Silverfall

by McKenzie Hunter

  “I need a favor,” I said.

  “Favor? Based on the urgency in your voice when you called, I’m assuming it’s a big one.” He took a seat at his desk and pointed at the chair across from it.

  I started walking toward him when he stood. “You’re injured.” His movement, perceived by my eyes as just a blur, had me stopping mid-step. It was not quite a blur of movement but preternatural in speed, something I’d expect when dealing with vampires.

  “A tree tried to beat me up yesterday,” I said, flippantly. Mephisto didn’t respond as I’d expected. He simply nodded, as if he’d heard that reason before.

  How often did people get beat up by a tree?

  Taking my hand in his, he examined my fingers.

  “Then an enraged earth witch attacked me,” I admitted as his eyes trailed to the cuts on my hand.

  “Ah, Dante’s Forest is full of many little surprises.”

  “You’ve been before?”

  He nodded. His hand touched my back gently, coaxing me to sit on his desk. The day after a fight was always the worst. No longer flooded with adrenaline, the soft tissue had been given ample time to discover its mistreatment, sending pain with a vengeance. My jaw clenched in an effort not to show any discomfort as I lifted myself onto the desk.

  “To get . . .” I let my question linger, raising my brow and waiting for him to complete the sentence. Ignoring me, he continued to assess my injuries. They were minor, but based on the rigid frown on his face, they looked worse to him than they did to me.

  “To get something I wanted,” he finally offered. A devious smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

  What answer did I expect from a man who guarded his name like a trade secret?

  “Remember you said we needed to trust each other. That’s hard to do if you never reveal anything about yourself. I don’t trust strangers.”

  “Ah, but as you’ve pointed out on many occasions, we aren’t strangers. We’ve known each other for over three years. You’ve eaten at my table, slept in my bed, showered in my home.” His liquid coal eyes were suggesting far more than what actually occurred.

  “No matter how naughty you attempt to make that sound, it was all innocent.”

  “And the kiss?”

  “What kiss?” I tried to say it with a straight face, but my lips twisted.

  “You didn’t forget the kiss,” he whispered. From his position between my legs, it made his examination of my wounds seem far more salacious. He leaned in, the warmth of his breath brushing my lips. “Neither have I.”

  “What did you get from Dante’s Forest?” I pressed.

  He released my hand, his expression pensive as he considered me, or the question, for a while. So much time lapsed, I considered repeating the question. “Amber Crocus,” he finally admitted, taking my hand in his again. The tips of my fingers were still inflamed and red and the nails had been ripped down past the edges. They weren’t tender unless I brushed up against something.

  “Plan on slaying some vampires?” I asked. He was responsible for my recent discovery that a weapon laced with the plant could kill a vampire as fast and efficiently as beheading them.

  A lazy smile formed and vanished. “Beheading is such a nasty way to kill a vampire. Amber Crocus works as a suitable warning when they aren’t being amenable.”

  “The forest was a bust,” I admitted in a tight voice.

  “It was for me as well. It wasn’t Amber Crocus they had but a poor imitation. It was a good thing I knew what it actually looked like. Others probably found out the hard way.”

  A shudder pushed through me at the thought of what a person would endure after a failed assassination attempt on a vampire—especially an old vampire.

  “What other injuries do you have?” Mephisto’s frown had deepened at the state of my hands. Cory had repaired the knife cut. I showed him the spot on my arm discolored by bruising.

  “My back has a few welts, but they should go away soon. My arms are the worst. I’m just sore and some areas are tender.”

  He enclosed the tips of the fingers of my right hand in his hands, and a cooling breeze enveloped them, similar to menthol or a topical analgesic. Interlacing his fingers with mine, he looked at the result of his magic. The redness had retreated, and buffed nails with a light sheen stretched out past the edges as if they hadn’t been ripped to the nub.

  “Better,” he whispered. My nails only received a fraction of my attention. Scrutinizing him, I tried to see past the glamor I was sure existed. This wasn’t his face, or it was just a variation of it. At least that was what I was convinced of, especially after our visit to the Woman in Black. Despite their familiar relationship, she had looked at him and his three friends as if it was the first time seeing them, guessing at their names.

  As he repaired my left hand, I leaned into him, feeling his magic pulse against me. I fought the urge to whisper the power words and taste his magic once again. He remained close without a hint of distress. He knew that he wouldn’t die if I borrowed his magic and he could combat me taking it, if he wanted.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  “I thought I was Satan,” he teased, putting some space between us.

  “Mephisto—”

  “Let me see your back.”

  He wouldn’t give me an answer. I stood and lifted my shirt, exposing the marks that I was sure were raised, red, and angry looking. His fingers tracing along my skin were a delicate wisp. The cool menthol suffused over my skin, easing it. The nagging ache was diminished but the magic that ensorcelled me was strong and intoxicating. A gasp caught in my throat.

  When I turned, he offered me a smile. “Perfect,” he whispered.

  He instructed me again to return to my seat on the desk. He rested a hand on each leg, his lips moved slightly, and heat inched over me. I relaxed into the warmth.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Fine.” I shifted my weight forward. The need to be closer to him was overtaking me. It was the pull of magic, the thrall of it. I was ensnared. Longing for his magic, I would accept being close to him as a consolation. It was like being chilled and taking the comfort of a flimsy blanket rather than the soothing warmth of hot chocolate that warms you from within. It was a superficial satisfaction. A comfort that paled in comparison. But it was what I had.

  Mephisto’s finger traced along the line of my jaw, and his weight shifted too. We were just a hairsbreadth away. If either one of us moved, our lips would have touched.

  My eyes slipped to the door and for a brief moment I considered saying the words of power and seeing if I could make it out the door. It was a morbid thought. Horrendous. As if he read my thoughts or felt my impulse he increased the distance between us, removing the temptation. It felt like a repudiation.

  I immediately missed the warmth of his body. The blanket left emptiness that I wanted desperately to fill.

  Sometimes I allowed myself to forget that the desire for magic existed. But when I was around Mephisto there was a keen awareness of the lack, especially because I was so close to having it without repercussions. Part of me wanted to despise him for giving me a glimpse into a life that I could see but not have. When I realized I was glaring at him, I dropped my eyes to the floor.

  “How did you know we went to Dante’s Forest?” I blurted. It wasn’t my intended question, but it dawned on me that he knew. Maybe he was affected.

  “Asher’s plane went to South Dakota, so I figured that’s where he was going. Based on the urgency with which you left, I guessed it was to meet him and that you would go with him.”

  “Are you keeping tabs on me or him?”

  “I like to know Asher’s whereabouts. We tend to have the same interests.” Amusement flitted across his face. “We both are collectors and on more than one occasion he has procured items of interest to me. We travel in the same circles and often are invited to the same auctions.” He regarded me with curious eyes. “What’s the favor, Erin?”

&nb
sp; The reality of what I was about to ask hit me hard. Going through Asher’s vault wasn’t as big a deal because Ian’s presence directly affected him, but it didn’t affect Mephisto. I wasn’t sure it ever would.

  “I need to see what objects you have. I need a Xios or Conparco Shield.” I hopped down from the table, forgetting to do it gingerly. “Hey, no pain.” I shifted my weight from one leg to another, feeling like I could go another round with whatever Dante’s Forest had to offer.

  I approached Mephisto with my phone out, prepared to show him pictures of the objects.

  He shook his head. “I know what they look like, but I don’t have them.”

  “May I check?”

  His eyes narrowed; I felt the full weight of them on me. “You don’t want to take me at my word?”

  No, not at all. But instead I said, “Sometimes magical objects have more than one name. It’s happened before.”

  He ran a finger lazily over his bottom lip. Had I offended him?

  “Have you spoken to your parents?”

  “What? That has nothing to do with this.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I find you to be quite the quandary, Ms. Erin Katherine Jensen,” he admitted. He’d swallowed up the distance he’d put between us in moments. He wasn’t hiding his otherness as much, or else this was another lure, reminding me that he was the person standing between me and magic. His magic. This type of magic. “You’ll go to Dante’s Forest, fight a rogue fae in a park, come to me to ask for a favor I’m not likely to agree to, but finding out if you are The Raven is something you won’t brave. Why?”

  “There’s no why. It will have no effect on my life. So what? If I am, it doesn’t change anything.”

  “But it does. Malific was bound to her prison using her magic and blood. She won’t be released until her death.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “You’re her daughter—”

  “I’m not her daughter,” I asserted.

  He took a breath and held it before giving me a conciliatory nod. “If you are her daughter, you are the only one. You share a common bloodline. She is bound to the ward. If she dies, the Omni ward falls. I suspect it’s not just her death that will break the ward, but yours as well. Ms. Jensen, it is very important that you know whether you are The Raven, because it’s the difference between your life and death.”

  Blood rushed from my face and I blindly put a hand on the desk to hold me steady. Mephisto eased closer. Several beats of silence passed before he spoke.

  “Ignoring the problem doesn’t make it go away, it only leaves you vulnerable. If I’ve come to this theory, don’t you think the Immortalis will have as well? Do not think for one minute that they have given up their objective to be with Malific again. Her army was created solely for this purpose. Right now, you are a means to an end.”

  I was starting to understand why Mephisto lived with such anonymity and guarded his secrets with such ferocity. It was the best defense.

  The list of things I had to do was becoming longer and longer. But I could not be bogged down by wondering whether Malific was my mother. It was fear that allowed me to put the issue on the back burner so easily, I knew that, but I would have to address it eventually. What was tugging at me now and had ever since Mephisto gave me the information about my alleged mother was the apprehension on his face and the obvious distance that had come between us. A tear in the tapestry of our alliance.

  I wondered what had changed between him delivering the information at my apartment and seeing me in Simeon’s library.

  “You were apprehensive when you told me that I might be Malific’s daughter,” I reminded him. “Yet you want me to approach this head on.”

  He nodded. “I will admit, I was taken aback.”

  Why can’t you just say I was shocked, like everyone else?

  “I thought you were unique to the Raven Cursed, but as a god, your abilities are as expected.”

  I hadn’t taken a breath for some time and was in desperate need of one. When I did, it reminded me of the way vampires tried to breathe around humans to be less off-putting. It sounded mechanical and rough.

  “When you do have access to magic, it’s concentrated and strong. Massive amounts of magic, probably boundless. It brings up many questions, not just why you aren’t with your mother. But did whoever took you restrict your magic in an effort to prevent another Malific? If they believe you to be like her, why let you live at all? Finally, is it irresponsible of me to allow you into the Veil, knowing you could be used to release Malific?”

  “I don’t know, but is what you want not important enough to take the risk?” Once again, I was seeing the hope of me having my own magic slip away. Would he give up on me and continue his search for someone who could move through the Veil but who didn’t have the baggage of a psychotic god for a mother?

  “Was Malific always like this? At some point she had to be just a typical god, gliding around in her glory being worshipped. How did she become that person I read about? A person who lacked mercy and craved power—”

  I stopped abruptly, suddenly seeing the small parallel between her power and my thirst for magic. I looked down at my hand, my thoughts racing. Nature versus nurture. No less than fifteen times had the thought of taking Mephisto’s magic crossed my mind. Even for a brief moment, I thought of keeping Cory’s magic, the only thing stopping me being my feelings for him. I’ve only ever had magic for short periods of time and never considered what type of person I’d be if I had limitless access to it. My ability with magic surpassed so much of what anyone else could do. Godlike power.

  “I’m curious as to what’s on your mind,” Mephisto asked after several moments of uncomfortable silence.

  “Nothing,” I lied. “If what you want in the Veil is important, I don’t think me going to retrieve it should be a problem. The question isn’t whether I should go, it’s how important the box is to you. I’m risking my life going in there, how much are you willing to risk?”

  I wanted my own magic. Limitless use. In those few seconds I’d decided that my desire to obtain his magic was stronger than any potential problems. Fine, I might be Malific’s daughter, but I was raised by parents who were nothing like her. There was nothing wrong with having a great deal of magical power: Cory and Madison were powerful. Flashes of Ian came to mind, but I brushed them aside. He wanted to rule. I had no desire to do that or have dominance over anyone.

  “May I see your collection?” I asked again.

  A lazy smirk lifted the corners of Mephisto’s lips. “Ms. Jensen, you do realize that this has nothing to do with me? The warring between the shifters, fae, and Ian will not affect me in any way.” His head tilted as he examined me more closely. There was so much intensity in his scrutiny I felt exposed, naked. “This is important to you, isn’t it? You have no stake in this and yet I can see it’s important to you. Why?” he inquired, intently searching my face for answers I assumed he expected me not to give.

  “It’s the right thing to do,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. It was the right thing to do in order to correct a wrong.

  Doubt sparked in the depths of his coal-black eyes. His lips curled into a frustrated moue. I felt a bit of satisfaction at his aggravation. People who use information as if it’s scarce currency hate when the tables are turned. The glower and tick in his jaw proved that.

  His jaw clenched. “What are you doing here?” His voice no longer had that honeyed sweetness and dark allure that I now realized he reserved for me. It wasn’t quite cold, but it had an edge.

  Jarred by the sudden change in his mood and his voice, I blinked. The answer to the change entered the room. Clayton. Even with a large duffel bag on his shoulder he moved with the lissome grace of a person trained in martial arts. An easy smile spread over his lips, seemingly finding gratification in Mephisto’s irritation.

  “M,” he greeted. Ignoring the surges of magic in the room was getting more difficult and I wanted to stop his advance
, warn him not to come any closer. But it was too late.

  Clayton’s locs, which had been tied back before, were loose. The shoulder-length mass of hair draped over his shoulders and fell over his face. He shoved his fingers through it, pushing the tight locs back. Several feet away, I felt crowded. Clayton’s brows inched together and I realized I was staring.

  Hitching his bag further up his shoulder, he said, “I didn’t think you were going to be here.”

  “I had to reschedule my meeting,” Mephisto informed.

  Clayton glanced between Mephisto and me and then settled his attention on me.

  “Ah, did The Raven need you?” He was teasing but I didn’t miss the edge of ridicule.

  “Why are you here?” Mephisto asked again.

  “I wanted to use your pool.”

  Mephisto blew out an irritated breath. “And there aren’t any public pools you can use?”

  Clayton looked disgusted at the idea. “You know how I feel about public pools.”

  “Yet,” Mephisto pushed through his teeth, “you won’t have your own installed.”

  Clayton’s smirk could not be described as anything other than devilish. “I can’t do that, then I’m ‘that guy’ with the indoor pool. Who wants to be him?” And then he shot Mephisto a look.

  Mephisto’s jaw clenched even harder. I was trying to understand the dynamics between them. Between them all. There was a familiarity as if they were brothers, but their varying ethnicities made that doubtful. Their magic was so similar but had subtle differences I could pick up on. They moved with the stealth and gracefulness of men who knew how to fight. Warriors.

  “The Raven,” Clayton greeted.

  “It’s Erin,” I corrected.

  He nodded. “Erin, what can we do for you?”

  We? Okay?

  “She would like to see my collection. She’s looking for a Xios and Conparco Shield,” Mephisto said. The two men exchanged a look but their faces remained as emotionless as Mephisto’s voice. Maybe my request was unusual? Rude? Ballsy? Uncouth? Even within the Supernatural Task Force, special clearance was needed to view the collected supernatural objects.