by A. D. Winter
He shot back with a snarl that nearly blew back my hair. “Weapons. Now!”
I sighed as I began to pull the weapons from beneath my jacket. Everything I had I gave up. Throwing stars. Three-inch daggers. Brass knuckles engraved with Hello Kitty images. One by one, I placed them on the counter.
It went on for so long that Garlock actually began to gape. Even the guards appeared as astonished. When I was done, all he could do was stare at me in awe. “Is that all?” he asked mockingly.
I frowned, thinking. “Oh yeah, one more thing.” I dug a hand into my pocket and pulled out an eraser.
“An eraser?” He frowned.
“You’d be surprised what it can do to a tiny nose,” I said.
He frowned in disgust. “Get out of here.”
“See ya around, Toothless!” I called out as I was dragged away.
The cells were located beneath the Onyx Tower, deep in the bowels of the earth. Legend had it that there were still prisoners here from the Dark Uprising. I didn’t doubt it. No one liked to come down here. Instead, they left the security of the prisoners to something more powerful and deadly.
The gate swung open with a clank, and I was ushered into a dark passageway that spiraled into nothingness. One of the guards lit a torch, and I was shoved once again toward my doom.
The stone walls glistened under the flames of the torch, and the sound of water dripping echoed around me. I felt a shiver along my skin as the air turned cold.
I glanced into the cells, frightened by the dark figures inside. Magical creatures of all sorts. They stirred to their feet like starving rats, rushing to the bars of their cells to see who I was.
I saw toothless lunatics with matted hair, their mouths frosting with spit and disease. They blabbered about the end of the world and things that made no sense.
“The Minstrel sees all!” one of the prisoners screamed out, a naked old man with a starved body. “And now it sees you, slave!”
I frowned as I pulled away, barely able to escape his dirty fingernails.
“Come on,” one of the guards said as he yanked me forward.
After a while, we finally reached a long hallway. It was dark and filled with the reek of waste. Everything about it spoke of death and abandonment, but none more so than what I saw waiting for me at the end of the hallway.
The cell was tiny. Straw littered the floor and was streaked with dried blood. I cringed at the sight.
A guard shoved me from behind, and I spun around to face him. “Do that again and see what happens.”
He smirked. “That time of your life is over now, Fury. But don’t worry. We’ll be gone soon and then you can spend your time with the Sisters. Just one last thing to do.”
He gestured to the bars of the cell, and there, poking out like a rusty nail, was what I’d been fearing the most.
Back when the cells had first been built, the Order realized that they needed more than metal to restrain their prisoners. So they did what any magical law enforcement agency would do. They hired the craziest wizard they could find and paid him a lot of gold to make the cells inescapable.
His solution? Use the deadliest magic possible.
The Blood Noose, it was called, an ancient charm that held the prisoner through their own blood. If they tried to get out, they would die a horrific death. No one had ever lived to explain what it was. But some said that it was so powerful that even the prisoner’s friends—their very acquaintances—would feel it. A cough. A sneeze. Even diarrhea.
Thank the goddess I don’t have any friends.
I winced as the rusty spike tore into my skin, blood trickling down my wrist and spilling onto the bars of my cell. The blood glowed red with magic, then fizzled away as it was sucked into the cold metal.
I rubbed the cut along my palm. The wound would heal in seconds, but my stay here would last an eternity. The door squeaked shut behind me, and the lock clicked into place.
“Enjoy your stay,” the guard said with a grin. “Hopefully, the sisters won’t get you before we do.”
I shot the guard a grin, matching his amusement. But honestly, I was a bit frightened.
The sisters were an ancient tale, a story of three witches who’d sworn their allegiance to the Minstrel of Woe. It was said that their loyalty was so great that they’d chosen to commit suicide rather than squeal on their beloved master.
Some said they still haunted these hallways, ever watchful, always waiting for their chance to steal an unsuspecting guard into the darkness.
“Who knows?” I whispered back, lifting slowly out of the shadow of my cell and leaning into the light of his torch. “Maybe they’ll get you as well.”
His grin soured, as did the other’s, and they quickly set off toward the exit, the sound of their hurried footsteps bringing a smile to my face.
Still, my amusement didn’t last long.
I was in a cold world of no escape, and the only souls close to me were the insane criminals next door, some of whom I’d personally placed here.
I flinched as I heard a whisper from a nearby cell. “We’re coming to get you, Inquisitor.”
“Yeah!” said another. “Don’t fall asleep.”
I stepped back from the bars and rubbed my shoulders. So this was what I had to look forward to, huh? An eternity of madness and fear? I looked up as I heard a moan in the distance. “You can’t scare me!” I called out.
How could Barton have let this happen? How could he have abandoned me like this? Because he hates me—that’s why. Just like everyone else. But could I blame them?
All I ever did was mess up. This was just the final consequence of that.
I thought of Luis, picturing him handling my case. He was going to mess it up, and in twenty-four hours, when the Tower bells rang again, I’d be charged with murder and sentenced to the cells for the rest of my life. And that was if I was lucky.
I flinched as I heard another moan. It was closer now, louder. I rose to my feet, heart racing in my chest. I looked for a rock, a piece of metal, anything I could use to defend myself, but found nothing.
“The sisters are coming for you!” a voice shouted. A chorus of lunatic chants quickly followed.
“Shut up!” I called out, refusing to give in to their taunts.
But the laughter continued.
Frightened, I called for the power of my spirit. It glowed along my arm, and I felt the solace in the rush of strength coursing through my body. But without my weapons, I was defenseless.
I could only back away and watch as the horrific shadows began to take form. They slinked forward, as if their weight was too great for their brittle bones. And I could hear the grating of feet along the stone floor. I couldn’t believe it. The sisters were real! I tightened my fists, feeling as if my heart was going to explode. But it wasn’t until they slinked into the light of the torches that I nearly peed my pants. “How’s this possible?”
7
Malicik
Malick had sacrificed much to prove his loyalty.
He’d killed. He’d tortured. He’d even cursed a small child—the princess had been proof of that. But this was nothing compared to the sacrifice he was willing to make now.
When he was younger, fresh off the Isles, he’d been approached by a slim figure draped in a red robe. It had led him into the basement of a wretched home, where he had been forced to kneel before a stone altar with a half-moon raised above it. It was here, along with his younger twin brother, where he had made his greatest sacrifice.
“What do we do when we arrive?” the vampire asked from across the cabin of the carriage. Malick had already forgotten his name and instead designated him as the annoying one. “Won’t the workers be frightened by our presence?”
“You ask as if I care,” Malick replied.
The vampire’s eyes narrowed, clearly insulted by the warlock’s ambivalence. “What I mean is, it might not be a good idea for us to make our presence so visible, especially in the middle of the day. If
one of the workers were to get out—”
“Then make sure they don’t,” replied Malick.
The command was obvious, and whatever resentment the vampire had once held against his master was now turning toward the poor, defenseless chosen they were about to set upon.
Just one more step toward my goal, Malick reminded himself.
The carriage suddenly came to a halt outside a large building. Smoke was lifting from its chimneys, and there was a young chosen eating a piece of fruit outside the entrance. She stared at the carriage in confusion.
Poor girl, Malick thought with a snort. Of all the places to spend her lunch break.
Malick stepped down from the carriage, a black robe wrapped around his waist. It was then that he was suddenly enthralled by the scent of innocence in the air. It wafted on the winter breeze like shattered snowflakes, filling his rotten soul with dark urges.
Without his eyes, he’d been forced to rely upon his magical abilities to see the world around him. His magic reached out like curling tentacles and touched the air with probing senses, caressing the outlines of figures and breathing in the scent of their souls.
With a shudder, he sensed the many chosen working within the factory and grinned. So many delicious souls …
He was just about to start walking when he felt another presence. It was powerful, like his, and annoyingly familiar.
The black carriage rolled up behind him, and from the passenger door appeared a slim presence that clearly had a sense of excitement.
Malick had hoped that his twin brother would’ve gotten lost amid the busy streets of the quarter. But unfortunately, that was not the case.
Dorick hopped from the carriage and landed on the sidewalk.
It had been years since they’d seen each other, not since their eyes had been burned out with a searing iron rod and sewn up with black wire. But they still had their memories.
“What a lovely day,” Dorick said with a grin. “At least, I imagine it to be.”
“I see you managed to get yourself out of bed today,” Malick said.
“I must admit,” Dorick replied, “it was quite difficult, seeing as how someone had slipped a sleeping charm into my Witch’s Vine, but I managed.”
“How unfortunate,” Malick said. “Well, you’re just in time.”
“Excellent,” Dorick said, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we introduce ourselves to the new workforce?”
“Not unless you’d like to be burned alive,” Malick replied.
Dorick hesitated. “It hasn’t been disarmed yet?”
“I was just about to do it when I was interrupted.”
“Very well,” Dorick said. “By all means.”
Malick took a deep breath as he returned his attention to the factory. The grand duke had never been one for magic, but he did have resources. And there was no doubt in the warlock’s mind that the French elf would’ve gone to great expense to protect his new little enterprise.
So, angling his head to the side, Malick sensed for the defensive resonance warding him back and found it before him. He smiled.
“What is it?” Dorick asked. “Is it strong? Would it kill us?”
“Oh, yes,” Malick replied with a grin. “Most definitely. François, you little devil.”
The defensive charm surrounding the building was powerful. Malick guessed that with one touch, anyone who was not allowed into the factory would be burned to a crisp. He needed to be careful.
“Bring me the package,” Malick ordered.
Dorick nodded at one of the vampires in the background, and Malick was quickly handed a rolled-up bundle. He unwrapped it, feeling the touch of cold skin inside. Thank you, Your Royal Highness. You were ever so helpful.
Pulling it out, he held the dead grand duke’s hand in the air, using one of his ringed fingers to touch the defensive energy shielding the factory.
All at once, the protective barrier began to part, and Malick could sense the pathway opening before him.
Excellent.
When it was clear, he tossed the severed hand to his brother, refusing to even spare him another thought, and gestured for the vampires to enter.
The young chosen who’d been watching with great interest suddenly let her fruit fall to the ground. She stumbled back in fear and ran inside the factory, racing from the horde of vampires striding toward her. Soon the screams would follow, Malick knew, and that’s when the fun would begin.
Oh, what a beautiful day this is turning out to be, Malick thought with a smile. And soon—very soon—he would be one step closer to fulfilling his master’s plan.
8
Ivy
“Igama?”
The shaman’s black skin shone under the light of the torch, and his white robe was scuffed along the edges of its skirt. He gripped the bars of my cell and, in a thick Zuwada accent, whispered, “I see you’re up to your old tricks again.”
I raced for the bars, feeling a rush of relief. “Thank the goddess. I thought you were one of the sisters.”
Igama chuckled softly. “I might be ugly, but I’m not that ugly.”
Behind him came another low moan. A figure in rags was slumped against the wall, its body rising slowly as it wheezed for breath.
“Who’s that?” I asked with a frown.
He waved away my concern. “We’ll get to that in a moment. First of all, how are you?”
“Splendid,” I said, gesturing to the bars of my cell. “Can’t you tell?”
“Yes,” he said with a nod, “this is all rather unfortunate.”
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“Barton,” he said. “He had the witches in dispatch send out a psychic blast.”
“Barton,” I said with a frown. “Why am I not surprised?”
“James has always been thorough,” Igama said. “You know that. It’s what makes him so good.”
“It’s what makes him a jerk,” I said and frowned.
It was good to see Igama. Aside from Barton, he’d been my closest confidant. He’d taken me under his wing when I was just an initiate, helping me with my first investigations.
In fact, it was because of him that I’d been able to bust some of the biggest criminals in the city. If there was anyone I could trust, it was him.
“They think I killed that fae,” I said.
“Did you?” he asked.
I stared at him, shocked that he would even have to ask me. “Of course not. I might be crazy, but I’m not a murderer.”
He studied me for a moment, weighing my words. Finally, he nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you have to understand. It doesn’t look good.”
“You’re telling me. I got caught holding the body of a murdered fae. There’s not much riding in my defense.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
He was about to answer when the figure slumped against the wall let out another moan.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But who is that again?”
“In a second,” he said. “But first I need you to tell me exactly what happened—from the start.”
My heart soared in my chest as I felt a sense of hope. “You’re going to help me?” I asked.
He frowned. “You think I’d leave you here to rot?”
If I could’ve, I would’ve thrown my arms around the old man, but I had to settle for clutching his hands.
“Tell me everything,” he said. “Leave nothing out.”
With a sigh, I began to tell him my story. The vampires. Frederick’s suicide. The fae. He remained silent through it all, nodding after every sentence, as if he were writing down a grocery list in his head.
When I was done, he let out a long breath and adjusted his glasses. “You’re right, it doesn’t sound good.”
“Ugh, I’m so dead.”
“This voice,” he began, “it called itself the Monarch of Darkness?”
“Cheesy, right?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Very. Still, it sounds familiar. Tell me, was there anything else you can remember, anything at all, something you forgot to tell Barton?”
My eyes widened as I remembered what I’d found. I reached into my jacket and drew the empty vial from my pocket.
He snatched it from my hand and held it between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s this?”
“It was on the fae when she died,” I explained. “I found it before Luis and the others got there.”
Igama held it up against the light of one of the torches and studied it closely. Unscrewing the top, he took a whiff and grinned. “Interesting.”
“What?” I asked.
“Lavender.”
“So?”
“Warlocks use it to mask the scent of their potions. It helps cover their tracks.”
Warlocks? I felt a shiver along my skin. “You mean one could still be out there?”
“What else could it be?” he said.
The figure slumped against the wall let out another low moan. Igama turned around and ordered him to be quiet.
“Okay,” I said. “Enough with this, who is this guy?”
Igama waved away my concern. “Don’t get distracted, Ivy. We need to concentrate on the vial. Considering what you told me, it appears to be a possession charm of some sort.”
“But that’s impossible,” I said. “Everyone knows you can’t possess a fae.”
“And yet you saw one levitate off the ground and speak in a different voice.”
I gnawed at my lip, silenced by fear.
He handed me back the vial, his concern tight across his face. “This is what I think: whoever made this potion—this Monarch of Darkness—is clearly one of the most dangerous warlocks I’ve ever come across and should be put away for life.”
“Agreed.”
“You need to find them, get the evidence, and present it to the Order as soon as you can. But first you need to hurry. You’ve already wasted an hour down here in the cells.”
“But how?” I asked. I shook the bars of my cell. “I’m trapped in this dumb cage, and there’s no way Barton will let me out.”