“Hello, Emma,” Emilio Sanchez grates, grinning at me. “Long time no see.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I open my mouth to scream but Sanchez has a meaty palm slapped over my lips before I can make so much as a whimper. I want to gag at the gamey smell of his hand but I try to bite him anyway. Before I taste blood, he yanks his hand away and backhands me. My head rocks back and I see stars exploding in my field of vision as pain blooms across my cheek. I stagger backward but the satyr catches me by the elbow and drags me back up. He pulls out a roll of duct tape and slaps a thick piece over my mouth while I’m still stunned.
“Figure that oughta shut you up for a little while, girlie,” he mutters in my ear and proceeds to tape my wrists together too. “Don’t know why you’re so surprised. I brought you the warning this day was coming, straight from the Council itself. Didn’t you get the message?”
The message… He must mean the cryptic quote in the cardboard box he delivered to me. My head is aching and the world around me is reeling but from the corner of my eye, I see that Lexy has been similarly bound and gagged by another satyr. The save-the-tigers co-ed is long gone. I have a faint hope that she might have run to fetch the campus police…but then I see her body, facedown on the ground.
“She’ll wake up eventually,” Sanchez grunts, nudging her with the steel toe of his work boot. “The Council said no witnesses—wipe her, Grant.”
I look on in amazement as a man who is clearly a warlock bends down and presses the tips of two fingers to the unconscious co-ed’s temple. He murmurs a forgetfulness spell and I know when she wakes up she’ll have nothing but a headache and no memory of what happened.
Male witches are rare and I thought I knew most of them in the community but this warlock is new. Why is he working with a satyr against his own kind? And what do they want from me? I stare at Sanchez uncertainly, looking for clues, trying to figure this out. As always whenever I’m near him I smell burning, hear crying. This time I don’t try to shut it out. I reach for the memory, wondering why it seems so familiar…trying to figure it out. The eyes…the slotted yellow eyes outside my bedroom that night… But what night? Why—
“You better wipe the other one too,” Sanchez says, nodding at Lexy.
Lexy shakes her head, her auburn hair whipping wildly around her face as the warlock called Grant approaches her.
“Hold her,” Sanchez tells the other satyr. He’s a big, burly guy with hands like meat hooks, which he digs into Lexy’s upper arms, making her moan in pain.
Grant manages to catch my cousin’s chin and press his fingertips to her temple. He mutters under his breath for a moment while she stares at him, wide-eyed. At last he draws back, an unhappy look on his face.
“Well?” Sanchez demands.
Grant frowns. “I couldn’t do much. She’s a powerful witch and she has a strong family behind her. They’ll be able to tell she was tampered with.”
“That’s too fucking bad.” Sanchez spits to one side, a gob of greenish goo staining the concrete walkway. “Finish the job or kill her yourself—I don’t care which. But the Council says no witnesses so there better not be any. Understand?”
“No one ever said I’d have to work against my own kind when I took this job,” Grant protests.
“Your kind doesn’t mean shit.” Sanchez’s inhuman eyes narrow and he pokes a finger at the warlock. “And your only job is to do whatever the Council tells you. Now come on, we’re supposed to be there soon.”
The two satyrs tow Lexy and I off the path despite our kicking and struggling. Grant walks to one side, his lips moving silently in a Don’t Notice Me spell. I can feel his magic tingling against my skin, enveloping us all in a silent, invisible net. We walk right past a pair of campus security guards and neither of them notices a thing.
It doesn’t take long to get to a windowless black van—the exact kind of vehicle I imagine a serial killer driving. I nearly lose it here, kicking and clawing as well as I can with my hands taped in front of me. Finally Sanchez belts me in the face again, stunning me. I fall to the ground as Lexy makes indignant noises through her gag. I know she wants to come running to my rescue but her own satyr guard has a firm grip on her.
“Listen up, girlie,” Sanchez says, bending down to look at me. “Settle down if you don’t want more of the same. I’d tell you that I don’t like hitting women but that would be a lie. I really fucking enjoy it—makes me hard, you know?” He grabs his crotch and shakes it at me, laughing. “In fact, when this is all over I might even fuck you.”
The casual way he says it and the gleam in his slotted yellow eyes makes me cold all over. I feel frozen as they load Lexy and me into the back of the van and clang the doors shut, leaving us in darkness.
Where are they taking us? I hear Lexy whisper in my head. I want to answer her but the mind voice, also referred to as the “witch-whisper” is yet another piece of magic I was never able to manage. It used to drive me crazy because I could hear everything my cousins said without being able to reply. So I know it’s useless but I can’t help trying to talk back.
I don’t know, I send in Lexy’s direction.
In the dimness of the van, I see her eyes widen. Emma, you did it! You talked to me! I heard you! She nudges me with her foot. Try again.
What do you want me to say?
Oh my Goddess! Despite the desperate situation we are in, she is suddenly ecstatic for me. You can do it. You can mind talk! I always knew it. I knew you weren’t a dud! First lighting the candles and now this—your magic is finally coming in, Emma. I just know it!
It’s awesome, I admit. I don’t know where the magic came from but the sensation of it pouring into me slowly, like an empty cup being filled one drop at a time is undeniable. But it doesn’t get us any closer to getting out of here.
What does Sanchez want with us, anyway? She shivers. Ugh. I always hated him.
I don’t think it’s us they want—it’s me, I send grimly. Maybe….maybe Aiden was right about him having a lot of enemies that want to get to me. Just thinking it makes me feel sick. What are they going to do with me? Will they kill me just to make Aiden mad? And who are “they” anyway?
Sanchez said something about the Council. Lexy sends back and I realize I have let the last thought slip past my mental barrier. Do you think he meant the Vampire Council?
I have no idea. I hope not. I can’t imagine being brought before that most ancient and powerful ruling body. Why would theywant to see me?
We mind talk back and forth together over the twenty more minutes the van is in motion but neither Lexy nor I can solve the mystery. We do, however, make a plan of escape. Having our hands bound and our mouths gagged rules out casting a spell. But we can still kick our captors in the balls when they open the van. We wait, lying on our backs, tense and terrified but determined to do whatever we can to get out of this situation.
The van has been moving smoothly up until now but suddenly there’s a lurch and it starts rocking and jouncing over uneven ground.
We’re going off-road, Lexy sends, her eyes wide with fear. They’re taking us into the wilderness somewhere.
I want to protest that there isn’t a whole lot of wilderness around Tampa but apparently our captors have found some. We bounce around, being thrown against each other, unable to brace ourselves because of our bound hands. I’ve always been prone to motion sickness and the violent motion makes me nauseous. Then Lexy bumps her head and gives a little cry behind her tape gag.
I’m still trying to crawl over to her and see if she’s okay when the van stops with a jolt and the back doors swing wide.
“C’mon out now, girlies,” Sanchez says, reaching in to haul me roughly to my feet. “No funny business or—”
I kick out and catch him squarely in the balls.
He goes white, then green, then his face turns a dark shade of purple. But through it all, he somehow keeps his grip on to my arm. I couldn’t get away anyway, I realize with despair.
I can’t leave Lexy here alone and she seems stunned and woozy from the blow to her head. All I have done is succeeded in making my captor even more angry.
“You’ll pay…” Sanchez finally manages to wheeze out, pinching my arm viciously until I yelp in pain. “Maybe not now but you’ll be sorry. I’ll make you sorry.” He raises his hand, no doubt to hit me again.
“We don’t have time for this.” The warlock Grant is suddenly there looking worried. “The ceremony has to start as soon as the moon is directly overhead. Come on.”
“Fine,” Sanchez growls. He and the other satyr pull Lexy and me out of the van and follow Grant, who is leading the way.
What ceremony? I think wildly, trying to look around as we stumble over the uneven ground. Unfortunately, it’s pretty dark aside from the quarter moon rising. All I can make out is that we seem to be in the middle of a field with trees on either side. There are no landmarks, no way to guide myself even if I could break away from the satyr’s punishing grip.
They drag us up a gently rising hill and through some trees. Suddenly we’re standing in front of what looks to be a miniature castle. That’s crazy though—there aren’t any castles in Florida. Except here one is, right in front of me.
There are torches burning in holders at the rounded front entryway lined with jagged metal spikes. What’s that called? A portcullis? My mind babbles as we are dragged through the gates.
Inside the space opens into a narrow courtyard. At the end of it is a single black door with no knob. For some reason, the sight of that door makes me cold with dread. No, not behind the black door! Anywhere but there! It’s almost as though I’ve been here before. But I know I never have. I’m just afraid of the door because I don’t want to see who or what is on the other side of it. Right?
Sanchez raps almost gently on the door and calls in a surprisingly respectful voice, asking for entry. Slowly the door swings open and Lexy and I are shoved into a large stone room, our reluctant footsteps echoing as we stumble in.
It’s almost as dark inside as it is outside. To one side of the vast room a fire is crackling in the fireplace. But the room is so huge it barely illuminates anything. On the stone floor, a circle about eight feet in diameter is drawn. No, not drawn, I realize—carved. There is a half-inch-deep circular trench gouged into the flagstones. Who the hell could have made it so perfectly round and why do I find the long, curving, empty groove so disturbing?
Watch out! Lexy gasps in my head. Don’t step into the circle. It’s a trap. Can’t you feel it?
I do feel it now—the familiar prickling sensation of magic—very strong magic crawling over my skin. But before I can step back, Sanchez has ripped the tape off my mouth and shoved me over the circle’s lip. I stumble and come to a halt in the empty center, feeling as if I have somehow come to rest in a dangerous place—the eye of a hurricane that may whirl me off my feet and into an abyss at any moment.
“Emma Krist,” a low, hissing voice whispers from the perimeter of the circle. It sounds like a snake’s voice—if a snake could talk.
“Who-who are you?” My voice is shaking. I take a deep breath and try to sound a little less like a frightened rabbit. “What do you want with me?”
“We are the Council,” the voice replies.
We? Who the hell are “we”? Looking out around the edge of the circle, I get my answer. There are eyes out there. Vampire eyes. They gleam in the flickering firelight like the predators they are. Like wolves around a campfire at night, waiting for the flames to die down enough to attack. I count twelve pairs staring at me from all around the strange, circular groove that has been carved into the solid-stone floor. Every once in a while one of them will lean forward, giving me a glimpse of porcelain-white skin, but for the most part they are just eyes, watching me…waiting. But waiting for what?
I decide to try again. “What do you want from me?” I ask, looking around the circle, trying to meet all their eyes in turn. It’s not easy—they don’t move or twitch occasionally like humans. They stare, unblinking like snakes. Why have I never noticed these traits in Aiden during the time we’ve been together? Is it because he’s been making an effort to seem more human, less predatory, less frightening? Or is it because he spends the majority of his time with mortals like me, away from his own kind?
“Tell her,” whispers the one with the snake voice.
Grant steps forward. “Emma,” he begins, steepling his long fingers and looking at me intently. “Do you know about the spell of binding that holds our supernatural community together?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
Grant looks surprised but pleased. He nods. “Not many do. But I take it Aiden James—the Sovereign vampire—has told you? How it was first cast by a witch called Katherine and has been in effect, binding us all together ever since?”
Slowly I nod. “Yes. But I don’t understand—”
“The spell is old. It’s losing power,” one of the vampires from around the circle says. “You might say it’s fraying around the edges. If it’s allowed to unravel completely—”
“The whole community will come apart like a badly knitted sweater,” another says. “There will be fighting, corruption, unrest between the different supernatural races—we can’t afford that.”
“It will draw human attention,” the one with the snake voice says. “This must not be!”
“All right, I get it.” I raise my hands in a gesture of acceptance. “But…what does that have to do with me? I mean, other than the fact that I’m this year’s Sacrifice?”
“You are a direct descendant of Katherine, born on the same day of the same month that she died, over a hundred years apart,” Grant says. “That makes you her heir and the only witch who can renew her spell.”
“What?” I stare at him, uncomprehending. He’s joking—he has to be joking, right? Aiden never told me this. Never told me that I was related—intimately related—to his long-lost love. That’s the only reason he wants you, whispers a nasty little voice in my head. Because you remind him of Katherine. Because you’re the closest thing he can get to her now that she’s dead.
I push the voice away with effort. Grant is saying something else and it must be important, the way the vampires of the Council are leaning forward, pinning me with their cold, inhuman stares.
“You must take up the strands of the spell and weave them back together,” he is saying, looking at me earnestly. “Use your magic to renew the spell—it’s the only way.”
“But…I don’t have any magic,” I protest. None to speak of anyway. Lighting a candle and being able to mind-speak, which any self-respecting beginner witch can do—doesn’t qualify me to renew the ancient, powerful spell cast by my terrifyingly talented ancestress. “I’m a dud,” I tell Grant. “I always have been.”
He looks upset. “If you can’t use magic, you’ll have to use blood. It’s the only other way.”
I look at him, aghast. This is how Katherine died. She used up her magic and then had to resort to spilling her blood. Suddenly I have a clear flash—an image of this same room and these same vampires, sitting in judgment around the circle. I see a small, feminine hand holding a sacrificial knife. The silver blade flashes and a spurt of crimson splashes out onto the unforgiving stones.
Somehow the blood finds its way to the deep groove of the circle I am standing in right now. Slowly, slowly it begins to fill the deadly trench gouged in the solid stone. Katherine’s blood flows faster and faster but the circle is greedy—it drinks her blood and demands more. Her intent is to fill it up, to fill the entire eight-foot circle with the scarlet ribbon of her own life. But somehow no matter how much she bleeds, it is never enough. Never enough…
“No!” I gasp as the vision recedes. “No, I can’t! I can’t die like she did. I won’t.”
“You will do whatever is necessary to renew the spell…or die trying,” the snake-voiced vampire hisses at me.
“No, she will not,” a familiar voice says and the black
door with no handle bangs open.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aiden strides into the room, a look of cold rage fixed on his face.
“Aiden,” I whisper. “Master…”
“It’s all right, Emma,” he says softly but his eyes are scanning the circle, taking in the vast strength arrayed against us. “I’m here now. I’ll protect you.” He addresses the vampires, staring them down, each in turn, as he speaks. “How dare you? How dare you take what is rightfully mine for a second time without asking? I told you I would not tolerate such an insult again.”
“Calm yourself, Aiden,” the snake vampire advises. “It’s hardly our fault you chose to attach yourself twice to the only witch capable of mastering such an advanced binding spell.” He frowns at me. “Although this one claims she cannot. She says she’s a dud who has no magic.”
“She has magic,” Aiden asserts, raising his chin. “Magic in abundance. It’s simply dormant inside her—buried in a place she can’t reach.”
“She’d better reach it and quickly,” Grant says, with an uneasy look at the assembled vampires. “She must renew the spell tonight—it’s frayed almost beyond repair. If she can’t do magic, she will have to give her blood.”
“No,” Aiden thunders and his eyes flash silver. For a moment I think he’s scarier than any of the ancient vampires sitting around the circle. Then his face clears and his voice calms. “No,” he says more softly but no less vehemently. “There is another way.”
“What way?” I ask, afraid that I already know the answer.
“Emma will not be using her blood to mend the binding spell,” Aiden says. He strides into the circle, entering the magic, to stand beside me. “I will use mine instead.”
“That is unacceptable,” the snake vampire hisses. “You are a vampire—your blood has no magic.”
“I have had Emma’s blood,” Aiden contradicts him. “I had it at the peak of her cycle—I drank from the fount between her thighs when her magic was strongest. Her blood flows in my veins.”
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