by Lily Cahill
They had gotten sloppy, comfortable. No, not all of them—Damien had. He was the one responsible for his brothers, even now. He needed to honor his mother’s dying wish.
Damien took a deep breath, heat and fire kindling in his chest. They were going to survive this, and then they were never going to have to feel this endangered ever again.
Arryn stirred on the couch above him, snapping Damien back to the present. He slipped out from under the blanket and padded across the floor on bare feet. They’d need to get some more distance between themselves and Augustus. Maybe Europe would be nice.
The water that came out of the sink ran brown for a few moments before thankfully going clear. He took a few slugs from the stream, feeling more focused than he had since the night before. Now was not the time to panic. Worrying wouldn’t save them, but a cool head might.
Felicity’s face flashed in front of his eyes once again, and Damien’s heart clenched. He swallowed down the betrayal. If it wasn’t time to panic, then it certainly wasn’t time to get all maudlin about the girl who had used him to further her own family.
Survive now, he told himself. Think later.
Damien turned off the water and walked back into the living room, where Arryn was already sitting up.
“I’m going to wake Blayze and Vincent,” Damien told him. “We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“I am not sure it would be the wisest course of action,” Vincent said, leaning against the doorway. The debate about where to go next had been going on for several minutes, with no resolution in sight. “The Valdez are sure to be monitoring local airports to see if we attempt to flee overseas.”
Blayze rolled his eyes. “I hate to say it, but Vin has a point. We can’t risk a flight, Damien. We should just steal a car and head to Mexico. Or—fuck, hop a boat to Cuba! We’re allowed to go to Cuba again, right?”
Damien rubbed at his eyes, a headache forming just behind the sockets. “I wasn’t asking for your input, I was telling you. We’re getting off this continent. We’re going to hide out in Europe for a while, keep our heads down and ears to the ground.”
“So, what? This isn’t up for discussion? You just—get to decide, like you always do? That hasn’t turned out so well for us lately.”
The heat in Blayze’s words made Damien’s dragon want to burst forth. Even after all these years, no one could get under his skin quite like Blayze.
“Mexico’s too close. They’ll be monitoring the borders, as well. And no matter where we go, there’s always the threat of location spells. We need to find a witch—someone discreet, who doesn’t know us—and update our old imperceptibility spells before the word gets out and everyone recognizes us and refuses to help. And when that’s done, we need to put some serious miles between us and the U.S.”
Arryn broke in. “We’re not doing ourselves any favors by fighting. Who knows who could be closing in on our location.” He tossed something onto the floor in front of all of them: an old, worn paper map. “I found this in a drawer. We’re a few miles from the nearest town. We can check in with their local witch, and then we need to get out of here. Europe is as good as anywhere else. It’s not like any of us spent the past twenty years learning Spanish, anyway.”
Both Blayze and Vincent said nothing.
“I’ll go scout ahead to the witch,” Damien offered, stooping to pick up the map. “Make sure she doesn’t know anything about us yet. Word travels fast in the magic community. There’s no sense in risking all of us. If I’m not back in three hours, you should all get out of here.”
“We won’t leave you behind,” Vincent said.
“Yes, you will.”
The dream lingered in Damien’s mind. He could still feel the heat of the fire against his human skin, the frustration from not being able to shift into his second form, protect himself. The glass cutting him as he climbed out the castle window, the fear. His promise to his mother burned in his soul.
His brothers were all that was left of his family. No matter what, he loved them, and they came first. Felicity had distracted him, bewitched him, enchanted him. No more. He would not spend another moment dwelling on her.
The walk to town was quicker than expected. Damien stayed on a shady path through the trees that eventually led to the main road, the morning sun bleeding through the canopy overhead. He followed it until he reached a gas station and could get better directions; the place was hardly big enough to be considered a town at all.
He took note, as he walked into the square, of all the shops. A general store that sold basic food and supplies—he’d have to stop there, get something to eat and maybe a medical kit, if they had one. An old book store that Vincent would have loved, if he’d been here. A few restaurants. A handful of people milled around, but no one paid him any mind, and that set Damien’s heart at ease.
The town witch was easy to find, her storefront adorned with a swinging sign with a cauldron etched into the wood. He went through the front, ducking his head under the frame.
A television blared the news from the corner. On the counter, there was an ancient looking antique cash register. There were a few overstuffed arm chairs, a chintz rug, and a disgruntled looking tabby cat that hissed at him before scampering into the back room. From there, he heard a crash and a shout.
“Gandalf!” A female voice swore. “You damn cat! If you weren’t such a good familiar, I swear I would—wait, what? A customer?” The voice sounded nearer, and then a head swung out into the waiting room. “Well, then. What do you want?”
Damien blinked. That was not the kind of reception he’d expected. “I want to buy a spell from you.”
“I don’t do tanning charms,” she said, nose in the air. Her gray hair stuck up wildly. “Or money spells. Or love potions. Detestable things, those love potions. If you can’t get a girl on your own terms, then you don’t deserve a girl. Or a boy, if that’s more your thing. I’m certainly not going to judge you.”
“What?” Damien barely managed the words.
“I’m just telling you now, in case that’s what you’re interested in. Seems like what you young people are always interested in, these days. Trying to impress the girls on Timber, or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m not on Tinder.” This conversation was quickly getting away from him. “I need an imperceptibility spell. Four of them, really, one for me and my brothers. We’re going hunting.”
That was the standard excuse he’d always used in the past, and no witch had ever given him trouble before. This one, however, stared at him through narrowed eyes. She tapped her finger against her pointy chin and moved completely into the front room.
She was shorter than he’d expected and very round, gray hair sticking up wildly. She looked like a crazy woman, rather than someone who might be able to cook up a decent spell. Damien glanced toward the door. Maybe it would be better if he just left.
“I don’t sell my spells to liars,” she told him, still giving him that same shrewd look. “You’re not going hunting, and don’t bother denying it.”
He didn’t know how to explain that they were being hunted.
“Now, go on then. Get out of my shop. I won’t cater to people who don’t tell me the truth, won’t have my magic used for something terrible.”
The television blared with some new music, coming back from the commercial break, and her eyes traveled over his shoulder to stare at the screen. She looked blank, as if she’d completely forgotten that he was there at all.
It wouldn’t do. They didn’t have time to find another witch, not with the clock ticking down on how long it would be before the Valdez knew where he and his brothers were hiding. This witch was absolutely insane, but she was their only option.
“Ma’am, please,” Damien said, his voice soft. “I’m not lying, I’m—“
The words caught in Damien’s throat as if someone had reached down inside of him and physically stopped them. He opened and closed his mouth fruitlessly, unable
to speak. Panic rose up inside of him, and he stared down at the tiny witch, who was holding up her hand to him.
“Shh,” she told him. She did not take her eyes from the screen. “I want to hear this.”
The volume went even higher, inching toward deafening.
“—has been affected by a rare poison called vivium mortem,” came the voice from the television. Damien froze. He knew that voice. He’d heard it murmur and laugh and scream in passion, all less than two days ago.
He whipped around. Felicity Valdez was on screen.
She was standing on the steps of the hospital in Augustus, wearing a dark skirt and shirt. Her hair was pulled back, tight and no-nonsense, and her face was free of makeup. She looked tired and stressed, but still unbelievably beautiful to him. His heart flipped in his chest, despite his better judgment.
“The only known cure for vivium mortem is dragon’s blood,” she continued, her eyes staring straight into the camera. Damien felt them in his soul. “I am asking all of you—if you have an old store of dragon’s blood, or if you ….” She stumbled for the first time, glancing away and taking a deep breath before looking back. “Or if you know someone who has dragon’s blood, please consider reaching out to this completely anonymous tip line.”
The number flashed at the bottom of the screen.
“The ownership of dragon’s blood is illegal, by the laws of the magic community. It has been since my family came to power twenty years ago. For many years, there has been speculation that my father has fallen ill, and I am here to confirm that rumor today. As of now, I am the acting head of the Valdez family, and you have my word that if you choose to come forward, you will not be punished for doing so.”
Felicity glanced down, and when she looked back into the camera, her lower lip was trembling. “Please. I promise you my protection and my eternal gratitude. Help me to save my sister and preserve my family.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “I will be taking no questions at this time. I ask that you please respect my family’s privacy.”
She turned and walked away from the cameras, ignoring the shouts at her back.
As soon as the interview was over, Damien felt the stranglehold loosen on his tongue. He glared down at the witch, who looked passively back up at him.
“Well,” she said, turning and wandering back toward the door. She paused under the frame. “Looks like you know what you have to do. Doesn’t it, Mr. Dragomir?”
Damien froze.
“No need to panic. Your little witch friend hasn’t told, and she isn’t planning to. She wouldn’t betray you.”
The words sounded too good to be true. He wanted to believe them, deep down. He wanted to believe that Felicity wouldn’t betray him, that she had felt that connection between them, that all they had shared that night had been real. But how could he trust that, when a witch was the one telling him these things?
“Because I am no ordinary witch. In fact, I’m rather extraordinary. And I’ve no quarrel with the dragons. Go to her. Save her sister. Reclaim your destiny.” She paused, tilting her head, and smiled. “When new bonds are formed, and old sins forgiven. I believe that’s how it goes, yes?”
The words of the prophecy ricocheted around Damien’s mind. His heartbeat was quick in his chest. “I don’t understand.”
“Damien,” she said. She sounded calm, otherworldly. “I would not steer you wrong. Go to her.”
He backed out of the shop, stumbling onto the street, his head spinning. The witch’s voice echoed inside of him: Go to her, go to her, go to her.
Common sense told him to ignore her; she was crazy, she was wrong. But his heart told him otherwise. It remembered Felicity, their night together, and how true and real it had all felt. He knew what he was going to do.
Chapter Nine
Felicity
FELICITY SAT BY THE PHONE, which she’d had situated next to Joy’s bed in her private hospital room. There were certain advantages to her family’s money, that was for sure.
Her mother had been calling non-stop all morning, leaving voicemail after voicemail. They all began with “how could you promise immunity to anyone who …,” or “and you thought you could protect her …,” and she was not ready to deal with that. Her father’s failing health had been a well-kept secret, her own reluctance to take her place at the head of the family a source of great shame among everyone she’d grown up with. She’d claimed her place at the expense of her father, had shown the weaknesses her family so carefully guarded.
She’d done it for Joy.
Joy looked worse and worse with each passing day. Her skin was sallow and sweaty, her eyes sunk into her head. No nourishment seemed to replenish her, and the doctor’s still cautioned against waking her up. The medi-witches weren’t able to offer any more help, casting cooling spells when her fever spiked and nothing more.
The phone had rung a few times—people who claimed to have stores of dragon’s blood, or who claimed that they were a long lost cousin of the Dragomirs, several times removed. None of the leads had panned out, so far, and she had yet to receive the only call that she wanted.
Damien.
It was stupid, she knew. There was no way that Damien Dragomir would trust her or her family. But when she’d been bombarded by the paparazzi, she’d thought that there was a chance to use the publicity that plagued the Valdez family to her advantage. She’d hoped that he would hear the truth of her desperation and understand. She would protect him from everyone else, not only for this favor but because she cared for him, maybe even loved him. Maybe there wasn’t even a maybe.
There’d been no such luck so far. Damien was either unaware or unwilling to help her. She doubted it was the former. Even if he’d missed the original broadcast, the news that Joy Valdez was on her death bed was the headlining story on both mortal and Other television. Her family was notorious. She’d always known that. She’d just hoped that that notoriety would help, in this case. Get the message out.
The steady beep of the machines helping to keep Joy alive reminded her that she had failed.
She stared at the phone for the tip line, urging it to ring. She’d enchanted it herself to keep out all fake calls—people who were reaching out for attention, or to lie deliberately. The screening spell had worked like a charm, if the lack of real tips she’d received was anything to go by.
“Miss Morningstar?”
One of the nurses appeared in the doorway. Felicity tried to remember her name and failed, the guilt of that coming over her in waves. This woman was trying to help her sister, and she’d not even been able to learn her name.
“Yes?” Felicity managed, sounding groggy.
“There’s a gentleman out at the front desk who refuses to go away. We thought he was a reporter, or something, so we threatened to call the police, but he won’t leave. He says he needs to speak to you, that he can save your sister.”
Felicity looked over at Joy’s thin body. She was dying. Vivium mortem was killing her slowly.
She wanted to feel hopeful about this new stranger, but the feeling wouldn’t come to her. It was hard to believe the best could happen when she was looking at the worst possible case scenario. Her mother was right. Felicity had sworn that it was the city that had turned Joy into such a wild child and kept her from being a responsible adult, but that was wrong. It was Joy who had done this, who had made these choices, and Felicity had been unable to save her from herself.
Now she might be unable to save her from Vivium mortem, as well.
She stood up. “I’ll see him. Keep the police on call, though, in case he’s some crazy person. At the very least, I’ll get him out of your waiting room, have him stop scaring your patients.”
The nurse sagged with relief. “Thanks, Miss Morningstar.”
“Felicity, please. And you are?”
“Nurse Peters. Sarah Peters.”
Sarah Peters beamed at Felicity like she’d done something extraordinary instead of simply havin
g extended some modicum of politeness. It felt good, though, to have done something right.
Felicity stood. “Will you sit by the phone while I go speak to this man?”
Nurse Peters slid into the now-empty seat, and Felicity headed down the hallway.
Only to find Damien Dragomir arguing with the nurse on duty at the front desk.
“Can’t you just—call the room? I don’t understand why I can’t speak to her myself.”
“We aren’t Miss Valdez’s personal secretaries. We are, in fact, running a hospital. If you have some lead into a cure for her sister, you can contact the tip line, which I’ve given to you, now, several times. Now if you could please—“
Damien growled, and it sounded more than human. A shiver ran up Felicity’s spine. “I told you, this is urgent.”
“Then why are you wasting your time arguing with me?”
Felicity stepped forward, drawing both of their attention to her. Damien’s eyes drank her in, running up and down her body as if he could hardly believe she were real. She wanted to revel in the look. It’d been less than forty-eight hours since she’d felt his touch, but it seemed so much longer. She felt like she’d been in the desert for her whole life, and he was a glass of water.
“Thank you, Nurse, but I’ll see him,” she said. She sounded cool and unaffected even to her own ears, which surprised her. She felt anything but. “Is there a room where we can speak in private?”
She couldn’t hold this conversation in front of Joy or Nurse Peters. What if he was here to say no? She couldn’t bear it.
The nurse nodded dumbly and gave directions to an exam room down the corridor. Felicity walked through the double doors, holding one open for Damien, who strode down the hall behind her. She found the appropriate door and opened it, then closed it behind him and locked it.
