“Ugh,” I groaned. “This is going to be a very long day.”
“It wouldn’t be that long for you if you would just leave me alone. I’m sure I can find it all on my own.” She waved her stolen library book around. “After all, I found the library with very little issues!”
If I kept grinding my teeth like I was, there would be nothing left. My patience was hanging by a thread and Maple’s casual wave of her stolen library book didn’t help matters. She sat there, a mix of defiance and naïveté, completely oblivious to the weight of what was happening around her. She could have been taken right out from under our noses, there was a reason she wasn’t given a tour. There was a reason I was worried about her getting lost.
“You think this is some kind of adventure?” I asked, my voice low, barely restrained. “That you can just waltz into this coven, skim a few books, and magically solve problems even the most powerful among us can’t? This isn’t a game, Maple. Every secondwe waste, the wolves gain ground. If you’re going to be here, you need to understand how serious this is.”
“And if you’re going to make me stay,” she shot back, her tone razor-sharp, “you need to understand that I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be dragged out of my life, thrown into some ancient marriage contract, or forced to play savior for a coven I’ve never met.”
“Get. Over. Yourself.” My body shook with my unchecked anger. I couldn’t do this. She had never been through anything in her life and she was parading around here like we hadn’t lost witches almost every single day. Like nothing mattered in the world.
She blinked and my eyes zeroed in on her bottom lip trembling. If she started crying I was going to give up. I couldn’t handle another thing to fall apart. Not here, not now. My sigh deflated my shoulders. “It’s time for you to meet the Matriarch. My mother.”
The Matriarch wasnothing like I had imagined, especially not for Rune’s mother.
Rene Benoit sat serenely on a plush down pillow in the middle of a cream-painted room, her presence commanding despite the casual surroundings. In one hand, she held a delicate silver sewing needle threaded with black string; in the other, a small black voodoo doll, its blank expression somehow unsettling in the otherwise warm space.
The room was a study in controlled chaos. Incense burned in ornate holders on a low table behind her, its smoky tendrils curling through the air and mixing with the faintscent of lavender. Swatches of patterned fabrics—bright reds, deep blues, and soft yellows—were draped over every available surface, giving the space a vibrant, lived-in feel.
Rene herself was a striking figure. A thick ruby turban wrapped around her head, partially covering her forehead, while a gleaming gold hoop pierced the center of her nose, catching the light with every slight movement. Her light brown skin seemed to glow against the dark green pantsuit she wore, a perfect blend of elegance and authority. Bare feet peeked out from beneath her crossed legs, toes adorned with delicate golden rings that glinted faintly in the soft light.
This wasn’t the stern, intimidating leader I had pictured. She exuded a calm, almost playful energy, as though she could dismantle your life with a needle and thread but would do so with a smile. It was a stark contrast to my own mother’s controlled poise.
Rene glanced up from her work, her sharp, light blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. She didn’t speak immediately, letting the silence stretch until I felt the weight of her gaze settle fully over me.
“So,” she said, at last, her voice smooth and warm but carrying an undeniable edge of power. “You’re the one who’s going to marry my boy.”
The words lingered in the air, daring me to respond. She spoke them as though this was my decision—as if Rune and I had locked eyes across a bustling street in the Quarter, drawn together by some romantic twist of fate, and not shoved into this arrangement by forces beyond our control. I swallowed hard, suddenly unsure if I was ready for whatever this conversation might hold.
“I suppose so,” I said cautiously, hovering in the doorway. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as I resisted the urge to retreat.
One of her partially covered brows arched, the subtle movement carrying far more weight than it should have. “Sit, please,” she said, gesturing to the cushion in front of her with the needle still poised between her fingers.
I hesitated, the mix of authority and invitation in her tone unsettling. Her calm gaze didn’t waver, and I felt the unspoken challenge to defy her. Swallowing my nerves, I stepped forward and lowered myself onto the cushion, my movements awkward and stiff compared to her effortless grace.
The fabric was soft beneath me, but the tension in the room made it hard to relax. Rene’s attention returned to the doll in her hand, the needle moving with precise, deliberate strokes as she stitched a pattern so fine I couldn’t discern its shape.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint scrape of the needle through fabric and the crackle of incense burning behind her. Then she spoke again, her words were sharp despite their measured tone.
“You seem… unsure.” Her gaze flicked up to meet mine, pinning me in place. “Of Rune, of this arrangement. Of your place here.”
“I’d say that’s an understatement,” I admitted, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. “None of this was exactly my choice.”
“No,” she said, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “It wasn’t. But choice or not, you’re here now. And what happens next depends entirely on how you carry yourself.”
Her words were gentle, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath them. I nodded slowly. “I want to help, but I also don’t understand any of this. I don’t think I am any good here. Rune hates me. I don’t have—” The words caught in my throat. I wasn’t to tell these people that I didn’t have magic. It was a secret until absolutely necessary. My father warned me it could be life or death.
Rene’s eyes shot to mine, her voodoo doll now long forgotten. “You don’t have what?” Her chin tilted up as if she was seeing me in a new light, as if she could decipher all of my thoughts.
I swallowed thickly. “I’m not so sure I have what it takes. I’m not some powerful witch. I’ve never even thought of war and death. I don’t know why I’m here.”
Her lips turned down as I spoke. “I appreciate your honesty.” She put the voodoo doll aside and got to her knees. She held out a hand to me and I knew, thanks to Babette, that I couldn’t trust her to not read me but I knew I didn’t have a choice either.
Rene’s outstretched hand lingered in the space between us, steady and unyielding. Her light brown eyes bore into mine, a silent command to take it. Every instinct screamed at me to hold back, to keep my secrets buried deep where no one could pry them loose. But I knew this was a test. Refusing her wasn’t an option.
Slowly, I extended my hand, letting it hover for a fraction of a second before her fingers closed around mine. Her touch was warm, her grip firm but not crushing.
The air in the room shifted immediately, like the hum of energy had turned into a tangible weight pressing down on my chest. Rene’s gaze sharpened, her thumb brushing against the back of my hand.
