by Gina LaManna
“How are you doing?” Belinda called. “Did I get the sizing right?”
“It’s pretty good,” I said, unwilling to admit its perfection. “One second, please. Almost done.”
I’d dressed quickly and used the extra few precious minutes of privacy to tuck my vials into the belt and fasten it underneath the flowing fabric. It still seemed like a mistake they’d left me with my supplies. The two most valuable, the antidote and Long Isle Iced Tea, stayed in the belt, but I had to lighten my load a bit. So, the rest I stashed in my room, just in case. It didn’t make sense that they’d take the vials now when they could’ve done it already. But it wouldn’t hurt to tuck them out of sight.
Once they were hidden, I moved over to the window, glancing behind me to ensure the door was still locked and Belinda remained in the hall. The window, as it turned out, was a pair of French doors that led outside onto a grand balcony. With another check of the door to ensure privacy, I twisted the handles and found them unlocked.
Stepping outside, a thin wave of humidity hit me, as did the constant swirl of movement. A grim sense of satisfaction hung over me as I realized that I had been right. Horrifyingly right.
We were in Wishery.
Somehow, The Faction had turned wish magic against itself, and they’d turned the Wishery Castle into something black and dangerous. Not a star shone through in the sky, nor did a fresh breeze filter through the air. A hot gust of wind blew over me, angsty and claustrophobic.
I continued to the far edge of the balcony and peered down at the ground below. My knuckles clasped hard to the rail as my mind wandered, calculating how far it might be to jump.
“There you are,” Belinda said, stepping behind me onto the patio. “Admiring the view?”
“Something like that,” I said, turning slowly to face her. “What time is it?”
Instead of answering, she clasped her hands in front of her body and smiled broadly. “You look beautiful. I’m so pleased.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s dinner time. Why else would you be dressed like that?”
“I don’t normally wear gowns to dinner.”
“Well, you’ll be dining in his presence.”
“If it’s only just dinner time...” I gestured behind me. “How is it pitch-black already?”
The first signs of nervousness displaced Belinda’s otherwise positive attitude. “Honey, it’s always night in Wishery. Now, that’s enough with the questions. If you’re late, he won’t be pleased.”
“I don’t care.”
“Come along,” she said gently. “Because there is no other alternative.”
“At least you’re not lying anymore,” I said, sounding sharp even to my own ears. “You’re treating me like a guest, but I am most certainly not here voluntarily. I am a prisoner.”
She shifted from one foot to the other in discomfort. “Just give him a chance.”
“I don’t know what spell he’s got you under, but this?” I gestured to the eternal night outside. “Is not natural. It’s black magic, and I know you can feel it. We all can.”
“Miss Locke—”
“Forget it,” I said, taking one last, long glance at the sprawling city limits.
If I squinted hard enough, it was almost as if I could see the pinpricks of stars battling to burst through the swirling black clouds. I knew it was useless, but I focused on those shards of light and wished. I wished just as hard as I could, wished to replace my previous wish.
Opening my eyes, I caught Belinda watching with unabashed curiosity. At my gaze on hers, she startled and cleared her throat. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I said feeling hollow inside. “Take me to him.”
Chapter 27
THE DINING TABLE SAT in a cavernous room lined with antique photographs of unsmiling individuals and images of a beautiful, bright city. Wishery in its glory days, most likely.
Thin gold lining reached every surface, giving the room a hazy, shimmering sort of glow, thanks in part to the flicker of the pillar-style candles on every shelf. The table itself was heavy and thick, covered by a deep red cloth and decorated with only two place settings, one on either end of the long table.
Belinda waited by the door as I studied the décor, the intimate formality to it. She stood next to me, twitching in what looked like excitement, until a faint bell rang in the background, and she turned one last meaningful look on me.
“Give him a chance,” she begged. “Please.”
“Why? I am a prisoner, what don’t you underst...” I stopped, realizing she’d disappeared through the opposite door.
“I apologize for bringing you here like a prisoner.” That now-familiar, gravelly voice spoke from behind me. “If there had been another way to entice you to visit, I would have done so. You seemed disenchanted with the idea of me, however, so I used other measures.”
I hesitated, taking a deep breath before rotating to face him. “You can’t expect me to forgive you for—”
The sight of him cut me off mid-sentence. It was the first I’d ever seen of him. The faceless shadow. The man who made the calla lily in my storeroom bloom and burn, bloom and burn, bloom and burn...in a fiery cycle of life. The man who, without a doubt, shared my genes.
“She kept a secret from both of us,” he murmured, his face and voice softening as our eyes connected. “I can see that you know it, too.”
I merely shook my head and continued to stare. Lucian had dressed in a suit of the finest materials, a blood-red swatch of fabric in his pocket. He wore no tie, kept the top button undone, and looked every bit the distinguished aristocrat.
There was no mistaking his handsomeness, whatever my thoughts on the rest of him. His eyes burned brown, a richness there lined with amusement. Sharp lines formed from the corners of his gaze and the sides of his mouth—laugh lines, or something worse. Something harder, something broken.
“I have waited so long to see you.” He took a step further into the room, squinting at me. “I should’ve know you’d be beautiful; you look just like her.”
A cleverness rested in his gaze, an intelligence that intimidated more than his size or stature. He reached for my chin and took it in his hand, leaning so close I could smell his breath. Sharp and clean, just like the rest of him.
I froze, staring into a reflection just vaguely familiar—a shadow of my own.
“You are her daughter,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. “And mine.”
My reaction was visceral, unconscious, as my hand flew from my side, slapping him across the cheek with enough force to unsettle him. The sharpness rang out in the air, suspended like a bell’s reverberations.
He stepped back, blinking in surprise.
I couldn’t believe what I’d done either. My breath came in heavy waves, bursting from my chest with fury as he rubbed his jaw. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know her.”
“I know her better than you ever did,” he said as an angry red mark in the shape of my hand bloomed on his cheek. “Can you tell me what her laugh sounded like? How the brush of her lips felt against your cheek as she kissed you goodnight? How the starlight flickered like lava in her eyes?”
Disorientation struck once more, and I spiraled to understand. “Why am I here?”
“Sit,” he commanded.
“I want my questions answered,” I growled, my fingers curling into balls. “I’m not a puppet you can jerk around. Answer my questions, let me go, or bind my hands so I don’t slap you again. Do something, but whatever it is, don’t pretend you care anything about me.”
“I’m not pretending anything.” He circled the table with sure footsteps. “I’m acknowledging we’re related. Now, sit.”
I hesitated, waiting until he reached the opposite end of the table. When his fingers gripped the edge of the chair, his gaze slipped from me, and that’s when I made my move.
Darting for the door, I ducked the first spell that he murmured and blocked t
he second. I reached the doorway and slipped through. I hadn’t had time to formulate a plan; all I knew was that I wouldn’t be controlled. I wouldn’t be treated like a puppet, wouldn’t be—
My limbs froze. My body jerked once, and then my memory began to scramble, my thoughts coming more slowly, like being pulled through molasses. As my head fogged and my speech clouded, I began to lose track of everything. Why had I run in the first place? I only needed to sit down, and dinner would be served.
The voice was polite, commanding.
So, I sat.
By the time the fog lifted, a full meal rested on the table, and I perched daintily on the edge of my chair. I shook my head, fighting off the disorientation. I retraced my steps, struggling to figure out how I’d ended up with a fork in my hand.
With shaking fingers, I rested the fork on the table, my stomach roiling. A round of nausea overtook me, and I ducked under the table, breathing heavily until the threat of losing what little I’d eaten before arriving in Wishery had passed.
“Apologies for that,” Lucian said, once I pulled my head back above the table. “But isn’t this much nicer? We’re two civilized individuals, and I believe we should act as such.”
My stomach had cramped, but my brain had been working at double speed. I recognized this feeling, the sensation, the signs. I’d felt this before, heard those murmurs in my own head—obeyed someone while disagreeing with my very own voice of reason.
“Civilized?” I spat the question. “Since when is using blood magic on another person civilized?”
“You’re my daughter, and you were being unreasonable. I need you to listen, to hear my point of view.” He chewed slowly, unruffled by his use of an illegal magic against his own flesh. “Please, don’t try to escape. It’s not only impossible, it is disappointingly rude.”
“We’re far beyond manners here.”
“You’re my daughter, and you will—”
“I’m not your daughter,” I snarled. “You might technically be my father, but that’s where it ends. On a technicality. I am many things, but I’d prefer to be alone than to be related to you.”
“There are others who know.” He tilted his head to one side. “Who did your mother tell? Was it Hettie? They always were close.”
My blood boiled, my fingers clenching the knife closer and closer as I sliced through my steak. I wasn’t hungry, but if I didn’t do something, I’d lose control. Losing control was not the answer; he was stronger and more knowledgeable in this place. He knew its spells and defenses, and more importantly, he would use blood magic against me again.
To escape, I’d need cleverness, strategy, and a lot of luck on my side. Until I had a plan, I forced myself to appear calm. The more I learned from him and about him, the more I could use against him.
“It doesn’t work like that,” he murmured, almost as if reading my mind. “It is impossible to escape. Surely you’ve already pieced together a simple fact: nobody is leaving this city until I say so.”
“This city doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the people of Wishery.”
“It did, until they donated it to our cause.”
“Donated.” I snorted. “Right.”
“They came around at the end and evacuated. It’s a beautiful place and perfect for our needs. I’m just pleased they could see my side of things.”
“Oh, does it please you,” I drawled, “to kick hundreds of people out of their homes?”
“I didn’t—”
“Does it please you to kidnap islanders and take them from their families and friends?”
“Lily—”
“Does it please you to know your own daughter hates the idea of—”
“Silence.” The volume of his command wasn’t loud, but the implications resounded as if he’d roared. His eyes blazed in fury, and the underlying hint of danger behind his eyes bled into the room. “I will not be questioned in my own home. If you refuse to work with me, I will have no use for you any longer.”
He could get rid of me with the snap of a finger; I had no doubt. I couldn’t let that happen. Not before I found Poppy, Peter, Manuel, and the rest of the islanders. I needed to watch my tongue. If not for me, for them.
“I’m sorry,” I said, gritting out the apology.
“Very good,” he said. “I know you don’t mean it, but at the very least you’re smart enough to understand.”
I looked to my food, the steak covered with onions and mushrooms, the dainty salad off to the side, and I pushed some of it around. Blood ran like lava through my veins, hungry for nothing except freedom.
“Don’t worry. You’ll come around.” His voice returned to a conversational tone. “Please try your steak. It really is delicious.”
I forced myself to take a bite, if for no reason but strength. I had no clue when I would eat again. The memory of the calla lily came back in a rush, the burst of sweetness dispelling any appetite I’d pretended to have. “Why did you kidnap me?”
“You wouldn’t have talked to me otherwise.”
“If you’d approached me during daylight without threatening me, I would’ve listened.” I surprised myself with my answer. “Don’t you think I’d want to know my father?”
He chewed, appearing at a loss for words. “I had no idea you existed until recently. If I had, things might be...”
“Different?” I gestured to the castle around us. “How? Have you always been like this, or—”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “One does not choose a life of vengeance, they’re forced into it. You’ll understand someday.”
“Vengeance?” I set my fork down, genuinely intrigued. “This is about vengeance?”
He, too, set his fork down and matched my gaze. “Do you know who we are?”
“The Faction? Yes.”
“Do you know why we exist?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Because you believe that paranormals and humans can’t co-exist, and you’d prefer to eradicate the humans instead of figuring out ways to cohabitate peacefully.”
“Harsh.”
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re not correct.”
“Then explain to me where I’ve misunderstood.”
“It’s more complicated than that.” He twirled his fork before returning it to his napkin. “It’s not that I dislike humans...or, at least, the idea of them.”
I made noise in my throat but refrained from commenting.
“I dislike the way they act. They persecute our kind; for years they’ve driven us into hiding.”
“Maybe some, but not all. Not all humans are bad, just like not all paranormals are good.”
“Look at us.” He gave a wry smile and raised a hand, circling his wrist to gesture the world around us. “We hide on islands, in magicked buildings forced to blend into human structures. We stay within our boundaries and go to great lengths to stay hidden. It wasn’t always like this.”
“I was raised a human. I’ve lived as a human more of my life than I haven’t. Not all of them are interested in persecuting paranormals.”
“And since you’ve moved to The Isle, how many of your friends from your human days have you talked to?”
I didn’t respond—couldn’t. I’d never stopped to think. Once I’d found my family, everything else—my entire life from the mainland had faded away.
“You’re kind and funny, Lily. So why haven’t you kept up with your friends? Or was it that you didn’t actually have any?”
“You don’t know me.”
“No, but I knew your mother, and I imagine you’re a lot like her. You have her spirit, that’s for certain.”
I inhaled a breath, hating that I was torn between two terrible options. I wanted to learn more about her from this man, but I was terrified to ask. Even more frightening: how had my mother fallen for someone like him?
“I wasn’t like this back then.” He answered my unvoiced question. “You asked how I got to be here, and that, Lily, is what I will explain
.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I said, but it was a lie.
I needed to know, and he understood that as well as I did.
“You were raised under a lie, my daughter, and you want to know why. And more than your own past, you want to know how your mother—a woman much like yourself—could fall in love with a monster like me.”
I could only sit in silence.
“Finally, we agree.” He sat back, taking a few deep breaths. “When I met Delilah, it was an instantaneous sort of love. A whirlwind summer, a magical period in both of our lives. We spent every possible second together, and I only left once school beckoned in the fall. I swore I’d return for her.”
“But you didn’t. The fire...”
“I was chosen.”
“She came to see you the night of the fire.”
His eyes darkened. “Lies.”
“She had found out she was pregnant, and she traveled to Cretan to tell you, to see if you’d come back and start a life with her on The Isle.”
A quiet rage simmered, bubbling up, the pressure rising. If I said one wrong word, he might very well lose control.
“She arrived to find all evidence pointing to your death. So, she returned to the island and began to set up a life for herself there, surrounded by her family.”
He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the silverware, cracking a plate. A piece of glassware tipped off-balance, and then shattered against the floor.
It was one move, a single motion, but it said everything. I’d drained him of all expression, all control. His emotions—every last one—came out with that punch of his fist. Even the chandelier on the ceiling shuddered with trepidation.
I forced my eyes to meet his gaze. “Then I was born, and she learned her daughter was the next Mixologist. People—paranormals—were after me. Us. We weren’t safe, even on The Isle, so she took steps to protect me.”
“She put an enchantment on you and sent you to the mainland.”
