Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  “So you signed the contract willingly?”

  “Faced with losing everything? Yes. If you’d like to call that willingly.”

  I laughed. The sound was harsh even to my own ears. I pressed my hands to my chest, searching for the stillness I needed to get through this conversation. To get through finding Jasmine, and dealing with my family. “I understand.”

  “I know you do.”

  “But you think that somehow, you and I will be different?”

  “I never wanted to make another. Immortality is a gift and a curse. You will come to hate me. We will spend centuries together, then centuries apart. And then, perhaps, we will find each other once more.”

  He brushed his fingers through my hair again, finishing the movement before I’d seen him begin it.

  “Not Jade Godfrey? Not Jasmine?”

  He smiled. “A part of me wishes that you were asking out of jealousy, except then we would not be well matched.”

  I raised my eyebrow at him.

  He chuckled. “Jade’s magic would not be compatible. And I cannot offer her anything she doesn’t already have.”

  I frowned, not completely sure what he meant. Jade was witch-born, and therefore mortal. But the dowser’s magic also wasn’t any of my business. “And Jasmine?”

  “Jasmine is not powerful enough,” Kett said. “I believe that the magic I have accumulated would consume her own.”

  “But not mine?”

  “It is always a risk. But no, not you. And …” Kett paused thoughtfully. “And if I am wrong, if Jasmine could survive the transformation, she might emerge as only a reflection of what she once was.”

  “That’s … that’s a terrible thought.”

  “Indeed. Even if that were not the case, Jasmine and I would not be able to bear each other for the century she would need to be by my side. She would loathe me, perhaps instantly.”

  “I don’t doubt it. She doesn’t like being underestimated.”

  “Being underestimated is sometimes beneficial.”

  “Oh?” I asked archly. “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “I am not speaking against your cousin, Wisteria,” Kett said coolly. “I am only answering your questions and attempting to have a conversation, since I have been accused of being unclear.”

  I nodded, feeling foolish.

  “Allow me to be completely transparent. If I must have a child, I would wish her to be you.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I will take Jasper. Or perhaps Declan, but I think not.”

  Despite my resolve to be rational, terror flashed through me. I could feel my face crumpling but I couldn’t smooth it, just as I couldn’t deny the onslaught of emotion.

  “What will Jasper do with all that power?” I whispered, clenching my hands around Jasmine’s necklace.

  “He will learn the rules. Or risk the wrath of the executioner.”

  I laughed harshly. “Before or after he kills me?”

  Kett wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, cradling my head and pulling me against him. Almost as though he was trying to anchor me, to offer me shelter.

  But I didn’t know him well enough to accept the gesture. I pushed lightly against his shoulders, nodding to show him I wasn’t going to collapse.

  He let me go.

  I turned away, crossing to the windows and pressing my hand against the glass. I hadn’t realized how hot I was from the dancing. From the effort of controlling my emotions.

  “You are mine now, Wisteria Fairchild,” Kett whispered behind me. “From the moment I chose to not strike your name from the contract. Whatever choice you make, I will protect you. I don’t make promises lightly. You will find that living forever comes with that consequence.”

  I will find … living forever …

  Kettil, elder and executioner of the Conclave, didn’t want my heart. No, he wanted my soul. And while my heart was spoken for twice over, even I had to admit that my soul was in play.

  Kett appeared beside me abruptly. His attention was riveted to something beyond the French-paned door.

  I flinched, realizing belatedly that he’d been careful that evening to not startle me. Considerate. I followed his gaze.

  The vampire in the long mink coat from the hotel and the reconstruction of Jasmine’s hotel room took a single step forward from the deep shadows at the edge of the hedge. A hint of red rolled across her eyes as she took in the ancient vampire standing by my side.

  Relief flooded through me, followed by sharp, almost triumphant anger. Forget the nebulous nature of the pending future. Forget Kett’s offer. Forget the ramifications of not accepting.

  This, I could confront. This, I could control.

  Flipping the stiff lock, I opened the door, stepping out into the chill of the night mindless of my bare feet.

  Question-and-answer period was over. It was time to focus on the present. It was time to find Jasmine.

  Forever could wait.

  Before clearing the door frame, I brushed my fingers against the wards that coated the exterior of the house, whispering into them, “Declan. Ballroom.”

  I wasn’t certain that I could still stir the magic of Fairchild Park to convey a message to Declan, even though doing so had once been child’s play for the three of us. Faced with the vampire standing in the yard and the immediacy of Jasmine’s kidnapping, the dark-tinted past that had made sending secret messages to each other a necessity felt distant. Disconnected.

  Or perhaps being backed by one of the most powerful vampires currently walking the earth made me bold. When it came to being wooed by ultimate power, apparently I was as susceptible as any other Fairchild.

  Stopping at the top of the wooden steps, I curled my toes over the edge. Kett stepped forward on my left.

  The female vampire flicked her eyes my way. Then, dismissing me with a smirk, she returned her gaze to Kett.

  I lifted my right hand, palm facing up. The moonlight caught on the platinum bracelet at my wrist, a shimmer of blue-tinted magic rolling through its tiny houses, fences, and tree charms.

  Kett laughed, low and husky. And I couldn’t help but join him.

  “Do you know what I am, witch?” The vampire’s snarled question was delivered in accented, melodic English.

  I regarded her disdainfully. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I got your note,” she said. “You are she. The Wisteria that the witch evoked before we took her. But now I see you are nothing. Just another witch.”

  More anger rooted deep in my belly at her blatant admittance of having kidnapped Jasmine. “Let’s be clear. All I needed was evidence of your actions, which I have obtained. You kidnapped a Fairchild witch in Fairchild territory. There will be no intervention from the Convocation.” I glanced at Kett. “Or from the Conclave.”

  He nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “There will be no trial,” I continued. “You are mine to do with what I will. You have no hope of prevailing against me on Fairchild lands.”

  The vampire lifted her lip in a snarl, revealing her sharp, inch-long fangs. “What are you waiting for, then?”

  Declan stepped through the doors behind us. “Me,” he said, draping my wool coat over my shoulders from behind.

  The female vampire looked momentarily startled at his appearance. The wards on the house would have hidden him from her, sight and sound.

  I pushed my arms through the sleeves of the coat.

  The vampire tossed her head, and a sudden yowl emanated from the depths of the hedge behind her. The fine hairs on the back of my neck pricked. A matted black cat suddenly appeared, twining itself around the vampire’s ankles. Its white eyes reflected the moonlight.

  Declan muttered a curse that might actually have been some sort of prayer under his breath. His magic churned, bouncing off the exposed skin of my hands and face.

  Kett glanced over to him, grinning. Then he responded in the same language.

  Declan laughed, rel
axing.

  Apparently the ancient vampire spoke multiple languages, including Creole.

  “Care to share?” I asked, keeping my gaze on the female vampire and her creepy feline companion.

  “Zombie cat,” Declan said.

  My stomach squelched. “The cat is dead?”

  The female vampire laughed darkly. Pulling a small white rectangle out of her pocket, she haughtily stepped toward us across the lawn. Her cat followed, twining around the white-painted fence as its master passed one of the rose gardens.

  “Five …” I whispered, enjoying this far more than was professional of me.

  Declan laughed quietly behind me. “Four.”

  “Three … two …”

  The exterior wards that normally operated only as an early warning system combined with those coating the house, creating a secondary barrier that reached out and grabbed the vampire. She shrieked in indignation as the protective magic lifted her off the ground, suspending her in midair like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

  The zombie cat shrieked, tearing back into the shadows underneath the hedge.

  That would wake Rose.

  The female vampire continued to struggle futilely against the magic that held her. The more she moved, the more the wards suppressed her movement.

  A human might drown in that protective magic. But most humans would figure out quickly that they needed to stop fighting its hold.

  Kett stepped forward, drawing the vampire’s attention. She quieted, still suspended in the air before us — and utterly livid.

  “What vampire would be sent to deliver a message to the Fairchild coven, yet be unable to feel the depth of the magic on the house?” Kett’s tone was deceptively even. “Have you no understanding of proper protocol? What else does your maker keep you ignorant of?”

  “Release me at once,” the trapped vampire said, barely able to take the breath that allowed her to speak. “I come bearing a message, and all the protections that affords me.”

  “It’s proper to introduce yourself,” I said. “And to wait for introductions to be offered in return before entering another’s territory.”

  “Cite the name your maker gave you,” Kett said. “And the name of your maker himself, along with any titles or talent you hold exclusively.”

  The female vampire curled her lip at that suggestion, throwing herself ineffectually against the wards once more.

  “Allow me to demonstrate,” Kett said, gesturing toward Declan. “Declan Benoit, extraction specialist, nephew of Rose, member of the Convocation.”

  The female vampire stilled, casting an intense gaze Declan’s way. Then she swiveled her head in an utterly inhuman gesture toward me.

  “Wisteria Fairchild, reconstructionist, scion of the Fairchild coven,” Kett said obligingly.

  I ignored the ‘scion’ suggestion. I had absolutely no intention of taking Rose’s place. The Fairchild coven could die out with the previous generation for all I cared.

  The female vampire stopped straining against the magic of the wards. Fixing her red-tinted gaze on Kett, she waited. Sensing her acquiescence, the wards obligingly lowered her to the ground, though they didn’t fully release her. From the way she maintained unblinking eye contact with Kett, it was apparent that she had no idea he could ensnare her from where he stood.

  “And I am Kettil, executioner and elder of the Conclave.”

  “I know who you are,” she said. “But what of your maker?”

  Kett’s tone turned low and deadly. “My accomplishments outweigh my blood ties.”

  She lifted her lip in a sneer. “I’m Amaya, seer of spirits, child of Yale.”

  “Originally of Ecuador?” Apparently the executioner also had an ear for accents. “A necromancer in your first incarnation? Can you raise anything larger than a cat?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Kett’s voice became silky. “And did your master have permission to remake and rename you thusly, Amaya?”

  “I have a message,” she said, jutting out her chin and ignoring the question. “Release me from the magic that holds me and I will deliver it without retribution.”

  Kett laughed, sounding completely human.

  A shiver ran up my spine. But it was excitement, not fear that triggered it. The executioner laughed like that only in anticipation of having fun. And for a brief moment, I thought about letting go, of meeting the excitement I heard in his laugh. Of matching it with my own.

  But then we wouldn’t find Jasmine.

  “Step back from the wards,” I said, kicking into professional mode. “Make your peaceful intentions known and the magic will release you.”

  Amaya narrowed her red-hued eyes defiantly in my direction.

  “Are you incapable of controlling yourself, fledgling?” Kett asked.

  “I don’t take orders from witches.”

  “Then what are you doing in witch territory, vampire?” Declan asked.

  “Are you Yale’s weakest child?” Kett asked. “Is that why he is so willing to sacrifice you?”

  Amaya didn’t rise to either of Declan’s and Kett’s attempts to bait her, choosing instead to compose herself and step back from the ward line. The magic protecting Fairchild Park let her go. She looked at Kett triumphantly.

  “It’s like she has no idea that you could reach over and pluck her head off her shoulders,” Declan said conversationally, as if he and the executioner of the Conclave were old comrades in arms.

  Kett tilted his head thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t require that much effort to end her immortal existence. This Yale has not armed his brood with anything more than words. His blood is weak.”

  Amaya’s expression became irate. The cat returned to her side, yowling for attention. She shifted as if anticipating throwing herself against the wards a second time.

  “Shall we move this along?” I asked, ignoring the renewed posturing. “Your message?”

  Amaya squared her shoulders, picking up the white rectangle she’d dropped on the grass when the wards had grabbed her. She flicked the envelope toward me. It spun across the yard, bypassing the wards and landing on the bottom step of the patio.

  I didn’t pick it up, choosing to tilt my head expectantly instead. I had no idea what spells might have been attached to the missive, though nothing overtly nefarious should have been able to pass through the wards.

  Amaya huffed impatiently, then intoned, “We offer the witch in trade for a peaceful parlay with the Conclave.”

  “You stand on witch territory,” I said. “If we accept, you will first need to make reparations to the coven. Then, if we allow it, the Conclave will have its say.”

  Amaya flicked her gaze to Kett. He stood stone-still beside me, offering her no guidance.

  She returned her gaze to me, nodding stiffly. “At midnight next. The location will be sent to you by messenger after sunset.”

  That timing would leave us at least five hours to secure and defend whatever location they’d chosen. “We accept,” I said.

  She picked up the cat and disappeared. Well, she appeared to disappear. It was more likely she’d just stepped into the shadows, then leaped over the hedge.

  Declan swore.

  “Unimpressive,” Kett said. “Slow. Weak. And ill bred.”

  “Why did you ask if her maker had permission to remake her?” Declan asked as we continued to stare out at the brightening sky. Dawn was about to breach the horizon.

  “Nigel,” I said. “The vampire in Astoria. He said he’d been unwilling.”

  Kett remained silent. But thoughtful, not disengaged.

  “And she was a necromancer before?” I asked. “Still capable of exerting her will on the dead cat. Is that unusual?”

  Kett nodded.

  “How many necromancers would choose to be remade?” I whispered.

  “None.” Kett pulled his cellphone out of the invisible satchel he wore, raising it to his ear as he turned back into the ballroom without another word.


  “Why?” Declan asked. “Because necromancers speak to ghosts? Raise the dead? What difference does that make?”

  “Necromancers can control the undead. All the undead.”

  Declan scoffed. “Please. If that were so, then …”

  “Then powerful necromancers could control vampires,” I said, finishing his thought. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly noticing how cold I was. Despite the coat that Declan had thoughtfully brought me, I was still outside in bare feet.

  “And no vampire would allow themselves to be controlled,” Declan murmured. “But why turn her? Instead of simply killing her?”

  I looked at him. “Why kidnap a Fairchild witch in Fairchild territory? Why send a vampire to us without any understanding of who we are or what we can do? Why suggest setting a meeting in a way that will allow us time to prepare, to gather the coven against them?”

  “He’s a moron.”

  “No.” My stomach churned as I put the pieces together. “The cellphone. The necklace. The message at the hotel. He likes to play games.”

  Declan’s face blanched. “Jasmine,” he whispered, stepping forward to retrieve the envelope from the bottom step.

  I turned away, crossing into the ballroom.

  Rose hovered a few feet away from the piano, clutching her quilted silk robe around her neck. Uncertain how long she’d been lingering just out of sight or what she’d heard, I passed her by, ignoring her questioning look. Declan would explain what had transpired with the vampire messenger. I wasn’t up for another verbal sparring. There was never any way to really win when it came to my family.

  Continuing through the house, I made it to my room with only my thoughts for company.

  I climbed back into bed and tried to sleep. Kett would talk to whoever was on the other end of his cellphone. Declan would fill Rose in on the altercation. And Rose would filter the information out to the rest of the coven.

  None of that mattered, though, because we really had only until sunset tomorrow to find Jasmine. After sunset, if the coven came into play, I wasn’t sure anyone could guarantee my cousin’s safety. Once faced with evidence — and a challenge — no Fairchild would sit out a fight.