Rori didn’t need their empathy. “That wasn’t what you said last time.”
To Esmine’s right, a blond woman spoke. “We told you that you would find the one who would let your heart beat again and that you were to introduce her to the ways of the witch.” She said in a monotone voice. There were no offers of condolences; fact-checking only.
Rori found an odd sense of comfort in that. It felt less manipulative with information presented straightforward and truthfully, rather than with all the riddles they typically used. He was a vampire, dammit; they didn’t need to handle him with kid gloves.
“Your heart beat again, didn’t it, Roricus?” Esmine asked with an arched brow.
Glaring at her, he wouldn’t dignify that with a response. His heartbeat wasn’t the point.
Vampires were essentially dead. Their hearts stopped beating in most cases. True love could revive a heart to beat again. However, it wasn’t going to bring life back or make them mortal. It only allowed the heart to beat subtly. Rori didn’t understand why it happened. What he did know, was that when his heart beat again, it was the most glorious feeling he had experienced since he had been turned. As though the slight beating amplified everything it was to be a vampire.
Esmine nodded. “The vampire whose heart beats for a witch that belongs to a wolf shall save us all. He shall take his throne and rule over all kinds.”
“I’m not some prophetic, self-sacrificing hero.” Rori’s arms fell to his sides, and he used them to push himself up. He wasn’t going to sit for this. “I will plead guilty to all my crimes but being a hero isn’t one of them,” he said to the court with contempt.
Esmine cracked a smile. “Roricus, you are many things but a hero.” She shook her head.
Why did that assertion bother Rori? He had just made the same point himself. She didn’t need to agree with him.
Emptiness spawned in Rori’s gut. Was that disappointment at their lack of belief in him? What had these witches done to him? He lowered his gaze in an attempt to process Esmine’s words.
Florence spoke up. “Sometimes, the world doesn’t need another hero, Roricus.” She folded her hands over the intricately carved table. “There are times when the monster has more morals than the supposed heroes.”
“Keep your spells and your morals away from me,” Rori said and raised his gaze to the center witch. Locking his ire directly onto Esmine when he spoke. “I’m not doing anything else for you.”
Rori had had enough of these witches and their games. They spoke in half-truths, giving him hope before, but he knew better this time around. He wasn’t some toy with whom they could play.
“You have no power over me,” he declared.
Esmine was the first to chuckle. Followed by the blond, then Florence. It didn’t take long for the entire panel to join the laughter.
Rori’s lip curled into a snarl. His canines extended. Heat rose through his chest, up into his face. His fists clenched tightly and he shook. He couldn’t take on all thirteen witches. They’d get him in the end but not before he took out Esmine.
“My apologies.” Esmine held a hand to her chest as her laughter subsided. She waved her hands in both directions so the witches would do the same. “It was just that you seemed so adamant about it.”
His restraint was only as strong as his self-preservation instinct. “I don’t answer to your coven, or any witch for that matter,” Rori said with his fangs still visible.
“You think you have a choice,” Esmine said with a tilted head. The exaggerated pleasantness of her tone signaled her sarcasm. “How very sweet of you.” She folded her arms on the table and leaned toward him. “But Roricus, the time has come for you to take your place. It is time for you to step up and be what you were created to be.”
“And if I don’t?” Rori countered. The temptation to walk away from the table, from the witches, from the prophecy, grew the longer he stood there. The witches had proven before that they promised great things but with them came suffering. He’d done their bidding before and while he was given a beating heart, leaving his emotions more intense and raw, he had to give up the person who had given it to him. From where he stood, their price wasn’t worth the reward and the witches were not beings he could trust.
“The vampire who belongs to the witch will end your kind, our kind, and all other kinds,” the blond offered without emotion. A knot of discomfort grew in his chest, not just from how the witch spoke but from what she had said.
The witches collectively shifted in their seats. It seemed they were not comfortable with that portion of the prophecy. Rori wasn’t either. He had grown fond of existing. But that anyone thought that he was some savior was laughable at best.
“Perhaps looking at it a different way would help.” Florence sounded hopeful. All attention shifted upon her. She glanced at her sisters and brothers before she addressed Rori. “She returned the rhythm to your heart. Don’t you owe it to her to find the one to whom she belongs? Don’t you want her to live and to find true happiness?”
“And what of me?” Rori was selfish. The years had made him bitter, and the demands these witches had only added to it.
The thirteen witches surrounding Rori gasped. Florence hadn’t expected that answer. She frowned and sat back looking to her fellow witches for support. Esmine brooded. The blond sat with a blank expression. The others whispered among themselves.
At the end of the table, almost behind Rori, a young witch, not more than eighteen stood up. Her auburn locks were pulled back, pinned loosely in a bun. Her pale blue eyes were on Rori when she spoke. “You get something men of all kinds have spent lifetimes attempting to acquire.”
Rori turned to face her fully. Wasn’t that love? Wasn’t that supposed to be the be all end all? Wasn’t everyone in every lifetime chasing their heart's desire?
They had told him Divina wasn’t meant for him. They had told him his heart would only beat for her and yet he would never have her. What was this infant witch attempting to tell him?
When she didn’t immediately offer up the answer, Rori turned to the other witches. Perhaps one of them knew what the ginger-haired witch meant. None spoke. They appeared as befuddled as Rori. So he shifted his attention back toward her.
“Well?” Rori asked impatiently.
The young witch furrowed her brow. “I thought it was obvious.”
Rori let out a cry of exasperation. “What is it with you witches?” He turned around, attempting to get a good look at every one of them. “Why must you speak in circles and poems? Just come out with it! Not one of you is immortal, yet you waste time as if you will live forever!”
“Power,” the blond announced.
The weight of the silence that filled the room had Rori sitting again. Not that he could see, but the red-haired witch sat as well, her point made.
Rori blinked a few times before he regained his ability to speak. “Emperor?”
“What good would it do you to be given a mortal?” Esmine asked while Rori pondered the gravity of what laid at his feet. “She has served her purpose in your life. She has quickened your heart. She has taken the numbness of existing beyond death away. With your ability to feel once more, you have now reached your full potential and can serve on the council properly.” Manipulation and coercion laced her voice.
Florence chimed in, “It is time for you to let her go, let her be with the one for whom she is meant. Her finding her purpose should give you the freedom to pursue your own.”
The words of the witches were distant to him. He barely heard them. He focused on what they had just promised him. Ultimate power over all of his kind and the ability to lay down laws over anything that wasn’t human.
“Emperor,” Rori repeated in utter fascination.
His heart fluttered at the thought. His hand covered his chest. The feeling he had all but forgotten: hope.
He swallowed and looked to the Ember Witches with new eyes. “What is it I have to do?”
Cha
pter 7
“Hmmm?” The rocking lulled Rori in and out of sleep. Just as his consciousness returned, he drifted off again. Sleeping on a floor with a bunch of pillows had turned out quite nicely. Then again, the sleep a vampire had during the day was most akin to a coma. The only thing that could wake him was the sun.
However, after nightfall, the thump of his head bouncing on and off the pillows jarred him awake. He blinked a few times. Shifting his gaze around the small, hand-carved enclosure, it took him a moment gain his bearings.
“Divina,” he whispered in recognition. The night before came back to him in a flash.
Rori groaned and dragged his palm over his face. He had agreed to do what the Ember Witches requested of him. Well, maybe not requested—demanded was a better word. They were known for their ability to see into the future, and their predictions were usually accurate.
Kicking the blanket off himself, he attempted to get to his feet. With the vardo in motion, it wasn’t an easy task. These things weren’t equipped with the best suspension. Finding his balance, he gripped the wall. Divina had folded the table flat, so using that to hold himself steady wasn’t an option. Stumbling, he made his way to the couch. The world got a whole lot more stable after he sat down.
Removing his phone from his pocket, Rori checked the time. Just after eight. He sighed. So early. His stomach knotted, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since early last night. Sometimes, he hated being a vampire. The hunger could drive a lesser man insane and often did. Not every human could cut it.
Rori knew from experience. When he was younger, a newly turned vampire, Rori often struggled. He had to get over his distaste for violence quickly if he wanted to survive. Animals tasted like shit once a vampire had eaten human blood. But in a pinch, a good rat could stave off the famished sensation, preventing a murderous rampage when he went out to hunt.
Murder was never good for vampires, and a rampage even less so. The risk of being found out would be too high if Rori killed a human. No, it was best to take a little from many sources rather than take your fill from one. He had learned that early. Taking sips and not having a dead body were easier. Take a drink, heal the wound, go about his business.
He scanned the interior. On one wall was a small kitchenette, or rather, a microwave and a hot plate on top of a mini fridge. A tall cabinet was on the left of that, bungee corded in place. From the looks of things, she was a decent housekeeper; no rats were along for the ride either.
A small TV hung on the wall opposite the couch. He smiled, remembering Divina’s love for movies made in the 1980s. How many times had she made him watch that film with the man in black and the giant? He couldn’t remember.
With a quick shake of his head, Rori cleared the extraneous thoughts from his mind. He needed to stay out of the past. He had been told she wasn’t meant for him. He had to use her to fulfill his destiny. Going down memory lane would only make the task more difficult.
After tapping a few icons on his phone, Rori placed it to his ear.
“Evening moonshine,” Divina said, in an unexpectedly cheery voice.
He smiled. They had created that particular phrase when they were happier. Perhaps a sign of her mood, he hoped. Getting her to do what he wanted was easier when she was in a good mood.
“I don’t have my passport. You can’t kidnap me too far,” Rori mused.
“I don’t think one is required for the borders we’re crossing.”
“We’re crossing borders?” he asked in surprise.
As he attempted to stand, she hit a bump causing him to fall back on the cushions with a groan.
“Yep.” The laughter in her voice didn’t sound right.
He rolled his eyes. There were times when her playfulness irked him. “When I fell asleep we were in a field in Alabama.”
“You are very observant,” Divina quipped.
“You know this thing isn’t meant for highways?” Rori said in exasperation. “These wooden wheels can’t take the beating of modern speeds.”
“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t on a highway and that I have it on a trailer,” Divina said.
Rori went to the window and pulled back the curtain. The stalks of green passed by surprisingly slow. Perhaps that was why he felt every godforsaken divot into which she drove.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I took the liberty of searching your pockets while you were asleep,” Divina said.
He hissed.
“Don’t worry, I checked you out of the hotel where you were staying.” He heard her confident smile through the phone.
“That was kind of you,” Rori gritted out.
“What can I say? I am a giver.” He imagined her shrug.
Her sarcasm and the way her cheerful words did not match the tone of her voice sent the message loud and clear: Divina was not, in fact, in a good mood, which left Rori wondering what he had left in his pockets.
“So what was in Louisiana?” she asked. “You were in the French Quarter.”
He couldn’t have been that stupid. “Fine gumbo,” he retorted.
“I doubt you went to New Orleans for gumbo.”
“You’re right.” He put the phone on his shoulder and dug into his pockets. “It was the beignets.”
“I miss when you didn’t lie,” Divina said with a hint of sadness laced in her voice.
That stung. Rori cleared his throat. “I am not lying, merely being evasive and a bit cheeky,” he corrected. “I miss when you didn’t kidnap me,” he said.
Quiet.
Rori heard the wind rushing past. The blinker chimed. He braced himself for the turn, and everything went left.
“Where are we going, Divina?” he asked more sternly.
Nothing.
Though Rori could still hear the jingle of Divina’s keys swinging from the ignition. Divina hadn’t hung up. Curious.
He was a patient man. He could wait her out. Rori had lived hundreds of years. He had learned how to wait. Holding onto the small sink, Rori peered out the window.
That was the thing about the United States—or, well, the world in general. Most back roads were nondescript. They all looked the same once you traveled enough of them. They were on a paved road between two giant fields. They could be anywhere.
“They summoned you again,” her voice broke into his thoughts.
“Yes.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and hanging his head, Rori answered as simply as he could.
No use in denying it. Only one person in the whole world knew about his involvement with the Ember Witches: Divina. Granted, he had told her because he felt they were the best coven for her. In retrospect, perhaps that hadn’t been a wise idea.
Telling her they had sent him to introduce her to her purpose hadn’t been a lie. It had only been a way to show they cared for her wellbeing. The way he had left her, his abrupt departure from her life, must have soured them to her. Perhaps it was her reason for not pursuing a coven, that particular coven, since they had sent him and he broke her heart.
“That’s why you came back,” she said pulling him from his thoughts.
“The prophecy is why I came back.”
He wasn’t lying, it was partly true. He didn’t want her to know about the extent of the witches’ involvement just yet. Some things needed to be put into play before he could tell her the full extent of her role in the prophecy. Though, it might not be wise to tell her about it.
“You won’t find the answers in New Orleans,” he said.
The phone went silent before a beep sounded in his ear.
Rori had done it that time. Divina had had enough. He lowered the phone and attempted to stand. Like he’d just discovered his legs, Rori wobbled until he fell back on the couch again. There wasn’t much else he could do.
Rori needed to stick with Divina. She was a huge piece of this journey to get him on the throne and the vampire council.
He needed her to find the wolf. Once he had the w
olf, he would use the wolf army.
Pack? They call themselves a pack, right? They would help him defeat Percival, Perci, the Duke of the territory, who was next in line for the throne. Once Perci was out of the way, he would take Perci’s place and the council would have no choice but to crown him emperor.
Rori would get the throne. Divina would find true love. The wolf would get to kill things. Everyone would win. They would all live happily ever after, so the prophecy went. Then why didn’t it feel right?
The plan seemed simple enough. Sure, some of the details could’ve used some fine-tuning. It had only been a few days, and he didn’t have the time to work out all the kinks yet. When they found the wolf, then Rori would flesh out the plan. Simple as that.
To distract himself, Rori decided to nose through Divina’s belongings. He told himself it was to find out if she had been practicing. While he mentored her, she had caught on quick. She was a natural. Rori was curious to find out what progress she had made on her own since she chose to disregard his request to join a coven.
At first, he had been delighted to see how hungry she was to master the spells, to cultivate her strength as a witch. However, the more powerful she became, and the speed with which it happened, the more concerned Rori had been with her going it alone.
Divina was a powerful tool. As far as he knew, he and the Ember Witches were the only ones who knew that. The risk of her continuing to practice was not only that she would gain strength and the ability to cast more spells, but she would also have the power to cast spells beyond her maturity as a witch. He hoped he wouldn’t find—
There it is.
Traditional little witch. He smirked. He found it deep in the bottom of a trunk, under scarves and old photos, the leather-bound text from the Ember Witches that he’d given her to introduce her to the world. As he flipped through the pages, something slipped out.
Rori frowned. The book was ancient; it had held up for centuries. Now that he gave it to Divina, pages fell out? He bent down and plucked the page off the floor. Finding it to be thicker than that of the pages of the book, it didn’t register immediately that it didn’t belong bound to the text. Turning it over, he paused.
The Witch of the Prophecy Page 4