by Vivian Wood
The woman pursed her lips, thinking.
“There is a way, I think. If you were to destroy the Loa, that might work. If you pulled him out of the human world, yanked him back into the spirit world by the roots. Then destroy him…” She took a deep breath. “You would need a way to kill a Loa, though. Very rare.”
“Could you find such a thing?” Sophie asked, excitement stirring in the pit of her stomach.
Another considering glance.
“The magic you would need to do this thing, it would be so dark… You would never be a white witch again. You understand?”
“Fine. Anything,” Sophie insisted.
“If the Loa does not kill you first, the stain on your soul will. You may not… you may not enter the same afterlife as your sister, white witch. Would it be worth that to free her?”
Sophie didn’t even hesitate.
“Of course.”
“Fine,” the priestess said. She pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled something on it, handing it over the fire to Sophie. “Wait until you hear from me again, white witch. Do not approach the Loa without the object I will bring you. To do so would be to assure your failure.”
Sophie opened her mouth to respond, but the priestess picked up a bucket of black ash and banked the fire without notice, vanishing into the darkness leaving Sophie alone in the quiet night air. Sophie stumbled back down the rambling back alleys of the Gray Market she’d followed to find the priestess in the first place, emerging near the front doors of Sloane General.
Once she was back in the Gray Market’s hazy street lights, she unfolded the piece of paper the priestess had pressed on her.
It had but two words: Papa Aguiel.
Closing her eyes, she knew the first moment of elation she’d felt since the moment she’d woken in her bed, knowing instantly that her little sister was no longer in the world.
Vengeance was so, so close… and she would have it.
Sophie stood across from the rambling residence the Alpha Guardians referred to as the Manor, biding her time. She’d stood here for four nights already, gone so far as to break some of the house’s minor wards. All because she was following a tip from a Gray Market acquaintance who said that the Guardians were pursuing the same quarry as she.
Papa Aguiel.
The name rang through her head, over and over until she thought her heart might beat to the rhythm of his name, until her veins ran thick with the sound of it. Pa-pa A-gu-iel, Pa-pa A-gu-iel, her heart seemed to say.
A flurry of activity drew her attention to the front steps of the Manor. Several people stepped outside, and Sophie raised her binoculars. There, on the ground. A dark haired man in a long black coat, utterly collapsed.
How had she missed this, the one person her contact had told her to watch for?
Ephraim Crane. Soon-to-be Alpha Guardian. Immortal.
And most importantly, genuine article djinn. Those weren’t exactly floating around freely these days, so she needed to focus.
She could not screw this up. It was her only chance to save Lily.
Free Lily, not save her. She cannot be saved, a quiet voice in the back of her head protested, but Sophie shoved it deep down.
She’d worked so hard for this moment. She’d handed the keys to her store over to Dawn, suddenly and without explanation. She never planned to return, though Dawn didn’t know that.
She’d closed up her house, given Dawn a big draught of cash to take care of the tabby they kept in the shop and any other incidentals. Claiming she was going on a long-term cruise, Sophie had simply… slipped away from her old life.
And now she was here, on the cusp of everything she wanted. So, so close.
The group at the Manor’s front door managed to get Ephraim to his feet. Sophie had seen but a single photo of him, nearly as blurry as his face was now from such a distance, but it was enough to know that he was handsome. Something else, too, in his expression. She couldn’t put her finger on it.
Not that it mattered…
Sophie realized that her mind was drifting, and wondered when the last time she’d slept was. Not in days, at least. She was burning her magic at both ends, all in pursuit of this…
Dropping her binoculars, she reached in her left pocket and pulled out the object that had taken her over a month to procure. A beautiful set of three keys on a ring, all made of the most finely wrought gold Sophie had ever laid eyes on. The gold seemed to warm to her touch, almost comforting, glowing softly from within somehow.
She turned over her left hand, palm up, and saw the light gray lines of enchanted ink that lay there in delicate swirls. The only tattoo she had, the one she’d shared with Lily. An early birthday present on her sister’s eighteenth birthday.
never lost, it read in feminine script.
always found, Lily’s had said.
If only that were remotely true, if only the giddy dreams they’d shared had been more than a foolish fantasy…
Closing her fingers tight around the keys, she tried not to remember just the way it felt when her tattoo pulsed that night, the night Lily died. The thick, dark lines of ink faded to the softest gray, just as Lily faded from the human realm. A distress signal, from beyond the Veil…
Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and resisted the urge to rub her fingers over the tattoo. If Lily could feel her now, somehow, Sophie was dead sure her sister wouldn’t approve.
But Lily wasn’t here. Lily was dead, and Sophie would have her vengeance if it was the last thing she ever did, if it stole away her very last breath.
“You’re going to have to be a lot more beguiling than this,” she told herself aloud.
If she was ever going to cozy up to the djinn and gain access to the places only he could take her, she would need to at least pretend not to be dead inside. She tried for a smile, and though she couldn’t see it, she knew it was gruesome.
No matter. She had time to practice. She’d do anything she needed to do to carry out the rest of her mission.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow, it begins.
Tucking the keys in her pocket, she turned and sauntered back into the moonless New Orleans night.
2
Chapter Two
Ephraim paced the floor in the rooms he’d been assigned in the Manor, unable to rest. After a day’s sleep and a long state-of-affairs meeting with the Guardians, he learned about Papa Aguiel and what Mere Marie believed to be the coming war to save the city and possibly all of mankind. Now, though, his thoughts returned to his new master.
Sophie.
The moment that his ownership transferred from one person to another, Ephraim always became aware of his new master. He got a few glimpses of the person, usually, just enough to get a sense of them and what they looked like. A cosmic heads up to let him know what to look for, what to expect.
He’d felt the pull thousands of times. At worse, the knowledge provoked a sort of teeth-grinding anxiety in him, knowing he needed to fulfill a fresh set of hopes and dreams. At best, a dull sort boredom, a sense of having served that sort of person before.
This time felt different, though he couldn’t say why. Sophie was beautiful, with long blonde hair, a heart-shaped face set with full pink lips, and a curvy-yet-petite figure that Ephraim found appealing.
That in itself wasn’t remarkable, though. Ephraim had served hundreds of beautiful people, women and men alike, and he knew that one’s looks were no indicator of what lay beneath. He’d learned that lesson early on in his life, and had been reminded time and again.
No, this was something… else. He felt foreboding, but not in the way that he’d felt with some of his crueler masters. Like the Grecian brothel owner who’d pimped him out to leagues of customers, anyone with enough coin and an eye for tall, dark, and handsome men with Ephraim’s coloring. Silky chin-length chestnut hair, light olive skin, bright yellow-green eyes. He was big and broad, having grown into the spitting image of his father’s muscular warrior’s build.
>
His lips thinned at the thought of the whip-thin, pale, balding brothel owner. One of the darkest souls he’d encountered in all his days.
None was worse than the assassin, though. Ephraim had been given over to a shadowy slave owner who bought and trained ‘assets’, as he called them, with a sole purpose. Murder, quick and violent yet subtle.
How many had Ephraim killed for the man? Hundreds? A thousand?
With the assassin feeding him tincture of poppy, what would later be known as opium, Ephraim had slid into that role all too easily. Standing in the Manor’s spacious living room, Ephraim looked down at his hands, marveling that he’d ever got all the blood and viscera off them, that he’d ever made them clean again.
He balled his hands into fists, his mind circling back around to his current obsession.
Sophie, Sophie. Where are you?
He’d sought her for some days, running himself ragged. Before he found himself on the Guardians’ doorstep, he’d fought his way through a Kriiluuth demon’s lair, on the word that Sophie had been there.
No luck, but it did make him wonder what kind of trouble his new master might be in. The Kriiluuth’s lair was in the darkest, farthest reaches of the Gray Market’s labyrinthine world. The couple of flashes he’d gotten of her, she was laughing with friends, dancing and having fun at a second line, working diligently folding and organizing things in a store where she likely worked. She wore brightly colored, stylish dresses, and she was perfectly groomed and manicured.
That person seemed light-hearted and good. Kind, even. Not like she had some bottomless void inside her, which was the main quality of people who came to possess Ephraim’s keys. No one came across a djinn by accident; it was either through fate or a lot of hard work, and inevitably the person needed him. Needed things from him. Dark and dangerous things.
So what was she doing skulking in shadowy corners of the Gray Market?
Ephraim’s lips twisted. Maybe this was all just wishful thinking. None of the others who’d owned him had been anything but selfish, focused on their own needs and nothing else. Why should Sophie be any different?
Ephraim would do anything she asked. Had to do it. Needed to do it. If she said jump off a bridge, he’d do it. Kill a puppy? He’d do it, when the pain grew bad enough. Accomplish a task so Herculean and impossible that just considering it would devastate a normal man? Done. Somehow, some way.
That was the seductive power of Ephraim’s gift. No one had ever been able to resist, not in a thousand years.
She wouldn’t sacrifice her greatest desire just to free Ephraim, no matter how kind she might be. Who in their right mind would do that, in the face of what Ephraim’s powers could give them? Why did he feel even the slightest flicker of hope?
Ephraim went still, the thought slipping away like a few grains of sand in his open fingers.
Sophie. He could feel her. She was close, waiting for him.
He let the sensation of her presence pull him forward into the Manor’s foyer and outside. His mouth fell open when he saw her standing on the curb, only a hundred yards away. Gone was the cultured, well-dressed, smiling woman he’d seen in his visions.
This woman was dressed head to toe in black leather and denim, her blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She was still beautiful, there was absolutely no denying it, but there was also something about her that screamed woman on a mission.
At first, he thought that her beauty was just magnetic, that he found her so alluring. But then, some little part of Ephraim, shoved deep down inside… some resolute, indisputable sense of self rose, and it was certain of one thing.
Mate.
He took a step toward Sophie, and she moved toward him at the same time. Her chin lifted, and for a moment he thought he saw the same expression on her face, thought he saw her pupils dilate and contract, making her clear blue eyes brighten and darken quick as a heart’s beat.
She feels it too, he thought.
Then she lifted her hand, a glint of gold drawing his gaze. Ephraim’s moment of dazzling, blinding hope flared and then died when he saw what she held up for him to see.
His keys.
He had to give himself a sharp shake to stop the painful squeeze in his chest.
What did you expect? He reprimanded himself. This is what happens when you’re stupid enough to hope. You know better.
Moving closer, he noticed that Sohpie’s clothes weren’t the only dark thing about her. Her aura lit up for just a moment, tranquil lavender and pink and white close to her heart. Further out, though, it darkened. Around the edges it went from royal purple to midnight blue to black, like a piece of paper with singed edges.
She was in transition, her aura slowly darkening as she tainted the inner wellspring of her power, no doubt with some very dark magic. Another mystery, a piece of the puzzle that matched perfectly with her stalking demons in the Gray Market.
Suddenly, she was only steps away from him, looking him up and down.
“What’s your name, djinn?” she asked, gaze narrowed. Expecting a fight.
“Ephraim,” he said, letting his head drop a few inches. She was gorgeous and tempting, and he wanted nothing more than to move closer. Touch her, taste her.
Mate, rang through his head now, over and over. Mate. Mate. Mate.
After she’d presented the keys, though, his desire for her made him feel… dirty. Weak. He kept his gaze low, unwilling to share all the emotions that were no doubt flitting through his eyes. He’d never been one to conceal his emotions, especially since none of his masters ever cared how he felt.
Now, though… he wouldn’t give that part of himself to her, not if he could help it.
“You’re the only one that can help me, Ephraim,” she said, a softly melodic quality to her voice.
His lips curled up in a humorless smile.
“Not the first time I’ve heard those words,” he said, canting his head. “I suppose you should come inside, the Guardians have been waiting.”
He didn’t miss the surprise in her expression, but he turned his back and marched inside before he could read further into it. Learning more about her, feeding the curiosity about her that filled him inside, it would only lead to the deepest kind of disappointment.
Mere Marie awaited them inside, seated on an overstuffed love seat, her voluminous white robes arranged around her like a cloud.
“This is Sophie?” Mere Marie asked, a cynical brow arching. Her eyes moved over Sophie, no doubt reading her tarnished aura just as Ephraim had a few moments ago.
“This is Sophie,” Sophie said, her brows pulling together as she frowned. “You must be Marie La—”
“Mere Marie,” said Rhys, the big redheaded Scot who served as head Guardian. “I’m Rhys. Let me make introductions.”
He went around and introduced five of the Guardians and their respective mates, explaining that one of the Guardians had a new baby and wouldn’t be involved in the planning stages. A pair of identical Fae, new to Ephraim’s eyes, were introduced as the Guardians’ most recent additions.
“I’m Kieran, this is Kellan. Our mate is at work,” one of them explained in a thick Irish brogue. He rolled his eyes. “She says she’s less interested in the coming apocalypse and more interested in helping people.”
“She’s a doctor,” the other one cut in, elbowing his brother. “We’re astoundingly proud of our Sera.”
“Right,” Mere Marie said once all the chit chat was done. “You’ve come at just the right time, the planning stages.”
“The planning stages of what, exactly?” Sophie asked, crossing her arms. Her gaze wandered around the room, taking everything in. Ephraim could tell that she was shrewd, certainly intelligent. The dark circles under her eyes and the tension in her shoulders spoke of a bone-deep exhaustion; clearly, lovely Sophie wasn’t just dabbling in dark magic, she was on the run from something.
“Of taking down Papa Aguiel,” Mere Marie said, mirroring Sophie’s stance by c
rossing her arms and squaring her jaw. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Sophie looked surprised again, but quickly covered it with a simple nod.
“That’s why I’m here,” she affirmed.
Mere Marie and Sophie spent a few minutes chatting, if you could call it that. It was closer to thinly veiled accusations and barbs, but Ephraim just stayed out of it. His ultimate allegiance was to whoever held his keys, not to the Guardians. It was useless to take sides in an argument when anything he said might come back to hurt him later.
Instead of participating, he merely studied her, tried to understand the connection he felt to her. His bear perked up, interested in Sophie, cautiously calling for Ephraim to get closer, closer.
If only, he lamented. No, this must be some kind of cruel joke. He’d always hoped to find a mate, the way his father found his mother. Instant, consuming, destined. But he’d imagined that it would happen once he’d managed to free himself.
He hadn’t even fantasized about being free in nearly a century, and his desire to find a mate died long before that. Ephraim squinted into the distance, trying to pinpoint the moment when he’d given up on having a family and a mate of his own, but he couldn’t begin to guess.
The brothel in Greece, probably. Stretched out on a rack, blindfolded and bound, being ridden hard by a masochistic woman three time his age while she raked her nails up and down his body and screamed at him to make her come… Yeah, somewhere around that point, if he had to guess.
When the meeting broke up suddenly, Ephraim realized he’d ogled her for almost ten minutes without hearing a word that was said, much less participating. Rhys clapped Ephraim on the shoulder, giving him a knowing sort of look.
“It’s hard on everyone,” he said quietly.
“What is?” Ephraim asked, gently shrugging off the other Guardian’s touch.
“Meeting your fated mate. None of us has had an easy go of it,” Rhys confided in him.
Ephraim went rigid. How could the other man possibly know about the pull Ephraim felt?