Dance With Death

by Becca Vincenza

  The hostess let her gaze linger on Balthazar for a beat longer than could be deemed appropriate. He had classically handsome features—I couldn’t deny that—but he certainly wasn’t my type. When she spotted me, she looked me up and down and peeled her lips back into a sneer. I smiled back imperiously, straightening my back.

  “Your table is ready, sir. Let me show you the way.” She didn’t turn her attention back to me, effectively acting as if I wasn’t there.

  Balthazar took the lead, snagging my hand as an afterthought, like he thought I would run off after getting here. I agreed to this charade to protect my family, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t have a bit of fun. Once seated, Balthazar finally released his hold on my hand. When the waiter came, he didn’t even drop off menus; instead, Balthazar ordered dinners for us both in another language. If there was one thing that truly annoyed me, it was when someone ordered for me.

  Vampires didn’t have food allergies like humans, and very few Mystics did. While I didn’t have any, it was still rude to assume. What if I didn’t want what he ordered?

  After the waiter scampered off with our order, Balthazar peered across the table with a speculative look. “You seem annoyed.”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Right now, or my general list?” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  “Now should be sufficient,” he remarked drily.

  “You ordered for me, even though you don’t know what I would have wanted or what I was in the mood for.”

  Balthazar smiled, and the serenity on his face pissed me off further. I didn’t like that I wasn’t getting under his skin. It was unnerving.

  “Your resistance and anger are unnecessary. Truthfully, I would have been disappointed if you had accepted me so easily. It just proves that our life together will be filled with challenges and excitement. But don’t fret, you will like what I ordered. How is your training coming along?”

  “Worried I’m not up to your standards?”

  “No, I’m merely concerned that since you are so powerful, your powers may overwhelm you. Or you will be caught unaware.”

  Though he didn’t mean to, he sparked memories of my time at the hands of the cruel vampire coven that tortured me, who happened to be after the same thing as his coven. A necromancer and vampire could only join willingly to be able to share each other’s powers. It was an ancient spell placed upon our race after centuries of vampires hunting my kind down.

  Rumors had it that certain necromancers, if they were strong enough, could control a vampire...which I did. And not just any vampire but a Master. I didn’t know if I could repeat the performance, or if it would even last that long since it only sprouted in a moment of sheer desperation. After Balthazar found out what happened, there was no stopping him. He had to take me back to their coven, and after that, a contract was authored. And in the Mystic world, a document such as that was binding. Either I would have to accept my fate or forfeit my family’s lives.

  I hesitated to speak as the waiter dropped off a bottle of red wine. Balthazar poured us each half a glass of wine, and I stifled my sneer.

  After he left, I spoke up, “Training is coming along nicely. Sometimes the swell of power is too much, and I haven’t figured out how to tap into it to get enough. I’m still finding my balance.”

  “Give me your wrist.”

  My gaze shot to his, alarmed. His canines dropped a little, dimpling his bottom lip.

  “I promise not to bite.”

  Rolling my eyes, I did as he asked and gave him my arm. He pressed his fingers to my wrist and waited in silence.

  “Try to summon your powers as you would have before you came into all of them.”

  Before, it was merely an extension of myself, and there was no need to “call” upon it. It just happened. Now, it felt like there was a massive pool of power from which I had to pull, centered all in one place. Without realizing it, my heartbeat pounded harder as I worked to control my magic. Bewilderingly, the soft, subtle brush of his thumb against my wrist settled me. My eyes met his.

  “You need to stop fearing your power,” he guided. “It is still part of you, just stronger than before. You have untested limits you are still yet to discover.”

  I left my wrist in his care for a moment longer, his thumb still brushing against my heartbeat. The waiter came back and placed the food before us. Interrupted from our momentary calmness, I snatched my arm back and considered his words. He wasn’t wrong, but there was a part of me that feared what I could do and the attention it would bring with it. After all, I was conditioned to feel that way my entire life.

  Steaks were set in front of us both. While Balthazar’s had a redder tint to it, mine was cooked medium well, which was what I preferred. Annoyed that he’d gotten it right, I cut through the tender steak and started to eat. While it wasn’t my number one choice, it was a rarity that I craved every so often. Growing up around werewolves, meat was always on the menu, but with a massive pack to feed and limited resources, we often went for cheaper cuts. Even my family did the same, since there were so many of us.

  “How did you know?” I asked, unable to squash my unnatural curiosity.

  “I did my research on you, deehire. Do not think I would enter into our marriage blindly. Just as I know you followed that mutt here.”

  “Okay, first off, stop calling him that.” I might be mad at Indigo for leaving me, but despite my feelings, he would always be family. “And second, why did you call him a ‘murderous mutt’ earlier?”

  “You’re a powerful necromancer, deehire. You should be able to sort through the indiscretions of the last four years he has been away from home. But I do not wish to speak of the other male you hold so dearly.”

  And just like that, the subject was closed.

  ****

  The date, if you wanted to call it that, ended shortly afterwards. His words weighed heavily on my mind, and I couldn’t break free from them. Memory after memory hit me. When Indigo and I first arrived in the city, I remembered my powers spiking and the ghosts that clung to Indigo and Cornelius. I thought back to the ghosts that surrounded them at the crime scene and again at the bar. When Balthazar dropped me off in front of the apartment building, I stood in front of it, but something held me back.

  A shot of fire sprouted from the base of my neck and spread outwards, burning through my joints without easing. Shaking, with a mind of its own, my hand released the doorknob to the apartment building. Darkness crept into the sides of my vision as the binding spell attached to the brand on the back of my neck flared to life, commanding my muscles and joints. Clenching my jaw tight as I fought against my traitorous will, I stared up at the apartment building as my body betrayed me and started back down the street, away from the apartment building.

  Reaching down into the depths of my strength and pushing back, I stumbled forward, my breath coming out in harsh pants. The spell had momentarily been broken, and I rushed back to the building before it could begin again. I suspected the wards surrounding the building kept me protected, and the farther I was from the spell caster, the easier I could break free from their spell. But that brief moment reminded me how much I remained at the mercy of my captor.

  Slamming the door closed behind me, I thought of the one person I knew who had dealt with the same situation. She might be the only one who could help me break this spell for good.

  ****

  Back in our apartment, I found Willow concentrating on a puzzle. The girl had an insatiable appetite for new activities; right now, she had about three different puzzles going on. Two had taken over the dining table, while the one she worked on while watching TV was scattered across the coffee table. I had introduced her to a classic sitcom from the nineties that featured six friends. After watching the first episode, she declared that she loved it and insisted we watch a couple episodes together each night, to which I eagerly agreed.

  It felt nice having quiet time with her. I didn’t know if I felt
close to her because she was down in those damned cells with me, but being around her was a comfort, and I looked forward to our binge-watching sessions.

  Hearing the front door close, Willow smiled at me brightly before it was washed away. “What happened?”

  Only the team knew about my brand, but I didn’t think any of them understood that it had a spell interwoven into it. Instead of telling her, I turned, pulling my hair over my shoulder and tugging my shirt down.

  “The Ferrer coven put a spell on it, didn’t they?” she asked with the confidence of already knowing the answer.

  A lead weight settled in my gut at learning the name of the coven that had kept me prisoner for so long. “I’m pretty certain.”

  Willow opened her mouth and then closed it wordlessly. The pity in her gaze sparked a different reaction in me.

  “Guess I need to find a dragon to burn it off,” I joked with humor I didn’t feel. “How about a couple episodes, and then I’ll help you with one of your puzzles?”

  Willow blinked at me, at a loss for words. As she gazed at me with wide eyes that made her look like such a pixie, I was reminded again how much she had suffered at the hands of her imprisoning coven for so long.

  Didn’t they do the same thing to her? But if they did, wouldn’t she be afraid of the same thing I was—that one day, they would get close enough for the spell to activate in earnest?

  She shook her head. “Sure. And Rowan, be careful.”

  That was a given, but I nodded and joined her on the couch. She fired up the next episode and quickly became engrossed in the show, our conversation seemingly forgotten. I picked up a few pieces of the puzzle, but my mind was on a bigger puzzle...the one that surrounded my life.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, I stepped out of my room, noticing Willow’s puzzle at the coffee table remained untouched from what we finished the night before. I assumed she hadn’t woken up yet since she often started working on it during breakfast. I took a moment to stretch, the exertion from the last couple of days still lingering in my muscles. I would work on summoning the ghost of the murdered Mystic again to see what information he could give me. Since the first time I’d encountered him, every time we spoke, all he did was raise my suspicions about both Indigo and Cornelius.

  Abel was more skilled at summoning, but I hoped with our powers finally at full strength, I’d be able to do a summoning of my own. I’d managed it even before our birthday, but I also had a lot riding on doing it successfully. And I had supplies—supplies I didn’t particularly want to go searching for again since the last place I went to, I ended up casted on and knocked out.

  Grabbing a washable marker from Willow’s last hobby, I got onto the floor and drew the runes I knew so well. After studying them for most of my life, they were emblazoned in my memory. Once I’d drawn the runes in a small circle, I focused on the little I knew about the Mystic ghost.

  Unwittingly, Balthazar’s words came back to me, as well as the slow brush of his thumb against my wrist that incited a peaceful sense of calm. My magic wasn’t new or different; it was just more powerful. I needed to treat it like it was still mine and not a foreign substance that had been injected inside of me.

  Breathing in steadily, I released the tightly coiled hold I had on my powers, and it rushed through my system like adrenaline. I knew even after the adrenaline left, there would be no crash. Rather, it would be a steady stream of power running under my skin, through my blood. Taking a moment longer, I pictured the ghost in my head and waited for the familiar dip in temperature.

  The answering chill brushed against my arms, and a comforting heat blazed against the tattoo I shared with Abel. His powers enhanced mine; even miles away, we could draw on one another now. I’d take a minute to marvel on that when I had a second to breathe. For now, the ghost in my living room took priority.

  The ghost met my steady gaze, announcing, “I thought I’d pissed you off or frightened you away when I took you to see your friends in action.”

  “Too bad, so sad, but no dice. Now—we can do this my way or the hard way.”

  “What are you going to do, Princess Undead? Shred me? There hasn’t been a kind in your race to do that for centuries.”

  “That you know of, Curse Breaker.”

  As soon as I uttered the words, his eyes widened a fraction before he seemed to calm down. He touched his feet to the ground and acted more alive. It was impossible to tell in death what some Mystics were. Some were shifters, some werewolves, some even witches that didn’t have distinctive markings to identify what they were.

  “So, looks like you did some real detective work. Good job, Princess Undead.”

  “I’m not undead. I control them.” I raised a brow, indicating that was what I was doing with him. “You seem livelier than the last time we met. What happened?”

  He spread his arms out wide. “Let’s call it the overarching dance with death. At the time we met, I was still processing, still going through a list of all the possibilities in my head that landed me there. You caught me at a particularly vengeful moment.”

  “Are you implying that you don’t think it was Indigo or Cornelius who killed you?”

  He shook his head. “I can guarantee they didn’t, but it still doesn’t erase the blood on their hands or the ghosts that follow them, as you well saw. And, I’m sure, felt.”

  Dragging the last word out, now there was no denying who was behind the assault of all those memories.

  “All right, let’s wrap up this tango for two. Who killed you and the other girl?”

  “What girl?” His voice took on a vicious tone, one that bordered on dangerous.

  “I didn’t catch her name. Another necromancer swooped in and stole her away before I could speak to her. But she was another Curse Breaker like you, found the same way. Dead, naked, and do I need to repeat the fact that she was a Curse Breaker?”

  “Cassidy.” He whispered her name like a secret, and the power around him expanded and took on a wrathful air.

  So, definitely a mage, which was odd. A lot of witches and mages didn’t form curses on each other because they were usually too heavily guarded.

  “That fool. I told her not to do anything rash.”

  I scrunched up my face, confused. “Mind explaining?”

  “She’s my—was my—wife. It’s never a good idea when two Curse Breakers pair up,” he mused, almost to himself. “Better for all of us if we maintain distance from one another.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Bedside manner and I were not friends, by any stretch of the imagination, but after getting Cassidy torn away from me so quickly, I needed to act fast.

  “Why should I help you?”

  “Don’t you want justice?”

  A malicious glimmer entered his ghostly gaze. “No, I want revenge. And I can gather enough power on my own to procure it for myself,” he declared, his eyes burning with the magic that followed him into death.

  Most mages or magic users only had a limited supply of magic left when they died. I remembered hearing of one witch who passed in our town when I was a child. With the last remaining power she had, she used it to bloom a flower for her daughter. The flower lasted for only the time she remained on this plane. She crossed over and so did her flower. But it was a comforting gesture, one that made her daughter smile.

  The power he held was different, so very different. It prickled over my skin, and my runes started to burn away, which wasn’t a good sign because they were there for my protection.

  “You need to calm down.” My gaze dropped to the runes on the floor again. The acrid smell of smoke rose up, and I crinkled my nose. Shit. A certain neighbor of mine would smell it eventually and come to investigate. Then again, the fact that Willow hadn’t even come out to check on the commotion worried me.

  “Calm down? After I died, and you summoned me here to the belly of the beast? I think not, little necromancer.”

  Shit.

  His pow
er grew more stifling, overwhelming the small space as the pressure built.

  Yeah, I done fucked up this time.

  Whispering ineffectual words under my breath, I worked on undoing my runes and banishing him before he could burn them all off. It meant the ghost would be trapped in here until I could banish him for good because of the wards and crystals I’d put up around the house. Muttering the Latin words wasn’t necessary to get rid of him, but it offered a modicum of comfort.

  A knock on the door stopped me mid-sentence, but my ghost friend smiled gleefully.

  “If it’s your werewolf, by all means, invite him in.”

  “Not going to happen. Thanks, though.”

  I backed away, glaring at him and pointing two of my fingers at my eyes then back at him, so he knew I was watching him. He still gathered his magic but slowed it considerably.

  “Who is it?” I called whimsically.

  “Rowan, open this fucking door.”

  “Nah.”

  “Nah?” Indigo growled in response.

  I opened the door a crack, holding tightly to the knob and peeking my head around. “I’m...indecent.”

  “When has that ever stopped you?” he scoffed.

  I opened my mouth to answer and shut it, trying to think of something he couldn’t refute. “I’m having…feminine issues.”

  “Feminine issues?”

  “Yes.”

  “Open the door.”

  “No, Hodor’s name was actually from the phrase, ‘hold the door,’ but you’re getting closer. Proud of you, bye.”

  I tried to shut the door, but Indigo moved way too fast and wedged himself inside the door. My ghost friend was cackling behind me. Indigo wouldn’t be able to see him, but he would be able to smell and see the runes. Not to mention probably sense the mage’s magic.

  “Rowan, let me in.”

  Something about those words, coupled with the knowledge of how everyone seemed to be attacking him lately, and I couldn’t resist. I released my hold on the door, even though I knew he could have ripped it away from me any time he wanted.