“It’s you.”

Amy stood. “What?” she repeated breathlessly.

“Spencer was obviously into you. I bought the whole thing. It’s the least we can do together to keep his legacy alive.”

Amy’s eyes filled with tears, but she smiled. “I love what Spencer did with the place, but can we change the name?”

Stacy wiped a tear away and laughed. “Yes. Yes, we can.”

Stacy wasn’t ready to go to bed yet.

Ever since leaving her father’s home, she’d thought about her mother. She wondered what Catherine would think of her father’s attitude toward the city and the people in it. Would Catherine have sided with him or want to fight as Stacy did?

In her bedroom, she took her mother’s old journal from the nightstand and propped it open on her knees. She had to find answers, any semblance that what she wanted to do was supported by the legacy her mother had laid out before her death. Rowan had made it seem like Catherine would want this, and Stacy trusted him. Still, she wanted confirmation for herself.

The worn leather cover hummed with the same magic in the locket. Her fingers traced the elegant script, and she felt the weight of the words before reading them. After dinner, Khan had shared how significant Catherine’s influence had been in the magical community, both before and after they were married. She had a reputation among witches and their covens as well as other magicals in the area.

Stacy wondered what her mother’s coven had been like and if any of the witches in it were still alive. If they were, could she meet them? Would they want to meet her? She doubted it based on what Khan had shared. Catherine had left her coven to marry him.

Unions between witches and shifters were often looked down on by their respective groups. However, this had not seemed to deter Catherine from doing what she believed to be right. Her journal was full of stories of her interactions with leaders of the city and all the things she had worked toward.

Stacy’s eyes burned with fresh tears as she turned the pages of her mother’s journal. One passage caught her eye, dated several years before she married Khan.

Our community is often overlooked. Much of the world—yes, even the supernatural—does not deign to care for us witches. We are viewed as lesser. We are not as skilled as druids and sorcerers, but we pose enough of a threat for others to want to “keep us in line.”

One day, I want to live in a world where witches can make decisions that benefit all. I will take on that mantle if I must. I will always fight for my kind and ally myself with others who will do the same. My power might be small, but it is mighty.

Catherine’s disdain practically dripped through the pages. Several pages later, Stacy found an entry dated not long after her birth. One name among the many words caught her eye. Victor Corbinelli. Instantly intrigued, she bent to read it closer.

I have worked alongside Khan these many years to bring balance within the city’s supernatural hierarchy, but this balance has been disrupted by one figure: Victor Corbinelli. His resources and wealth are vast, his influence far-reaching. We do not know yet what he is, but it is evident he has magic and will use it to exploit the rest of us.

He despises my husband for the threat he poses. However, Khan seems to want nothing to do with Victor or the Circle. He wishes to remain away from them and lead a simple, happy life. Of course I wish for the same, but I cannot while others suffer.

As long as there are Victors in the world, I will not lay down and allow others to endure trials. I wish my husband could see this. We were not given our power for nothing. He is a dragon, though. Sometimes, he does not understand what it feels like to be “lesser.”

She wondered if Victor had planned to go after her father. Now, they would never find out. She was glad of that. She wondered if Catherine’s death had disrupted the balance of the city’s hierarchy since it was apparent from her writings that she was a skilled diplomat.

She recalled the Native American tribe she had helped in court and their previous connection to her mother. Stacy imagined many groups across the state knew about Catherine’s legacy. People that Victor had exploited since her death.

Why hadn’t Khan done anything about it? His words from dinner echoed in her memory. “What is a city to one such as I, Anastasia? The whole city can be born, live, die, and wither away while I live.”

The memory made her scoff. Why had he been so dismissive toward the people? It baffled Stacy that her parents could be so different. While Khan had been indifferent to the needs of non-magical humans, Catherine had defended them. Had dedicated her life to helping them. It made more sense now why Khan had been against Stacy going into law. He didn’t see the purpose. I will show him, she vowed.

She planned to question him about these matters another time. She had learned a lot but felt like she was still only scratching at the surface.

She rose from her bed and wandered to the window, holding the closed journal to her chest. “I’ve got your back, Mom. I want Dad’s blessing and his help, but I understand what you were trying to do, even if he does not. I will carry on your work.”

Her reflection in the glass was firm and resolute, the picture of Catherine Thorn except for the green and golden glow of her eyes. I must do something about this, she determined, turning to a small desk in the corner of the room. She took out pen and paper and scribbled a brief message.

There will be a new Thorn, a Drakethorn, in command of the supernatural of this city. It’s high time a witch oversaw the welfare of the people.

She left no room for argument, only collaboration. Stacy did not expect she’d be accepted, but at least this declaration would bring those against her out of the woodwork.

Let them come for me, she decided. They will know what happened to Victor, and if any of them are as greedy as he was, they will soon face similar fire.

Stacy folded the letter and sealed it. She would hand it off to Rowan tomorrow to be delivered. It might take some convincing to get the Circle’s location from her father, but she was up to the task.

She returned to her mother’s journal, realizing it was a symbol of her acceptance and readiness to embrace the destiny before her. A sense of inevitability surrounded her as she stood poised to become a leader.

If my father doesn’t want it, I will take it. Someone has to, and I’d rather it be me than a Victor wannabe. I have chosen this path, she thought. Now it’s time to walk it.

She glanced at the framed photo of her mother on the dresser and smiled. She could have sworn Catherine winked back at her.

EPILOGUE

The sun shone brightly as Amy exited the car onto the street. She waved to Rowan, who had driven her here, and entered the gym, glad to see a new sign had been erected. Spencer’s Dojo. It wasn’t the catchiest name, but Amy couldn’t think of a better way to honor him than by naming his favorite place after him.

It felt good to be back in the swing of things. That is, somewhat normal and no longer needing to recover from her time in the hospital. She had her appetite back and had even asked Rowan to stop for coffee this morning. Coming here would give her a purpose, something to focus on. She needed that, especially since she had spoken to her former boss yesterday and told her she was leaving.

The gym was active with members who were unaware she was the new operator of the place. Customers and physical trainers grappled and used various equipment in the main room while others indulged in saunas and other services.

Amy strode through the front hall to a welcome desk and stopped short. There, hung in a wide frame, was a full image of Spencer in his favorite gym outfit. She remembered teasing him for how much he liked wearing bright teal. Now, the sight of it made her heart ache.

Beside the photograph was a brief bio about his life and the work he had done in owning the gym. It finished with a mention of his death.

Spencer passed away saving someone he loved. He was always that sort of person, one who loved deeply until the very end.

The words brought tears to Amy’s eyes. The bottom of the frame said the piece had been commissioned by Peter and Margaret, Spencer’s parents. This brought a smile as she wiped away her tears. Much to her surprise, Spencer’s parents had been wonderful to her since his death. It had helped Amy to work past the feeling that it was her fault. She wondered what a life would have been like with him, marrying him and having his parents as her in-laws.

I wish you were here, she thought. I wish that more than anything.

Amy soon became distracted by several people who came by to say hello, each having known Spencer for years. Despite him being gone, they’d kept their jobs here and would help Amy run the place. She remembered many of the faces from the funeral she and Stacy had attended.

“A shame he’s gone,” a man named Drew murmured. “He was a good fella. Everyone will miss him.”

Amy nodded vaguely. “Yes, we will.”

“He’d be proud of this place, though,” a woman named Beth commented as she surveyed their surroundings. “It’s a place of comfort and safety. People can come here and get out what they need to while healing. That was what Spencer always wanted.”

Amy couldn’t believe she and Stacy had walked in here only a few short months ago and met Spencer for the first time. Harder still to believe he’d been the owner. In a way, she felt like she’d known him for a lifetime. You were a good trainer and an even better friend, she thought. You were a damn good kisser, too. She was glad they’d at least spoken their feelings before he went.

She traced the edge of the frame, her gaze fastened on his smiling face. “I will never forget you, Spencer.” She turned, holding her head high, and walked into her new office.

THE STORY CONTINUES

The story continues with book four, The Mantle Returns, coming soon to Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.