Magic Rising (18 page)

This event was very different, not just because there were more people from my home country, but because there was no pretense of being anything except what it was: the official kickoff for the Summit and the formal revelation of the candidates. As we stepped off the elevator, Micah, looking elegant in a tuxedo, chose to join us this time rather than staying in the bar off the lobby downstairs as he did the night before. I was pleased at his decision.

The room where the party had been held the previous night was all in order. The tables had been cleared away and the chairs were set in neat rows behind a narrow stage. The bar was concealed behind panelling. I looked around cautiously, trying not to look overly interested; even though I burned with curiosity about the evening ahead. A few rows away, I could see Georgia Thomas deep in conversation with a thin, weedy-looking man. She had a small cohort of other people around her, but I didn’t recognise them. Like me, though, a lot of the guests covered their evening wear with light jackets or wraps, clearly preferring to stay for the whole event, rather than return to wherever they were staying to change.

Our seats were reserved, separating us. Micah and I were seated together. Kitty ended up in the back row, where she was pleased to find a witch she recognised. Three rows in front of me sat Etoile, next to her was Seren, with David on her right. Every so often they leaned in and talked to each other. I couldn’t see their parents or sister.

Seren.
I threw my thought out to her telepathically.
Seren.

Seren glanced over her shoulder, searching, then saw me and gave me a friendly smile. I hoped we’d catch up later, assuming the whole shebang wasn’t shot to shit. My nerves were anxiously waiting for the moment when the proceedings would come to a screeching halt. I doubted I was the only one who thought that way. The air felt tense and unsteady. A moment later, Etoile turned and popped her lips at me, blowing a kiss. I gave them a little wave, before scanning the room to see anybody else I recognised.

A section of the room was taken up with beings that I could only describe as magical, but definitely not witches. They were emitting so many diverse notes that it was hard to tell who was what. I thought I detected werewolves, demons and vampires, amongst others. They seemed to prefer their own separate sections. I looked for Gage unsuccessfully, and just as I thought
my first vampire
, my eyes settled on a pale man. The dead man looked up and caught my eye, holding it for a moment. I could feel someone’s mental feelers reaching out for me —
his
, I thought — but I bounced it back, and the dead man smiled. I smiled back. It only seemed polite to appear friendly. If anything, it wasn’t completely idiotic, given our positions on the food chain.

There was something familiar about him that I couldn’t place. When I glanced over again, he looked away, talking to a friend. But he caught my eye before I could avert them, and gave me a smile that I interpreted as friendly. As someone dropped into the chair next to mine, I broke eye contact, wondering who the latecomer was. Actually, I was relieved for the excuse to look away. I had the strangest feeling as I viewed the man, that I knew him from somewhere. It couldn’t be possible. I’d only ever met one vampire, and she was gone.

Marc nodded to me as he undid the buttons of his jacket, relaxing.

“Hey.” I said, then backtracked. “I mean, it’s good to see you again. How are you?”

“Good. I saw Kitty. I didn’t know she was staying.” He looked pleased.

“Last minute decision,” I told him. We couldn’t speak anymore because Steven took the stage that was erected for the event and loudly banged a gavel against the podium, calling the room to order. He looked horribly uncomfortable up there as all eyes fell on him. To his left, I saw another row of seats. Anders and Daniel were sitting there, along with witches and warlocks that I’d been introduced to from the other foreign regions. Anders looked relaxed. Daniel adjusted his bowtie, frowning.

“Welcome, friends. We’re here today to elect a new Council Leader. Let’s get down to business. Do we have any nominees?”

The weedy-looking man I’d seen earlier stood up immediately. “Georgia Thomas,” he piped out as Georgia rose from sitting next to him. I could only see the back of her head and the stiff posture of her shoulders. She had no wrap of any kind, instead choosing to show off her lithe figure in a black, strapless ball gown.

“Your nominator?” Steven asked.

“Walt Matheson.”

“Anyone to second the nomination?”

“Me.” The woman who was sitting beside Georgia stood up and nodded at Steven. “Teresa Wright.”

“Step forward, Witch Thomas. Any other nominees?” Steven looked around, his eyebrows rising. I thought he looked hopeful, but no one stood up. “Anyone?” he squeaked.

“Matthew Donovan.”

A ripple of surprise waved through the audience as we all abandoned our cool and looked around to see which nutcase had decided to go up against Georgia Thomas. Matthew Donovan was somewhere in his late forties, and he looked more like a banker than a witch. He was dressed in a black, three-piece suit, which complemented his salt-and-pepper hair. There was something rather likeable about him, although it might have been just a rosy afterglow that anyone daring to run against Georgia might get. A ripple vibrated through the crowd, but he looked straight ahead, ignoring everything. His wife sat next to him — I thought her name was Paige — and she looked proud.

“He was a friend of my dad’s,” said Marc.

Steven went through the motions of nominating and seconding the nomination before calling Matthew to the stage. He nodded at Georgia, who sneered back at him. I thought I glimpsed a little smile on Matthew’s face. He was confident, and I hoped it wasn’t entirely misplaced. Georgia was probably unable to rally any loyal supporters who adored her and hoped she would make a great leader. No, she was only able to scare them into backing her.

“Anymore nominees?” Steven looked around the crowd.

“Esme Sanchez.” Another woman stood up. Small and compact looking, she had long, black hair that gleamed under the artificial lighting. Again, they went through the robotic motions of nominating and seconding the nomination before she was invited to join the other candidates on the stage.

Next on the slate was Mary Richardson, the woman I’d recognised on the Council. She, too, joined the other three on the stage and there was a smattering of applause. I joined in politely as I stared at the back of Etoile‘s head. Why didn’t she stand? Had she changed her mind? Had Georgia got to her?

“Do we have anymore nominees before I declare this application for candidacy closed?” Steven asked.

Etoile let a full minute tick by before she stood up. “Etoile Winterstorm,” she said.

The ripple of chatter was louder this time, albeit surprised, but not shocked. She definitely used the timing of her announcement to her best advantage. All eyes were riveted on her. I sat a little straighter in my seat and tried to catch Etoile‘s eye, but she would not be distracted, her eyes focused firmly forward.

“Nominator?”

“House of Winterstorm.” Seren stood. If anyone was surprised at her invoking their house name, rather than simply using her own, no one said so; but I was sure it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that an entire house had offered her their support.

“And who will second the nomination?”

“I will.” All heads swivelled to look towards the far corner where the male vampire who caught my eye was standing. Behind him, the other vampires in his group stood up, one-by-one, until the dangerous little clique were all on their feet. This was not the plan Etoile had outlined to me.

“Fascinating,” breathed Micah. Behind us, someone gasped.

“Witches only,” Georgia snapped before Steven could open his mouth. She wheeled around to face him. “Only witches count, Steven, you know the rules. She doesn’t have a seconder.”

Regardless of the rules, Etoile had put on quite a formidable show of power and it was hardly surprising that Georgia felt challenged. The sound level rose to a din. Next to me, Micah tensed, probably waiting for pandemonium to break out.

Steven banged his gavel while raising his voice loudly, and patting his forehead with a silk square handkerchief. “She’s right, Ms. Winterstorm. Do you have a seconder amongst… us?”

The room was quiet, waiting and Georgia began to smirk. “Sit down, Etoile, you have no seconder,” she mocked.

This was my cue. After a moment’s pause, I stood. “I second the nomination,” I told the assembly. All eyes turned onto me. This was exactly the proposal Etoile wanted everyone to remember. “Estrella Mayweather,” I clarified, needlessly. My name might have been the rumour on everyone’s lips before, but now my name carried weight and my face was etched in their memories.

“Thank you, Ms. Mayweather. Ms. Winterstorm, please join us on the stage.” After appealing once again for anymore candidates, Steven’s gavel crashed against the podium. He held a hand out to the five people, four women and one man, who stood side-by-side, yet eons apart, on the stage. “Witches, warlocks, and esteemed guests, I present to you our candidates.”

This much I knew: one of them was a survivor and one was a hair’s breadth away from being a killer.

Marc made his excuses, telling me he wanted to see Kitty, as around me, everyone rose in unison, ready to leave and find their friends, or gossip about the candidates. Micah offered me his arm and I took it. “How come you’re sitting with me and not with the demons?” I asked him.

“I’m not a part of their delegation, nor do I wish to be.” He steered us in the direction of the doors. “And I have not forgotten my duties. What crimes will we commit tonight?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

“Borrowing a book is the height of my criminal activity.”

“That’s a shame. Perhaps someone will try to kill you.”

“I wish you didn’t sound so eager.”

“Your dress is very attractive,” he said switching topics, apparently feeling cheerful enough not to compare my standard of dress to something unfavourable. “You have received some interested looks already,” he said. The demons turned as one to look at me when we passed them. Like Micah, they were all striking in their looks too, and built, their large size seemingly a common trait. Power rippled from them and they made no attempt to conceal it.

“That’s because of you,” I told him. “You look good in a tux.”

“I know.

“Compliments are wasted on you.”

“Are not. However, fishing for compliments is. I already commented on your attractiveness this evening.” We passed through the open doors that spilled guests into the large reception hall, where waiters moved between them, their trays laden with glasses. I tried not to focus on the thick red liquid one tray held. “Did you read your book?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

“Did you find out what you wanted?”

“Yes.” And I wasn’t happy about it. The images were hand drawn, five in all, one to show each side of the object, and the fifth depicting it in 3-D. Interesting though they were, it was the text that worried me. The talisman wasn’t a simple, carved ornament as Annalise seemed to think. Instead, it was intended to be a powerful totem that protected the wolves from witch magic. Apparently, it was originally created by a witch who had a close allegiance to a pack of werewolves. She meant to ensure they didn’t come to harm during some war that was fought a couple of hundred of years ago and had bespelled for their use when they were under threat. The totem was supposed to have been stolen, and the pack was almost eradicated entirely in the subsequent battle. The final paragraphs, which were added in a different hand, said the talisman was now thought to be no more than a legend. If not, then it was surely destroyed in the battle. Yet, the wolves still sought it today. I wondered if it was a matter of righting a wrong, exacting revenge, or because they felt they needed its protection.

Micah waited patiently, so I added, “It had some information about a talisman I heard about. The book didn’t say if it were myth or legend, or if it once existed only to be destroyed in battle.”

“Interesting,” said Micah, in a very disinterested sort of way. “Why are you so interested in werewolves?”

“You’ve been to Wilding. It’s full of them.”

“I hope they don’t soil your lawn.”

I hoped they didn’t either. There was, literally, only so much crap in my life I could deal with. “Not with me watching,” I told him, waving to Etoile as she came into sight. She walked over, cutting an exciting figure in her emerald green gown as the witches moved to the sides of her. Feeling cold mental feelers reach me, I scanned the area and saw the pale vampire who stood up for her. More than ever, I felt I should meet him. Whoever he was, I knew he was curious about me; his repeated attempts to snatch a peek into my head told me that at the very least.

“Who’s that?” I asked Etoile. I didn’t need to point. Evidently, she knew exactly who he was.

“An old friend,” she said. “Why?”

“He’s tried to take a peek into my head twice now.”

She turned to look at him again, and I saw her give him an almost perceptible shake of her head. Something seemed to pass between them, then the man bowed and moved away.

“He asked me to apologise. He is used to being unobserved,” she told me. “He commends your abilities and promises not to intrude on you again.”

“I feel like I know him.”

“You have not met,” Etoile said with absolute certainty.

“I know that. I just… feel it. It’s the strangest thing. He feels familiar and I got the impression that…” I paused, wondering how I could put it into words. “I got the impression I liked him. I have no idea why.” I looked at Micah and he shrugged then took a long sip from the glass.

Etoile contemplated that, her face slipping into the mask of calm she always got when she didn’t want to answer something. “What did you make of Matthew Donovan?” she asked.

“I wondered why he chose to run,” I said, searching for the man. He didn’t seem to be in the room and neither was his wife. I did see Georgia, preening amongst her hangers-on. “Marc said he was a family friend.”