Carnival of Souls

by Melissa Marr

  They ate in silence, and then Aya gave in to the impulse that Evelyn undoubtedly expected.

  “I need to see Belias before we do this.” Aya stood and walked to the door. Evelyn didn’t follow, which was as close to agreeing as she would come. The affection Aya had for Belias was a weakness. She knew it as well as her mother did. If he escaped and went to The City, she’d be exposed for cheating in Marchosias’ Competition—worse still, she’d be exposed as a witch.

  Everything reasonable, every bit of witch instinct in her, compelled her to let Evelyn destroy Belias, but he was hers. Whether he still loved her or not, he was the only person she’d loved. He was the one person she’d considered confessing to, but he hated witches. She’d hoped to avoid his ever knowing, but they were too far past that now. Her options had shifted when they’d been matched to fight or maybe when they’d been matched to wed. All that Aya knew now was that they were once more down to a set of options that included one of their deaths.

  “I need his permission,” Aya said.

  Evelyn didn’t look at her. Instead, she carefully folded her napkin as she said, “I’ll be over momentarily. He’ll be bound to you, or he’ll be used for harvest.”

  CHAPTER 27

  BELIAS THOUGHT HE WAS better prepared to see Aya this time, but when she walked into the room that was his prison, he still felt the flurry of happiness that seeing her had caused for most of his life. This time, however, it was pushed down by fury. He did his best to keep his face expressionless as he came to his feet. He wasn’t sure how he felt. This was Aya. They’d shared most of their lives; they’d loved each other. She’d also stabbed him.

  He wanted to believe that she was still the daimon he loved, but she wasn’t. She was one of them—a witch—the creatures who’d killed his father, who polluted The City. Her mother was a picture-perfect example of all of the things that had led to the witches being expelled from The City. She was monstrous, clear in her disdain for daimons and at ease with cruelty—and he wasn’t seeing a lot of evidence just then that his former betrothed was much different.

  “Why are you here?” Belias’ hand dropped to the knife at his hip. “I’ve already been told the terms: your slave or death.”

  “I don’t want this,” Aya told him. “The idea of you being bound to obey my will is far from anything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

  Although he knew better, although he didn’t know if anything she said was even true, he couldn’t help but ask, “What have you dreamed of then?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me.” Aya walked to the circle, entered it as if it didn’t exist, and stood in front of him. It was a challenge and an offer.

  Belias caught her by the shoulder and spun her so that her back was to his chest. He released her shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her still. His other arm stretched crosswise across her chest and in that hand he held the knife that had been left in his possession. The tip of the blade was to her throat but hadn’t broken the skin.

  He could try to kill her, avenge himself and punish her. That would result in his death too, presumably after torture. He didn’t believe that choosing death was the solution, with or without vengeance. If he had believed thusly, he could’ve taken his own life with the knife he held. Foolishly, he still wasn’t any surer that he could kill her now than he had been when they fought in the competition. He sighed. “Is this where we are, little bird? I have to threaten you for answers. You poison me, imprison me, enslave me.”

  She was silent so long that he figured that this was another of the conversations that led nowhere, but finally she sighed. “I don’t want either of us enslaved or dead, Bel.”

  “I never wanted to enslave you,” he reminded her. “Marriage isn’t slavery. Being a witch’s familiar is.”

  “I sent you to this world because I couldn’t kill you. Bringing your body here through a summoning circle meant I didn’t have to kill you or explain that I hadn’t really killed you.”

  “Or forfeit,” he added.

  “Or that.” She was tense against his body, but she didn’t try to escape. If anything, she seemed almost content to be there. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “You aren’t even trying to escape,” he half complained. Fighting with Aya had been a prelude to more than a few wonderful nights. Despite everything, he still wanted that. It was a perversion to want a witch, and it was definitely wrong to want the witch who had enslaved him. “What? Are you going to let me kill you?”

  “If I wanted free of you, I wouldn’t need to fight.” She said the words like a confession, and in her voice, he heard the weight of the secrets she’d kept from him.

  He didn’t want to feel sorry for her though. She had done this to him, to them. “More magic,” he spat.

  “Yes,” she confirmed.

  “What happens if I shed your blood in her circle?” Belias pressed the blade tighter to her throat, but not actually cutting her. “You’re her blood. Could I use it to break this?”

  “I don’t know, but she won’t let you leave here alive unless you are my familiar.” Aya turned to look over her shoulder at him, pressing her skin tighter to the knife in the process.

  Reflexively, he lowered the knife.

  Aya stayed against him, her back to his chest.

  He shoved her away.

  “Tell me what will make this bearable for you.” She turned to face him. “It isn’t what I want either, but I can’t kill you. I can’t let her kill you. I left you the knife, but . . .”

  “You know me better than that,” he said.

  Mutely, she nodded.

  He caught her gaze. “Tell me you won’t compel me to obey you unless it’s a matter of life or death. You don’t have to keep me under compulsion. You have my vow not to strike you with intent to injure or kill.”

  “And not expose what I am,” she added.

  “And not expose that you are a witch,” he echoed.

  “Your vow is accepted,” she said, unnecessarily. He’d said the words within the witch’s circle; he knew they were binding. By his own vow, he’d bound himself to a witch.

  “And you?” he prompted.

  “I give you my vow in this binding circle that I shall not strike you with intent to injure or kill, and I vow that I will not compel you unless it’s a matter of your life or death. By this vow, I am bound to you and you to me.” Her voice was shaky as she added, “You understand now why I can’t breed.”

  “My family thinks I’m dead. You’ve stolen my family’s ability to continue my father’s line.” Belias tried to keep the swell of bitterness out of his voice and failed. “I get it, Aya. I only wish you would have told me before we reached this place. Maybe we could’ve avoided all of this.”

  Aya smiled in a way that was anything but happy and then asked, “Do you think you would’ve accepted me? Or do you say that because of where we are? You’re in a witch’s circle, Bel. Go ahead and answer.”

  The words he thought to say wouldn’t come to his lips. He opened his mouth, but he was afraid to try to reply. He wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t certain either of them wanted to know the truth. She was a witch. Even after everything they’d been, he wasn’t sure he could’ve forgiven it then, and he certainly wasn’t feeling very forgiving now. He said nothing.

  “Let’s get this done.” Evelyn’s voice cut through the room, making clear that even though he hadn’t seen her, she had witnessed their vows and his inability to answer.

  “Step out of its circle,” Evelyn added.

  After Aya crossed the circle, Evelyn drew a second circle, containing Aya between the two circles. She directed Aya to sketch the sigils for her name and his in the second circle. Then she held out a silver blade. “Crosswise on both palms.”

  As Aya took the knife and did so, Evelyn spared him a glance. “And you.”

  Trapped in her circle, he couldn’t have disobeyed if he wanted to, but he saw no reason to attempt to. Being bound to Aya was a lot better fate
than death; it would get him out of here until he could find a way to convince her to let him have his real life back.

  He cut his palms as directed.

  Aya walked to the edge of the circle and held both hands up toward him. Inside the circle, he mirrored her, and together they walked the perimeter. The act of walking this circle was unpleasantly reminiscent of the last circle he’d drawn, before the fight in which Aya had stabbed him: then he’d had no idea that he was encircled with a witch, yet he had tied his fate to hers, believing that she wouldn’t kill him. This time he realized that he was facing a witch, and he was still tying his life to hers.

  As their commingled blood dripped to the floor and altered the circle, he felt the power of something stronger than anything he’d ever felt in The City. Aya’s power. It washed over him, and he understood how strong she truly was. Strong enough to have found another solution. Instead, she’d lied to him and stood as a daimon in the ring. She’d been stabbed, beaten, bludgeoned, and burned. Claws and teeth had shredded her skin, yet she’d fought as a daimon, using her talons rather than magic. He lifted his gaze to hers in shock.

  Talons. Witches don’t have talons.

  “Belias, thou hast now appeared unto me to answer unto such things as I have desired of thee. Now I do in the name, and by the power and dignity, of the omnipresent and immortal gods bind thee to Aya,” Evelyn intoned.

  Aya has talons. She is not only a witch.

  Outside the circles, Evelyn nodded to Aya, who stared at Belias as she said, “I conjure thee, O fire, by him who made thee and all other creatures for good in the world, that thou torment, burn, and consume this daimon, Belias, for everlasting if he is disobedient and obeyest not my commandment.”

  She looked small and afraid, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t understand magic or because he was used to seeing her stride fearlessly into fights, but he was afraid for her then.

  Evelyn waited as the fire Aya had called flared along the lines of the circle. Once the flames burned as blue as witch eyes, Evelyn continued, “And in these names, and all things that are the names of the God of Secret Truth who liveth forever, the All-Powerful, I bind thee, Belias, to this witch, Aya. Therefore obey her in all things, Belias; obey my power, speaking the secrets of Truth in voice and in understanding; therefore, I say obey the law which I have made, without terror to the sons of men, witches, creatures, all things upon the surface of the earth.”

  As the last words left the older witch’s lips, she made a sweeping gesture with both hands, pushing one toward him and one toward Aya. As she did so, the flames of the circle between them shifted. The flickering tongues of flame became a chain that wrapped around Belias’ wrists, ankles, and throat. It pierced his flesh, searing him and drawing screams of pain from his lips. The flame ripped through his body as if he were an empty shell, and then burst through the cuts in his hands. Once visible again, the flame-formed chain stretched out to Aya.

  She held her hands out, palms up, and the fire poured into her bleeding hands. The look of pain on her face made clear that it hurt her too, perhaps not as intensely as it hurt him, but she was suffering as well. Once the last flicker of flame entered her, the cuts on her hands sealed over with scars.

  Belias glanced at his still-bleeding and freshly burned hands.

  “You are free to take your familiar, Aya.” Evelyn’s voice drew his gaze. “It cannot enter the building without you, but if it is out wandering with you, it can enter freely with you. The tie between you makes wards recognize it as an extension of the witch who owns it.”

  The temptation to tell the older witch exactly what he thought of her classifying him as property vied with the realization that he was Aya’s property now.

  CHAPTER 28

  ALMOST A FULL DAY later, Kaleb stood outside Mallory’s house. It was so late in the day that he should be able to meet with Adam. By daimon law—and by witch law—Mallory was Kaleb’s now to do with as he wanted. The witches couldn’t support Adam without going against their own laws. Adam, of course, could kill him, but that would kill or injure Mallory. There were ways to dissolve the matrimonial bond, but not easily and not without risk. Kaleb hoped that they could avoid conflict; he didn’t relish the thought of quarreling with Mallory’s stepfather. A more likely scenario was that Adam would take Mallory and run, but since Kaleb was married to her and because she was pack, he’d be able to find her anywhere. Adam had no legal way to deny Kaleb’s rights. If she were a witch or a human, it would be different, but she was a daimon. Mallory was Kaleb’s to command.

  He knocked on the door of Mallory’s house. This time the wards pulsed against him. The sensation of insects biting him from head to toe was only a warning, a discomfort to remind him that this was a protected house. For anyone not permitted entry, crossing the protection over the boundary would be fatal, but Mallory didn’t need to invite him now that he was her spouse: they were bound as if they were one entity. Where she was, he could enter.

  First, try to talk to the witch.

  When the door opened, though, it was not Adam. Mallory stood there. She was partially blocked by the doorframe. Kaleb knew by her expression of barely contained anger that she knew what he was, but she didn’t slam the door in his face. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “You aren’t welcome here.”

  “Why?” Kaleb prompted quietly. There was no way to stop this conversation, despite the horror he saw in her eyes. She knew a lot more than he’d thought when they’d met—and all of it influenced by witches.

  “Because you’re a daimon,” she said.

  “I am.” Kaleb debated crossing the threshold, but he thought it wiser to wait. “He raised you to hate us. I understand that. Witches and daimons have a long history of hatred, but we’re not all bad—neither are witches.”

  “Your kind killed his family. They . . . you are why we run.” She looked directly at him as she moved her hand from behind the doorframe so that he could see that she held a gun, a matte black thing that he knew had more than enough bullets to kill him. She offered him a smile that was reminiscent of the one Adam had worn when he tortured Kaleb. “Adam and I just want to live in peace. I won’t let you hurt him. It’s bad enough that I let you into our home. Don’t think I’ll let you hurt him.”

  “I don’t want to hurt Adam.” Kaleb didn’t back away.

  She lifted the gun so it was pointed at his chest. “Have you seen him?”

  “No.” Kaleb winced inwardly at the alarm in her voice. The old witch wasn’t there, which, on one hand, was great, but on the other hand could mean trouble. Now that Kaleb had married Mallory, the protection the witch had had from Marchosias himself was gone. Marchosias was a lot of things, but he adhered to law. If the law declared Mallory Adam’s child until she was eighteen, Marchosias wouldn’t come to retrieve her until her eighteenth birthday. He might exploit a loophole—by allowing Kaleb to marry her—but he wouldn’t break the law outright. Now that Mallory had been given into Kaleb’s possession, Adam was just a witch without reason to live. None of which Kaleb wanted to explain to Mallory.

  “Did you hurt him?” she prompted.

  “No. I’m here because of you, because I care for you.” He stared at her, looking for the flicker of relaxation that would let him take the weapon. He didn’t want to frighten her. He had hopes that she’d never see him the way he was in the fights. “I’m not here to hurt you or Adam. I swear it.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  Kaleb kept his gaze fastened on her. “I haven’t lied about the important things. I just couldn’t tell you everything.”

  “I’m sick of everyone keeping things from me,” Mallory muttered.

  The secrets Kaleb had kept from her weren’t any worse than the ones Adam had kept—up until now. The temptation to tell her that they were wed vied with the reality that Mallory was apt to run from him if he told her that detail. Silently, he vowed to them both that once they got past these secre
ts, he wouldn’t keep anything from her. He simply couldn’t tell her everything all at once, especially when she was already upset. For now, all he said was, “I will answer questions, as many as I can.”

  “What was that woman? The one with the birds and the ashes?”

  “Watcher,” he said softly. “She’s called a Watcher.”

  “They’re a sort of daimon,” she half asked, half stated.

  He nodded.

  “And she was here because of me?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Others will come too. I’m here to protect you; I’ll stay by your side through any threat.”

  Her shoulders went back, and she stared at him. “I have spent years training, and there are . . .” Her words faded.

  “Wards,” he completed. “Adam is a witch who has warded the house.”

  “That means you can’t come in.” Mallory swallowed nervously and lowered the gun a fraction—which was all he needed. He caught her wrist with one hand, forcing her arm upward so that if she did squeeze the trigger, she’d be firing into the air. At the same time, he stepped into her house and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He held her firmly against him and walked forward, using his larger size and momentum to propel her.

  He caught the door with his foot and shoved it closed.

  The gun was now aimed at her ceiling, and she struggled in his grip, but they weren’t standing exposed to any passerby who could see her weapon aimed at his chest.

  “Actually, I can come in,” he said. “It’s better to have this conversation inside, and it’s easier to protect you.”

  She wasn’t listening though. Her free hand was hitting and clawing at his face. At the same time, she pulled her knee up as hard as she could. He grunted in pain, but he didn’t release his hold.

  “Let go,” she demanded.

  “I need you to listen, Mallory.”

  “Let me go.” She went limp, using her weight to try to throw him off-balance since he wasn’t responding to her attempts to tug away or to her striking him.