Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(106)

But then again, none of this is supposed to work this way. Because only in a turned-around, upside-down, fucked-up world would I be standing on my aunt’s doorstep minutes after she murdered a man and used dark magic to claim his power.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that.

“Xandra, darling, are you okay?” She reaches a hand up as if she’s going to feel my forehead but stops at the last second. I’ll never know if that’s because I lurch away or if it’s because she realizes that she’s glowing. And that, no matter how much she wants to pretend it is, that just isn’t normal.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She doesn’t hesitate and I’m suddenly assailed by doubts—and hope. Maybe Tsura hasn’t done the things I think she has. Maybe I’ve got this all wrong.

But the moment the door closes behind me, I know that I’m not. The stench of death is all around us, similar to what I smelled beneath the Capitol grounds, but worse. That’s when I realize that it’s not only death I’m scenting. There’s fear here. Panic. Someone is still alive.

Shelby? The cry echoes through my mind as I frantically push against the barriers of my mind and try to find her.

Xandra!

Oh, thank the goddess. She’s still alive. That means someone else is dead, which is awful, but at least I haven’t lost Shelby. Not yet anyway.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” My aunt is watching me closely, her eyes gone narrow and night-glow in the dim light.

“No, thank you.”

She’s acting so normal, so civilized, that I don’t know where to start. How do I go about asking my mother’s twin sister—my favorite aunt—and the most powerful healer in my clan what turned her into a murderous bitch?

“Well, come sit down, then.”

Sitting is the last thing I want to do right now, but I follow her into the living room. As I do, a spatter of blood on the rug catches my eye. My stomach pitches and rolls.

Tsura is in front of me, so she can’t see what I’m looking at. I blink, stare harder as I try to convince myself that I’m wrong. That it’s not blood. But it is. It’s real and so is this. I just don’t know why.

And that’s the question I end up asking her as she settles herself on the sofa. A million thoughts are floating around in my head, but only one word comes out. “Why?”

I expect excuses, prevarications, but my aunt surprises me again. She looks me straight in the eye and says, “Because close doesn’t count.”

It’s so not what I was expecting to hear—though I should have been, obviously—that I stare at her for long seconds before asking, “What does that even mean?”

“You of all people should know, Xandra. Aren’t you second in line for the throne behind Donovan?”

I’m totally confused now, but I answer anyway. “Yes.” Thank the goddess. Being queen is not something I’ve ever wanted.

“That’s the position that I occupied for years. Second in line to the throne. Second best to my beautiful, talented sister.”

“You’re identical twins.”

“Yes. And I was born first. That throne should have been mine. It would have been mine if not for the archaic rules of inheritance this coven is governed by.”

I don’t bother pointing out that most thrones are inherited through some archaic laws—Ipswitch’s throne is no different from a hundred others. But I don’t want to push her completely around the bend, no matter that it seems she’s already there.

“So you kidnap a little girl? You kill four Councilors? How does that get you the Ipswitch throne?”

She doesn’t answer right away, but there’s something about the way she looks at me that makes the last puzzle piece snap into place. “You’re the one who put out those bombs. You tried to kill all of us.”

Again, she doesn’t answer. But then she doesn’t have to. The horror of everything she’s done sweeps through me and I want to scream. Hannah. Sweet, gentle Hannah is dead because of her.

I leap to my feet, prepared to do I don’t know what, but before I can so much as lift a hand, a tremendous force knocks me off my feet and slams me to the ground. I lie there, staring up at Tsura, who is standing now, towering over me—her chest heaving and hands out in front of her.

Even though I can see it in every line of her body, in every breath she takes, it still takes me a moment to understand. My aunt, whose only magic is the soft, selfless art of healing, is long gone. In her place is this creature, bloated with its own power and sense of self-importance.