by Iris Walker
“Would you hurry it up, grandma?” Max snapped.
Lucidia growled in frustration and vaulted the stairs, entering a very luxurious, and very trashed private jet. Smooth, tan leather covered the seats, and dark mahogany paneling created a warm interior, complete with deep black carpet. Computer gear and fast-food wrappers were scattered around the room, along with stale smelling clothes. Lucidia counted about fifteen discarded red bull cans right off the bat.
As soon as the outer door had closed, they were already warming the engines up for ascent. Pax looked green, but Lucidia didn’t mind it; she found airplanes exhilarating, though they weren’t exactly on a joy ride.
Her eyes turned to Maxine, the human computer genius she’d known for years.
“You look like shit,” Lucidia said, eyeing her up and down. Her shoulder-length blond hair was stringy, matted, and her skin looked shiny with grime and travel. Most striking were the dark circles under her eyes, and the gaunt angles of her face; Maxine had always had fierce features, but not that sharp.
Max’s gray eyes narrowed and she threw her hands up in a gesture of annoyance. “Nice to see you, thank you for risking your lives to come pick up a couple more, of course, no problem,” she grumbled, walking away from Lucidia and plopping down in a seat next to a massive assortment of monitors.
“You okay?”
“No,” Max said, her voice shrill. “I haven’t slept in four freaking days and I’ve got requests up the yin yang, not to mention the active houses are still flickering out like birthday candles.”
Lucidia’s eyebrows ticked together. “Woah, slow down. Active houses?”
“Yeah, the ones that are still fighting. Not for long, though.”
“I thought they were all snuffed out,” Lucidia pressed.
“Not yet.”
“Where?”
Max waved her over with a sigh. “There are twenty houses in total, most of them satellites, except the main stronghold for House Albus, but defense has never been their thing. They’ll go down like a ton of bricks as soon as Cain comes knocking.”
As Lucidia looked at the map of vampire strongholds and the waves of red that consumed them, her spirits sank. They’d taken a flank approach, Cain’s troops sweeping upward from the south and Fausta’s coming from the west, at a downward angle. A few houses remained green, along with a spattering of gray dots, and a couple to the west were flashing blue.
“What do the colors mean?” Pax asked, siding up against them.
“Red is overtaken, green is still kicking, gray is uncertain, and blue means reconquered.”
“Reconquered how?” Lucidia asked.
“Somehow the people trapped inside took it back. We don’t know much more than that.”
A deep pit formed in her stomach. “How many of us are left?”
“Us, meaning?”
“Xander,” Lucidia said through clenched teeth.
Maxine raised an eyebrow but turned her eyes back to the screen, running a hand through her hair and pulling up another window. This one was a spreadsheet, laid out across an entire monitor, with coordinates and fluctuating numbers. “We’ve got a total of 300,000 alive and hidden, give or take. Everyone else… well, they didn’t make it out in time.”
A wave of guilt flooded her chest, the air heavy in her lungs. Just a month ago, House Xander stood over a million members strong.
Max extended her finger, hovering over the screen to one box. “Most of those remaining are strongbloods, some vampires. They went for us humans first.” A pained expression settled on Max’s face. “The pureblood children, Fausta’s people were all over them.”
Lucidia felt a deep, cold anger rising inside of her chest.
Max’s voice softened, so low that Lucidia could barely hear her. “I watched it.”
“What?”
Max took a hoodie-wrapped wrist and wiped her nose, sniffing and drawing in a deep breath. “Darian had someone install security cameras in the castle a couple years back, after that whole invisibility spell hoax, you know. I managed to get a remote line into the mainframe because of my little black box. So, yeah, I watched it all,” she said bitterly, spitting the words out like they were acid.
Lucidia’s knuckles tightened so hard that they popped under her grip. “I want to see.”
Max sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I can’t watch it again.”
Her voice was a low tremor, heavy with rage. “Show. Me.”
Maxine shot her another look but evidently saw that she wouldn’t budge. Expert fingers begrudgingly flew across the keyboard, and the screen turned black for a moment, old, boxy green letters streaming down in lines of code. The monitor glitched, flickering black a couple of times. Max grumbled and smacked the side of the PC tower, sending a thunk through the air.
“Is that a good idea?” Lucidia shot back.
“Trust me,” Max muttered. “I know computers.”
A few moments later, a mosaic of gray screens popped up.
Lucidia scowled, looking closer. She immediately recognized hallways, corridors, those that she’d grown up in, running around with legs the size of chicken wings, tugging on other strongbloods’ shirts and trying to sneak up on the vampire guards. A pang of dread drove deep through her chest as she saw those same hallways, ragged and torn, spattered with blood.
She may have hated the vampires, and she may have hated what they’d done to her family, but even with all the hurt they’d caused, she wouldn’t wish this on them. She wouldn’t wish it on anybody.
Lucidia leaned forward, pulled to the screens, her scowl deepening into a rage-fueled grimace. “Who was left in charge of House Xander in Darian’s stead?”
“Mortdecai,” Max said bleakly.
“Where is he?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “His head is hanging from the grand chandelier.”
“Fuck,” Pax shouted, slamming his hand into the chair behind him and stepping away, veins bulging across his arms.
Lucidia bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. She planted a hand on Max’s shoulder, squeezing it. “She’ll pay. We’ll make her.”
Max’s cold hand found Lucidia’s, and she held onto it, tightly enough to make Lucidia wince. “I recorded it all. You know, to have a list of crimes.”
“That’s my girl,” Lucidia said, a wicked smile spreading on her face as she clapped Max’s shoulder. “First, I want to see everything. All the recordings, all the formations. I want to know how her people are approaching the strongholds, and what they do once inside. Then, we form a plan and survey a team.”
“Okay, but I…” Max started, her eyes sweeping across the monitors. “I can’t show you the recordings until we get a separate computer. There are too many requests coming in, and…” she lost her train of thought, and leaned forward, rubbing her forehead in a nervous gesture.
“No,” Lucidia said. “If there are requests, they’ll have to wait for two hours while you take a nap. I’m watching the videos and you’re sleeping. Non-negotiable.”
Max’s bloodshot eyes found hers. “What if they die, huh? While I’m catching some shut eye, they’re on the run, being hunted.”
“You’re a human, Max. You’re the smartest human I’ve ever met, and you’ve managed to save 300,000 lives with this jacked up Air BnB thing, but not even you can fight biology. The rest will have to wait. Two hours, at least.”
Maxine finally nodded, slowly rising from the chair and staggering over to the cushioned bench in the middle of the cabin. She collapsed, sinking onto the leather and conking out immediately.
Pax had recovered from his outburst and now came over, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Lucidia. She sighed and watched the spreadsheet numbers change for a moment, a sea of shifting values, before finding the file with Max’s recordings.
“Day one,” Lucidia muttered, clicking on the first file.
“How did they get in?” Pax asked, leaning closer to the monitor.
Luc
idia shook her head, peering at each different screen, looking for any glimmer of movement.
“There,” Pax said, pointing to a frame on the right side. “They airlifted in.”
Lucidia watched the external cameras, finding Blackhawk helicopters in each view. “How did the humans not track that?”
“Maybe she’s got them in her pocket. But we were entirely vulnerable to an air attack. It was as simple as that,” he spat, fists clenching in his seat.
“She had it all organized,” Lucidia murmured. “This didn’t happen over the span of a month.”
Pax gripped the seat, fingers digging in, forearm muscles rippling with anger. “Now we’re scattered like ants, and they’re free to pick us off.”
Her voice was as sharp as a dagger. “We’ll never let it happen again.”
“If we make it out of this alive.”
“I only care that I live long enough to take Fausta’s head off her shoulders,” Lucidia said in a cold, determined voice.
They continued watching, each scene of the siege worse than the last. Vampires swarmed the halls, corralling humans and strongbloods in corridors and killing them in droves, until the bodies piled up into an impassible barrier. At first, the deaths were fast, so fast that those creatures hadn’t even seen the crushing blow.
Those deaths that came later were not so fortunate.
Once it was clear that Fausta’s forces had taken the stronghold, generals and soldiers began chasing creatures, playing games and ripping them apart slowly. Lucidia tasted metal in her throat, sharp and acidic, as she watched one of the pureblood boys that she’d held as a baby be drained by three different ruthless vampires.
“Enough,” Pax said, voice shaking with rage.
“What are they doing now?” Lucidia muttered, nausea roiling within her.
They zeroed in on the grand hall, which was packed with people, forming a circle around two creatures brawling it out, all blood and snarls, ripping each other apart in the center.
Fausta was sprawled on Darian’s throne, enjoying the spectacle of gore. People lined the dais behind her, all of her favorite officials and humans, still dazed from their vampire compatriots.
“They’re playing gladiator,” Pax said bitterly.
“Wait…” she muttered. A flicker of recognition passed through her mind, and she leaned forward abruptly, zeroing in on two figures trapped on either side of Fausta Ambrose.
“No,” Lucidia growled, a bolt of terror piercing through her heart. “No, no!”
“What is it?” Pax asked, leaning forward.
Every muscle tensed as she traced her eyes over Clay and Megan, standing next to Fausta in chains, connected by two golden leashes that the wicked vampire held in her long, claw-like fingers.
Chapter 9 Unraveling
Robin
She could feel the residual adrenaline coursing as her bare feet smacked against the cool tile floor, bringing her back to her room.
Darian, the smug bastard, she grumbled to herself.
Moonlight suffused through the round arches, opening the corridor to the world and letting in cool, sweet air. Mosquitos buzzed around her, and she smacked one on her arm, already feeling the itchy bump rise. Perfect, she thought, rolling her eyes. As she passed the main area, she heard a clanking sound from the kitchen, and peered across the sunken sitting area. A dim light glowed from inside, and she stepped forward, cautiously.
Charlemagne stood over a stove, stirring something, a smoking cigarette pinched between his lips.
“Hello,” Robin said.
Charlemagne raised an eyebrow and turned, smiling at her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She sat down on one of the leather stools at the end of the bar. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not a wink,” he admitted. “I think the mosquitos are out for my blood though, they can’t seem to leave me alone.”
Robin gave a soft laugh and nodded.
Charlemagne finished what he was cooking, pulling two mugs out from a cupboard and splitting the steaming contents between both of them. He walked over and handed her a mug.
“Thank you,” Robin said, tipping hers towards him.
“This used to always do the trick for me,” Charlemagne murmured.
Robin braced herself for a cloud of secondhand smoke but instead saw a little purple flare every time he exhaled. “What’s that?”
Charlemagne used two fingers to pull the cigarette out and gave her a triumphant smile. “Vampires are notoriously picky when it comes to what scents infiltrate their noses. Fire smoke is fine, but tobacco not so much. It’s a little charm I use that sucks the smoke into one of the other planes.”
“Other planes?”
“Oh, yes,” Charlemagne said with a laugh. “The universe is full of them.”
“Wow.”
Robin took a sip of the milk, which was warm and sweet and had a hint of vanilla in it. “This is really good.”
“Thank you. It’s a family recipe.”
A silence slipped between them, and after a few moments, Robin’s mind began wandering. “So, how do you know Darian?”
A short laugh escaped Charlemagne’s lips. “I don’t know him personally, really.”
She scowled. “Why are you here, then?”
“The caster’s guild has a working agreement with the vampire masters, and as a show of our support, some casters are rented out to the larger houses, if the need arises.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “Oh. So you were sent here?”
He nodded, taking a long gulp of his mug. “But that was before the casters attacked another prominent house. My standing in the vampire world has diminished considerably, I must say.”
“Mine too, if it makes you feel better,” she added bleakly.
Charlemagne laughed at this, shaking his head. “You and me, we’re in the same boat.”
She nodded, wrapping her hands around the mug and keeping her eyes on the contents. “Do you miss the caster’s guild?”
“Yes,” Charlemagne said. “I certainly do. But orders are orders. And we’re safe from the other troops here, so for the moment, it’s a smart move.”
Safe, she thought, Calliope’s words echoing in her mind.
“Something bothering you?”
Robin looked up, deliberating whether or not to mention anything. She decided to shrug and shake her head. “I just have a lot of questions.”
“Ask away,” he said.
She let out a long breath and tapped her finger twice on her ear, jerking her head down the hallway where she’d left Darian with the prisoner.
“Ah, I see,” the caster said, setting the mug down and muttering something under his breath. A sparkling purple haze erupted, floating around them in a bubble.
Robin’s eyes widened.
Charlemagne cleared his throat and let out the loudest yodel she’d ever heard. “Now, nobody can eavesdrop.”
“Woah,” Robin said with a wide smile.
“What questions do you have? Magical transformation is a brutal process, and you’ve certainly been through the ringer.”
She nodded, her mind racing with the opportunity to speak freely, to not step on eggshells around Darian’s super-hearing. After a few moments, she settled on one. “Is it possible to be… linked with somebody?”
“Yes,” Charlemagne said, a scowl forming on his face. “But it is a very, very dangerous prospect.”
She absentmindedly raked her fingernails over the itchy mosquito bite. “Why would it be dangerous?”
“Well, the link degrades with distance, and time, if it’s not removed soon enough.”
“Oh. What could happen if the link does ‘degrade’?”
“Well, the reason you establish a link is because one or both persons involved are too volatile to exist on their own. It’s common to do when working with vitalurgical magic, but only for short stretches of time when all participants are present in the same area. So if a link does degrade, the magical binding w
ould unravel, and the subject would… well, it’s not pretty.”
A pit crept into her gut, heavy and dragging. “Would it revert the person back?”
Charlamagne shook his head. “No, Robin. I’m afraid there is no going back to the person you once were. Your cells are altered entirely, permeated by the magic and held together by its binding.”
She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Why do you ask?” Charlemagne added, with a look of concern.
“I…” she faltered, rubbing the back of her neck. “I think I’m having dreams… with Calliope.”
His concern deepened, and he leaned forward. “What kind of dreams?”
“They’re more like visions,” she admitted in a small voice. “She told me that we were linked, and that we had to meet or something bad would happen to both of us. I assumed it was a ploy to draw me out, so I didn’t say anything to anybody.”
“Robin,” Charlemagne said gravely. “You did the right thing by telling me. This is… well, crucial.”
“Nothing bad has happened,” she continued. “Could she be lying?”
Charlemagne shook his head. “The visions happen after you use your abilities?”
She nodded.
“Then Calliope is not lying.”
“What do we do?” she asked, her pulse creeping higher and higher.
“We must find a way to bring her closer to you,” he urged. “Then, we may be able to contain her and unravel whatever spell she used.”
“She’s running, from somebody,” Robin said. “Every time I see her, it gets worse.”
“The Legion, no doubt,” Charlemagne muttered.
“Who are they?”
“They’re the people that the caster’s guild sends to retrieve any rogue agents. The elites were just itching for Calliope to do something worth dragging her in for.”
“I thought she was operating with the rest of the casters?” Robin scowled.
