How to Marry a Warlock in 10 Days (23 page)

Aradia knew it was this man who had blocked the vote.

This tiny, insignificant troll of a warlock who thought it was his duty to decide her son’s future.

Like hell he would.

She bit her tongue. Literally. Aradia could taste blood. It was either that or threaten the warlock’s life in front of witnesses. How dare he!

“I would think, Martin, that you of all warlocks would be for the integration of, what are we calling it now?—oh, yes, less than highborn stock. After all, highborns have almost bred out of existence. Soon, our children will have webbed feet and two heads.”

“I’ve seen the error of my philosophy,
Aradia.
” He sneered. “Highborns are something separate and I’m thankful to have been shown the way.”

“I will thank you to remember,
Martin,
that you may address me as Lady Shadowins. Chancellor though you are, a highborn or intimate you are not.” Aradia had nothing against lowborns, but she knew it was one of Martin’s buttons. He’d pursued her relentlessly at Academy, but all he’d wanted from her was to say he’d been with a highborn. He didn’t see her or any of them as a people, only status symbols.

She was pleased to see the mottling begin underneath his jowls; it was as if their jiggling was like a pepper shaker, spreading the color up to the rest of his face and then down his hairy neck.

There was no smart retort for that. The council’s charter had been set in stone and she was due her proper title.

He could kiss her
Wii-Fit
ass and do it twice on Tuesday.

“Still, with a fortune of that size and highborn rank at stake, I cannot give my consent to the marriage.”

She had to admit she was impressed that he managed the pronouncement without stuttering, the fat fuck. She also had to admit he had her ass over a barrel and was about to shove something in it that she didn’t care for.

“Well, you simply must change your mind. The girl has already taken the Shadowins potion.” Aradia shrugged.

“Lady Shadowins, I regret to inform you that I don’t care.” Vargill shrugged back.

“She will lose her magick if she doesn’t marry him!”

Godrickle spoke up. “The girl works in your office. Could you really sentence her to that?”

“Choices for the greater good are often difficult,” Martin offered.

Where had Aradia heard those words before? They were familiar and the way he said them, it was as if he were getting more than just a perverse joy out of blocking her machinations. It was almost as if this scene had been something he’d imagined. Something he liked more than cake.

Something that was pretty damn satisfying, from the look of him.

“Well, I suppose there might be in a bit of trouble then.”

Aradia broke her cool façade with a smirk that bloomed into a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean?” Vargill growled, leaning over his place at the council table like a hungry wolf ready to pounce.

“The Shadowins family has been left to its own devices for generations, as I’ve mentioned previously. As it happens, Dred and Middy are already married.”

An animalistic roar echoed throughout the hall and the air crackled with gathering power. A mad fire blazed in Vargill’s eyes and Aradia rose to the challenge.

The very foundations of the hall shook with her power and ice suddenly covered every inert surface. Snowflakes fell from the ceiling and a blast of frigid wind lifted Aradia into the air, her long, white hair swirling in the storm behind her.

“Do you challenge me, Vargill?” Her voice echoed with an otherworldly influence, as if there were something else that filled the flesh of Aradia Shadowins.

“You had no right, Aradia,” Godrickle whispered softly.

“I am the Lady of the Lake and my blood can be traced back to Arthur. To Merlin himself and you dare tell me of my rights with my own son?”

“See, they have no respect for the law of the land. No respect for the council! She’s dangerous, High Chancellor.

She must be imprisoned in Chaldonean Hall for the greater good.” Vargill’s temper had calmed some, or he’d figured out that his rage was getting him on the train to nowhere fast.

Aradia realized she had overstepped herself, but it was getting hard to care. Indeed, who did these red-tape licking, parchment-sucking bureaucrats think they were to dic-tate to her?

She pulled in her power and was pleased to know her new grooming charm had held up to her fit of pique. Aradia smiled at the council, using her magick to send calming thoughts to each of them. In five minutes, they’d forget that she’d just pulled out her Bitch Goddess of Doom heels and stomped all over Vargill. She’d bet he hadn’t expected that.

Aradia knew that she’d have to be more careful around him from now on. She also knew that he didn’t give a rusted-out damn about the Shadowins fortune or their line.

He was plotting something else and she was going to find out what it was.

She needed to talk to Dred, but she couldn’t do it via Witchberry or spelltop because all of those communications were too easily monitored. She’d have to dream walk, which made her really uncomfortable.

A woman just didn’t need to know what went on in her grown son’s mind. Or perhaps her hesitation was because she already had such a clear idea? But this was more important than any motherly discomfort. Aradia had a feeling that Martin was out to get Middy Cherrywood, among other things. She just needed to figure out why.

And then crush him like the disgusting troll-dung beetle that he was.

Chancellor Godrickle gave her a smile; the rest of the council was smiling as well. All but Vargill, of course. The others had already forgotten, but not Vargill. She wondered what sort of talismans he had that could protect him from magick as old and as powerful as her own.

Godrickle’s power was no secret. As High Chancellor, he could not be bespelled, cursed, charmed, or generally fucked with in any way in which he did not approve or consent.

“Aradia, you were saying?”

“The ring that Dred gave to his bride, it’s the traditional ring of our family. When the bride accepts, the engagement tattoos become wedding tattoos. They are for always and unbreakable. Please don’t blame the children, they didn’t know.” And they didn’t. Dred knew he’d have to marry her after she took the potion, but she’d never gotten around to telling him about the ring. After seeing it on the girl’s finger, she’d decided it was just as well.

“How did you manage that?” Gavin Butterbean asked, but not unkindly.

“You know that Mordred was never interested in marriage, so he never bothered to learn all the traditions.”

“It was an accident of Fate, Vargill,” Butterbean offered.

“Indeed, and we cannot punish them for that,” High Chancellor Godrickle said. “I have made it a policy never to overturn the council’s findings. I’d never want to silence a chancellor. But this vote was only a nay by one and I believe that it is in the interest of the greater good that Midnight Cherrywood’s and Dred Shadowins’s marriage be sanctified by this council. The Cherrywoods have always held great magick in their blood and could do nothing but enrich the Shadowins line. Your petition is approved.”

Aradia waited for the council to be dismissed before she left the hall. She almost slipped on a stray bit of ice on her way out. She knew it was what she deserved for having a Change moment, as the mortals called it. If anyone ever mentioned it, she’d say she was having a hot flash. Warlocks tended to leave witches alone after a comment like that.

Vargill narrowed his eyes at her as he left and there was a promise of retribution there. Fuck him and the dragon balls he rode in on. Her dick was bigger; he’d just have to accept that.

Godrickle came from around a corner and jerked her abruptly through a secret passage that led beneath the hall.

“Aradia Salome!” he said by way of admonishment.

“I know. I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re lucky you have that neat little trick in your arse-nal or you’d be in Chaldonean Hall right now and there would be nothing I could do about it or I’d be hanging right next to you.”

“I know that, too. A mother’s love. What can I say?”

“Dred has been working for me.”

“He
what
?” Her liquid silver eyes hardened.

“Before you go all ice bitch on me again, you should know he has been doing it for years. It was his choice not to tell you.” Godrickle held up his hands as if that act of submission would cool her rage.

“So why are you telling me now?”

“He’s in Loudun.”

“Sweet Merlin in Chains! Are you trying to kill me, Hubert? Really? Because one more surprise like that and my heart is just going to stop.” Aradia fanned herself.

“How you do carry on. I don’t know how you got this reputation for being so calm and controlled. You’re a drama queen.”

“Guilty.” She was totally unapologetic. “So, finish tearing out my heart. Why is he in Loudun?”

“He’s investigating the ruins of the Ursuline convent and it’s fairly close to Shale Creek.” Godrickle waited for a moment to see if more than her eye would twitch. The right one was a little wider than the left and the left one blinked a few more times independent of the other. “Shale Creek, it wasn’t—”

“I don’t care about that. How do I get him safe?”

“That’s just the thing. Tristan Belledare was there, too.”

“He was just at my sister’s house party. What’s he doing in Loudun?”

“Dying,” Godrickle informed her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cauldron Burn, Boil, and Bake

Whore! He was going to kill her. It was that simple. Aradia Shadowins had interfered with his plans for the last time.

She’d dared to insult him in front of his peers!
Lady Shadowins
.

Indeed, Lady Shadowins only by the grace of Merlin. In his eager second-youth after escaping the painting, he’d attempted to kill her before, but he’d gotten sloppy. Dred’s father’s death had been attributed to a dark object—that much was true.

But it had been Martin’s own hand that had wielded the dark object. Such delicious wickedness. It had been intended for Aradia.

He’d asked to hold her hand, there under the stars on a warm summer night at Academy. She’d laughed at him then and she was laughing at him now. She’d burn like he burned and then he’d keep her forever in a painting in Chaldonean Hall. He could look at her frigid beauty all he liked, he could touch as he liked. If he wanted to hold her hand, if he wanted to break it with a hammer, he would do it.

She wasn’t good enough for him anyway. He’d thought she was smart, brilliant, really. He’d expected her of all people to have figured out that Martin Vargill was an anagram of Tagrin Larmville. He’d wanted her to figure it out, to see the horror in her eyes, the thudding of her heartbeat in her pale swan throat as she realized just how powerful he was. But no, she’d been too arrogant to see farther than the end of her own nose.

Vargill decided he needed to check on his little project.

He teleported himself to that room in the Banshee’s Bawl.

He didn’t bother with the stairs; he didn’t bother with the cape. None of it gave him any sense of power anymore. All he wanted was Aradia Shadowins and this.

He pulled out the handcrafted whip that had been made of selkie hide. It gave a vicious snap to the thighs of the creature that was chained to the wall. It didn’t cry out or mewl, but its black eyes glittered with pain. Its mouth opened as its breathing quickened and it sighed as the whip struck again.

Martin threw a still squirming gnome to the thing and watched with a sense of contentment as it ate.

“Martin, I need more.”

“You must wait.”

“I’m starving, Martin. Innocent flesh, it must be innocent.” It growled and threw a bloody bone. “I want Middy Cherrywood!”

“Well, she’s not going to do you any good. She’s married Dred Shadowins. Too bad your taste doesn’t run to dirty whores. Shadowins’s mother is in our way.”

The creature howled and strained at its chains before receding into the petite form of a witch. She hung limply against the wall, her hair greasy and hanging across her forehead. Her mouth was still bloody and she retched all over the floor.

“You will eat what she eats!”

“What have you done me?” the woman cried, her voice hoarse.

“Nothing you didn’t do to yourself. Did you really think that anyone would want your used-up body? Thought you could fuck your way into some security, did you? Well, this is it. Soon, you won’t even be able to take your own form.

It will be only the lamia. All of those lost hours? That was the lamia in control of your body. You are the gateway. And now that you’re open, I can’t risk you running around free until I don’t have to look at your mewling face and the lamia is fully manifested.”

“I loved you, Martin,” the witch whispered softly.

“You’re a lying whore. Just like all of them. Your cunt is a weapon and you use it to hurt and maim.”

“You were nice to me. You were kind and I fell in love with you. I did everything you asked of me. I trusted you.

I can’t believe I was so stupid as to believe you were just looking out for Middy when you asked me to come to the house party and spy on Dred.”

“It doesn’t matter one way or another, does it? No one knows where you are now and by the time anyone who gives a damn realizes you’re gone, there will be nothing left of you and the lamia will be free.”

Drusilla Tallow sank against the cold stone of the wall, useless tears marking pale tracks down her dirty and bruised cheeks.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Dressing for Donatien

Middy was reminded of Tally as she charmed on the outfit that she was going to wear to Donatien. She wished that Tally were here. Tally would charm that leather up her thighs in no time! She missed the other witch and had a horrible feeling that something had happened to her.

She hadn’t seen Tally since that night in the library and she wondered where her friend had gotten off to. Middy brushed off the feeling. She was just hurt that Tally hadn’t confided in her. She was probably wrapped up with Martin and they were having a wonderful time. For Middy, that was the more acceptable answer than thinking that Tally was in trouble.