Piper

The argument outside my bedroom door acted as a soundtrack for the flickering flame of the fireplace. I lost myself in the dance while trying so desperately hard to ignore the ache in my chest. I had spent hours agonizingly attempting to sleep after we returned home. Nothing killed exhaustion quite as fast as scrubbing your best friend’s blood off your body.

Lying in bed involved tossing and turning. The mattress wasn’t comfortable anymore. I wouldn’t lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Beaumont was thinking about me. I fought through the thick fog behind my eyes to stay in the present and not think about everything I could have done to save him.

There was a faint stickiness to my skin. I’d washed under my nails about eight times, and I still couldn’t get the dried blood entirely out from under my fingernails. I chewed them down, but they grew back before I finished washing my hair a third time. The skin on the pads of my fingers grooved like prunes with cuts from my nibbling teeth. I ignored the pain. I needed every ounce of him off of me.

My thoughts wouldn’t shut up. Everything that could go wrong had. And coincidentally, during the most important banquet for my father’s political game. My party was all a disguise. My parents wanted to make their rounds while they showed off the rising heir to the family magic. What a mistake.

I, the daughter of the leading wizard, had killed the son of his second-in-command. No one wanted me to take control of the spellbook. I doubt it would accept me after what I had done.

Not killing him. I believed in the back of my mind they knew it was a mistake. I think those old witches would be more disappointed that I let him deflower me. Tradition was important here. I lost my virginity to a guy who warped water. A levitation expert–my father never thought that was very impressive. A deep sense of agony swirled inside me for allowing myself to fall for this boy, this man.

He was a gentleman. He was sweet. I was an idiot for allowing myself to swoon and let Beaumont take something valuable from me without being sworn under my ancestor protection.

Coven first. Love later. That’s how my parents found each other.

With a sigh, I tugged my blanket over my shoulders and leaned back against my ottoman.

“She’s out of control!”

“She is your daughter.”

“Blair, beloved, you were not there. She killed that boy.”

My eyes squeezed shut. Moons, this was the worst.

“She said it was an accident, Peter,” Mom whispered, though not quietly enough. She was an outspoken Englishwoman with a thick Geordie accent. It’s loosened over the years. My father spoke mostly Greek and preferred it. There was no hiding their distinguished differences when it came to testing Mom’s patience. Studying languages with either of them was hopeless. “She is our daughter. I reckon we believe her. We are as much responsible for what happ–”

“Blair, she did it again. We can’t keep ignoring this!”

“We aren’t ignoring⁠—”

“I cannot decide who is unsafe in this coven. Our people or her.” Dad’s footsteps stopped near my bedroom door when my mother gasped. I turned my upper body to peek at the shadows creeping under the frame. All my lights were off, and the nearby chandelier brightly illuminated the hallway. “Blair . . . It is always an accident with her. We must protect the future of our coven–”

“The coven?” I heard my mother scoff. “Protect the coven over Piper? Your daughter?”

“Blair–”

“Piper is the future of the coven!” Mom argued. “She is the heir. She is the rising high priestess. Our daughter is meant for much more than . . . than . . . this disrespect you allow them to–”

“The council has called an emergency meeting.” Dad interrupted her with a fall in his tone. “To discuss her vitality.”

“She’s our daughter. Our legacy. The Frost legacy! I reckon you nip this idea they have before they have a radgie over Piper being more powerful than–”

“It is not about power! I love Piper. Don’t you dare question my devotion to our family.” He took an agonizingly long pause. “I am in a corner. The coven is . . . there is much to . . .”

“Peter, she is your legacy.”

“To xéro aftó!” Dad hissed. “You do not understand the seriousness of what she’s being accused of. What they are calling her is beyond us. They think she’s . . . They think she is poison to our line. A glitch! There are questions about her authority, her health–and she’s so young–it would be wrong to rush her when we don’t know if she’ll even make it another year.”

I winced as a loud slap echoed through the high ceilings of the hallway.

“How could you–” Mom cleared her throat while my father sighed, probably rubbing his face. He didn’t marry my mother because she let people talk down to her, that was for sure. “I don’t care about their accusations. They have been hard on her since before she could walk. When she begged for their help, they shunned her.”

“I understand that.”

“Piper said it was an accident, and I stand by my daughter.”

“We both know it’s not normal. Not in my family.”

The corners of my mouth tightened. A migraine crept from deep within my brain fog. I wish it would cloud the memories of my parents religiously repeating that fun fact.

“Are you accusing me of cheating?”

“No!”

“Then do not turn the tides on me, Peter,” Mom argued in quick defense. “What will you do if they decide to call her forward for sentencing tomorrow? Do you plan to sit back and watch them rule her as a threat? Parade her through the streets until she’s hung, burned, ripped apart by these people—your people—that you can’t control!”

A soft tremor embedded my frame. I waited for my father’s voice to return. I needed to hear him speak in defense of our line, as he was known for. Mom was right. I was the next rising Frost. The council couldn’t possibly push that aside and sentence me to something for an honest, embarrassing mistake.

I hated the way my veins flooded with terror envisioning how my father would step to the side and let them drag me to the burning pedestal if it meant preserving the traditions of our coven. I wanted to believe it would be different from the others they sentenced in front of the coven. I was his daughter.

What have I done? What have I done?

“She’s only a child. My only baby.” Mom blubbered. The pain in her voice made my stomach ache. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”

I curled my knees up under my chin and stared at the fire.

I wasn’t scared of dying. I knew it was a possibility from a young age. However, I might shatter knowing my father had given up. He was never one to give up on any problem that came his direction. That’s why our people loved him.

“Piper is suffering.” Dad hissed. “She is dying. We need to make a choice. Her magic is turning sour. She–”

“You want us to kill her?” Mom shrieked. “Let them burn her?”

“Moons, Blair. Do not wake her!” Dad kept his voice low. “Stop putting words in my mouth. I don’t want the staff overhearing such a thing.”

I heard my mother’s heels shuffle down the hallway. Their shadows disappeared from the crack under the door. I forced myself to hang on to the dubious hero complex I’ve always held my father to growing up. He wouldn’t have hugged me today if he hadn’t cared. He was the leading wizard, but he loved me.

The heels of my hands rubbed into my eyes. I repositioned myself and doubled over toward the floor, pressing my knees into the hardwood. My arms wrapped around my midsection, and I squeezed. I hugged myself as tight as he had and clutched the fabric of my satin tank top.

Deep breaths. Focus on the sound of the flames.

I followed my familiar’s directions the best I could. Branches twisted along my insides and dragged thorns across soft tissue. I wished to have normal cramps when I became stressed. Instead, it was like poking a furious tree with a sharp chainsaw. One of the smaller symptoms I was stuck with over the years.

It happened a lot when I worried about how others perceived me. My parents were always distant. Emotionally and physically, growing up felt a lot like being tied to a post and yanked in another direction. They hoped I’d align more with our bloodline, and as my magic advanced, it proved to them there was always room to be less like them.

I hadn’t decided whether the outward avoidance to defend me hurt beyond his admittance. I couldn’t lead our coven. That was what I should worry about most. My ability to be what the coven needed. Dad never cut corners. He expected the best. He always looked me in the eye after endless appointments with doctors and told me the truth. No matter what they did, my impending death haunted our family. The curse spent twenty-one years unraveling, and by twenty-two, everything I loved would be a distant memory.

People spoke about their life flashing before their eyes when they drifted toward Death. I didn’t want her to show me the bad. I’d rather face a dark screen of nothing than memories of how hard I was to love. At the very least, the lies I remembered would suffice.

I would be gone.

Dead.

I hope Death hugs me as I go.

I missed when my family wasn’t frightened to be near me. There were times when I hugged myself tight enough, I developed a phantom feeling of my mother’s arms. She’d hold me tight during exams when I feared the doctors, up until they used restraints as an alternative. That’s around the time my memories fogged. Mom always called me out on remembering details wrong.

She had no reason to lie.

What happened tonight? My familiar spoke up once I had calmed my breathing enough to sit back up. He was the only creature able to pierce through the intrusive thoughts.

A perk of having a telepathic familiar. According to my mother, traditional familiars did not. She never believed Silas did either. Just that I was lonely enough to pretend he talked back.

Our bond allowed him to speak to me telepathically. A side effect of my resurrection abilities. Sometimes he could catch snippets of my thoughts. Other times I spoke to him there, but it all came down to how exhausted I was. Magic took a lot from me. Simple things weren’t as easy for me as they were for my peers.

I wiped the bloody tears off my cheeks. Once my crimson-hued vision cleared, I settled on Silas as he stood between me and the fireplace. His tail swung low as he sat down and ruffled his ears.

My bedroom was an old drawing room on the second floor. After I continued to fall sick in the winter, my grandmother demanded my things be moved so my caregivers could keep the room warm. I wasn’t allowed to change the signature accents of the old palace rooms, but Dad did change the wallpaper from a deep evergreen to a dark lavender when I was sixteen.

Silas enjoyed the setup. He spent most of his time curled up at the end of my larger than necessary bed. From there, anyone could look out the elegant windows and observe parts of the gardens and crystal waters crashing against the beach. Toward noon, he joined me on the floor to feel the sunlight pour through the tall panels and bathe my plants. The chandelier sparkled when the sky was clear of clouds. I loved the iridescent qualities of the sun zipping through the lotus leaves and swirling twig glass designs my ancestors designed.

Though, Silas found the sparkles irritating when he was trying to nap.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he preferred this life to his time in the wild. Silas was an average-sized black fox. Not bigger than the forest cat that lingered near our blacksmith’s workshop.

His fur had a dusting of gray, and his gentle yellow eyes held more emotion than any other familiar I’d met. Perhaps I am biased, but there was no one like Silas. With familiars and chosen companions, nothing could compete with a sassy fox.

His bushy tail curled near his nose. A tuft of fuzz muffled his high-pitched chitters. The corner of his mouth tugged into a sneaky smile. I instantly relaxed my shoulders, appreciating his attempt to comfort me. Silas waited patiently—okay, not always so patiently—for me to return from my duties as the heir when my parents forced me to leave him at home.

“We were at my party. Not as dates. Simply together.” I sniffled and used an old rag bunched in my lap to keep the blood from staining my tank top. I had multiples of all my clothes. I never knew when crying blood meant ruining a favorite top. “We made an appearance; I did the birthday girl thing and made myself appear perfectly agile while Dad talked to his colleagues.”

My father spent my entire birthday with other members of the council. Apart from the three hours after I killed Beaumont. I knew it would be like that. While my twenty-first was a big deal, it was foreign to have any member of my family do more than put on a smile and pretend the inside of our lives weren’t falling apart. Much like his embrace when he found Beaumont and me together, it was . . . fabricated.

I wanted to believe he hugged me out of his own need to know I was alright. I wanted to believe it so desperately I tossed and turned in bed the last few hours telling myself he had.

But I knew my father. I knew the moment he hoisted me up into his arms and demanded our driver bring the car around that I was not going to the hospital for me. We went to the hospital so Dad would be the first to speak to all involved parties.

Keeping the coven in one piece was the priority.

Silas thumped his paw on the hardwood and pulled me out of my thoughts with a chuff.

“Then we–uh, slipped out before a chaperone could see us.” I chewed vigorously on my bottom lip. “A member of Vestley’s staff gave us champagne thinking we were courted. We were going to the courtyard, except . . .”

Except? Silas raised his head.

Heat surged into my cheeks.

“We went to his room to stargaze instead of the courtyard. I wanted to thank the moon for letting us escape the party, and he wanted to change out of his tux.” I inhaled deeply through my nose and lost myself in the fog that surrounded what should have been a delightful core memory. “And then he kissed me on the balcony.”

Flashes of Beaumont’s hand as it tugged my dress higher must have made enough connection for Silas to catch them. My fox grumbled low in his chest and whisked his tail.

Okay. I’m all for murdering men who don’t get consent, Silas huffed.

“He had consent!” I interrupted him. “I didn’t–I didn’t mean–I never meant to hurt him.” Pausing, I listened for any approaching footsteps near my door and lowered my voice. “I think we had sex.”

Silas popped up from the floor like an animation. His legs straightened with his straight-as-a-pole tail, and his eyes went comically wide. He plopped back down on the floor and shrieked at the news. For a second, I thought I had accidentally electrocuted him again.

What do you mean, you think you had sex with Beaumont?

I grimaced at the night’s development.

It was never my intention to sleep with the son of a well-respected councilman. Nor had killing him been on my bucket list. The truth was . . . I hated the idea of dying a virgin. An untouched, unloved virgin. And Beaumont understood that. He was my best friend, and the only person I’d ever believed I was safe with. Enough to talk about my curse with someone besides Silas.

Beaumont understood I had a ticking clock hovering above my head. We danced around the possibility of courting one another for months after our parents noticed our chaperones were struggling to keep their eyes on us at all times.

Courting made it all so silly. I was expected to marry someone who complemented my powerful line, and the Vestley family had been second to mind for years. Combining lines would ensure great success for the people, right?

It didn’t matter.

Beaumont kissed me on the balcony, and one thing led to another. I didn’t think about the expectations and rules for ten solid minutes, and it led me down another dark road.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Another wave of nasty blood threatened to spill as I recalled every touch, every word, every nervous laugh we experienced together. Everything about tonight was horrible, and yet, I thought it was perfect. He’d had sex twice before, that I knew, but he was kind.

And then he choked on his blood mere minutes after entering me.

“We did,” I decided. Even if it were only for a moment, it counted. “I had sex with Beau.”

Silas crept closer. His tail flagged high, then dragged along the floor as he rushed to find a seat in my lap. The fur of his ears tickled the underside of my chin as he shoved his way into the nest of my thighs.

Then?

“Then he—” Images rapidly flashed through my mind. I gulped down the emotion threatening to explode out of me, forcing its way up my throat.

I knew I’d never forget his frightened eyes. A forest green so earthy it reminded me of the days we’d hide from our families to adventure through the woods. Beaumont wasn’t scared of much. I thought he’d never look at me like everyone else had. Then again, I never imagined I’d hurt him. After a while, that fear faded. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. His uncontrollable coughing mirrored the jerkiness of my heart. I should have done more, but I was frozen. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t scream. Fear was not the word I could use to even describe what had paralyzed me. It was much worse.

All I pictured as he yanked me over the side of the bed, convulsing and thrashing, was my father’s warnings. Hold back. Don’t scare people. It’s for the better good.

“He died.”

A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

“And I couldn’t bring him back,” I confessed, staring into the flames and allowing my mind to wander to the memory. His body jerked under my compressions, tensing when I gave up and tried shocking him back to life. And the haunting stillness when I tried to channel that dark side of myself that never failed to ruin me . . . I failed. “I panicked, Si. I tried everything. I begged for help, and not even Death came for me.”

Silas rubbed his head against my chin. I wrapped my arms around him and curled my face into his coat.

I’m sorry, Piper. He purred, a comforting rumble expelling from his small body. Not all people are meant to come back.

“Yo-You did,” I stuttered.

There was that awful tremor in my bottom lip. A stutter that never truly left me after years of vocal classes and meetings with elders. All to satisfy my parents’ concerns about my mental and physical development being affected by the curse. I didn’t believe I could blame the curse entirely.

If there were no medical or magical explanations, isn’t it simply a me problem? I thought that much by fourteen.

As a child, I was a stuttering, unconfident mess. Now, though I could keep it together and mask as I’d practiced, my anxiety often got the best of me. No matter how many times I perfected my responses, learned how to stand, how to smile, watched everyone around me to see what was normal, it never mattered. There was no outrunning the grand piano that I imagined loomed over me all my life.

In the same manner as Death, Anxiety hovered on the ropes and waited to pounce. Each unexpected takedown weakened me, blow after blow. A strategic plan to prologue my suffering so I’d be easier to take down the end. Anxiety was Death’s best friend. They worked together to torture me.

Sometimes when I closed my eyes, I could sense Death’s grasp on my heart. Her fingers caressed the curves of my ribs. I could see her silhouette behind my eyelids, in my nightmares. She tugged at my heart daily, reminding me how easily she could steal it to satisfy her own hunger.

When I was younger, I had a lot of bizarre dreams. Death would lurk past the rose bushes in the back gardens and follow me through the dark until I reached my bedroom. Some nights, she’d stand along the wall and watch me toss and turn. There were nights I was paralyzed in my blankets, staring up at the reflection of the creature I was becoming as fog consumed my drowsy brain.

There were days I believed Death had cursed me. That she was the one that ruined what short life I was given. I was raised with the balance of the universe in mind. Everyone lives, and we all must die. My death was spoken into time by an elder on the council. He feared someone wanted revenge on my parents. If it were the truth, they succeeded. The only heir to the Frost leadership was now a walking tombstone. The line would end.

I wish I could say I always turned away from Death’s guidance. Good witches don’t lie. Often. Standing by my father’s wishes, I tried to stand on honest ground with those that mattered.

Looking back at it, I guess I should have wondered who in the select group held me to such standards.

After tonight, would it really be so hard to die? I knew very little about my own misfortune. It was a curse. I wasn’t sure what type of curse, but a curse with enough power to steal energy and control from an heiress.

I sighed and gazed off through the large bay windows. The moon reflected off the colorful sea glass windchime hanging inside the bow of the tied back curtains. Almost like it whispered, “dance with me” to my soul, begging me to come home, the colors twinkled around the room in a beautiful ray of different blues and golds.

It was silly to call myself that. There was no point. My life was defined by my impending expiration date. It could be tomorrow, for all I knew. An unofficial and unproved period before I would drop dead.

Death would come for me. It was written in the stars.

No one could change the stars. They were untouchable. Besides a few medicated syrups and injections, nothing eased the full body aches and thorns scraping along my veins. I took every potion prescribed to me in the hope I would calm my nerves enough to control my surges. The curse, the ruthless hex, was the exact thing that rattled the coven. It was the reason other kids didn’t approach me in lower rings—the classifications for our graduation years—and adults gave me sideways scowls at balls when I was introduced as the heir. Not even they believed I deserved such a tile. That role came with respect I lost minutes after birth.

A creature. They called me. A demon of the dark.

There was nothing I could do to convince the people I wasn’t a threat. They’ll all know by morning what I did to Beaumont. I killed him. During sex. What a perfect way to walk into the last year of my life.

I curled up on the floor with Silas close to my chest and watched the fireplace as the flames morphed from red and orange to shades of blue. It teased me. The tip of the flame curled as if it were beckoning me closer.

Was it her?

I imagined if Death were to appear and take me home, she’d at least meet my eyes as she did it. Hold hand, possibly. I deserved more than a slow, agonizing slumber past the walls of limbo.

My eyes slid closed, and I welcomed the exhaustion that consumed me. A distant burn developed in the back of my throat. It must have been the smoke from the fireplace.

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