long time?” It’s a guess, but one I think is true.
Henry rubs at his elbow and hangs his head. “Only a few months.”
Well, that explains why Mother wouldn’t let me mention Henry when I first arrived from Summer Hill. She didn’t want anyone to know Henry was there. “Why are you doing it?”
“I owe her. For what I did to your father.” His olive eyes meet mine. “And because I think we can fix this feud if we can get both sides to work together.”
“You really think that’s possible? With Eamon running around and my mother determined to remain in power at all costs?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I had your optimism.” I take a long sip of my tea and study my uncle as he fidgets with the buttons on his shirt and keeps his eyes fixed on Eloise. The way he observes her, with such tenderness, causes my breath to hitch.
Perhaps it’s unwise for him to care about her. After all, Eloise went on dates with other witches at Summer Hill and laughed when I mentioned Henry. Is this what being allowed to choose your own mate is? Unrequited feelings?
I sigh. It can’t be worse than being paired with someone your whole life and then finding out you can’t be with them after all.
“Henry?”
His olive eyes stay trained on Eloise. “Yes?”
Surely he isn’t so mad with worry that he can’t answer a few simple questions. I drum my finger against the side of my teacup. “What’s Northwoods?”
That catches his attention. His body becomes rigid and he swings his head toward me. “Why do you ask?”
I’m acutely aware of my wristlet and the ears listening on the other end. I tap the green piece of smart metal. “Mother mentioned it.”
“No. I’m sure she didn’t.”
Damn it.
“Care to try again?” he says.
Heat rushes into my cheeks and I stare at the ground. “I found a picture of you, Bethina, and Mother as children. Northwoods was written in the inscription.”
“I see.” He takes a sip of his tea. “And where did you find it? In one of Malin’s journals?”
I shake my head. “No. I summoned it from the archive.”
Henry chuckles. “Clever. What did Malin tell you? I assume you asked.”
I nod. “Only that she and Bethina were once close.”
He rolls his tongue over the front of his teeth and sets his cup down. “Northwoods was our family estate outside Vancouver.”
I wrinkle my forehead. In all the years I spent having history drilled into me, I’ve never heard of Northwoods. And certainly not in conjunction with my family. “What happened to it?”
“Malin blew it up.”
My mouth drops open. “Why?”
Henry opens his mouth, but snaps it shut again. He struggles, trying to spit the words out. It reminds me of when Beck couldn’t talk to me at Summer Hill.
I gasp. “Are you tongue tied?”
“Yes.” Fantastic. Mother is preventing Henry from telling me her secrets. No wonder she’s okay with me being here.
Henry runs his hand through his hair. “If you want to know about Malin, stop looking in the archives. She’s deleted everything, or at least she tried to, long ago. Find her journals.”
I scrunch up my face and toss my hands in the air. “But if she’s destroyed everything, how will I find those?”
“She kept them the old way, on paper. Malin once told me the possibility of having her inner thoughts broadcast terrified her. I bet she still keeps them like that.”
Another wild chase. At least it will give me something to obsess about other than Beck and my upcoming birthday.
“Is there anything else?” Henry asks.
“Where do you think he is?” I don’t need to say Beck’s name because I know Henry will understand.
Henry shrugs. “I have no idea. But I’m sure Malin will find him. Her people are the best.”
“So I hear.” I slide forward in my chair and rest my hands on Eloise’s cold, lifeless arm. It’s hard to believe this is the same woman whose laugh infected everyone. Not too long ago, I marveled as she spun the energy of the moon around her.
Now, there’s no sign of that vibrancy. She looks dead already.
“Be well, Eloise. Be well.” The prayer tumbles from my lips and disappears into the air. Unheard.
I shouldn’t be surprised when she doesn’t stir. No matter how strong I am, I am Dark. And Dark witches aren’t healers.
18
Growing up, my housemates and I always ate dinner at precisely six in the evening. Bethina would line up plates of food in the middle of the two tables, and we’d serve