by Bella Klaus
We reached flat ground, where a shard of light flooded our path, illuminating the taller woman’s white uniform and grave features. She placed her hand on the wall, and a door swung open, revealing a white room and cells separated by tall, white walls.
I blinked several times, not quite believing my eyes. Had they stolen the design from a public bathroom? That’s what the prison looked like to me. Captain Zella continued past a few empty cells, passing one containing a large man sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and his head in his hands.
His head snapped up, and he stared at me through wild amber eyes. Wiry hair sprouted from the sides of his face, making him look like a half-transformed ape.
“You,” he snarled.
It was Mr. Masood, the creep who had sent over the expensive bottle of champagne in Souk. I staggered back, and the collar of my prison uniform delivered a sharp sting that sent sparks of pain racing across my skin.
“Ouch,” I snapped.
Captain Zella turned around with her brows raised. “What do you expect for not falling into line?”
“I only…” I shook my head, remembering the lesson in the academy where the uniform punished students who failed to follow the enforcer’s instructions. “Never mind.”
The captain swept her hand into the empty cell next to the shifter. I stepped back, only for a nasty shock to travel up both legs.
“Alright!” I didn’t dare raise a palm to ask her to stop, because the punishments came from the uniform. “Could you at least put me in a different cell?”
Captain Zella shook her head. “Each booth is configured to counter the magic of its inhabitants, and the others are reserved for members of your coven.” She swept her arm toward the empty cell. “Do I need to make the uniform march you into place? I promise it will hurt.”
“Fine.” I hurried into the empty booth and leaned against the wall furthest from Mr. Masood. “What happens next?”
“We’ll wait until Friday to test your magic. If you’re found guilty, enforcers will round up your closest family members for a trial.” She raised her shoulder. “For their sakes, let’s hope you remain a Neutral.”
I threw back my head and stared at a ceiling of white tiles grouted with glowing lights. A thick barrier of magic slammed down on my left side with the speed and sharpness of a guillotine.
“Miss Griffin?” asked the captain.
“Yes?” I turned to meet her charcoal eyes.
“Should King Valentine rise from the dead before then, the Supernatural Council will immediately find you guilty of being a wielder of fire and guilty of raising a preternatural. In that case, every member of your coven will perish.”
Tearing my gaze away from Captain Zella’s, I slid down the wall, and buried my head in my hands. All those years I wished I had supernatural powers like everyone else in Logris, and I ended up becoming a supernatural with a forbidden magic that meant execution.
I finally understood the extent of the human phrase, ‘be careful what you wish for’.
A low, dry chuckle drifted through the wall separating me and Mr. Masood. “Preternatural vampires?” He whistled. “My, my, have you been a busy girl.”
“What are you in for?” I spat.
“You should know,” he snarled. “You’re the one who reported me to the enforcers.”
I sniffed. “What were you doing haunting human establishments and tricking girls into drinking enchanted champagne?”
“There was nothing wrong with my booze,” he roared, making me flinch. “It was the—”
“The glasses, right?” I rose off the floor, my heart thudding, and my blood boiling with righteous indignation. A supernatural like Mr. Masood deserved to be here—not me.
In a human court of law, people took self-defense seriously. Here in Logris, getting bitten was my fault for being in a relationship with a vampire. I ground my teeth. Never mind that someone threw a curse at me to make my blood irresistible. It was easier to execute me than delve into who had struck out at us both.
Mr. Masood’s growl made the walls reverberate. “If you had drunk that wretched drink like a good girl, you and your coven wouldn’t be facing annihilation.”
“Is this your revenge?” I slammed my fist into the wall. “Did you send someone after me with a curse?”
“What are you talking about?” he said. “I only noticed you because you were sitting next to the juicy one.”
My mouth fell open. All along, he’d been targeting Beatrice. It had nothing to do with me being a Neutral.
“I only worked out you were the one who reported me because I recognized your red hair,” he muttered.
I leaned my head against the wall and blew out a breath. So much for Mr. Masood being the mastermind behind the curse. Captain Zella also hadn’t cursed me. The woman was stern but appeared fair and more interested in exercising justice.
So who had set this up?
All the anger drained away, replaced by an onslaught of grief. Grief for Valentine, grief for having killed him, grief for the relationship we would never have. My throat swelled, and heat gathered around my eyes. I swallowed down a lump and held back a sob.
“Hey?” asked Masood.
“What?” I croaked.
“Are you crying?”
Pressing my lips together, I stepped back from the wall. “Why were you poisoning girls, anyway?”
“Not poisoning,” he snapped. “The enchantment makes them relax for the feeding.”
I lurched forward. “What?”
He snarled something under his breath. “My beloved is at the end of her last life. The life force of a single girl maintains her youth for a month to six weeks, depending. If you had let me take your juicy friend, I might not have needed to feed her for an entire two whole months!”
A shocked breath huffed from my lips. I was no expert on demons, but they lived forever unless deliberately killed. Even then, they went back to hell as lesser demons and spent centuries gathering the power needed to become eligible for leaving their realm and entering ours.
The thought of so many young women being sacrificed so that a single demon could cling to life made bile rise to the back of my throat. “You’re killing people just so a female who’s using you as her personal butler can escape death?”
“Don’t act so high and mighty,” he snapped. “At least the people I murder stay dead.”
I flinched. “What will happen if your…” I gulped. “What happens to your beloved if she doesn’t feed?”
“She will wither and die,” he said with a low sob.
The tightness around my throat loosened. Thank goodness for that.
Pain spread down my right hand and up its forearm, sending with it a burst of magic that thrummed through my veins. I clutched at my wrist and lowered myself to the ground, clenching my teeth from the agony.
“Mera?” a voice whispered in my ear.
“Aunt Arianna?” I whispered back.
“Who are you talking to?” asked Masood.
“Don’t speak out loud,” her voice said. “This enchantment won’t last long. When the enforcers came looking for a large quantity of Neutral blood, I knew something terrible had happened, and you’d been captured.”
My throat dried, and I made a high-pitched cough, encouraging Aunt Arianna to continue speaking.
“Do you know Eva Storm and Natalia Watchtower from the Claymore coven?” She paused and huffed. “It doesn’t matter. They volunteered to donate, and we infused their blood with this enchantment to allow you to hear my words and with large quantities of powdered firestone.”
I choked on air. More of that stuff was running through my veins? Wouldn’t it cause a clog, a clot or a stroke? I shook off those thoughts. Medical witches could enchant new organs into people without fear of their body rejecting them, and it was too late to worry about the state of my health when I might be executed in a few days.
Mr. Masood launched into a story about how he met his beloved, and I
placed my hands over my ears to block out his rambling.
“Listen carefully,” Aunt Arianna said. “The firestone bracelet I enchanted to sink into your flesh should have held back a lifetime of power, but we miscalculated the type of your flames.”
“What?” I whispered.
“What?” said Masood.
“Nothing,” I muttered.
“Your magic isn’t the same as other wielders of fire.” Her words came out in a rush. “When the ward stones I placed around the house sent back sparks of ancient magic, I realized why the firestone hadn’t contained the extent of your power.”
My pulse thudded between my ears, echoing the sounds of Mr. Masood. I lowered my hands to my knees and stared at the tattoo, which had turned black.
“Mera,” Aunt Arianna said, her voice trembling. “You have phoenix fire. It’s the highest, purest level of fire magic with the ultimate power in healing.”
My mouth fell open. I had read about phoenixes in Istabelle’s library. They went extinct millennia ago but were creatures of flames instead of feathers. When a phoenix died, it turned to ashes, and within hours would arise a brand new bird. Phoenixes were supposed to be immortal due to their power of regeneration, but something happened to them, making them all disappear.
I rubbed my temples and squeezed my eyes shut to process everything I’d heard. How could I have phoenix flames? Did that mean I was a shifter? Everything I had learned about them had been based on myth—stories passed down through the generations, rather than scientific or magical observation.
“You can save yourself, save King Valentine, and save the coven,” she said.
My head snapped up. How?
“Find an excuse to reach King Valentine’s body. Tell them you wish to make peace with him before he dies, broker a deal with them and say you know the location of other fire users and won’t tell them unless they take you to his tomb.”
I gulped but nodded. Right now, I was willing to listen to any plan to get out of here, no matter how outlandish.
Aunt Arianna continued, “When you get to King Valentine, you must place your hands on his body and burn it with your flames.”
I parted my lips to protest. Aunt Arianna’s plan hinged on three assumptions. One, that I could access my magic through the firestone. Two, that they wouldn’t kill me as soon as I regained my power. Three, that they would even let me see Valentine. I shook off those thoughts. There was no need for pessimism in a situation so dire.
“Once you’ve burned him to ash, he will rise as a normal vampire in his prime,” Aunt Arianna said. “You will have saved his life and demonstrated a rare skill that would make you worth keeping alive.”
I gulped, waiting for her to tell me how to express my magic with particles of firestone floating in my blood. That part of Aunt Arianna’s plan didn’t make sense, but then I hadn’t spent three years investigating fire magic.
“Your mother started developing symptoms around the age of eighteen.” Aunt Arianna’s voice filled my ears. “Our father smuggled her out of Logris to join a community of fire users. When you were born, she had to send you back because they suspected you were a Neutral and would be burned by the presence of so much fire.”
My gaze rose to the grid of light between the ceiling tiles, burning their white lines in my vision. My aunt had just implied that Mom was alive and safe. Pressure built up around my chest, squeezing all the air out of my lungs.
A sour taste spread down my tongue and filled my stomach with heavy regret. Why had Aunt Arianna sent me to Istabelle instead of Mom? I squeezed my eyes shut, letting my brain form an answer. Up until recently, nobody even knew I would wield fire.
“You have three days, Mera. Three days before they return to test your blood. Find a way to express your power before then and heal King Valentine. The firestone in your blood will protect you from detection…” Her voice faded, and the magic thrumming through my veins faded.
I guess I was finally alone with only the sobbing Mr. Masood for company.
Folding my arms, I crossed my legs into the lotus position and readied myself to meditate. Valentine had interrupted my memories by breaking into the attic and launching his bloodthirsty attack.
All my troubles started on the day someone tampered with my mind. That person was also probably behind the assassin who came to the apartment and the shadow that cursed me with the blood lure.
Valentine’s mind enchantment might have already done its job and uncovered our enemy, but even if it hadn’t, I still needed to relive the memory of the night of the ball. It was the biggest block in my consciousness and removing it might be the key to releasing my phoenix flames.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I sat on the floor of my narrow cell with my legs crossed and leaned my back against the wall. Without the presence of a large piece of quartz or any other kind of crystal, I wasn’t sure how deep I could meditate. But it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. I had to unlock those memories and find out what happened to me between leaving Valentine’s palace and returning to the ball.
If I didn’t find a way to bring out the phoenix flames supposedly burning in my magical core, I would certainly die.
Masood sobbed from the other side of the wall. I guess it was because the demon he had kept alive would die without his tributes of young women’s lives. It was either that or the comment I made about her using him as a delivery boy.
Closing my eyes, I took a long, deep breath and shoved all thoughts of the murderous shifter aside. Cool air streamed through my nostrils, filling my lungs and pushing down my diaphragm. My shoulders rose and my spine straightened as my chest expanded.
I needed to concentrate. It wasn’t just my life that depended on my fire magic—Valentine was currently dead and at the risk of rising as a preternatural creature, his soul twisted and tormented. Then there was every member of my coven who would be executed just for being associated with a fire user who had raised the dead.
Instead of taking me to the scene where someone had tampered with my memory, my mind drifted back to the steps of the palace, where Valentine’s butler stood between the two footmen, staring down at me with sad eyes. I met Caiman’s gaze, daring him to deny ever knowing me.
By now, a dozen servants gathered at the door, all staring at me with blank expressions. Behind me, I heard the sounds of cars pulling into the courtyard, doors opening and closing, and cars driving away. Elegantly dressed and expensive-smelling vampires in tuxedos and ballgowns now formed a crowd around me.
To my senses, it felt like standing in a room full of smoke. Not because of the vampires themselves, but my chest tightened and my lungs shrank under the scrutiny of their focused attention.
A loud neigh filled the air, and I glanced over my shoulder to find a horse-drawn carriage pulling into the courtyard, emblazoned with the seven-crowns insignia of the University of Logris.
My heart sank. Valentine had invited all the high-society vampires to our engagement ball, which probably also included some of the girls from the academy. As a Neutral, I didn’t qualify for anything but an education up to the age of eighteen, but many other supernaturals with actual power went on to study at the prestigious institution of higher education.
Caiman cleared his throat. “Miss Griffin, may I suggest that you leave before your presence here causes a scene. You are holding up important guests.”
My mouth dropped open, and the pulse fluttering in my throat now thrashed. “You too?” I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice. Caiman had been one of the first people who had seen my engagement ring. The ancient vampire had beamed and congratulated me, saying something about bringing forth the next generation of Sargon heirs. “You were in the room when we organized the ball. You even took notes.”
“I say,” said the blond vampire male from earlier. “Do you know this young woman?”
Caiman inclined his head. “Indeed I do, my lord.”
“Is there any truth in her claims?” he asked.
<
br /> Chuckles broke out across the small crowd, and my skin prickled with shame. I didn’t need him or anyone else to speak up for me in what was soon to be my own home. All I needed was Valentine to come out and tell these people that I was the woman he had chosen to be his wife.
An annoyed breath huffed from Caiman’s nostrils. “I’m not at liberty to divulge details of His Majesty’s dalliances.”
Everyone—including the servants—snickered. Bloody Caiman had just implied I was a delusional fling, using this ball as an opportunity to demand more. My throat thickened, and heat formed around my eyes. Clenching my teeth, I resolved myself not to let these vampires see me cry.
I took several deep, calming breaths and tried to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Valentine and I have been together for three years—”
“Go home, blood slut,” said one voice from within the crowd.
The words hit like a slap. Dignity and common sense dictated that I should make my way around these vampires, descend those stairs and walk home. Eventually, Valentine would notice I hadn’t arrived and come after me.
To hell with that.
After spending a lifetime being mocked and overlooked by the supernaturals with magic, a lifetime of being told I wouldn’t amount to anything, someone had finally looked into my soul and seen something worth loving. Valentine had courted me, proposed to me, made love to me. We would be married, and I would be his queen consort.
Today was my first official exposure to vampire high society. If I showed weakness and backed down now, it would be like admitting that I wasn’t worthy of being at Valentine’s side. They would make me the subject of little humiliations and barbs whenever Valentine’s back was turned—they might even belittle our children—and I would need his protection for the rest of my life.
A rapid drumbeat of anxiety rolled through my heart. I was sure every one of the vampires surrounding me could hear it. There wasn’t much I could do about the functioning of my nervous system. I’d have to show them that no matter what they did or said, I would not be intimidated.
