by Tanith Frost
I don’t care.
I take a long, deep breath of air so cold it burns. “Do you remember what you told me before we left town? You said a lone captain can’t sail a ship this size through stormy seas. But Maelstrom doesn’t need you to be its captain right now. It needs you to be the fucking storm.” I take a tentative step closer. “Remind all of them—Lachlan included—why you deserve to be high elder here.”
“The others weren’t wrong, though,” she says, betraying nothing in her tone. “There are risks to this plan. We’d be opening a passage to another world, playing with powers that don’t belong here. We could use magic to win this battle only to face a massive secrecy breach and lose everything all over again.”
“Sure. But if you don’t take that risk, we lose everything anyway.” I look away as I search for the right words. “You know what needs to be done. And yeah, you’ll be responsible for the consequences of your actions, just like I am for mine. You’ll deal with the fallout later, whatever comes.” I give her a hesitant grin. “I mean, at the end of this, you’ll either be victorious or dust. In one case, you’ll have regained everyone’s trust and proven you were right all along. In the other…”
Her mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile. “In the other, it won’t matter to me because I won’t exist, anyway?”
“Exactly. What have you got to lose?”
Her lips twitch as if she’s holding back a laugh. “Wise counsel from one of many vampires I can’t trust. I’ll take your advice into consideration.”
“I think my point was that you shouldn’t.”
She gives me a sharp look, but the amused tilt of her eyes doesn’t fade. “Quit while you’re ahead, Aviva.”
“I’ll take that as an order. Any others?”
She purses her lips and looks past me, taking in the ocean again. “We’ve lost fire, save for yours. We don’t have access to Erimentha even if she still lives. I’ll speak to Odette and Imogen about magic, but I fear it won’t be enough on its own. Tell me you have something else up your sleeve. Another power to replace fire—anything.”
I’m about to say no, but I can’t. In fact, I can’t say anything for several moments.
I’ve felt other powers here, but they’re vague and not anchored in any creature that I’ve come across. There’s no way to use them, and no way to be certain that Lachlan isn’t a step ahead of us in seeking them out.
But there is one power that Lachlan and his goons can’t acclimate themselves to.
Goddamn Gideon. He knew this moment would come.
“Aviva?”
I clear my throat, but it does nothing to ease the tension that feels like choking fingers—or maybe a tight collar. “There’s one other power we know for sure would hurt our enemies, but it’s not one we can direct or control.”
Miranda frowns. “Light? That would be as dangerous to us as to our enemies.”
“It would. But with magic on our side, we might have a chance of protecting ourselves. And I might have access to a source.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen slightly. “Would he help us?”
“I think so, though he’d be limited in what he could do. But with the right plan, and for the right price…” My voice trembles. Any price for survival, I tell myself. Not just for the clan, but for werewolves, humans, and everything else Lachlan will destroy if we don’t stop him. “But if we could get Gideon on our side, it might make up for the loss of the werewolves.”
Miranda’s watching me, maybe seeing my thoughts. I don’t mind. It’s better than saying out loud that I’m afraid of what it will cost me.
“Do as you see fit, then,” she says. “Your orders are to speak with the demon Gideon and learn what he might do for us. I’ll leave the rest of the decisions on that front up to you.”
“Really?” I can’t help letting my astonishment enter my voice. “After all the bickering, fighting, and hesitation over fire and magic, this is okay?”
“It’s what the storm has chosen,” she says with a mysterious smile.
“Does that mean you trust me?”
“No. And I’m afraid that your involvement in any other aspect of this plan ends here. You deal with light, and tell no one but me what you work out with the demon. Not Daniel, not Hannabelle. No one. Leave magic to me. Understood?”
I want to object on the grounds that I brought magic to the table in the first place, but insisting on keeping my fingers in every pie would only make me look nosy—and therefore highly suspect. All I can do now is prove that I can be trusted.
I start to walk away, then turn back. “Could you maybe just tell me where we’re headed so I can make my plans?”
She doesn’t answer.
Quit while you’re ahead, Aviva.
Maybe she doesn’t trust me, but she’s listening. I just hope my words didn’t come too late.
24
The van has been crowded and chilly, the ride bumpy. Good thing most of us were asleep for the whole drive.
I’m awake before the others, feeling groggy as hell—I’m up early, and it feels like the sun hasn’t quite set. For a moment, I consider trying to call magic to me to ease the effects of being awake before sunset, but then I remember—I can’t. This is the flip side of Imogen’s curse against my connection to magic.
I turn to Odette and Imogen, both of whom look miserable sitting on a low bench at the side of the cargo hold. “Wow, no stakes through hearts. I’m sure Miranda will appreciate your self-restraint.”
Odette glowers back at me. “It was a close thing, I assure you.”
Imogen elbows her, then steps carefully over the bodies on the floor, making her way toward the only other living, breathing creature present. She pokes Taggryn with one foot, then slides to the floor to sit cross-legged beside him. “Hey. Wake up. We should be there soon.”
He groans and stretches, then sits up and rests his back against the door. “I have meant to ask—do all human mouths taste this terrible on waking?”
“Yes,” Imogen and Odette say together.
It would have been impossible to convince everyone that we needed to go back for Taggryn, or that it was safe to let him ride with us. Fortunately, I only needed to convince Miranda. She and the driver are still the only ones who know or have any control over where we’re going, and she dosed herself with daylight serum so she could make sure he wasn’t going to drive us into Lachlan’s clutches. I doubt she even told him the destination—just gave directions along the way.
I guess the potential benefits of having additional magic on our side (and a fire-breathing monster if things get bad enough that secrecy is the least of our worries) outweighed any lingering doubts she has about me.
Taggryn has been sharing a blanket with Eoin so her power can focus on healing instead of warmth. He yawns, then leans over and sniffs her. “Are you certain she’s not… further deceased?”
“No deader than she was when you got here,” I assure him. “Any further deceased and she’d be less than dust.”
He grunts, leans his head back, and closes his eyes.
“I need to pee,” Imogen mutters.
“We’ll be stopping soon,” Odette assures her.
I sit up straighter. “You know where we’re going?”
She smiles. “I made a suggestion. Feels to me like she’s taken it.”
I close my eyes again and let myself take in everything around us. At first, there’s just the hum of the tires on the road, the void, my fire, Taggryn’s magic, and the hint of it I still barely feel from the humans who are able to use it. But there’s more than that. More magic. Hints of other, unnamed powers.
“Feel familiar?” Odette asks.
“It does. I’d sort of hoped that when I came back to Twillingate, it would be for a vacation.”
Daniel stretches beside me. “Dream on,” he mutters. “No rest for the wicked.”
The others snap back to wakefulness one by one—all except Eoin.
“She going to be okay
?” I ask Daniel.
He frowns. “If she’s made it this far, there’s hope. Going to be a while before she’s fit for duty, though. She’d be better off in the hospital where they can help her along.”
Imogen presses her lips together and looks away.
“Then let’s hurry up and get her there,” Jia says. She and the other Agonites are looking better than the rest of us. I guess that’s another advantage they have. Injuries cause pain, pain brings power, power speeds healing. They might not have access to it all the time, but they really are virtually unstoppable when they do.
I don’t want to think of what that will mean for Xavier if he’s put out in the sun to burn. If his body fights that much harder to stay intact…
The van turns, then slows and stops, and I’m grateful for the distraction. We pull ahead again before the engine shuts off, and even then, we have to wait. Finally, the door rattles upward, and Miranda looks in on us. She must not be suffering the ill effects of the serum yet—or if she is, she’s hiding them well. “Good afternoon, everyone.”
We’ve pulled into a warehouse of some sort that smells vaguely of fish and sea water. It’s sheltered, though, which is all we really need. Taggryn hops to the ground and scoops Eoin up in his arms, clearing the way for everyone else, then follows as the driver leads him down a hallway toward what I assume are the building’s offices. Imogen bursts out and races after them, muttering, “bathroom, bathroom, bathroom…”
Odette speaks to Miranda before following her. All I catch is the words magic and rift.
Miranda turns to the rest of us. “No one is to leave the premises without my permission.”
There’s some grumbling about this. She already took everyone’s phones and dropped them somewhere along our route. She claimed it was for security purposes, in case we were being tracked and that’s how Lachlan found us, but it’s more than that, and we all know it.
If there’s a mole, the last thing Miranda wants is for them to blow our cover again.
Though she grumbles about the lack of real resources, the ambient magic of this place allows Odette to get to work creating and drawing rudimentary protective symbols on the walls and doors of our hideout. Taggryn follows her closely, casting threatening glares at any vampire who comes too close.
“Not going to join Odette for a lesson?” I ask Imogen as I sit beside her on the cold concrete floor.
“She needs to concentrate.” Imogen hugs her knees to her chest. “I’ve learned a lot, but she’s still so much better at all of this than I am. And her skills are what you need right now. I’m just waiting for my turn. Restoration, healing, whatever I can help with later.”
“And if we need a rift opened?”
Imogen sighs and rests her chin on her knees. “I know the theory. Odette’s work on that over there was just… God. Fascinating. Concepts that seem obvious once you understand them, but she has to be some kind of genius to have come up with them. But even if I know the theory, I’m not ready to do it myself. I’ve assisted her, and I will again as soon as she says the word.”
“Good. Has Miranda told you not to talk to anyone else about this?”
“Yeah, she mentioned it. Even you’re not supposed to get details.” She sounds apologetic.
I stretch my legs out in front of me, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. “Don’t worry about it. Miranda has reasons for not wanting to let the left hand know what the right hand is doing.”
“Hmm. How’s your tattoo holding up? I’ve got the supplies in my bag if you need touch-ups.”
I roll my sleeve up, revealing the black lines made up of thousands of tiny dots. “Looks fine for now.”
Her eyes brighten. “And how are you feeling now that we’re back here?”
“It’s perfect. I sense magic, but it’s not hurting me. And even if I think about it, I’m not drawing it to me. It’s just like it was before my accident.” I punch her lightly on the arm. A hug seems inappropriate. “You did good. Better than good. You’ve saved my ass, and I hope I’ll get a chance to thank you for it properly someday.”
She chuckles softly. “Thanks for not saying, ‘I hope I get to repay the favour.’”
A chill passes over my skin. “Definitely hoping it doesn’t come to that. You’ll stay out of the fighting, right? If things get bad, get your ass, Odette’s, and Taggryn’s back to the other place. We’re paying you to help, not to sacrifice yourselves.”
“I know.” She pulls a marker out of her pocket. “Sit down behind those boxes there. I want to try something.”
“Are you allowed to—”
She gives me a sharp look. “Odette gets to play, so why shouldn’t I? As long as no one sees, there’s no harm done. What I really want is a crack at Eoin—I’ve never had a chance to properly try to reverse-curse wounds and injuries, though I’ve had some luck with illness.”
“Luck?”
She blushes. “Skill. I have some skill with illnesses. Why is that so hard to say?”
I sit cross-legged on the floor. “Because you’re young, and human, and were probably brought up thinking that bragging is immodest.”
Imogen kneels beside me and pushes my hair forward, exposing the back of my neck, then pulls my shirt lower. “You know something about that?”
“A little. All I had to do to get over it was die and become a bloodthirsty monster in a world where humility is shameful.”
She presses the tip of the marker to the skin between my shoulders. “I’ll have to add that to my bucket list, then. Or find some other way to pick up a bit of Odette’s confidence. Quiet, now. But let me know if you feel any change.”
She rests her hand against my shoulder, and her skin is so warm that it feels almost feverish. I can’t ignore that warmth—that life. Nor can I ignore the beating of her heart, the soft throb of her pulse at her throat. It’s been a hard few nights since my last feed. I know my fire will sustain me even if I suffer in the meantime, but my mouth still fills with venomous saliva as my focus sharpens. I turn my head slightly to look at her, to remind myself of who this human is. Imogen. Not prey. Not stock.
“This isn’t going to work if you’re freaking me out,” she murmurs, still absorbed in her work.
“Sorry.” I close my eyes and try to focus instead on the movement of the wet felt pen on my skin. For a few minutes, there’s nothing. Then my muscles begin to relax, releasing the knots and stiffness built up over nights of fighting and fleeing and a day of sleep on the hard floor of a van. If it’s magic flowing through me, it doesn’t feel quite like what I’m getting from outside. It’s warmer, softer.
“Don’t relax me too much,” I whisper. “I have to be somewhere later. Can’t be flopping all over the place.”
“Where?” she asks. “I didn’t think anyone was allowed to leave.”
I open one eye just for a second.
“Of course,” she says, and gives her head a little shake. “Right hand, left hand.”
She pauses to think, then starts again. Long lines wind around a small area on my skin, and the deeper pain of injury begins to ebb like a tide pulling back from the shore, slow and sure, moving in slow waves. It’s as though my connection to the void has grown deeper or more complete, and she’s thrown in an excellent painkiller to get me through the hard part of my healing.
Other changes creep over me that have nothing to do with magic or symbols. The sun has fully set, and I feel more awake than the overcast skies allowed for earlier.
Footsteps approach, and Imogen hides the marker quickly. By the time Clark peers in to check on us, my shirt is covering the markings, and she appears to be braiding my hair.
He gives me a look that’s hard to read—tight-lipped and disapproving, certainly, but I don’t feel any direct malice from him. Just void, indistinct as it should be in a vampire I hardly know. It’s strong, though. Not that I had any doubts that Miranda chose her assistant-slash-bodyguard with anything but the utmost care and consideration. The scarred s
kin on his cheek twitches as he looks away. A wound he received saving her, for the sake of this clan. If he hates me, it’s because he sees me as a threat to everything he works so hard to protect.
Maybe I’m too hard on him. We want the same thing, after all. We’re just coming at it from very different directions.
When he’s gone, I turn my attention back to Imogen. “I should get going. Do you need to finish?”
“Yeah, here you go.” She squints at the design and adds a few quick dots to whatever she’s created back there. “It’s working, though?”
“I feel like I’ve been resting for two nights.”
She frowns. “That’s not as much as I was hoping for.”
“Are you kidding? That would be like weeks in the hospital for a human. Really helpful.”
Imogen’s expression brightens. “I’d be able to do more, I think, if I could get a look at individual wounds, but…” She squints suddenly, as if someone has shone a light into her eyes, and presses her hands to her forehead, marking her hair with a streak of black from the marker.
I’m on my knees a second later, my hands on her arms to keep her from falling over. “Imogen?”
She blinks hard. “It’s okay. As long as I’m cursing with good intentions, any negative effects don’t usually last long. Guess I did more for you than I realized, that’s all.”
She did mention this was an effect she experienced when she was first discovering her gift. “It hurts you, right?”
“It can, yeah. There goes my potential career as a curse-based assassin, eh?” She caps the marker. “Maybe Eoin would be too much for me, after all.”
“Okay. Rest up while you can. I’ll be back. And thanks again.”
Imogen smiles and closes her eyes as she leans against the wall. “It’s a good feeling, you know. Even when it hurts. Just… to do something so few others can do, using my own power.”
“I get it.”
I rise and brush the dust from my pants, marvelling at how much more easily I’m moving now.