“A letter to Spencer’s parents.”
Solemn silence fell between them.
“About Spencer,” Stacy started. “I wanted to tell you the estate paid Spencer’s parents an insurance premium of sorts. It has covered everything, including debts they’ve had for years. I thought it was the least we could do.”
Amy swallowed. “They said an anonymous person paid for the funeral. That was you, too, wasn’t it?”
Stacy nodded. “I also bought his part of the gym. Trust me, I was as surprised as you to learn he owned part of it.”
Amy tilted her head. “So…it’s yours now?”
“Partly.”
“Do you want help running it?”
“Why?”
Amy’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Because until I know I’m capable of protecting others, I’m not putting someone else in danger. I don’t want to do work that involves a bodyguard, and running the gym would be nice. It’d help me keep Spencer alive, too.”
“Without Victor, is that a problem?” Stacy posed.
Amy raised a brow. “What, do you think this city is perfect now?”
“Of course not.”
“Then we will always have someone in need of being hit with a little justice. So, will you let me handle the gym?”
Stacy nodded. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“Exactly how much do you own?” Amy asked.
“Ninety percent.”
Amy’s eyes bulged. “And who owns the other ten percent?”
Stacy smiled and rubbed the back of her neck. “Don’t hate me, but…
“What?” Amy demanded.
“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.
