“He’s running it through the database right now, waiting to see what pops up. It won’t be definitive—there isn’t enough to make an absolute call—but they have five partial matches already. Once the program is done running, they’ll have a list of suspects. And we’ll go from there.”
I think of my assumptions earlier, the conversation I had with Declan. And feel the prickles of unease get worse. Could the ACW really have been so incompetent? All my knowledge, every instinct I have, screams, “No way.” If they’re found culpable for this, then they are all dead—witches, wizards and warlocks aren’t exactly known for their ability to forgive.
Even if my parents don’t eviscerate them—which I have no doubt they will—the covens will never tolerate being governed by these Council members again. Even the Council structure itself would be in jeopardy if such a thing came out. This isn’t to say that one Councilor wouldn’t be this stupid. But more? Suddenly the conspiracy we’ve been looking for seems awfully shaky.
“Would any of the Councilors really be that stupid?” I ask Donovan. “Would one of them really be careless enough to leave a magical imprint?”
“They were stupid enough to hire Kyle,” he answers.
“Or so he claimed. There’s no actual proof of that.”
“Except for your torture and near-death experience?” His fists clench with a rage that clearly hasn’t abated in the last week and a half.
“What if this is just a setup?” I ask, voicing the suspicion that’s just taken hold inside me. “What if all this is just an elaborate ruse to pit us against the ACW?”
“You don’t really believe that.”
A few hours ago I didn’t. But here, now, in the bright lights of the kitchen, I’m not so sure. My arguments just aren’t standing up. “Think about it. We’re on hair triggers over here—even before the bombing. Declan is just looking for an excuse to go after them and I know you are, too. Hell, if I’m honest, so am I.
“But think about what would happen if we were wrong? If we act against the Council—even formally—and then get proven wrong, we’re finished. There’s no way they wouldn’t be compelled to make examples of us. No way we could save ourselves or any of our citizens that stand with us.
“Now look at it from their point of view. Someone is killing Councilors one by one. And who’s got a bigger grudge than we do, right now? Hell, it’s all I’ve been able to do to keep Declan from going after the lot of them. They know they’re guilty, know that we have reason to want them dead. So why wouldn’t they be waiting for an attack from us, some overt action that they can hold up as treason?”
Donovan still looks resistant—like Declan, it won’t be easy to get him to think past his hatred for the ACW—but at least he’s listening. So I continue. “If we’ve got a non-Council enemy, pitting us against them would be a pretty impressive strategy. There’s a good chance we’d end up destroying each other before we stop to figure out whether or not we should.”
“By that logic, the bombing could be retaliation for what they perceive as our actions against the Council.”
“You’re right. It could be a warning to back off before all hell breaks loose. But I have to tell you, that didn’t feel like a warning. It feels like a declaration of war.”
Thirty
“Shit, Xandra.”
“Tell me about it.”
“If it is the ACW and we don’t act, then we risk being perceived as weak.”
Donovan’s logic appeals to the growing darkness inside me, the part of me that wants to strike first and ask questions later. I’m trying to ignore that part. To do what’s right for my family and my coven. But it’s hard to do that when there are still so many questions. And so many answers that could be right or wrong.
“If it isn’t them, and we do act, then we risk a lot more than perception. We risk the lives of our entire family and all of our people. We can’t afford to do that. No one else needs to die senselessly.”
For some reason, a picture of Shelby flits through my head as I say that. I haven’t given her much thought today, not with everything going on. But if there was ever an innocent victim in the middle of all this, it’s her. Whoever is holding her against her will—
I freeze, my water glass halfway to my mouth as I remember, for the first time, what happened after the explosion knocked me out. The dream that wasn’t really a dream. The one where I played a game with Shelby and asked her to describe her kidnapper to me.
Curly black hair. Mean green eyes. Smells like her mommy’s chewing gum. It’s a childish description, but it’s the only one I’ve got right now. And, as I realized earlier, it doesn’t fit either of the female members of the ACW, or the wives of the male members. I wish I’d been able to ask her a few questions about the man who was holding her as well. Because as it stands right now, her captors could be anyone.
Frustrated, angry, afraid, I drop my head onto the counter, close my eyes. And try to fit all the different puzzle pieces together in a way that makes sense. It doesn’t work. Right now, I feel like I have all the pieces, that they’re all spread out in front of me. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t get them to form the right picture. Instead, everything is a little mixed up, a little out of focus.
It’s maddening, especially considering how many people have already lost their lives. And how many more people’s lives are at stake.
“So what do we do? Mom’s going to be awake in a couple of hours and I want to have a recommendation for her. She’s in no shape to think all this through on her own.”
“She’s the queen—”
“The queen who just lost her daughter and might very well lose her husband in short order. She’s going to need something to hold on to.”
“Yes, but—”
I break off as Rachael comes racing into the kitchen. “Have you heard?” she demands, flipping on the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall opposite us. “Councilor Marquez has been killed. His head of security found him in the family room, his throat and stomach slit wide open. He’d been completely bled out.”
I close my eyes, suck in deep breaths to hold at bay the nausea that has resurfaced at her words. Another Councilor dead. Killed violently. The news on TV for the whole Hekan community to see. This—on the heels of the explosion—is going to light up the entire witchcraft world.
The news flashes a picture of him across the screen—alive, smiling, but with the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen. And as the newscaster starts recounting the accomplishments of the man who had served as an ACW Councilor for nearly eighty years, my heart stutters in my chest. Because even though I know we weren’t involved in it, even though I know that no one in this house had anything to do with it, his death smacks of retribution.
I glance at Donovan, see the realization in his eyes as well. We’re one step closer to a war that we might not be able to win. A war that we don’t want to be any part of but one that we’re being forced closer to with each hour, each minute, that passes.
“Why Marquez?” Donovan asks into the ensuing chaos caused by Rachael’s announcement and the subsequent newscast. “He has almost nothing to do with Alride or Lantasis. They vote the issues differently, aren’t friends, don’t have anything in common that I can see. So why kill him?”
Trust Donovan to get to the heart of the matter with only a couple of simple questions. Too bad I don’t have a clue how to answer him—and judging by the looks on the others’ faces, neither do they.
I mean, we all know Marquez was a total bastard—and power hungry, to boot—but if someone had asked me which Councilor might be involved in blowing up our house, Marquez’s name would have been one of the last on the list. His moves are usually much more passive-aggressive, and more smoothly plotted. In fact, the only person I would suspect less than him is Callie. And that’s mostly because she’s the youngest Councilor—she hasn’t been around long enough to have been corrupted the way the others have.