Payback's a Witch (The Witches of Thistle Grove #1)(16)
She put this last in finger quotes, rolling her eyes, as if an aversion to causing harm indicated a moderately loathsome weakness of the temperament. Linden blinked beside her, mutely repeating sparklepony to herself.
“Sparklepony?” I asked, barely managing not to laugh.
“Like a unicorn, but worse,” Talia replied with an exaggerated shudder. “Unwilling to impale even the deserving with one’s head.”
“First off, I am not a . . . a sparklepony,” Linden said hotly, having regained the power of speech. “Forgive me for having a working moral compass, I know it must seem super weird to you. Second, stop acting like you’re some kind of bad-bitch warlock. As I recall, you weren’t down for any hexing, either.”
“I’ll allow that I’d prefer not to fuck with the powers of darkness if an alternative is readily available. And lucky for us, one is.” She tipped her sleek head toward me, lazy grin glinting like a blade’s edge. “Enter the final member of our vengeance coven.”
“And I come into play how, exactly?” I said, a murky possibility looming out of my mental fog like an iceberg. “Might this have something to do with the Gauntlet of the Grove?”
“Indeed, it might. Because what could be a better punishment for Gareth than losing the Gauntlet to Rowan Thorn?” Talia bit her full lower lip through her sly smile, her gray eyes widening with anticipation. “Or, better yet, losing it to me?”
What with last night’s emotional turbulence and the ensuing brownout, it had somehow entirely slipped my mind that while I arbitrated the Gauntlet, Gareth, Talia, and Linden’s older-by-six-minutes twin brother would actually be duking it out against one another as the Blackmoore, Avramov, and Thorn scions, respectively.
“Assuming you could even pull something like that off—and given that the Blackmoores have been sweeping the Gauntlet since the town was founded, let’s say I have some reservations,” I started. “But even if I didn’t, what would be the point? Do you sincerely believe that blocking Gareth from becoming Thistle Grove’s magical mayor is going to cut him all that deep? He already has everything he could ever want. What’s another title on top of all that?”
Talia cocked her head like a disgruntled raven, leveling an incredulous stare at me.
“Seriously, Harlow?” she demanded. “I know you’ve been out of the loop for a while, but even you must know that Victor of the Gauntlet is much more than an honorary title. It increases the winning family’s magical power by magnitudes, even bends fortune to their favor. Not to mention the longevity perks. Gareth’s grandmother Igraine won fifty years ago, and she still looks like a silver fox snack.”
“Tal, ew.”
“What, Lin? It’s true.” Talia widened her eyes, looking downright delighted at Linden’s appalled expression. “The dowager Blackmoore—aside from being an awful soul-dead harpy—is remarkably well-preserved for a woman pushing eighty.”
“Moving right along,” Linden said, giving a little shudder, “look what the Blackmoores have done with all the centuries they’ve been winning. They’re multimillionaires, and absurdly strong witches to boot.”
“Exactly,” I pointed out. “Which makes their winning almost a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“But that’s the beauty of this plan,” Talia insisted, raking a hand back through the shining fall of her hair, her eyes glittering with conviction. “What Lin and I want to do is team up against them. Something that’s never been done before, not in more than three hundred years of Thistle Grove history.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the wheezing upholstery, narrowing my eyes at her. “I am the Arbiter, remember? I assume that entails cracking down on any cheating-type shenanigans. And I’m not sure two houses teaming up against a third qualifies as playing by the rules.”
“Just because it’s never been done doesn’t mean it’s forbidden,” Talia retorted, her lips curving with mischief. It was an extremely good look on her, much like most looks I’d seen so far.
“So says the morally ambiguous gray hat,” Linden interjected. “Though in this case, I’m compelled to agree with her, Em. I’ve pored over the Gauntlet rules and the fine print, and there’s just nothing in the Grimoire prohibiting alliances.”
“We’ve done our research, Harlow,” Talia pressed, leaning into my hesitation. “If it’s the Thorns, the Avramovs, and the Harlows against the Blackmoores, we might have a real shot at this thing.”
“You can’t really count the Harlows in,” I pointed out. “No matter how you’re envisioning me playing into this scheme, the whole point of an Arbiter is impartiality.”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be part of this,” Talia argued. “For starters, your family’s been keeping records of this town’s magical history since its founding. There must be Gauntlet lore over at Tomes that you can dig into for us, if you’re down for it. I’m not suggesting anything underhanded. Just . . . a study guide for the challenges, if you will. To help me and Rowan prepare.”
“So your brother’s in on this, too, then?” I asked, glancing at Linden.
“Of course,” she replied steadily. “You know how it is with me and Rowan. He knows how . . . how I’ve been feeling. And he’s been itching to turn the tables on Gareth since I told him what happened.”