The Coven (Coven of Bones, #1)(44)

“Oh, well, she wasn’t a Green. Quincy was a White,” she answered, shrugging as if that explained it. My horror only grew, my eyes flashing to the box that contained a white witch. She should have been laid out upon a bed of sacred stones, allowing them to reabsorb her into the source.

“This is wrong,” I whispered, and I realized that Margot and the others had started looking at me in concern.

I ignored them. Taking a step forward, I prepared to approach the Covenant. I sincerely doubted they would appreciate my interfering, but I couldn’t stand there and do nothing. I couldn’t watch while they kept a witch separate from her magic and her ancestors.

A hand grasped me by the elbow, pulling me back. My body seemed to recognize exactly who it was that dared to touch me, freezing in place as I looked to the spot where he’d stood only a moment before. Gray was no longer there, and as I shifted to look over my shoulder at him, I found those steely eyes staring down at me in warning.

“Not now, Witchling,” he said, his voice dropping low as he tugged me back.

I tried not to show any reaction, tried not to give into the way my body reacted without thought. It was as if it knew that he was the only one who could bring me pleasure now, and it wanted to press into him and writhe like a cat.

Traitorous bitch.

“This is wrong,” I said, repeating my words from earlier.

“That may be, but part of bringing change is knowing when to act and when to remain silent. You cannot restore the old ways if you piss Susannah off enough that she kills you on the spot,” he said, growling his warning into my ear.

I was vaguely aware of the way the Coven’s eyes came to us, watching our interaction as if it were abnormal for the two kinds to mix in the light of day.

The cover of darkness usually disguised those stolen moments.

“You cannot expect me to let them condemn her soul to this,” I whispered, my heart cracking in my chest. To be unable to connect with the source and her ancestors, to suffer through a Christian burial and afterlife….

“Approach the Covenant privately, if you must, but do not be foolish enough to challenge them so publicly,” he said. Even I knew the logic to his words, but my bottom lip trembled at the thought of what I would have to do.

Another scar, another stain on my soul. It may have been sold to the devil long before I was born, but that didn’t mean I had to earn it myself on top of it.

“I can’t do this,” I said, shaking my head as my eyes burned with tears.

“You tasked me with protecting you. Let me do that,” he said, releasing my arm. His hand slid down over the fabric of my deep green blazer, his fingers threading through mine until he held my hand. I stared down at it in shock, at the way we somehow fit together.

Nobody outside my mother and brother had ever held my hand before. I bit back tears at the reminder of Ash’s little hand clutching mine when we’d stared down into our mother’s casket not long ago, swallowing down my need to speak. Finding the bones and finding a way to get back to the brother I missed more than anything had to be my priority—even if I’d wear her soul on my conscience for the rest of my life.

My eyes traveled up over his torso and chest, back to his eyes, where he held my gaze. The burial began as George started to speak, invoking the elements that had long since turned their back on the Coven. I hoped they ignored his call, hoped he was humiliated for what he would do to the white witch who was to be buried against her nature.

They didn’t, but for the strongest amongst us, the light breeze that blew against my face was a mockery of what it should have been.

The powers Charlotte had granted to the Covenant faded along with the rest of them. So what did they hope to gain by turning their backs on our ways?

A few of the Grays lifted her casket with the air, lowering her into the hole in the ground that would become her unwilling tomb. Her prison in the afterlife.

I closed my eyes and swore to find a way to make it right. I’d free her when I could. I glanced around the cemetery grounds, studying each grave marker with a new horror dawning on me.

I’d free them all.





22





WILLOW





I waved my hand in front of the Tribunal doors, smiling slightly when the mechanisms shifted and allowed me to part them. The Covenant may not allow a witch to take her place on the council that ruled our people until she completed her education, but that didn’t mean the magic here did not recognize me for what I was.

More than one of those empty seats belonged to me.

I stepped through the doors as they spread, moving to the room where the Tribunal convened when they had matters to discuss. It was empty save for Susannah and George, standing at the center of the circle and discussing something quietly.

“Willow,” George said, his voice far more polite than the scathing scowl I imagined Susannah leveled me with. “Is everything all right?”

“No. Everything is far from all right,” I snapped. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides, unable to contain the fury even as I knew this topic wasn’t one I could approach with anger. Far too much was riding on making them understand.

He sighed, hanging his skull forward for a moment as he shoved his finger bones into the pockets of his black robe. “Your mother taught you the old ways of burial, I presume?” he asked, but Susannah ignored the conversation in favor of repositioning herself. She didn’t go to her throne, but moved until she stood in front of the dais, with the threat of it in the background.