If that was a failure, then it was one shared across the entire coven. Not that he listened to me when I told him as much. Men.

  The trickle-down effect was that Maverick might have gotten a little bit overprotective of Sybil. And pricklier than a cactus shaped pin holder, but that wasn’t that much of a difference where his personality was concerned. Maverick wasn’t exactly the soft and cuddly type.

  Regardless, I stayed out of sight and eavesdropped without shame. The truth of the matter was that I couldn’t blame Maverick for trying to keep his daughter on lock down, especially with the rumblings of another potential Blood War on the horizon. But I also didn’t want Sybil to deal with the social fallout of her friends witnessing Maverick’s new angry mother-hen attitude. Teenage girls were notoriously vicious, and that was without throwing magic into the equation.

  “Oh!” Sybil’s voice was bubbly with excitement—she clearly hadn’t picked up on Maverick’s displeasure at all. “This is Mags, Juney, and Cedar! We went to Sweeter Haunts, and look what I got!”

  I peeked around the corner to see Sybil holding up a bag of some confection or other from Haven Hollow’s year-round Halloween themed candy store. The other girls were clustered around her, chatting about whatever it was that occupied young people. I couldn’t see them very well, with all the movement, but I picked out one brown haired girl who hung back behind the others, her shoulders rounded forward.

  A werewolf then, probably. Werewolves tended to grind the spine out of their females when they were young, so they’d be content with their lot in life and plan only to raise litters of pups and keep the house clean. I sniffed. Hopefully, spending time with Sybil would help the girl to realize her own worth.

  That was one of the girls. The next one I could see was small, and as dark haired as Sybil herself. She was chattering away happily, but her shiny black eyes never once stopped moving. A shifter, maybe? Or perhaps some kind of fae. I could tell if I walked out and got a good look at her, or let my magic brush over her, but the third-degree Maverick was giving them was embarrassment enough for one night.

  The last girl was more obviously fae, with her brilliant red hair and ever so slightly pointed ears. When she got excited, the air around her shimmered like a heat mirage. Summer court, most likely. Actually, the more I watched her, the more she reminded me of Astrid.

  I swallowed and stepped back, cursing myself for the sad feelings that swept over me as I thought about Astrid. It wasn’t like she was dead! Well, she was dead, technically, I supposed. But she wasn’t gone. I could pick up the phone any time and hear her voice on the line. But it wasn’t the same. Nearly as long as I’d been in Haven Hollow, Astrid had been living with me. It was one thing to allow her to attend the school she’d so desperately wanted to, but this…

  I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it. No, I was sure I’d never get used to it.

  I shook my head, stalking back over to where I’d left the dress. Being sentimental over the whole thing wasn’t going to change what had happened. Astrid was still with us, even if she was no longer a witch and was now a vampire. At least she was still alive (well, in a manner of speaking, anyway). The point was: she was off learning how to be a Faerie Princess or something. She wasn’t lost.

  I managed two angry stitches before I jabbed my thumb with the needle. Jerking back with a hiss, I didn’t get any blood on the kitten-soft material, at least. That didn’t make it one whit less irritating though, and I jammed my thumb into my mouth with ill grace, scowling more when the bright copper taste of my own blood made something inside me perk up with interest, my incisors suddenly aching.

  Out in the front of the store, Maverick was still throwing rapid fire questions at the girls, everything from who their parents were, to what grades they were getting in school. I rolled my eyes, waiting for the little wound to stop bleeding. That was another benefit to vampire blood—I healed a heck of a lot faster.

  Sybil made a sound in her throat, a little confused note. “We were just hanging out.”

  She looked so much like a teenager that sometimes it was hard to remember that, no matter how much information we gave her, or how many lessons we taught her, Sybil was only a few months old. She sounded her true age then, obviously baffled as to why Maverick was grilling her friends.

  Maverick gave a little unimpressed humph. “Well, it’s a school night, and it’s late. You girls should all run along home. Actually, Sybil, you stay. I’ll give you a ride. I’m almost done here.”

  “Oh,” Sybil said, sadly. “Okay.”

  I listened while the girls said their goodbyes and the door chimed as they left. I’d just picked up the dress off my lap again when Maverick appeared in the doorway to the back room, tall and shadowy, face like a thundercloud and twice as growly.

  “I’m heading out.”

  I glanced at the clock. Less than two hours until closing time. He’d stuck around longer than I’d thought he would.

  “Alright.” I kept my voice mild. Maverick knew I’d overheard the whole conversation, and he clearly didn’t want to talk about it—that truth was obvious. He might as well have written it across his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Maverick hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what to make of my easy acceptance—usually I didn’t shy away from Maverick and his moods because I could easily out moody him. He gave a jerky nod though and spun on his heel before stalking off.

  I let out a slow breath once I heard the door chime again. Goddess, whatever nonsense had crawled up his backside, I hoped he’d get it sorted, and soon.

  Maverick wasn’t the easiest person to be around in the first place—he alone should have coined the word ‘intense’—but ever since Astrid had been… hurt, he’d been very close to unbearable.

  In the past, I’d never have used the word ‘protective’ to describe Maverick. But then, I suppose he hadn’t had much to protect over the years. In the past, he and Astrid would go months without speaking to each other. He was more like a lone wolf than a doting brother. He’d even refused to come and see her off to Blood Rose Academy in some sort of sulking protest to her going at all.

  Which, in retrospect, might have been part of the problem.

  I could understand that all his overbearing nonsense was driven by guilt—guilt that he hadn’t been able to save his sister. And I couldn’t exactly throw stones, because I felt the same way, like I should have just told her ‘no’ and never let her set foot in that school, no matter what. Never mind that Astrid was eighteen and a legal adult by mundane standards. By witch standards, though, she was still a baby. An infant. Barely more than a zygote, really. The point was that I should have kept her home with her coven, where I knew we could protect her.

  But then, there was the other half of the problem, and one that was going to blow up in Maverick’s face if he wasn’t careful. Witches were notoriously bad at being told what to do. Especially by men.

  I carefully folded up Imani’s dress and moved it to the front of the shop. I’d set up a stool behind the counter, and I needed to keep an eye out in case some last-minute customers straggled in. The light was better out there, too and like I mentioned, I wanted this dress to be perfect—from the stitching down to the spells woven between the fibers.

  I was obsessing, and I knew it. Strangely, that didn’t make it any easier to stop obsessing. My brain knew this was just another dress, a gorgeous one, yes, but still a piece of clothing. This was what I did, after all. I could knock out a bespoke suit with a confidence charm in my sleep. Or a cursed corset, for that matter.

  I’d designed the pattern myself, and the mock up I’d made had been perfect.

  But the rest of me knew that Scapegrace Coven was in a precarious position. We prided ourselves on being the rejects, the people who didn’t fit in with coven ideals of what it meant to be a witch. Our members consisted of Blood Witches (former and present), a Blood Warlock, (though that little tidbit stayed in house)—a warlock as a member of a coven was risqué enough. We had a vampire, a former Blood Witch, a Gypsy who wasn’t a witch at all, and a witch who loved men in the monogamous way (a way that ‘proper’ witches would ridicule).

  We flaunted our flaws and turned them into our rallying flag. We weren’t rejects; we were revolutionaries.

  But the trouble was, we needed new members. And we needed them pretty desperately.

  With me, at least in public, having to pretend that I was a vampire, it meant that I couldn’t officially be the High Witch of the coven, since everyone knew a witch lost her magic when she turned full vampire. With Astrid off learning how to be an undead faerie princess, and some of our members not being witches at all, our numbers were dwindling.

  The number of members in a coven wasn’t just a matter of prestige, but of power. And power, in the supernatural world, directly translated to safety.

  If Scapegrace had more members, more power, if we were more of a threat, then Astrid would have never been turned against her will by a spiteful madman. No one would have dared to raise a hand against her, for fear of the coven behind her.

  And that was one of the many places where I’d failed.

  I had to carefully unclench my hands, or risk crumpling the velvet. For a second, the fury inside me was stained red in a way that made my teeth throb and my jaw ache, but I breathed past it. When I was sure I wouldn’t rip anything, I set my needle to the fabric again.

  I wanted Scapegrace to be a beacon for anyone who wanted to shake off the old ways—I didn’t just want to be a band of misfits. I wanted people to join because they wanted to—not because they had no other choices. And getting new members like Imani was the first step. I wanted the coven to thrive, to be safe and secure, even if I had to take a step back as the High Witch, at least in the eyes of the world.

  The truth was that I’d hex the hide off anyone who got in my way.

  .

  Chapter Three

  Poppy’s Potions had always struck me as an obnoxiously cheerful place.

  And it was cute. Too cute—it looked like an old apothecary shop with its dark wood floors and matching dark shelving, glass cabinets, oak counter and vintage cash register. Not to mention Poppy’s propensity to find antique bottles in a range of colors so her aisles looked like a rainbow that threw up a bunch of skittles. Combined with the upbeat music playing quietly in the background, it was all sweet enough to set my teeth on edge. Much like the proprietor.

  Goddess only knew how she’d become my best friend.

  And that was the truth. Even though I was a witch and, thus, fairly comfortable with causing misery wherever I went, if anyone did anything to upset that gypsy, they would have to answer to me.

  When I stepped through the door about a half an hour after sunset, Poppy looked up at the obnoxiously cheery jingle of the door and waved.

  “Hi, bestie,” she chirped in the same tone as the bell. “Did you think of anything else you needed for the bonding ceremony?”

  “First of all,” I started as I took a glance around the place. “Is anyone else here? You know how I feel about you calling me ‘bestie’ in front of other people.”

  “Right—I think your exact words were ‘you’d kill me... twice’.” She giggled. “And, no, Wanda, no one’s here.”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good.” Then I paused and gave her a smile. “Hi, bestie.”

  Poppy might have been a gypsy and not a witch, but her potion brewing abilities were better than most witches I’d ever encountered, even when I’d still been a member of my previous coven. I, on the other hand, lacked all patience for standing around stirring things and waiting to add this or that, to the point where my potion brewing was basically a magical biohazard waiting to happen. The last time I’d made an attempt, I’d ended up blowing up my store and accidentally making a shapeshifter, so it was definitely better to outsource.

  Besides, Poppy liked to feel like she was helping and why get in the way of someone who wants to demonstrate their usefulness?

  I waved off her question. “No, nothing new. I just wanted to make sure everything will be ready on time.”

  “Oh, no prob.”

  I nodded. “I know I asked for a lot, and it’s only a couple days until the ceremony.” That was my way of apologizing for the huge amount of work I’d laid at her doorstep.

  “Of course.” Poppy tucked a few blonde tresses behind her ear, looking far too earnest. If her store was too cute, so was she. Cute down to her button nose, big blue eyes, white lace blouse, blue jeans and white Converse. She would have made a perfect cheerleader for Halloween. She just had that neverending energy and positivity that, in most everyone else, made me want to hex them into the ground. On Poppy though... well, I didn’t mind it so much. Peppy was just who she was.

  “Everything will be ready. Even me.”

  I drummed my nails against the counter. “Even the–”

  “Even the Uncrossing Oil, just in case.” She smiled, reaching out to lay her hand over mine. “Wanda. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Easy for her to say.

  I didn’t pull my hand away, even if physical touch was something I wasn’t necessarily comfy with. But Lorcan, who acted like my jacket, had gotten me a little more accustomed to it. And Poppy was like Lorcan in that she showed her feelings for people by being very touchy feely.

  “Wanda…” Poppy’s voice was careful, like she was carrying a cup full of hot coffee and didn’t want to risk spilling it. “I wanted to ask, how’s Astrid doing? Is she settling in alright?”

  Thinking of Astrid caused fire to lick the inside of my skull. It didn’t matter that I’d spoken to her on the phone two days ago. I couldn’t stop thinking of that filthy undead creature putting his fangs on her, turning her, and thinking he’d actually get away with it.

  “She’s fine.” My voice came out clipped. I tried to smooth it around the edges. “She seems to be happy enough, and she also seems to love Fox Aspen.”

  Poppy nodded. “I’ve always loved him, too.”

  Yes, Poppy had always had a soft spot for the Fae prince, even when most of us figured he was up to no good. I always thought she had a crush on him—well, that was before her super hot and sexy magician came into town. But that was another story altogether and, interestingly, one Poppy seemed to keep close to her heart. Where Andre was concerned, she definitely didn’t kiss and tell. “Well, as long as Fox keeps Astrid safe, that’s all I can ask for.”

  Poppy nodded, chewing her lower lip like she was trying to figure out how to say whatever was beating against the back of her teeth.

  I rolled my eyes. “Just spit it out, would you? You’re giving me a headache just watching you.”

  “No, it’s just…” Poppy tugged nervously at the ends of her hair. “I was just wondering how you were holding up.”

  The anger flared hotter, and my magic roiled in response.

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t the one who was murdered.”

  Poppy blanched, all the color leaching out of her face. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I–”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  Poppy wasn’t the one I was angry at, of course, but the fury bubbled up inside me like magma, just waiting to erupt and bury the world. I had to choke it back, breathe around it, because the anger called my magic like nothing else. If I let it creep out, who knew what would happen.

  I was a hundred-forty-two years old, for spell’s sake, I shouldn’t have been fearing a magical mishap like a toddler with a training broom.

  I had to lock my anger down, because I already had too many things to worry about, and on top of the list was that stubborn warlock cousin of mine.

  Maverick was struggling, and I knew it. In the history of all the covens, there had never been a Blood Warlock before. Though after meeting my two secret brothers, I had to wonder exactly how extensive those histories actually were. Still, if people knew the truth, there wouldn’t be anywhere for Maverick to hide that one side or the other wouldn’t find him. Warlocks were already unstable in their magic, and his was turning darker every day. Whatever Janeth had started with Maverick, I had no idea where it would end. The only thing I was certain of was that I wouldn’t lose anyone else. Not even my pain in the butt cousin.

  Poppy was still worried about me, all but wringing her hands, so I dredged up a smile that I hoped looked reassuring and did a good job of covering up the fact that I was so out of sorts, all I wanted to do was bite something, and not in a vampiric way. The truth of the matter was that my emotions had been all over the place lately and I wasn’t sure why. Anger though had been the leading one of all.

  “Really, everything’s okay. Thank you for working on those potions for me.”

  Judging by the way Poppy’s eyes widened in surprise, I might have laid it on a bit too thick with the gratitude (because ordinarily I wasn’t the most grateful person in the world). Time for a strategic retreat.

  “Anyway, gotta go,” I said quickly as I waved over my shoulder and sashayed for the door like I didn’t have a care in the world.

  Then I hightailed it across the street so Poppy wouldn’t follow me and demand to know what was really going on. When I threw open the door of my store, Maverick turned to glare at me.

  “Nice of you to show up.”

  I could feel the urge to snap back rising, and I ground the retort I was about to make to dust between my back teeth. Maverick had been in a mood lately, but taking the bait would just end in a fight, and frankly, I didn’t want my store to suffer the collateral damage. I was trying to limit the explosions to once every six months or so.