The Forsaken

by Laura Thalassa

  Now Ophelia smiled. “You may not, but I do.”

  Chapter 10

  My boots crunched over the frosted grass of the field that Andre, Ophelia, and I walked along. Amsterdam was no more than a glitzy dream. Supposedly we weren’t too far outside the city, but you’d never know it from our surroundings.

  “There was a long ago battle here,” Ophelia said, breaking the silence, “during the time when the Romans were pushing northwards. The dead were never claimed,” she explained. “Their bones still lie beneath us, unburied and restless.” Hence why we were here. The restless dead made fitting entrances to the ley lines. Yippee.

  We’d been walking single file through the field, but now Ophelia dropped back. Moonlight glinted off of her skin, and I wondered not for the first time why she glittered all the time. Oliver only ever did when he was drunk.

  “Never seen a fairy before?” she asked.

  I startled from my thoughts. “Actually, one of my best friends is a fairy.”

  “Oh really?” she raised her eyebrows, her eyes flicking over me. “We do make for powerful friends—or foes.”

  I couldn’t tell if her words were praising my taste in friends or a warning not to put faith in that friendship. She herself had cautioned Andre that her help came with a hefty price.

  Mist drifted up from the earth. It was easy to mistake this place for a haunted graveyard. Considering that I still smelled like the last one I visited, I was right at home.

  “So,” Ophelia said, breaking the silence once more, “what’s it like being the anti-Christ?”

  I knew this was coming. I’d seen and smelled her burning curiosity.

  I shrugged. “It sucks.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, wincing as the skintight leather resisted the intrusion.

  Her gaze searched me. “You don’t seem particularly—”

  “Demonic?” I finished for her. I’d seen enough Hollywood movies on the subject to know the role I was supposed to fill.

  “I was going to say ‘scary’.”

  Behind me Andre guffawed. “She obviously hasn’t seen your bad side.” He spoke low enough that only I could hear him.

  I threw an unamused glanced at my soulmate. Andre walked behind us, keeping watch on our surroundings. When he saw me looking, he flashed me a unapologetic smile. His eyes gleamed with that internal fire of his, the one that made me feel both exposed and protected in his presence.

  “So are you really his soulmate?” Ophelia asked, dragging my attention back her.

  “Who?”

  “Andre,” she said, dropping her voice.

  My lips twitched. Even whispering, Andre could hear our conversation with perfect clarity.

  “He is.”

  “You’re lucky, then,” Ophelia said. “I wouldn’t know a better man to safeguard my life.”

  I stared down at my feet as I walked. “I know.”

  But it may not be enough, that cold voice inside me whispered. We were fighting the devil and an ancient prophecy.

  “So have you met him?” she asked.

  I glanced sharply at her. We were no longer talking about Andre.

  “Yes.”

  Her face was alight with far too much interest. “What’s he like?”

  “That’s enough, Ophelia,” Andre said, his voice harsh.

  She raised her hands in innocence.

  “No, no, she wants to know.” I grabbed Ophelia’s wrist as she dropped her arms and stopped her. “I’ll tell you what he’s like.”

  It was my turn to have my expression burn with its own intensity. “He’s a cauterized wound—a remedy that hurts worse than the injury itself and leaves behind a nasty scar. He’s evil with just enough humanity to make you fall for his tricks over and over.” I squeezed her wrist until she yelped.

  I released my hold, and turned away from both her and Andre. My final words were for neither of them. “But, worst of all, his very presence carves out bits and pieces of your soul until all of it—every last inch—is his.”

  We stood in front of an archaic church, it’s roof covered in a sheet of snow.

  “This is it,” Ophelia said, careful to keep Andre between the two of us. Someone was still spooked from our earlier encounter. I wonder if she’d changed her mind about finding me scary.

  “The sorceress lives here?” Was I the only one that found it ironic that a powerful practitioner of magic lived in a Christian temple?

  “I cannot enter sanctified ground,” Andre said, scrutinizing the building ahead of us.

  “That won’t be an issue,” Ophelia said. “It’s been repurposed for quite some time now.”

  I could tell Andre remained unconvinced.

  “What happens if you step into a church?” I asked him.

  “I burn.”

  Ouch.

  “But not graveyards?” I asked. Weren’t those also sanctified? If Hocus Pocus lied to me about that, I might just die.

  Andre lifted a shoulder. “Loophole.”

  I rubbed my temples. “That makes no sense.” Andre had saint’s relics in his house and mosaics of holy men in his bathroom. He walked through cemeteries unscathed. Where was the line drawn?

  “No one ever said that magic was supposed to be logical—or fair.” Because Andre had tried so hard to save his soul and those of the vampires he’d sired.

  “Speaking of magic,” I said, “what exactly is a seer’s shroud?” It was about time someone told me something.

  “She doesn’t know?” Ophelia looked between me and Andre.

  “No, I don’t.” Also, I’m right here.

  “Essentially,” she said, “it’s a spell or a spelled item that prevents anyone with the Sight from divining your locations. They won’t be able to find you.”

  Now I understood. That would make our movements all but invisible to those with magic.

  “So, why are they so difficult to come by?”

  “That would be because they are against the law,” she said.

  Then there was that.

  “Not to mention that they’re expensive and rare,” Ophelia added. “Powerful magic must go into them to be able to block that many seers.”

  “Ah.”

  “Now, explanations over, are you two ready?” Ophelia asked. “The sorceress knows we’re here, and she is not a patient one. We best get moving.” With that, she headed towards the church.

  Andre and I shared a look. This could end poorly. He gave a pointed glance down at the knives strapped to my legs, and his meaning was clear. If anything were to go wrong, I needed to use them.

  “So, what exactly is a sorceress?” I asked Andre, stalling for time.

  “A witch of great power.” He was apparently stalling for time too.

  “A witch?” Now her location was particularly ironic.

  Andre nodded, distracted. The church grounds lay just a step away, the frosted grass beckoning him across. But centuries of conditioning prevented him from taking that final step across.

  I wondered whether there was really a chance that the once hallowed ground would cause Andre to spontaneously combust. My soul wasn’t lily white either; there was a chance I might also go up in flames.

  I seriously hoped that these were tales spun by superstitions, and that time had given them credibility. Otherwise my ass might get creamed the moment I crossed the threshold.

  I took a deep breath. No time like the present.

  Closing my eyes, I crossed onto the church grounds. The instant I did so, the atmosphere changed; the air felt heavier here, as though saturated with … something. Whether it was magic or salvation, I wasn’t sure.

  When I didn’t burn, I turned around. Andre watched me, his eyes a bit wider than usual. I extended my hand to Andre. “Here, we can do this together—if your hand starts to burn, just pull it back.”

  I expected him to be offended, to puff out his chest and make one of his typical and ridiculous claims about being king of the vampires and yadda yadda yadda. Instead he took
my hand, his brow creased.

  I pulled it forward until it had passed over the threshold.

  Andre stared at his hand in wonder. “It didn’t burn.”

  Braver now, he took a step forward, just enough for the tip of his shoes to cross the boundary. A sweet little laugh escaped him at the sight of his intact foot. He stepped all the way across.

  He rubbed his mouth, staring down at his intact body. He swore. “That actually worked.” He chuckled again, like he’d just figured out a life cheat.

  “Better save your excitement, Andre. We still have the church’s threshold to cross.”

  He swatted my bottom, his expression playful. “Wicked little mate. You’re going to pay for that comment later.” The way he was looking at me, I didn’t think I’d mind my punishment too much.

  The church smelled musty, and its pews needed a new coat of lacquer. Narrow beams of light filtered through the high windows from the streetlamps outside. I looked around, but other than the three of us, I saw no sign of life.

  Next to me, Andre seemed rapt, and I realized that he might not have stepped into a church in centuries. It was just another reminder of the sacrifices he was making on my behalf.

  A female voice boomed out from the shadows at the back of the room. “I want to see the girl alone.”

  The three of us paused. The sorceress had finally made herself known.

  “Over my dead body,” Andre said, recovering the quickest.

  The voice chuckled. “Lucky for us, that’s already the case.”

  I took a step forward, pulled by her voice and the magic it wielded. It wasn’t like my own ability, which compelled people to do my bidding. More like the sheer power behind her words reeled me in.

  Andre caught my wrist. “Soulmate, I don’t trust her.” He didn’t bother lowering his voice.

  “You wish to do business with me, vampire, when I know nothing of your motives. Let me see this so-called consort and judge her worthiness.”

  A muscle in Andre’s cheek fluttered and his eyes flashed.

  Whether it was my curiosity, her magic, or a restless feeling that we were wasting time, I made the executive decision to face her and whatever came with the contact. I began walking down the aisle.

  “Gabrielle,” Andre growled.

  “It’ll be fine,” I said, heading towards the voice. I stepped up to the wooden altar and hesitated. I glanced back at Andre, whose hands were fisted at his sides. Next to him, Ophelia’s skin shimmered a little more than usual, like apprehension flared it up. That, more than Andre’s reaction, had me nervous. If the fairy wasn’t in control of her own dealings, I couldn’t assume my little tea party with the sorceress would go smoothly.

  “Come closer, Gabrielle Fiori,” she beckoned from behind the dias.

  I stepped around the altar … only for the floor to dissolve beneath me.

  Chapter 11

  My stomach bottomed out as I fell. Just when I thought I might continue to fall until I reached hell’s gates, my body slammed into a solid surface.

  Glass shattered on impact, its jagged edges slicing into my skin in a dozen different locations. Something wet sizzled against my flesh.

  “Son of a demon!” This crap required a supernatural curse.

  I rolled off the open tomes and the now broken glass jars I’d fallen on only to topple off a table and onto the ground. As I did so, several vials tumbled with me—clinking against the floor.

  “And I’d always assumed sirens were graceful.”

  I moaned and rubbed my backside. “Some warning would’ve been nice,” I managed.

  I had fallen into what looked like a mad scientist’s room—if that mad scientist happened to also be a practitioner of magic. Beakers connected to elaborate glass tubes bubbled, as did a cauldron that hovered over an open flame.

  “You’re lucky I don’t kill you on the spot. I could use some siren blood and a favor from the devil.”

  That jolted me to attention. I was on my feet in an instant, my hand hovering near one of my knives, ready to square off with the sorceress.

  But as my eyes roved over the vats with their plumes of colored smoke, I saw no one.

  “Halt your hand. I will not tolerate drawn weapons in my house.”

  “Then show yourself,” I called, straightening and lifting my hands to indicate that I was unarmed.

  “You show yourself.”

  I scrunched up my face. Huh?

  “Siren, show yourself!”

  Her words seemed to wrap themselves around my siren and drag her to the surface. My back arched as light flared along my skin, bright and immediate.

  “Vampire, show yourself!”

  I’d barely caught my breath when my gums receded and my fangs unsheathed.

  “Soulmate, consort, show yourself!”

  My heart seemed to burn at the command. When the pain became nearly unbearable, the woman grunted her approval.

  “Enough,” she said.

  As quickly as it came, the sharp burn abated, the siren fled, and my fangs receded. I fell to my knees and coughed. “Ow.”

  “You may step forward.”

  Oh yeah, because I was so eager now. I rose to my feet, but I still saw nothing other than plumes of tinted smoke.

  “Come forward.”

  My feet jerked of their own volition, tugging me through the smoke until I caught sight of a woman reclining on an ornate couch. A very, very stoned woman.

  The sorceress was high as a kite and intimidating as hell.

  She sat up, her long white hair shifting about her. She had a third eye tattooed on her forehead, and I had the queerest impression that the thing could actually see me.

  “Stop,” she commanded.

  My legs halted as the magic in her voice receded, and I glowered at her. “You could’ve tried asking nicely.”

  Her eyes widened at my words, and she tilted her head. “Got a little fire to that tongue, do you now?” Her eyes narrowed as they passed me over. Then her features relaxed. “It’s a good thing I can appreciate a hot temper,” she said, sucking in a lungful of the pink smoke that billowed around us. “Shame the devil has enough fire as it is.” She cackled at that. As she did so, blue smoke curled out from her nose and lips.

  I studied it, fascinated.

  “Are you planning on gawking at me like the village idiot all evening?”

  My lips, which had parted, now snapped shut.

  “Much better,” she said. “Now come.” She patted the seat next to her.

  I practically dove to the couch to avoid her compelling magic. That earned me another chuckle. “Maybe you’re not the village idiot after all—jury’s still out on that one, though.”

  I kept my smartass mouth shut. The thing had gotten me into trouble before, and I could already tell I’d blow it with this broad if I opened it now.

  The sorceress inhaled deeply again. “I am Hestia, Mistress of Potions, Sorceress of Upper Europe.”

  In the expectant silence that followed, I cleared my throat. “I am—”

  “I know who you are.” She eyed me up and down. “Consorte del diavolo. What I want to know is why you think I should help you.”

  Well that shut me up. … for about five seconds. “Because I don’t want to die and marry the devil.”

  She leaned back into her seat and appraised me. “Why not?”

  Was this a trick question? “Because he’s evil?”

  “Bah!” She waved her arms. “I don’t see what the problem is. You stink of evil.”

  My fangs dropped down at the comment. “I do not.” Even as I objected to her words, I covertly sniffed myself. Instead of inhaling my scent, I breathed in a lungful of pink smoke.

  I coughed and waved my hand through the air, little puffs of blue smoke trickling out of my mouth. “What is this stuff?” I wheezed.

  “Santus fumus—holy smoke. Feel honored to breath in the hallowed air of my foremothers, the great Oracles of Delphi.”

  Yeah, w
hatever.

  She wasn’t done. “Some of the world’s greatest prophecies were borne in this smoke.” She leaned forward. “Even yours.” I swear that third eye of hers was squinting at me.

  I cocked my head, trying not to wince at the boneless feel of my neck. The smoke was already taking effect. “You’re telling me my fate was prophesized by some women who spent their days hanging out and getting high?”

  “Precisely!” Hestia’s eyes twinkled as she settled back into her seat. “I think I like you,” she declared. “You’re not so dumb after all.” A moue of disappointment pinched her lips. “It’s too bad you’re marked for death. You’ve got verve.”

  I only barely stopped myself from snorting. This lady was gone.

  “Despite your stink, you are strangely pure of heart.” She folded her hands and peered over at me. “Tell me, have you even bedded the vampire yet?”

  I sucked in a surprised breath and choked on the pink smoke again. I pounded my chest and coughed, plumes of blue smoke leaving my mouth.

  “Well, that’s a no,” she said for me. “Shame. Had life given me that man, I would’ve already ruined him for all others.” She blew out a puff of smoke, her eyes growing distant. “Absolutely ruined him,” she muttered to herself.

  Batty old woman.

  When my coughing fit had subsided, I managed to speak. “Um, I was hoping we could discuss the seer’s shroud?” I wheezed. Because that was a waaaaay better option than talking about my nonexistent sex life with this woman, who was a little too trigger happy with her power.

  She inhaled deeply. “Ah yes, the seer’s shroud.” She studied me. “I can make what you seek, but it will not be ready until evening tomorrow.”

  Crap, could Andre and I rest here for that long? Thinking of him, my gaze moved up, towards the ceiling. I hadn’t heard a peep from him or Ophelia since I’d fallen into the sorceress’s den, and now that I thought about it, our connection had dimmed. I’d assumed their silence was purposeful, but now I wondered. The last thing Andre would have been was silent.