“Yes, if she even suspects that I’m going to out her, she’ll bind me,” I finished.

  “Or try to,” Poppy answered as she motioned to the dress in her hands. “But you’ll be prepared.” I nodded to her with a smile as she continued. “Scarlett said she only had the skill and juice to do your dress, not all of ours.”

  I nodded. I figured Mother was going to make the majority of her attack focused on me, but I didn’t like the idea of everyone else being unprotected. “I’m not taking chances,” I said and checked the clock. Four hours until the Assembly. I could do it if everyone pitched in. “I need someone to run to the nearest craft store. I need a bolt of silk, preferably black, and matching thread.”

  Astrid uncurled from her mortified ball and leaned over my shoulder to examine Scarlett’s spell work with keen interest. It was probably the first proper spell work she’d seen since leaving the Crescent Circle Coven. She’d grown beyond what I could teach her, and I needed to hand her off to more capable teachers. I just hated the idea that she’d have to leave me, but that was pretty much a guarantee now that her mother was back in the picture.

  “What are you going to do, Wanda?” Astrid asked.

  “What are we going to do, you mean?” I corrected her with a smile. “We’re going to pore over this spell work while your cousins go shopping.”

  “And then?” Maverick asked, but from the look on his face, I could tell he had an inkling.

  I gave him a sharp smile. “Then we accessorize.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  An Assembly is an odd mix of a renaissance fair, fashion show, and bazaar.

  I’d only been to a handful over the years, and each of them had been spectacular.

  The Sub Rosa Assembly was no exception.

  Scarlett and her coven had rented out the largest ballroom in the Sanctuary to host us and enchanted almost every square inch of the place. The gold-veined marble that seemed commonplace in the Sanctuary had been decorated to resemble a sprawling Victorian garden, complete with gazebos and pavilions. Roses and thorny vines clung to almost every surface, and petals crunched underfoot, perfuming the air as we navigated the walkways between planters.

  Scarlett’s magic hung like an aromatic pall over the proceedings. I’d heard rumors she was an incredibly powerful elemental witch, but I hadn’t been sure how much of the tales I should believe. After all, gossip was always spicy over drinks and especially vicious when you were talking about a rival coven.

  Now I knew there had to be at least some truth to the rumors. Astrid was right to worry about what other witches would think of her zoolingualism, and I was worried for her. Gifts like that were usually the byproduct of a steamy night with another supernatural. Witches tended to mingle with humans for much the same reason they disdained Blood Witches and killed warlocks. We had an almost fanatical need to keep to the status quo, and looking back on it, I was ashamed of my part in all of it.

  So what if Scarlett had a non-human father? She could do worse than have a faerie for a parent. Her father had probably been a Spring faerie, judging by the plentiful blooms abounding all over. And there was nothing wrong with that; Winter fae were the ones you had to keep an eye on.

  Every time we turned a corner, we came upon another table or stall. Most of the vendors were selling potions at obscene prices, but some of them engaged in small demonstrations, peddling amulets, or even applying spell work to the skin. That last had to be done carefully by someone who knew what they were doing. Drawn spellwork could be applied with regular ink, but most witches with the skill preferred herbal mixes like madder, lawsone, or woad. Inked spellwork augmented one’s magic in a similar manner to the way a familiar could, but with a much broader scope. But if you made a mistake... well, witches who meddled with inked spellwork tended to die in spectacularly messy ways. You had to be licensed, and even then, you had to exercise caution. Even Mother couldn’t do it, a fact which she’d always resented. Why? Because that kind of scarcity created demand, and therefore brought in an incredible amount of money along with it.

  Astrid huddled behind me and was almost entirely lost in her brother’s shadow. He’d kept close to me since we stepped foot in the ballroom and took my hand not long after. Lorcan was holding my other hand and, at that moment, looked down at me with a smile and a nod, as if to say we could handle what was coming. We could do this.

  I didn’t stop Maverick from holding my other hand. An anxious Blood Warlock was a destructive Blood Warlock, and that alone was a concern. If Astrid had been willing to step out from behind us, he’d probably have taken her hand too.

  I couldn’t blame either of them for feeling nervous.

  We were planning to face down the woman who’d paid to have them both killed.

  I still wasn’t sure that dragging Astrid into this was a good idea.

  She was powerful, yes, but so damn young. The thought of putting her in harm’s way again made my stomach hurt. I’d only agreed because she’d made a compelling argument. The proof of Mother’s treachery was now exemplified in Maverick, but we weren’t sure that it would be enough to sway the other covens.

  Warlocks were feared and mistrusted, so at least a few of the witches might sympathize with Mother’s reasons, if not her methods. But turning Astrid over to the vampires? That was indefensible, and we both knew it.

  So here Astrid was, ready and willing to play the victim to win the day. I was proud of the strong, clever woman she was becoming. But if I had my way, I’d have wrapped her in cotton and stuffed her in a closet. She was too young to get involved in coven politics. And what was more, I cared about her too much.

  “This is so interesting,” Poppy whispered from where she walked just behind me. “You can actually see where everyone comes from, just by looking at what they’re wearing.”

  I’d been too busy keeping an eye out for Mother to seriously people watch, but now that she mentioned it, I could see what she meant. Everyone had turned up dressed to impress, but what that meant for each coven was radically different.

  Scarlett’s witches were easy to spot in their bold prints, furs, or bright colors. Some of the stilettos on display could have doubled as weapons in a pinch. On the more casual end, you had the Jinx Junction Coven, who hailed from another of the Hollows. Their dresses tended toward flowing pastels and floral patterns, often with sweetheart necklines. Most of them wore boots, and a few of them sported wide-brimmed hats and fringe jackets.

  New England witches boasted expensive name-brand clothing. California witches came with flowers in their hair and a laidback aesthetic. Las Vegas witches looked like showgirls. On and on it went, a patchwork of style that was almost dizzying to look at. Every coven was larger than ours, and it was easy to feel small and absorbed by the grandiosity surrounding us. We’d be hopelessly outmatched if only one other coven sided with Mother.

  I had the fleeting urge to turn and run away. How the spell was I going to pull this off?

  Astrid gave my hand a light squeeze, instantly bolstering my resolve. I’d gotten a good look at the bruising on her neck when I’d fixed the spelled scarf around it. The bruises looked worse than before, and she’d winced when I’d skimmed my fingers across them.

  “Do you see Celestine?” she whispered.

  “Not yet, but it can’t be long now. There’s only so many places she can—”

  We turned a corner, and the words caught in my throat.

  A gaggle of witches I recognized were gathered near the punch bowl. Poppy was right again. Each coven had a distinctive look, and I just hadn’t realized my former coven dressed almost exclusively in red or black, with an odd plum or sage dress mixed in. It made me want to strip off the red charmeuse dress I wore. I didn’t want anything in common with the coven that had turned its back on me.

  On all of us.

  The only comfort I had was that only Maverick and I really fit the trend. He was wearing a pinstripe suit on loan from one of Guy’s bodyguards. He’d stitched the counter-spell into the underside of the lapels while I did the same on his black silk cravat. William had selected the color, rightly assuming that it wouldn’t clash with any of us. He was right.

  As to the spellwork I’d stitched into each person’s accessory, it was short and to the point—Dullix ix ux. Yeah, you can’t come over Pontio; Pontio is above Pilato.

  It was an old Germanic-turned-Pennyslvania Dutch Pow-Wow spell, dating back to 1820, that was meant to prevent wicked or malicious people from doing the wearer injury or harm.

  Olga had tied her hair back with ribbons sporting the spell, while Betanya wore hers as a sash across her waist. The black was striking against the cream of the dress, and offset the red-gold of her hair. Poppy had opted for a silk wrap. The rest of the men were wearing ties, and suits in varying shades of gray or brown. Astrid wore a gold mini-dress that revealed almost as much as mine. On one level, I thought she was too young for it, but on the other... well, it was hard to deny she’d been injured when you could see the cuts and bruises blooming on her pale skin.

  Overall, we looked like a motley crew, and that was exactly how I liked it. I’d had enough backstabbing, politicking, and shaming to last me a few more lifetimes. We were a different breed. And with any luck, we’d change a few minds tonight.

  And that was when the members of my old coven took notice of us. My sisters…

  Dahlia glanced up at us and froze. As did Belladonna.

  Aloysia paused mid-gesture and followed the others’ gaze, and her eyes went flat with dislike when she spotted me.

  Their rejection hurt more than I’d expected.

  I should have been prepared for it, given what Mother had done to tarnish my name, but still. They were my sisters. True, we hadn’t interacted much, but I’d never actively been unkind to them. In a coven, that was downright friendly. The sort of bond I had with Astrid even before becoming her surrogate mother had been unusual.

  “Deep breaths, love,” Lorcan whispered. “Deep breaths.”

  Dahlia leaned over to whisper in the ear of another sister, Bryonia, who then turned and spilled the secret to Cerise, who turned to whisper to Verbena. It always struck me as odd that I’d been saddled with the old-fashioned name Wandellmellia when all my sisters were named for plants. My name meant ‘wanderer’ and I supposed that fit. Had Mother sensed what I’d become, even then?

  I only paid attention to the gossip session in passing, instead saving most of my attention for the woman standing in the center of the room, elbow to elbow with Aunt Tabitha.

  Mother.

  When they stood side by side, it was easier to see the differences between them. Tabitha was cold, but not outwardly cruel. It showed in her face, made her more appealing somehow. Mother, on the other hand, had spent most of her adult life trying to preserve her beauty. And she was beautiful, even now. High cheekbones, a long narrow nose, and a face that was only gently lined. She had to dye her hair black and spell herself within an inch of her life to maintain everything else, but she only looked a little older than I did. Tabitha let her age show, and it endeared her to me just a little.

  Mother’s head snapped up almost as though she could feel me looking at her, and her eyes wheeled, trying to pick me out of the crowd. She stood up a little straighter when she finally spotted me standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Maverick on one side and Lorcan on the other. Well, my shoulder was closer to their elbows... but the point was clear.

  A year ago, I’d have torn my hands away from theirs. Now I clutched at them like they were the last real thing in the universe. It was surreal. I’d rather hold hands with my perverse warlock cousin or the vampire who’d almost turned me than trade grips with the woman who had birthed me.

  “Wandellmellia,” she said once I was within hearing distance, and her voice managed to carry over the murmur of conversation all around us.

  Most of the nearby witches fell silent, watching with some trepidation as Mother broke away from the group. When she stepped forward, people melted away, as though magically compelled to do so. It wasn’t that insidious, though I wouldn’t put much past her now. Mother just had a strong, almost unshakable presence. It was what made her so effective as a High Witch. She was rarely challenged because no one wanted to test that strength.

  She sauntered forward, all long legs and unwavering confidence. The black dress was more conservative than usual, ending just above her knees. The heels were astonishingly low. Only an inch or two tall. It was the closest she’d ever come to walking flat-footed. The rubies that glittered at her throat and wrists were the only spot of color in the monochrome ensemble. She paused a few feet away from me, eyes lingering on Maverick with barely concealed interest. I could practically hear the thoughts bouncing around the inside of her skull.

  He's not supposed to be alive.

  “It’s Wanda, actually,” I said, and tried to force some geniality into my tone. No need to come out of the gate swinging. “But why harp on that? It isn’t as if you’ve respected my wishes to be called by my shortened name in the last... oh... hundred years? Why start now?”

  Mother’s mouth thinned into a hard line. “Don’t take that tone with me.”

  I laughed in her face. I couldn’t help it. Spots of color appeared high in her cheeks, the first precursor to anger.

  “You toss me out, attack me and the members of my coven, and you want to claim some sort of high ground?” When she didn’t respond, I continued. “Mother, you’re so far beneath morality, you’re standing in a well with water lapping at your thighs.”

  A ripple went through the crowd behind her, a fluid, synchronized twitch of shock. Anyone in the room who hadn’t been paying attention earlier, was certainly paying attention now. And for just cause—I couldn’t remember the last time someone had insulted Celestine to her face. It just wasn’t done—not when she was who she was.

  Mother’s lips curled into an unpleasant smile, though her eyes stayed cold.

  “Since you’re a new High Witch, I’m willing to be lenient, daughter mine. Apologize and make amends at a later date and I won’t consider this the challenge it appears to be.” She glanced behind me at the rest of my coven and her lip curled just a little. “If you can really call this... pathetic gaggle a coven.” She breathed in quickly and with the flush of crimson across her cheeks, I realized she was embarrassed—of and for me.

  “It’s a coven,” I insisted. “And we are called Scapegrace.”

  “Honestly, Wandellmellia. You come here with a gypsy in tow, pariahs at your back, a warlock on your arm, and a vampire on your other arm? Where in the world did you find these people? Did you scrape them out of the bottom of a bin?”

  Anger bubbled beneath the surface of my skin, a tide that was just itching to pour out and drown her. All the years she’d snubbed me, gaslit me, passively punished me for simply existing were now rearing their ugly heads. I wanted to hurl the mother of all blood bolts at her face. If it didn’t take her head off, it would at least mar that perfectly preserved beauty.

  “You have no room to throw stones, Mother. You’ve had plenty of dealings with vampires. In fact, I have a few new friends who’d like to have a word with you.”

  A low murmur ran through the crowd.

  The word ‘vampires’ was repeated so often, it almost formed a chorus. Those whispers only intensified when William, Amos, Wolfram, Erasmus, and Vicente melted out of the crowd from behind Mother. There were gasps, and a few witches even screamed. Power crackled in the air, and I was betting that most people were forming hexes to hurl at them, just in case. A real crowd was gathering now.

  Perfect.

  I gestured broadly at William and the rest. “Scarlett Velardi graciously assigned bodyguards to protect us during our stay. I thought it was a bit unorthodox to assign vampires to witches. Come to find out, Scarlett had an ulterior motive.” I took a deep breath as Mother turned from the vampires who were surrounding us and narrowed her eyes on me. “You took something from her, Mother. Something she treasured above all else.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  I heard the voice coming from behind me, and when I turned around, I found Scarlett Velardi standing with Guy just beside her and both were staring at Celestine.

  What little color Mother had bled out of her cheeks. She managed to keep the fear off her face, but I could see her pulse speed, thudding hard against the thin skin of her neck. If I’d been a true vampire, I’d have been able to hear it and smell the blood rushing just under her skin. She actually flinched when I leaned toward her.

  “You stole her son, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “She damned well did,” Scarlett answered, a smile snagging her lips because this was, no doubt, the first time in a long time, that she could actually speak the truth. Almost immediately, though, that smile dropped off her lips and they started to tremble as if she was about to lose control of herself. So, I took over.

  “His name is Vincente Velardi, and he was born a warlock. But, you made sure he didn’t stay that way.”

  The crowd went nuts.

  There were raised voices, cries of ‘impossible’ or ‘you’re lying’ which shortly became ‘Goddess, is it true?’ Every eye had been on me moments before, silently judging the company I kept. Now Mother was the focal point of that attention, and she didn’t seem to like it one bit. Her hands balled into fists at her sides and she had to shout to be heard.

  “That’s preposterous! Maverick is the first warlock to emerge from a witch line in the last seven hundred years! And you know that! You all know that!”

  William stepped close, wedging in beside Maverick. It was impossible not to see the resemblance between the two of them. There were more gasps. More muttering.

  “That’s what you’d like people to think,” William said, able to speak the truth for the first time in centuries. “But it’s not true, is it… Maverick’s not even the first to emerge from the Depraysie line specifically, is he, Mother?”

  For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something like pain pass through Celestine’s eyes and that was when I realized Hellcat was right. She’d loved William and Amos in her own way. Not enough to keep them breathing, but enough to spare them a true death.