Nightsoul

by McKenzie Hunter

  “Are you threatening me on his behalf? It’s quite arrogant on his part and bold on yours to do that.” Her fingers began to move, a precursor to what looked like pretty wicked magic.

  Dropping my eyes to the sigils in the circle, I tried to make sense of them. Without magic, there wasn’t much I could do about whatever Wendy was planning. And without the ability to move outside the circle, I couldn’t get to them. Yanking the gun from my holster and the small knife from the sheath at my waist, I dragged my eyes from Wendy to the other witch and back.

  “Contrary to what you believe, it is in my best interests to handle this amicably. I need the vampires to feel they’ve been treated fairly and for you to feel it was a just agreement and discourage you from trying this again.”

  She frowned, but I was still met with defiance. I wanted to urge her to review her vampire history. To recognize that most of the stories aren’t about the vampires’ forebearers but about the vamps we see daily. Living for centuries didn’t allow them the privilege of saying they can’t be judged by the actions of their ancestors. I wanted to warn her not to underestimate Landon. With his baroque mannerisms, stylish dress, and appealing benign looks, people often forgot or overlooked his history. He was as equally dramatic in his violence as he was in his disposition.

  “I have a gun and I’m pretty damn good with it. You’ll try to physically or magically dodge the bullets while I’m unloading. You’re good with magic. I’m better with a gun. No matter how gifted you are, it’s really hard trying to perform a spell with a bullet in you.”

  I directed my attention to the robe-wearing witch with the resting witch face.

  “I get it. You want a payoff. But what you don’t want is for the vampires to feel slighted. Hurting me and refusing their offer won’t work in your favor. They’ll use it as justification to retaliate. Landon’s just looking for a reason. All the malicious things you’ve read about vampires aren’t accounts of their ancestors, it’s them. The same ones living among us.”

  I stopped to let that sink in.

  Wendy attempted to remain stern, unmoved, and indifferent. The other witch’s scowl had given way to a look of concern.

  “I’m not here to bully anyone. I have no desire to see any of you hurt. While you’re only looking at it from your perspective, I see the whole picture and I’m able to be objective.” I wanted to add that I was the only person standing between them and carnage.

  “Stacey.” Wendy jerked her head toward the other side of the room. They backed away, but instead of going to another room, they went outside.

  After several minutes, Wendy came back in and said, “We won’t do a death oath, but we’ll agree to an evanesco spell. It’s as binding as the oath, and in the event we break it, we face the consequence of losing our magic, not dying.”

  Loss of magic. A magic restriction. Every spell can be reversed. Some are harder to reverse than others, but they can always be reversed. Oaths are the exception, which is why they aren’t entered into lightly.

  “I’ll ask, but I’m not confident that he’ll agree to it.”

  “And the original cost. We will not haggle.”

  I nodded, considered the figure again, and inwardly winced.

  With a quick flick of her finger, made with the ease of an afterthought, the sigils disappeared.

  “He’ll want an outside witch to perform it, so I’ll need the spell.”

  “Once the money is in the account, I’ll give it to him. Just say it’s included in the fee.”

  I needed to figure out how to befriend the robe-wearing witches. If I could manage to control my eye rolling at their robes, they could become valuable resources.

  Before I left, I asked to see the AC as confirmation. They led me through the house to the kitchen that looked into the backyard. Whoever didn’t want anyone to learn about AC did a splendid job, removing any images of it. This was my first time actually seeing the plant and not just reading a description. Opening the door, Wendy revealed a garden containing healthy, vibrant, verdant, fern-like plants with a distinctive white-and-goldish tip growing out of dark, rich, moist-looking soil. They clearly received better care and attention than the home.

  The dark-haired woman who answered Landon’s door looked up from her phone long enough to greet me with a bored smile.

  “Erin?”

  I nodded. She was too casual and disinterested to be his assistant.

  “Come in. Uncle Landon’s waiting.”

  Uncle? The only familial resemblance were the dark eyes, hers a lighter brown to his onyx. With a vibrant apricot complexion, this woman was definitely human. Sired vampires never used family titles, like mother, father, uncle, and aunt. She was completely team human; the expensive-looking ombre-dyed hair of black and white, heavily lined eyes, and thickly coated lashes gave her a creature of the night mystique, but she was human nevertheless.

  “Uncle Landy, your assistant is here.”

  I should have corrected her, but she was so preoccupied by her phone, it was doubtful she’d care. I got the distinct feeling that to her, people fell into two categories: vampire elite and the help. She’d denoted me as the help.

  “Thank you, Robyn, love,” he said. Avuncular adoration bloomed on his face. Something that must have been rooted in her familiar bond because she wasn’t that adorable.

  Her fingers speeding over the keys of her phone, she didn’t look up as she turned lengthwise in the oversized chair in the corner of his office, making herself at home. Sensing the change in the atmosphere, her gaze finally moved from her phone to look at us. The dark eyes were definitely where the family resemblance ended. A rounded face, wide expressive eyes, full lips, and a pert nose gave her a doll-like appearance that was a stark contrast to Landon’s imposing sharp features, narrow face, dark and intense guileful eyes, and supple lips that pulled back too often to display fangs.

  “What?” she asked.

  “We need a minute,” he informed her, giving her a plaintive smile that I was sure would vanish the moment she was gone.

  “Of course.” She bounded to her feet with liquid grace. As she moved from the room, she gave me the impression she was a dancer. That may be what spawned his expression. Landon remained tethered to the human world, unlike the original Master of the city, because of his investment in it. He was discerning, I’d go so far as to say snobbish, about the company he kept, preferring to only interact with the city’s elite, but he loved the arts, often investing in dance and theater companies, donating to the arts in the schools, and financing art showings.

  “Uncle?” I asked.

  He took a sip from the wine glass he held. I wondered if it was red wine or the blood/wine mix they enjoyed. “Yes,” he said. “I have three nephews and another niece. Of course, there are many ‘greats’ before that title. My other nieces and nephews are far less impressive than Robyn,” he admitted.

  Something told me he would definitely tell them that. They could be a well-renowned scientist, a CEO of a Fortune 500 company, an elected official, but as far as Landon was concerned, if they didn’t make art with their body, enhance the landscape of the world with their painting, make awe-inspiring sculptures, or write prose that made a person sit in contemplation, they didn’t count. Violence and beauty—the dichotomy of his existence didn’t escape me. I snapped my eyes from him when I realized I was staring.

  “She’s the principal of her company. You should join me sometime, to watch her. She’s fascinating.”

  And whatever the others were doing would never be as impressive as her performing on a stage. In one nimble sweep of movement he was behind his desk, glass still in hand, taking another draw from it. “Would you like a glass?”

  Unconvinced that it wasn’t their special wine, I declined.

  “What was the result with the witches?” he asked after taking another indulgent sip. The wistful look he gave the glass confirmed that declining his offer was the right decision.

  “They won’t reduc
e their price, nor will they agree to a death oath. They will agree to evanesco. If they violate that, they lose their magic. You can have the spell customized to extend to them and any future members of the coven, only to expire upon your death.”

  He considered it. “I reject their counter. Spells can be broken. If they go back on their word, I want them to die.”

  Before I could offer a suggestion, he added, “They are blackmailing me for two million dollars. I will not negotiate the terms. There need to be dire consequences. I will not go through this again in a few years.” He jutted out his chin.

  I knew what wasn’t being said. Landon was handling this as amicably as he was willing. There would be no more concessions. Pushing him any further would make his brutal option look even more desirable.

  Stepping out of the office and house until I was far enough away, I called the robe-wearing, greedy blackmailer.

  For fifteen minutes, she continued to attempt to negotiate.

  “Do you understand how much money you’re getting?” I said. “This is his less violent offer. Keep pushing and you and your coven will walk away with nothing and possibly a bounty on your heads, or lifelong enemies of the vampires. Remember, they’re immortal. Not only will you have them to contend with but also anyone they can compel. Your sweet little neighbor who waves at you and loves your little kitty might be the very person who plunges a knife into your back.” I wished I was being dramatic and hyperbolic, but anyone who’d ever read any of the tales of vampires would know that I wasn’t.

  “Compelling humans is illegal,” Wendy reminded me in a huff.

  “Are you kidding me? You’re asking for two million dollars! If Landon feels he’s being taken advantage of or affronted in any way, do you think he’s going to care about a law? He’s working within the confines of it now. How long do you think it will last? I don’t think it’s unreasonable to agree to this. But you can decline and take your chances on the black market.”

  “I already have a buyer. Mephisto. We won’t be just selling it to random people on the streets. Since you’ve worked for both of them, I do believe you’re the one in a compromising position. So it is in your best interest that you work something out. Landon’s going to assume you were playing both sides. Mephisto is offering less but without any oaths.”

  Wendy’s greed and obstinacy were rapidly diminishing my desire to protect them.

  Afraid that Landon might read the fury on me or I might say something I’d regret, I called him to tell him I needed to handle it in person. Buying some time, I headed to Mephisto’s.

  CHAPTER 9

  The gate swung open before I made it to the entrance. I managed to keep the anger out of my voice when I called to ask to speak with him. The drive hadn’t calmed me down and I was still seething by the time I walked to the front door. How did he find out about the AC? Did the witches approach him or did he contact them? Did he know I was involved and not care?

  Benton had abandoned all door duties and had adopted the role of beverage drinker and book reader. When I entered the unlocked house, I passed him in his favorite room, doing exactly that.

  “He’s in his office,” he offered, glancing up from his book.

  Great job. You, sir, are in need of a raise.

  “Don’t get up, I know the way,” I sniped. I was feeling good about my comment and thinking I’d scored a point in the pettiness tournament we were somehow embroiled in.

  Until he responded with, “No problem, Ms. Jensen. I wasn’t planning on it.” Then he punctuated it by taking an exaggerated slurp from his cup. I’d wanted to take my win with pride, but he snatched it from me with one simple act. Who was I kidding? Benton was the Master of Quips and Snark and the Grand Pooh-bah of Pettiness. I was a mere novice and out of my league.

  I stopped in my tracks and turned to get a glimpse of the twisted look of satisfaction on his face.

  He was lucky I had a god to yell at and therefore didn’t have time to try to out-petty him, but he was definitely going on my to-do list: Yell at a god, stop Landon from killing Lunar Marked coven, convince said coven to stop being stubborn jackasses, figure out what to do with my mother and the Immortalis, figure out who kept bespelling me to sleep, and win my tournament of pettiness with Benton.

  Mephisto met me in the hallway, coming from the direction of the room where he kept his magical objects. Probably looking for a space for the Amber Crocus.

  His head tilted and he studied me. “You’re upset,” he surmised. “What happened?”

  Was he messing with me?

  “Are you kidding?” I asked, louder than intended. It was me yelling that brought Simeon out of Mephisto’s office to look at me. I turned at the sound of him walking into the hall. His attention moved from me and then to Mephisto, where it stayed. Without any words exchanged, Simeon ducked back into the office and returned with a small bag in his hand and headed for the front door.

  Mephisto was quiet, his face unreadable as he led me into his office, closing the door behind him and immediately moving to the window. He lifted his face as if allowing the setting sun to warm it.

  “Am I kidding about what?” he finally asked.

  “The Lunar Marked coven has Amber Crocus and I was just informed that you’ve made an offer.”

  “Yes, there isn’t anything untrue about that.” He moved from the window to the front of his desk, crossing one leg over the other. Folding his arms over his chest, he asked, “What part of that seemed to be in jest, or kidding you?”

  “I’m working for the vampires trying to purchase the Amber Crocus from the witches.”

  “Hmm, I wasn’t aware of that. This must be an incredibly awkward and complicated situation for you,” he eased out airily.

  “You know what the vampires can be like. I’m trying to prevent the situation from becoming one of those stories you cringe at when you read it. Right now, that’s exactly where they are.”

  Mephisto heaved a sigh, a look of censure and annoyance flashing over his features and quickly disappearing. “For all Landon’s love of the humanities, appreciation of life, and his indulgences in its banalities, he still seems to revel in gruesome violence. Ever willing to demonstrate his talents.”

  “Yes, and if you purchase the Amber Crocus, you will give him license to turn those skills on that coven. And possibly on you.”

  A cold dark look passed over his face, a look that people must see when the Huntsmen swoop down on them to deliver justice.

  “I have no fear of Landon or his retribution,” he said aloofly, but an edge of malice lingered on his face. You don’t apprehend the worst in the Veil, go against other gods, and not be adept in violence, maybe even have a penchant for it. I was sure that the call to be a Huntsman wasn’t for the faint of heart or pacifists.

  “What about the witches?” I ground out in frustration.

  “They approached me. I’m assuming they feel confident enough to protect themselves.”

  “Sometimes stupidity is the misguided cousin of confidence. They are being blinded by greed. Wendy is skilled and might be able to protect herself, but I think she’s overconfident and it will lead to the death of that coven.”

  “Is it Cory’s coven?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then why do you care?”

  I had to snap my mouth closed at his question. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

  His movement toward me was so swift, it made me miss the times when he’d moved like he was human. When he’d muted his magic enough that it was less distracting. Now, I was swathed in it and wondering how deadly his strike was.

  Studying me, he traced a finger languidly along the curve of my jaw. Knowing that he gave part of his life to bring me back from death didn’t remove my desire for his magic. Nor did finding out that he was closer to the devil than I’d jokingly thought take away the attraction I’d been denying.

  “Tell me,” he urged, his face just inches from mine. His cologne inundating my senses,
his warm breath against my lips were distractions that were getting harder to ignore. “How much must I surrender to you?” The accusation in his gaze was a punch to the chest. It was an unfair question.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, attempted to pull in a cleansing breath. That failed. Stepping away from him and his touch, I gathered my thoughts. “I’m trying to do my job and prevent a group of foolish witches from getting killed and a mess that ultimately will involve the STF and Madison. Whether you understand or care to, it will have a ripple effect. I just don’t need that in my life right now. Please. Withdraw your offer.”

  He frowned. “I have a job, too. I’m a collector, something you are aware of. In fact, my collection is what saved your life. You must have some appreciation for that. Walk away from this and let them handle it in the manner that fits. That will allow you to be blameless in the matter.”

  “I won’t be blameless. Neither will you. It’s cruel to let this happen if we can stop it.”

  Mephisto regarded me for a long time, his face an indecipherable mask. “Pragmatism and cruelty aren’t the same thing,” he offered softly, his eyes whetted with insight.

  “But far too often they run in the same circles,” I said.

  Moving until I rested against the wall, I remained under the weight of his dark inquiring gaze as magic swept through the room with a turbulent force.

  “Stop it,” I demanded in a low, rough voice. For someone who claimed I was his weakness, he had Herculean strength when he wanted, but I couldn’t help feeling as if I was exploiting it. Was it wrong to do that?

  It was a selfish request but it was to save lives. “Will you do it for me?” I entreated softly. “Please.”

  He moistened his lips, his gaze tracking my every movement as the seconds quickly became minutes of stilted silence, and once again, I felt that anything that took that much deliberation should go in my favor.