Free Blood Ties by Gina Whitney Page A

was bracing me for something, and urged me forward.
    “Follow me,” Aunt Evelyn said.
    My lungs took in the dense, stuffy air as we ascended the creaky, wooden steps.
    “Who even knew you had an attic?” I let my hands guide me up the poorly lit corridor.
    We reached the top, and it was like stepping backward in time. I ducked to avoid the low, vaulted wooden beams that were mere inches from my head. The attic was filled with items left behind by previous owners long since passed. An antique sewing mannequin stood to my side like she was the attic’s guardian. Dust-smothered quilts and a decrepit rocking chair sat in limbo, waiting to become useful again. Miscellaneous drape-covered items stood around the room.
    “Let’s start with some family heirlooms. I have a few of your mother’s baubles as well,” Aunt Evelyn murmured as she treaded to the other side of the attic. “There’s so much to tell you.”
    She threw a very old, white sheet off some large object. “Aha! Grace, help me pull this truck to the middle of the floor.” She beamed. I helped her slide the heavy, leather truck and noted it had a fleur-de-lis across the front in pink and burgundy.
    “This is the same symbol I saw in my dream, right before Samantha…,” I said, not being able to finish the thought. My fingers traced the pattern of the delicate flower.
    “Grace, that particular flower represents our family, our ancestry…the most honorable Valois coven. When we awaken the symbol usually manifests on some part of our body. To those not initiated, it may very well look like a beautiful tattoo, a birth mark, or even a scar.”
    “That’s why you checked me when I got here. You were looking for the fleur-de-lis.”
    “Yes. I must admit, it is highly unusual for a witch not to have her mark by the end of puberty. But you aren’t a by-the-book witch, now are you.”
    Aunt Evelyn opened the large steamer truck. The relic released a vacuum of stale air. It was filled with yellowed parchment paper so decayed it disintegrated with the slightest touch. Containers of dried Dragon’s Blood ink, stamps and waxes, rattles, and a druid robe had been carefully placed inside.
    I picked up the robe and held it up. “This was my mother’s?” Aunt Evelyn nodded yes.
    As I stood to try on the robe, I noticed a box at the bottom of the trunk. Even though it looked as old as the world itself, it had managed to retain its faultless refinement and grandeur. I opened it and discovered it was actually three nested boxes, like matryoshka dolls. The smallest container held an antique jewelry box that looked like it belonged to royalty. I placed the jewelry box on a nearby Boulle-styled desk that was raised on bronze cabriole legs. I caressed the box with my fingers, savoring the moment.
    I gently opened it, not daring to rush and possibly break this treasure. Tucked inside the velvet lining, a five-carat ruby was set atop an artfully crafted platinum ring. Another piece was a cameo pin with a rose-colored backdrop, with a fleur-delis adorning its bottom. Next there was a ruby pendant, again featuring the fleur-de-lis and enshrined by pave diamonds. I held it up, inexplicably drawn to it more than the other items. “Grace, all of these jewels belonged to your mother. The pendant was her favorite. If you’re feeling a particularly strong connection to it, that’s completely normal. In fact, it’s better than normal. Being able to connect to your deceased mother on a physical level gives me hope that your powers are indeed great. I’m going to leave you alone with your gifts. Call if you need me,” Aunt Evelyn said with a knowing look on her face. “Go ahead and try on the pendant. It suits you,” she added as she slipped out the door.
    I found a full-length floor mirror clouded with the whitish film of age. I placed the pendant around my neck. Even through the mirror’s fog, I thought it looked awesomely good on me. As I admired my reflection, my head