Page 95 of The Lies We Conjure
Auden tenses next to me, and the ground begins to shake, aseam opening up from the tip of his shoes and slithering toward Hector. Earth—an element. My breath hitches. “Auden,” I whisper, “you can’t use your magic against him or—”
“Stop compelling them and we’ll let him hold the box!” Winter doesn’t look to Auden or Evander. Doesn’t ask permission. Just announces it, a Hegemony family decree. “You have my word.”
Auden grips me tighter, and to my relief, he’s heeded my warning. The gash in the earth between us and Hector fading to nothing, two yards from swallowing him whole. Hector doesn’t notice the crack, his gaze snapping to Winter above a sneer. “I’m not compelling them. I’m willing them to listen, as good children should.”
“However you want to justify it to yourself doesn’t excuse that it’s sick,” Winter shouts. “There’s a reason it’s been a Blood Line secret, because it’s deplorable.”
Auden clears his throat and says, “I stand by Winter’s compromise. We’ll let them hold it, juststop.”
Everyone turns to Evander, who holds the relic over his head. Ada tears long, shallow slashes on the exposed skin of his arms, his neck, his face, as he stiff-arms her. “Fine. Agreed.”
“My oathed heir will hold it.”
Hector doesn’t look at Hex as he twists his knife. Doesn’t look at his daughter either. He only has eyes for his master relic. For his chance to be the first Cerise patriarch to hold it since the man whose mistakes his family has spent four centuries attempting to atone.
What an absolute asshole.
Evander holds Ada’s clawing hands at arm’s length. “Call off your magic, and I will give the master relic to Ada.”
The answer is immediate.
Ada droops and sways, a marionette with cut strings as Hector’s magic abates. Auden catches her with an arm across her upper back as she navigates control of her limp legs stumbling into careful standing. Meanwhile, Hex slumps hard into the blood-soaked dirt. Winter sinks to his side and tries to help him up—and it’s a surprise when Evander, still palming the relic in one hand above his head, reaches down and uses his strength to help Hex upright.
Hector tenses, watching carefully, fingers flexing.
But Evander is true to his word.
He presents the Heart of Cleopatra to Ada, who cradles it close, and leaves our circle under her own volition to stand by her father. When Ada arrives at his side, she looks as if she might split into two right there, as her father cuffs her into place, squeezing her wrist so hard the edges of her skin are as white as bone in the lantern light. Her eyes are downcast—unable, it appears, to look her twin in the eye with the truth she’d kept from him exposed.
“Hex, you belong over here.” Hector’s voice is even and stern. “Do not fight me again.”
The Cerise boy nods, and without even a glance back at Winter, follows his sister to his father’s side, head bent and body shivering from the pain and effort.
Nausea sweeps over me at the thought of all these two have endured under the facade of the perfect family. Handsome, rich, in good standing. And yet, the levels of control and loss are nearly unimaginable.
I believe every word of what the twins shared in confidence.
These people are monsters.
To their children, and likely to anyone else standing in their way.
And the next clue will be the Death Line one, which means Wren, myself, and the Blackgate relic is all that’s standing between Hector Cerise, his accessory wife, and the last step toward what they seem to want most in the world: control of the Four Lines.
I’m not even a real witch, and that thought truly terrifies me.
If Hector would kill other witches and hurt his children with his magic—which somehow doesn’t seem to trigger Ursula’s parameters… perhaps because it’s always this way with them?—what would he do to those outside the lines with power like that?
“We will read the final clue right here, right now,” Hector announces, the Heart of Cleopatra now tucked against his own chest and whatever beats beneath. “Auden, I saw you read from the clue. I know you have the will on your person.”
Auden lets go of my hand, leaving the night’s cool fingers againstmy skin, and retrieves the will. “I do indeed. But as we don’t have all our members in attendance, perhaps we should go into the house, and take a moment to—”
“That won’t be necessary, Auden.”
My head snaps up at the syrupy-sweet voice of Sanguine Cerise. She steps out from behind the large boulder looking as fresh as the new swipe of blood-red lipstick across her mouth.
In one hand, she holds the gun that once hung next to Horace’s roaring bear head in the tearoom. In the other, she grips Infinity, their dark skin wan and body trembling.
The barrel of the gun is pressed deep into Infinity’s side.
