As if in response to my thoughts, my brain buzzed.
I don’t have to be your puppet, I thought, firming my resolve and the barrier around my mind. Not this time.
I closed my eyes and fought off exhaustion as I reached for the light between my brows. I spent what remained of the evening drifting in the void, trying over and over again to levitate the smallest of objects in the room. And failing.
By the time I heard the locks on the door spin, I wasn’t sure which was greater: my exhaustion, my frustration, or my disappointment in myself. It was the raven-haired Red who entered, thankfully sparing me the sight of her eyes by wearing sunglasses.
“Put this on,” she said, tossing a dress in my direction. “And clean yourself up. Alexander will see you in thirty minutes.”
With that she left, leaving me to wonder who Alexander was. A Red, of course, but one powerful enough to command other Reds. I’d never heard of them having a hierarchy.
I held up the dress I’d been brought and immediately dismissed it. I preferred my own sweat-stained clothing to that gauzy thing. I might be more comfortable wearing dresses as of late, but certainly not here, where I’d prefer to be wearing body armor, and certainly not at the request of my captor.
I stood and entered the bathroom. Not in order to clean up—screw that—but to inspect the bruise on my face. It stared back at me, reddish purple and still puffy. Even gentle probing caused me to wince, but not badly enough that I suspected a fracture.
My stomach rumbled loudly and I cupped my hands under the faucet to take a long drink. I needed to fill up as best I could on water; I’d be a fool to eat anything I was offered. I had little fear they’d poison me—if they wanted me dead, I would be by now—but drug me to make me more manageable? I had no doubt.
Once I’d drank my fill I went back to sit on the chaise, doing my best calm my nervousness at coming face to face with the Red in charge.
My mind drifted to Giancarlo and how bewildering his betrayal was. Being a Guardian came with not just a duty, but a lineage passed down from generation to generation. Not all off the offspring of Keepers and Guards became Guardians, but all Guardians were born of someone already involved with the Institute. There had been much discussion lately, questioning whether the Institute could still afford to shun outsiders given the growing demon population, but while the debate raged on, the old custom was still honored. Giancarlo’s betrayal would affect not only him, but any family he’d left still within the Institute.
And yes, Keepers started out as outsiders with no rhyme or reason to where they were found, but I couldn’t think of a single Keeper I’d met who wasn’t grateful to the Institute for saving their sanity. And what person in their right mind would want demons to break free, anyway?
No matter from which direction I approached the problem, I got nowhere, and when the she-Red came to get me, I was as baffled as ever.
18
The Red made no attempt to hide her disgust at the fact that I was still in my grubby clothes, while I made every attempt to hide my disgust at being led around by a Red. I had no desire to have my left cheek match my right.
She led me downstairs and through the house which was painted in yellows and creams and decorated impeccably with a mix of antiques and modern country charm. Slightly more composed than when I’d arrived, I made better note of anything that might prove useful when I attempted another escape: the floor plan, the placement of windows, the locations of the guards—each wearing sunglasses, even inside. That didn’t necessarily mean each was a Red, of course. If they were, I was in even more trouble than I realized.
A shudder rippled through me and the she-Red bared her teeth in what might have been a smile, a threat, or both. I knew I risked another blow, but I refused to look away. I might be frightened, but there was only so weak I’d allow myself to appear.
We came to a sliding glass door and stepped out onto a wide balcony. I took in the view, the knot in my stomach keeping me from being awestruck by its beauty. Rolling hills dotted with houses led finally to sparkling water. I glanced up at the sky, or more specifically, the sun. It was off to the left, which meant the water was to the south. That meant the water was the Riviera, and I was seeing it from France, not Italy, which in turn meant I was hundreds of miles away from Rome. For a Root to reach me at that distance, it would have to be twice as strong as the one—
I was grateful for the push the Red gave me, breaking the terrifying train of thought. I made my way carefully down the Travertine stairs, my heart beating wildly as we approached a man seated at a table by the pool.
I wasn’t surprised by the sunglasses, but I was taken aback by the calm authority he possessed. All of the other Reds I’d come in contact with had a feral quality to them, making it obvious that their hold on sanity was tenuous at best. If anything, his demeanor made him more frightening. At least with the she-Red I knew where I stood.
What had the Root promised him? I needed to know so that I could make a counter-offer. The Institute had money and I had no doubt they would pay dearly for my safe return. The problem would be making him see reason. Would everything I say be heard by the Root? I was successfully guarding my thoughts, but was he bothering to do the same with his? Would the Root allow him to?
Still not looking in my direction, he casually read a French newspaper and sipped a cappuccino. Finally, when we were only steps away, he folded his paper and set it aside. His smile was that of a movie star, gleaming white and perfectly straight. His blonde hair so impeccably highlighted, I couldn’t be sure if it was from the sun or a bottle.
He motioned for me to sit across from him and said, “Thank you, Monica. You may leave us now.”
His accent was light and definitely European, but not entirely French. I sat.
“Wait,” he said, studying my cheek. “How did she come to be injured? You were given strict instructions.”
The Red, Monica, halted and seemed nervous when she spoke. “She—she fought me. There was nothing I could do, Alexander. It was the only way to restrain her.”
“Is this true?” Alexander said. Even while Monica had spoken, he hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
Of course it wasn’t true, but what would be the best answer? If I got this she-Red in trouble, and she remained one of my personal bodyguards, who would I really be hurting? Myself, more than likely. I had no doubt she could hurt me in ways that wouldn’t leave a mark.
I decided the safest course was to say, “No one wants to be kidnapped.”
“No, I suppose not,” he said, not entirely convinced. He turned Monica and said, “Leave us.”
Monica slunk away, her heeled boots ringing on the stone tiles. How powerful must this Alexander be to make another Red afraid? I did my best to slow the near frantic beating of my heart.
“Ember,” he said, “My name is Alexander. Welcome to my home. Please consider yourself an honored guest.”
Guest?
“That implies I’m free to leave,” I said.
How was I having a conversation with a Red and not peeing my pants? How was I having a conversation with him at all? Monica, Alexander, they weren’t like the Reds I’d encountered before—full of bloodlust and not much else. Usually they were extensions of the fury and evil in the demons that controlled them, but this Alexander especially, had an air of calm about him.
“It does,” he said, “and I am sorry that I cannot allow you to go just yet.”
“So you’re saying that I will be allowed to leave eventually?” Of course—after I open the Gateway for him.
“Actually, I’m saying that once we’ve gotten to know each other, I don’t think you will want to leave,” he said.
“In a world of possibilities, that isn’t one of them,” I said, anger now making me bolder than was probably wise.
“You seem quite certain,” he answered and sipped his cappuccino.
“You had me kidnapped from a moving train,” I said. “You had my friend injected with God-knows-what.”
Would his explanation match that of Giancarlo’s? I hoped that would increase the likelihood it was true, and Kat was fine other than a wicked hangover. I hardened myself against the grief threatening to engulf me. She had to be alive.
“Propofol,” he said. “Meant only to render her unconscious. I promise you that Katrina lives.”
“Prove it,” I said, having no idea how he would do such a thing.
His smile held none of the threatening quality that Monica’s had when he lifted his paper to reveal his phone. After a moment of tinkering, he handed it to me. I took it tentatively and saw that a video was playing. It was Kat being taken away in an ambulance, looking out of it, but very much alive. A weight lifted from my chest and I set the phone aside.
“I assure you, I have no intention of allowing harm to come to either you or those you care about,” he said.
Both his words and tone were meant to have a soothing effect, but instead had the direct opposite.
“Do you really think I’d take the word of a Red?” I said, then instantly regretted letting my distaste for him show. I needed to keep my cool.
He pushed back his chair and I braced for a blow, but instead he simply walked a few steps away from the table, and turned from me.
“I take it you don’t think much of Reds?” he said, smiling, casually taking in the view.
His smugness strengthened my anger.
“On the contrary, I think quite a lot of you. I think you’re disgusting underlings with no power of your own. I think you do the bidding of those smarter than you and are unbelievably stupid if you think that when the Gateway opens the demons in charge will keep you dogs around.”
Fear had cut some of the venom I’d hoped my words would drip with. Whatever reaction I’d been hoping for from Alexander, I wasn’t prepared for the one I got. He turned and flowed slowly to my chair, then bent close to my ear.
My heart pounded in my chest. He was inches from me; I’d no doubt he could end my life with barely a flick of his wrist.
“And what if I were to tell you,” he said, his voice a seductive purr, “that I agree with you completely?”
I wasn’t just shaking, I was vibrating. “Prove it,” I said again, my voice rife with the fear that flooded me.
I was staring straight ahead, but in my peripheral vision, I saw Alexander lower his sunglasses. I swallowed and forced myself to turn my head and look into his eyes.
They were ice blue.
19
My insides quivered like the jelly they’d become. A non-Red who inspired fear in actual Reds. Who was this next to me? But that wasn’t the right question. The right question was even more bone chilling. It was a long minute before I could bring myself to ask it.
“Wh-what are you?”
The question hung in the air for the three longest seconds of my life.
“I think you already know that,” he said softly, those blue eyes looking into mine without an ounce of menace, making them all the more frightening.
I swallowed hard and he went back to sit across from me. With his sunglasses off I could put an age to him—mid-twenties was my guess. There was something about him—his aquiline nose, a charisma I hated myself for even noticing—that made him seem like a Greek statue come to life.
“You can’t be,” I said finally. “A real Daemon would never work with Reds.”
“Never?” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He leaned forward, and, though no one was in earshot, pitched his voice low when he said, “Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’”
“So, you want me to believe you’re some kind of double-agent?” I asked, letting my tone show exactly how slim of a chance that was.
“Is that so impossible to believe?” He said, arching an eyebrow.
I was about to call his bluff—say, “yeah, it pretty much is”—when the carafe that had been sitting on the table, rose seemingly of its own accord and poured a cup of coffee.
Alexander smiled and said, “You take it black, yes?” Which caused my goosebumps to grow goosebumps.
I made no move to take the steaming cup.
“Ember, I’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that no harm come to you or your companions in my attempts to meet you. I didn’t go to all that trouble only to poison you now.”
Attempts, plural. It was all the admission I needed that he’d been behind the awfulness that was my birthday. Maybe even the incident at the club a few months earlier.
“You had people—Reds—shooting at us,” I said, my jaw tight. “You can’t have been all that concerned about our well-being.”
“Yet none of the bullets hit you or your protectors,” he said. “And didn’t you find it the least bit strange that Jeanine was willing to spare the life of your beloved boyfriend rather than kill him on sight? Reds are not known for their compassion.”
The platinum blonde Richard had killed. I did my best not to shudder at the memory of staring down the barrel of her gun. What he said was true though: with that many Reds chasing us, it bordered on impossible that all of us escaped without serious injury. I’d been so grateful at the time, I hadn’t stopped to think it might be due to anything more than luck.
“So, this Jeanine, she was working for you?” I said.
“More like under my control,” he said, the smugness returning. “It was a shame to lose her—she was my most trusted soldier.”
“Sorry,” I said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“Don’t be,” he said with a wave of his hand. “You are correct in your assessment of Reds. But they do prove themselves useful.”
“And me? Why am I useful to you? If you’re a Daemon you can help the demons open the Gateway without me.”
“True,” he said. “Which should lead you to a conclusion that is better left unspoken.”
Whether true or not, he wanted me to believe he had no interest in opening the Gateway.
He pushed back his chair, and once again he stood.
“You seem to have a tongue-loosening effect on me,” he said, surprised by the admission. “It’s just as well I have a pressing matter to attend to; it would be unwise of me to divulge anything further without having established a trust between us. We will meet again for dinner—until then, please make yourself at home.”
He walked the length of the glittering pool and entered the villa, leaving any words I had, caught in my throat.
It was a few minutes before I could breathe, let alone move. When motor functioning returned, I reached for Taren’s necklace—I’d grown fond of sliding the charm back and forth on the chain while I thought—and for a moment was struck by the possibility that I would never see him again. Panic seized my heart and I clutched the rune, trying to forge a connection between us.
You have to find me, Taren. You have to find me. I need you.
No you don’t. You’ve got me.
I stiffened.
I will get you out of this, you just need to—
Son of a—
It was no wonder I was vulnerable to a mental takeover—I was exhausted and frightened—but I couldn’t allow it. Not now, not ever again.
I forced myself to sit, though fear kept my knee bobbing up and down. I used my hand to still it.
Focus, Ember. Find the light. Step into it.
Eventually, my breath evened out and my pulse slowed. And there was silence, save for my own internal voice saying over and over again, it’s alright, you’re OK. There wasn’t much conviction behind the words, but the monotony was soothing.
I needed time to think, and Alexander was giving it to me.
So, he was a Daemon, and not one who had a hard time levitating a feather, which had to mean he’d been trained by someone. Who?
He claimed not to be in league with Reds and yet commanded a near army of them.
Most importantly, he claimed he didn’t want me to open the Gateway. Was that true? If so, what did he want? And who was th
is new intruder in my head? It had to be the Root attached to the Gateway in Rome, didn’t it? Lesser demons weren’t powerful enough to reach across the boundary with anything more than violent babble. This had an intelligence, an agenda. To help me, It claimed. Just like the other Root Demon had helped me, I thought, shuddering.
If a Root wants me to trust It and not Alexander, does that mean I should trust Alexander? It was a ludicrous idea—trusting my kidnapper—but what else could it mean? Although maybe he and the Root were working both ends against the middle, figuring I’d trust one of them out of desperation, and it didn’t matter which one.
I put my head in my hands, my thoughts now barreling down tracks even I couldn’t follow.
I spent the rest of the morning alternately strolling the grounds of the villa and pausing to doze in the shade of a tree or the shadow of a trellis. It was a complete ruse, of course; I was neither strolling nor dozing. I was doing my best impression of Taren—seemingly uninterested, without a care in the world, while observing everything in my field of vision.
Whenever I got too close to the fence, Reds would make themselves known and I would force myself to smile and wave, as if to say, “No worries, I’m definitely not trying to escape.”
Male or female, their expressionless faces never changed so I had no idea if they bought it, but once I stepped back they would again recede into the shadows.
My study had borne fruit, though what good it would do I had no idea. I’d counted sixteen guards—twelve outside and four looking down at me from various windows. The fence stood eight feet tall, made of wrought iron, with dense shrubbery providing an even thicker barrier. I could scream, no doubt I would be heard, but I felt sure that would only result in the death of the unlucky neighbor who tried to help. I was part Daemon and no match for even one of these Reds, what hope did a human have against them?
By noon, with my stomach rumbling, I decided to go back to my room. The confinement was preferable to all of those eyes upon me. As I made my way upstairs, two guards followed several paces behind, and I forced myself not to alter my course to test whether they were following me. Of course they were.
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