when she’d learned Chandler shared her father’s gift for working with fire. Not only the fear of the possible danger the ability presented, but also the hard inevitability of your little one creeping away from childhood. Still…
Chandler clenched her teeth, anger boiling to the surface as it always did when she thought of her biological mother. Neither fear nor the hard sense of a child growing up made her mother’s withdrawal after the death of Chandler’s father or her eventual suicide any more understandable. Mental illness or not, how could any mother turn her back on her child?
She looked at Peregrine. Her sweetheart. Her little imp. Being cast aside by a parent was one thing he’d never