"THIS IS RIDICULOUS. If I have to see this man's face in the next century it'll be too soon." The newspaper hit the table with a resounding crinkle of paper. Following it was the sound of stiletto heels pacing the floor, each click, click, click echoing in the unusually empty room. "Who does he think he is? The Grand Warlock?"
Adira Ashfield's face went as red as the soles of her Christian Louboutins. Immediately after the newspaper went up in smoke, scorched paper peeling away and rising into the air on a draft of wind to escort the smell out. She was too angry to watch the small air spirits coax the wisps of gray vapor under the crack of the door. Even her hair, shining brilliantly in the light of the skylight, curled up in frizzed twists of slate gray in response to her outrage.
Across from her, sitting in the only other chair in the room, Beatrix Ashfield sipped her too-sweet and too-cold tea, grimacing at the overbearing taste of lavender and chamomile. Once again, her sister was too heavy handed on the flower grounds. She set the porcelain cup back on its saucer with a small sigh.
"He is the Grand Warlock, Adira." Beatrix reached over and swept the ashes of the newspaper to the floor for the maid to clean up later. It left a black smudge across the table and the back of her hand. "And besides, you knew what you were getting into when you signed that agreement. What was it, a chance to have your wish early and ten years of servitude to the Council of Warlocks in return?"
Adira's rosy complexion went purple. "Not funny, Bea!"
"Jokes aside," the other Ashfield laughed,"a year of being the Grand Warlock's assistant can't be all that bad. After all, he isn't that bad looking, you know."
"Of course I know that!" The purple in her face quickly vanished, a more dreamy expression creeping upon her cheeks. "I wouldn't have offered it if he hadn't been. Still though, I have to keep up appearances--Adira Leona Ashfield serves no one except herself! What would people think if it came out that I had been the one to suggest it?"
Beatrix watched, holding her laughter in her lungs as Adira collapsed back in her chair and continued in a wail,"I'd be the laughing stock of the entire witch society! I can just see the headlines: Ashfield Coven Heir whores herself out to the Warlocks of High Keep; can she sink to new lows?"
"Well, your reputation wasn't low to begin with." She dared another sip of the atrocious tea, oblivious to her sister's watchful eye at her tone. "A stone cold bitch, maybe, but near the level of whore status. That belongs to our dear Cordelia Donithorn, may her virginity rest in many, many, many pieces."
"You know something, don't you?" Adira was quick to latch on to her suggestive tone, sitting ramrod straight in her chair. Her heels slammed down into the marble floor so hard that Beatrix heard the stone buckle underneath the pressure. "Everyone says it isn't true, but an eighteen year old witch doesn't get her mother's seat on the Witch Council without cashing in some serious favors."
"I never said she cashed in those favors."
"Oh my Goddess, she loaned herself out?! Of course she did, with a body like that I would too. I'd probably take that offer myself."
Beatrix recalled the appearance of the Donithorn heir, now Matriarch, with her lithe figure and sleek curtain of blue-black hair. It had been her eyes, piercing green with cat-like pupils, that had caught her attention when she had first met her. She nodded in agreement under Adira's prying smile.
"It's too bad she's dating that Cox girl," she added with an over-exaggerated sigh. "The bastard from Florida?"
When Beatrix shook her head no in confusion, Adira gasped.
"No! You didn't know?" With one swift movement, the Ashfield heir had dragged her chair over to her sister's side and pushed the tea cup away. She linked her arm in hers and leaned in close, as if there were people other than just the both of them in the room. "Rumor has it that Yule, Matriarch Scarlett Cox's human lover, had a child with another witch. I remember that floating around when we were in middle school, but lo and behold, I guess it was true--the girl showed up not even eight months ago, a spitting image of Yule, gorgeous blonde hair and everything."
"And she's coming to the inauguration tonight." The younger Ashfield connected the dots fairly quickly. She fixed her sister with a wide eyed stare.
In unison, both of them chortled,"Family drama!"
When the shock of the reveal wore off, Beatrix slumped in her chair with a sigh. "I miss doing this with you. I've been so busy with Mother's fashion line that I don't have the time to visit the Coven temple like I used to."
"You're preaching to the choir, girl." Adira reached over and took the cup of tea she had been drinking out of before, almost gagging at the taste when she had a sip. "Ugh. Is she making you do the Fall line?"
"You know it." Beatrix glimpsed the glossy cover of Witch Monthly peeking out of her purse by the door, a photo of Adira printed on it from last year's copy. "The theme this year is venenum nocte. It already passed the board, so I'm left with piecing together the outfits."
"Midnight Poison?" The Ashfield heir blinked slowly at the title. "That's interesting; we've always stuck with an autumn theme. That's pretty dark--did she say why?"
"No. Not a thing." She recalled her mother's expression as she had given her the past issues of Witch Monthly, the severe lines on her face and the darkness in her silver eyes. It had been one of the few times that Beatrix had never tried to coax another word from her. "But it's fine. It's not like I have much left to do--just drawing up the concept art, I guess."
Adira pouted and flattened a stray hair sticking up from her sister's head. "I wish you would make her give you credit for your designs. They're always so beautiful; I see a lot of the council and the Warlocks wearing them whenever they come around."
"I agree." With a startled screech, Adira jumped out of her chair and whirled around to face the demoness that had appeared in the room with nary a sound. Beatrix, recognizing the smell of oranges and brimstone, smiled slightly as ice cold arms slipped around her neck in a comforting squeeze. "You make such beautiful clothes, Inlustris. I wear them whenever your bearer makes me go out in public."
Beatrix patted the cold fingers toying with the Chanel necklace around her neck. "Thank you, Citrine. But as we all know, my mother would rather champion the helm of creativity until Adira becomes Matriarch."
With a grace that could only be accomplished by a demon, Citrine sat in Adira's abandoned chair. Her naked body was flushed with pale pink undertones, indicating she had been fed recently, and her black eyes were alight with a happy glint. The last Beatrix had seen the Goddess of Cocytus, she had been little more than a slip of gray skin and sunken eyes. Her hair floated around her in a silvery halo of liquid, not unlike that of mercury.
"You look better," Adira noted, pressing a hand to Citrine's shoulder. "Less 'freeze my fingers off' and more 'ice cube in summer'."
"I recently had an influx of souls come in," the demoness explained, reaching over and fingering the gold buttons on Adira's belt. "There were many traitors this time. I am more full than usual."
Beatrix leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, picking up her abandoned cup of tea again while her sister conversed happily with the demon goddess beside her. It had been a while since the three of them had been in the same room together, let alone the same city. While Citrine sought her out regularly against her mother's wishes, even going as far as to don human clothes to do so, Adira was not able to escape the duties of a future Matriarch so easily. With the inauguration ball, however, a lot of things were easily moved around to make room for small moments like this one.
Citrine's fascination with her had caused her mother no end of trouble. While Citrine was still her mother's contracted demon, the demoness was very much her own creature, and had the ability to defy her contractor's will if she wished it regardless if her ceremony was followed to the letter. Such was being the ruler of Cocytus, the ninth level of hell.
In the midst of her reminiscing, she failed to notice Citrine's gaze stray back to her again. Adira had vanished back in her closet, pulling out pieces that Beatrix recognized as her favorite tops from the latest fashion line she had created.
"You're brimming with life today," Citrine whispered. Her clawed fingers reached up to follow her cheekbone, dusted with a faint line of rouge. "Under the makeup. In your veins."
It was bizarre remarks like those that made Citrine endearing in her own odd way.
"That's better than 'death in the bones', like last time." Beatrix sipped her tea, the flavor growing on her. "Isn't it?"
She was surprised when the demon's nonexistent eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Yes. No. Maybe. He is too close to you right now."
"Who?" The youngest Ashfield inquired, but Citrine shook her head. She would say no more about it.
"Alright!" Adira returned with her arms full of silk and cashmere and settled her hoard on the table, ignoring the black char stain entirely on the white wood. "So, here's my favorite pieces--I spent a fortune on this I hope you know--"
As her sister droned on and on about her favorite shirts and skirts and shoes, Beatrix nodded when it was polite and only when Adira paused for her approval. Even as she left for the day, promising to come back after she had bought a new sketchbook for the concept designs, she couldn't help but linger on Citrine's words.
The demoness was not always prophetic, but every demon had a strand of prophecy inside them. To hear Citrine herself tell it, it was almost like a halfhearted ability that showed up without prompting and left just as quickly. It had never been something that Citrine had used on her before, though; it was always Adira, or some insignificant person on the street she had come across that day.
It nagged at her the entire way to Michael's craft store. She didn't even pay attention to the sketchbook she picked up, or the pack of Sakura Microns and watercolor paints she dumped in her basket. Even when her total rang up nearly two-hundred dollars, she didn't pay attention, just swiped her card and crammed the receipt in the door of her car.
"I'll just ask her about it later," she mumbled to herself, peeling out of the parking lot and into the flow of traffic. "Now I know how Adira feels when she gets them."
Except Citrine didn't show up that night, or the next, or the one after.
And then, oddly enough, as she was getting out of the shower to meet with her mother's client at some elite clubhouse on the east side of town, her phone pinged with Citrine's telltale notification sound. The demon rarely used the phone she had been given, but when she did it was usually something important.
Wrapping her hair up in a towel and picking away the gray strands plastered to her temples, Beatrix unlocked her phone, a smile on her face--a smile that quickly faded when she read the message.
'72.'
Beatrix set her phone down on the bathroom counter with a frown. She didn't have time to wonder about what it meant, or what Citrine was trying to tell her. She had a client to meet and deals to make for her mother.
She plugged her personal phone up into a charger and left it on the table, exchanging it with her business phone instead. She'd made that mistake before, carrying her personal phone in front of the Fae, and paid the price for that dearly. She'd had to change her number seven times before he got the hint to leave her alone.
With a farewell to her apartment, Beatrix turned on her security alarms and slammed the door behind her.
If she had stayed behind for just a moment longer, she would have caught the almost sorrowful, apologetic text that Citrine had sent afterwards, almost like she regretted having told her.
'I'm so, so sorry, Beatrix. Be careful. Please.'
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