Wicked Magic (7 Wicked Tales Featuring Witches, Demons, Vampires, Fae, and More)

by Deanna Chase

  ‘What choice did we have?’

  I feel their frustration. I’m certainly not going to snitch on them. Quite frankly, I think the entire Montserrat Family has bigger problems than dealing with a few irate bloodguzzlers who are trying to take matters into their own hands.

  They give up and leave, their feet crunching away on the gravelled path. I stay where I am for several long moments, counting slowly to two hundred in my head. Then I sit up carefully, trying to look as if I’ve just come round in case they are watching from a distance. It’s not hard. If I felt shaky before my encounter with them, I’m now like an alcoholic before her first drink of the day. Even my legs are trembling.

  It takes me some time to stagger to my feet. I hit my head pretty hard when I went down and cut it on something. When I put my hand up, it comes away wet and bloody. I sniff curiously. Apparently my own blood does nothing for me. Just in case, however, I wipe the blood off on my thighs rather than licking it off. I can’t be too careful. With a sigh, I limp slowly back inside.

  I’m almost back at the staircase when I spot the familiar shape of Peter coming towards me. He’s shuffling along, bouncing off the walls as if drunk. I give a humourless smirk. We must look like a right pair.

  ‘Hey Pete,’ I call out.

  He barely registers it. Painfully, I drag myself over to him and peer up into his face. ‘Hey, Pete,’ I say again.

  He jerks his head, his eyes focusing on me as if he’s surprised to find me standing there. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘There’s no need to be so effusive,’ I comment with a half grin.

  He looks puzzled. This is not the same man who I sat beside three weeks ago; physically, he’s a pale shadow of himself. He’s really starting to worry me. ‘You don’t look good,’ I tell him.

  He chokes out a laugh. ‘Neither do you.’

  He probably has a point. Right now, I’m finding it difficult to stand up straight. I pull my shoulders back in an attempt to look more alive. Peter doesn’t even try.

  ‘There are only two days to go,’ I say softly. ‘You can change your mind about all this. It’s not too late.’

  He reaches up to his neck, as if searching for something that isn’t there. His hand drops down to his side when he doesn’t find it. ‘You’re holding out for some thunderclap that will happen when you make it to the end of the month and you’re still human. That’s because you’ve got reason to care. You want to live.’

  I wonder how someone in Peter’s mental state managed to get onto the final list of recruits. It’d be easy to put down his current state of mind to the bloodlust but he wasn’t much happier when I first met him. He must have some mad skills that the Montserrat Family is after.

  ‘Why are you here? You’re obviously not after longevity. You said you deserved to suffer and you’re definitely doing that, but…’

  He turns away. ‘I’ve already made it clear I don’t want to talk about it.’

  I curse myself for prying. I’m trying to make him feel better, not alienate him. Really, I should know better by now.

  ‘I have to go,’ he says, shuffling off.

  I watch him go, wishing there was something I could do to help him. My thoughts are foggy and it’s hard to grasp anything clearly but, eventually, I realise what his hand was unconsciously seeking around his neck. The same thing that Ria and Ursus mistakenly thought was mine: his crucifix. He abandoned it when he entered the Montserrat mansion. Perhaps by returning it to him, I can make him feel a bit more connected to reality. Until now I’d forgotten all about it; I suppose I have Ria and Ursus’s attack to thank for reminding me. Even if Peter doesn’t want it back, tracking it down will give me something to focus on. Not blood. Not crazy-ass vampires. Not Boris and his very personal betrayal. Just a little golden cross. I nod decisively and head back down the corridor to find where our belongings are being kept.

  Chapter Twenty Six: The Clock Face

  I’ve been cooped up in the Montserrat mansion for long enough to know where our belongings definitely are not. I’ve respected the caveat about not entering any doors with ribbons tied around them but I’m pretty sure I know what most of them contain. From what I’ve seen of the comings and goings, the higher levels are bedrooms and dormitories, with a few social areas. Not many of the Montserrat vampires stay here, but I guess it helps to have spare accommodation should it be required for those unhappy souls like Ria and Ursus who are expected to stick around to advance the recruits. The middle floors include various laboratories and offices, while the main meeting areas and Michael’s office are on the ground floor. It makes sense that the storage areas will either be very high up in the loft space, or very low down in the basement. The thought of climbing several sets of stairs on my shaky legs puts the fear of God into me, so I search for steps leading downwards instead.

  Using my scant knowledge of old buildings, I figure that any staircase leading to a dim basement area would have originally been used by servants. That means it is probably in the kitchen area towards the back of house. Thankfully, that’s not far away so I lurch over with little difficulty. Matters deteriorate when I enter the large kitchen, however. Vampires eat solid food from time to time, but it’s more out of pleasure in the taste and habit rather than physical necessity. As a result, the kitchen is neat, tidy and very empty. I open and close at least half a dozen cupboards and doors before I find one that leads to a set of spiral steps.

  I peer down into the gloom. There must be a light switch somewhere but I can’t see it. I sigh and brace my arms against the walls then slowly feel my way downwards. At one point, my foot slips and I almost crash down. Fortunately, I manage to right myself by grabbing the banister and clinging on for dear life. Once I regain my equilibrium, I continue with my descent. If this turns out to be a waste of time, I’m going to be very pissed off.

  When my tentative edging forward tells me that there are no more steps, I loosen my grip on the banister and fumble around the walls. I find a light switch fairly quickly, managing to illuminate the room in weak electric light from an old fluorescent strip. As well as the light, however, it also immediately starts a low and continuous buzz, as if I’ve managed to get an annoying flying insect stuck in my ear. At least it seems that I’ve found the right place. There are rows and rows of neatly stacked shelves containing boxes labelled with names.

  I walk down one aisle, expecting to find everything in alphabetical order. It doesn’t take long to realise that’s not the case. Judging by the boxes in the first aisle – worn, faded and very dusty – each shelf is organised by the date of recruitment. I must be wandering amongst those belonging to the oldest vampires. I keep a curious eye out for Michael Montserrat’s box. It’s not that I particularly want to snoop through his things but after his evasion about his real age, I’m interested in finding it out. Feeling even slight traces of lust for someone who by rights should be little more than dust in a box buried six feet under doesn’t sit well with me. My attempt is half-hearted, however. I don’t have the energy to scour the whole place so, when I don’t see his name immediately, I shuffle back to find the more recent additions.

  The basement area is quite large and it takes me a while to find the row containing my group’s boxes. I trail my fingers along the edge of the shelves, brushing them against the different names. Nell Mickleson. Matthew Baldwick. Peter Allen. Nicola Temerlaine. Finally, I reach my own name and stand for a moment, staring at the pitiful container of my human life. I remind myself that I’ll be Sanguine – and more human than vampire – in a couple of days, then pull off the lid.

  My clothes have been laundered and neatly folded. I glance down at my regulation jumpsuit then back at my trusty leather jacket. It takes me half a second to decide to pull it out and shrug it on. The familiar touch of it against my body, along with the unmistakeable smell, instantly makes me feel better. I’m not leaving this inside any damn cardboard box. If Beth can get away with her stilettos, then I can wear my own sodding jacket.<
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  I dig inside the pocket, hoping that Ria and Ursus put Peter’s little cross back in the same place where they found it. The last thing I want is to confront them to find out what they’ve done with it. As soon as my fingers connect with the chain, I exhale in relief.

  I pull it out and hold it up to the flickering, buzzing light. It’s a fragile thing. I hope that it helps Peter and provides some kind of physical sustenance for him. I drop the cross carefully back into my pocket and turn round to leave. As I do, I catch the faintest edge of familiar scent. I sniff more deeply then swallow hard while my stomach flips. The sweet, fragrant smell of rosewater may be weak but it’s definitely there. And I could swear it’s the same smell that I identified back in the Wiltshore Avenue house.

  I shuffle to my left, bending down and inhaling deeply. I’m barely more than a foot along when it’s no longer detectable so I move back to my right, past my own box and beyond. By the time I reach Matt’s section, it’s starting to disappear again. I stay completely still and swivel my eyes back to the left. Matthew. Peter. Nicky. Me. I look at Peter’s box, then Nicky’s box. In Beth’s words, smegging hell.

  My gut tightens and I hear the rush of blood in my ears. I unfreeze my muscles and carefully removing the lid of Peter’s box. I duck down and smell. There’s aftershave and male musk clinging to the clothes and the other belongings inside but there’s nothing to suggest roses.

  I return the lid to its original position and move to Nicky’s box. I take a deep breath and flip it open. Immediately the strong smell assails my nostrils and I pull back, clasping my hand over my mouth and staring in horror. I know I’ve made a lot of wrong assumptions since I arrived in the Montserrat fold. And it’s only a smell. I’m sure lots of people use rosewater as a scent. Am I leaping to more ridiculous conclusions? My mind whirls through what I know of her. She was in a wheelchair as a result of a brutal attack that killed her parents. She’s young and seemingly fragile. She doesn’t appear to be the kind of person who would fit the profile of a genocidal maniac. And yet … I think about the way she reacted around Peter. She explained her distaste of him by claiming he reminded her of someone who attacked her. Maybe it’s simpler than that: maybe she doesn’t like him because he’s male and not under the effects of a passivity spell. She appears to have been unaffected by bloodlust too. I can’t see how she’d be linked to someone like Boris though. Regardless, I need to talk to her and I need to talk her now.

  I’d like to be able to say that I immediately spring into action. Unfortunately, it’s more of a slow walk. I don’t bother turning off the basement light. Yes, I’m aware it’s not good for the environment but the potential to fall flat on my face if I climb back up in pitch darkness is too great. I heave myself upwards, eventually making it back into the silent kitchen. I force my trembling limbs to keep moving. With any luck, I’ll find Nicky in one of the ground-floor meeting rooms so I won’t need to clamber up any more stairs.

  Unfortunately Lady Luck remains elusive. Nicky’s not there. When I peer into one room, I catch sight of Ria whose eyes narrow in my direction. I can’t worry about her right now; Nicky is my priority. Slowly, painfully, I make it to the main staircase just in time to see Beth tripping down.

  ‘Hey! How’re things?’ Considering she has now turned into a full vampire by drinking blood, she has a remarkably healthy demeanour. I can’t help feeling irritated, even though I’m relieved to bump into her.

  ‘I need to find Nicky.’

  Beth looks at me seriously. ‘Is this something to do with all this traitor business?’

  ‘Please, Beth. I don’t have much energy and it’s imperative that I speak to her now. Could you find her for me? Quickly?’

  ‘These shoes aren’t really designed for rushing around in,’ she comments, although she gives me a reassuring grin and heads back upstairs.

  I sit on the bottom stair and rest my head against the banister. I can’t shake the dizziness. I must have dozed off because, within what feels like the blink of an eye, Beth is back by my side. ‘I can’t find her.’

  I pull myself together, trying to ignore a trickle of alarm. ‘Her room?’

  ‘It’s empty. She’s not in the social area or the bathroom. No one has seen her for a couple of hours.’

  ‘She’s got to be somewhere.’

  Beth shrugs. ‘I have no idea where.’

  I try to think. ‘How about the garden?’

  ‘It’s pretty much the only place left.’

  I straighten up. I waver slightly and Beth grabs my arm, alarmed. ‘You stay here,’ she says. ‘I’ll check outside.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Bo, you can barely smegging walk.’

  ‘I said,’ I repeat through gritted teeth, ‘I will come with you.’

  Beth chews her lip. ‘Fine.’ She hooks her arm through mine. ‘Just don’t collapse on me, alright?’

  I force a smile. ‘Alright.’

  It’s already close to midnight and, after my encounter with Ursus and Ria, there’s now a sinister edge to the garden that I’d not felt before. At least with Beth by my side, that pair will think twice before confronting me. The air feels heavy and oppressive, as if a storm is brewing. The clear skies are now obscured with cloud. Even the bright moon is barely visible.

  Beth opens her mouth to call out for Nicky but I hush her. ‘Just in case,’ I mutter.

  She raises her eyebrows as if to ask in case of what but, probably aware that I won’t give her a satisfactory answer, helps me onto the grass next to the path instead.

  ‘Gravel can be noisy.’

  I smile, pleased she’s taking me seriously. We make our way around the entire area. It appears that the garden is empty.

  ‘She’s not here,’ Beth comments.

  I shake my head. Something’s not right. ‘Let’s go round one more time.’

  We start again. The trees and bushes cast lengthy shadows and there’s the occasional skitter from an urban-dwelling animal. Everything else seems quiet. I pause when we reach the section of the garden where we clawed our way through to make our escape to the nightclub. ‘Are those guards still around?’

  ‘Of course. I don’t think Lord Montserrat has recovered from our little trip beyond the walls.’

  I frown. If there are guards on duty to prevent recruits from misbehaving, then why wouldn’t they have intervened when Ria and Ursus attacked me? None of us were quiet and vampires are supposed to have exceptional hearing: they couldn’t have missed that altercation. Beth’s eyes reflect my thoughts: if there are guards posted in the garden then where in the hell are they?

  I tug Beth over to the gap in the bushes leading to the spot where, days earlier, we climbed the tree to escape. It’s more difficult getting through the bushy flora this time around. She hisses from behind me, ‘You better not be thinking about getting over that wall again.’

  That’s the last thing I’m thinking about when I look up at the familiar tree. Beth moves up beside me and draws in a swift breath when she sees what I’m looking at. ‘Smeg.’

  There are two of them. Their faces, despite the bulging pallor of death, are recognisable: they are presumably the poor guards who were on duty. No wonder they didn’t intervene when Ria and Ursus attacked me. Their bodies are slumped against the tree trunk, each one with frozen fingers clutched around a stake. Except the stakes they are holding have been violently thrust into the other’s body, not their own.

  Beth recoils. ‘It’s as if they simultaneously murdered each other,’ she whispers. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

  I stare at them. It does make sense if you’re so passive that you’ll take any suggestion given to you. I crouch down and examine them carefully. Their bodies are cold and stiff; they’ve clearly already been here for a couple of hours.

  ‘How does someone break into the Montserrat stronghold and kill two vampires without anyone noticing?’ Beth breathes.

  ‘Because she wasn’t breaking in,’ I tell
her. ‘She was breaking out.’

  ***

  The discovery of the corpses has given me an adrenaline boost. I drag my body back out of the undergrowth and break into a run back to the mansion. Beth stays with me, even though I’m aware she could far outstrip my efforts.

  Inside, I head straight for the meeting room. Ria’s still there and I stride up to her. ‘Where’s Lord Montserrat?’ I yell.

  She snarls, ‘What’s it to you, recruit?’

  Others begin to rise, alarmed at our aggression. I ignore them and lean towards her. ‘Where. The. Fuck. Is. He?’

  Before Ria can say anything, Beth interjects. ‘There are two dead vampires in the garden.’

  The mood in the room changes abruptly. I keep my gaze fixed on Ria. ‘You need to tell me where he is. You said he was meeting the other Family Heads.’

  Her face is pale and she nods. ‘You don’t think…’

  ‘I do think. Unless someone has seen Nicky in the past few hours, then I goddamn well do think.’

  I’m met with astonishment.

  ‘The crippled recruit?’

  ‘She’s not in a wheelchair any more,’ I say grimly. The time for obfuscation is over. Lord Montserrat can be pissed off with me later. ‘Besides, when you have a spell that makes the users impotent in every sense of the word, as well as open to any suggestion, then who needs to worry about physical strength?’

  ‘A spell?’

  ‘The daemon.’ Ursus comes up quietly. ‘That’s what all this is about.’

  I meet his gaze. Recognition of what happened in the garden passes between us, along with a silent agreement to put it behind us. ‘Yes. Females aren’t affected but, as far as I can tell, the effects are irreversible on male vampires.’

  ‘Matt.’ Beth’s voice is soft.

  ‘I think that Nicky is behind it. And I also think that she’s gone to wherever the Heads are to make sure they take it and do whatever she wants.’

  Ria is sickened. ‘Because we will do whatever the Heads want.’

  ‘Indeed.’ I turn to Ursus. ‘You said they’re all closeted together. We need to get there now and warn them. Can you call?’