by Casey Lane
Spirit-me broached the wall of Fortescue mansion. Scaling that would’ve been a bitch. Luckily, this me didn’t have to.
I passed through the wall, less than a ghost but more alive than ever. The rose garden was a remarkable sight at sunset. The skies were painted orange and pink, the roses more vibrant in the evening light. I walked through them. Unseen. Unheard. Sometimes, I preferred it this way—the peace the spirit realm brought. Now wasn’t a time for peace, so I kept going, deeper into the heart of the Fortescue Empire.
The path sloped downward, becoming more unnerving by the second. It was as deadly as it was beautiful. Golems guarded the grounds, leaping from one rock to another as they scanned for unwelcome guests. Their black eyes absorbed any light the sunset cast as the mansion fell into shadow. Night was coming.
Time to pick up the pace.
My physical body was only now approaching the wall.
“What do you see, Jo?” Jayma asked. Jayma Balewa was my best friend, a half-breed like myself, a Witch by calling, and a sister in every way that mattered.
“We can’t go through the garden. We’ll need to scale the roof,” I said. Both sets of my eyes glanced skyward, to the deadly spires. Those were going to be a problem.
“Have you reached the daises?” she asked softly.
“Not yet, but I’m getting close,” I whispered back. You could never be too careful. Even the statues had eyes and ears.
My spirit eyes focused on the sloping grounds once more, scanning the cobblestone pathways that were starting to converge. Somehow, even the roses looked treacherous here, more thorn than flower. The croak of a venommouth caught my attention. Blasted things were two feet tall and three wide. It had the body of a frog and skin black like charred flesh, making me shiver. Its opaque eyes locked on a gnome not five feet away. Its next meal wasn’t prepared when it pounced, opening its foot-wide jaws to reveal two rows of sharp teeth. I cringed as it ate the unsuspecting creature whole. Gnomes were nasty little bastards, but it wasn’t the dragon’s way to revel in death. Particularly at the hands of a carnivorous, acid-spitting demon toad.
I kept walking, searching the skyline of the wall for my physical body. We were all invisible, thanks to the charms my best friend had created, but the spirit realm allowed me to make out our energies as Jayma’s head popped up over the wall. We were going to need to ascend quickly if we wanted to get there in time. The meeting should be starting soon.
As if on cue, a cold laugh rang through the air, guiding me the rest of the way to the daises. In the deepest part of the garden, right off from the towering mansion, an ancient meeting place was being used…to host a party.
The cobblestone stopped abruptly, turning to black marble steps, streaked with gold. Rising another four feet, the platform itself was probably a good forty feet wide. Black pillars rose into the sky, and a roof of sorts protected the daises from the elements. Inside, a round table overflowed with food and drink. I zeroed in on the dark red wine glasses and the young woman with a string of bite marks along her body. Her red-tinted eyes flashed open, rolling back in her head when one of them bit her again, giving her the distinct look of a crack whore. The skimpy dress they had her done up in barely covered her. She was one of the Made. Which meant that the three gentlemen with dark gazes were the Born. They were the Vampires of legend. As beautiful as the humans imagined. As deadly as the rest of the world knew. They weren’t the only ones here, though, and the final, remaining figure was more terrifying than the first four.
Anastasia Fortescue took a seat the moment the sun slipped below the horizon, casting the daises into deep shadow. Jayma was right; something was going on here.
I quickly looked at the roof, trying to find any way for them to get close enough, and with them, the device that would trap Anastasia. Well, potion. Just a little something Jayma had concocted, which had taken her the better part of the last year. Even for a Witch, she was rather gifted in potions and amulets, but this one was difficult because it dabbled in spirit magic, something Jayma didn’t have. Essentially, the potion incapacitated those it saw as unworthy. Trapping them in the limbo of their minds, cutting them off from the real world. Only the magic of my people could force a consciousness into the spiritual realm. It would use my power to keep them there, and—in the end—my morals to define who was worthy. Even with the dragon lighting my way, it was a dangerous move—treacherous to the Council, and downright murderous to the Court. If all went well, Anastasia would be stuck. She could be brought to trial, and Aldric Fortescue forced to name a new heir, from another house. That was the idea anyway, provided it worked...
I can do this. For the half-breeds. For Xun. For my parents. It’s time for the Fortescues to pay.
I ascended the pillars and swung my spiritual body onto the roof. Jayma’s yellow aura and my physical self were scaling the final spire, the others dragging behind. My friends. My family. I soared through the air, stepping back into my body just before the daises came into view. The swirling colours of their auras fell away as my vision restored itself. My physical body was no longer only seeing in black and white as my spirit-self returned, bringing colour vision back with it.
“We need to get on top of the daises before you release it,” I projected to Jayma.
Her yellow feline eyes smiled.
I leaped from one roof to the next, silent as the stone. Unseen. Unheard. Jayma followed, and the rest of our group after her. Then…we waited.
“I understand that you want the girl out of the way. We’ll take care of it, but you have still not delivered on your part of the bargain, my dear.” His voice was ancient and yet ageless. A person who’d lived—as much as a Vampire could live, anyway—and seen things one should never see.
“I will do as I promised, but there are still things to be done. Loose ends to tie up. You will have your queen, and I will have my empire, but first I want the girl,” Anastasia said darkly.
I shot Jayma a what the hell look, which she promptly returned. We’d come for information, for proof of treason, for the heir to the Supernatural Empire. Oliver’s source had told him the Fortescue heir was holding a meeting we wouldn’t want to miss, but a girl? This was all over a bloody, stinking girl? Jayma held her hand up to still me, as if she could sense my unease.
“The girl. The girl. What is she to you, young one? Why do you seek out a commoner? She is one person among many, so what makes her so special?” the old Vampire asked, and a soft moan came from the blood whore’s lips. They had to be feeding on the Made again. Or fucking her. You never knew with them, but it wasn’t like she was suffering—or would want it any other way. She’d probably been sired by one of those bastards.
“Special? Oh please, Ivan. She poses a threat to my rule, our rule, and I simply want it taken care of before we get ahead of ourselves,” she said in an overly flirty voice.
Our rule? How rich.
“I see,” he murmured. There was a shuffling of chairs, and we crouched closer to the spire. It didn’t help that whatever stone they used on these was as slick as rain after a drought.
Jayma pulled the potion from her coat pocket. Her gaze never wavered as she looked to me for confirmation. While she may have led the rebellion, I was the wraith. I was the one who saw what no other could. My mouth felt dry, even as I nodded once.
Please don’t let me regret this.
This was it. Trap the monsters and force a hearing. Use a truthsayer. Use a shield. Use whomever we damn well needed to push the conviction, and then…I didn’t know. Jayma and Oliver still hadn’t gotten to an agreement on what we would do from there. Maybe this girl Anastasia kept going on about could do something.
Now is not the time. Focus!
“Go,” Jayma said.
We dropped to the ground, facing the table that was…empty.
“Jo, look out—”
She hadn’t even finished the warning before I spun, kicking backwards. My boot connected with something, but whatever that something
was, it was pretty damn determined to hold on. I whirled as they flipped me, landing me on my arse.
“I smell the People of the East on you,” the old Vamp snarled. Ivan, she’d said. As in Ivan the Cruel? I filed that information away for later as the veins in his eyes darkened to black and he snapped his fangs in my direction.
“Then you understand what you’re getting yourself into,” I said.
He moved to backhand me, but I was just as fast. I ducked under his arm and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and myself while he was still swinging. It happened so fast that one second, we were standing, and the next, he was bowing to the battle that now raged before him, his arm cocked so far back it would come off if I put any more force into it. They always underestimated me, never realizing that this wasn’t my first brawl with a Vamp.
“You’re quick, little one, I will give you that. Strong blood must run in those veins,” he mused.
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” I grunted.
He rolled forward, propelling me with him. Around us, bodies were dropping right and left. Time for plan B.
“You do smell delicious…” he said, pinning me to the ground as he trailed his lips along my neck. While he may have looked young and hot, even if I’d played for that team, he was old as shit.
“Not today, you filthy, leeching wanker.” The power of both the dragon and the Mother surged inside me, and one hit to his solar plexus had him flying.
I turned in time to see Jayma break the vial on Anastasia Fortescue’s face. A scream ripped through the air, as both she and I collapsed. My vision flashed between shades of grey and saturated colour. Bodies littered the ground around us. Blood painted my world.
“Jayma,” I choked out. The wind was sucked from my lungs as I rapidly shifted between both realms. Anastasia let out another bloodcurdling screech, her form growing blacker by the moment.
What the hell was that?
“Shh, it’s okay. Will you promise me something?” Jayma asked. The black mass forming behind her stood, and the screaming stopped. The pain in my chest eased enough for me to glance at her, to warn her. But, how do you warn someone who sees it coming?
“Jayma,” I breathed, hauling myself to my knees. It was my only warning and, apparently, my goodbye.
She didn’t turn towards the death she’d known was waiting for her, and I was too stunned to process it until it was too late. Metal streaked across my vision, and a flood of scarlet ran down her chest. I screamed her name, lurching forward. The only sound was a thick, gurgling noise as she gasped, drowning in her own blood while I scrambled for a way to save her. She reached her shaky hand to my cheek, eyes saying goodbye until the light faded from them entirely.
The alarm sounded as footsteps ran towards us. I would’ve been a fool to hope it was the rebellion, but hope I did. I should’ve fought. I should’ve slain Anastasia Fortescue right then and there. Instead, I sat where I was and used my last moments to reach out to Jayma in the spirit realm. I had no doubt Anastasia would kill me this time.
“I love you, Jo. Take care of Oli for me. Finish what we started,” she said.
The moment was fleeting, but I wanted to make it last. “Don’t leave, Jayma. Please, don’t leave me,” I called, but her voice was already beginning to fade. The dragon had her now, and even I couldn’t keep her when the dragon called. The Mother would guide her.
“I will never leave you, Jo. This was my destiny. Now it’s time for you to fulfil yours.”
Those were the last words she ever said to me. I stared up into the hostile faces of the Council guards, but it was Anastasia Fortescue who spoke.
“Johanna Kozak,” she purred with smug delight. “Oh, how the mighty House Kozak has fallen. The apple never lands far from the tree.” Her biting, caustic tone was my undoing.
“I will kill you, Council Member. Sleep with one eye open.” It wasn’t the wisest thing I’d ever done, but in my grief over Jayma, a new monster had emerged. One of my own making.
“Guards, arrest her! For the murder of that girl,” she drawled, refusing to acknowledge my threat. Her finger never wavered as she pointed to Jayma, dead in my arms.
It wasn’t the first time a loss had rendered me useless, but as they pried our bodies apart, I swore to myself it would be the last. Our cause would not die with her.
Or with me.
Chapter One
The day of reckoning had come.
I was going to die, for a crime I didn’t commit.
The guards outside my cell were as silent as my tomb, because they knew the truth. Everyone did. From the moment she’d seen my face, her heart had blackened with rage over my survival.
With my knees pulled up beneath my chin, I huddled in the corner. Four white walls and the steel bench beneath me were all I’d been afforded these last three days. The room was cold. Clinical. The smell of bleach from the basic, steel toilet in the corner of the room burned my nostrils, adding to the nausea that churned my stomach. Stark white tiles covered the walls and floor, and the dim light from a single, caged lightbulb reflected off the matte surface. There were no windows. The only way out was the way I’d come in, through the heavy steel door I assumed would be warded against my kind and our powers. Well…most of my kind. The People of the East had powers of their own, forgotten by the monsters that now ruled this world. Supernaturals.
What they didn’t realise was that even though I could’ve escaped, I wouldn’t. My days were numbered, and, by the dragon, my guilt was more of a prison than this sterile box.
How long will they keep me alive?
A door opened somewhere nearby, and footsteps, echoing along the corridor outside, came to a sudden halt not far from my cell. Keys jangled, scraping in a lock before snapping it open with a resounding click. There was a muttered command, followed by shuffling. The solid door creaked shut and the sound retreated. With a shaky breath, I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts to wander. They immediately went to Jayma.
Five years ago…
* * *
I’d become accustomed to my own company during the months I’d spent travelling. Over the many weeks I was in hiding, aboard ships and freight trains, I’d found comfort in my solitude. Having learned to become invisible, I could pass unnoticed in a crowd, my slight frame and downcast eyes rendering me unthreatening and unworthy of the attention of passing strangers. That was what kept me safe. Unseen. Unheard. Despite this ability to blend in and hide in plain sight, I still sought out the black markets. I craved the feeling of belonging, however dangerous and unrealistic the prospect of re-joining a community was. So, I lingered in the shadows as people went about their business.
A small boy skulked between two stalls. Starvation was a look I knew, thanks to the hand life had dealt me. The boy knocked into a woman carrying a heavy basket, mumbling an apology before stepping away. As she spun to scold him, her basket smashed into the teetering, precariously stacked fruit pile, spilling it onto the rain-washed cobbles.
The stallholder barked a curse, hurrying to gather the fallen food as the woman became flustered and tried to explain about the boy. Others bent to aid the stallholder, upsetting the flow of foot traffic, the tangle of bodies adding confusion to the scene as it played out before my eyes. The boy emerged from the opposite side of the stall, clutching a few items to his chest as he tried to scramble away.
“You there, stop!” the stallholder shouted.
A burly man with a thick, red beard hauled the boy back to the stall. Recognising the boy and his stolen goods, the stallholder pulled something small and glinting from his pocket as he approached the two.
I knew what would happen next. I’d seen it before.
Not this time.
I sprang from the shadows, crossing the distance in three strides, my elbow connecting with the stallholder’s temple. He staggered sideways into his stall, trying to evade me. What he didn’t realise was that I don’t like bullies, particularly the kind who would gut a starving kid for stea
ling a piece of fruit.
I gripped his wrist and twisted, splintering his bones. His fingers splayed, forcing him to drop the weapon. He sank to the ground, cradling his damaged wrist and groaning. After bouncing the hilt of the blade on the front of my boot, I flicked it into the air and caught it in my outstretched hand, whirling on the red-haired brute.
The boy shrank back into his captor when my eyes flashed with righteous fury. The crimson-haired Supernatural pulled his lips back in a sneer as he faced me down and pushed the boy to the ground. I didn’t break my stare as the boy scrambled to his feet and ran. He didn’t look back, and I didn’t blame him.
Good lad. Keep running until you’re home, safe.
I sensed the stallholder shifting behind me and shot my foot back, connecting with his face. His head hit the cobbles with a satisfying crack, and I listened again for movement, but none came. Realising he’d fallen completely silent, I turned just as the hulking man before me let out a snarl, his features twisting in rage. I cocked my head. Supernaturals were always…volatile. They killed everything they touched. It was what made my job so easy. To be death’s hand was to be the hand of justice.
I threw the blade with pinpoint accuracy, and it quivered in the wooden strut of the stall behind the redheaded giant. I retreated, edging past the dead man, giving myself room to manoeuvre as he followed. The sheer girth of him was twice that of the dead man and five of me. His legs tensed as he zeroed in on my petite frame, and I read the signs of his attack. He lunged as I moved, already swinging my body up and around his, my hand angled beneath his chin. He reached up, grasping for a hold on my clothing, my hair, anything to give him leverage as I slipped through his fingers, making him stumble back. The knife in the post gleamed, and an idea struck as I closed the distance between the ground and myself. Bringing my foot down on the hilt, I used the little piece of metal to catapult myself backwards and land behind him. He turned, startling like a wild deer as I struck him, my aim always true. There was no snapping of bones when the dragon filled me and bade me to do his will. He grunted in pain with the first hit. His eyes glazed over with the second, and his legs became suddenly useless beneath him. I didn’t hit him a third time. I had sensed my mistake, but far too late, as he toppled to the ground. Not one muscle twitched as the light left his eyes, no bruises or proof of our fight, but he was dead nonetheless.
