Invidious

by Bianca Scardoni

  “We’ll get her back,” said Mr. Valentine, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Judging by the confident tone of his voice, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

  “So, you aren’t sure if she ever made contact with Hannah, correct?” continued Detective Morrison, holding a small writing pad in his hands, presumably going over his notes.

  “Correct.”

  “And you haven’t heard from her since Friday? No texts? No phone calls? Nothing?”

  “I tried calling her, but her phone was off.” That part was the truth. I must have called her a dozen times, hoping by some miracle that she still had access to her phone.

  It was a long shot, but I figured it was worth a try.

  “Alright then,” said Detective Morrison, nodding over to his partner. “I think that about covers it. We appreciate your cooperation, Miss Blackburn. If you remember anything else, please give us a call,” he said, handing me his business card.

  I nodded and then slipped the card into my pocket.

  “Send in Miss Richardson on your way out,” instructed Detective Jones as he flipped through his notes again.

  I made my way out of the office and into a waiting room stained with the familiar faces of my friends and foes. Nikki’s eyes followed me across the room like two aquamarine stones hell-bent on burning holes into the back of my head while Morgan leaned in and snickered something beside her.

  “You’re up, Hannah,” I said, walking past them as I headed straight for the first exit I could find.

  The crisp afternoon wind rushed up against me as I bolted through the front doors. I couldn’t bear being in that building for another minute. It was stifling, suffocating. The air was too thin, and the walls too close.

  Taylor’s memory was everywhere, following me around like a ghost hissing in my ears and gnawing at my insides. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand the torture. I needed to put an end to this—to all of it—and get her back home where she belonged.

  But how? How was I going to dig us out of this?

  As much as it hurt to admit it, I needed help. I was in way over my head, and I had almost zero experience dealing with Revenants. Certainly none that were as powerful as Engel was. I needed someone with some insight into his ways, someone with the guts to go against him. Basically, someone who was even more warped than he was.

  And only one person fit that bill.

  Without even making the decision, I started heading across town towards Huntington Manor. I told myself it was because I needed Dominic’s help forming an actual plan—a plan that would require his particular brand of diabolic manipulation—but a part of me also knew it was because I didn’t want to be alone.

  And I hated that part of me even more than I hated Dominic.

  6. A TRIP TO THE DARK SIDE

  It was almost noon by the time I made it across town. The sun was buried deep behind a thicket of gray, swollen clouds, apparently still refusing to grace my dimming world with its presence. I tried to recall the last time I'd felt the sun on my skin, reveled from the warmth in my bones, but it all seemed too far away to remember—just another unreachable memory of some distant world I used to know.

  I looked up at the imperious mansion that sat on an acre of fog-covered land and felt my pulse quicken as memories of my prior visit resurfaced.

  It’s different now, I told myself. I know what he is, and I can protect myself. I doused myself in the false bravado and strutted up the front steps.

  Knocking twice, I took a step back and bit the inside of my cheek as I waited. I was just about to turn and walk away when the door finally snapped open.

  Dominic stood there wearing nothing but a fitted pair of black slacks and a haughty smile. It was as though he knew I was coming over and decided to put on the one thing that would leave me speechless. I didn’t want to look and yet the curiosity called at me like a black cat on a Halloween prowl.

  “What a pleasant surprise, angel.”

  My eyes traveled north, examining the lean, angular muscles that decorated the upper half of his body.

  He leaned into the door frame and smirked. “Came to enjoy the sights, did you?”

  I shot him a warning look. “I came to see you—to talk to you about a plan.”

  “Is that the story we’re going with?”

  “Forget it.” I turned on my heel and started down the steps, grumbling, “I don’t know why I even bothered coming here.”

  “Just a minute,” he called, but I didn’t slow down. When words failed to call me back, he tried speaking to my mind instead. Come back, angel. His voice crawled through my brain like a tickle I couldn’t scratch.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Get out of my head, Dominic!”

  “Please come inside. I’ll behave, I promise.”

  I swiveled around to face him. The smug expression he usually wore had diminished. His eyes, normally dark and menacing, looked almost vulnerable—lonely even. I wasn’t sure why, but for the first time in my life, I felt pity for him.

  I walked back up the stairs, my eyes spearing him with an unspoken warning. It was as though he heard me because he immediately lifted his hands in the air and stepped back from the doorway, giving me proper room to enter.

  “Where can we talk?” I asked.

  He closed the door behind me and ticked his chin towards the den-slash-study at the end of the hall. “After you,” he said, motioning ahead.

  I moved with the kind of speed and confidence that said I knew exactly what I was doing, but my heart rate was singing a different tune and I was sure he could hear it. I sat down on the red leather sofa in front of the fireplace and took in the room around me as Dominic poured himself a drink.

  Floor to ceiling bookcases covered the back walls like wallpaper, darkening the room into a cave-like chamber. I noticed there weren’t any picture frames or family portraits hanging on the walls; no throw pillows or magazines lying around—basically, nothing that would indicate people lived here...that a family lived here.

  “Care for a drink?” he asked, holding up his glass as he stood behind the wooden console table.

  I shook my head, nauseated at the sight of it.

  “Can I offer you something else?” He walked over to the sofa and took his seat beside me. “A juice box perhaps?”

  My eyes narrowed. “You’re hilarious.”

  “And you’re beautiful.” His lips twisted into a grin as he reached out and caressed my cheek with the back of his knuckles. Despite his cool temperature, it was a gentle gesture that made my skin warm in a strange way...

  A way I didn’t particularly care for.

  The truth was, I didn’t want to respond to Dominic’s touch in that way; not in any way. I told myself it was just the lingering effects of his bite—of the falsified connection he made between us when he bit me—but I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was something more to it.

  Maybe I was lonely too.

  “Don’t, Dominic.” I pushed his hand away.

  “Are you sure, love?” He tilted his head inquisitively as he his eyes poured over me like rain. “I can make the hurt go away,” he said softly, his voice a quiet promise of rapture.

  My cheeks flushed. I wasn’t sure what that entailed but I was certain I didn’t want to find out. Whatever it was he was offering, it was poisonous and I wanted no part of it.

  “Just stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.”

  “As you please, angel.” He pushed back into the sofa and then focused in on me like a puzzle he was trying to solve. “Does our proximity make you nervous?”

  “No.” I rose my chin to back up the lie. Of course he made me nervous—and scared, and angry, and so many other uncomfortable things I didn’t yet understand, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him. “I just don’t want you cramming up all my personal space, that’s all.”

  “If you say so.” He smirked, his dark eyes fixed on me as though they could see right through the lie.


  Refusing to meet his gaze, I turned my attention out the window at a small gazebo that overlooked the rose garden. There was something so warm and peaceful about it, almost as though it didn’t belong here amidst the stony darkness.

  “My mother’s garden,” said Dominic, swiveling his drink.

  “It’s beautiful,” I noted. “She must spend hours in there.”

  “Once upon a time, I suppose. Now, it’s just the gardeners.” He stood up and moved to the fireplace. Bending down, he picked up a log and tossed it into the hearth. “I don’t know why I still commission it. I should have it cut down.”

  “What? Why would you even say that? It’s perfectly beautiful right where it is.” I stared back out the window at the arched trellises and imagined myself sitting there, reading a great book without a single care in the world.

  “It’s useless.”

  “I’m pretty sure your mother would disagree.”

  “And I’m fairly certain she wouldn’t have much to say on the matter.” He pulled out a shiny, silver lighter from his pocket and kindled the wood. “Unless she’s begun conversing from her grave without my knowledge.”

  My face blanched. “Oh. I—uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Saint Gabriel didn’t tell you?” He straightened out and watched the fire for a moment before turning. The flames danced around the edges of his taut shoulders as he buried his hands in his pockets. “I was certain he would’ve jumped at the chance to out me as her executioner.” A darkness washed across his face, looming over his expression like an inky shadow of death.

  “Her executioner?”

  “In the flesh.”

  My heart sped off in a frenzy, banging against my ribcage like a lunatic in a padded white room. “You k-killed your mother?” I sputtered, my eyes darting to the nearest exit, calculating my distance to safety.

  His eyes followed mine to the door. “I did.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat as dry as cotton balls. What the hell was I thinking coming here?

  “The very first thing I did upon entering this world,” he continued. A smile crept across his lips, but it lacked veracity. “I suppose you could say I’ve been a killer since the day I was born.”

  My heart sunk in my chest as the sad reality of the situation burrowed in. “She died giving birth to you.”

  “Poetic, isn’t it?” He picked up his glass from the mantel and took a long, purposeful sip.

  “That was hardly your fault, Dominic.” I couldn’t believe I was defending him, but it had to be said. “You were just a baby.”

  “And yet, still culpable. My father made sure to remind me of the fact every day of my life.” He walked back over to the sofa and took his seat again. “Such is the price you pay for the crime, I suppose.”

  “Your father is a jerk,” I said before thinking twice of it. “He was wrong then, and he’s wrong now.”

  He looked over at me thoughtfully, his pitch eyes tempering as he studied me. “Don’t do that, angel.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t feel bad for me.” He leaned in closer. “Don’t feel anything for me. I know what I am and I have no reservations about it. You’d be a fool to think anything else.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  I’d always been the kind of person who believed in second chances, that everyone had redeemable qualities and deserved a fair shot. But Dominic was an anomaly. He didn’t fit in with my preconceived notions of the world. He was a monster and he made that clear to me—time and time again. And yet here I was...feeling bad for him.

  It’s got to be the trauma from this past week finally catching up with me, I decided. I shuddered the misplaced feelings away. “Don’t worry, my feelings for you haven’t changed. Hatred is still pretty much at the top of the list.”

  “If you say so, angel.”

  “But I stand by what I said,” I added quietly so that no one but the two of us could hear. “He’s wrong.”

  He nodded, accepting it in whatever capacity he could.

  The fire crackled a quiet song as the hungry flames tore at the log like a cannibal on flesh. There was something eerily comforting about the silence, about being here with Dominic—with the devil I knew.

  “So, about the Amulet,” I finally said, chasing away the spell and anything it could have stood for.

  “Yes, on to business.” He perked up at the prospect of a new scheme. “Any chance you changed your mind regarding the blond-haired sacrifice?”

  “No, Dominic,” I said, stale and unimpressed. “I didn’t change my mind about letting my best friend die.”

  He rolled his eyes as though my humanity was a nuisance to him. “Then we’re going with the original plan.”

  “Which was what?” I asked, still unclear after our inconclusive conversation last night.

  “We kill Engel, and we get the Amulet back from Romeo.” He paused momentarily. “Though not necessarily in that order,” he added, extending his arm along the back of the sofa.

  “We kill Engel,” I repeated, shocked that he was actually sticking to his harebrained idea from last night. “You say that like it's actually a possibility, like he hasn’t murdered generations of Slayers already.”

  “It most certainly is a possibility.” His lip pulled up on one side. “With the Amulet in hand, of course.”

  “Right. Of course.” I nodded, deciding to go with it for argument's sake. “And remind me again how we’re getting the Amulet back exactly? Trace isn't just going to give it back to us. I don’t even know what he wants with it in the first place, let alone where he’s hiding it. Not to mention, it might not even be on our Timeline anymore. We need to—”

  “Slow down, love,” he cut in, halting my mouth diarrhea. “One thing at a time.”

  Easy for him to say.

  “Care to explain why you suspect it's no longer on our Timeline?” he asked, visibly bothered by the news.

  “Trace said so. He swears he wasn’t there that night. That it wasn’t him.” Just saying the words aloud made me long for them to be true.

  “Is that right?” He faced forward, distracted with his own sinister musings. “Interesting.”

  “Well, what do you think?” I watched him closely, gauging him for his reaction—desperately seeking out his unspoken confirmation that it might be true.

  He took a slow sip of his drink. “I think he’s either a complete idiot, or an absolute genius.”

  “Do you think he's telling the truth? You saw him that night too, and probably a bunch of times before that, right?”

  He picked up a loose strand of my hair and twisted it around his finger. “Indeed, I did.”

  “Did you see anything different about him?” I asked, pushing his hand away without missing a beat. “Did he look like he was, I don’t know, from the future?”

  “It’s hard to say. If he was from the future, it wasn’t the distant future.”

  “Great. That’s no help at all.”

  “Well, you know him better than I do, angel. What are your instincts telling you?”

  “They’re telling me nothing.” I shook my head, frustrated by my lack of information and control. “All I know is, he’s been keeping things from me—things about his ex-girlfriend...and some other stuff,” I added, not wanting to disclose anything about Morgan’s vision. Something Trace conveniently left out. “If I can’t trust him to be honest with me about those things, how am I supposed to trust him now?”

  “Easy. You don’t,” he said simply. “You assume the worst and prepare yourself for all the possible outcomes.”

  There were only two possible scenarios here. Either he was lying to me and he had the Amulet, or he was telling the truth and it's in the future with an alternate version of himself.

  “If he has the Amulet, he's going to go back to the past and give it to Linley.” Of that, I was sure. Why else would he want it? “Either way, it's off our Timeline and out of our reach.”


  “That certainly does complicate things.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  Running his lean fingers along his jawline, he mulled it over. “Figuring out the Amulet’s whereabouts and Trace’s intentions for it is the first part of the plan. You have to determine whether or not he has it, and you have to be sure.” He tipped his head in as though leaning in to tell me a secret. “That part, however, will be solely up to you.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Use your feminine wiles, of course.”

  “Get serious.”

  “I am serious.” He flashed his teeth in a cunning way. “You need to gain his trust and make him believe you no longer care about his affront to you—that your feelings for him far outweigh his betrayal. Get as close to him as you humanely can.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that.” Faking it was one thing; being that close to Trace without hopelessly sinking right back into him was a whole different story.

  “The other option is to go straight for Engel, though we’d be at a great disadvantage without the Amulet.”

  I bit the inside of my cheeks. Neither one of my options sounded appealing, though the latter seemed far more risky. Engel was old—and not the decrepit bad-hip kind of old; the experienced and powerful kind of old—and going up against him without any backup was just plain stupid.

  I was a lot of things but stupid wasn’t one of them. I needed the Amulet. End of story.

  “Alright.” I looked him dead in the eye and nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  7. SANGUINARIUM

  Training with Gabriel was just the kind of outwardly aggressive expression I needed. In keeping with my usual ways, I decided not to tell Gabriel about what was going on. For one, I knew he would tell my sister, Tessa, and I wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences of that. Not to mention I had the nagging suspicion she wouldn’t give much consideration to Taylor’s life in her pursuit of reclaiming the Amulet. She would look at the bigger picture—the greater good of all—and I couldn’t risk her bypassing Taylor like that.