What the hell had Rahab done to my brother?
I couldn’t let my brother be hurt. I had to save him, just like I hadn’t been able to save my sister.
I slammed my fist against the glass, but it didn’t even tremor.
Crash, crash, crash.
Then strong arms were around my waist dragging me away, and the wall was frosting, shimmering back to a reflection of only my room.
My brother was lost to me again.
“Bastard, no…” I screamed, squirming away from the hold.
“Apprentice,” the cold voice broke through my grief, stilling me. “In the name of the Brotherhood, remember the Code.”
I swung around to the chilly gaze of Och, the Chief Discipliner, who was both Mischief’s older brother and leader of the mages who trained the Broken slaves and chopped off their wings.
Yeah, so for Discipliner read prick.
I’d freed Barakiel — the Lightning Angel — from the prison on Angel World; Barakiel had killed Nathanael, Mischief and Och’s younger brother. Not that either of Nathanael’s brothers knew he was even dead. I didn’t know why Rahab was keeping the secret, but I didn’t fancy the magical wrath of either a Discipliner or my shapeshifting fam, so wouldn’t be the one to break that silence.
I’d once accused Mischief of being part of the Discipliners, but it was only when I saw Mischief delivered to me slumped in sizzling electrified angel cuffs as my Undeserving by his own brother — a gleaming broad-shouldered Discipliner in gold harem pants and neat silver curls like a Roman senator — that I understood the truth behind the Legion of the Phoenix.
This was about power.
Whereas Och had been raised with it, Mischief had played the part of the pleb. Yet when Mischief could blast us all to itty bits with his magic: bastard why?
Wish Number One: Mischief is yours, Violet-puss.
But he’s not free.
What did your wet and suckable lion cub call it? Semantics, bitch.
Rahab isn’t royalty; he was left to die. He’s played a game of survival from the moment he was born; there’s no silver spoon, only the drive to win.
Now he expects no less from his brainwashed kids. You either up your game or you become his pawn.
“Screw the Brotherhood and screw the Code.” My magic gave a punishing pulse behind my eyes, even as I heard the echo of Kunel’s nasal voice chiding me for my rebellion. “My brother—"
“Shall cope one more day without you.” Mischief scowled. “Or do you imagine our sweet Invisible Prince trained to be nothing but a lost duckling, rather than the Butcher—"
Och backhanded Mischief, sprawling him across the chamber’s floor.
Blaze bounded off the bed next to Spark, as they both snarled.
Only then did I realise that Ceri had fallen to his knees, his forehead touching the floor, whilst he panted. He was terrified and for the first time acting like the Broken on Angel World had.
Hell, Och had probably trained him.
I stepped in front of Ceri, pushing Och back and enjoying the indignant expression, which reddened his haughty face. “Bounce, bitch.”
Och’s gaze flickered between us, before settling on Mischief, who’d struggled up onto one knee. Och appeared startled. “Brother, please,” he whispered, “for once, remember what you are.”
I blinked, confused, as Och shoved Mischief, pushing down on his shoulders. To my surprise, Mischief ducked under his hands, staggering to his feet.
For a long moment, there was nothing but a staring contest between them like they were two kids, rather than powerful magic wielders.
Why wouldn’t Mischief simply kneel? And why did my own vampiric and angelic powers surge and foam inside at his refusal, hungering to force him.
To slap him down, as his brother had?
When Och rubbed his fingers together, a coiled whip appeared in his hand. “Do not shame our family further.”
Mischief hesitated, before turning away his head and holding out his palm.
My arms shook, as I hugged them across my chest. “He’s mine: packages must be delivered undamaged.”
“By the Phoenix, he’s not yours yet and he shall always remain under my guidance. Are you ready to reform, brother?”
Mischief ignored Och, tilting his chin in defiance.
Och sighed, hesitating.
Swish — crack.
The whip landed, leaving a crimson weal across the centre of Mischief’s palm, but he didn’t make a sound.
Swish — crack.
The second blow was harder. It cut across Mischief’s thumb, and he flinched.
Och was holding back though, I could tell: wrapping the whip behind his shoulder for maximum effect but pulling it when he reached Mischief’s palm to reduce the force. I’d bet anything he didn’t do that when he lashed the Broken.
Could I beat Jade? If Rahab made me deliver her in handcuffs?
No bastard way.
Och raised the whip again, and Mischief stiffened.
Three wishes — rewards — and they’d each bitten me in the arse.
Suddenly, hands gripped me from behind, pinning my arms. I screeched at the pressure on my fragile wings. A sackcloth bag was jammed over my head: dark, stinking, and rough. I struggled to breathe through the fabric that sucked in and out of my mouth on each inhale and exhale.
I booted out, reaching for my violet fire, magic, shadows…anything. But it was dampened, like it’d been smothered, as I was in the sack cloth.
I screamed, trapped animal style, lost in the flailing panic.
Trapped, trapped, trapped…
Then Kunel’s voice hissed close to my ear, “Welcome to Purge Week.”
5
In the dark, I tilted up my chin, despite the stinking sackcloth over my head: I’d been humiliated by being transformed into a scarecrow, but I could still have swag. If this was the start of Initiation Purge Week, then I’d at least start it like a queen.
If I didn’t win the contest with Drake to train as a mage, then I’d be reduced to Underserving. Falling from ruler to servant wasn’t high on my to-do list, so although I couldn’t force Drake to martyr himself again (and I didn’t think Rahab would let it slip twice), I’d battle him for real to win the Initiation.
Whatever the hell they were going to do to us, it was game on.
I took a ragged breath, swinging my arms through the hot air.
Kunel had hauled me down corridors, across courtyards, and up stairs. Unable to see, I’d staggered, dizzy and disorientated.
Now, I didn’t have a clue where I was. Point One on the freak-out-meter to Purge Week.
I sniffed: there was something beneath the stench of old sackcloth. A warm autumnal scent like bonfires. It smelled like…Lucifer.
Dad.
To hell with the Initiation. I didn’t know if it was fear, relief, or concern for Lucifer that made me rip off the bag from my head, spluttering as the coarse material caught on my lips.
I took hurried steps forward only to stop in shock.
Instead of my dad, it was Drake staring back at me, his eyes dazed and red-rimmed. His wings were grey, like he was one of the Fallen. I sniffed again: Drake’s wings had been smeared in ash to shame him. Just as he’d been dressed in a matching all black leather Lucifer outfit.
This was hazing Legion style.
Point Two to Purge Week.
My heart ached that it wasn’t Lucifer, just as I was flooded with confusing relief that I wouldn’t have to see the dad I’d betrayed.
Or hurt him.
Yet both sides of my nature howled even louder that I’d have to hurt Drake. My new magic coiled around the ancient powers, shooting freezing spikes to cool the outrage, each one a pricking reminder of the Phoenix Code.
I’d been dragged to the Iron Barracks. Neat rows of grey beds were ranked in the arched iron room. The porthole windows looked out over the Bailey and the whipping post.
I glared around at the apprentices; even th
e kids had been included in the dystopian themed party. The apprentices stood in a silent circle around the pretend Lucifer, as if they’d trapped him. Kunel marched to join them, his Mr Perfect smile sliding into place.
When Kunel beckoned to me like this was all just a fun game of Piggy in the Middle, I ignored him, meeting Drake’s gaze instead. “Leather suits you. I thought Rebel was my only bondage angel.”
Kunel’s smile slipped. “Do not talk to him. He’s working on his worthiness.”
“And I’m working on not freaking out and kicking all your arses…sir,” I managed to force out the sir, before the hot shank slice of magic punished me for my insolence. “Wait, I know this bit: where’s the Sorting Hat?”
“Fool,” Drake hissed, “this is part of the Initiation. Join the circle and hush. Please.”
It was the please that did it.
Clank, clank, clank.
I stomped across the metal floor, crossing my arms as I joined the circle. Sometimes I forgot how honourable Drake was, as long as the Matriarch wasn’t pulling his strings.
Kunel flexed his muscled arms, before pointing at Drake in the centre of the circle. Like freaky mirror images, the other mages pointed at Drake too.
Drake flushed.
Stubbornly, I kept my arms crossed, even as my pulse raced.
Kunel lifted his eyebrow at me.
Drake mouthed, “I win already…?”
Growling, I lifted my arm and pointed. Drake stood ramrod straight, as if before a firing squad.
Had he just played me?
“Tell us your failures this week, Duma.” Kunel crooned. My guts twisted because that was the tone I craved. My magic unwound from my neck, reaching out hungrily towards it: the praise. I lived for those moments of golden attention, and from the adoring but envious expressions on the other apprentices’ faces, I knew they were torn with the same feeling. What was pain if you could have love too? “Reform yourself through confession.”
Drake stared helplessly around at the accusing apprentices — and me — before casting his gaze to the ground. “I failed the Brotherhood in the Battle of the Bailey,” his voice was flat and lifeless.
Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy.
I jumped at the apprentices’ chant. Drake flinched but didn’t look up.
“I…doubted the Phoenix code and—”
Drake’s confession was drowned out by cries of outrage and disgust. He hunched, hugging his ash shamed wings around himself in self-comfort.
I shuddered at the Legion’s attempt to weaken Drake: way to emasculate a bloke. They’d taken the proud Commander’s fears — that he’d Fall, become Lucifer, was unworthy — and made him confess it himself.
Point Three to the Initiation.
What the hell did they have planned for me?
Kunel pursed his lips, but his eyes gleamed with zeal. “Enough, brothers. Duma is to be praised for his bravery in his confession. His sins are great, but now we can help him reform. Only we love him enough to hurt him when he needs it. And I think you have one last failure to admit?”
Drake shook his head.
Kunel’s strong shoulders rolled, as he pointed at Drake with more vigour. “On my feathers, if I must dig out your secrets myself, you shall feel the lash.”
Drake’s gaze lifted to mine. My hand shook, where I pointed at him; a tear slipped down Drake’s cheek.
At last, he admitted, “I’ve had sexual thoughts towards another who is not my Glory.”
Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy.
Still Drake didn’t drop his gaze.
This cult was going down medieval style.
As long as you’re not a programmed robot, teaching the Brotherhood’s cult yourself like the First Reformer. Does the brainwashing dick have an off button on his shiny ass?
No one’s messing with my head.
Think again, Violet-sweets. They’ve already messed with your gorgeous head.
If they hadn’t, would you be pointing at Commander Goldilocks and making him cry?
Shocked, I slammed down my hand, stumbling backwards.
What the hell was I doing?
Kunel seized Drake by the neck, shoving him to the floor and forcing out his wings: punishment position. I watched in horror as the other apprentices kneeled in rows on either side of him.
Kunel stood back. “In the name of the Code: no brother will show weakness. Let us scourge your confessed failings and raise you up on our wings together. Crawl through the gauntlet and be purged.”
Drake wriggled along on his elbows, like a feathered worm. I wet my lips, backing away.
Until the blast hit Drake from the first apprentice, singing his right wing. He howled, just as flames blackened his left wing from the apprentice on the other side. Still Drake dragged himself forward.
Blood pounded in my ears; I was going to hurl.
As the third apprentice raised his hand to strike, I leapt forward. “Allow it,” I snarled, knocking his electric strike ringing against the iron roof, before tumbling backwards over Drake. “You want to make this a Code battle? Then how about our duty to protect and defend the Brotherhood? Not barbecue each other with marshmallows.”
Drake had turned his head, his breathing shallow through the pain. “They tend not to use marshmallows.” He gave me a searching look. “Allow me to congratulate you on your idiocy. All you had to do was permit my suffering and you’d win. I would have imagined that was easy.”
I brushed my hand gently through his blackened feathers, and he leant into the touch. “I’m not the same bitch of a Glory that I was on Angel World. I promise, Glories can love.”
He jerked back, his mouth working as if desperate to say something but battling hard not to let it out.
Then a brawny hand was hauling me backwards, and it was me in the circle of glowering apprentices.
“In the Legion we must rise together or we’ll Fall. Mage Drake will cast out the unworthy to be Marked…’ Kunel paused for the whimpers and whines. ‘My mission is to save, and I can do that through love but if I’m forced through wilful rebellion, I’ll use fear.’
Silence.
Now I even missed the terrified whimpers because Kunel’s Angelic Power was nightmares. When he snatched the base of my neck, digging in his thumbs, I gasped.
I tumbled onto the mountain of feathers, above the valley of bones. Here, I was Beginning and End. Death and Rebirth. Destroyer and Saviour. The vision I’d suffered ever since my powers had come in on my twenty-first birthday.
Except, now violet flames — mine — licked crackling across the valley. Bones glowed and feathers sizzled to black. The air stank with billowing clouds of smoke. I choked, stumbling through the haze across the charred skeletons of…
No, no, no…
My foot sank through a wing, which snapped beneath my boot.
A trench of angelic skeletons: my fam, nestled next to their vampire enemies.
And there I was — a dark beast atop the mountain — shooting fire into the sky: an apocalyptical nightmare.
I howled in terror, scrabbling backwards.
It wasn’t me…I couldn’t do that…I’d leashed the beast…I wouldn’t kill…
Nightmare, Violet-cupcake. Sir Brainwasher is playing with your fears like his dick. Don’t let him get a happy all over you.
Not…real? I haven’t ganked…?
Snap your dark self out of it. He twists love to fear.
I’m dreaming?
You’re trapped in his spell. It’s real, girl, unless you break out.
How about this?
I shook myself, refusing to look down at the bodies at my feet. Instead, I swaggered up the mountain towards myself.
Hell, I looked legendary, even if I was an evil bitch.
Evil Bitch Me appeared confused, as I snatched her by the hands and drew her into an exaggerated twerk routine. Then I closed my eyes, stroking Evil Bitch Me’s hair behind her ear and pulling her closer, before licking my tongue across her lips
.
I snogged my evil twin because how many chances was I going to have to try that out?
Yeah, I’m an awesome kisser.
When I opened my eyes, I was sprawled on the floor of the Iron Barracks and Kunel’s face was red, as he awkwardly clasped his hands behind his back.
He’d caught the show then.
Kunel bent over me. “It appears that before you can bring honour to the Legion, you need a taste of how we treat creatures, since you insist on acting like one.”
“Don’t you like a little beast in your bitch?”
Kunel’s lip curled. “What I think is that chains and collars will suit you.” Behind me, I heard Drake’s holler, as I surged up. Kunel shot his nightmare blackness at me, however, and although my own shadows rose against them, Kunel’s surge of fear coursed up and down my spine, tumbling me to my knees. I panted, dry retching. Kunel patted my head. “They shall suit the beast very well until it learns obedience. You’ve barely tasted true punishment. At least you won’t be lonely when you join our other creature.”
I choked; my mind howled.
What monster was I being caged with?
I huddled at Kunel’s feet, reduced to nothing but the creature he claimed, in my animalistic terror of chains, collars, and monsters.
6
Freak, monster, beast…the labels had been spat at me since I was a kid: a supernatural hidden amongst the human, simply trying to belong. Now I’d been disgraced from royal apprentice to chained creature because there was always a balance: freedom for my fam.
But I wasn’t alone in my punishment; I’d been leashed with Monster Number Two.
I shivered because of course creatures didn’t wear clothes. Bare arsed on the slate flagstones of the kitchen floor, I pulled at the iron collar around my neck, which dug into my skin. I tugged, but it was looped by a chain at the front to a metal ring beside the hearth. A fire died a slow death, hissing to itself, as a blackened chimney rose above.
In the gloom that reached to the vaulted ceiling, the dancing flames cast the only light. If this had been the Under World, there’d have been punk music blaring, cage fights, and mayhem. But this was the formal, orderly, and dignified Legion of the Phoenix. All the good little soldiers were tucked up in bed. At this midnight hour, only the creatures still haunted the castle.
Vampire Mage Page 5