Death's Ethereal Enemy

by Ruby Loren

  She snorted when she approached the double doors of the main hall, feeling her unquenched anger towards Joe Milan, the double-crossing wolf, surface. The man she was supposed to be killing today wasn’t the werewolf, but thinking of him helped her to focus, so that she’d be ready to deliver death the same way she once had with the vampires.

  With a defiant kick, she slammed the doors open. Her front hooves slashed the air before she came down and walked towards the ring of tables. The King sat at the head with Emerson looking at her approvingly by his side. In front of them were the werewolf guards and their human prisoner.

  January stopped in front of them and waited for orders.

  “Magnificent,” the King breathed.

  “She is, isn’t she?” Emerson agreed, both of them talking like she was some kind of animal.

  Thank you, she replied in everyone’s heads.

  Emerson’s ambivalent expression slipped for just a moment. “Another fascinating talent,” he explained, but January had seen the way his knuckles had whitened when he’d gripped the table. Apparently, she was supposed to be a unicorn and nothing more. That also explained why he’d been less than pleased when she’d stolen those desserts. Her enchanter status may be well-known in Witchwood, but apparently it hadn’t spread far. She suspected that it wasn’t by accident, either.

  “Jason Guile, you are sentenced to death for spreading false propaganda about the royal family,” the King pronounced. “Proceed with the execution.”

  January lowered her horn and looked down at the prisoner, who was gaping at the sight of her. She wondered if his crimes really did warrant the death sentence, but who was she to judge? Once upon a time, treason was a crime worthy of capital punishment. It was only changing views that had altered that.

  But even back then, she was certain no one had wanted to be the executioner.

  January reared up dramatically, kicking out her legs and neighing, knowing that it would be the perfect distraction.

  Jason Guile’s brain was vaporised in an instant. He slumped, lifeless, a millisecond before January gored him through the chest.

  “Bravo! Bravo!” The King stood up and applauded, followed by the rest of the honoured guests.

  Only Emerson didn’t smile, but fixed her with his ice blue eyes.

  Eyes that never missed a thing and certainly hadn’t missed January’s defiant act of mercy.

  6

  January was outside, mowing the lawn, when someone tried to kill her.

  It was only her super-human reactions that saved her from certain injury and potential death. She felt the sudden movement of air next to her face and moved, probably looking like a Matrix character, but way less cool. Her eyes focused on the flying axe. It flashed by her face, before smashing through the kitchen window, presumably continuing through the house until it hit something. She looked at the shattered glass and knew that her new range of buns she’d left out to rise would be ruined.

  That was more than enough motive for murder.

  The person who’d thrown the axe had hesitated, too. They’d clearly expected to hit their target. The moment frozen in time ended and January heard them run. She was after them in an instant, reaching the edge of the trees in time to smell their scent.

  Or rather… what they were using to cover their scent with. A pervasive smell of coconut assaulted her nose. It was a shifter who’d just tried to attack her. She knew that much by the way they’d tried to cover their trail.

  Even so, the scent was a familiar one. It reminded her of the hair product that Luke, the pack leader before her, had used. She stood at the edge of the forest and wondered if he’d returned and was about to make her regret letting him live. She shook her head. It probably wasn’t Luke. He was magically talented himself, and surely wouldn’t resort to something so crude. The more January thought about it, the more she realised she had a reasonably sized pool of suspects - and that wasn’t including anyone who might have paid someone else to come and take a shot at her.

  She shrugged and went back to mowing the lawn. In the past, she’d probably have hunted them down, but what was the point? Being killed was merely an annoyance these days. It might even be to her advantage to let them kill her. At least then, she’d know who to go gunning for when she reanimated. Mowing the lawn was a greater priority.

  She frowned. Actually, going into the kitchen and sorting out her ‘buns à la broken glass’ was her priority. It was so typical that she’d finally got a batch to rise, only for them to be ruined by a carelessly thrown axe. She looked at the hardly started lawn and sighed. She’d just have to claim it was a wild meadow, rather than a horrible attempt at a lawn. If her landlord, Gregory, wanted it a different way, he could do it himself.

  She snorted at the thought of him mowing the lawn at the dead of night. Perhaps she would insist upon it.

  She’d just finished cleaning up the last of the shards of glass when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and was surprised to see Leah’s name on the screen.

  “Leah, what’s up?” she said, wondering how the vampire-witch was doing.

  “No time. I need to meet with you in a week. You won’t be working. They’re doing the yearly accounts, or something,” she whispered. “Meet me at The Unicorn Inn in Blacksbridge. Protect yourself,” she said and hung up.

  January stared at her phone. It sounded as though Leah was in trouble.

  “She wants to meet, maybe she’s got a plan,” January said, before remembering that Emerson could be watching her right now.

  She wondered how often the creepy Old One did drop in on her. Something about the way he’d looked at her hinted that it was a lot. There’s got to be something I can do to stop that, she thought.

  Half an hour later, she broke into Tor’s house.

  With the rabbit still safely locked in the cupboard, (she hoped) she wasn’t taking a huge risk. Some of Tor’s best laid protection spells were also his downfall. The residents of the street had been charmed to ignore anything out of the ordinary taking place at his house, which meant no one batted an eyelid when she broke the pane of glass in the door and let herself in.

  The magical wards weren’t a problem either. Both Simon and Tor had willingly let her in, and the wards remembered her. Anyway, she was sure that Simon wouldn’t mind her popping by to read a few books. He had plenty of books of his own to read. She smirked a little, imagining him sat behind a desk, spending all day reading. It was bad to take pleasure in another’s suffering, but it was just so un-Simon-like, it was funny.

  “Where are you?” She whispered, scanning the titles of the books for the one she’d remembered from Tor’s shelf.

  “There you are!” She pulled a crusty, leather bound book out from the bottom of a pile, making sure it was stable again, before she retreated into the living room to begin reading.

  The book was called Seeing the Unseen. Tor had once got it out when he’d been testing her abilities to discover where her strengths lay. He’d used it to test her precognitive talents and had found that they were next to non-existence. January had thought that was probably for the best. If she’d been able to see her future before it happened, she’d probably have lain down and given up breathing.

  Still, while she wasn’t a fortune-teller, she hoped that the title of the book was more literal than it might initially appear. She scanned the pages, remembering what Emerson had told her about his abilities. Clearly, he didn’t think the knowledge would give her any advantage over him - and when it came to a fight, she would have to agree with that deduction. However, knowing he was able to trace someone by somehow following a signature, and then literally appear in the room with them - either seen, or unseen - was helpful information when it came to foiling an annoying eavesdropping habit. A habit that could get her and other people killed, she reflected, remembering Leah’s parting words.

  January frowned as she read through complicated equations and then moved on to the incantations. So far, all this book was do
ing was making her wish she’d paid more attention when learning algebra at school. Perhaps it did have a practical application after all.

  She hesitated when she found the spell that must have given the book its title. How to see the unseen, she read in her head. The gist of the spell was, that if you did it right and possessed the natural spark for precognition, you would be able to clearly see visions in chronological order and without any annoying gaps.

  It sounded like rubbish. Only a short time ago, January would have tossed the book away and kept looking. But these days she had a better understanding of the mechanics of both conventional magic, and her own brand. The more she examined the spell, the more she thought it could be turned to her purpose.

  The premise was, after all, to make the unseen visible. The writer had intended unseen parts of the visions to be made to appear, and in an orderly fashion. The idea was that the person who’d seen the flash of the future would be able to see the whole timeline - because it was really there, just… unseen. Much like Emerson was really there, and yet, unseen.

  January tilted her head from side to side, mentally tweaking a few things and then trying to feel if she could twist her magic into the right shape. Yes, she thought she could.

  She took a deep breath and frowned. Was there any way this spell could backfire? Did she know how long it would last, or how she’d know if it had worked at all? Making up spells was a tricky business.

  She shrugged. What was the worse that could happen? Death wasn’t the end anymore.

  She spoke the words and drew the complicated sigil in the air. To her delight, it glowed a brilliant blue. She touched the symbols in sequence, muttering more words, before pushing it forwards. A bright light erupted and spread through the room, making her eyes burn. She blinked away the white dots in front of her eyes, relieved when her vision returned. She may be able to come back to life, but she definitely wasn’t invulnerable. She’d had plenty of cuts and bruises over the years to prove that. Some care was still needed. Losing her sight would be a tragedy.

  “Well, I guess that didn’t work,” she said, closing the book.

  Emerson was standing by the window with his back to her. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, which looked wrong after she’d seen him dressed in such an expensive suit. He turned around and they made eye contact.

  She saw his eyes narrow in suspicion, before he stepped to the side. January kept staring out of the window, as if she hadn’t seen anything. Perhaps if he didn’t know what she’d just achieved…

  He walked across the room until he was right next to her. January stood up to return the book but he moved in front of her. She was going to walk straight through him when he pulled a wicked looking dagger out of his pocket and stabbed it straight at her eye.

  She flinched.

  “I knew it,” Emerson said. All of a sudden, he seemed to grow brighter and become a lot more present. January realised that it must be the difference between his ethereal states. The faded one was supposed to be invisible to the naked eye.

  “What did you do?” he hissed.

  January cocked her head at him. “Something you’ve deserved for a very long time. I don’t see why you get to run around in an invisibility cloak, spying on people whenever you feel like it. You’re like a kid, who finds out they’re invisible and runs off to the girls’ changing room.”

  He smirked. “I’ve been places far better than that.” He made a point of looking her up and down.

  Once upon a time, January would have been horrified by the thought that someone had been watching her when she was most vulnerable, but being pack leader had changed her. She still didn’t love prancing about in the nude, but she did accept it as part of being a shifter. She was comfortable in her own body and wasn’t going to be made to feel self-conscious by this snooping vampire.

  “Now… tell me what you did,” the vampire said, his blue eyes actually burning white.

  January stuck her hand through his face. Sure, it was childish, but it was a reminder that right now, he couldn’t do anything to her.

  “I figured a few things out,” she told him, with a self-deprecating shrug. “Who knows what I’ll learn next?” she said, fixing him with an unwavering stare.

  The vampire didn’t flinch. “You’d do well to remember what I said at the chateau. There are prisons that can hold you.” He took a step closer, so that their faces were only inches away. “You’ve already broken enough rules for me to lock you away forever. It’s only because I haven’t told the others what you’ve been up to that you’re still breathing. Remember, I’ve watched you for a long time. I’ve seen a lot of things.” He shook his head, that little smile back in place. “You want me on your side, because if I change my mind…” He snapped his fingers and dissolved into particles of light, which slowly faded away.

  January got the message loud and clear: if she pushed her luck much further, Emerson would be the one locking her up and throwing away the key.

  And all she’d done was to give herself the power to see him when he didn’t want to be seen.

  Imagine what he'd do when she tried to kill him.

  7

  It was nice to have a week to herself after the intensity of meeting the royals and dealing out her first execution in front of an audience. So far, the time really had been her own. Emerson hadn’t materialised since she’d upset him with her magical seer’s spell. She’d toyed with the idea that it might have worn off, but she didn’t think so. Something about the spell had felt permanent to her. Of course, it was possible that Emerson could still remain invisible to her, using some other trick, but again, he’d seemed far too annoyed for that to be the case.

  Unless it had all been a ruse.

  She shook her head in the middle of rolling out dough for chocolate chip cookies. It was no good being paranoid on top of everything else. She’d just have to hope that the spell worked fine and that Emerson could no longer be a sneak.

  She popped the biscuits in the oven and turned to a tray of soon-to-be fairy cakes.

  Whilst she was cutting out their tops and dividing them into wings, something pinged in her mind. Even within the supernatural community, there were still secrets and things that were unexplained. January herself was one such thing, and she was still determined to find out how and why she was what she was. But cutting the fairy cakes had reminded her of something else unexplained, that she’d never thought to look further into.

  Gregory had once shown her a fae bar. He’d told her that they were somewhere on the other side of… something, and that you only got in if you had an invitation. It was only now that January looked back and reflected how weird that was. She remembered hearing giggles and conversations, but not being able to see anyone there.

  “Hmm!” she said, realising that the spell she’d worked to let her see Emerson might have another use, too.

  January filled an icing bag with chocolate buttercream frosting and thoughtfully piped a swirl into the void of every cupcake, before replacing their wings and adding a spun, sugar web. She’d been inspired by the chocolate mousse and had created a fairy cake version. Hopefully her regulars would approve!

  She bit her lip as she added the final touches, trying to focus but failing badly. A week ago, she’d been annoyed that she never seemed to have a moment to herself anymore. Now there was breathing space, and she wasn’t sure it was a good thing. Running the bakery didn’t take up all her time, and she was painfully aware that there were things she needed to do.

  She just didn’t know where to start.

  The feeling in her bones told her that the girl with the amber eyes held the answers to some, if not all, of her questions. But the girl with the amber eyes was gone, and so was any hope of finding her.

  January’s first instinct would be to do some research, but she knew she’d find nothing. Tor hadn’t known much about enchanters. Even Simon - working with the collection of books most likely to contain interesting information on the topic - had s
aid there was nothing.

  She frowned at her cakes. Simon had only been working for The Clan for a short time. There was every chance that since the Old Ones set up their research team, someone had found something. After all, Emerson telling her that there was a prison that could hold her hinted he knew a thing or two more about what she was than she did. “But I can hardly ask one of them,” she muttered, feeling bleak.

  Once more, her thoughts drifted back to the girl with the amber eyes, but it was hopeless.

  Instead, she focused on the alleged fae bar. They may be completely irrelevant to her, but January didn’t like the thought that there was a group of supernaturals in Witchwood that she knew nothing about. At the very least, finding out would alleviate some of her ignorance.

  It would also give her a chance to see if her little spell had any benefits beyond seeing Emerson when he didn’t want to be seen.

  She smiled as she packed the cakes into boxes, ready for Charlie Rose to sell at Madame Rose’s Tearooms tomorrow. She hoped she’d see something cool.

  January reached into her cupboard for a cake mould and pulled out the silicon one Gregory had bought for her, what felt like an age ago. She rubbed her fingers over it and sighed.

  She and Gregory had been growing apart.

  When they’d discovered they would be working together, Gregory had been delighted. She had been less so.

  On paper, travelling around stately homes and schmoozing with the high and mighty were the sort of thing she’d assumed Gregory would love. For the first few events they’d attended, she’d believed it. But even before Emerson had showed up out of the blue and inserted himself between them, Gregory hadn't been himself. His usual snarky sense of humour was mostly missing, covered in layers of pretend pomp. When he did occasionally joke, she could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

  And then there was the sudden, ridiculous jealousy over Emerson.