by Kristie Cook
“You stay here for now,” Blossom said as she opened the car door. “Let me soften up Aunt Sylvie first.”
Tension tightened my muscles as Blossom hurried up the front walk. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was delivering us right into the Daemoni’s hands to protect the colony.
A thin woman who looked about sixty, with silver hair pulled neatly into a bun and wearing a long, tie-dyed skirt, opened the door just as Blossom reached it. Her dark eyes widened when she saw the guest on her front porch, and they silently stared at each other for a long moment. When the woman finally opened her mouth, she spoke quietly, but not too low for our ears.
“Blossom! What are you—” She broke off and peered behind her niece, her eyes scanning the neighborhood. “I sense magic. Too powerful to be yours, child.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Blossom squirmed and shifted her weight. “. . . because I’m not alone.”
The old woman’s eyes snapped back to Blossom’s face. “What do you mean you’re not alone? Who did you bring here?”
“Some friends. They need your help.”
“Blossom, we’re not going through this again. Last time you brought friends to me, they wanted to raise their dead uncle to dispute a will!”
“I didn’t know that’s what they really wanted. They told me—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like that this time.”
“Good! Because there are no séances or necromancy going on here. We don’t do magic for Normans, and we definitely don’t use dark magic.”
“Of course not, Aunt Sylvie. That’s not it at all. They’re Amadis. Honestly. They just want information.”
Aunt Sylvie narrowed her eyes. “That magic is too powerful for Amadis, even a warlock. It almost feels like a . . . a . . . sorcerer. What have you gotten yourself into now, child?”
“I swear, they’re Amadis. More Amadis than anyone really.” Blossom waved her hand behind her back, her signal for us to join her.
“She won’t let us in until she trusts we’re not Daemoni,” I said after peeking into the older witch’s mind. This worry actually made me feel better because it meant Blossom hadn’t led us into a trap. “She actually believes a sorcerer has cloaked and shielded us. Are you really that powerful, Owen?”
“No, not quite. But close enough,” he said with a grin in his voice as we climbed out of the car.
Owen didn’t remove the cloaks on us until we stood behind Blossom on the front porch. Aunt Sylvie gasped when we appeared.
“Oh, no. Blossom! This is almost as bad as Daemoni themselves.”
“Aunt Sylvie, your manners,” Blossom whispered, as if we couldn’t hear anyway. “Don’t you know who they are?”
“Of course I do. How could you bring them here?” Fear masked the woman’s face, as if she expected us to attack her.
“They need our help.”
“We can’t help. It’s too dangerous!” Aunt Sylvie glanced around the neighborhood again and stepped back into the house, pushing the door nearly closed so we could barely see her drop her head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Alexis, Mr. Tristan. I can’t risk my coven. There was a reason I wouldn’t respond to Owen’s calls. Please, leave now. It’s better for all of us.”
“But, Aunt Sylvie,” Blossom begged, “they just need to ask about a girl. You might know—”
“No! I don’t—”
Three pops behind us cut her off, and we all spun around, hands out.
“That’s exactly why I can’t help!” The door’s slam punctuated Aunt Sylvie’s point. I caught enough of her thoughts to realize she knew nothing about a girl and only wanted her coven to be left in peace.
“Who are they?” Blossom whispered.
I knew who. I wanted to know how. How did Vanessa and her cronies find us once again? The surprise in Blossom’s voice and in her mind meant this wasn’t her doing. I felt out for mind signatures, but these three—Vanessa, her brother, and another vampire—were the only non-humans around. Besides the witches in the house, of course, who were scrambling around inside and calling to each other about wands and hide-out spots.
“The vampire bitch we told you about,” I whispered back. Vanessa giggled, probably pleased to hear we’d been talking about her, regardless of what had been said.
“You’re going to attack in daylight, in the middle of a human neighborhood?” Tristan demanded.
“No, we’re not here to fight,” Vanessa said.
“Really?” Tristan asked, the single word full of doubt.
“We’re obviously outnumbered and outpowered. We’re not stupid.”
“I beg to differ,” Owen muttered under his breath.
“I heard that, warlock,” Vanessa’s brother barked. “You better watch yourself.”
“Oh, stop. The warlock has a point about you, Victor,” Vanessa said with a roll of her ice-blue eyes, which landed back on Tristan. “Let’s just say I’m not stupid. But I’m beginning to think you are.”
Tristan growled. “What are you up to now?”
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Vampire hearing, you know. We’ve been watching this place, like we have every other coven, nest, pack, den . . . well, you get the picture. The Amadis refuse to help you. A little discord in paradise, huh?”
“What’s your point, Vanessa?” Tristan asked, his voice still a snarl.
“Well, I’m not surprised,” she continued, ignoring Tristan’s question. “This is what you’ve planned all along, right, lover? This nonsense search for a girl when you already know what you really need. This.”
She whipped her gloved hand out from behind her back, my necklace still wrapped around her wrist, the pendant dangling from it. She couldn’t wear the silver on her bare throat, and Vanessa wasn’t the type to wear anything high-necked to protect her skin.
I waved my hand, and the pendant swung toward me, but the chain was too strong and too tight to easily come off Vanessa’s wrist.
“Too bad you’ll never get it,” Vanessa sang. “It’s mine now, and soon enough, Seth will be, too.”
Without further thought, I jumped from the front porch toward her, but I was yanked back into Tristan’s arms.
“I’m waiting for you, darling,” Vanessa said, a gleam in her eyes. “Whenever you’re ready to call off this charade and return to me. I have the stone now. Just follow your heart.”
And with that, she disappeared, followed by her brother and other crony.
“Damn it!” I squirmed in Tristan’s arms. When he let me go, I spun on him. “Why did you stop me?”
“Your reaction was exactly what she wanted. She was taunting us. Especially you. The stone’s not worth it.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
“It’s just a rock, Lex. Forget about it.”
“You think it’s a distraction?” Owen asked.
Tristan’s jaw muscle twitched. “Yes. She’s trying to take advantage of everything going on with the Amadis. She knows we’re falling apart. Which means they all know.”
If that were true, if the Daemoni knew the Amadis had internal problems, they knew they could easily take us down. Was that what Vanessa had meant about a charade? About Tristan returning to her, because the Amadis would soon be destroyed? But what did she mean about following his heart? And what did she know about the stone?
I couldn’t help but think Tristan knew exactly what she meant. His denial didn’t ring true in my ears. The stone was a lot more than just a rock. Once again, suspicion crept under my skin and festered, making me question what else he lied about, besides the stone. I was tempted to listen to his thoughts but then shame and anger overcame me. I can’t let Vanessa get to me. The Amadis were doing enough to split us up. I couldn’t allow the Daemoni to do so, too.
Chapter 17
The weeks flew by entirely too fast, as if the world felt compelled to get to October as quickly as possible. Everything went from bad to worse with each passing day. The number of news reports about Normans disap
pearing from their lives rose sharply. Tristan blamed “natural” disasters, bizarre “accidents,” and tense relations among countries on the Daemoni, as well. The Daemoni liked chaos, he said. They liked human suffering and war. Normans became easy pickings during turbulent and violent times, so the Daemoni were wreaking havoc with inciting incidents across the globe. How far would they go? Would they ever stop?
Having their fun in the Norman world and knowing the Amadis were already experiencing our own turbulence, the Daemoni did the opposite from what I expected. Their attacks on Amadis had actually dwindled. They still watched, however, prohibiting anyone from helping us. Tristan, sometimes with me and sometimes with Owen, made a few flash trips to other states in the Southeast, but no one would talk to us. Most worried about attracting attention of the Daemoni, but others said they’d been ordered by their council representative to give us no assistance. Which we knew to be lies, because Char was their council representative. Someone else threatened them, someone within the Amadis. The closer we came to October, the more we were stonewalled.
Mom and Charlotte had returned to Amadis Island shortly after leaving us in early August, to find things worse than when they had left. If Mom didn’t know Amadis daughters just didn’t get ill—not physically or mentally—she said she would have thought Rina had dementia or Alzheimer’s, often forgetting things, spacing out, and even letting others make important decisions for her. Mom’s updates became less and less detailed over time, however, and she made more and more references that things had improved, including Rina.
I knew from Blossom’s sources that they had not.
The pressure sometimes became too much for us. Tristan and I fought nearly every day. He refused to tell me about the stone, and I refused to drop the subject. My dreams had intensified, and I couldn’t shake the feeling the stone and our daughter were somehow connected. I tried to convince him to seek out Bree, the person Lisa had spoken about, but he said we had too many other problems right now to be worrying about what a damn faerie said.
I taught myself Ancient Greek and Latin as a distraction. Tristan thought it was a waste of time, saying if I wanted to learn new languages, I should be focused on useful ones—those I would need while traveling in today’s world. For me, however, these nearly obsolete languages were useful. The first and last few pages of the Book of Prophecies & Curses, the only pages I had a close enough look at, were emblazoned in my memory. From Lisa’s words, it sounded as though what Tristan had been told might have been a prophecy, and if he didn’t want to, or really couldn’t, tell me what it was, I hoped to find out on my own.
The process of translation was painstakingly slow, however. Internet translators didn’t do a good enough job for anything to make sense, which was why I had to actually learn the languages. At least, enough about them to decipher the prophecies and curses. The fact that they were written in riddles didn’t help.
Nothing on the pages in my memory mentioned a stone. I did find the prophecy about Tristan and me, which was fairly simple: “29 February 1736—The one they name for the god of chaos becomes the most powerful warrior for both friend and foe. Likewise, his mate, her soul created for his, shall be the daughter of enemy and ally.” I also found, on the first page, what appeared to be a curse about the Amadis sons. Not sure that I translated it correctly, I wrote out what I saw in my memory for Tristan and showed him my translation as he sat at the kitchen table, reviewing stock quotes.
“Is this right?” I asked him, shoving my papers under his nose.
He studied the Ancient Greek and Latin versions and then my translation. “It appears to be. And I have heard of there being a curse before, but—”
“Then we have hope for Dorian!” I bounced on my feet with excitement.
He frowned. “Explain your reasoning.”
“If this is right, Eris put a curse on all the Amadis sons. You said it’s as if they’re compelled to go to the Daemoni, right? And this also says the curse can only be broken by the sacrifice of Amadis blood for the greater good of the world, and it must be done by purposefully giving themselves to the Daemoni. But so far, the boys all go for their own benefit, right? But you—”
“If it’s true, which most doubt it is—”
“Would it be in the Book of Prophecies & Curses if it wasn’t true?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You read the Book of Prophecies & Curses?”
I bit my lip. Had I not told him? Was there a reason for not telling him? “Just a few pages. I couldn’t actually read it at the time, but I remember what I saw, you know, like we can do.”
“Well, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true. From what I’ve heard about the book, everything’s recorded, but none of it’s completely reliable. Prophecies are always ambiguous and must be interpreted—sometimes incorrectly. A curse depends on the mage who cast it and many other factors, including God’s will.”
“And you think it’s God’s will that our son goes to the Daemoni?”
“I don’t know God’s will, Lex, but Amadis sons converting to the Daemoni does provide a way for balance, and I do believe evil and goodness remain in general balance until God decides otherwise.”
“Owen says good always wins. We always win.”
“But in order to win, in order to appreciate good, there must be evil in the world.”
“Are you defending the Daemoni?” I asked, my lip curling with disgust.
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m defending God’s will and His plan.”
“And maybe it’s His plan that the curse finally be broken.” I jabbed my finger at him. “Maybe you broke it, when you gave yourself to them to protect me and the rest of the Amadis.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s absurd.”
“Some people believe Dorian can still lead the Amadis. I heard it myself. Maybe this is why. They believe the curse has been broken.”
He severed eye contact with me and stared at the wall in front of him. “I’m not an Amadis son, Alexis.”
“You have Amadis blood, though. And you are Amadis now, and you were when you left, when you sacrificed yourself. And maybe that’s why we didn’t have a daughter, because we don’t need one. Because Dorian can lead.”
His eyes returned to me and narrowed. “Have you given up on this girl, then? You don’t think she exists after all?”
I threw my arms in the air. “Of course not! I’m just considering all the angles, and this seems as viable as any of the others. If we don’t find the girl or we do and she’s not really our daughter . . . if I don’t get pregnant again . . . maybe it’s all for a reason. Part of God’s will.”
“It’s certainly a nice idea, everything wrapped up so neatly for us, but it’s too easy. The world doesn’t work that way.”
“But God and the Angels can.”
“Forget it, Alexis. If there’s even a real curse, I’m not the one who’s broken it. I don’t exactly qualify.”
“Why not?” I looked into his eyes and found the green dark and muddy and the gold sparks dim. I’d seen that look before. His thoughts came loud and clear through his expression. I didn’t have to be a mind reader. “You think you’re not good enough.”
“I know I’m not!” he barked. “I’m not enough Amadis to break the curse. I’m not now, and I certainly wasn’t then. I’m. Not. Good. Enough. Not for you and not for the Amadis.”
“Now that’s absurd. Get over it, Tristan. Get over your past. Get over yourself. You want to put it all behind you, but you don’t actually let it go!”
In a blur of motion, he suddenly stood on his feet, pushing the table several feet across the floor with a screech.
“I’m done now,” he growled, and in an instant, he was gone, leaving me standing there, wondering what was happening to us.
We argued about everything else, as well, and sometimes I wanted to give up on it all. I daydreamed about living a normal life. I fantasized about forgetting my responsibilities and letting ever
ything fall as it may. But then I’d remember what that meant—losing Tristan . . . losing Dorian. Then what would be the point of life anyway?
Besides, I had a duty and a purpose. I had a responsibility to the Amadis, to mankind, to fulfill that duty and purpose. And being responsible meant carrying on even when I didn’t want to. Even when I wasn’t sure why I should care.
We made love every night, doing what we could to produce a daughter. At least that never got old, especially because half the time it was make-up sex.
By the middle of September, panic imprisoned me in its tight vice. I’d bought every store on Captiva and Sanibel out of pregnancy tests. Since the Ang’dora, I didn’t have periods. A truly awesome thing, unless your entire life—and everyone else’s—depended on your getting pregnant. Because Mom had somehow been able to drop an egg, we had to hope I would, too. Hope. It wasn’t exactly springing eternal within me, but I held onto as much as I could. Every morning I peed on the stick only to see a negative result, and every night I prayed this would be the time. Even in the midst of a heated argument, I knew I couldn’t lose Tristan again.
Although I hated relinquishing them from my sight, afraid it might be the last time I saw either of them, I urged Tristan and Dorian out the door one morning, sending them off to the beach. Blossom had brought me an herbal mix over a week ago, a blend that primed the ovaries and hormones to facilitate fertilization. She said witches had been using it for centuries without fail, including long after menopause. We didn’t know if it would work for me, though, and I’d been too scared of any side effects it might have. But like most people drowning in the waters of desperation, I was willing to grasp at any possible lifeline.
Following her directions, I boiled water and poured it over a tablespoon of the leaves in a coffee mug. I let it steep for the required ten minutes, then stirred it, lifted the cup to my lips, and gagged at the smell. How can this be good for me when it smells like gasoline?