It hadn’t been Dayna who’d been there for Meiner so many times after her grandmother had screamed at her, or put her through some ridiculous ordeal for “training.” She distinctly remembered one incident before Gran had started turning senile. Cora hadn’t been sure of the details, but she’d heard Gran screaming, and Meiner had retreated to their bedroom with a bloody gash down her cheek. She’d refused to talk about it, but Cora knew the mark was from the raven skull ring the old woman wore.
She still wasn’t sure who’d initiated the kiss, if it had been her or Meiner, but she knew what followed. They’d gone from roommates to more.
Of course, that had ended as abruptly as it began once Gran poisoned Meiner’s mind, telling her Cora only wanted the coven. That she’d use anything to get power.
It wasn’t a lie. Cora would do anything to get what she wanted. The fact that Meiner was incredibly hot was only a bonus.
But of course, Meiner had played the saint, acting disgusted, as if she hadn’t been using Cora as much as Cora was trying to use her.
That had been almost a year ago, and Meiner liked to pretend it hadn’t happened.
Meiner’s face went dark. “If you’re referring to us being together, that’s never happening again.”
Cora rolled her eyes and leaned closer. “Are you telling me you never think about it? Not once?”
“Back off, Cora.” Meiner pushed herself away from the windowsill. Cora could see the tightness in her shoulders, the tic in her jaw, and the flush in her pale cheeks. She knew she shouldn’t poke the bear, but Meiner made it so easy.
She stepped into Meiner’s path. “You know it will end up happening again. You can only take so much of your gran before you do something a little reckless. And you’ve got to admit—”
Cora flinched when Meiner reached out and grasped her shoulders, expression full of unveiled fury. “You were a mistake, Cora. Get that into your head.” Meiner’s face was an inch away from hers, her voice a low, furious growl. “A moment of bad judgment and a personal low point for me. It’s never happening again.”
There was a beat of silence after that, and then Meiner released her and turned for the door. “We should make sure Gran is ready for supper.”
Cora stayed frozen to the spot. Her face was burning, and her limbs felt strangely heavy. It was hard to swallow, her throat was so tight. A personal low point…
Meiner turned back to her, brows raised.
“You do it.” Cora forced herself to speak, and her voice wobbled slightly. She hated herself for it. “She’s your gran.”
This wasn’t strictly fair, since Grandma King had raised her after her useless aunt had kicked her out at thirteen. Still, it wasn’t Cora that Gran was giving the coven to.
Meiner was still staring at her, solemn-faced, and Cora kept her expression blank. A fire had started in the pit of her stomach, and she wanted to scream.
Fuck you, Meiner King.
She looked away first, hating herself for it.
Meiner turned without saying anything and disappeared from the room.
In the kitchen, Yemi was chopping vegetables, and Reagan was tossing handfuls of carrots into a brass cauldron above the fireplace. Cora saw Meiner eye this setup with interest, and something about it raised her hackles. What if Meiner decided instead of combining the two covens, she’d just join the Carman coven herself? They wouldn’t let her, would they? If you were an unattached witch it was almost impossible to find a coven. You had to be related, or old family friends, like her mother and Grandma King had been. Someone had to vouch for you. And there was certainly no jumping from one coven to another, as there was little if any contact between them. But Meiner had already met the others, so they might skip the vetting process. The thought made Cora’s stomach twist.
Bad judgment. A mistake.
Meiner had made it clear she didn’t belong with Cora. That, in spite of growing up together, in spite of being together in the way they had, she felt no loyalty.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Cora forced her expression into blankness.
Reagan flicked on the radio above the microwave. The news was saying something about crops dying, whole apple orchards and fields of strawberries. Meiner and Cora exchanged a glance, and Meiner’s pale brows lifted.
More omens.
The dry shuffling of nylon compression socks on the tiles signaled Grandma King’s entrance from the living room. She paused in the doorway and huffed a long sigh.
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” Reagan said, then paused as her phone pinged, frowning down at the screen.
“Good.” Grandma King turned to Cora. “Help me up to my room, witchling. I forgot to change out of these damn socks, and they’re squeezing the life out of me feet.”
Cora wanted to protest, but she was careful to keep her face straight while she waited for Grandma King to shuffle over. She put her elbow out, and Gran hooked one skinny arm into hers.
Resentment crashed through her, making her uncharacteristically silent as they made their way up. Why couldn’t Meiner help her own grandmother up the steps?
Because, a nasty little voice in her head chimed in, Meiner is the next High Witch and above things like this.
She helped the old woman up yet another step, slowly, so slowly.
Grandma King seemed to run out of steam halfway. She stopped in the middle of the staircase, and Cora turned, sighing. She froze.
They were eye to eye, and something in the old woman’s face had changed. There was an air of razor sharpness about her. The way her dark eyes glittered. The smile that curved her mouth.
“Gran—Mrs. King?”
Grandma King said nothing for a moment, just squeezed Cora’s arm more tightly. “I have a proposition.”
Cora blinked. She didn’t seem to be able to get her tongue to work.
“My granddaughter is not prepared for what’s coming.” Grandma King’s expression was stony, and Cora repressed a shudder. Here was the woman people talked about, the King Witch.
“I’ve tried to raise her to be ready to take on the mantle of leadership when the time came. When this time came. But it’s grown clear she isn’t strong enough. She lets emotion guide her. She is weak.” The old woman spat this last sentence, and Cora forced herself not to flinch. She didn’t like Meiner, exactly, but it was disturbing to hear her grandmother talk like this.
Still, what she was saying…?
Fire flared to life in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean?”
“I’m saying you’ll have to do, lass,” Grandma King snapped. “You’re vindictive and cunning and if you’re trained properly, you’ll be ready when the time comes. Meiner will never. That’s why I stopped her training and she hasn’t ascended.”
“I knew it!” She should feel angry. Gran had been putting them off for ages. It would have been easy to chalk it up to her dementia, but Cora had had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly what she was doing. She’d been right.
Her throat was tight with longing. All she’d ever wanted was this moment, though she’d imagined it with her mother. Even at thirteen, before her mother had become sick and handed over the mantle to Grandma King, she’d imagined what it would feel like. To have her mother hand over the title, the power that would fill her, the thrill of realizing she was in charge.