by Casey Lane
Her smug grin pushed me, and I twisted, breaking the forearm of the guard who held me. As he dropped, groaning in pain, I sent the heel of my hand into the face of the guard restraining Oliver, knocking him unconscious with a single blow.
With Oliver free to shield me, I turned to Anastasia.
“You’ll have to do better if you want to impress me,” she said.
Her guards should’ve picked up on the blatant disregard for their lives, but if they did, they didn’t show it. Rushing at me blindly, the first fell onto Oliver’s blade before he’d even had a chance. The others followed suit.
Why are they just running at us? It didn’t make sense.
She laughed gleefully as they continued to rush, one by one, to their inevitable, senseless deaths, and then it occurred to me.
“Stop!” I yelled to Oliver, advancing on the next one to disable him before Oliver could strike.
“What are you doing, Johanna?” he shouted, trying to protect me.
Meanwhile, Anastasia continued forcing them towards us. Her dark gifts truly knew no bounds.
“She’s controlling them, Oli. They aren’t even fighting. You can’t kill them!”
I kicked one to the side and disarmed the next with a well-placed kick to the hip. He doubled over, gripping the seat to his right with a grunt, and I brought my hand down on the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.
How many could she fit on this plane anyway? As the ninth one charged, I realised that we’d come to the end of her list of attackers, leaving her open. I only had one chance, and I was taking it.
“What are you doing, Jo?” Oliver yelled, as I moved on Anastasia. She faced me with a sneering grin.
“Finishing this!” I hissed. It was now or never.
I merged the worlds around us in a flash, but my body wasn’t meant to inhabit more than one while still in my physical form. Her beautiful mask turned black as the real creature before me took its place. Her pathways were so clogged it was a wonder she wasn’t already dead.
“Big words from such a little girl,” she said. Physically, she was taller than me.
The bigger you are the harder you fall.
“You talk a lot,” I said.
She didn’t seem to mind me drawing near, or notice when I focused my energy on her, trying to smother the darkness like a fire without air. Her black, soulless eyes met mine as she lunged for my stomach. I leapt back in the confined space of the aisle; her sharp nails raked at the space I’d left.
She jerked to the side with a shriek of rage. “You little bitch! How dare you—”
I brought my hand down towards her temple, narrowly missing and instead hitting the carotid artery, her energy pathway for vishuddha, also known as communication, and a pressure point I hadn’t meant to open. Her lips parted, eyes widening in horror as I stepped forward. I was close enough. Allowing the full force of the other world to take me over, I prepared to destroy her.
“Johanna, now!”
“Oliver, cease this madness at once!” his father roared, the fear masked as rage in the man’s voice interrupting our battle.
The interruption drew my attention, halting my attack.
When I turned back to Anastasia, her eyes were closed, but she was rising again. Slowly, so meticulous in her movements it was almost inhuman—if such a word could even apply to Supernaturals. The way she clenched and unclenched her hands seemed odd, almost like she was having trouble using them, but that couldn’t be right.
Oliver’s head snapped around as a guard hit him on the back of the head with the hilt of a dagger. I lunged to break his fall, the movement leaving me open, costing me a blow to the side of the head. My ears rang, my vision blurred as I fought to steady myself.
The heads of each family on the council filed onto the jet behind me as Anastasia focused, recovering her stance, and finally said, “You see, gentlemen? The wretch has corrupted your own children. This is what happens when you allow dangerous individuals such as Miss Kozak to run amok.”
Oliver was hauled to his feet, groaning as he winced against the pain in his head. His father gripped the collar of his jacket, pulling him away from the guard, and pushed him through the door.
I looked at my friends, knives at their throats, then at Anastasia. Her eyes were colder than the peak of the Himalayas, the look in them equally as treacherous.
I’d failed. Again.
“Get them out of my sight,” she spat, striding towards me.
My heart pounded as my team was manhandled from the jet with knives at their backs.
“You!” she snarled as I was roughly pushed towards the door. “One wrong move, and they die.”
My heart slowed to a steady crawl, devastated by the brief glimpse of freedom I’d thought was mine. I should’ve known better than to hope. Even the dragon couldn’t change some things, unless the Mother willed it.
Chapter Eleven
I’d taken up my usual position on the bench, huddled in the corner. At least they’d put us all in here together. I think the solitude would’ve been worse for them—Scarlett in particular. She was the eldest of the twins, the House Graeme firstborn, which didn’t bode well for her parents. Anastasia was a lot of things; a fool wasn’t one of them.
In one corner sat Constantine, my dear friend who was a half-breed from House Berg. His parents had loved him so much that they’d refused to make him a ward and play this game of pawns. I wished the same were true of twelve-year-old Camilla, who sat next to him. Her father was disgusted by her existence and would’ve put an end to it had the three-faced goddess not intervened. She was one of the divine, though; with her youth, she embodied the Maiden, who looked to the future. Her cloudy eyes made her physically blind, but she saw more than anyone. Myself included. Out of everyone here, she was the most at ease. I had my suspicions about what that meant.
In the other corner sat Scarlett, curled into Seb’s shoulder as he murmured reassurances. They sat so close together, the only way to tell them apart was her long blond hair and Liam sitting on the other side of her. The young sound manipulator was humming a melancholy tune with a familiar Irish lilt to the melody. His family had been around nearly as long as my own, and the stories they told were passed down through their songs. He was gifted with sound, the ability to control it, and often used it to remind us of happier times. His low voice was hypnotic in the cold silence of the cell. I kept my eyes fixed on the tiles above the door, but let his unrestrained music calm me as it did her. The songs he carried with him, much like his red hair, always made me think of the dragon. That maybe, despite our blood, we were somehow all connected.
Donte’s rhythmic footsteps caught my ear as he paced back and forth. A lock of black hair had fallen over his brow as he looked down into his hands, where he played with a small beam of light. It bent, fragmenting into a shower of rainbows on the tile floor. His deft manipulation was another gift that piqued my curiosity. The colours he could create were something out of this world, quite literally, from the point of view of someone who could walk in other realms.
Oliver cleared his throat, and my eyes flicked to him. He hadn’t lifted his head for the last hour as he leaned against the wall on the other side of the room. His face was a mess. His father had done a convincing job of being infuriated. One side of his face was grazed from forehead to jawline where he’d skidded over the hard floor. His lip was swollen, and nose crusted with dried blood. I suspected he felt better than he looked. First Jayma, and now…
“You look like you’ve had better days,” I whispered dryly, tears welling in my eyes at the sight of him.
It’s not the time for tears, Johanna. Be strong. For Jayma.
“Quite,” he said, lips twitching into his familiar, trademark smirk. “You’d think he was pissed off.”
Donte huffed a small laugh through his nose, closing his hand around the beam of light, dispersing it back to its natural form in an instant. “It could’ve been worse, my friend.”
“Indeed…”
Oli remarked, cocking a brow. “Much worse.”
“How could this be worse?” Scarlett snapped, pulling away from her brother. “This is a sodding disaster!”
Seb murmured something, and she leapt to her feet. “No, Sebastian! We’re all stuffed, and he’s draped against that wall, smirking, and not giving a shit!” While she was German by descent, the amount of time she’d spent in London over the past few years had given her an odd accent. Seb’s, by comparison, was almost indistinguishable from ours by this point—must’ve been all the time he’d spent at the bloody brothel last year.
“Well, if she’s using my Sunday name, she must be mad,” Seb said.
She kicked his feet in frustration, while Liam continued humming his sad tune.
Donte braved a chuckle, falling silent as she hit him with an ice-cold stare.
“You’re quiet,” she spat, whirling on me. “What the hell was that? You had her! You’ve gone soft, Jo.”
I flinched at her accusation. I hadn’t gone soft, but I couldn’t explain. She wasn’t interested in hearing my excuses. Emotions were running high, however much they should’ve been left on the tarmac of the landing strip.
“I know…” I said, lowering my eyes. It was the only thing I could say.
Oliver cut in. “Enough. She’s been through enough. You volunteered for this, Scarlett. Don’t blame her because it’s gone tits up.” He pushed off the wall and strode to me, taking a seat at my side. “It’s not your fault, Jo.”
“No? Whose fault is it, then?” she yelled, her shrill voice ringing almost painfully around the small room. “Milla came because she said had a vision that she was needed here. Do you know what will happen if they bloody kill her? Of all the foolish…” She continued ranting, but I no longer had it in me to listen. At this rate, she would be a loon by sunrise.
I couldn’t muster the strength to argue the point. I was already fully aware of my failings, and she was right, of course. She was right.
“Sit down, Scar.” Seb sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Yes. Sit. None of us were forced to come. You knew the risk.” Donte looked at me as he spoke to Scarlett, his eyes soft and sad—a direct contrast to the curt tone he used with our contemptuous blond friend. “I will not hear you speak to her with such venom. She has risked her life for us too many times. Has she once pointed the finger of blame when it was you who made a mistake?”
“I’ve never…” Scarlett blustered, looking to her brother for support.
He gave a subtle shake of his head and looked away.
“Forget about it. We’re here now,” I said in a brittle voice.
Seb turned to me, his blue eyes bright and encouraging as they searched mine. “Jo, please don’t cry. We could make it out yet…”
I snorted. “I’m not crying. And as much as I admire your optimism, Seb, I don’t think we’re getting out of this one. Scarlett’s right. This is my fault. I’m sorry.”
Oliver pulled me into his arms, wincing at a pain in his shoulder. He glared up at her until she sat down.
“Oli, stop it,” I whispered into his chest. “She’s entitled to be upset.”
“She’s out of order,” he said, loud enough for her to hear.
She frowned and looked away but said no more. In some ways, I admired her outspoken attitude, her passion and brazen confidence. It was familiar now, so like Jayma’s in its way. I’d failed her, just as I’d failed Jayma. Another friend lost. More red in my ledger. Every single one of them would die at the hands of a Fortescue because I’d hesitated.
“Your clock still ticks, Johanna. You know your purpose,” Milla said. Her voice was quiet but calm, with a subtle authority I didn’t have the strength for.
My heart picked up, letting that one glimmer of hope fill me. The rest of the room caught their breath. I was the one on trial for this little stunt, and their fate was linked directly to mine. If I survived, so did they.
“And your own, Milla? Has the Maiden shown you that?” I asked, knowing the answer before she gave it.
A wry smile crossed her lips, those opaque eyes shifting like the clouds of a coming storm. “You know it’s not her way. It’s impossible for me to search my own future. I see only what she shows me, until the Mother guides my path.” Her answer, vague and cryptic as always, offered no information. I let it slide.
“What does that bloody mean?” Scarlett snapped in frustration.
“It means,” I sighed, “our time here isn’t done yet. Your prison break wasn’t for nothing.”
Instead of taking some sort of comfort from Milla’s revelation, she only groaned, conking her head on the wall.
Oliver’s arms stiffened around me. “Do you really believe that, Jo? Really?”
I shrugged out of his embrace and moved to stand. Jitters were making their way up my spine. “If Milla saw it then I trust in it. The Mother has more in store for us yet.” I thought for a moment, processing the new information. “You asked me about my friend? The one in low places,” I hinted to him. I wasn’t sure if everyone knew who Alec was, and I wasn’t going to blow his identity without good reason. Anastasia was bound to keep closer tabs on him than most.
“Yes, of course. What does he have to do with this, though?” Oliver asked, wrinkling his forehead as he drew his brows together.
“Who’s she talking about, Oliver?” Scarlett said, confirming my hunch.
“A guard from her cell. The one who helped us,” he said quickly, the lie slipping so smoothly from his lips I almost believed it myself. I loved him dearly, but the boy was a politician through and through.
“Oh, and what did your ‘friend’ have to say that’s so important?” she asked, bitter as the sauerkraut she was so fond of.
“He gave me the name of a girl from America who could turn the tides. The first telekinetic in a millennium,” I said. My heart raced with a thunderous gallop. I wiped my slick hands over the hem of my linen shirt.
“The Foster girl?” Oliver asked.
I nodded.
While they were confused now, once I told them what I’d seen that night, it would all make sense. Jayma wouldn’t have died for nothing.
“That’s hardly news, Johanna. We’ve been hearing whispers for months,” Donte said kindly.
“That’s an understatement. Anastasia hasn’t shut up about her ever since that blasted dinner party they had. I’ll give you that they look more alike than is comfortable—”
“That’s my point, Scarlett,” I said smugly.
She stared at me, daft as a gnome on incense. “I hardly see how that matters—”
“Let her talk,” Oliver said sharply, sensing that there was more to this than an errand boy’s gossip.
“That’s what I’m trying to say, Scarlett. This girl…Anastasia herself said that she’s the one thing that could bring them all down. She wants her eliminated.”
They all stared at me open-mouthed—even Liam’s tune came to an abrupt halt—and then they exploded.
“You can’t possibly know that for certain, Johanna—”
“How did you learn this?”
“A guard told you this?”
“Why does it even matter when we’re all going to hang?” Scarlett shouted.
The room fell silent again, until Milla broke the silence with a childlike giggle. “Supernaturals. So pure. So powerful. For all your gifts, somehow you always seem to doubt that which should be impossible. It’s no wonder the goddess cursed you, that the dragon has forsaken you. Even Nyx, in all her darkness, has all but turned her back on the lot of you. Are you so self-absorbed as to think we do not have our own ways? That the Maiden does not bless me with sight, and the dragon Johanna with her gifts?”
Silence.
Their surprise was astonishing. I believed, Constantine believed, but somehow our friends, who’d seen it with their own eyes, couldn’t believe in something that wasn’t inherently Supernatural.
“We will live, and we will find the F
oster girl. Even if you can’t have faith in me, have faith in that. Camilla has seen it. We won’t let Jayma’s death go unanswered,” I said firmly. I looked from one face to the next, searching for a challenge, but all I saw was grim acceptance and mild determination.
“We’ll avenge her. She will have justice,” Oliver said gravely. Our eyes met, a silent pact that we, above anyone else, would ensure it.
“And if we die tomorrow?” Scarlett asked, still sceptical but more panicked than anything.
“There are worse things than death,” I said.
“How do you know?” she breathed, as footsteps carried down the corridor.
Before I could answer, a key turned the lock. My time was up.
Donte smiled over at me as Scarlett and Sebastian moved from behind the door. “Let’s see if you’re right,” he said with a wry smile.
“Trust me,” I whispered to Scarlett.
The door swung open, and Oliver gripped my hand protectively.
“It’s time. You first,” the guard growled, grasping me by the shoulder and dragging me away so fast my hand was ripped from Oliver’s grip.
Flanked by enemies, there was only one way to go.
Up.
Up to face my executioners. The Council.
While the Maiden may have seen it, I had no idea how I was going to get out of this one, even if I’d told Scarlett otherwise. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and for all my assurances, I was in one hell of a hole.
Chapter Twelve
Their voices carried as I approached the doors. My guards exchanged a sideways look before pulling both arms rigid, forcing me to a stop in an empty hallway. I had no plans to attack, but they didn’t know that. Still, whoever’d had the bright idea to keep me in the hallway while the Council debated deserved to be fired.
“Your children are traitors! How do we know you’re not working with them as well?” a particularly sly voice asked pointedly. The Polish accent led me to believe it was House Lis. Bastards.
“Now that’s quite the accusation there, isn’t it, lad? You may want to reconsider who you’re insulting,” another voice said. House Kearney, definitely; I could spot that voice a mile away. Iain Kearney was a broad man, barrel-chested, and nearly seven feet tall. I pitied the man who’d insulted his son.
