“I’m not buying it,” I said, drawing more power from my cuffs. “So, here’s my final offer, let us go or I’m going to make you.”
“Charlie,” Rowan said, his voice uncertain. “Let’s just hear her out.”
I flashed him a look that let him know I’d already made up my mind.
Footsteps behind me made me whirl. A human figure cut through the darkness and stepped into the light.
Mink.
“Ana, I told you they wouldn’t listen to you. You had your chance. Now, it’s my turn.” He twisted his mustache between two fingers and eyed her smugly. He removed his hat and swirled his cloak off his shoulders, revealing his thin but sharp sword, unsheathed and glowing slightly with magic power.
Tempest, whose real name must’ve been Ana, scowled. “I’ve tried to be reasonable, witch,” she said. “But it seems you’d rather deal with Mink.”
“Join us or die at Mink’s hands.” That’s what she was saying. More murder and manipulation was all they had to offer.
I stood my ground.
She sighed. “I can’t be responsible for this, Mink,” she said, then, in one quick motion, threw her hands down. A swirl of wind shot out of the ground, momentarily obscuring her from view. When the wind died down, she, and the truth demon were gone. Disha lay on the ground, seemingly undisturbed.
“Very well,” Mink said. “I’ll take care of this myself.”
With a snarling cry, Mink charged at Rowan.
Rowan crouched, growling fiercely while his fangs elongated and his eyes darkened to round black orbs. He would normally have welcomed this confrontation, but he’d already taken a few blows from Tempest and Mink was a formidable opponent. This fight could be his last.
The blade in Mink’s hand flashed as he ran. Suddenly, I recognized it as the blade that had rendered Rowan unconscious right here all those months ago. Mink had planted the blade then and was using it now, same as he tried to do in Turkey. And, what Rowan didn’t know was, it was very likely the same sword that stabbed Bobby, imbued with powers that would weaken any Lesser.
Rowan didn’t stand a chance.
Putting this all together in a split second, I knew I had to intervene. Lifting my hands, I readied a spell to blast Mink out of the way as he bounded over a fallen beam and got ready to strike.
As I was speaking the last word, a fist made of wind pounded into my chest, shoved me across the room, and slammed me back against the wall. My skull connected with the hard drywall and stars shot across my vision.
Dazed, I slumped to my knees and shook my head. The gray edges of the world threatened to fold in on me, but I knew if I didn’t fight for consciousness, Rowan was finished. Still, I couldn’t command my legs.
Up, damn it! Get up.
A snarling cry ripped through the warehouse. When I could focus my eyes, I found Rowan on his knees, clutching his bleeding chest as Mink stood over him, ready to bring down a death blow.
“No!”
I scrambled upright and threw my hands out, sending a propelling spell in his direction, but it missed and blasted into a pillar instead. Debris rained down and the building trembled, but nothing would stop Mink from ending Rowan. I could see the crazed look in his eyes as he brought the sword down in an arch meant to slice off Rowan’s head.
I raised my hands again, knowing I would be too late.
A pop of smoke and a shiver of air exploded in the room. A figure appeared between Rowan and Mink in the split second before the blow. The blade, already on its trajectory, came down, slicing into this new person’s flesh. He crumpled to his knees as red blood jetted out, spraying Mink, the ground.
Macgregor Underwood stared at the blood coating his chest and hands.
Rowan cried out, “No. Father!”
Macgregor? How?!
Oh, God. No, no, no.
Mink blinked at the bloody scene for a second. He seemed surprised but recovered quickly. “I’d started to believe you wouldn’t show,” he said, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips.
Taking a step back, he glanced around the room, probably fearing others would come after Macgregor, then turned and fled.
I wanted to give chase, but Macgregor needed help. I rushed toward the dean in time to see Rowan draw his lifeless father into his arms.
Macgregor was soaked in blood. Mink’s blade had cut him from his right shoulder down across his chest. His neat dress shirt was sliced apart and stained a deep red. The blow was deep, and judging from the blood, had hit at least one artery.
I fell to my knees in a sticky puddle and poured all I had into a healing spell.
Patch, mend, stop the blood.
I worked my hands in the motions over and over, pumping more and more energy into the spell, but the blood kept coming.
Macgregor paled. His face was ashy white. Yet, his eyes remained locked on his son’s face.
“No, no, no,” Rowan muttered, rocking his father. “Please,” he begged, though I wasn’t sure who he was beseeching, me or God.
Panicked, I kept working my healing spells but they were useless. Mink’s blade did more than drain Lesser’s powers. It seemed it also made healing spells useless.
“It’s not working,” I moaned, clenching my fists and pounding them into my thighs in frustration. “We have to get him somewhere. He needs a doctor.” I glanced up, realizing we were far from anywhere that would help Macgregor. And there was so much blood. I’d never seen so much in my entire life.
“Rowan,” Macgregor rasped.
Rowan stopped rocking and stared down at his father’s face.
Macgregor managed a weak smile on his blood tinged lips. “I… I’m sorry.”
“Dad, it’s okay,” Rowan moaned. “Just stay with me.”
“I’m sorry… for everything.”
“Dad, it’s okay. It’s really okay. I’m the one who’s sorry. Please just stay awake, okay. We’re going to get you help.” Rowan choked on a sob, lowering his head. “Dad? Dad!”
But Macgregor didn’t answer.
He was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SPRING SEMESTER
LATE MARCH
Rowan lifted his head and let out a roar of pure, unadulterated pain.
Still kneeling, I grabbed my head, trying to get my thoughts around what had just happened. I focused on the events, the whys and the hows because if I let my emotions take over, I wouldn’t be able to handle them. Even as I denied them an escape, I felt them warring inside my chest, threatening to cripple me.
This couldn’t be real. Macgregor could not be dead.
Tears of blood spilled down Rowan’s face as he held his father as if he were his anchor, his link to a life that wasn’t all bad, a life that had been filled with love, despite all the pride, despite all the differences. He alternated between muttering a series of denials and keening.
I thought of Rowan’s mom. His brothers. They would be devastated.
God, what have we done? What have we done?
The question played over and over in my head. This was our fault. Rowan’s father was dead because we’d thought we knew better. He’d told us from the beginning there was no cure, and we didn’t want to listen.
“Very touching,” a voice said from the back of the warehouse. “I’m glad I stayed to watch this.”
Blinking out of my emotional stupor, I stared up.
Mink emerged from the shadows. He hadn’t fled after all.
“It seems no one else is coming to your rescue,” the coward said. “So it’s just us three or four again.” He gave Disha a sidelong glance.
Gently, very gently, Rowan set his father down. He closed Macgregor’s still-opened eyes with a light touch and folded his lifeless hands over his ruined chest.
Rowan went on looking at his father, regret, and love twisting his features. “Forgive me, Father. This is my fault. It’s always been my fault. If I’d only listened…”
“How tender,” Mink said in a mocking tone.
“But not as tender as being able to kill so many birds with one stone.” He glanced from Macgregor to Rowan to Disha and then to me. “Positively delightful.” Mink swished his still-bloody sword in the air. It cut through the silence, the swish-swish sound slicing into my heart as well. Blood droplets flung through the air, splattering the floor in red arcs.
Macgregor’s blood. Rowan’s father’s blood.
One moment, Rowan was kneeling in front of me, the next he was gone.
I whirled, searching for him, but he’d disappeared into the darkness of the empty, cavernous room.
Mink crouched, sword at the ready, eyes roving all around the warehouse and its many dim corners.
I stood to join the fight, rage replacing the confusion and loss. Mink deserved to die for this, and I would help Rowan. He was prowling around his prey. I could sense him.
A shield of protection shimmered around Mink, but he didn’t appear scared. Instead, he seemed satisfied and confident. We were nothing but kids to him. Macgregor and the possibility of others coming after him had been the real threat.
I took a step forward, readying my cuffs.
“No, Charlie,” Rowan’s voice echoed through the old warehouse. “He’s mine.”
As he said the words, a racking pain pulled at my heart as if it would tear it out of my body. I lurched forward a few steps, then fell to my knees, feeling as if my ribs would hurl open like a set of doors.
Magic poured out of me in a huge stream. My chest jerked upward a few inches and my arms flailed at my sides as magical energy flowed out of me, riding the link Rowan and I shared. He’d drawn magic from me once before, but this was different. He intended to drain me.
The cuffs protested, tightening around my wrists, hurting me. I moaned in pain. My very insides were being wrenched out of me. It felt like someone was ripping my heart out, and in a way he was. Rowan wanted all my magic, and he didn’t care if he knocked me unconscious in the process.
The agony was quick, though it felt like forever. At last, I collapsed to one side, crashing onto my shoulder. Unable to move, I blinked at a dumbfounded Mink. He still appeared smug as he assessed the shadows, still searching for Rowan.
Did Mink realize what Rowan had done? Did he still think he could take him? Maybe—now that I was immobilized—he probably thought one would be easier to beat than two.
I fought to keep my eyes open. I was tired, so very tired like I’d been awake for days.
A blur ran in front of Mink. The mustached man spooked, brandished his sword from one side to the other in a glowing arc. Another blur ran behind him, testing Mink’s protective shield. It flickered. Mink whirled, cutting the air with his sword.
The blur came again, but this time, it didn’t run past. Sparks flew as Mink’s magic collided with Rowan’s. Mink’s shield fell away, then Rowan smacked head-first into the vampire hunter, knocking the sword from his hand.
Mink threw a hand out, calling for his sword. It flew in his direction but changed trajectory in mid-air and, instead, landed in Rowan’s hand. He stood in front of Mink, an expression of irrevocable hatred on his pale features.
“You killed my father,” Rowan said, exposing his fangs in a predatory sneer.
Mink shrugged, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. “He deserved it for his weakness, for betraying his beliefs. We’ve been in this together for a long time, your father and I. Then you happened.” His voice trembled slightly as his cunning gaze assessed the situation. “He should’ve expected as much when he turned his back on me and picked you instead. Stupid, stupid decision.”
Quicker than the eye could see, Mink whirled his hands, attempting to recover his sword from Rowan. The weapon lurched, but Rowan held it fast.
“Today, you die,” Rowan said, vicious fury etched on his face.
He slashed the sword across Mink’s chest. The warlock put up another shield. It held back the bulk of the blow, but a patch of blood began to seep through his jacket. He touched the spot and, rubbing his fingers together, examined the blood as if he’d never bled before.
Mink bared his teeth and jerked his arm in Rowan’s direction. A ball of red magic flew toward Rowan’s face. My heart clenched with fear, but Rowan batted it away with a small flick of his wrist as if it were nothing but a pesky fly. His power was unlike anything I’d seen from him before as if with his experience he could wield my magic better than I could.
Rowan slashed with the sword again, cutting a deep gash in Mink’s shoulder. The warlock slapped a hand to the wound and growled in pain, helpless against his own enchanted sword.
“We never did anything to you,” Rowan said coldly, then slashed again, cutting a gash on Mink’s other shoulder.
“You were supposed to be my father’s friend.” Another slash, this time to Mink’s stomach. He was playing with him, cutting him up slowly. It was horrible to watch even if Mink was a monster.
Mink wrapped an arm around his stomach, bending over, eyes darting as if looking for an escape.
I fought to get up. “Rowan,” I said in a whisper too hoarse and low to be heard. I had to stop him.
“But I guess you enjoy the hunt too much,” Rowan continued, pressing the tip of the sword to Mink’s cheek. He let it sit there, its magic burning the warlock’s face, while Mink tried to defend himself with a useless spell. The smell of burning flesh flooded the air.
“Well, I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Rowan hissed.
“No,” I said, reaching out a hand.
Just moments ago, I’d thought killing Mink was a good idea, but not like this—not with such viciousness, not taking pleasure in it. This wasn’t self-defense. This was torture. If Rowan did that…
No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. There would be no coming back from that. It would break his soul.
“Please, Rowan… don’t,” I said, still reaching for him. My hands trembled as I clawed through debris toward him.
He tensed for a second, which let me know he’d heard me, but he didn’t glance in my direction. If he had, it might have made all the difference.
Instead, he went on slashing the sword, cutting Mink until he was on his knees, begging. Crosshatched with seeping wounds. The warlock was holding his arms up to protect his face. His jacket was shredded to bits and blood was everywhere.
Still, Rowan kept cutting his father’s murderer without pity, while Mink’s screams for mercy echoed around us.
Unable to bear anymore, I hid my face from the horror and wept.
I didn’t know how much time had passed. It felt like forever, or at least several lifetimes, during which I lost Rowan over and over again.
At last, there was silence. Still, I didn’t dare look up. I couldn’t face Rowan again, not after what he’d done.
My tears had dried out. I couldn’t move. I was frozen, listening to the thundering beat of my heart as I wished this all away. I heard his steps as he approached, but I kept my face buried in my hands. There was the sound of metal clattering to the floor, then retreating steps. After their echoes died out, I finally had the courage to lift my head.
Mink’s sword was on the ground next to me, crimson with blood. I averted my eyes, not daring to look toward the body. Instead, I crawled my way toward Disha. She was lying on her side, her face beautiful and relaxed as if she were sleeping and dreaming of something wonderful.
I pushed a strand of hair away from her face and lay down next to her, tears spilling out of the corners of my eyes. At least she’d been spared from the worst horrors of this night.
At least… I still had her.
Chapter Thirty
SPRING SEMESTER
EARLY APRIL
Anyone who was anyone at the Academy seemed to be here.
Hell, anyone who was anyone in the whole of Atlanta seemed to be here.
Hundreds of people in their black vehicles, all magicked that way for the occasion, occupied the narrow streets of Oakland Cemetery. Hundreds more crowded the perfectly kept lawns and gard
ens.
It had been decades since the last plot of land had been sold in this place, but the Underwoods had a spot for their patriarch today. Many famous people were buried here. It was a beautiful place, with an art gallery on its premises and space for events. Huge headstones marched in neat rows beside flowering trees and beautiful gardens. The grounds were quiet, save for the buzzing of bees that pollinate the roses and hydrangeas.
I’d driven past it before and thought nothing of people coming here to celebrate among the dead. I’d been younger then and hadn’t understood a thing about the world.
Now, I found it morbid. From today until forever, this place would only bring me sadness and despair.
Rowan’s mother, Bonnie, and his brothers, along with the eldest brother’s wife and children, grieved silently as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Under the morning sun, a Celtic priest and a warlock with a lilting accent had spoken words of salvation and resurrection, but to me, it all translated to pain and ruin.
I’d spent my first Academy Christmas with the Underwoods. They weren’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but they’d been happy and kind to me for the most part.
Back then, Bonnie had been full of vigor and enthusiasm for her family, and now she just looked defeated. The cheerfulness that I’d grown used to seeing on her face was gone, replaced by a slack expression that spoke of emptiness and irreparable loss. Her bright blouses and skirts were replaced with a simple black dress and patent leather heels. She sobbed into a handkerchief and stared at the coffin.
Nathaniel and Lawrence stood by her side, looking stern and supportive, pillars of strength for their mother—even if sometimes, flashes of fury and pain could be seen in their eyes if one paid close attention.
Behind them, the other women of the family and Macgregor’s two grandchildren fidgeted nervously, looking lost and out of place. Did the kids understand what their grandfather had sacrificed? What story would they be told?
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