Fang Ten

by Emery Belle

  I pressed a finger against its intricately carved surface and it pushed open, like it was inviting me in. “Hello?” I called into the darkness, but only the faint hiss of magic in the air answered me. I took a step toward a gold podium standing before a window draped in cloths of red and black, and the feeling of magic intensified. On the podium, encased in glass that shimmered slightly, was the coven’s ancient grimoire, a heavy, yellowing tome that was crumbling at the edges.

  I inhaled sharply as a feather-light wind brushed against my ear, and suddenly the air was filled with whispers, hushed voices beckoning me closer, closer…

  I took another step toward the grimoire, and then another, my hand stretching out to lift the glass, even though I knew it was forbidden, that I shouldn’t be here, that I shouldn’t…

  “Wren?”

  I gave a soft cry as a voice, more solid this time, more familiar, filled the room, and I snapped back to the present. A soft light now glowed in one corner, and I turned toward it, my eyes traveling up the body of the man it illuminated, up the black robes, the broad chest, the strong jaw and the ragged scar. Cole’s gaze on me was intense, and when he stepped toward me, I saw that he was holding a ball of light in his hand.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly, sweeping his dark eyes over my dress, my body, making me feel as though I were standing before him with nothing on. Vulnerable.

  “I know,” I whispered back, then swept my hand toward the grimoire. “But I…”

  The words died in my throat, because really, I had no excuse for being here, in this room, with him, when my friends and my date were back at the dance, probably wondering where I’d disappeared to. And I couldn’t very well tell him that I’d followed him here—or at least I’d been hoping it was him. Hope was a funny thing, though, because now that I was here, mere feet away from the man who occupied far more of my dreams than I’d ever admit out loud, I had no idea what to say.

  “What are you doing here?” I finally settled on, crossing my arms over my body to ward off his gaze. “Are you protecting someone at the dance?”

  “The coven hires the gargoyles as a group to provide general protection at all important coven events,” Cole said. “We guard the premises, and the treasures.” He indicated the grimoire, then turned back to me, his voice taking on an unexpected urgency when he spoke next. “Wren, about the dance. I—”

  “It’s okay,” I said, holding up my hand to stop him. The pain of his rejection was still a constant needle digging into my skin; I didn’t need another reminder, and I certainly didn’t need to hear all the reasons he had for turning me down.

  “No.” He stepped toward me, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light coming from his palm. “You don’t understand. I—”

  “Who is that? Who’s there?”

  With a bang, the room suddenly filled with a burst of bright light, and I threw my arm up to shield my eyes. Squinting, I looked toward the doorway, at the familiar figure standing there, his face stony with rage.

  Lord Macon. With his wand. Pointed squarely at me. Why was this becoming such a familiar sight?

  The head of the High Court’s eyes flickered from me to the grimoire and back again. Even though Cole was still standing beside me, in plain sight, Lord Macon’s gaze swept right over him. It was then that I realized, once again, that I was seeing Cole when I shouldn’t be. The gargoyles operated as protectors, and when they were on duty, they were only visible to the one who hired them, and the one they were hired to protect. I was neither of those things, and yet he was standing before me looking just as solid as Lord Macon.

  And speaking of which…

  “What are you doing in here?” Lord Macon hissed, his voice filled with anger, and something else… the same hint of fear I thought I detected in him every time I faced off against him. “This room is strictly forbidden to anyone but the highest members of the coven. Did you touch it?” He hurried over to the grimoire and knelt before the gold stand, pressing a kiss to its base and bowing his head with reverence.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, my heart in my throat as Cole melted back into the shadows, closing his fingers around the ball of light to extinguish it. “I just got lost. I was looking for the bathroom and I made a wrong turn.” It was the worst possible excuse, but in the heat of the moment, I couldn’t think of anything better. Lord Macon would never buy it, and I knew, with a sickening swoop of nausea, that I would be headed back before the High Court. And this time, Lady Amabelle would be loath to protect me again.

  Lord Macon regarded me for several long moments, a tick going in the corner of one eye as he glanced continually between me and the grimoire with suspicion, as if I’d ripped out one of its pages and stuffed it down my dress. “Very well,” he finally said, his teeth clenched as though every word cost him great effort, and I had to stop myself from letting out a gasp of surprise. The edge of his lip curled up. “Get out of here. Now.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  “Where have you been?” Sebastian asked, throwing an arm around my shoulders and offering me a wide, wine-induced grin as I sat down at the table a few minutes later, patting my hair back into place and trying to regain control over my breathing. I’d practically sprinted through the manor to put as much distance between myself and Lord Macon as possible, and thanks to the pair of shoes I’d borrowed from Garnet that were a little snug in the heel, I was developing a throbbing blister.

  “Just having a look around,” I said evasively, avoiding Garnet’s questioning eyes as I took a sip of water and rubbed my foot discreetly. “The courtyard’s beautiful, isn’t it?” And indeed it was, for just then, the entire dance floor was illuminated in a soft golden glow as the orchestra began playing a slow, romantic melody that drifted along on the light breeze tickling my skin.

  “Would you like to dance?” Sebastian asked, standing and offering me his hand. I took it, and he swept me over to the dance floor. He hesitated for a brief moment as he looked deep into my eyes before placing his hands on my waist and drawing me close to him. As we swayed in time with the music, I saw Calvin and Garnet holding each other nearby as he whispered into her ear, and a reluctant-looking Jolynn being led to the dance floor by Hunter, who kept glancing Garnet’s way with a look of mild devastation.

  I tried to enjoy the dance, to enjoy my date—his clean, woodsy scent, the warmth of his hands, the stubble on his chin as he rested it on top of my head—but my thoughts kept drifting back, unbidden, to the room with the grimoire, with the tendrils of magic in the air, with the man whose face I couldn’t banish from my mind, no matter how hard I tried.

  “I’m so glad you’re here with me tonight,” Sebastian murmured into my hair, his breath tickling my ear, his voice earnest and sincere. And in that moment, something in me broke. Here I was, with a perfectly lovely man who wanted to be here with me, and all I could think about was someone else, someone who told me he wanted nothing to do with me. Even if he never said those words, he didn’t have to—the implication was clear.

  “I’m glad I’m here with you tonight too,” I whispered back, and meant it. Sebastian’s arms tightened around me as he lifted my chin and gazed deeply into my eyes. He lowered his face to mine, and our noses brushed together for the briefest of moments before he kissed me, softly, gently, as though I were a porcelain doll all too easy to break.

  His lips lingered against mine, and when he pulled away and pressed his chin to my forehead, holding me close as the music swelled around us, I rested my head against his chest and closed my eyes, allowing myself to be swept away in the moment, in the magic all around us.

  When the song ended and the dancers around us broke apart and clapped politely for the orchestra, I looked around the crowd, at the sea of faces both familiar and not, and my eyes landed on him. Standing in the corner, his dark robes almost blending into the darkening sky, his eyes scorching my face. When our gazes met, he abruptly turned on his heel and swept out of sight, his robes bi
llowing behind him. I watched the spot where he had been standing for several long moments, until the orchestra began playing again and Sebastian pulled me into another dance.

  The skeleton orchestra played on through the night, the crowd of witches, wizards, and their guests becoming more jovial and energetic as the drinks flowed, the music tempo increased, and the elderberry soup hit its mark. At one point I found myself breathless and laughing as I got caught up in an impromptu conga line, my hands on the shoulders of the zombie in front of me while Sebastian held my waist from behind. I was having such a good time that I barely noticed that Garnet and Calvin had disappeared, and Hunter was sitting sullenly at our table, watching Jolynn slide her hips against a dashing vampire on the dance floor.

  Eventually the skeleton orchestra took its final bow, the musicians rattling off to the buffet dinner that had been set up for them in the corner of the courtyard—mostly consisting of unappetizing trays of fishbones and what looked like an entire T-Rex skeleton. A swarthy-looking trio of dwarfs in head-to-toe leather took their place, playing a mix of human-world hits from the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s.

  “I didn’t know you listened to our music,” I shouted to Sebastian in surprise over the dwarf who was bellowing Journey at the top of his lungs, his tawny beard glistening with sweat.

  “Yeah, well, our world is a lot smaller than the human world, so we have to steal your material,” he shouted back, then grabbed me and twirled me around spontaneously. A disco ball chose that moment to appear with a pop, and the dancers screamed with delight as the dwarfs moved on to a courtyard-shaking version of “Stayin’ Alive.” I was jumping up and down and singing along, and Sebastian was doing fist-pumps and, strangely, the robot, when a sudden commotion broke out in the middle of the dance floor and the music cut off abruptly.

  “What’s happening?” Sebastian asked, craning his neck to look around as the crowd parted and a thick, tension-laced silence descended over the entire courtyard. I stood on my tiptoes to see over his shoulder, and when I saw the source of the commotion, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs.

  Kellen was standing in the middle of the dance floor, baton in hand, surrounded by a pack of police officers who all had their wands pointed at the head table.

  Directly at Glenn.

  “Glenn Gunrath Gulley,” Kellen boomed, his voice slicing through the crowd of shocked dancers like a knife. “I hereby arrest and charge you with the disappearance of Hattie Bumble. Put your wand down and your hands in the air, and come quietly with me to the police station. If you try to resist arrest, my officers will have no choice but to use force.”

  Glenn stared back at them calmly, coldly, his eyes lit with a fire I’d never seen before. Magic seemed to radiate off him as he stood, pushing aside his chair, and pointed his finger at Kellen. Though he spoke in a whisper, I could hear him as plainly as if he were standing next to me.

  “I. Would. Never. Hurt her.”

  His finger hissed and sparked, and the surrounding officers took a collective step back, leaving Kellen alone with a white-knuckled grip on his baton.

  “You don’t have to make this difficult, Glenn,” he almost pleaded. “Just tell us where she is, and we’ll let the courts deal with the rest. You’ll be given a fair trial. You’ll—”

  A burst of red light shot from Glenn’s finger, missing Kellen by mere inches. It hit the ground with a sizzling sound, burning a hole right through the dance floor.

  “Consider that a warning.” Glenn’s voice remained calm, pleasant, as if he and Kellen were merely exchanging niceties. “I never miss my mark.”

  Kellen squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest, and in any other circumstance, he would have looked intimidating—terrifying, even. But even though Glenn was half the minotaur’s size—and probably triple his weight—the power emanating from his entire body was enough to dwarf the police chief.

  Kellen flicked a glance over his shoulder, presumably at his officers, who looked at each other before steadying their wands and surging toward Glenn. “No!” I screamed, but my voice was drowned out in the chaos and Sebastian had a firm grip on my arm, holding me back, though I fought tooth and nail to reach Glenn.

  With a roar of outrage, Glenn cut his hand through the air like a sword, and the officers dropped to the ground as one. For a brief, wild moment I thought he’d killed them, but then I saw that they were struggling against the tendrils of ice-blue magic that had bound themselves around their arms, wrists, and legs, holding them in place.

  Kellen let out an equally loud roar and charged at Glenn, his body morphing into minotaur form as he lunged forward, teeth bared, eyes redder than I’d ever seen them. But Glenn merely held up his palm, and a blast of energy burst from it, forming a shimmering shield between the two men.

  Kellen slammed into the shield and crumpled to the ground, where he lay motionless for several seconds. As he got to his feet, stumbling slightly, his face alight with fury and ashy from pain, Glenn gave him a grave smile.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  And then, with a flash of blinding white light, he disappeared, leaving everyone in the courtyard staring at his now-empty seat.

  Chapter 15

  Glenn had disappeared, and he’d taken his entire house with him. I’d discovered that mere hours after the dance, when I’d said a shaky goodbye to Sebastian at my dorm room—with the promise that I wouldn’t try to find Glenn—and then immediately changed, threw on a jacket, and headed out into the night in search of my guide. When I arrived at the rickety shed, it was gone, the only sign it had ever been there the square of flattened grass left in its wake. I’d camped out there the rest of the night, half-frozen, my back resting against a tree, until the first rays of dawn whispered good morning and I had to admit defeat.

  The scene at the dance was, of course, the talk of the island, and everywhere I went people were placing bets on whether Kellen would be able to track down Glenn. But as I heard a grave-looking Lady Winthrop confiding to another coven elder at a coffee shop the next morning, Glenn would only be found when he wanted to be, and not a moment sooner.

  The search for Hattie’s kidnapper had taken on a new urgency, and so the next afternoon I grabbed the square of bloodstained carpet I’d cut from Hattie’s house and headed out to the very last place on the island I ever wanted to visit—the morgue. I’d gotten the idea from Radu Maldova, the surfing vampire who’d been collecting his weekly blood supply the morning of Hattie’s disappearance. I figured if anyone on the island was an expert at identifying blood, it had to be a vampire who spent his every waking moment draining it, sorting it, and parceling it out.

  Far from the gloomy, depressing place I expected, the morgue’s interior was warm and inviting, with a waiting room filled with plush chairs and the latest magazines—though a few, like Cooking With Every Blood Type and Modern Vampire, I knew I’d never find on shelves in the human world. Several men and women were lounging around, speaking quietly to each other or perusing the magazines, while a vampiress at the reception desk clacked away on her keyboard, every so often calling out a name or answering the phone. I walked up to her and drummed my fingers on the desk to get her attention.

  She looked at me over the top of her spectacles. “Yes?” I could see her curious gaze roaming over my mouth, looking for my nonexistent fangs. Finding none, she asked, “Are you here to donate?”

  “No!” I said, a little too quickly, taking a step back and wrapping my arms around myself protectively. She gave me a bemused look, and I could feel the eyes of the waiting vampires boring into my back. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Not at this time,” I said politely. “I was wondering if I could speak to the director?”

  “Maurice?” The woman frowned and brushed her tongue over the tips of her fangs. “He’s a very busy man, I’m afraid, and I just don’t think he’ll be able to—”

  “I’m here on police business,” I interrupted, wishing I didn’t have to
play that card yet again. Someday Kellen was going to catch wind of what I was doing, and when that happened, I would be in deep, deep trouble. I trembled at the thought as the vampiress whipped off her glasses and studied me with renewed interest.

  “Really?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, her eyes lighting up eagerly. “Is this about Shawna? Because I can tell you with absolute certainty that the bite in question was not consensual.”

  “Er, no,” I said, taking another step back. I looked over my shoulder at the vampire nearest me, who had set down his magazine and was roaming his eyes over my neck hungrily. I tugged up the collar of my shirt as high as it would go and returned my attention to the receptionist. “I’m afraid I can’t say what this is about. But I really do need to speak with Maurice. Can you please find out if he’ll see me?”

  Her face fell, her excited look replaced by a sour frown. “Fine.” She pushed her chair back with an exaggerated sigh and strode out of sight. I huddled close to the desk as I waited for her to return, careful to keep my eyes directed at the wall and not on the group of waiting vampires who were now staring at me unabashedly. I could practically hear their stomachs growling.

  After a few minutes, though it may as well have been a few years, the receptionist returned and beckoned me inside. I stepped through the waiting room door into a sterile hallway, bypassing a cart filled with vials of blood the size of my head labeled by type. “How does this work?” I asked the vampiress as we passed several empty rooms with reclining chairs hooked up to what looked like an IV drip system.

  She shrugged. “Depends on your preference, but we all get a weekly supply of blood, though frankly”—she lowered her voice—“it’s not enough to keep most of us satisfied.” She licked her fangs again, and I let out an uncomfortable laugh.

  “But we each have two options—we can visit the transfusion room to get our supply all at once, or we can bring it home and drink it throughout the week. I personally choose the former—it gives me the most delicious high.” She shivered in excitement, and after that, I chose not to ask any more questions. Sometimes the less horrific information you know, the better.