Taliyah winced at the mention of faeries. Even if she knew what she was, it didn’t mean she liked it. It must have been difficult to suddenly find out that everything you thought you knew had been based on a lie.

  Sybil perked up at the sound of my voice. She reached out a slender hand with a pleading, “Mommy?”

  Taliyah, Maverick and Poppy all stared at me then, each of them wearing the same expression—shock.

  Oh, spell.

  “She thinks,” Poppy started.

  “You’re her mother,” Taliyah finished.

  Maverick didn’t say a damned thing. No doubt because he was in the process of realizing that if Sybil believed I was her mother, then by default, that made Maverick her father. It had been the combination of our magic that created her, after all. The thought of having to share custody over a botched spell-turned-person with my irksome cousin was just... Well, the idea that I’d made a baby of sorts with Maverick was disturbing on all levels.

  “I,” I started but then couldn’t say anything more.

  Poppy draped the blanket more securely around Sybil’s shoulders. I hadn’t noticed how badly the latter had been shaking before. My shop was set to the lowest temperature I could stand, which must have felt arctic to someone who’d never had nerve endings before.

  Poppy hugged Sybil to her side in an almost maternal gesture and turned to us expectantly.

  “So, what are we going to do about this?” she asked.

  “What do you mean ‘do about this?’” Maverick half-shouted. Sybil recoiled from the sound. Noise must have been a shock to her, complete with her newly birthed hearing, too.

  Poppy’s mouth twisted into a reproving line. “You both admit you created a life—you created Sybil. That means someone has to be responsible for her until she can look out for herself.”

  “And who knows when that will be,” Taliyah added.

  Poppy looked at her and nodded before turning her insistent gaze back to me. “We need to work out some sort of custody arrangement between the pair of you.”

  “I never asked for this,” Maverick started.

  “And I did?” I rebuked him.

  Poppy held up her hands. “We need to find someone who can take care of her.” Then she looked at Sybil, who was taking turns gazing at Maverick and me with a strange expression on her face. “She seems pretty set on you two, though.”

  Maverick’s eyes were wide and a little frenzied. “You have got to be kidding me!”

  “I’m not,” Poppy insisted.

  “She’s… she’s a mannequin or… was,” Maverick pointed out, shaking his head.

  Poppy’s expression was firm. “It doesn’t matter what she was or how she came to be. All that matters now is that she is and the two of you are her creators.”

  Taliyah nodded. “Poppy’s right. Sybil basically has the brain function of a toddler, which means she can’t look after herself.”

  “I’ve been a single mother for thirteen years now,” Poppy continued. “And children need support, even if that support comes from only one parent. Ideally, she should be raised by both of you.”

  “Raised?” I repeated, shaking my head. “Poppy…”

  “She’s your daughter,” Poppy insisted. “And from the looks of it, I don’t think she’s going to go back to being a mannequin again anytime soon.”

  “If ever at all,” Taliyah added, to which Poppy nodded.

  That was apparently the final straw for Maverick. He was on his feet and bounding for the door before Poppy could utter another word. The door frame rattled when he slammed it behind him. The sound was loud enough to startle Sybil, and she began to weep quietly into Poppy’s shoulder. Taliyah glanced at the door and let out a longsuffering sigh.

  “What do we do now?”

  I echoed the sigh and gave the only honest answer I could.

  “I don’t know.”

  ***

  The noise that had caused the disastrous mishap we now found ourselves in had been the result of a letter pinging off my front window.

  I’d stepped out for a bit of air while Poppy calmed Sybil enough so the latter could speak and tell us whatever she could. Not that I was expecting much—I mean, how much can a piece of former plastic tell you?

  It had been tempting to follow in Maverick’s footsteps and run to parts unknown to escape this bizarre new predicament I found myself in.

  But I didn’t.

  Mostly because I knew Poppy wouldn’t allow me.

  If it had only been my life in question, I might have. But I was responsible for the lives and the wellbeing of other witches. I had friends, family, and a new coven in the Hollow who depended on me. When had that happened, exactly? I’d been a selfish creature before Mother had given me the boot. When I’d arrived in Haven Hollow, my main goal had been to stay alive and to look out for number one. Sticking my neck out for someone else would have seemed absurd and stupid. Now I was willing to do it for five witches, a gypsy, a vampire, and... oh spell, most of the members of our little community. Somewhere in the course of events, I’d made friends. How had I managed that? And how in the Goddess’ name had I managed to keep them?

  And now those lives were in jeopardy. Again. Not from Sybil, of course, but from a much larger, much more real threat.

  When I’d stepped out, gulping huge lungfuls of air in an effort to slow my frantically beating heart, I’d seen it.

  A red envelope embossed with swirling gold script.

  For the eyes of Wanda Depraysie only.

  I’d approached the damn thing with all the caution due a wild animal, even though it didn’t appear to be overtly threatening. I mean, it was just a letter, for spell’s sake. There had been no return address, but even so, I had a sinking feeling I wouldn’t like what was inside. It had only taken one peek inside to confirm my worst fears.

  ***

  And that was how I found myself in my back room, hours later when everyone had left, Poppy taking Sybil to her house so I could get a few minutes of blessed silence. But that blessed silence hadn’t lasted long—not after what I’d read in the letter.

  So here I now sat, head between my knees, trying to breathe. Hellcat watched me from beneath my sewing table. He’d wedged his furry body between bolts of satin and chiffon, hunkering down like it was some sort of feline bomb shelter. He’d made a beeline for the room in the moments just before the explosion and he’d stayed there until he was sure the coast was clear. The little rodent hadn’t even lost a pinch of fur.

  There was no justice in the world, I tell you.

  “Get a handle on yourself, woman,” Hellcat snapped. “Your mother raised you to use your words, didn’t she?”

  “Don’t you dare bring Mother into this,” I snapped right back. “She was banished for a damn good reason. And, besides, I deserve to go to pieces over this.”

  Hellcat apparently deemed it safe enough to emerge and did so, lazily stretching his back before approaching me. “You know it would be more useful to read the letter aloud than to hyperventilate.”

  True, but I wasn’t sure I had it in me—not after I’d just read the whole thing to myself. There was no way I could read it again. It was taking most of my concentration to keep the scream welling up within my throat right where it was at.

  I shoved the letter toward Hellcat. He was capable of reading the damned thing for himself.

  He began rattling off the same list of addresses I’d just finished reading and I could swear his feline face scrunched into a frown. He gave me an odd look when he reached the last one.

  “The first is the gypsy’s shop address, is it not?”

  I nodded. “The first address listed is Poppy’s Potions, the second is Hallowed Homes, the third is Spook Society, the fourth is the space Marty rents for both his businesses and so on and so forth. Read the rest.”

  Hellcat’s eyes dropped to the remainder of the letter. Then he went very still. I was betting that if he could have blanched, he would have.

  His voice was a little faint when he said, “Wanda, You are cordially invited to attend a soiree in honor of your turning at my Portland home, a quarter to midnight on the night of the half-moon. Should you fail to attend, members of my clan will pay visits to the aforementioned addresses which will, no doubt, be grounds for the next Blood War, something we all seek to avoid. Regardless, this situation between our two races has gone on long enough and will now be settled. We look forward to celebrating you as the guest of honor and inviting you into our clan, once you are fully blooded. My best regards. —R.”

  Hellcat raised his eyes, and I saw something in them that chilled my blood.

  Fear.

  I’d seen my familiar run the gamut of emotions before. ‘Haughty’ was his definite default. ‘Snide’ was a close second, and ‘general disgust’ was his third favorite. Rarely did I see him sympathetic and to see him suffering from fear? Well, that was even less common. The last time he’d looked that frightened, I’d cast a blood bolt in his direction.

  “It’s a threat,” he said quietly.

  I nodded. “Vampires have to be invited into homes, but not public places. That means each of those locations… are fair game. If I don’t go...”

  “Your friends will be ambushed and killed and such will certainly be viewed as a declaration of war, such as Rupert mentions in his letter,” Hellcat finished bitterly. “But if you go, you’ll be killed—or, rather, blooded.”

  “That’s my take-away also.”

  Hellcat sat back on his haunches and appeared lost in thought for a few seconds. “I thought this situation had been solved, rectified? You are no longer a Blood Witch and no longer tethered to that odious vampire, correct?”

  I was still tied to Lorcan, but Hellcat didn’t need to understand just how. The fact was, we were no longer a physical danger to each other.

  “I’m not a Blood Witch anymore,” I confirmed. What I was now was up for debate, but that debate didn’t need to happen now. “We sent word to Rupert, but…”

  “Apparently he didn’t believe you.”

  I nodded. “Right.” And then something else occurred to me. “Unless he wants a war.”

  Hellcat shook his head. “No one wants another Blood War. There were far too many losses on both sides.”

  “You don’t know Rupert.”

  “I don’t need to know him.”

  I took a deep breath. “Perhaps you’re right and this is just… his way of forcing my hand.”

  “You need to tell them, the others,” Hellcat said, nodding toward the door.

  “I can’t,” I answered, tugging at the roots of my hair. This day was going to drive me to drink. “You saw what just happened out there! Sybil should be the priority at the moment—and figuring out what to do with her. She’s helpless.”

  Hellcat’s claws flexed, digging into the hardwood. He bared his teeth in a tiny snarl. “What do you intend to do?”

  “I don’t know!” I half-shouted, “There aren’t any good options that I can see.”

  There were only two options, really. Either I tell the others whose addresses had been mentioned and that would undoubtedly mean we enter a bloody battle with Rupert or... I gave in. I attend the damned party, allow Lorcan to drain my life away, and then wake up as a fully-fledged vampire. Between the options open to me, that seemed like the most obvious answer.

  All the while, though, I wondered if it were as simple as that. Or was there a chance I’d die or slip away into nothingness? And if I did die, would I die the death of a witch, to be reincarnated again? I had to wonder if I was too tainted to be reincarnated into another life. I had to ask myself now: did I think the fight was worth it? And was I willing to risk the lives of my friends to save my own neck?

  The answer was depressing.

  No. No, I wasn’t.

  But giving in to Rupert’s threats felt like defeat. And I hated defeat.

  After all, I was Wanda Celestine Depraysie, High Witch of the Scapegrace Coven, and I didn’t do defeat. And that meant, I needed a third option.

  But how was I going to find such an option in the limited time Rupert had given me? I had a day until the end of the week to make the choice. Damn it. Why did this keep happening?

  “You have to come up with something,” Hellcat said. “We can’t afford a Blood War in the Hollow. The ramifications of such a thing would ripple throughout the supernatural world.”

  I knew that. But how to stop it?

  I pushed to my feet shakily, because my legs didn’t want to support me. Then I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I needed to get a grip on myself before I left this room.

  “I’ll deal with it,” I muttered. “Right after I figure out what to do with Sybil.”

  Right, I thought to myself. One problem at a time.

  Chapter Nine

  The Scapegrace Coven had made its home in a lovely Tudor Revival near the edge of town.

  Lorcan had sold the Tudor to me for a criminally low price so the gaggle of misfits we called a coven could claim sanctum in the Hollow. It hadn’t just been a ploy to protect our generously proportioned asses from other covens. It had been instrumental in overturning Mother’s reign of terror and deposing her from her position as High Witch of the Crescent Circle Coven. Tensions had eased a great deal now that Aunt Tabitha was in charge of Crescent Circle. But tensions would likely flare up again if anyone learned about Rupert’s tacit threat against my friends and allies and, ultimately, witches everywhere.

  I’d called an emergency meeting of both my coven and the new vampire clan living in the Hollow. This new vampire clan mostly consisted of Lorcan, my brothers, and the former warlocks that Mother had ordered to be turned. There were a few vampires petitioning for entry into the clan but they had yet to be vetted by William and Amos, because the latter were especially careful about sniffing out anyone who might be trying to kill me. Little did they know...

  Thankfully, it hadn’t taken everyone long to arrive to the emergency meeting I’d called. Most of the witches either lived in the Scapegrace house already or were living close by. That was the beauty (and curse) of a small town. Everyone lived right on top of each other and most often knew more about each other’s business than they were comfortable with. Lorcan was the last to arrive, owing to the fact that he had a few patients.

  Sybil was curled on the couch next to me, propped on a stack of pillows. She seemed to find the velvet texture fascinating because she kept running her fingers through it with a smile. At least she was easy to please. We really hadn’t had much trouble with her since she’d suddenly blipped into existence. As far as children went, at least she was agreeable in nature. I could only imagine if I’d brought to life a child like I’d been—difficult, stubborn, obstinate and beyond independent.

  Regardless, after Sybil had calmed down and I’d brought her here, she’d just explored the place with a sense of childlike wonder. Some of Maverick’s and my memories of the place had transferred to her, but knowing and experiencing were two different things. She’d probably stick her hand in the fire if I let her, just for curiosity’s sake.

  The more I studied her, the more I saw Maverick in her. Even though she’d been a mannequin in her previous life, that didn’t seem to matter—she had the same strong jawline as Maverick, only softened slightly by the fact that she was female. She’d also inherited his bow lips and the size and shape of his eyes. I could see a little of myself in her cheekbones and nose, but she largely resembled her... ugh... father. She looked like she could be Astrid’s sister, though in a technical sense Sybil was both Astrid’s niece and second cousin.

  Yikes.

  I rubbed my temples, trying to assuage the headache I could feel building. Defining Sybil’s lineage was going to get complicated quickly.

  Lorcan eyed Sybil no doubt wondering, like the rest of them, what she was doing here and who she was. At first glance, she could have been mistaken for any ordinary witch. Dark hair was the norm, and she’d taken after Maverick and me in that respect. There was also an unmistakable magical quality to her. A mundane might miss it, but supernatural ilk wouldn’t.

  “Do you mind letting us in on the reason for this meeting, sweetling?” Lorcan asked once he brought his attention back to me. “And mind informing all of us who are not in the know just who this lovely young woman might be?”

  “I was wondering that myself,” William said, taking a seat next to Lorcan.

  It was disconcerting to see my undead brother and undead lover on the same couch. They tended to snipe at each other whenever they were in the same room, William’s familial affection for me warring with Lorcan’s unmistakable claim on me. It had gotten better now that Lorcan was no longer a threat to my life, but I doubted their rivalry would go away completely. Brothers were like that, I supposed.

  “I’ll explain soon,” I said. “I want Poppy to get here first.”

  I was stalling and I knew it. Explaining myself to the coven was just... so humiliating! Not only had Maverick and I inadvertently created a child together, but we hadn’t even meant to do it. And to make matters worse, the rat bastard had abandoned the child minutes after she’d been… well, ‘born’. If ‘born’ was even the right word. Created? Hatched? Animated? None of them seemed quite right.

  “I like Poppy,” Sybil said thoughtfully. “She’s nice and she has blankets. I like blankets too. And fire. Can I touch it? It’s so pretty!”

  Sybil half-rose from her seat and whined when I pulled her down again. Poppy and Taliyah were right. She really was just an innocent kid with no understanding about the world around her. If I didn’t watch her, she’d stick her finger in a light socket or chug Drain-O.

  “No, you cannot touch the fire. You’ll be burned and that will hurt. You understand pain, right?”

  Sybil’s brow creased in thought. “I know it exists, but I’ve never felt it before.”

  “You don’t want to, trust me,” Poppy said, descending the stairs. She must have gotten Finn situated in one of the upper rooms since it was late and, no doubt, past his bed time.