Chapter 329: Grandfather
If there was a girl inside Odette once who loved a boy, I saw a glimmer of her the moment Ivan Dumont emerged from Gram to face the Council. He stood tall and proud, regal even, a king among us, at least in his own estimation.
"Ivan." Odette's voice cracked, his name a croak from her lips. As she reached out toward him, her disguise slipped a little, enough the horrid, withered, and evil old crone behind the slim veneer of beauty she barely maintained showed through.
Ivan sneered at her. "Odette," he said. "What have you become?"
She flinched, cried out. "My love," she whispered.
"Love." He laughed openly, harshly. "I never loved you. You promised me power. That was all I cared about." His beautiful face twisted in hate. "Now look at you."
Odette's howl of agony almost made me feel sorry for her.
Almost.
Now it was her turn to bury her face in her hands and weep while Ivan surveyed the crowd with his same look of superiority. I think I would have learned to despise my grandfather if he'd survived so it was just as well he was dead.
"I'm here to tell the Council the truth behind the attack on the Hayle coven so many years ago." He didn't falter or hesitate as he spoke, as if he couldn't care less who heard him air his family's dirty laundry.
"I demand this travesty be finished!" Andre was on his feet, though it was his turn to be pale. "I call this Council to order and insist we return to the trial at hand."
"Do sit down, Andre," Ivan said. "No one cared what you thought when you were a nasty, spoiled child and no one cares now, either."
Andre sank back into his chair, muttering to himself in French.
Ivan went on. "Odette and Naudia planned the whole thing, while I was to betray Ethpeal. Naudia had the leader of the Hayle coven killed, forcing Ethpeal to return from her life as an Enforcer and take over her coven. Odette arranged for the leader of the Purity coven to be set aside so Naudia could take over. Together they planned the attack on Ethpeal and her family. An attack that failed."
I caught a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye and saw Dominic gesturing at Batsheva. He looked nervous. Very, very nervous. And with good reason. The fraying I'd felt around the edges of Batsheva's control had turned into unraveling.
Another push or two and she'd lose it entirely.
Are you sure I shouldn't help? I glanced at Gram
Keep your peace, she shot back. It's almost over.
Ivan turned toward Gram, for the first time his arrogance fading. They exchanged a long, sad look before Gram waved at him like he was a fly and he vanished.
The gathered witches were trembling under Batsheva's power, their sense of right and wrong being jerked about like they were puppets with damaged strings. Gram was about to open her mouth and release the last echo when the main door's seal burst open under a blast of power and the door itself slammed wide.
Batsheva gasped, power slipping as the ward she'd built was split almost in two. I watched her gesture at the door, heard it slam shut, felt the magic she'd created ooze over it. But much damage had been done, I could feel it all around me, as loose bits of her power flew free, swirling near the ceiling above us, blood magic hunting for a way out.
Charlotte marched forward with her two werewolf friends at her side, a black-robed form between them, though this one was clearly not an Enforcer. They dumped the small figure to the polished floor, Charlotte's foot landing in the middle of his back, pinning him to the ground.
"We've uncovered an intruder," she said, her werewolf showing in her eyes. "And he claims to be working for you, Batsheva Moromond."
The witch twitched violently, but held on, though I had no idea how and actually felt a twinge of admiration for her even while I rooted for her to collapse.
Charlotte bent and ripped the hood back from the man's face.
Even I gasped.
Not a man. A demon. No. Not a demon.
No. Freaking. Way.
Demitrius Strong looked up, his altered form still the one my demon forced him into, his amber eyes lighting on Batsheva as he struggled to rise.
"Save me, mistress," he croaked.
Charlotte tromped on his back hard enough I heard something crack. He cried out and rolled away from her, curling into a miserable ball.
"Get up." Charlotte grasped his arm and jerked him to his feet. Gone was the self-assured and cherubic man I'd met, the confident and angelic leader of the misguided Chosen of the Light. Instead he trembled in fear, hunched forward, clutching the ribs Charlotte damaged.
"Tell them." The weregirl grasped him by the chin, her wolf eyes locked on his face.
His voice wavered as he spoke, but he was clearly understandable. "I am Demitrius Strong, and Batsheva Moromond is my mistress."
So close. So. Close. How was she holding on?
Batsheva went one further. The gathered magic hovering above swooped down, enveloping his form entirely. Demitrius screamed, fell to his knees, while the blood magic struck at him, cutting his red-tinted skin in long, thin lashes.
"Silence, creature," she hissed.
I couldn't let her stop him. He had to be allowed to speak. My family magic flowed out the moment I released it and slid around him, cutting him off from the aging blood magic with a snarl of anger, my magic now more powerful than what Batsheva was losing control over.
Demitrius straightened, his anger surfacing at last. "You dare betray me?" He shuddered as if from pain, but went on. "No more." He spit blood to the floor, face sunken in fury. "It was Batsheva who resurrected the Chosen of the Light," he said while she snarled and howled at him like a wild animal. "It was she who used them to attack covens to steal their power." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spreading more blood around. "It was my group who killed Clare and David Dumont, but under her orders. And it was she who claimed the children. She discarded the girl as useless to her and kept the boy as payment for her services to the Dumonts."
Quaid was so white and tense I almost reached for him again, despite knowing he was lost in his own pain and would never accept my touch right now.
"Odette planned to kill Mia for being useless," Demitrius went on, "but instead tossed her into the normal foster system in the hope her power might one day wake up."
Mia flinched, but she wasn't crying anymore. In fact, she looked scary calm. She turned her head, met Quaid's eyes. The pair nodded together.
Oh no.
But they didn't attack as I feared they would. Instead, their power reached for each other, blending together, Clare's face appearing in the air, hovering over the gallery. Another face began to form, taking their mother's place, before the image shot across the room like an arrow and slammed into Batsheva.
Magic flared around her, turning slowly from blue to lavender until it was blood red.
"It's her," Quaid and Mia said together. "Batsheva Moromond killed our parents. And she used blood magic to do it."
***
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
