Page 23 of The Lies We Conjure
We can’t move. We can’t speak.
All we can do is listen.
This time, Ursula’s words aren’t amplified by the page. They’re conducted in our blood. My vision narrows, blotting black from the corners until the paper before me disappears and all I can see is Ursula, speaking to me in a direct manner—a group hallucination, propelled from our shared blood into our field of sight. A second spell, prepared individually not simply for the reading of the will but for each person in this room.
“Bound by my power, the following rules will be agreed upon by every one of you,” Ursula intones, unblinking. “Break any of my rules, and you will be suspended in an impenetrable, air-rendered prison for twenty-four hours. You will be as immobile as a marble statue, trapped where you stand. No chance to search for the relics, no chance to hunt for the killer, no chance to clear your name of whatever the magic has deemed you did wrong.”
As one the lot of us verbally answer “Yes.” Ursula’s secondary spell literally has us by the throats, there isn’t anything else to do.
“Rule one: All of you must be present at the reading of each clue. Each of you will have the opportunity to locate any relic upon Hegemony Manor estate. All security wards surrounding the relics have been disarmed and will not harm the individual who finds them.”
My heart stutters at the mention of the security wards—I’m sure Evander’s and Winter’s did the same or worse. Again, we verbally agree.
“Rule two: There will be no use of magicagainsteach other during the search for the relics or during the murder investigation. Moreover, no relic should betakenfrom its rightful line after procurement until the group can elect a new High Sorcerer and voluntarily release the master relics to the title holder.”
With as much power as is on the line, this is necessary. Everyone seems to be agreeable to working together in this game, thus far, minutes in. But it’s not hard to imagine that changing as soon as the masters are in hand.
“Rule three: There will be no vigilante justice in punishing my killer. Anyone suspected is to be questioned and confirmed by all of you, a jury of peers. Do you understand?”
Again, we concur as one.
“Break any of these rules, and, to repeat, you will automatically be bound in a prison of your own making via this spell and the magic herewith. Do you understand?”
We do.
With our chanted verbal acknowledgment, Ursula recedes from our shared vision, her spell fading into our blood like an ebbing tide. It’s part of us now, until the magic is satisfied.
The will and my hand sharpen back into view, my breath kicking out in a hasty exhale. In my periphery, Luna jabs a geriatric elbow at Infinity’s kidney.
“This grand dame knows a few things, doesn’t she? I’m two for two!”
That she does and is.
“Wait.” Lavinia’s voice is hollow, unsure. She swallows and tries again, visibly shaken by the deepness of Ursula’s binding spell. “What about the other task? How are we to punish the murderer?”
Hex’s teeth flash in a double take. “You’re—she’s kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding,” Lavinia insists.
“You’re a hundred percent serious right now?” Hex prods, lips curling into a smirk as he catches eyes with the rest of us, expecting someone to break or laugh. “This isn’t some joke? A lie for Blackgate shits and giggles?”
I don’t think Lavinia’s lying. Beside her, Kaysa’s brow is knitted in confusion. And… it seems genuine, Blackgate genes or not.
“The crime of murder can only be punished by death,” Evander answers, bluntly. “Which I can only assume is why Marsyas Blackgate is currently missing.”
Both girls pale, lips dropped open, their hands scrabbling for a better grip on each other while the rest of their limbs seem to freeze up.
They truly didn’t know.
Don’t know.
It strikes me then that perhaps this is why Lavinia has seemed so unlike herself. It wasn’t time or distance or maturity… something’s been done to them tomakethem forget. They’ve been spelled to forget. What happened, why, all of it.
That’s either cruel or genius—maybe both. Until the truth catches up.
“Especially,” Ada cuts in, something nasty in the baby blue of her eyes, “considering what happened with Marcos.”
“Our father…?” Kaysa’s voice trails off.
