Rebels [Blood Magic, Book 4]

Chapter 22: Messages From the Dead

The meeting had already devolved into a heated argument when Ephraim and I entered the room. Renovations had not yet overtaken this space, likely because it was in near-constant use; as a result, it held onto its dated neutral-tone wallpaper and carpeting, as well as the vintage coffee maker still sitting on a table in the corner. No one had brewed any coffee. I suspected voices never got this loud and animated during the Bible studies that were once taught here.

"We can't just have everyone throwing fairy magic around in there!" shouted Heinrich Collins. I hadn't seen him since Keel and I first met the faction of rebel sorcerers, but it was clear he'd lost none of his paranoia.

"No, but everyone should be given a means to defend themselves and there is no better defense against sorcery," Kristiana said, refusing to raise her voice to meet his.

"We're going to be our own defeat!" declared a bulky mountain of a man as he brought his palms down hard on the boardroom-style table in front of him, rattling all the water bottles and travel mugs. I was sure I'd never seen him before.

I looked at Keel, who sat at the head of the very long table. His expression was impassive. If this had been his council at the compound, he'd be hollering for order and setting examples of those who refused to be brought to heel. Here, manners were necessary if we didn't want to piss off our new friends, though no one looked super friendly right now.

Thankfully, Ephraim had no such political needs. "Shut up!" he roared, and every single voice in the room fell silent. "Throughout Mildred's recovery I've been assuring her that we are capable and have matters under control. Are you attempting to make me a liar in the first ten minutes she's here?"

Heinrich stood up. "No, but we can't just be putting fae magic in were hands again. Look what it did the last time." He gestured at me, and I felt a flash of anger of my own. This was, after all, the man who'd once suggested that I might be nothing more than a weapon to Keel.

My father stepped forward. "If you have a concern, we discuss it, address it as a group, vote on it as a group. The weres aren't demonizing us for the actions of the League, so is it right that we should demonize them for the actions of a trio of wayward youths? The only choices you are responsible for are your own, and Ernst is right, what will get us killed in combat is in-fighting just like this."

Heinrich's mouth formed a tight line, as if he was forcefully holding it shut, but he sat back down, glowering. The rest of the room stayed silent, but the tension didn't fully dissipate. It was clear my father had quite a bit of power here. I wondered if it had been given or claimed, and I let my eyes drift to Keel once more. This time he was looking at me too.

I think they're putting on a show for us, he said. Posturing.

Well, it's strange territory for everyone, isn't it?

He gave me a nearly imperceptible nod, then I felt Ephraim's hand in the middle of my back, steering me to my seat at the other end of the table, as if Keel and I were the matriarch and patriarch of this weird little family. I bristled at our distance. My father took the chair to my right; Lucia sat to Keel's right. Seating arrangements were important in such matters and this one unsettled me. My spot had always been to Keel's right. Side by side. I preferred it to this pedestal.

Shoving those troubling thoughts aside, I gazed around the rest of the table. Three of the four sorcerers from our first meeting were here: Kristiana, of course, but also Heinrich and Santos. On the opposite side of the table were the man mountain and a man I'd frequently seen in the company of Owen at the were lodge and a woman. From their scents and heartbeats I knew they were all were.

Who? I asked Keel, glancing at the were I recognized.

Targus Peterson, one of Owen's lieutenants; he's authorized to speak on his behalf. Serves as his voice in these proceedings. He goes by Gus.