by Cecy Robson
Genevieve huddles close with her witches, speaking low. The weres listen in, their sharp minds keeping up with every conversation that unfolds. Vieve leaves her sister clans and eases forward. “Your exposure to this foreign power worked in your favor, Taran,” she explains. “The more you experienced the darkness invading our magic, the more it ingrained into your senses.”
Not my senses. She means Sparky, and me, as a part of her.
Tye glances in the direction of the door, his anguish over Destiny obscuring his harsh features. “I’m with Genevieve on this one,” he says, his attention returning to us. “Foreign or not, the longer you’re exposed to it, the more familiar it becomes.” He frowns, eyeing me closely. “My guess is, you’re also growing immune to it.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I interject. “It’s not like I sensed something there. It’s more like I didn’t sense it.”
“What do you mean?” Gemini asks.
“The crowd was dense, bodies everywhere.” I spread my arms. “That thing was invisible, more of an empty section of space than anything physical. As far as me growing immune, it didn’t feel that way when I was stuck to the floor. The first time it happened, my right arm wasn’t affected. This last time it was, and I could only move a few fingers.”
The Aussie witch scoffs. “It’s learning her power as she learns its’.”
“Fantastic,” I mumble.
Tye leans into his good foot. “How did you get farther than I did in the hall? I get that your magic is more potent than mine, but you’re not physically stronger. I ripped my skin off trying to break free. You continued ahead. Slowly, yeah, but you still kept going.”
“Destiny broke through the magic and gave us a way out of the suite,” I remind him. “That magic couldn’t have extended much farther into the hall. Maybe you caught the tail end of whatever she cast.”
“Maybe,” Tye says. His jaw tightens. “We won’t know until she returns.”
If she returns. Destiny’s loss would be tremendous. She’s our friend, the strongest being we trust, and a force to be reckoned with on the side of good.
My thoughts dwindle when I notice Aric. He’s half a second away from barreling through the escalating number of beings in the foyer. Almost everyone is trying to abandon this house of horrors. “Say I am immune,” I begin, trying to keep his attention. “Or that I am developing a sensitivity to this foreign power. It’s more a reason to find Emme and Bren. They were exposed to it as much as I was, by now, likely more. There would be more of us to get a fix on these things and better ensure Celia’s safety.”
It’s the last bit I throw out there. The final decision to leave is theirs to make.
Aric grinds his teeth, taking in all the information he has. He’s making one of those hard decisions leaders like him are forced to make in situations like this, except this time, it involves everyone I love.
His gaze steels on me. No. Don’t even think about it. “Aric, I can’t,” I say before he asks.
Shayna’s hand grips the hilt of her sword. “Can’t what?” she asks. She glances between us, tears glistening her eyes. She knows what’s coming and already hates the plan.
“He wants me to lead Celia out,” I reply. It makes the most sense, but it means choosing between my sisters. “This way, I’ll sense an attack before it comes.”
Shayna releases her sword to clutch Koda’s hand. “Then I’ll stay here, Pup,” she tells him. “I’ll find Emme and Bren.”
“No,” Koda growls. The brutality he’s known for undulates his posture and voice. “I’m not leaving you, and I’m sworn to protect Celia.”
“I’m relieving you of your charge,” Celia says, speaking fast. Her face reddens. It won’t be long before she loses control and her golden tigress demands out.
“Celia, this isn’t negotiable,” Aric tells her.
“Neither is my family,” she replies. Her raspy voice quakes, and the irises of her tigress temporarily replace her own. “What you’re asking of Taran gives me a chance at life. I need to give that same chance to Emme and Bren. The only way is by allowing Shayna and Koda to stay.”
Misha abandons the masters who demanded an audience and marches forward, ready to break someone in two. “Enough of this. We’re wasting time we don’t have.”
We have a choice to make. But when the walls crack and the ceiling splinters, the choice is made for us.
Chapter Seven
I can’t say what happens first or even second. Everything hits us at once.
A witch standing guard at the main entrance halts the fleeing mob with her staff as they attempt to exit the manor. She screams and drops her staff when something hauls her up and out of sight. Her staff clangs against the exterior marble steps, and buckets of blood and broken bone rain down, saturating the gang of witches who rush to help. That’s it. That’s how the witch goes down. One moment she’s calming the anxious crowd and preventing a stampede; the next, only pieces of her remain.
My arm floods with light, and I aim. I never get a look at what killed the witch or have a chance to fire. The ceiling along the foyer breaks, and a large chunk crashes on a table filled with champagne flutes. The wall splinters, and several antique paintings topple along the marble staircase. The movements, the disorder, everything is too fast to track.
I’m hauled backward by Gemini. Weres take point in front of us and behind, creating a barrier of hulking bodies to guard Celia.
“Protect the Mate,” Gemini commands.
Those who aren’t beasts answer Gemini’s call, “Mate protected.” Those who are reply in a cacophony of roars.
Another scream at the entrance. Another shower of blood and bone. The thing near the door isn’t merely fast, it sucks you up and regurgitates the pieces.
Genevieve’s anger and vengeance blaze through her yellow stone, scattering light as bright as the sun across her incensed features. “Proteggerli le, mie sorelle,” she orders. Protect them, my sisters.
A rainbow of colors lights up the space as the witches amplify their power with their talismans.
Misha eases closer to Celia and lifts her hand, placing it over his heart. “Celia Wird, as you pledged your friendship to me, I pledge my will and life to you.”
She yanks her hand away. “No,” she tells him. “Find your way out, Misha—you and your family. Don’t you dare worry about me.”
“You ask the impossible,” Misha replies.
Misha gives Aric his back when Aric pulls Celia to him. Aric doesn’t growl or warn him. Misha is serious about his promise. And Aric…Aric’s open to anything that will save his mate.
The vampires hiss and extend their nails to dagger-length.
Weres bare their fangs and claws, puffing out their chests, raring to charge.
The witches chant in their respective tongues, their magical stones casting a wash of rainbow light when the chandeliers and sconces flicker out.
Terror-filled screams announce the death of two more guards. Everyone is angry, scared, or poised to strike.
I jump toward the fray but am hauled back, unable to move.
I don’t bother turning around, knowing who’s keeping me in place. He’s so freaking fast, I didn’t even see him move. “Aric,” I bite out. “Let me go.”
“I don’t know where you think you’re going, but you need to stay with Celia,” he orders. “She needs you.”
“And I need what’s out there dead, so it doesn’t hurt her.”
He releases me, speaking through his teeth. “Just follow the plan.”
Aric pulls Celia and me to the far left when something large crashes against the wall from the opposite side of the room. Cracks spider from the center, depressing it outward. From the entryway, a British vamp casually passes by with a drink, muttering something about the inability of “yanks” to chill vodka to perfection and how the witches don’t make enough to pay the electric bills. Somehow and someway, those who remain in the ballroom are still partying away.
“What the fuck?” Koda barks out.
The next strike splits the beam above the entryway. The Brit looks up, then down, as if stunned it would be raining plaster on such a fine evening.
“Grendal,” Misha calls. His patience is about as controlled as mine. “What is happening?”
Grendal tilts his head. “Did you say something, Master Aleksandr?”
The collision that follows is so severe, chunks of the ceiling come down all over the grand staircase, peppering the floor at our feet and coating the air with dust.
“What is happening over there?” Grendal demands. “Is it snowing? Is it part of this ridiculous show?”
Grendal is oblivious to the roars, chants, and the cursing flying out of my mouth. “We’re being attacked,” I yell. “Attacked.”
“We have snacks,” the Brit replies, like I’m the stupid one here. “But we only know them as hors d’oeuvres.”
I break away from the group when a faint and familiar growl reaches me from the ballroom.
Gemini loses his mind, charging after me. “Where are you going?”
“It’s Bren,” I say. I skitter around the weres. They only allow me through because they’re in charge of keeping things away from Celia, not preventing those making a mad dash.
“Dude,” Shayna calls to me. “Are you sure?” Her gaze bounces to Koda and Celia. They shake their heads. “We can’t hear him.”
Bren’s yelp slaps at my ears. He never demonstrates pain or weakness unless there’s a damn good reason. “It’s him,” I insist over the bedlam. “He’s on the other side fighting something big, we just can’t see him.”
“Genevieve,” Aric hollers. “Release the spells, all of them. It’s the only way to stop them from being used against us.”
“We can’t,” she yells. Frustration and embarrassment battle in her features. “Nothing we’re doing is working.”
The weres roar, snarling at the witches, their inner beasts perceiving them as enemies. A polar bear lurks forward, swatting a staff from a witch’s hands when she points it at him.
“Stand down,” Gemini orders.
I pivot, walking backward as I speak. “This isn’t on the witches. Someone else is in control, and he’s stronger than Destiny and all the witches.”
Shit. He’s stronger than all of us. Something squeezes my chest, and that familiar sense that captivated me earlier returns. He? It is a he.
“Taran?” Gemini asks.
I barely feel my hand rise as I attempt to stop his questioning. When I was with Bren, there was a sense of magic weaved into the disorientation spell. I didn’t think it was witch magic, not in the traditional sense I feel around Vieve and the others, but in a way that’s unique and that I knew intimately not too long ago.
My eyes widen, and I all but keel over. “I know who’s here,” I rasp.
Gemini clasps my shoulders. “Who?”
I practically kick myself for not seeing it sooner. “It’s Fate. Fate has come for all of us.”
Chapter Eight
Johnny Fate, like my sisters and me, is an oddity in the world. As rare as Destinies are, Fates are almost unheard of.
Before Johnny, there were only ever five documented in history. It should be a good thing, right? Like that spotted zebra, precious and extraordinary? Oh, no, it’s not. Destinies and Fates can’t coexist. Their powers brutally clash and interfere with Earth’s natural balance. There’s also that whole belief that their mutual presence triggers the start of unspoken evils, but let’s not fuss over that now.
I’m not simply yelling as I push forward, I’m abusing my vocal cords. “Johnny Fate is here. He’s the one messing with magic and sending these creatures.”
I can’t be sure anyone hears me over the growing screams and calls to magic. Anarchy reigns as the body count rises. Two fleeing vampires are sucked up through a ventilation shaft. Blood from the mounting carnage at the entrance pools at our feet. How many witches are dead now? Seven? Ten? They were formidable beings, and they never stood a chance.
Another howl of agony echoes from Bren. “Bren!” I yell. “Where are you? Tell me where you are.”
His growls abruptly cut off. At least, I think. It’s hard to make out anything through the commotion.
My breath catches when he answers me in his human voice. It’s faint, but his words hit me harder than the pieces of ceiling crumbling down. “Help Emme. It has her.”
It could be that thing that made bloody puddles out of the witches. It could be like that thing with snakes for hair. It could be that slithering creature in the ventilation system. It could be anything, and I can’t see it!
“It has Emme,” I yell.
A vampire, this one a master, glances down. “Who is Emme?” he asks. His head jerks when one scream follows a furious roar and pieces of organs spew into the foyer. Another witch down, and now a were.
The vampire hisses, his claws and fangs lengthening. “My sister,” I stammer, hoping he’s still listening. “Tell the weres. They have to know.”
I don’t wait to see if he does what I ask. I forge ahead, cringing when something slams farther away from where I last heard Bren. The foyer is almost as massive as the ballroom, wide as it is long. With all these beings, it’s damn near suffocating. I use Sparky like a shield and ram forward, at last falling through the archway and into the ballroom.
The air is different here, cleaner, pure. There’s no dust, no cacophony of sound. The tension and confusion linger, but aside from a few hushed mumbles, quiet greets me. The abrupt change is jarring, and it takes me a second to clear my head.
I glance behind me. There must be an invisible wall of sorts muffling the pandemonium in the foyer. By the feel of it, there’s also another spell, one that makes those close to the entrance look away. The British vampire stands by a table overflowing with food. He lifts a prawn, studying it closely before he’s satisfied enough to have a taste. He forgot all about us, the magic weaving through the room blinding everyone to the danger.
The same spell trickles through my nose when I inhale, making me want to forget the others. I ram my eyes shut, compelling my power to break through it. I’ll be damned if I’ll let another stupid spell keep me from helping Emme and Bren.
With a pop and a painful sneeze, the spell breaks. I startle at the crowd that gathered at my arrival. They tilt their heads, seemingly confused when they see the other guests in the foyer facing one way and appearing ready to maul.
They inch forward, and a vamp helps me to my feet as I work through how to clear this numbing spell.
“Karen,” Uri calls. He’s exactly where I left him by the fireplace. Ileana is with him too. I suppose she didn’t like Celia’s arrival robbing her of Misha’s attention.
“Karen,” Uri calls again. He snaps his fingers in my direction. I didn’t realize he was talking to me, and he seems annoyed I’m not immediately racing to his side. “What is happening out there? Is your sister going to honor us with her presence or not?”
“It’s Taran, moron, and she’s a little busy trying not to die right now.”
Indignation spreads across Uri’s features. Kind of like when you smack a cat on its nose for trying to claw your face off. I should know better than to insult a vamp of his caliber, but I’ll deal with his cape-loving ass later.
“C’mon, Sparky,” I mutter. “Let’s take this spell down.”
I release a breath slowly, an exceptionally hard task given how my heartbeat is trying to rip through my ribcage. Within my cupped hands, a spark appears, crackling and creating the one sole light in the dim surroundings.
A sheer ball of blue and white mist builds from the spark, circling and widening with each pass.
“Show me,” I whisper against it.
I grin when it bounces and sparkles in my palms; it’s listening. I almost lose my focus when something rams the ceiling and my little sister screams in terror.
My voice shakes, and it costs me effort not to lose my concentra
tion. “Let me see,” I say, putting more force into the spell. “Let me know.”
My magic obeys, my spinning crystalline globe enlarging and strengthening with each pass. I pull from the magic circling between the werebeasts who edge closer and the spaces amid the vamps who’ve never experienced magic like this. I pull from the empty pockets of space among the witches who scoff and chastise me for using magic instead of cultivating it.
Well, I’m weird for a reason. I wasn’t born a witch. I was born with fire and flame deep within me. This magic I wouldn’t have without borrowing it from the earth. And don’t I take my lion’s share now.
I bite through my words, the raw power within me ready to blow. “Show us. Let us see. Let us know.”
The globe I create is pretty at first, appearing gentle. “Oohs and aahs,” release, as if I’m putting on a show. But as my magic mixes with Sparky’s, and Bren’s growls turn more pained, my sweet little incantation becomes something more, scarier, potent, and exactly what I need.
“Karen! What are you doing?” a cheetah I don’t know asks me.
“What is happening?” Uri demands.
“It’s Karen, Master,” a vampire says. “She’s turned against us.”
Ileana glances at Uri, takes a sip of her champagne, and bats her hand in my direction as if she can’t be bothered. “Kill her,” she orders. Her accent is thick and lovely despite ugly words. “She’s clearly the unstable one of the family.”
I’m swarmed by a group of vampires, which is the only reason I don’t flip off Ileana. I lift my left arm and point, my fingertip lighting up like E.T.’s crazy cousin Spielberg doesn’t like to talk about.
“Uh-uh-uh,” I say. “Now is not a good time to piss me off.”
They retreat when my fire swirls the length of my arm. In truth, I couldn’t take on this many vamps at once. Not without more space and plenty of fire. Except, these pretty faces dolled up in their Sunday best don’t know that, and sometimes you have to talk a big game to get your shit done.
