Page 11 of Death Card

I can’t bring myself to answer, so I just nod. I don’t trust myself not to say something I’ll regret.

“Your grandmother wouldn’t want this coven to land in anyone else’s hands but yours,” he says. “It’s your birthright. The spirit of La Reine Sorcière lives inside you.”

La Reine Sorcière. It’s what we call our forgotten Queen, the nameless woman brought to this country across an ocean in chains. The strongest witch in our history. Her blood lives on in me, as it did in my mother and Gran and her mother before her.

Other than Aunt Roberta, I am the only living female descendant of our first Queen. Since our coven’s inception, we have been led by one of her daughters. Their leadership has guided this coven through segregation, wars, pandemics, and every other danger that has threatened our survival.

Despite my shortcomings, her spirit lives on in me. That has to count for something. If only I could unlock the door that keeps it trapped within. From everything I’ve heard about my mom, she was the true embodiment of the first Queen’s power and might.

“Maybe it isn’t my time yet.” I ball my hands into fists so tightmy knuckles ache. “If my mom was alive, she’d be Witch Queen, and I know she’d be worthy of it. But since she’s gone, the timeline of events is all messed up. I’m not ready, Gramps. You heard everyone in there. No one believes I can do it.”

“Mikaela, everything is exactly as it should be. Your mother’s life was cut short, but not before she brought you and Orion into it. You, my dear, were born to carry this title.”

“No, Gran should be here. The title should still be hers.” If two people had to die for me to end up in this position at this exact moment in time, then this isn’t how my life was supposed to go.

“Mikaela—” he begins before I cut him off.

“What if I don’t want to be Witch Queen?” The words hang in the air between us.

I can’t command respect from a coven that doesn’t want me to lead, and I can’t bring myself to assume Gran’s title. Not when her death still opens up a raw, bloody wound inside my chest.

When Gramps finally answers, his tone is curt. “It’s not up for discussion. You’ll begin your training immediately.”

A sudden thought occurs to me. “Is this why you don’t want to mention anything about what happened to Marian?”

His jaw tightens. “There are members of this coven who will use any opportunity to replace you as Witch Queen. If our strength falters, they will strike and claim that we need ‘fresh blood.’ ”

I think back to the feeling of dread that washed over me before Theresa rang our doorbell. That feeling still churns in the pit of my stomach. “This could be bigger than coven infighting, Gramps.”

“My decision is final,” he says. “You haven’t ascended yet, and I’m still your grandfather. We will wait for new developments.”

I know better than to argue any further. I’ll have the rest of the night to be in my feelings, and then I can try to make him see sense in the light of day.

We rock in silence for a few long minutes. The night is quiet with the exception of a lone car that passes by the house with a deep, window-rattling bass. Fireflies flit around the yard—here one moment, gone the next. I squeeze my eyes shut.

The sound of faraway laughter draws me out of my misery. I look up to see Orion stumbling out of the backyard toward the street. A figure steps out of the shadows on the sidewalk into the light of the streetlamp, a lanky white boy with long blond hair. He opens his arms, and my brother falls into them. They kiss before walking off down the street. From his gait, I can tell Orion’s had more than the one drink I saw him with.

Gramps shakes his head. “I have no idea what to do with that boy. I worry he’ll drink himself into stagnation.”

I resent how distant Orion has been, and I’m worried about how much he’s lost himself. But I’m not oblivious to the fact that he’s using the alcohol and the weed to numb his pain.

“He’s grieving,” I say.

Gramps scoffs. “We all are. That’s not an excuse to wallow.” He stands and reaches for my hand, pulling me to my feet. I tilt my head back to stare up at him.

“You are the product of all the love and hope your gran and I instilled in you. I know you have the wisdom and the charisma necessary to be a good leader.” He pulls me into a hug and nearlysqueezes all the air from my lungs. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither is your boneheaded brother.”

His words are intended to be kind, but all they do is ram a white-hot rod of fear through my chest. I can’t lead this coven. I just can’t. Gran was everything. How can I possibly live up to her?

Gramps releases me and smiles. “For years, she would say, ‘Mikaela is the future. She is the one.’ ” He holds my gaze. “Your gran was never wrong about these things. Never.”

“But, Gramps—” I hesitate, but his eyes prod me to go on. “Does it really have to be me? There’s no one else in the coven who can lead?”

He clucks his tongue. “You know the history. The power’s inyourblood.”

That’s what it always comes down to: the lucky coincidence of my birth. How does the saying go?Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Yeah, I feel that.