taking her daughter with her. Nobody heard from them for five years. When Cora finally got in contact with her sisters, it was too late. Before the three of them could meet, she was arrested by the Inquisition, and died in the course of her interrogation.
By then, Edie was thirteen. Lily adopted her and raised her in the Wednesday Coven. Edie never spoke about the five years she’d spent on the run, but Glory sometimes wondered if it had given her mother a taste for escape. All those fresh starts and disappearances, disguises and false names . . . How many lives had she lived? Could she be living a different one now? Perhaps one day Glory would dream of it, instead of the Burning Court.
Yet although Glory did not look like the wide-eyed blonde behind the glass, today she felt closer to her mother than she ever had before. The fae that sang through her body had once leapt in her mother’s veins, and those of her grandmother and great-grandmother before that.
Carefully, Glory placed the photograph on the floor. She sat beside it, cross-legged, in front of her mirror. Her ordinary brown hair was dyed to match the Starling Twins’ white-blonde and her eyes were brown too; soft in some lights, black in others. She had her father’s slightly hooked nose, but her strong brows and wide curved mouth were her own. Perhaps these features were too strong for prettiness, but if people remembered her face, it was for the right reasons.
Glory took a deep breath. Then she pulled down the neck of her T-shirt. Again, instinct took her directly to what she sought. Nestled underneath her collarbone was a small bloom the colour of midnight. It was velvet-soft, perfect; a true beauty spot.
For many hours longer, Gloriana Starling Wilde sat in front of the mirror, hand resting on the seal of fae. Her birthright and destiny.
Chapter 7
Glory woke up early the next day and for a few groggy seconds, it could have been any old Sunday morning. Then the memories hurtled back and it was like being a little kid again, getting up on her birthday or Christmas. She fizzed all over with glee.
When her cousin Candice Morgan turned witchkind in November, her parents Charlie and Kezia had thrown a party that lasted three days. Never mind that her fae was a pretty low-grade affair, and the girl was unlikely to put it to much use – she was currently undergoing her second stint at a private rehab facility in Arizona. Candice had always been a daft bimbo, and now she was a daft druggie too.
Glory was already looking forward to her own celebrations, complete with champagne and sucking-up. Ha. Even Nate would have to treat her with a bit of respect.
Because a head-witch-in-waiting should look the part, she got dressed and made-up with extra care. Base, bronzer, thick black eyeliner, hot pink lipgloss. Gold hoops and spiky boots. Her red top had a low neckline, but by stroking the mark under her collarbone, and visualising the darkness shrinking into her skin, she was able to reduce it to the size of a pinprick. She slung on a scarf anyway, just in case.
This was the first of many precautions she would have to take. Life was about to become both risky and restricted, and she needed to be prepared. Yesterday, her secret had been too new, too private, to share. Today she longed to shout the news from the rooftops – Inquisition be damned. But Auntie Angel had made her swear that she would be the first to know if Glory got the fae, and she wasn’t going to break her word.
So when, at half past nine, she tapped on her great-aunt’s door and got no response, the disappointment was crushing. She felt cheated. Where the hell had the old lady gone? There was no point asking her father, who rarely got up before lunch, and though Glory could hear laughter from the lounge, she wasn’t ready to face the rest of the coven.
As the wait stretched out her excitement began to seep away, to be replaced by frustration. She wanted action and purpose. She wanted the
By then, Edie was thirteen. Lily adopted her and raised her in the Wednesday Coven. Edie never spoke about the five years she’d spent on the run, but Glory sometimes wondered if it had given her mother a taste for escape. All those fresh starts and disappearances, disguises and false names . . . How many lives had she lived? Could she be living a different one now? Perhaps one day Glory would dream of it, instead of the Burning Court.
Yet although Glory did not look like the wide-eyed blonde behind the glass, today she felt closer to her mother than she ever had before. The fae that sang through her body had once leapt in her mother’s veins, and those of her grandmother and great-grandmother before that.
Carefully, Glory placed the photograph on the floor. She sat beside it, cross-legged, in front of her mirror. Her ordinary brown hair was dyed to match the Starling Twins’ white-blonde and her eyes were brown too; soft in some lights, black in others. She had her father’s slightly hooked nose, but her strong brows and wide curved mouth were her own. Perhaps these features were too strong for prettiness, but if people remembered her face, it was for the right reasons.
Glory took a deep breath. Then she pulled down the neck of her T-shirt. Again, instinct took her directly to what she sought. Nestled underneath her collarbone was a small bloom the colour of midnight. It was velvet-soft, perfect; a true beauty spot.
For many hours longer, Gloriana Starling Wilde sat in front of the mirror, hand resting on the seal of fae. Her birthright and destiny.
Chapter 7
Glory woke up early the next day and for a few groggy seconds, it could have been any old Sunday morning. Then the memories hurtled back and it was like being a little kid again, getting up on her birthday or Christmas. She fizzed all over with glee.
When her cousin Candice Morgan turned witchkind in November, her parents Charlie and Kezia had thrown a party that lasted three days. Never mind that her fae was a pretty low-grade affair, and the girl was unlikely to put it to much use – she was currently undergoing her second stint at a private rehab facility in Arizona. Candice had always been a daft bimbo, and now she was a daft druggie too.
Glory was already looking forward to her own celebrations, complete with champagne and sucking-up. Ha. Even Nate would have to treat her with a bit of respect.
Because a head-witch-in-waiting should look the part, she got dressed and made-up with extra care. Base, bronzer, thick black eyeliner, hot pink lipgloss. Gold hoops and spiky boots. Her red top had a low neckline, but by stroking the mark under her collarbone, and visualising the darkness shrinking into her skin, she was able to reduce it to the size of a pinprick. She slung on a scarf anyway, just in case.
This was the first of many precautions she would have to take. Life was about to become both risky and restricted, and she needed to be prepared. Yesterday, her secret had been too new, too private, to share. Today she longed to shout the news from the rooftops – Inquisition be damned. But Auntie Angel had made her swear that she would be the first to know if Glory got the fae, and she wasn’t going to break her word.
So when, at half past nine, she tapped on her great-aunt’s door and got no response, the disappointment was crushing. She felt cheated. Where the hell had the old lady gone? There was no point asking her father, who rarely got up before lunch, and though Glory could hear laughter from the lounge, she wasn’t ready to face the rest of the coven.
As the wait stretched out her excitement began to seep away, to be replaced by frustration. She wanted action and purpose. She wanted the
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