Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(99)

For some reason, a picture of Shelby flits through my head as I say that. I haven’t given her much thought today, not with everything going on. But if there was ever an innocent victim in the middle of all this, it’s her. Whoever is holding her against her will—

I freeze, my water glass halfway to my mouth as I remember, for the first time, what happened after the explosion knocked me out. The dream that wasn’t really a dream. The one where I played a game with Shelby and asked her to describe her kidnapper to me.

Curly black hair. Mean green eyes. Smells like her mommy’s chewing gum. It’s a childish description, but it’s the only one I’ve got right now. And, as I realized earlier, it doesn’t fit either of the female members of the ACW, or the wives of the male members. I wish I’d been able to ask her a few questions about the man who was holding her as well. Because as it stands right now, her captors could be anyone.

Frustrated, angry, afraid, I drop my head onto the counter, close my eyes. And try to fit all the different puzzle pieces together in a way that makes sense. It doesn’t work. Right now, I feel like I have all the pieces, that they’re all spread out in front of me. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t get them to form the right picture. Instead, everything is a little mixed up, a little out of focus.

It’s maddening, especially considering how many people have already lost their lives. And how many more people’s lives are at stake.

“So what do we do? Mom’s going to be awake in a couple of hours and I want to have a recommendation for her. She’s in no shape to think all this through on her own.”

“She’s the queen—”

“The queen who just lost her daughter and might very well lose her husband in short order. She’s going to need something to hold on to.”

“Yes, but—”

I break off as Rachael comes racing into the kitchen. “Have you heard?” she demands, flipping on the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall opposite us. “Councilor Marquez has been killed. His head of security found him in the family room, his throat and stomach slit wide open. He’d been completely bled out.”

I close my eyes, suck in deep breaths to hold at bay the nausea that has resurfaced at her words. Another Councilor dead. Killed violently. The news on TV for the whole Hekan community to see. This—on the heels of the explosion—is going to light up the entire witchcraft world.

The news flashes a picture of him across the screen—alive, smiling, but with the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen. And as the newscaster starts recounting the accomplishments of the man who had served as an ACW Councilor for nearly eighty years, my heart stutters in my chest. Because even though I know we weren’t involved in it, even though I know that no one in this house had anything to do with it, his death smacks of retribution.

I glance at Donovan, see the realization in his eyes as well. We’re one step closer to a war that we might not be able to win. A war that we don’t want to be any part of but one that we’re being forced closer to with each hour, each minute, that passes.

“Why Marquez?” Donovan asks into the ensuing chaos caused by Rachael’s announcement and the subsequent newscast. “He has almost nothing to do with Alride or Lantasis. They vote the issues differently, aren’t friends, don’t have anything in common that I can see. So why kill him?”

Trust Donovan to get to the heart of the matter with only a couple of simple questions. Too bad I don’t have a clue how to answer him—and judging by the looks on the others’ faces, neither do they.

I mean, we all know Marquez was a total bastard—and power hungry, to boot—but if someone had asked me which Councilor might be involved in blowing up our house, Marquez’s name would have been one of the last on the list. His moves are usually much more passive-aggressive, and more smoothly plotted. In fact, the only person I would suspect less than him is Callie. And that’s mostly because she’s the youngest Councilor—she hasn’t been around long enough to have been corrupted the way the others have.

Silence hangs over the lot of us until finally Donovan answers. “Maybe whoever did this knows something we don’t.”

“And maybe whoever did this is looking to cause the most damage in the smallest amount of time.” This from my sister Noora, who entered the kitchen while we were all gathered around the TV. “We know Marquez was an asshole, but he always put on a good show with the covens. The people love him—he has the highest popularity ranking of any of the Councilors.”

My eyes meet Donovan’s, lock. Because there it is again. Another nudge into war.