Wicked Hour

by Neill, Chloe

  “I saved her,” I said again, and it took effort to say those three words, to swim through the glamour that demanded I concede. “And I’m not going to waste any more time arguing with you. We have bigger problems to deal with.”

  “You will not endanger my people further,” he said again, a demand for obedience that was growing stronger, more insistent. But while it may have affected me, it didn’t affect the monster. It rose through my weakness, through the magical subjugation of my will, and stepped forward through me, and turned my eyes crimson.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” I said to him, my voice low and hoarse and as full of anger as his had been of command. The monster was eager to back up the words with action, and moved forward.

  Connor put a hand on my arm, searched my face. And the monster looked back at him.

  “Shit,” he said, and held my arm tight so I couldn’t lunge after him. “Drop the magic,” he told Ronan. “You’re not helping her or yourself.”

  “She will—”

  “Drop the fucking magic,” Connor ordered again. And this time, Ronan didn’t argue.

  The glamour slipped away like the outgoing tide, and I breathed again, gained control again . . . and found Ronan staring at me, eyes wide, with absolute horror.

  Even the monster was shamed.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ronan asked.

  Connor turned on him so quickly, I barely saw him move. He had Ronan by the shirt, shoved him back against the wall. “There is nothing wrong with her. And if you ever use glamour on us again, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

  “I suggest,” Ronan said, his eyes like quicksilver, “that you take your hands off me.”

  Connor’s chest was heaving, his eyes cold as ice, but he lifted his hands, stepped back. “How long until we know if she survives?”

  “Not until the transformation is complete. Or it isn’t.”

  “I’ll need to see her,” I said.

  Ronan turned his eyes on me. “I believe you’ve done enough. If she desires to see you when she wakes, we’ll contact you. You’ll find the limo waiting outside.”

  And with that, we’d been dismissed.

  * * *

  * * *

  The limo took us back to the resort, but didn’t deign to drive into the compound. It pulled up to the entrance, came to a stop, and waited for our exit. We climbed out and had barely shut the door behind us before it accelerated, tires squealing in its rush to return to the coven.

  “Let’s get inside,” Connor said quietly, scanning the road, and we walked toward our corner of the resort.

  He didn’t touch me, didn’t hold my hand. And the distance knotted something in my chest.

  “Get a shower,” he said when we reached the cabin. “It will help.”

  I took his words to heart and dived into the hottest shower I could stand, letting the water pummel me until I’d knocked away some of the adrenaline and anger and grief. It did help, a little. But feeling like Connor was still on my side, that we were still united against the enemies we were facing, would have felt better.

  I toweled my hair, came out in leggings and a T-shirt, and found him locking the doors as dawn threatened outside.

  He looked back at me. “You must be tired,” he said finally.

  “I’m exhausted,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Same.” He sighed, and the sound was ragged. There was a lot on his shoulders, not least the pile I’d added tonight.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “For all of this.”

  His expression was blank, and he offered no comfort, which was a slice at the edge of my heart, sharp and keen as my sword.

  “So am I,” he said. “This isn’t the trip I’d had in mind—or the troubles I’d expected we’d find.”

  I was afraid to ask whether he meant me or the monsters. But I knew, even if we couldn’t talk about us—or there was no us to discuss—that we needed to talk about what had happened. “You really don’t know what they are?”

  He shook his head. “Based on the evidence, they’re clan members who’ve made some kind of magical change. But I don’t know how.”

  “I can talk to Theo, Petra. Maybe there are sorcerers in the area or—I don’t know—a magical well.”

  There was nearly amusement in his eyes. “A magical well?”

  “I’m loopy,” I said.

  “So’s Petra.”

  This time, the reluctant smile was mine. “Yeah. She is. But she knows her stuff. She might just say that this is the Beast or—” I stopped, realized it was far more likely the reverse was true, and looked at Connor, who nodded.

  “I just got it, too. Maybe the clan isn’t being attacked by the Beast of Owatonna. Maybe the things that fought us are the Beast of Owatonna, or at least the latest iteration. Maybe this isn’t the first time someone has used this magic. Hell, maybe that’s why the magic is broken.”

  “All because of Paisley?” I wondered. “Her death seems to have been a trigger, maybe spread over the general unhappiness in the clan. The anger about staying closeted, about refusing to change. And Traeger is at least part of the who.”

  “Yeah,” he said grimly. “And Traeger’s connected to Georgia, which makes this even more complicated.” He frowned. “Where would the magic come from?”

  “Well, either something’s doing the magic to them, and they don’t have a choice in it—”

  “Or they’re doing it to themselves somehow,” he finished.

  “Can shifters do magic?”

  “Not well,” he said, “and I mean that literally. We can do a little manipulation, but not much, and not well.”

  “Which would explain the feeling that it’s broken.”

  He made a vague sound of agreement; then his brow furrowed when he looked up at me again. “There could be trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Ronan isn’t the only one with a chip on his shoulder. The clan will want to talk to us. If we’re lucky, they’ll wait until dusk.”

  And if not, I thought silently, they’d pull us out of the house in daylight, and that would be it for me.

  “It’s also possible the creatures will come back, will target us specifically. I’ve asked Alexei to check for trails, see if locations can be identified, to see if broken magic can be identified around the resort. And in the meantime, I’ll be listening. They won’t hurt you.”

  But again he didn’t reach out, and that was another small wound.

  “Get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll deal with what comes next.”

  Having been dismissed again, and totally unsure of my steps, I walked back to the bedroom, closed the door, and sat down on the bed. And felt more alone than I ever had before. Alone and guilty and afraid that by trying to do something good, I’d screwed up something I’d never imagined I’d want.

  I’d be damned if I’d apologize to Ronan or the clan for doing what had to be done. But I was an adult, and I understood my actions would have consequences, fair or not. Those consequences left a dark pit of fear in my belly.

  Connor had said we’d deal with what came next, but that wasn’t enough for me, not with this. I didn’t know how to move forward, given what I’d done. So I pulled out my screen and contacted the one person I knew who’d been in my position before. Who’d changed someone because circumstances demanded it. And had dealt with the aftermath.

  It took only a moment for his face to appear on-screen, and the mere sight of him made my eyes fill with tears. “Hey, Dad.”

  His eyes brightened. “Hello, Lis.” But as he scanned my face, the smile fell away. “What’s wrong?”

  “I changed someone.” I held back the tears, but it was a battle and nearly cost me the rest of my strength.

  My father’s expression remained perfectly blank. He was good at that—maskin
g his emotions until he’d heard all the facts, or reached his decision, or considered his next steps. “Tell me what happened.”

  I told him about the trip, the animals, Loren’s death and the tracks we’d found, the attack on the bonfire. And Carlie, pale and bleeding on the ground.

  “She’d gone gray, and her heart was . . . a whisper. I couldn’t stanch the wound, so I did the only thing I could think of.”

  “And the circle turns,” he murmured. “She’s all right?”

  “For now. We’ll see what happens in a few days. She’s with Ronan, although he’s not happy about bearing that burden. He’s also angry I changed her without his consent or the clan’s consent. He’s worried at least in part about the human response, I think. Suggested it would have been smarter to let her die and save his coven the trouble. One life for the many.”

  “That’s very old-fashioned,” he said. “But he’s not the only vampire who shares that attitude.”

  I nodded, was suddenly so tired, and not just because the sun was probably tracing the horizon.

  “Do you want me to tell you that you did the right thing?”

  So much, I thought. So much it made my chest ache. “Yes.”

  “You did the right thing,” he said, his answer coming quickly. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences. And those can be the hardest consequences to bear—the ones we face because we’ve done the right thing, the hard thing.”

  “I know,” I said.

  My father nodded. “After I changed her, your mother was angry at me for a very long time. She had lived her entire life under the thumb of her parents. When she’d gone to college, then graduate school, she’d gained some independence. Particularly when she came back to Chicago. For the first time, she was able to live in her town on her own terms. And I ruined that for her. Took away her independence, at least as far as she saw it.”

  “You saved her life,” I said, and knew immediately he’d led me right to that statement, and I’d followed right along.

  “I did,” he said. “But I also took something away. Both of those things are true. And, frankly, it took me too long to acknowledge my part in it. To understand what she’d lost. It had been a long time since I’d been human, since I’d felt the threat of time in quite the same way. You’re younger, and you’d understand that better than a four-hundred-year-old vampire. That’s one of your strengths.”

  I nodded, but didn’t feel especially strong right now. Not when adrenaline had given way to self-doubt. “I know I’ve hurt Carlie, even if I didn’t mean to. I’ve changed her life. And the thought that she might hate me for doing it bothers me.”

  “It’s a complex situation, with a lot of gray and not much black-and-white.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “You do generally prefer things to be black-and-white.”

  “It’s easier to know whether you’ve done the right thing—or someone else has—when it’s black-and-white.”

  “I won’t argue the point,” he said. “But we grow more when the decisions are harder. Carlie might be angry at you. And she’s entitled to her feelings. They may be logical, they may be irrational, but she’s entitled to them. But that doesn’t change what you did or why you did it.

  “She’ll not be bound to you,” he added. “Not if she’s going to be fed solely by Ronan during the rest of the process. But you began the process, so you’ll do her the honor of staying nearby and, if she’ll see you, of speaking to her about it. And if she agrees to talk to you, you take responsibility for your actions. Respect your choice, the decision that had to be made. And respect the change you’ve wrought to her life.”

  I nodded. “You’re right.”

  “In case it helps—even if your mother had decided never to speak to me again, had decided to loathe me for the rest of her immortal life, I’d have done the same thing. The world would be less without her. Same goes for you. In the more immediate sense, let’s discuss your and Connor’s current situation.”

  A flush rose hot on my cheeks.

  “Are you in danger?” he asked before I could mutter out a response to the relationship question I was afraid he was going to ask.

  “The clan will probably want to speak to us tomorrow, and they’re going to have plenty to say. The creatures were pretty seriously wounded, so I imagine they’re licking their wounds. Connor’s keeping an eye out. I don’t suppose you have any idea what they are?”

  “None,” he said. “Connor’s theory—that they’re clan members affected by magic—seems entirely logical. But I don’t know of any shifters who’ve taken that shape before or magic that would do it. I could ask your mother to reach out to Mallory.”

  The thought of involving Lulu’s mom made me uncomfortable, like I was going around Lulu. “That’s okay. I’m going to give Theo an update. The OMB has connections to the Order.” The Order was the mandatory union for sorcerers and sorceresses.

  He nodded. “You’ll let me know if you need anything—backup or otherwise.”

  Whatever else fell apart, I could rely on my father, on my family. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to tell him how much that meant to me.

  “I will.”

  “Get some sleep,” he said. “You’ll have a clearer eye tomorrow. And whatever happens, the House is here, and us with it.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Go do the right thing.”

  We ended the call, and I looked down at the blank screen in my hand. I felt better about what had gone down tonight, and appreciated my father’s last message.

  Go do the right thing.

  I’d give myself what was left of night to wrestle with the battle, the fear, the weight of what I’d done. But tomorrow, it was time to think about Carlie, and how I could help her. Starting, first off, with finding the creatures that had hurt her and making sure they didn’t hurt anyone else.

  I sent Theo a rambling message, explaining what had happened, what we’d seen, what I’d done. I asked him about magic, and told him he could talk to me or my father when the sun fell again. And because it was escapist and important to him and made me feel better, I told him I hoped he’d been able to snag his comic.

  I meant to put my screen aside, to give myself a break from drama until the sun rose, but I needed one more thing. So I tapped the screen again, sent a message.

  YOU UP? I asked, and waited for a reply.

  Lulu’s response was nearly instantaneous. I TOLD YOU, RODNEY. I’M NOT INTERESTED.

  HILARIOUS, I messaged. IT’S BEEN A CRAP NIGHT. TELL ME SOMETHING GOOD.

  HUMANS RECORD THEMSELVES DOING STUPID THINGS AND UPLOAD THE VIDEOS SO STRANGERS AROUND THE WORLD CAN WATCH THEM.

  YES, YOU’VE JUST DESCRIBED THE INTERNET.

  HUMANS MAKE NO SENSE.

  IT IS A TRUTH UNIVERSALLY ACKNOWLEDGED, I agreed. HOW IS ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE? I wasn’t even brave enough to use a nickname or acronym over text. Because she’d know.

  DISPLEASED SHE GOT CAT FOOD INSTEAD OF BLUEFIN TUNA. SHE RIPPED UP ONE OF YOUR SOCKS.

  WHY MY SOCK?

  BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO USE ONE OF MINE OBVS.

  I could fault the sentiment, and the loss of a sock, but not the logic.

  YOU OK? she asked. GIVEN THE CRAP NIGHT.

  NOT AT THE MOMENT. BUT I THINK I WILL BE.

  GOOD, she said. BECAUSE ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE WANTS TO HAVE WORDS WITH YOU WHEN YOU RETURN. IN ADDITION TO THE CAT FOOD, SHE DISAPPROVES OF YOUR FOOTWEAR.

  Of course she did. And the sock had nearly been worth the laugh I’d sorely needed.

  SIXTEEN

  The first time, I woke to heat, and jolted awake, thinking I was back in front of the bonfire, fending off the beasts. But it wasn’t fire, or not exactly.

  It was light. Sunlight—a pinpoint ray of gold that slashed across the bed like a knife.

  I w
as half-asleep, barely conscious, but I knew enough of pain and heat to scramble away and out of the literal line of fire. I dropped to the floor, moved into a corner, and, in the darkness, slept again.

  * * *

  * * *

  The second time, I woke in darkness, curled in a ball on the floor at the end of the bed. I rose, wincing at the quick jolt of pain, and found an angry red stripe across my thigh. It would heal, but I’d never forget the sensation. I’d been sliced by katanas, scraped by monster claws. But the searing effect of sunlight was something altogether different.

  I rose and walked back to the window, still covered by the exterior shutters, at least as far as I could see from here. But something had happened. Something had damaged one of them, breaking the fortification intended to keep me safe.

  And I seriously doubted that was a coincidence.

  I got dressed and, given the tenor of things, belted on my sword. The cabin was empty; I walked outside, found Connor staring at the shutter.

  He glanced back. “Hey.”

  It was cooler today, and he wore his black motorcycle jacket over a shirt, the ensemble completed by jeans and boots. His eyes were shadowed, like he hadn’t slept well or long. And I could still feel the boundary between us, the heaviness of things spoken . . . and not.

  “There was sunlight in my room,” I said.

  “What?” He looked me over. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. It woke me up, so I moved into the corner.”

  “It woke you up,” he repeated slowly, watching me carefully. “Because it burned you.”

  “A very small burn,” I said. “Just on my leg, and it’s probably already gone.” I tried for a smile, but it felt odd on my face.

  And then I looked at the shutters he’d been scrutinizing, and realized how the light had gotten through. They were warped and gouged around the edges, the metal rippled—like someone had tried to pry them off and expose me to the sunlight. They hadn’t been successful at either, but for the split in the metal that allowed in that single shard of sunlight.