by Iris Walker
She’d deteriorated significantly since the last time Robin had seen her. The once mighty caster now seemed to be shelled out, hollow and weak, with sunken cheekbones and dull black eyes.
Entirely black.
And her skin was shining with some sort of glint, like a silver pearl.
One thing was certain: whatever magic Robin had expended was truly taking a toll on the caster. And unlike her other visions, she felt a presence behind her, and turned slightly, her anger flaring when she saw who it was. Robin tensed, fists clenched.
Charlemagne turned his smug gaze to her and laughed. “This is an immaterial scene, Robin. None of us can touch each other.”
She scowled, turning to Calliope, all sense of that burning, powerful anger from the night of the comet gone. “What’s happening?” Robin asked, her face a show of pure concern.
“The link. It is too much,” she gasped.
“Stop this,” Robin growled at Charlemagne.
“There you are again, Robin,” Charlemagne teased. “The slightest bit of suffering and you turn tail. Is this not the woman that ripped your life apart? That conspired with Magnus to turn you into a weapon?”
Robin stiffened, a scowl forming on her face. “You’re trying to manipulate me again, and it won’t work.”
Charlemagne laughed. “You are so sure?”
“Yes,” Robin pushed through clenched teeth.
The evil caster approached Robin, and she stood her ground, shoulders high.
He can’t touch you… she thought, clinging to the words.
“She’s not a good person, you know,” Charlemagne said. “Look at her. She’s terrified of dying. I know my sister very, very well, and I know that she’ll do anything to preserve that wretched, coal-black heart of hers. If I were to reunite you two, do you want to know what would happen?”
Robin glared daggers into his malicious eyes.
“She would absorb your energy and dissolve the link. It’s the only way to ensure that she would live, now that the draw has begun eating away at the binding holding you together. Look at her face. You’ll see.”
Robin’s eyebrows ticked together, and she slowly turned her gaze to Calliope, who was sunken on the floor. In the desperation and hopelessness, and in the pain of being burned from the inside out, Robin saw visceral fear.
Calliope shook her head frantically, onyx eyes wide. “Robin, no! Do not listen to him. I am your mother.”
“Is it true?” Robin asked, voice low and trembling. “If I live, you’ll die?”
Calliope swallowed, her eyes shifting from Robin to Charlemagne, and then back again. She nodded, a shaky, defeated motion. “Yes.”
Anger boiled up inside of her. “Were you ever going to save me?” she asked sharply.
“Yes!” Calliope gasped. “After the comet, there would have been time to bring you up slowly, to ensure that the magic didn’t damage you. We could have weened you off of it…”
Charlemagne’s arrogant laugh sounded out from behind her. “But now, there is no such chance.”
Robin felt bitter tears well up in her eyes, and she bit her tongue, hard enough to taste blood, and harder still, letting the pain dissolve the hot rock of emotion lodged in the back of her throat. She was determined to not show such suffering in front of them. “But now,” Robin said, swallowing to steady her voice. “Now, you wouldn’t?”
Calliope’s head shook, a featherlight tremble, like a deer caught in headlights. “I…”
Robin felt a bitter smile spread on her face, and she shook her head. “Of course.” The words were hot venom, spewing into the air at both of them.
“Right,” Charlemagne said, clapping both his hands together and pointing them in a single motion to Calliope. “Dear sister, I must tell you that Zenecai is approaching your location. He’ll be knocking down your door in a matter of minutes, I suspect.”
Calliope’s head whipped back, searching the door for any signs of activity. “No.”
“Yes,” Charlemagne said with a light laugh. “Yes indeed. And even if he weren’t, I’d give the two of you about three minutes before you both burn into nothing, so how about we wrap this up? Calliope, grab hold of the anchor.”
Robin watched as Charlemagne swung a glowing blue amulet her way. It thunked on the ground a few feet away from them.
Calliope watched it with bitter anger, her eyes tracing over the small trinket in a moment of hesitation.
“You have no other options, big sister. Unless you’d rather die at the hands of our dear friend Zenecai. What do you think the odds are that you’d make it back to Xerxes before you burned up? I’m sure he could give you some memorable last moments.”
A single tear dripped down Calliope’s cheek and she looked up to Robin, her black eyes pleading. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Her pale, shaking fingers crept towards the amulet, and she gripped it. The world around Robin swirled, shaking for a moment until her vision blurred back to Charlemagne’s secret lab. She pulled her arms, finding herself still pinned to the chair.
But this time, in a purple glowing circle directly in front of her, was Calliope Dragomir.
Chapter 12 Fate
Lucidia
Lucidia and Darian crouched in the bushes, at a sparse tree line just before the outer fence of the vampire compound. Strongholds were built like onions, where the first fence was remarkably human, blending in with the surrounding properties and featuring a large, regular house that served as a camouflaged guard post. If you made it past that, there was probably another checkpoint, with a more fortified wall, and then, past that you might find a moat or something else archaic and showy.
“How many in the house?” she whispered, pulling binoculars out and surveying the large white farmhouse, with a wrap-around porch and dark windows. She could just make out a streak of dried blood on the doorframe.
Darian cocked his head to the side and listened. After a moment, he looked up again. “Two strongbloods… in rocking chairs, close to the door. There are three vampires in the back room, but,” Darian paused, a scowl spreading on his face. “I smell alcohol.”
Uh-oh, she thought, studying his expression.
Darian Xander enjoyed partaking in festivities; he was no prude.
But in House Xander, there was a strict time and place for partying, and it certainly wasn’t on guard duty. When you spent enough time around someone, you began to learn their pet peeves, and Lucidia learned early on that dicking around on the job was a big no-no for the master of their house. Work hard, and play hard, in that order only, if you wanted to keep your head.
“What’s the…” Lucidia started, a moment before she saw Darian Xander in the view of her binoculars, striding towards the front door.
“Shit,” she hissed, bolting upright.
Darian turned towards her and cupped his hands around his mouth, yelling across the space between them. “You take the strongbloods, I shall handle my kind.”
Anger prickled up her spine, and she sprinted down the small crest, pounding against the dirt to recover some semblance of an advantage.
This was not her style.
Quiet, clean, quick. That was her preferred MO. Not yelling at the top of your lungs before blazing in, guns cocked.
A second after Darian had yelled his alert, the two strongbloods slammed the door open, and a crack of gunfire shot into the air.
Darian walked with a determined pace, past the two strongbloods, who’d fired off a couple shots before realizing who approached them and standing board straight on the porch. The blood drained from their faces (not literally) and left them ghost white, staring at the ancient vampire and hoping not to die.
Even if you were fighting for the other side, it would take a hell of a lot of loyalty to keep shooting after you realized who you were up against. Luckily for Lucidia, they dropped the fight earlier than she’d anticipated.
She sprinted to the side of the porch and used her powerful muscles to vault the r
ailing, her feet barely touching the ground as she picked up speed and launched into the air, sailing a perfectly timed side kick into the first idiotic strongblood. She felt ribs crack underneath her thick-soled boots and used the momentum to over-spin, her shoulder hitting the ground and allowing her to barrel roll once, slamming into the second guard with all her force.
Red symbols glowed across their arms, a storm of magical rage and power, as she pinned the second guard to the porch boards and socked a punch so hard it shattered his jaw. He let out an enraged grunt and brought his own arm up behind her.
She couldn’t see it, but the second she felt his arm move, she braced for the kidney punch. It hit her like a shockwave, ribs cracking, the force sending her through the wooden rails to her side. Splinters shot out and she thumped against the ground, her organs rattling inside of her.
But it was just enough to make her angry.
She crouched again, just as he’d recovered his gun, and dodged side to side as he popped more shots off at her. One stung like a wasp in her thigh, another in her shoulder, but she ducked low, grabbing a handful of the dry dirt and raging up the steps once more.
One fake-out was all it took to make the offending strongblood flinch, and she rocketed the dirt for his eyes.
It worked like a charm.
He brought the gun up with his palms, that instinctively rose to his face, and she spun at a wicked speed, crescent-kicking the gun out of his hand and twisting mid-air to kick him in the ribs hard enough to hemorrhage his lungs. He’d have a permanent tattoo of her boot for quite a while.
Lucidia stood in a defensive crouch, poised to attack again, chest heaving, but nobody made a move. She surveyed the area once more before slinking into the house in search of the silver-haired vampire cowboy-wannabee.
The place reeked of blood and violence, and had dirty dishes strewn everywhere, trash accumulating on the ground. If Lucidia had been doing security checks and come across a guard post in this state, people would have ended up with prison time. She grimaced and moved quickly to the back room.
As she crossed the threshold, a putrid stench assaulted her nose and she made a noise of revulsion in the back of her throat, covering her mouth with the crook of her arm. “What is that?” she asked, looking at Darian, who was crouched over the bed. She glanced to the corner of the room, and her eyes widened, a bolt of instinctive fear stabbing through her.
See, the walls in this room were a creamy eggshell color.
At least, they were supposed to be.
Three of them were, but as Lucidia turned and looked at the fourth one, all she saw was an ocean of red, like the first scene in Carrie. Body parts were strewn like mannequin factory-rejects, huddled against the corners of the wall in a gruesomely unorganized way.
Those had been the offending vampires, she supposed.
Lucidia let the tension in her shoulders release and turned back to Darian. A single bed sat against the wall, with three chairs pulled around it. On the end of the bed, feet hanging off the side, was a pale human body. A younger, mid-twenties something guy, laying on his back.
Gray.
Her stomach turned as her eyes trailed up to the human’s face, lifeless and still. Dried vomit crusted around his mouth. Cause of death, drunk-ass vampires that didn’t bother turning him on his side, she thought, words acidic in her mind. Another human was strewn across the farthest chair, angry red bite marks swollen on her skin. They were already infected, and Lucidia tried to find any sign that her lungs were moving, but after a few moments, she gave up.
She turned back to Darian, who hung over a third human woman. This one was half naked, ropes around her wrists and ankles, which were red and purple underneath the cords. Bile rose up Lucidia’s throat, but she pushed it down and started working on the ties around the woman’s ankles, following Darian’s lead and being as gentle as possible.
The skin underneath Lucidia’s fingers was cold, and she spotted at least five bite wounds underneath a thin silk nightgown, blood soaking it red like a macabre floral design. She finally got all the knots free and tossed the rope into the trash pile of vampire body parts.
Darian was deep in thought, working over the woman, and he didn’t move his gaze as he said, “Go to the kitchen, and get tea. Something with caffeine. Heavy on the sugar, and warm, not too hot.”
Lucidia’s eyes gravitated outside, looking through the cloudy window. “We don’t have time to play nurse,” she warned.
“Stop it!” the vampire commanded, words sharp and cutting.
Lucidia stiffened, and she was thrown back into her twelve-year old self, being reprimanded for speaking out of turn, fear pumping through her veins.
“Go,” Darian commanded, shooting her a look of pure ice.
She didn’t waste any time.
Once she was in the kitchen, Lucidia let out a sharp breath and rifled through the cabinets until she found a half-empty box of some green tea blend. She grabbed a pot out of the cabinet and filled it up with tap water, cursing herself that she was in the kitchen, boiling water in the middle of an attack op. She got a big mug, ripping the tea bag open and heaping three tablespoons of sugar into the cup. It’d probably go down like syrup, but hey, kickstarting blood sugar was worth the ick-factor.
She walked it back into the room, bracing herself for the stench, and handed the mug off to Darian.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, helping pull the girl up.
Lucidia looked around the room and ventured near the closet, the rolling door only sliding halfway until it hit the lower half of a vampire’s leg. Something fell inside of the closet and another wave of reek hit her hard. “Oh, son of a…” she cursed, stepping back from the door just in time to miss a dead, mutilated human body. Darian looked back to the closet, a fresh wave of anger crossing his face.
“I’ll go find blankets in another closet, then,” she grumbled, leaving the gross room behind her.
Darian followed suit, wrapping the human woman up and bringing her out to the dusty, trash-decorated living room. Lucidia watched as he laid her on the couch. She grabbed a couple blankets from the hall closet, which was human-body free, much to her appreciation. She tucked the thick quilt underneath the woman’s pale legs, and then stood, arms crossed, fighting the urge to tap her foot impatiently.
But really, they needed to go.
After Darian had helped her drink most of the tea, the woman’s eyes started rolling, trying to open, and Lucidia let out a long breath. Darian pressed the car keys into the woman’s hand, curling her fingers around them and whispering something in her ear before rising to his feet.
“Ready?” Lucidia asked.
He said nothing, turning on his heel and striding outside. Lucidia walked out with him, the blinding afternoon sun hitting her. She glanced around, looking for something that would take them to the stronghold, walking the perimeter of the house before her eyes settled on a hefty four-wheeler, keys cast carelessly across the front seat.
Reykon
Noomi’s angry breathing was getting on his nerves, but he was doing his fair share of simmering, so he wasn’t one to judge.
“What’s the escape plan?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
She was deep in thought, seeing different scenarios in her mind, searching for the best option.
After a moment, she shook her head. “I’ve gotta go talk to my contact. He can get us there. Once it happens… I don’t know.”
“We need backup?”
“We need an army,” she hissed, fists clenching.
“Okay,” Reykon said. “I can try Lucidia, but I don’t know what she’s gotten caught up in. It’s worth a shot.”
Noomi nodded, still deep in thought. “We have to hurry. Now that they’re together, they have longer, but it’s still not long.”
“Together?”
She let out an angry sigh. “If Charlemagne Dragomir established a connection with their vision, he was smart enough to bring an anchor along. He want
s to get them before Legion does so he can take all the credit and rise up in Xerxes’s rank and file.”
Reykon shoved a hand through his hair and nodded. “Where’s your contact?”
“He’s here,” she said, looking at the door. “Somewhere.”
“Find him, then.”
“I need to do it alone,” she said. “We didn’t part on good terms.”
He rolled his eyes. Now was not the time for drama. “Just make it happen, Noomi,” he growled.
She shot him a glare and stormed out of the room.
Reykon felt his own rage well up as he followed her through the strange red hallway and back into the Prism’s main floor. The room had now darkened, neon magical lights swirling around the air in a manic frenzy, only increasing the feelings of panic and urgency in his own mind. Reykon followed the shadowed outline of Noomi’s hair, losing it every few seconds, pushing past gyrating casters and people clustered in groups that glared at him as he went by.
“Damnit,” he hissed, searching for any sign of Noomi.
He took another step, and felt a hand, tight on his arm, stopping him. Just as he whipped around, he saw a familiar face, beaming through the neon haze.
“Reykon Thraxos!” the voice announced. “Thought you’d be dead by now.”
Lucidia
Dirt billowed out behind them in large clouds. The full-face helmet obscured her completely, tingeing the world around her in a sepia glint. She glanced forward, to the larger wall that loomed about a mile ahead of them, set in the low, craggly hills of the Nevada desert. Darian sat next to her, in his blood-stained white shirt and jeans, his human ring secure on his finger. Lucidia had used the bungie cord to make it look like she’d tied him up, though they both knew it was akin to tying a lion down with dental floss.
As they approached the second gate, a couple of strongbloods raised beers to them, and Lucidia gave them a cocky salute, zooming through the gate without a problem. Once she was a hundred feet past it, she muttered ‘degenerates’ under her breath and tightened her grip on the wheel.
