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Erica Plower’s eyes widened as she set her cup aside, glancing sideways at Mom. The former second of my coven, now my representative on Council, wasn’t exactly on my side. “The law is clear, Syd,” she said, blonde hair, once a cute bob, now grown out to rival my mother’s long, black locks. “And you’ve broken it. We’ve pushed our willingness to accept a little leeway, but with the approach of conclave…” She sat back as the others—minus Mom—murmured their agreement. “You must get married.”
So that’s what this was about. They’re worried about saving face? I sent the tight mental question to Mom.
Witches are always worried about appearances, she sent with a heavy dose of laughter in her voice.
Nice to see someone found my imminent doom amusing.
Conclave approaches, a full two months after Syd’s twenty-first birthday. With no husband decision in sight, she instead focuses on the gathering of witches come from the four corners of the globe to debate and create law. Her plan to scour all of witchdom for Brotherhood influence encourages Miriam to open the proceedings to every magical race. But, in doing so, she leaves the door gaping for the enemy to come knocking...