Kristie Cook - Devotion

"I would love that," I said with complete sincerity. If only it were possible.

"I know what you need," Tristan said, gathering us in his arms and standing up. He placed us on our feet, then took our hands and led us to the kitchen.

He popped open the bottle of wine Charlotte brought, poured us each a glass (well, a glass of juice for Dorian) and turned on some music. Then he started pulling food out of the refrigerator: ingredients for fajitas. And he was right. Cooking dinner together was exactly what I needed and a perfect way to celebrate our anniversary. Our kitchen wasn't fully stocked with all the gadgets and gizmos I couldn't wait to buy one day, but we had the necessities–good knives, pans and food. Listening to 30 Seconds to Mars, feeling the knife move under my hand, tasting the wine, smelling the onions and peppers and joking around with my two guys felt incredibly and necessarily normal.

Mom, Owen and Charlotte, along with Blossom, returned just as we started searing the meat. I hadn't expected Blossom, but it turned out she was a bit of a hero. When she saw Dorian spring a little too high for what was normal, she threw a cloak over him, so no one else saw his little flight on Captiva. It wasn't a strong cloak because she wasn't supposed to use magic out in the open, so Owen, a more powerful mage than her, was still able to see through it. He had been too worried at the time to sense the magic. With Mom and Charlotte here, she had been scared to come tell us what she'd done, but they finally tracked her down, and she confessed. When they finished telling me the story, I threw my arms around Blossom with relief. Her actions today laid a huge stretch of foundation for my trust.

"If Blossom's from Daytona, that coven is her home coven," Tristan said that night as we lay in bed. "We should take her with us."

"Tristan, I don't think–"

"You trust her, right?"

Because the subject always caused problems and I didn't want to deal with yet another one right now, I'd given up on pressuring him about the stone and divulged all I knew about Blossom. I told him I felt better about her, but I still didn't trust her fully.

"And I really don't want to bring her into the middle of all this. It's too dangerous."

"Unless you can get Sophia to take us to the coven and persuade them to talk, Blossom's our only hope. Owen can cloak the three of us, and Blossom can drive us without raising any suspicion. The Daemoni are looking for us, not her, and it wouldn't be strange for her to be going home for the weekend."

"Can't we flash?"

"And if we run into trouble, they follow our trails. Do you want to deal with that again? Who knows when–or if–we'd be able to get home without leading them straight here. Besides, Blossom can get us in."

I sighed. My arguments were useless. He'd already thought everything through and knew the best solution. "I just don't like using her. It's not right, and it's not safe for her."

"We'll keep her safe." He rolled onto his side to face me and pushed my hair away from my face. "How about we let her decide?"

Blossom's decision came quickly and easily. She knew all about the trouble not only in the council, but throughout the Amadis. Like everywhere else, people in the colony were divided, which was why they hadn't been so welcoming to us. She'd known about the traitor, but not, of course, about the girl or my telepathic powers, and her feelings reflected Owen's–she found difficulty in believing any of it, but wanted to find the truth. She wanted to help solve the problem, and she came up with the idea to take us to her home coven before we even mentioned it, although it meant leaving immediately.

So the four of us piled into her car and took off, leaving Dorian with Mom and Char. Owen cloaked himself, Tristan and me, which made Blossom look as though she talked to herself if any drivers looked over at her. She didn't care. She talked non-stop for the five-hour drive, providing us details on the members of the Daytona coven, including her Aunt Sylvie, the leader. She hadn't been home in over a year, because last time, her desire to help some so-called friends back-fired on them all, and the coven, especially Aunt Sylvie, still held it against her.

Once in Daytona, she parked on the side of a street in front of a large, brick home in an older, yet nicely manicured neighborhood. Planters with colorful flowers hung on the window sills, the lawn was beautifully landscaped, and the shady front porch invited you up for tea or lemonade on this hot summer's evening. The house looked as though it belonged to an upper-middle-class family, not twelve witches that made up the coven. I only felt six mind signatures inside at the moment.

"You stay here for now," Blossom said as she opened the car door. "Let me soften up Aunt Sylvie first."

Tension tightened my muscles as Blossom hurried up the front walk. I couldn't help but wonder if she was delivering us right into the Daemoni's hands to protect the colony.

A thin woman who looked about sixty, with silver hair pulled neatly into a bun and wearing a long, tie-dyed skirt, opened the door just as Blossom reached it. Her dark eyes widened when she saw the guest on her front porch, and they silently stared at each other for a long moment. When the woman finally opened her mouth, she spoke quietly, but not too low for our ears.

"Blossom! What are you–" She broke off and peered behind her niece, her eyes scanning the neighborhood. "I sense magic. Too powerful to be yours, child."

"Yeah, well …" Blossom squirmed and shifted her weight. "… because I'm not alone."

The old woman's eyes snapped back to Blossom's face. "What do you mean you're not alone? Who did you bring here?"

"Some friends. They need your help."

"Blossom, we're not going through this again. Last time you brought friends to me, they wanted to raise their dead uncle to dispute a will!"

"I didn't know that's what they really wanted. They told me–" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It's not like that this time."

"Good! Because there are no séances or necromancy going on here. We don't do magic for Normans, and we definitely don't use dark magic."

"Of course not, Aunt Sylvie. That's not it at all. They're Amadis. Honestly. They just want information."

Aunt Sylvie narrowed her eyes. "That magic is too powerful for Amadis, even a warlock. It almost feels like a … a … sorcerer. What have you gotten yourself into now, Blossom?"

"I swear, they're Amadis. More Amadis than anyone really." Blossom waved her hand behind her back, her signal for us to join her.

"She won't let us in until she trusts we're not Daemoni," I said after peeking into the older witch's mind. This worry actually made me feel better because it meant Blossom hadn't led us into a trap. "She actually believes a sorcerer has cloaked and shielded us. Are you really that powerful, Owen?"

"No, not quite. But close enough," he said with a grin in his voice as we climbed out of the car.

Owen didn't remove the cloaks on us until we stood behind Blossom on the front porch. Aunt Sylvie gasped when we appeared.

"Oh, no. Blossom! This is almost as bad as Daemoni themselves."

"Aunt Sylvie, your manners," Blossom whispered, as if we couldn't hear anyway. "Don't you know who they are?"

"Of course I do. How could you bring them here?" Fear masked the woman's face, as if she expected us to attack her.

"They need our help."

"We can't help. It's too dangerous!" Aunt Sylvie glanced around the neighborhood again and stepped back into the house, pushing the door nearly closed so we could barely see her drop her head. "I'm sorry, Ms. Alexis, Mr. Tristan. I can't risk my coven. There was a reason I wouldn't respond to Owen's calls. Please, leave now. It's better for all of us."