The room looked like a playground for the criminally insane. Holy shit. This is who I’ve thrown in with.
Aurora turned to stare at her. “What do you think of my room?”
Rosalind took a deep, steadying breath, her foot crunching on a cassette tape. “The paintings are… interesting.”
For the first time, she saw Aurora’s face brighten into a smile. “Do you like them?”
“Are the crossed-out eyes a vampire thing?”
“What? No. I made those when I was human. I was an art student at Goldsmiths before I died.”
That was a slight relief. “Ah. And the handwritten notes, too?”
“I’ve been dead nearly thirty years, but I like to think of my art as avant-garde, you know?” Aurora looked her up and down. “Just be careful what you touch in my room, Hunter.”
“I’m not exactly eager to rifle around.”
Aurora narrowed her eyes. “Like, if you touch my Tears for Fears cassette tapes, I will rip your head off and light you on fire.”
Rosalind’s stomach lurched.
Aurora stared at her. “It’s just an expression.”
“I won’t touch them.” Rosalind nodded at the casket, her skin growing cold. “I didn’t know vampires actually slept in coffins.”
“Most don’t. I just thought it was kind of cool, so I made a coffin. Only they’re not so good for shagging.” Aurora cocked her head. “I’ve never seen Ambrose take such an interest in a human before.”
“I didn’t enjoy his interest. He seemed a little off-key.” Insane, really. Then again, everyone here was obviously slightly mental.
“He’s six hundred years old, so he’s a little old school; that makes him different. Like, when he was a kid, there was nothing to play with but a wooden circle and a hoop. Public executions were entertainment in those days. But he’s sexy as hell, and he’s always been good to me. And if anyone messes with him, I would feast on their heart.”
Rosalind tried to force a smile. “Another vampire expression?”
Aurora blinked. “No. That was literal. Anyway, he said I’m supposed to be hospitable and shit. So what do humans drink?”
“Water is fine.”
“We don’t have that here.” Aurora rifled around on the desk, bottles clinking. “I know!” She unscrewed a cap from a bottle labelled whiskey, pouring it into a silver goblet, then decanted a measure of blood for herself, topped with whiskey.
She handed Rosalind the bloodless goblet and gazed at her, raising her own. “To the dark side.”
Rosalind lifted her drink. “To the… whatever.” She didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t about to toast to the dark side. She took a sip, and the whiskey burned her throat.
“You know,” Aurora said. “Vampires aren’t as bad as everyone thinks. People think that we’re horrible monsters, but we’re not really. We’re just like regular people.”
Right—apart from all the slaughtering, and walls made of human skulls. Rosalind scanned the room, and her eyes landed on something that churned her stomach: fingers poking out from below a pile of clothes on the floor. “Is that a human hand?”
Aurora turned and snatched a severed hand from the floor. “Oh, yeah.” She looked up at Rosalind, her face a picture of innocence. “But he was a very bad person.”
Oh gods. Do I really have to spend the night in here?
“Are you hungry?” Aurora asked. She dropped the hand on the desk and rummaged through the papers, pulling out a half-eaten Snickers bar. “We don’t really eat food, per se, but I took this off the severed-hand guy. He didn’t look like he had any diseases or anything, so it’s probably fine.”
Rosalind’s mind spun like a cyclone. She didn’t belong here, yet she’d willingly plunged into a city of the dead. Maybe the demented witch’s spirit had compelled her to do it. Either that, or she was a first-rate idiot like Caine had said.
Whatever the case, Rosalind was desperate for human company right now—even the evil kind. “Where is Caine?”
Aurora narrowed her dark eyes. “You’re not going to try to hurt him, are you? It won’t go well for you if you do. He’s a bit full of himself, but he also happens to be the most lethal mage I’ve ever seen. As you could probably tell from tonight’s slaughter.”
“I won’t try to hurt him. I just wanted to see another human face. Preferably one that’s attached to a living body.”
“Two doors down, past the portrait of Lord Byron.”
Rosalind shivered. In a world of demons, she was forced to rely on someone as terrifying as Caine for an ally.
Chapter 10
Rosalind walked down the hallway, pausing just after the portrait of Lord Byron dressed in some sort of orange turban. She knocked on the oak door, trying to figure out what she wanted to say to Caine.
She’d have to enlist his help to get the mage out of her body, but she couldn’t ask him about the exorcism here. Even the gargoyles were probably spying for the Vampire Lord.
Was Caine really any better than the vampires, just because he was human?
As his footfalls crossed the floor, she half wanted to turn around and run back to the serial killer suite.
Caine pulled open the door, his hair disheveled and wet, like he’d just stepped out of a bath. Droplets of water beaded on his bare chest, and her eyes lingered on his muscled body. Tattoos covered his flawless skin: constellations, a raven, a moon cycle, and Angelic script.
Washed clean of blood, he now wore only his black jeans. She tried not to stare.
For the first time, she saw a flicker of a smile. “Rosalind. It seems the only thing that can rob you of your formidable powers of inquisition is the sight of me without a shirt on.”
Cocky bastard. Why had she come here? She couldn’t remember anymore. She just needed to keep her eyes on his face. “You’re not my stepbrother, are you?”
Gods. Why had she just said that?
“Why? Is your delicate mind troubled by impure thoughts?” He leaned against the door frame, his gaze slowly trailing over her white gown, like he was memorizing every curve of her body. He smelled amazing—a fresh scent, like the earth after a rainstorm. “Don’t worry. The vampires wouldn’t begrudge a little brotherly love if that’s what you’re looking for. Unlike the Chambers, we don’t judge here.”
“Oh, please. First of all, that’s disgusting. And second of all, you’re not my type.” She clamped her hands on her hips. “Can you just answer the question? Ambrose said something about a familial connection. I don’t like the idea of being related to a man who’s been completely corrupted by magic.”
“I knew your parents, but we’re not related. In fact, they would have been horrified by the thought. I was merely part of their experiment. When it didn’t go as planned, our relationship was over.”
“I see. If we’re not related, why did they imbue you with an extra soul, too?”
“They wanted to make sure the spell worked before they tried anything on their own flesh and blood.”
It was hard to decide the worst thing Rosalind had learned tonight: her exile from the Brotherhood, the mage in her body, or the fact that her birth parents were a couple of assholes. She couldn’t take any more shitty news without completely losing her mind—assuming she still had a mind to lose.
She couldn’t reconcile Caine’s description of her parents with her happy memories of her early childhood, even if they were vague. “I don’t understand. I thought my parents were loving. I remember when they gave me flowers and patched up my knee. And I think I remember you. There was a boy with eyes like yours.”
“I’m sure you were happy. But things aren’t always as perfect as you remember them.”
She hugged herself. “We get out of here soon, right?”
“Yes. Before the sun rises. Aurora can’t travel in the light. Go to sleep, Rosalind.” There was that commanding tone again. “You only have three hours of rest before we move.”
But she knew she wouldn’t be
sleeping at all. Not in the serial killer room, and certainly not with the news that a crazed spirit had infected her body.
Chapter 11
Rosalind jolted upright, gasping for breath. After their rapid departure through another portal in Lilinor, they’d arrived in Caine’s Salem apartment, twenty miles north of Boston.
When you hung around with creatures of the night, sunrise signaled bedtime. Now, the sunset streamed through the windows, washing the living room and kitchen in pumpkin light.
Despite its warmth, she shuddered, wrapping Caine’s blanket tighter around her shoulders. She’d been dreaming of Mason. Her nightmares were no different from her memories. In her dream, he’d tied her to a chair, beating the bottoms of her feet with his leather belt, all the while ranting about corruption.
As if staying in a mage’s apartment weren’t bad enough, reminders of Mason had brought her out in a cold sweat.
It was so obvious to her now: Mason had known about the possession all along. It was why he’d always been so repulsed by her. When she’d first arrived, he’d started off reasonably nice—warm mugs of cocoa to warm her in the cold mansion, letting her watch TV as long as she wanted. But then he’d catch her drifting off, losing herself in thought, and something about her dreaminess made him angry. She understood now—it was the mage inside of her. He wanted to beat the magic out of her.
She straightened, pushing the blanket off her to survey the room. For a tattoo-covered mage who lived among corpses, Caine kept a surprisingly tidy apartment. Oak bookshelves, packed with alphabetically arranged poetry and spell books, lined one wall. Midnight-blue sofas stood on the bare wooden floors, and the tall windows overlooked one of the old colonial cemeteries, where the setting sun cast long shadows over the grass.
Four silver-framed mirrors hung on the rough stone walls. Of course he had four mirrors in one room. The guy obviously loved himself.
Rosalind glanced down at herself. The white dress Aurora had given her was crumpled from sleep, and her long hair was tangled into knots. She looked like a disaster, and she tried to smooth out her tangles
Footsteps sounded behind her; she turned to see Caine, his hair gently rumpled from sleep. He wore an undershirt that showed off his athletic form.
She had a bad feeling that the only way to get this mage out of her body would be through powerful magic—the kind that Caine had—except the Vampire Lord wanted her to remain possessed. Ambrose had some sort of big plans for her. What was the likelihood of Caine defying him?
She’d have to tap into his anti-authoritarian nature.
“I hope you slept well,” he said. “Might as well get comfortable for a while since you’re apparently staying here.”
“I slept fine.” There was no way she’d be staying, but she’d wait a moment before bringing that up. “I take it you’re not thrilled about having me here.”
He leaned against a granite countertop. “As it happens, I have better things to do than to train a novice Hunter in the dark arts. Especially a noble-born girl who will go into hysterics every time things get a little difficult.”
Arrogant prick. Everything about him irked her. “That’s fine by me, because I’m not actually going to train with you. I’ll be out of here as soon as I get… everything sorted out.”
“And what do you expect to sort out? Do you have a plan now? Or still just a desire?”
Her stomach rumbled. How was she supposed to come up with a plan with a stomach this hollow? “I have a strong desire for some food.”
“I don’t keep the house well-stocked. I’m not exactly the cooking type. When Aurora gets up, we’ll go out somewhere.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” Rosalind asked.
He arched an eyebrow, crossing to the living room. “No. Interesting that you asked though. I seem to recall you saying I’m not your type. I’m not sure that I believe you anymore. You’ve now inquired about our family affiliation and my relationship status.”
She failed to suppress an eye roll. The ego on this guy is unparalleled. “You’re probably glamoured, just like my Guardian said. Under your demigod facade, I’m sure you look like a beast.”
He flashed a half-smile. “Is that so?”
She flushed. Why did he make her so nervous? She usually made men nervous, not the other way around. “It’s basic witch-lore. Magic pollutes the body and turns humans into monsters.”
“Demigod, was it? Tell me, what is the most impressive part of this beautifying spell I’ve woven? Do you think I did a better job on my face or my body with this—demigod spell? I’d really love to hear more.”
Her stomach fluttered. Shit. Josiah hadn’t been wrong about the disfigurement, had he?
She gritted her teeth. “Please tell me it’s a spell. Because based on the number of mirrors around this place, I’m a little worried about what would happen if your ego grows any bigger than it already is.”
“Can you blame me for loving something that’s so—demigod-like?” He cocked his head contemplatively. “That phrasing is unwieldy. Let’s shorten to godlike.”
“If self-love had mass, yours would create a singularity that would warp space-time and destroy the universe.”
“Has anyone ever said you’re charming when you talk about science?”
“No.”
“Unsurprising.” He folded his fingers behind his head, in all likelihood trying to give off the best view of his muscled arms. “If you don’t believe me about the glamour, why don’t you spray that purgator dust on me? If it’s a spell, you’ll see the real me. The demonic, twisted Caine that lurks below the surface, warped by magic.”
“Since you have an aura, the dust will burn you.”
“I can handle a little pain.”
“Anything for your vanity, right?”
She snatched her purgator dust from the coffee table, pausing for a moment at the self-satisfied smirk on his face. This would hurt—a lot. What if the agony flipped a switch in his brain? He could slaughter her in an instant.
Still, maybe now was a good time to practice that whole fear-mastery thing. She had to get used to hurting the bad guys.
She strengthened her resolve and pushed the button. Shiny red dust poured from the canister, coating his skin. A flicker of pain registered on his face, though in reality he must be withstanding indescribable pain. All this to prove to her that he was pretty.
And, gods damn it, he was right. The guy was stunning, and it wasn’t because of magic. She sucked in a breath. “Fine. We’ve established that you’re not deformed.”
He brushed the dust off his face. “I think we agreed on the term ‘godlike’.”
Rosalind wanted to hide her face. This was mortifying.
As the last of the sun dipped below the horizon, Aurora strode into the room, clad in a tight silver dress. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing to Caine, Hunter?”
“It’s fine,” Caine said. “I asked her to do it.”
Aurora crossed her arms. “I don’t even want to know.”
Caine rose, visibly trying to manage the pain. He soaked a kitchen cloth in water and began cleaning himself off. “Would you like to help me clean off my body, Rosalind, since you’re such a fan of my godlike physique?”
Gods, kill me now.
“I’ve walked into something really weird, haven’t I?” Aurora said. “Please don’t tell me you fed his ego.”
With the dust washed off him, Caine smiled. “Our Hunter has spent a little too much time among the impure, and now she fancies a bit of shadow mage. Her mind must be corrupted like ours. Funny. I wouldn’t have guessed a follower of the True God, not to mention one from lofty Maremount nobility, would be so easily warped. I suppose, in the face of godlike beauty, a little lust is only to be expected even in the purest of creatures. I wonder how far we can take that.”
She shielded her eyes with her hand. What an ass.
She needed to get out of there before she gave in to temptation. The longer sh
e stayed around Caine, the harder it would be to piece her life back together, to resume her life among the Brotherhood.
If such a thing was even possible at this point.
Chapter 12
“Speaking of becoming corrupted,” Rosalind said. “I’m not letting you train me. I want to get this mage’s soul out of me. The Brotherhood can’t blame me for something that was done to me when I was a child. Once I have this thing exorcised, I can get out of your life.”
“Uh-uh,” Aurora said. “Ambrose said Caine’s going to train you. So that’s what’s happening.”
“You can’t force me to learn something,” Rosalind said.
“Actually, he can,” Aurora snapped. “He has mind control abilities.”
“I’m not going to hypnotize her,” Caine said. “She’ll go along with it willingly. What other options does she have?”
“Actually, I’m not going along with it,” Rosalind said.
Caine stared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re completely irrational.”
“I’m irrational? I just learned that I’m possessed by a lunatic spirit. I think it’s perfectly rational to want it exorcised.”
Aurora’s face was stony. “You think the Brotherhood would take you back, after you spent time with us, using Caine’s magic?”
“I’m still human. Humans have rights.” Maybe the vampire had a point, but Rosalind couldn’t even consider that option. She had no life outside of the Brotherhood—no future. “None of this has been my fault. I was only a kid when this happened. I have to make them see that. I don’t want to be here, and you don’t want me here. If you help me with the possession, we’re done with each other for good.”
As the room darkened, Caine chanted a spell to light the candles in the iron sconces around the room, then folded his hands behind his head. “You must understand that your actual guilt isn’t the point. The Brotherhood convict whoever they want. Sometimes it’s demons and witches, and sometimes not. Look outside the window. You can see where they pressed Giles Corey to death with a load of rocks during the Salem Witch Trials. The old man had never looked at a spell book in his life. Did that stop them? No. They had their sights set on him, so he was dead.”
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