Page 86 of Homeward for a Spell

“What do you mean you don’t have it?” Menorath’s voice is measured, but poison lurks beneath it. “I’m being very reasonable, Araphi. All I’m asking is that you return what you took.”

“I didn’t take it! Well, I mean, technically, I did. But I wasn’t going to steal it—at least, not until I found out you wanted it. And why is that, Aunt Menorath?” She lifts her chin defiantly. “What do you need with an artifact that powerful when you’ve already got money, influence, everything you could possibly want?”

Menorath scoffs. “You have no idea what I want, or what I need.”

Araphi’s mother looks between them. “Perhaps we can all just sit down and talk this through? Menorath, I know you were invested in finding Araphi, but now we’ve done that, let’s all stay calm.”

“Stay calm?” Menorath turns her gaze on Araphi’s mother. “As you’ve done all these years, Brenna? Do you think I want to be like you? To give up my power and lose my spirit like you have?”

Araphi’s mother flinches, the words finding their mark. “That’s hardly fair, Menorath. You of all people should—”

“I should what?” Menorath bellows. “Enjoy living under the thumb of my husband’s family’s patron, pleading for scraps of power, constantly overlooked in favor of the bloodline?”

Sympathy blooms in Araphi—Clauneck is awful—but it’s chased by the grim understanding of how many people Menorath has hurt through her ambitions. “So, for the sake of your own power source, you’d kill—just like you tried to steal from and blackmail Margot Greenwillow,” she accuses.

“I’ll do what I must,” her aunt sneers. “I’m sick to death of having to beg favors of Clauneck anytime I want something done.”

“So when your Natural Caster Potion didn’t work out, you turned to the adventuring business?”

Menorath’s knife of a laugh could slice through flesh. “You know nothing, silly girl. I’ve had the Agent on my payroll for years, and more like him—always with an ear to the ground, listening for stories that may prove useful. Our family hires out adventuring parties all the time, chasing powerful artifacts to barter for allies and to shore up our own holdings. Holdings that have become compromised since our previous disappointment of an heir began their campaign against us.” From the neutrality of her tone, one would never guess that Menorath was talking about her own child. “You just happened to get caught up in this particular adventure.”

“Well, now the adventure is over,” Araphi’s mother declares. She stands to move toward them. “Menorath, Araphi, let’s just go to our carriage and start on the road toward home.”

“No,” Araphi says at the same time as Menorath.

Brenna Clauneck looks between them. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean, I’m not going back with you,” Araphi says.

“You certainly are,” her aunt interjects, “but first, I’ll have that artifact if I have to claw it off you myself.”

“I’ve told you already, I don’t have it! The dragon’s tooth is long gone by now.”

Menorath lashes out, quick as an adder, and grabs Araphi’s hair to wrench her head back. “Stop playing games with me, Araphi Clauneck! I will have that tooth! I will use it to break free from Clauneck and—” Then a horrible gurgling sound stoppers her words, just as the ground shakes around them. A voice thunders inside Araphi’s head.

So you wish to escape me, Menorath Clauneck?

Araphi clutches her ears, and her mother pales. Menorath’s mouth opens and closes. A cloud of purple smoke seeps upward through the floor to billow around her, twining like a ghostly vine. Suddenly she’s lifted from her feet and slammed against the wall of the lodge, seemingly flung by an invisible hand. Menorath clutches at her throat as she crumples.

You have grown too bold, Menorath. I was careless not to watch you, but trust, I am watching now.

“Can you hear him too, Mother?” Araphi calls out.

Her mother nods grimly.

I believe this is a family affair, since each of you saw fit to risk my displeasure and wrath.

This can’t be good. Clauneck is usually so busy playing them against one another or against themselves that he rarely speaks outside one mind at a time. He must be especially furious.

“What are you—?” Menorath manages before her words are choked off by the invisible hand at her throat.

I couldn’t help but overhear your treachery, since you were declaring it so boldly.

Menorath fumbles at her collar and pulls out a handful of necklaces—some jeweled, some simple wooden markers—only for Clauneck to scoff.

Ah, your amulets can’t help you now that I’ve turned my eye on you.

Perhaps that was how Menorath had evaded Clauneck’s notice for so long. Araphi’s hand flies to the lemon charm around her neck, and she meets her mother’s eyes.