P A R T 1
SEVEN OF CUPS “CHOICES”
“Choices are the hinges of destiny.”
—EDWIN M A R KHAM
BUDAPEST, HUNGARY
“They’re here!” Tara states needlessly, glancing back at her identical twin sister,
Lucy.
With a groan, Lucy managed to swing her backpack over her shoulder. “I
told you we need stronger cloaking spells for the Cup.” The elemental power
object is tucked away in a fanny pack strapped along the front of her body. Lucy
parts the blinds with her fingers, just enough to take a quick look outside.
A violent shaking of the house follows a loud bang. Whoever is out there
is trying to force their way in.
“Hurry! The wards won’t withstand this much longer.” Tara motions for
Lucy to follow her.
Lucy’s frustration slams into Tara through their fully open twin bond,
making her stagger. Their unique connection enables them to communicate
without words, amplifying the intensity of each other’s emotions.
“Focus,” Tara hisses through clenched teeth while sending calming vibes
her sister’s way. Simultaneously, her fingers caress the air, as she attempts to
sense what they’re up against.
“It’s the Berthelsens,” Lucy tells her when she sees what she’s doing. “I
recognized that boy with the white hair.”
In their late seventies, the two sisters are in decent shape. But at this age,
they more often rely on their magical skills—or rather, Tara’s skills, as Lucy still
wears the collar that blocks her witch powers.
Another blast resonates through the house, and this time, the following
cracking noise doesn’t bode well.
Without another word, the two sisters rush down the corridor of the rundown
building they’ve been staying in. The paint is peeling from the walls, and
the dank, moldy scents are repulsive.
Lucy rips open the door to the basement and hurries down the stairs into
the darkness. Tara is right behind her, as Lucy screams, “Light!” inside her mind
– but not in time as Tara bumps into her. Unable to stop their momentum,
they tumble down the stairs. Frantically, Tara and Lucy flay their arms around
in an attempt to grab hold of the railing while their feet slip off the steps.
“Ahhhhh!”
Fortunately, the staircase isn’t very long, but a sickening crack echoes when
Tara crashes down on top of Lucy who cries out in pain.
Tara mumbles an illumination spell, and a glowing light springs to life;
they’re in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Lucy clamps her hand over her
mouth to prevent herself from screaming. Tara doesn’t need words; she can feel
where her twin is hurt. As carefully and as fast as she can manage, she rolls off
Lucy and gets up on her knees. Even before she touches Lucy’s injured leg, a
healing spell flows from her lips and warms her hands. There’s no time to be
subtle. Tara pushes the energy into Lucy’s leg, molding the bones back together.
A searing pain comes through their connection, but no sound escapes Lucy’s
mouth.
“They came this way,” a male voice calls out in Greenlandic from the
hallway.
Unceremoniously, the twins scramble up and hobble down the narrow tunnel.
Tara leads the way with her light, Lucy hanging onto Tara’s backpack, and
cursing wildly under her breath. Her iron willpower is the only thing keeping her
going—her leg might be healed, but it still hurts! As they round the first corner,
Tara glances back and spots a light coming down the stairs. With a flick of her
finger, she shoots a lightning bolt, which splinters into tiny sparkles when it hits
a shield. Without delay, they keep moving forward, just as some icicles wedge
themselves like rapid fire into the wall where they stood only seconds ago.
The tunnel twists and turns before splitting into three. The twins dive into
the left one, and Tara dims their light as far as she dares. Irritated, she stares at
Lucy, whose awkward gait is making too much noise. She doesn’t need to see
Lucy’s face to understand her feelings. As quietly as possible, they press on.
Running footsteps stop at the intersection, and they pause as well, holding their
breath for several short moments.
“That way,” an unknown figure urges the others on.
“Let me.” Snowflake’s Greenlandic accent is unmistakable; Lucy clutches
her fanny pack as the Cup stirs just from the sound of its guardian’s voice. To
be sure, Tara weaves her hand and throws up an additional barrier in the hope
of preventing the Cup from betraying their position. She is well aware of the
guardians’ connection with their elemental objects. Before she transferred the
power of the Wand to her granddaughter, Bridget, Tara had always known
where the Wand was.
“You’re right,” Snowflake’s reply comes from further away.
Tara sighs in relief—they took the bait! She had woven energies resembling
the Cup and tucked it away down the wrong hallway. Taking advantage of their
moment of reprieve, Lucy and Tara walk as fast as they can. At last, they reach
a staircase that goes up again, and they don’t hesitate. At the top of the stairs,
Lucy presses all her weight against the door—it creaks open, and a sliver of
daylight almost blinds them. Running footsteps echo their way. Tara throws
her hands down while releasing an obliterating spell that pulverizes the steps as
she lets the door fall behind her.
Breathing heavily, the sisters adjust to their surroundings for a few seconds,
“Come on!” Lucy grabs Tara’s arm as she leads her through a courtyard which
is presently home to a vibrant market. These enclosed courtyards, with their
surprising shops and markets, are full of people, which will prevent them from
using a lot of magic. But the same rules apply to the other witches.
Budapest is an ancient city steeped in a rich history of witchcraft; one of
the reasons they chose to come here. Lucy has friends here who help them to
stay hidden.
When the Berthelsens emerge from the tunnel, the twins are already on the
other side of the market.
Snowflake’s son, Salik, squints his eyes, “There!” the young, white-haired
man shouts. Lucy and Tara have taken up wearing identical clothing again, and
at first glance, it’s nearly impossible to determine who is who.
The courtyard darkens and stretches, and icicles grow from Snowflake’s
fingers.
“Mom, no!” Salik steps in front of her. “Too many humans.”
Snowflake releases a strangled cry, and her intense frustration shakes the
stalls.
Ignoring everything, Lucy and Tara spill onto a main street, disappearing
between the people on the sidewalk. Even though they make haste, they soon
catch glimpses of the younger Berthelsens already hot on their trail. Being so
close to the Cup, Snowflake, as the guardian, has no problem pinpointing its
location.
“There,” Lucy points at the New York Café. As a tourist hot spot, there are
always people inside. Holding up her hand to the oncoming traffic, Lucy almost
drags Tara across to it. Ignoring the furious honking, they hustle on. Back on
the sidewalk, Tara stumbles and falls flat on her face. Lucy catches sight of Salik’s
satisfied smirk on the other side of the street.
“Come on.” She pulls Tara up. “Here,” she pushes a handkerchief into Tara’s
hand, “your face is bleeding.”
Tara gingerly dabs her face.
“There’s no time,” Lucy lifts her sister’s hand, so it covers the injury. “Just
hold it like that; we’ll deal with it later,” she says, urging Tara along inside the
New York Café. Lucy has no trouble pushing them to the front of the line. “We
have reservations,” she addresses the host without stopping and proceeds into
the restaurant. The host rushes after them while the people in line shout objections.
Lucy and Tara ignore everybody and everything, including their beautiful
surroundings: the gold curls, the painted ceilings, and a traditional gypsy band
playing in the back. They had tagged this place as one of their best options to
slink away unnoticed through the crowd.
“Stop them!” Snowflake shouts as the host and other waiters block her path.
Tara and Lucy fly up some steps and stride through the hotel’s giant lobby.
Tara mumbles a little spell, and they disappear through a door that reads
‘Employees only’.
“My face hurts,” says Tara, still holding the handkerchief to her face.
“Later,” spits Lucy as they navigate the corridors. “This way.” Pushing the
bar down on one of the doors, they’re out on the street at the back of the building.
Lucy spots their getaway car. “Hurry!”
They jump in, and Tara doesn’t even have the door closed before Lucy puts
the car into gear, steps on it, and heads for the airport. The sisters are long gone
when the Berthelsen’s spill out of the hotel.
“You need to strengthen our defenses; we barely escaped this time.” Lucy
cuts off a car to make a right turn.
“You do it,” Tara whispers while she checks her face in the mirror of the
sun visor.
Lucy pulls on the magical collar around her neck, which is powered by
Fairy magic and prevents her from tapping into her witch powers. “I hate this.
You’re too squeamish. We must be ruthless and decisive. You knew that when
you decided to help me steal the Cup.”
“We didn’t foresee this.” Tara glances at the strangely beautiful thing on
Lucy’s neck. The horror of not being able to use your magic but still feeling it
is beyond cruel. She’s aware of Lucy’s despair because of their twin bond.
“You shouldn’t have tortured Bridget,” Tara murmurs, remembering Lucy
had no trouble inflicting pain on her family diminishes her compassion.
“Who do you think you are? Telling me what to do? You know nothing.
Life has been so easy for you,” Lucy growls back.
Tara focuses back on the cuts on her face and lets Lucy’s angry rant wash
over her, repeating what has passed between them for the last couple of weeks.
Their established familiar role in their relationship from when they were young
clashes with their current age—both strong, independent, stubborn women.
The dualistic, weird balance of life, so close and yet so far apart. Lucy sends all
her strong emotions through the twin bond, hurting Tara, who oddly prefers
this over thinking about her latest actions—the consequences of her choices.
The reminder that she has betrayed her family for her ungrateful sister brings
out thoughts and feelings she can’t face. Her family! Another wave of pain hits
her, and she welcomes it this time; it helps her to cut off those emotions.
NEW ORLEANS
Above Under the Witches Hat, Bridget is tossing and turning in bed, whimpering
in her dreams. Kiki, her chihuahua, is curled up to her belly, while Moon,
her rottweiler, is snuggled up against her back. The other four dogs are scattered
over the big bed.
Bridget’s cries grow louder, and Moon tentatively lays one of his giant paws
over her side, cuddling even closer, hoping this will help her settle down.
Instantly, a shiver runs through her. Moon’s paw stretches and ripples and,
almost fluidly, morphs into a hand. The ripple runs up his paw-arm, and like
water, he transforms into a man. Since the first time he changed back into his
human self during Samhain and Bridget’s now ex-boyfriend left, Moon can’t
resist snuggling secretly with her in his human body. He figures he failed his
task of infiltrating the family. The connection he shares with Bridget is one he
has never experienced with any woman, and he’s acutely aware he has fallen in
love with her. A desperate flow of emotion runs through him when he realizes
their relationship cannot survive. He’s not an expert, but he’s pretty sure no
woman likes being deceived this way.
His discomfort must have resonated with Bridget as, suddenly, she begins
to waken. As quickly as his transformation allows, he turns back into her trusted
dog. As Bridget stretches herself, she turns onto her back. “Good morning,
guys.” Kiki wiggles from under the blanket. Bridget laughs as she play-fights
with Kiki, who’s trying to lick her face.
A little later, Bridget slides onto a chair at the long table in the kitchen-living
area above their family business, Under the Witches Hat. It’s too early for the
bar to be open, but some noises from downstairs signal that someone, probably
her Uncle Ron, is already busy organizing things. The kitchen is a welcoming,
colorful combination of modern and magical. The elements are skillfully interwoven,
but there’s no doubt that witches live here. Nevertheless, Bridget misses
their family home in the Garden District. This place is just too small to house
them all.
Emily puts a fresh-backed cruffin in front of Bridget. “How long will it
take to rebuild our home?” she asks.
Does her cousin have the gift of picking up thoughts? Bridget shakes it off.
They’re all feeling the close quarters, “It’s gonna take a while, a half a year; maybe
even a year. The fire did a lot of damage. It all depends on how soon we can find
someone to do the work.”
“This is great, but…” Emily sighs.
“A bit claustrophobic with all of us here.” Bridget finishes her sentence for
her.
“Did you speak to my mother? I want to go and see her,” Emily asks.
She towers over Bridget, who takes her time answering. At not yet thirty,
she finds herself as the family’s matriarch, which seems to mean she’s expected
to solve everybody else’s problems.
“No, I didn’t. We shouldn’t bother her. It would help if you were patient.
Not even a year ago Ceri found out she was part fairy, and now this! It’s a lot.”
Emily turns abruptly and noisily starts to clean up the kitchen.
Bridget shrugs and catches Alvina’s penetrating look. The fairy is Emily’s
bodyguard, and since Ceri became Queen of Fairy, Emily’s risk of being in
danger has multiplied. Alvina is even more intense than before.
“We all make sacrifices at the moment…”
Emily wheels around and puffs herself up. “I’m a princess of Fairy now. I
have the right…”
“Stop! Please, stop.” Bridget’s eyes darken. “That means nothing here. Stop
whining!”
Emily throws her towel on the floor and stomps off to her room, “You clean
up!” Her bedroom door bangs close behind her.
Alvina gets up, and with a disapproving flicker in her eyes, she follows
Emily.
“It must be frustrating that her mother and brother are in Fairy, and she’s
stuck with us.”
Bridget murmurs while petting her rottweiler Moon, sitting by her feet.
Moon smiles in her mind, their bond growing stronger. Bridget’s gift for
communicating with animals has made her relationship with her six dogs
exceptional, but Moon is her confidant. They understand each other on such a
level that she often forgets he’s not human.
Bridget enjoys the silence while she savors her breakfast; Emily is a gifted
baker. The delicious smell in the morning is what gets them all out of bed.
Gradually, she draws Tara’s favorite tarot deck out of her pocket. Her traitor
grandmother—what is she going to do about her? With a practiced hand, she
shuffles the cards and chooses one. The Seven of Cups: Seven Cups mingle with
beautiful floating jellyfish. It’s a dreamy card, signifying too many choices.
Great, that’s not very helpful.
Set, Lucy’s only son, steps out of the bedroom he shares with her Aunt
Diane and walks into the kitchen. Bridget glances up at him, and with a curt
nod, he acknowledges her presence. He saunters over, choosing a seat close to
her and helps himself to something to eat from the spread on the table.
Bridget flips the card toward him. “What do you think we should do about
your mother and my grandmother?”
“You don’t want to know,” he says, biting into his pastry.
“I do.” Bridget has come to appreciate his straightforward viewpoint. He
might use questionable magical methods sometimes, but it’s a relief that at least
someone speaks his mind; unlike her emotionally charged family.
“Do you have too many options?” He smiles at her.
“Seriously, I would love to hear your perspective.” She gazes at him directly.
“Kill them.”
Bridget’s senses flood unexpectedly with emotions, making her gasp.
“That’s what I thought,” says Set with an ebbing smile.
But his shocking reply did not make her react—Maeve, her twin, is back.
Her Siren sister is a unique force of nature. She must have returned from a visit
to her Fairy lover, as the warm, sensual feelings that move through Bridget from
their twin bond are intoxicating. The only time she’s not aware of her sister is
when she’s in Fairy. The other realm effectively cuts their ties. The sudden reinstatement
of their intimate connection, combined with these strong desires,
makes Bridget sway. She reaches for Moon, and as soon as she touches his head,
calm returns like an instant grounding tool.
Bridget’s eyes focus back on Set. “Maeve is home.”
“Bridget is rather practical, but I don’t think the cop in her could resort to
that.” Maeve’s Siren voice joins their conversation as she enters the kitchen from
her bedroom, spreading a blinding glow.
Bridget puts a hand in front of her eyes. “Maeve, please.”
“Sorry.” The glow fades, and the others can look at her again; Maeve appears
sated.
Set’s expression is still the same. “Lucy will never stop.”
“I’m not ready for that option—ever. There’s always another choice.”
Bridget glances at her card of the day again. “A non-violent one, preferably.”
“Perhaps we can figure out how to contain them,” Maeve says with a shrug.
“Good luck with that,” Set responds as he stands up and scans the fare on
the kitchen counter. Zoning in on a plate put aside with some breakfast goodies,
he grabs it and heads for his bedroom.
“How’s Aunt Diane?” Maeve’s melodious voice stops him.
