Children of Poseidon: Rann (7 page)

Lila answered. “I think he would. He’s a lot of sound and fury, but he sounded as if he had a soft spot for the seawitches.”

Lykos snorted.

“And if he created them, surely they must be valuable to him. He was always going on about adding witches to his household.”

“He did say they’d be miserable slaves,” Lykos pointed out.

Lila shrugged.

“I’ll ask him,” Rann said. “It can’t do any harm.”

“I’ve had another idea.” Lila looked pleased with herself. “Remember the witch and werewolf partners who were prisoners with me?” She had been kept in a cage between Annis, the witch, and Connor, the werewolf.

“I remember.” Rann raised his brows at Lykos. “The two who helped me track down the missing supernaturals?”

“Of course I remember. I’m not senile.” Lykos scowled at Rann.

“They were private investigators,” Lila said. “Working mostly for the magic community. Annis is a finder witch. Maybe they’d know how to go about finding where this seawitch came from.”

“That’s a good idea.” Rann gave her an approving smile. “Do you know how to get in touch with them?”

“I’ll give you Annis’s number. We’ve kept in touch. She’s bound to remember you.”

“Thanks, Lila. Best thing Lykos ever did was keep you.” He glanced at his half-brother whose face had taken on an expression of smugness. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Chapter 8

Jewel sipped her coffee and slumped into the window seat of the Italian coffee shop on Hampstead High Street. Closing her eyes, she mentally prepared herself for the meeting with her mother. A strong feeling that she would not want, or be able to eat and drink while in her old home, made her dread the prospect of sitting down to tea. Going to the café was an attempt to delay the moment, as well as an exercise in nostalgia. She and Maya had haunted the place while they were teenagers, dropping in every day after school. It was amazing to Jewel how little had changed. It was here she’d met Micael for coffee and ice cream.

They used to sit in this same seat, next to the plate glass window overlooking the high street. Micael liked to talk, and she would hang on his every word. He’d always pause and check his reflection in the window of the shop across the street before he joined her. She could instantly visualise the way he would smooth his hand over the spikes in his cropped, blond hair. He never guessed how closely she watched him.

Where is he now? What happened to him in the last nine years?

Micael’s magic had been stripped from him by her mother’s coven. They’d exiled him from all the covens. None of them, anywhere in the world, would have anything to do with him after that. It was a fitting punishment for a people-trafficking rogue mage. She hadn’t thought about him properly for years. She’d thought he was so clever and grown up, but looking back, she realised he wasn’t much older than she was. Attractive in a golden androgynous sort of way, or at least that’s what she’d thought then. He’d been a terrible criminal, with drugs and kidnapping to his credit, but he made her feel good for a while, and she found it difficult to hate him, even knowing what he was. He had been kind to her. Before her old life fell apart.

A prickling of awareness on the skin of her face jerked her out of her reverie.

She opened her eyes and stared out the window at the passing shoppers, wondering why the scene looked wrong. Her gaze lingered on a tramp-like figure, shuffling through the crowds of affluent young people, completely out of place. He was older for a start, his long hair graying, but apart from that he wore a long shabby overcoat that might have been made from some sort of tweed. It covered him from his neck to his ankles. Shiny new trainers stuck out from the tattered hem. He gazed at the coffee shop, body almost quivering with concentration. Jewel’s skin itched as though he stared directly at her. She looked away and glanced back, but he’d disappeared as though he’d never been there.

Pushing herself to her feet, she left the money for her coffee on the table along with a small tip. She knew it was time she bit the bullet and faced her mother. Once, she told herself, just once, then it would be over. She had to prove to herself she could do it. Then she could move on. She closed her eyes again, and Rann’s face danced behind her eyelids. Dark, relaxed, and sensual. A twinge of loss rippled through her before she picked up her bag, gathered her courage, and walked up the hill to the mansion she’d been brought up in.

The guard who opened the main gates to the house was a stranger to Jewel. He asked for identification, and she handed him her passport with a sense of incredulity.
Since when has the coven’s headquarters become a controlled zone?

Shaking her head in bemusement, she walked down the gravel drive to the imposing front door and rang the bell. An unfamiliar maid answered. It all served to remind her how long she’d been away. The maid held the door open, allowing Jewel to step into the hallway. Her youthful face showed a studied disinterest, but she stole sidelong glances as she accompanied Jewel to one of the sitting rooms
.

“Take a seat, Miss Vargas.” She waved at the arrangement of squashy sofas round a low glass coffee table.

Jewel hovered. She hadn’t been in this room much as a child. Her mother entertained her coven in here. Most of Jewel’s youth had been spent in the kitchen, or in her room, and just being back in the house made her feel slightly sick. She sank down onto one of the sofas and pulled herself forward so she perched on the edge. Shifting nervously, she brushed a stray hair off her short red skirt before smoothing her new hairstyle with shaking fingers.

No sound came from the rest of the house. A luxurious cream carpet covered the floor, heavy curtains framed the windows, and the opulent furniture screamed obvious wealth. The atmosphere gave Jewel a chill. She thought maybe her imagination was working overtime, but it seemed to her the air trembled with malevolence. She’d never been comfortable here, but she didn’t recall the ambience ever being this bad.

The door opened, but only the maid came through it, carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. She placed it on the table. “Madame Vargas will be with you shortly.” She kept her head lowered, sidling out of the room without looking at Jewel.

Jewel’s lungs tightened. She forced herself to inhale slowly. She’d always had difficulty breathing in her mother’s presence. For a while, they thought she might be asthmatic, and that had made her mother even shorter with her, as though it was a personal affront that any daughter of hers should have less than perfect health. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled as Kara walked into the room, dressed in a gray suit and heels. Jewel got to her feet, glad she hadn’t let herself sink into the comfortable depths of the sofa.

“Mother, how nice to see you after all these years.” No one could say her manners weren’t perfect.

Kara frowned. “Do sit down, Jewel.” She perched neatly on the opposite sofa. “Tea?”

Jewel sat down without answering. Kara had already picked the pot up, her attention on the teacups. She looked no older than the last time Jewel had seen her. Another chill shivered through her as she remembered her mother asking if anyone requested Jewel’s death in reparation for a non-existent crime. She was almost certain she’d seen a flicker of disappointment in her mother’s eyes when no one replied.

Kara gave the impression of being a large woman, mostly through attitude and the aura of authority that followed her. In reality, she had a similar build to Jewel, slender and small-boned. Her hair was in the same perfect chignon, the same dark red shade it had been nine years ago. The same arctic blue eyes skimmed over Jewel, leaving the same sense of inadequacy in their wake.

“What have you done with your hair?” Kara’s voice held distaste.

Once, Jewel would have cringed under it. To her surprise, the pettiness didn’t bother her. “I had it cut. Yesterday. Do you like it?”

Kara eyed her for a moment, shook her head, and passed her a teacup.

Jewel put it down on the table without tasting it. “How have you been?” She squirmed under her mother’s critical stare but forced herself to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Well,” Kara replied. “And have you enjoyed life on your island?” Her tone suggested that Jewel had spent the last nine years at a permanent party.

“Immensely.” Jewel struggled to keep the defiance out of her voice. She didn’t have to rise to the snide note in Kara’s voice.

“I’m surprised you left it,” Kara said, sounding as though she wished her daughter had stayed there.

Jewel sighed inwardly. “There was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“Do you know anything about seawitches?”

“Seawitches?”

“We have a sick one. We brought her to London with us. We don’t know what to do for her.” Jewel wondered if she’d told her mother too much, but it couldn’t matter, the woman had never paid attention to anything she said anyway. And if she did know something, it could only help the seawitch.

Kara’s brows rose. “I thought they were extinct, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as the door opened. Her cold reserved features suddenly sprang to life, as though she was powerless to control her response.

Jewel followed her gaze. A man had stepped into the room. He was tall, he was handsome, and he was dark in more than a visual sense. Power rolled off him, and even Jewel, whose talents didn’t include awareness of auras, saw the halo of darkness surrounding him.

“Who have we here?” He advanced into the room and smiled down at Jewel. She resisted the urge to squirm away and forced her lips to return his smile.

“My daughter,” Kara said. “’I’ve mentioned Jewel, haven’t I?”

The man’s interest sharpened, and he studied Jewel closely. “I’m Alberic.” He held out his hand. Jewel reluctantly placed hers in it.

Heat seeped into her fingers as magic radiated from him, but she held his gaze as calmly as she could. Something told her it would not be wise to show fear. She pulled her hand back.

Kara interrupted with a feverish laugh, and Jewel’s concern grew.
This must be why the coven is worried.

Kara’s behaviour was completely out of character. Her gaze rested on the mage with the fire of obsession. He smiled at her. The expression in her eyes made Jewel feel slightly sick.

“Jewel just asked about seawitches.” She swayed towards him. “I told her they were extinct. What do you think?”

“Probably extinct.” The mage stared thoughtfully at Jewel. His interest had spiked. “Why do you ask? What do you know of seawitches?” A pulse of magic enhanced the question.

“No reason.” The urge to tell him everything she knew almost took control of her, but she didn’t want Alberic to know anything about her or anyone she was connected with. His magic felt almost as powerful as Maya’s but nowhere near as clean. She fought his compulsion.

“Jewel has one with her. She brought her from the Indian Ocean.” Kara corrected her.

Jewel gritted her teeth.

“A sick one.” Kara added.

The silence stretched, while the shadows surrounding Alberic deepened. “You should let us see her.” He focussed his gaze on Jewel, and again the urge to please him thudded into her. “We might be able to help. The Indian Ocean, you say?”

“Thank you. I don’t know where she came from.” Jewel had no intention of letting this scary mage anywhere near the seawitch. She had a feeling that healing wasn’t one of his talents. “I’ll ring my mother and arrange a time.”

“Now would be good.” The dark eyes narrowed. “I’ll come back with you.”

“No.” Jewel forced a smile and hurriedly formed an excuse. “I have an appointment when I leave here.”

Kara stood up and touched the mage’s hand. “Would you like tea?”

“No, thank you.” Alberic patted her shoulder. “I just looked in to see who your visitor was. I’ll leave you to talk now.” He swung back to pin Jewel with his stare. “Let me know about your seawitch. Sooner would be best.” Again, his voice carried an undertone of command.

“But . . .” Kara watched him leave the room, her face soft with yearning.

Jewel followed her gaze.
What’s going on? Has he cast a spell over my mother? She’s never behaved like this in her entire life.

Jewel needed to ask the coven as soon as she got a chance. Not that she meant to stay in London long enough to do anything practical. It was none of her business.

Her mother dragged her eyes away from the closed door. “Is that all you wanted?” She glanced at her watch.

Jewel regarded her thoughtfully. She was Kara’s only daughter. She hadn’t been home in nine years. Once again, she asked herself what was wrong with the woman. “Why don’t you like me, Mother?”

Kara’s head jerked up, surprise animating her features. She obviously hadn’t expected to be challenged; the old Jewel would never have done it. Her expression shifted back to glacial, and Jewel expected her to say nothing. Her face screwed up with something that might have been anger, might have been any sort of negative emotion. She collapsed back onto the sofa. “You were a disappointment. Nothing to do with like or dislike. Every time I look at you, I’m reminded that I failed.”

“Failed?”

“You were supposed to be a witch of immense power.” Kara’s voice rose. “I chose your father carefully. He was a mage of the highest levels. I’m the most powerful witch in the coven. You should have been better than you are.”

Jewel wondered if she should point out that Kara was well outclassed by Maya, but she didn’t want her mother to attack her physically. The old Kara would never have stooped to such impulsive behaviour, but the woman in front of her now was different. “It doesn’t work like that.” Even Jewel knew the Law of the Average. Every generation leaned towards the average. There were exceptions, of course, but they
were
exceptions, mutations, or something.

“Sometimes it does.” Kara glared at her. “Do you know why you were called Jewel?”

Jewel shook her head. Her palms were damp. She didn’t like this at all, but she had asked.

“You were supposed to be the jewel in the Vargas family tree. The next coven leader.”

What?
She must be mad.

Kara’s face flushed with emotion, and a long strand of hair worked loose from her chignon. Her fists clenched and unclenched. “But it was obvious from the time you were a child that you’d never be worth anything. My father called me a failure when he saw what I’d produced.” Kara’s features twisted into bitterness. “He told me I couldn’t do anything right.”

Jewel kept quiet. She hardly remembered her grandfather; she had a vague impression of a scary old man, small and wrinkled, with fierce pale blue eyes.

“I never had another child. I’d given it my best attempt.” Kara regarded Jewel with contempt. “My grandmother was coven leader. My father was coven leader. It’s a Vargas position. Then you came along. Worthless.” She practically spat the words out.

“But why should I have been more powerful than you?” Jewel didn’t want to make Kara any angrier than she already was, but she really wanted to know.

“I chose your father carefully,” she repeated. “I knew I should have cast a ritual as well, but I’d used most of my reserves in seducing him.”

Jewel took a deep breath. “Who
was
my father?” She’d wondered for years but, because Kara became extremely annoyed whenever she asked, she’d given up. After the second beating, she decided that the knowledge wasn’t worth the pain.

“Fergal Redcar.” Kara stared at her triumphantly. “So you had every chance. You could have been great.”