The Firebrand Syndicate: Burgundy Hart, #3

By Lucy True and Jea Hawkins

Wanted Dead or Alive: Burgundy Jane Hart, the female warlock with an amazing sense of style and inappropriate sense of humor.

 

At least, that's what Burgundy would write on her wanted posters if they existed. Too bad she's been hiding like a fugitive ever since the Finders occupied Rock Grove. Moving from safe house to safe house might keep her alive but it's definitely no way to live.

 

Unfortunately, getting her fellow warlocks to work together is like herding cats, even if it involves taking out their nemeses – the Witches Council. But once Burgundy finds out the leaders of the Firebrand Syndicate are on her side, there's only one thing to do.

 

It's time for Burgundy to take a stand once and for all. Otherwise, she might lose the best thing she ever had.

 

Back off, witches. There's a new warlock in town when Burgundy comes home to Rock Grove.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Persephone Press
• Release date: Jun 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393444190

Book preview

Chapter One

Among the many things Burgundy wouldn’t wish on her worst enemies – even the Witches Council – the rather fiery outcome of her recent teleportation might make number one on the list.

Except Reginald. She hoped his fascist Finder ass melted into a pile of skin and bones trying to get into the basement. And maybe, just maybe, it did her heart some good to imagine her mother got burned in the process. Not too burned, but singed. Maybe not even singed, so much as –

Burg! Pay attention!

I am! I’m psyching myself up to, you know, punch a Finder in the face. She rose up on her tiptoes and danced back and forth, like a small, black-and-blue-haired boxer. Yeah, that’d strike fear in the hearts of her enemies, along with her petite, curvy form clad in the cute vintage dress she’d found during a shopping trip in the local village.

Her father, someone she’d never imagined could be stern or demanding, glared at her, eyebrows drawn together. Not that she knew him well enough to determine his actual demeanor from a facial expression, but she decided he didn’t have any room to get frustrated with her. Why? Because this was the three-hundred-something year-old guy who showed up in her town almost a year ago, flinging Cupid’s arrows willy-nilly all for the sole purpose of getting her attention.

Very mature for his age.

And thinking of Rock Grove now made Burgundy pretty much want to burst into tears. Could she credit her father with the oh-so-adult urge to sit down and sob? Probably. Warlocks were dangerous and unpredictable things, after all. According to the propaganda, anyway.

Cian Black’s shoulders heaved in a sigh that told Burgundy she needed to stand up and take notice, or GTFO. When there’s an attack of any sort coming at you, your first instinct should be to defend yourself. Remember, you can cast on the fly when it comes to magick. You don’t even need to know spells. If you want ice, you make ice. If you want to be invisible, you be invisible. If you want fire—

Could we leave fire out of this? I’ve had enough for one lifetime, thanks. Burgundy put her hands on her hips and tried to look fierce, but she got her father’s point. If I’m supposed to fling my arms up and be all defensive the moment someone so much as looks at me, explain why you didn’t do the same with me.

Cian’s eyes, blazing so often with magick, now faded to their normal silver. What do you mean?

I mean when you came to Rock Grove last fall, I took you down by throwing a potion at you. If we warlocks are supposed to be all powerful Mary Sues, then I don’t understand how I managed that.

Her father raked his hands through his short, black hair and then gestured for her to sit on the patio. A patio, of all things, with lovely, delicate metal furniture outside the cottage where the Firebrand Syndicate was headquartered.

Of course, the cottage itself was also a beautiful thing – a country cottage with off-white walls, a thatched roof, and climbing flowers of various sorts adorning every corner of it. Burgundy didn’t know what the flowers were and her father told her she didn’t need to care. Witches care about flowers and rocks and trees, and their magickal properties. Warlocks look and say ‘make it so’.

Burgundy had refrained from referring to her father as Picard out loud, but her mind did it constantly. She also kept from pointing out that the bigger on the inside joke belonged on Doctor Who, though the inside of the cottage really did defy description with elaborate suites consisting of multiple rooms. Her bedroom had not only a bathroom attached to it, but a full walk-in closet and separate vanity where she could primp to her heart’s content. Too bad the closet remained mostly empty but, overall, she loved the cottage.

It was another thing she’d adjusted to out here in the countryside. The only thing she hadn’t adjusted to?

Not being in Rock Grove, where she belonged.

Now she sipped tea from the traditional tea service that appeared on the table and waited for her father’s explanation.

In my case, he said, I handed you that win. Don’t feel bad about that. It’s what I had to do.

But, why? The tea tasted wonderful, perfect English breakfast tea with the right amount of milk and sugar. But it was a pale stand-in for coffee. The warlocks had all looked at her like she was an alien from outer space when she asked if they had a coffee maker. She’d finally smuggled one in from another trip to the local village store and warded her suite so no one but her smelled the coffee brewing every morning.

Cian drank the tea, as well, something Burgundy liked about him. It made her father seem more human that they shared a proper tea time every day. Well, as human as either of them got. Because I wanted you to think about what you’d done, young lady.

Burgundy choked and coughed, the tea going down the wrong way. Throughout her life, only one person had ever treated her with any parental inclination. Her Aunt Iris had been the one to send her to her room, ground her, and say things like, Go and think about what you’ve done, young lady.

To hear her long-absent father say it... She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. But the warmth in her chest said it all. She wanted this exchange, this easy friendship she and her father had developed over the past few months.

The way I see it, you weren’t ready to come with me at that point, Cian continued, so I decided to give you time to figure things out. After you met your mother and the Council, not to mention that bastard grandfather of yours, I knew you’d have a better idea of what you were dealing with. I also knew if you were sane, you’d come with me when offered the chance.

Burgundy blew out a raspberry. "Are you kidding? You show up in anyone’s jail cell all Terminator 2 style and you think they wouldn’t go with you after being told they were going to have their everything taken away from them?"

Of course they would, but you had to know what you were choosing between – a so-called normal life with their brand of law and order, or being an outlaw with us.

It wasn’t like it was a difficult choice. The Witches Council wanted to register her as a warlock, a process that also included stripping away her powers, her reproductive abilities, and her freedom. At least, until they deemed it safe to allow her to leave their dungeons.

And those were supposed to be the good guys in the paranormal world.

Cian’s features clouded, his gaze soft and unblinking. I wouldn’t have let them do that to you, Burgundy. Not any of that. You have a right to your life, the same as anyone else until they screw up at it.

I know. Her voice came out choked and small, and no amount of tea seemed to alleviate the dry ache now present in her throat. That dire sentence still hung over her head, a promise of pain and torture if she ever crossed paths with a Finder or agent of the Witches Council again.

That’s why I’ve been pushing you. It’s not enough to know how to access your power, to finally know what it feels like and how to draw on it. You need to know how to use it, form it, make the most of it. Cian raised his hand and, as if it were a parlor trick, a pair of white doves appeared in it. They flapped their wings and cooed before taking off in the air together.

Burgundy watched their ascent. They looked so real, so birdlike. But she knew the truth. No one could make life appear like that. They were like golems, formed from nothing but energy. The moment they flew out of sight, they would cease to exist.

And even though the birds had neither heart nor mind, it still pained her to know at least some flicker of life had been here once, only to be gone the next.

She lowered her gaze and reminded herself that Cian never showed off his powers idly or cruelly. Never without reason, no matter what anyone else might think of the man. Point made, she muttered.

What about that whole myth of deciding for myself how you’d turn out from the womb? Do you still believe it the way they do?

Burgundy shook her head. She knew who and what he meant. The Witches Council had spent goodness knows how long perpetuating the belief that a warlock chose the race of his child at the moment of conception. Reflecting now, Burgundy knew it was absurd. During intercourse, she doubted anyone focused on, Gosh, golly, gee, I sure hope my unwrapped junk creates a warlock baby.

In her parents’ case, she wanted to believe at least some love went into the whole idea of making a baby. Okay, maybe not on her mother’s side, but certainly her father had no nefarious intent in creating her. He’d had, as far as she could glean, nothing but adoration for Lily Bloom until she hurt him. But she hadn’t asked yet that Cian elaborate on how her mother betrayed him. Considering he’d called Lily a cold-hearted bitch to her face only a few months ago, Burgundy figured he hadn’t gotten over whatever it was.

They still believe all the ridiculous things, she confirmed. The whole path dedication process was nuts, crazy formal, and so antiquated. They kept referring to me by my whole name and asking questions they already had the answers to.

That sounds like them. Can you imagine if I’d tried to marry your mother? The process of marrying a witch is just as absurd. I guess maintaining purity is important to them, which also explains why their bloodlines are weaker than they’ve ever been.

Is that really the issue – wanting to keep witches pure? Burgundy bit the inside of her cheek. That was the kind of mentality she knew drove people to do awful things. All anyone had to do was look at human history to remember that.

Her father nodded, handsome face grim. Yes and we’ve got a long way to go before that will change. Your best bet is to stay here, lay low, and continue to learn all that you can.

Burgundy pressed her lips together. Stay here and learn... Sure, that made sense, but for how long? It wasn’t like the Witches Council was going to give up on getting her head on a platter. What about Rock Grove?

Rock Grove isn't your concern anymore. Especially with the Finders there.

What? Cold surged through her veins, chilling her to the bone. What do you mean?

Cian lowered his gaze, not meeting Burgundy's eyes. At least he’d always been honest with her, even with the truth hurt. She could see that now was going to be one of those times. I didn't want to tell you this, but the Council has implemented a permanent Finder presence in Rock Grove. They'll occupy the town until they decide they no longer have a reason to keep an eye on things.

So it’s either a trap for me or the people I care about are being punished. Burgundy swallowed and flicked her gaze toward the trees. How could this place be so green and beautiful, and how could she be here, enjoying it, while her friends suffered at the hands of the Council?

I told you not to go. The Russian-accented voice that interjected was warm, gently scolding, and a large pair of hands reached for a teacup. Aleksandr sat in one of the wrought iron chairs and heaved a sigh, his massive body dwarfing the delicate seat. Maybe next time, you’ll listen.

He meant well and Burgundy had learned she could accept his I told you so far better than anyone else’s. Probably because when he said it, he said it out of true concern, unlike the aunt who’d raised her.

Thinking about Iris sent a fresh chill tingling through Burgundy and she chased it away with a sip of the hot tea. That was another thing she loved about the cottage. Food remained perpetually warm or cold, depending on what it was, her bed made itself, and the hot water never ran out in the shower. Too bad the cottage and village beyond lacked that sense of home Rock Grove provided for her.

I know you did and I’ve learned my lesson. Listen to you, listen to my father, never trust a witch. Did I get all the answers to this pop quiz?

A glance back at Cian showed that his attention had drifted. In profile, she could see that his eyes were narrowed, features soft. Was her last statement too much? Was he also thinking about how he’d trusted a witch, only to have her cross him one time too many?

She’d give a million dollars to know the story of how Cian and Lily managed to fall in love long enough to make her, and what’d pushed them apart. She’d also bet that million dollars that it was all Lily’s fault. Her mother, the woman who’d bought into the Council’s backwards way of thinking.

Do I sense daddy issues? Burgundy had thrown those words in her mother’s face like a weapon, but it was the only explanation. Otherwise, why would Lily have chosen the Council over the man she supposedly loved once upon a time?

When she looked back at Aleksandr, he was shrugging, muscular shoulders lifting and then falling with a breath. It’s not all witches. Just those witches. But yes, learn not to take things for granted, Little Red. Choose your allies wisely.

She’d chosen. Whether or not she’d made the wisest decision was up for debate, considering she’d chosen the men who vied with her for public enemy number one in the eyes of most supernatural beings.

So where does that leave us? She glanced between her father and friend. Do I seriously have to spend the rest of my life here?

You can go to the secret library any time. It needs you, Aleksandr pointed out.

Yeah, but is that all – portaling back and forth between there and here? As much as I love the library and this cottage, and being in a place with people who are cool with me the way I am, I miss Rock Grove. I had a life there, you know, and people who also loved me despite being a warlock. Are you telling me I can never go back to them? I... Crap, man, I’ve got a girlfriend there and I know she’s got to be worried sick about me.

I told you, Cian said, finally turning back to her, I made sure Charlotte got the message that you were safe.

Burgundy lifted her hands in the air. So? That was months ago. Rock Grove has gone through hell ever since you showed up last fall. The least you could do is tell me how to get things back to normal for them.

Things will never be back to normal for Rock Grove. Now that the Council has its eye on them, they have to deal with the consequences.

Of your actions or mine?

Both. Cian’s voice was cold, not at all apologetic.

Burgundy set her teacup on