Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(73)

“What’s wrong with him?” I’m already out of bed, stumbling around in the dark as I try to find my jeans.

Declan climbs out right after me, turning on the bedside lamp before he, too, reaches for a new outfit—garments not yet riddled with bullet holes.

Just the thought has the night taking on an even more surreal quality.

“The doctor doesn’t know and neither does Rachael,” my mother finally answers. “We were playing cards with a few friends tonight when he suddenly slumped over. It’s not a stroke or a heart attack—the doctor checked for both even though wizards don’t normally have to worry about those—so everyone’s clueless. Even Rachael can’t figure it out. We’ve already called Tsura and she’ll be here in a few hours.”

Though my mother inherited the throne, Tsura is still one of the highest priestesses in existence, her power second only to her twin’s. She’s also the most talented healer in our coven.

Declan, who froze when my mother explained what had happened, is eyeing the phone like it’s suddenly become a snake. “Have they checked for black magic?” he demands.

In my haste to pick it up, I accidentally hit the Speaker button, so my mom hears Declan loud and clear. “Is that Declan?” she demands.

“It is.”

“Oh. I hadn’t realized . . .” Her voice has gone from panicked to regal in the space of a heartbeat. The queen doesn’t fall apart in front of anyone who isn’t family, and in my mother’s mind, Declan will never be family. He’s too dark, too dangerous, too unpredictable. Then again, my mother and I like very different things in our men.

If Declan registers her sudden coldness, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he repeats the question.

“We’re looking into that as well,” my mother tells him, and now she sounds downright offended. Like Declan’s attempt to help is actually a slam against her competence.

“We’ll be there in three hours, Mom,” I say as I grab a duffel bag from my closet and toss some clothes into it indiscriminately.

“Good. So I’ll expect you—”

“The two of us, Mom.”

“You’re not coming alone?”

I glance at Declan with raised eyebrows. He stares back disgustedly, the look on his face telling me just how stupid he thinks that question is.

“Declan’s coming with me,” I tell her.

Suddenly things grow muffled from her side and I realize someone else has come into the room and is talking to her. A minute later I hear a sharp cry and my sister Noora takes the phone. “Xandra?”

“What happened?”

“Hurry.” It’s the last thing she says before the line goes dead.

* * *

We’re about an hour out of Ipswitch when Declan says, “You know this is the Council, don’t you?”

He couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d reached over and slapped me. I turn to stare at him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. But his grip is white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his jaw hard as granite.

“That’s a huge assumption,” I tell him when I find my voice again. “Besides, they’re all running scared right now. Two Councilors dead and the rest in the crosshairs. They don’t have the time, the manpower or the guts to do something like this right now. My father is an exceptionally strong wizard. To take him down like this, to bring him . . .”

I stop. I can’t even say the words. My father will be fine, I tell myself, repeating the words like my own personal mantra. My father will be fine. But still, Declan’s words make a strange kind of sense. “What better chance to get us to lay off them than to distract me with my father’s illness? The only problem is that we’re not the ones killing Council members.”

“We know that, but it’s pretty obvious at this point that they don’t.” He strokes a comforting hand over my hair. “Besides, it doesn’t have to be the whole Council. It can be one or two members. The same one or two members who are responsible for the others’ deaths. For Shelby. What do you think all that blood collection was for?”

“Wait a minute.” My mind is boggling. “You think that the same person killing Councilors is also responsible for my father’s illness? And that that person is also a Council member?”

“Think about it. What better time to make a play for the brass ring?”

“But I thought you said my father’s illness was to distract us.”

“No, that’s what you said.”

“I don’t understand. There are too many variables here to keep track of. The ACW. My father. Shelby. I just don’t get how all of these can be part of some master plot. Or, more importantly, why.”