Vengeance

by Carrie Whitethorne

  Rather than leave it on the nightstand, I carefully folded it and slipped it into one of the many pockets of my skirt and resumed changing the beds.

  Call me suspicious, but Sorin must have had some intense vision that lead him to involve his human friends like this. If that were true, clean beds would definitely be needed.

  I took my time to straighten my bedroom and pack my things. Time differences had to be taken into account, so I was in no rush to be anywhere for the moment. I didn’t need much, just my essentials. Candles, blood, the few insta-spells I had left, and a few herbs—just in case—all went into my little satchel, and I left my house and secured the door before throwing up a few protective charms.

  “Take care, ladies,” I told the hens as I passed the coop, pausing to pick up a piece of old slate from the ground before heading for the old bur oak a few feet from my back fence.

  Slipping the slate into my bag, I retrieved my candle and laid my left hand on the dark, ancient trunk of the tree.

  “Forgive me, old friend. I’ll help you heal when I get home.”

  Apology made in advance, I stepped back and set to work, drawing the runes I needed. Not bothering to check them over, I snapped my fingers and a small flame ignited the wax, then I stepped through the portal without a backward glance.

  I knocked on the door I hadn’t visited in a long time and waited. It was lunchtime, so it wasn’t a guarantee she’d be in. To say I was relieved when I heard footsteps coming down the hallway before she answered was an understatement.

  When the door opened, I took advantage of her shock and sized her up. She hadn’t changed a bit.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Sorrel,” Hazel, my once closest cousin, greeted frostily.

  I continued to watch her for a moment. Her eyes darted from my face to beyond my right shoulder, searching for signs of people having followed me. “I won’t be once you give me what’s rightfully mine.”

  Her tongue swiped over her lips and she swallowed. “The Assembly…”

  That very move told me all I needed to know—she was nervous I was here, and it wasn’t solely because of the Assembly. She had the same tell when we were kids.

  “They tried to fucking kill me, Hazel. I won’t ask how you know about it, just let me in and I’ll be out of your way within the hour.”

  Shoulders drooping, she fully opened the door. “You better come inside.”

  I glanced over my shoulder before I followed her into the house, closing the door behind me and continuing through to the kitchen. I hadn’t been here since I was a small child, but very little had changed. The fireplace, the old oak table, even the dresser which held all kinds of lotions and potions, herbs and spices.

  Though the house seemed familiar, it also felt foreign, so I remained in the doorway as Hazel took a box from the top of the dresser and opened it. She frowned down at the contents before meeting my gaze. “It was passed to me, my inheritance.”

  “I know it’s all you have, Hazel, but it wasn’t hers to give. That aside, I’m the elder. Inheritance rights determine I get first refusal.”

  “You…” She trailed off.

  “I what?” I challenged. “I’m illegitimate and therefore an outcast? I’m not considered as being within the family circle and therefore not entitled to stake a claim on a family heirloom? Or have you another insult for me?”

  She shrank, if that was possible, and mumbled, “Well, you know what she thought.”

  “Yes, my grandmother had a lot of thoughts,” I snarked, finally stepping into the room and moving toward the dresser. Hazel watched me closely, gripping the box with both hands almost desperately.

  “She couldn’t deny that I was naturally born, though, or why I was removed from the bosom of the family. She was the reason behind my mother’s flight to another continent, she owes me, and this is the first step toward my forgiveness of her. That knife belongs to me.”

  “What do you need it for?” she demanded, albeit weakly. “What’s so special about it?”

  “It was my mother’s,” I replied. It was true. That was the ceremonial dagger my mother used to summon her demon lover. That was the dagger that led to my conception and to her eventual death.

  “It was Grandmother’s,” Hazel spat defiantly.

  Fury roiled in my veins and Alva clawed at my insides so she could be let out and teach Hazel a lesson. “It was a gift to mark her coming of age. Grandmother took it from her as punishment before wiping her memory. You have a short one, Hazel. Or is it just selective? Whichever it may be, the truth of the matter is that” —I pointed to the box in her hands— “belongs to me.”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but I held her gaze. The waterworks weren’t going to twist my arm into giving up that easily. It wasn’t her fault she’d been spoon fed their bullshit for years, and the grandmother she knew was an entirely different person than the one I’d come to loathe.

  Eventually, she spluttered, “It wasn’t a punishment, it was to stop her from going—” Her eyes widened. “You don’t intend to… Sorrel, you can’t.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped, then forcibly softened my tone. “Of course I don’t. My mother is gone. She killed herself because of what our grandmother did to her, and I miss her. I have very few things left of hers, and I want it back, that’s all.”

  “Because of?” she queried, her brows pulled in tight.

  Oh, this was gold. “They didn’t tell you?” I asked with an incredulous laugh. “Oh, it was entirely their fault. Grandmother, your mother, and Aunt Iris decided the best thing all around was to make foolish Anis forget about him. The unfortunate thing was, my mother was the only witch among them that had ever accomplished more than simple housekeeping charms. Your talents didn’t come from their side of the family any more than mine have.” Alva was battering at my barrier, trying to seek retribution for what they’d done to Mother, and I was growing tired of constantly having to fight to keep her concealed.

  “Grandmother botched the job, and Mother only remembered snippets, but it was enough to drive her insane. In the end, it was too much and she ended her torment.” Hazel was shaking her head slowly, as though that simple gesture could make her unhear the unpleasant truth. So, naturally, I topped it off with, “So, given that they took my mother from me before I came of age, leaving me with no one to hand me my very own ceremonial dagger or initiate me into the coven, I think the very least I deserve is for the item they stole to be returned to its rightful owner.”

  With trembling fingers and eyes filled with unshed tears, she removed the knife from its hiding place and reluctantly handed it over. “Please, Sorrel. We’ve had our differences, but I don’t want to see you harmed.”

  “Thank you,” I said, honestly grateful for her concern. Taking advantage of her momentary concern, I added, “While I’m here, I need something else. A potion.”

  Straightening her spine, she shook her head.

  Shit. The last thing I needed was for her to suddenly find her backbone. “Hazel, you know you’re the most accomplished kitchen witch in the family,” I placated. “If I do it, I could harm someone.”

  I tried not to react to her resigned sigh as she held out her hand and asked, “Do you have a recipe?”

  My detailed instructions appeared in my hand, and I passed the small script over. “On the back is the antidote. I need both.”

  I let her scan it for a second before shifting, my feet scuffing the flagstone floor. “What does it do?” she inquired, when I offered up no information.

  I arched a brow and smiled. “Do you really want to know?”

  Hazel shook her head sharply. “Probably not. I’ll send it when it’s ready.”

  Satisfied, I reached into my bag and retrieved the piece of slate and my candle. “When it’s ready, light these runes with a flame and pop the bag inside. When you’re done, sprinkle in some salt and it’ll close.”

  She watched me draw the circle of runes with wide eyes and wa
s still gawking at the slate when I finished.

  “If you give it a wipe when you’re done, you can use the slate as a coaster. Something to remember me by.” I turned for the door but paused and glanced back. “And remember, Hazel, I wasn’t here.”

  Chapter 12

  Sorrel

  Leaving Hazel to get the job done, I walked the cobbled streets until I made it to the center of the small town I’d grown up in until my mother was cast out. I stood there for a moment, taking in the crooked homes and trinket stores before finally deciding which way to go. The options were home or to New York.

  The Big Apple won, because I could murder a decent corned beef and pastrami bagel. A couple of hours had passed, and I hadn’t had a chance to grab breakfast.

  Heading down a small alley, I arrived in the city at nine in the morning with no more than a small rune and a snap of my fingers. The city was already bustling with activity. After grabbing a late breakfast from a little deli just off Fifth Avenue, I made the short walk to Paley Park. The quaint little square was situated between towering skyscrapers, but the canopy of trees and the soft scent of honeysuckle gave the illusion of being on the outskirts of the busy city.

  Upon finding a vacated, white iron table and matching chair set, I unwrapped my bagel while I mulled over the accomplishments I’d made so far.

  Sorin, the unexpected addition to my list of acquaintances, had been instrumental in me gaining the final reagent I needed for my spell. Liesel hadn’t been happy about me dangling him like a carrot to con her out of the phoenix tears I needed, and neither had Alva since she wanted a piece of him herself, but to hell with the pair of them.

  Now that I had my mother’s dagger, there was only one item remaining, and while it would take me over an hour to get there on foot, I decided a little exercise would be good for me as I made my way southwest to Chinatown.

  Bagel finished, I cleaned up my mess and decided to take the tourist route. I was halfway along Broadway, enjoying the sights, when I noticed the two suits ahead, staring at me intently.

  With a sigh, I quickened my pace, keeping my eyes on them as I approached.

  “Agent Smith,” I greeted in a sardonic drawl when I reach them and stopped. He didn’t get the reference, merely glaring at me as I continued, “What a pleasant surprise to have you tailing me through the streets of New York.” I glanced at his companion, not at all impressed by his black suit and shades. “And you brought Agent K. Lovely. You clearly have something to say to me, and I’m rather busy today, so if you can hurry things along, that’d be gr—”

  “Follow me,” he interrupted, apparently missing my pop culture references, before turning on the heel of his overly polished shoe and heading toward a building at an intersection just ahead. His sidekick took up the rear to ensure I didn’t bolt.

  Upon pushing through the huge glass doors, we entered into the ground floor that was a restaurant of some type, and just before the huge windows began, there was a white door with a brass handle and knocker, and he opened it wide for me.

  Not at all fazed, I smiled, said, “Thank you very much,” and stepped inside.

  Once Agent K shut the door, I followed Agent Smith down a long, drab hallway with a beige carpet until we reached a single staircase lined with more beige carpet.

  To be honest, I expected more from an Assembly office that was situated in one of the largest cities in the world. The one I’d visited back in Ohio hadn’t been much to write home about, but it had been more of a small-town branch. This was in an urban capital. There should have been more security, more effort put into the decor, more, well… something.

  “Up.”

  I smirked at the growled order, but dutifully ascended the flight of stairs without a backward glance.

  At the top was a single white door with no plaque to indicate what lay behind it. I’m no genius, but I discerned it was the destination and walked straight in without knocking or waiting for my escorts. What I found was more along the lines of my original expectations.

  It was obscene, beyond gaudy, and no money was spared when it came to furnish the office.

  I detected no magic as I stepped into the room, my flat leather shoes slapping on the off-white marble tiles. It was bright. Clean. Unnaturally well lit for an inner-city office. And entirely lacking in security.

  In the rear of the room was a large desk, intricately carved from white marble. Behind that was a high-backed office chair, its current occupant shrouded from view. Beyond whoever lurked in the space was a beautiful mural depicting a lake with numerous islands, and on each sat an opulent building. None could be described as a house or shack, but neither were they large enough to hold more than a couple of people. Fireflies danced over the water, their glow barely dimmed by the moonlight flooding the scene. Could that be the mythical home of the fae?

  “Miss Bishop, have you come to turn yourself in?” a male voice asked, interrupting my admiration of the image, the large chair behind the desk spinning slowly around to reveal its occupant.

  It was easy to imagine he’d be tall when standing, slender, and absolutely bloody gorgeous. No, better than that, beautiful. Piercing lavender eyes were framed by delicate brows, and his head was crowned with a mop of luscious blond curls most girls would kill for.

  Perfect. If that wasn’t a dead giveaway, the delicately pointed ears peeking out from beneath his hair was confirmation.

  No matter how beautiful he was, it didn’t change what he belonged to.

  “I’ve come to collect what I’m owed,” I replied as the door closed behind me.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ll find yourself mistaken, Miss Bishop. After only four days of a ten-day assignment, you abandoned your post, proceeded to attack the agents sent to retrieve you, killed two more, and then went into hiding,” he stated flatly. “You expect us to uphold an agreement you could not?”

  “There was no assignment once there were no humans to observe,” I countered, admiring the mural once more. “Now, we both know it wasn’t an enemy of the United States who blew up that post and killed those poor humans, so why don’t we cut through the bullshit and handle the matter at hand? Admit it was you and I won’t tear off any heads as retribution for the fact that you tried to kill me.”

  Hands clasped before him, he propped both elbows on the table and raised his perfectly manicured brows. “That is a hefty accusation, Miss Bishop.”

  I huffed a quiet laugh. “You sent me there, you planned it.”

  “Prove it.”

  It was the amused twitch of his lips that did it. I’d been incredibly calm up to that point, but the mocking expression tipped me, and Alva, over the edge.

  My body tensed and I stood a little straighter, but before I could reach into my pocket for an insta-spell, I was restrained from behind.

  Fucking dragonkin.

  Fae Boy finally left his seat, moving with a grace only fae could accomplish around the table, and approached me as I struggled to get free of what I assumed to be Agent Smith’s grasp. “Miss Bishop, you appear to be under the illusion that you have power here. I assure you, you have none. The fae rule all. Our dragonkin allies rule alongside us, and neither of our people will tolerate insubordination from our subjects.”

  Subjects? Rule? Nobody had agreed to that. I’d studied our histories in depth, a byproduct of my mother’s obsessions as she tried to make sense of the chaos her mother had created in her mind. No one agreed to be ruled. Of course, I’d always suspected the fae had taken too many liberties, twisting the restraints put in place centuries ago to suit their own agenda. That was further substantiated by what I’d learned from Sorin—his people were a threat to the fae and hunted like animals as a result.

  Unable to get free, Alva’s agitation bubbled beneath the surface. “You have no idea—”

  He reached out and placed a slender finger against my mouth. “Shhh. None of what you think matters, Sorrel. We have no enemies. We have total control. Moreover, we have you, the only
person who had a chance of revealing the truth, and you will not make it out of here alive.”

  The dickhead dragonkin holding me had far too much faith in his master’s ability to control me with threats. So, when I lunged forward to bite the offending digit touching my face, he stumbled and lost his grip. I found mine.

  The fae reacted immediately, bringing his left hand up to punch me in the side of the head, clipping me. I fell to the ground and used the few precious seconds I had to move my satchel to the side before I landed heavily on my hip.

  “Ffff—” I almost cursed as I hit the marble tile, but managed to control it, instead, reaching into my pocket for a capsule.

  I had the capsule barely within my grasp when fingers tangled in my hair and I was hauled painfully to my feet. The satchel slid from my shoulder as I rose, and I winced when it landed with a resounding thud.

  I didn’t struggle. There was no point with one holding my hair and another ready to snap my neck if I made any sudden moves, and that was without the fae getting involved.

  Fae boy bent, bringing his face level with mine, and grinned. “Feisty. Such a shame you’re cambion, Sorrel. I could have had use for you.”

  Caught off guard, my eyes widened.

  His purple ones, frosty a moment ago, now danced with mirth. “That’s the thing with the gypsies. They see all and tell all.”

  Bollocks. That was the confirmation. Any mention of the Romani was proof I wasn’t expected to live to repeat it. But worse was the rage that burned in my chest, and not just from Alva, but at the slur used against Sorin’s kind.

  I didn’t need time to examine what that meant, the asshole had made a far greater impression than I could have imagined. Most annoyingly, until now, I’d put it strictly down to Alva taking an interest and not me.

  I supposed that was where obsessive plots for revenge got you.

  But there wasn’t time to reflect now. I was nothing if not resourceful, and I had a plan. It was sketchy at best, but it was still a plan, and I was running with it.