by Alicia Rades
Venn gestured to the next set of portraits. A beautiful woman who looked to be in her thirties smiled back at me. Beside her in another frame, an attractive man smirked, like he knew something I didn’t. The way Sondra drew his eyes looked strikingly similar to Venn’s, though they otherwise looked nothing alike.
“How’d they do it?” I asked, completely engrossed in his version of the story. “Protect people, I mean.”
“Abigail was a powerful witch, and Charles was human,” Venn explained, like he was excited I took interest. “Using wolf’s blood, she performed a spell that bound his and the wolf's bodies together.”
“A wolf shifter like you,” I said with a smile.
“Yes,” Venn agreed with a light laugh. “Exactly like me. Charles became the first shifter, meant to combat the vampires. He was able to sniff out vampire lairs in his wolf form, helping them reduce the population. Better yet, the spell incorporated protective magic. That’s why vampires can’t smell us or hear our heart beats. With the help of their hunter friends, Abigail created several other shifters, each a different animal species with their different strengths. They reduced the vampire population to almost nothing and thought they'd eradicated them.
“Another hundred years passed of shifters hunting vampires, but they couldn’t completely take them out. The shifter boom set the vampires back for a while, but then they stopped running around killing for survival and began taking blood slaves. They became more organized and grouped together, growing their numbers in secret. By then, the vampires were in the US. People started to go missing quietly, but no matter how many vampires they killed, the witches couldn't manage to kill them all. A team of witches came together just before Valkas was going to unleash his army of vampires.”
Venn pointed to the next row of drawings. My eyes remained fixed on the portraits as I descended the stairs, inspecting each face.
“These were just some of the witches who came together to stop him.” Venn stood on the stair above me to look at the sketches. He was so close that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. I had the urge to lean into him, but I resisted and focused on the images instead. “With the help of the shifter population, the witches were able to take out most of the vampires. But they couldn’t kill Valkas.”
“So, he went into hiding?” I guessed.
“No,” Venn answered. “In 1847, they locked him away in a supernatural prison. That way, he couldn't create any more vampires, the shifters could kill the rest of them, and the mass killings would stop.”
I thought about his story. It made so much more sense than the other theories I’d heard—like how vampires and shifters had been created by mad scientists, which didn’t explain our magic. I’d been mostly accepting the theory that magic came from an alternate universe, but trying to follow the parallel universe theory hurt my head. So far, I was really digging Venn’s story.
“The thing is, something went wrong with the spell,” he continued.
“Something that affected magic?” I asked. It only made sense.
He nodded.
“So, magic got trapped in the supernatural prison with him?” I guessed.
“Not exactly,” Venn clarified. “Magic is all around us, all the time. Always has been. Somehow, the spell took away our ability to access magic. We’re just not entirely sure why.”
“Any theories?” I asked, sensing he might have one or two up his sleeve.
Venn shrugged. “The thing about a spell like that was that it required so much magic that the witches had to work together. There’s strength in numbers, after all. But the more people you have trying to accomplish one goal, the trickier it is to carry out. My guess is that not everyone was working together as well as everyone hoped. Synchrony didn’t know how to respond. But to wipe out access to magic completely… that’s huge. It never could’ve happened without so many witches participating in the spell.”
“What happened while he was trapped?” I asked. “Everyone just forgot magic existed?”
“Basically,” Venn said. “Many generations passed, and as technology advanced, most people wrote it off as legend, as make-believe. But the stories of magic were still around, just twisted in different ways. I mean, you knew what magic was before you ever saw it, right? And there’s always been a small community of people who still believed magic existed. It’s just that most people didn’t want to listen until they saw it with their own eyes. Even then, people denied it. They still do.”
Don’t get me started on those whack-jobs.
“So when he escaped, our ability to access magic returned?” I asked. Obviously. “Shifters started shifting, witches started… witching.”
Venn laughed. “Yeah.”
“You seem to know a lot about this,” I stated. “Any idea how he actually escaped?”
Venn shook his head regrettably. “No, unfortunately. That one’s still a mystery.”
A beat passed between us as I considered his words. I was all too familiar with the rest of the story. Once Valkas showed up, mass panic ensued. Not only was Valkas and his army of new vampires slaughtering, changing, and kidnapping thousands of people like they were trying to win a record on terrorism, but now a bunch of people were discovering they had powers. Everyone was afraid. Afraid of the vampires. Afraid of the shifters. Afraid of themselves. I understood the fear—and the equivalent thrill—because I’d lived through it. The civil rights movement, the blood banks, the new laws, and all of that followed shortly afterward until supernaturals were forced to either suppress their nature or unlawfully succumb to it.
“Is there a history book or something that explains all this?” I asked. “How did Sondra get so detailed with these portraits?”
Venn shook his head. “No history books. She remembers.”
Hold up. She remembers? How’s that possible?
“Anyway,” he said with a yawn before I could ask. “It’s getting really late, and we should get some sleep before we meet up with Genevieve in the morning.”
“Who is Genevieve?” I asked. “How can she help us?”
Venn dropped his gaze, like there was something about Genevieve she didn’t want to tell me. “She’s a witch,” he finally said. “But an… unconventional witch.”
My jaw practically dropped. Venn didn’t have to say anything more. Somehow, I knew by the look in his eyes that we were about to meet up with a witch who practiced dark magic.
13
Genevieve wasn’t just into dark magic. She was into dark everything.
The next morning, Venn, Fiona, and I walked up the steps to a large house with dark stone and a black roof. Teagan was feeling better but still not back to normal. Ryland had insisted on staying back at the house with her, so it was just the three of us.
A tall, thin woman answered the door. She looked old enough to be my mother, but her skin was smoother than Fiona’s. I was willing to bet she had an anti-aging spell up her sleeve. Her hair was jet-black, in stark contrast to her pale skin. It was short and stuck up at every angle, but in a way that looked like it belonged in a fashion magazine. Her brown eyes were outlined in a dark layer of makeup, and her black dress was made almost entirely of lace.
Genevieve, I presume.
“Come in,” she offered in a cold tone. She turned on her heel and started down the hall, leaving the door open behind her.
I warily stepped through the door behind Venn. Inside, the lights were dim. The dark gray walls housed black and white images of random landscapes. At the end of the hall sat a Victorian-style chaise covered in black fabric. The only pop of color was a deep red throw pillow on top of it.
Genevieve led us into a room at the end of the hall. The room was dark, like the rest of the house, but was small and cluttered. Black curtains covered the window. They let in only enough light to make out the shadows in the room. A bookcase spanned one wall. Books without names on their spines lined the bottom shelves, looking old and tattered. On the upper shelves were hundreds of jars
of all different sizes. Some held various colors of liquid, while others looked to house different types of herbs and spices. Against the other wall, unlit candles lined the top of a long dresser, surrounding an open book that looked centuries old. I figured it was just for show, but it intrigued me nonetheless.
In the center of the room sat a round table with four chairs and a crystal ball in the center. That had to be for show, because as far as I knew, crystal balls didn’t actually work. All the room needed was a skull and a cauldron for decoration and you’d be ready for Halloween—not that anyone celebrated Halloween anymore. It’d become far too real and horrifying.
Genevieve raised a thin, dark eyebrow at Venn. “I understand that you’d like me to perform a tracking spell.”
“Yes,” Venn said with a nod.
Genevieve pursed her lips. “You’re well aware that I require payment up front.”
The way she said that… it was like they had history together, like she’d given him chances before and wasn’t about to put up with any more crap. Not that I could picture Venn giving anyone crap—unless for a good reason.
“Of course.” Venn didn’t look Genevieve in the eye. Then again, neither did me nor Fiona. The woman made my skin crawl.
Venn reached into his jacket pocket and placed a pile of cash and a vial of red liquid in front of Genevieve.
Blood. Venn’s blood. Shifter blood.
Not only was it illegal to sell blood anywhere but a government-approved blood bank, but it was definitely illegal to sell shifter blood. Devin didn’t even deal with shifter blood, and he dabbled in some questionable things. There weren’t very many spells that used shifter blood for good, none that I knew of, anyway. But that wasn’t saying much.
Genevieve swiped her payment from the table and turned to a small hutch behind her, where she slipped the money and blood into the top drawer.
“Please, take a seat,” she said without turning to us.
We did as we were told without muttering a single word. I sat across from where Genevieve stood, while Fiona took the chair on my left and Venn sat to my right.
“How’s Sondra doing?” Genevieve asked with her back to us as she reached into a cupboard. She didn’t sound the least bit interested in Sondra’s well-being. It almost sounded like she was mocking Venn and Fiona.
Fiona clenched her fists, like she’d really like to take a swing at Genevieve. On the other side of me, Venn’s jaw tensed.
“You know we wouldn’t be here alone if she was fine,” Venn said with a hint of malice to his voice.
“Of course not.” Genevieve turned around, an attempt at a smile fixed to her face. “Shall we get started?”
She snapped her fingers, and the crystal ball on the table rose into the air. It hovered across the room and landed softly on another table. Six candles floated over to take its place on the black tablecloth. They neatly arranged themselves into a circle.
“Ardeat ignis,” Genevieve muttered. The candles lit on her command, licking tall flames into the air.
My palms grew clammy. Every fiber of my being told me to run, to get as far away from this place as possible, but I remained rooted in my chair. I didn’t come here just to leave without answers.
Genevieve took a large glass jar of salt and poured it in a circle around the candles. She set the jar on the hutch and then gracefully slid into the chair across from me.
“You have the watch we discussed on the phone?” she asked Venn, holding out her palm toward him.
Venn quickly dug into his pocket and placed Cowen’s watch in her outstretched hand. She dropped the watch into the center of the table, eyeing it like it was infected with germs. Fiona glanced to me as if I should know what was going on, but I had no reassurances to give her.
My mouth went dry. Part of me was excited to see how this spell would actually work, but another part of me feared that it wouldn’t.
Genevieve began chanting under her breath. Her words were the same I spoke last night, but they were different, too. She pronounced them with an accent, making the spell sound more mysterious and… authentic.
I tried not to breathe as the salt rose above the table, afraid that just the smallest breeze might throw the granules out of the air. The candle flames licked higher, something that hadn’t happened when I’d tried the same spell last night. The salt swirled above us, spinning faster and faster until it all came together to form a tightly compact ball the size of my fist.
And this is the part where it explodes, where we fail.
On cue, the salt ball burst, as if someone had shot a bullet through it. I flinched away, expecting the granules to assault me, but I never felt a thing. Slowly, I peeled my eyes open.
The salt had stopped a mere foot from my face. The granules had expanded outward to create a ball at least three feet in diameter. They moved in unison, twisting around an invisible axis like a globe. Colors flashed inside of the ball. It took me a second to realize the colors made up real images, as if there was a hidden projector somewhere in the room using the spinning salt granules as a screen. The images flickered by so fast that they were almost impossible to make out. I caught a glimpse of Cowen’s face and then the bar we’d tracked him down to, Red Whiskey. Several more images passed by quickly, but they were too hard to see, like we were speeding down a road at an insane, inhumane speed.
The images slowed to settle on an old mansion. Perhaps mansion wasn’t the right world. It was more like a castle. It was beautiful, with a huge fountain on the front lawn and three big towers reaching into the sky. A security wall ran the perimeter of the property. Beyond that lay a lush green forest.
The image disappeared almost as quickly as it came. In the blink of an eye, the salt stopped spinning and dropped out of the air. Salt littered the table, the floor, and my lap. I sat there speechless, unable to believe the level of magic I’d just witnessed.
Fiona had an expression of sheer terror fixed to her face. She stared across the table at Venn, barely even breathing. Venn cursed heavily under his breath, and his nostrils flared. He looked like he was about to go on a rampage. Somehow, he managed to keep his temper under control, but it was clear that something had seriously hit his enraged button.
Genevieve laughed lightly, but it sounded less like she was actually amused by something and more like she was taunting us. “I should’ve known. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Venn shot up from his chair and snatched the watch from the center of the table. “That’s none of your business.”
“I’m only trying to help, darling,” Genevieve replied in a smooth voice, but it sounded fake.
“Yes,” Venn agreed, “but we’ve already paid for all the help we can afford.”
Genevieve rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine. If that’s all you wanted, you can help yourself out.”
I had no clue what was going on here, but when Fiona stood, I followed behind her. Venn waited until we were both out of the room before turning from Genevieve, as if he wanted to make sure we were both okay before leaving. Nobody spoke as we made our way down the long hall. My stomach dropped further and further with each step I took. I had to know what those images meant. Something told me they were bad. Very bad.
But I didn’t speak, not until we escaped Genevieve’s house and could no longer hear her laughter echoing down the hall. I managed to keep my mouth shut until I climbed into the passenger seat of Venn’s vehicle.
Finally, I burst. “What happened? What did those images mean? You know where to find him, don’t you?”
Venn’s jaw remained tense. He didn’t meet my eyes as he turned the ignition and shifted into drive. “Yeah,” he finally said. “We know where to find him.”
“Where?” I asked desperately. “What aren’t you guys telling me?”
“You didn’t recognize the mansion?” Fiona asked in a small voice.
“No,” I replied. “Should I?”
Fiona cleared her throat. “Ever
heard of Maliya Valerik?”
I drew in a sharp breath. “Please don’t tell me that’s who I think it is.”
I’d heard whispers. Devin had let the name slip once when he was talking with a client. But he never talked about vampire politics with me. He always shrugged me off when I asked him what he knew.
“If you think she’s one of the most powerful vampires in all of Nocton, you’d be correct,” Venn said, never taking his eyes off the road.
“That last image we saw… that was her mansion,” Fiona explained. “Which means that’s where we’ll find Cowen. And wherever we find Cowen, we find the locket.”
Venn growled in frustration, startling me. “I should’ve known he was one of them.”
“One of who?” I demanded, glancing between Fiona and Venn. “Will someone please fill me in.”
“Maliya runs her own vampire nest,” Fiona explained. “She’s recruited hundreds of vampires to do her bidding for her, and they’re always the worst of the worst.”
“What kind of bidding?” I asked, fearing the answer.
Fiona’s skin paled. “Maliya’s in the blood slave trade.”
My heart stopped. Maliya was basically a pimp. A drug dealer and a pimp. She was likely guilty of the most inhumane things possible. Theft. Abduction. Rape. Murder. It made me nauseous just thinking about it. There was a reason I didn’t agree that vampires deserved a trial. Vamps like Maliya didn’t belong in this world.
“Why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?” I demanded.
“Because she’s smart.” Disgust filled Venn’s tone. “No matter how many times they investigate her, they never find enough evidence to try her.”
“But there have to be witnesses!” I insisted.
“Of course there are,” Venn agreed, his eyebrows tight. “But talking to the police is a death sentence for a blood slave. Do you really think any of them will talk?”
I didn’t answer. Venn had a point.
“If Cowen’s working for Maliya, do you think he stole the locket for her?” Fiona asked Venn.
