Page 21 of The Lies We Conjure
“Are you sure I should be doing this?” she asks me, quietly. “Nona—”
“Nona isn’t here. The magic requires a signature. Oathed heir or not, it’s expecting yours.”
Lavinia’s dark eyes widen at my tone, which is perhaps a bit harsh. But I won’t snuff out the spark of anger in my belly at this break in expected protocol. I’m the one trying to survive going through the motions, the least she could do is respect them.
Point taken, Lavinia grabs the third quill, stabs her right thumb, and presses the pad next to Luna’s print. She returns to her sister without another word.
Evander spins the will toward where the three of us stand in a line behind the desk. With a decisive jab, he pricks his thumb and punches it to the bottom of the page. The moment the blood seeps into paper, the warmth of the magical seal flashes through my own veins.
There’s a flurry of movement as everyone in this room accepts the spell that binds us to the remainder of this last will and testament. The Starwoods hold hands, the Cerises stand at attention, the Blackgates watch each other, cheeks pale and mouths pulled taut. Winter’s fingers flex beside mine, and Evander closes his eyes in tight acceptance.
When it’s through, I place my hand again to the will, and Ursula’s final testament plays on, magically satisfied.
“In the event of foul play in my demise,” Ursula announces with the same cold precision she’d use to adjust Chef Maggie’s weekly grocery list to match the season, “the contents of my last will and testament have been altered to suit the situation at hand.”
A new ripple runs through the looping scroll of enchanted ink. What had been sharpened in the previous pass is darkened further, now a rich black.
We all know what’s coming next. The confirmation of a penalty that predates Salem.
“The first request of my last will and testament is in accordance with Four Lines magical law. Within three days’ time, you must investigate my murder and punish the responsible party. For clarification of this deadline, this spell recognizes the day of my murder as day one, ending at midnight.”
The clock on the mantel has just struck nine. That gives us fifty-one hours to investigate Ursula’s murder, try, and punish the witch responsible.
There’s a shifting in the assembled crowd as the eleven of us remaining accept this.
The Cerises speak in low tones. Infinity adopts Luna’s resigned expression. The Blackgates are bent together, wordlessly running through an entire fretful conversation built on facial expressions, hands twined yet again.
My cousins react too. Winter with a wheezing inhale, and Evander with a roll of his shoulders, one hand firmly clasping the opposing wrist in front of his body—a stance meant to be intimidating. I know Evander has likely been mentally planning the investigation since reality set in, expecting to oversee it all. That’s futile too. For all the forced politeness between the families, with what’s on the line, no one will let him do so without a reminder thatheis a suspect too.
Ursula begins again. “My second request concerns the successor of my title as High Sorcerer of the Four Lines.”
Evander straightens next to me, like a would-be knight waiting for the tap on the shoulder from the king’s sword that makes his ascension real. “In the event of foul play in my demise,” Ursula repeats, “the details of succession have changed per magical law. The Hegemony Clan and the Elemental Line forfeit the transfer of the title of High Sorcerer to an immediate family member. The Hegemony Clan cedes automatic control of the Four Lines and the power therewith to the ultimate holder of the four master relics.”
All air leaves the room.
For one thick, unwieldy moment, there’s nothing. Then reality floods in, Evander’s voice the first coherent sound.
“That can’t be right.”
Evander’s delivery is stiff, his whole powerful body deflating as he tries to force the words into the utter silence that’s fallen in Ursula’s study.
The master relics—commonly called “the masters”—are exactly what made Ursula Hegemony the most powerful witch in North America and one of the most powerful witches in the world.
What will make someone in this room one of the most powerful witches in the world.
They’re the keys to the Four Lines, funneling and amplifying our magic into the type of power that secretly keeps the world running, and keeps the Four Lines rich enough to buy, break, and bully anyone or anything who would expose our secrets.
“These relics have been installed on the Hegemony Manor estate since the rule of High Sorcerer Shadrack Zebulon Gradefon Hegemony.”
That means they’ve been in place for a hundred years at least. Perhaps more. The land was purchased by Shadrack in 1881 and added onto summarily since then until it totaled the ten thousand acres that it is at this very moment. The house was built over the next decade and then renovated time and again. Though, the master relics have been in our family much, much longer.
The consolidation of the masters and control of the lines have been under Hegemony aegis since Mercy Abigail Hegemony—neéHedgewidge—saved the Four Lines from both the witch hysteria of the 1690s and the power-hungry designs of Napoleon Demont Cerise, who tried and failed to destroy all types of witches but his own.
The masters are crucial to the Four Lines of magic, yet they’re a mystery to which only the High Sorcerer is privy. I’ve never seen a master—no one here has. I don’t know what they are or where they are. I only know that by holding all four we can feed each line from a central location and enforce the protections that have kept our magic—and our witches—safe.
Evander gathers himself, his feeble protest giving way to something with breath and anger and logic behind it. He’s still arguing like she hasn’t spoken. “There’s no magical law that changes an inheritance in the event of foul play. If that were the case—”
He’s cut off by Ursula’s voice, continuing.
