by Anna Abner
It was a quiet drive into Las Vegas. Squeezed between Roz and Connor inside the cab of the truck, Lukas couldn’t get comfortable. Not to mention the heat radiating at each point Roz’s body pressed against his. Knee. Thigh. Hip. His only consolation was, based on her flushed cheeks, she was just as affected as he was.
Roz steered off the highway and eventually parked at the top of Red Rock Road. The three of them got out and walked downhill.
Lukas sniffed hard. “I don’t smell blood.” He slanted a look at Connor. He hadn’t scented him as a vampire, but then Connor didn’t tear people’s throats out and bathe in human blood. Maybe that’s what made him nearly undetectable.
“Me neither,” Connor admitted.
They marched around a weeping willow tree and crossed the street. The houses along both sides were rambling mansions with two and three stories, privacy hedges, security gates, and beautifully landscaped yards. The kind of homes where not a blade of grass ever bent out of place. The owners spent a great deal of money keeping their homes and yards spotless.
This enclave was a far cry from where he’d grown up in Stockholm. Though his stepfather made a good living as a college professor, they’d lived in an apartment in the city. Lukas had always had his own bedroom, but he didn’t understood how families interacted within so much extra space. He liked close quarters. There were less secrets.
When Lukas came upon a large white colonial mansion with tire tracks visible on the front lawn, it snagged his attention. One of the upstairs windows was broken, and a balcony door had been left swinging open in the warm breeze.
“This looks promising,” he said, pausing at the curb.
“I’d say there’s an eighty percent chance this is the place,” Roz announced.
“Look sharp,” Connor said softly. “I smell blood, but I don’t hear anything.”
“Same.” Lukas ducked behind some shrubbery to conceal his scaling the security wall. At the top, he reached down and pulled Roz up beside him by her wrists. Connor easily hopped over the wall. They all three dropped soundlessly on the other side into lush, green grass.
They hurried toward the main house, but in a circuitous route through trees and bushes. How did so many people grow such beautiful lawns in the middle of a parched desert? He didn’t understand the impetus to spend so much money to live like kings in a scorched, barren wasteland. Lukas wouldn’t be caught dead living in such a place.
As if of its own accord, his gaze slanted toward Roz. She made her home, however temporary, in the desert. To spend time with her, he’d have to learn to tolerate it. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready to try.
“Eyes on the prize, big guy,” Roz hissed at him when she caught him staring. “Don’t get distracted now.”
At a side patio, they let themselves in to a clean and modern sitting room. Inside the confined space of the house, Lukas smelled blood, like a rotting, sweet-and-sour stench in the air.
Connor glanced once at Lukas and then holstered his weapon. “There’s no one here.”
“Not anymore,” Lukas agreed.
“We should call the police,” Roz said, holding a hand under her nose.
“I want to look around first.” Connor strode through a grand foyer and up a flight of stairs.
“It’s worse that way.” Lukas nodded across the first floor. “There’ll be bodies.”
“Let’s go see what they left for us.”
Lukas steeled himself against the stench and led the way across the foyer and into the kitchen. On the floor near the breakfast nook were two bodies—a woman and a man. They’d been mutilated and chewed on like pieces of meat.
Swallowing thickly, Lukas stared. Internal organs devoured. Flesh torn from bone. Throats eaten. The scene reminded him too much of Oskar.
“You okay?”
He dragged his eyes off the pair of bodies and onto Roz’s concerned face. “Yeah,” he said.
“Are you thinking about…?”
“Yeah.” He turned his back on the crime scene.
Her tiny hand clasped his. “Let’s get out of here.”
A fly buzzed around his head before nose-diving out of sight, and he allowed her to lead him into the foyer. Deep in his bones, he knew he couldn’t ignore the murders going on in Las Vegas any longer. Even after he got his revenge on the bitch who’d killed his family, he didn’t think he could fly away and let these vampires run free. Not the monsters who’d torn the owners of the house to bloody gristle.
But how could he justify staying the in the States when his home and career were five thousand miles away?
“Do you think Volk lied on purpose?” Roz asked as they meandered around the living room. There wasn’t much to see. The horde was gone and hadn’t left any clues behind.
He inhaled deeply. “No, it smells fresh,” Lukas said. “They haven’t been here more than a day. I think he was telling the truth, but they cleared out sometime last night or this morning.”
“Maybe I can cast a locator spell,” she said. “Maybe being in their footsteps would help.”
“Good idea,” Connor said, racing down the stairs. “There’s nothing here. And trying to sniff them out on the street is like finding a needle in a haystack.”
Roz tore a page from the coffee table book about desert sunsets and laid it flat, then drew a basic map of Las Vegas with just the main highways and a couple monuments. She pricked her finger and dribbled blood into the corner.
Roz called her power and said, “Find the horde.” Her blood jiggled and wobbled, finally slipping off in a northerly direction. It congealed near her crude sketch of the Statue of Liberty.
“Crap,” she said. “They’re on the Strip.”
“They’ll be hard to find in all those rooms, in all those crowds,” Connor observed.
“We should get back to the house and regroup,” Lukas said. “I’ll call the police on the way.”
#
On the drive home, Roz’s cell phone rang. She knew who it was before she answered it. And she wasn’t even psychic.
No one called Roz’s phone except Connor, Anton, and Natasha. Since Connor currently sat beside her in the cab of his Ford truck and her New Zealand friends were MIA, she suspected the call was bad news. Especially after she’d cast that silence spell on Sara. She was most likely under surveillance by the Coven and had been for a while. Shutting up one of their acolytes was going to piss them off. Not to mention Roz’s complete rejection of their bogus unauthorized use of magic nonsense.
They ran around hexing innocent shapeshifters and then had the gall to send her a cease-and-desist letter? What a bunch of hypocrites.
“Rozlyn Carrera?” the female greeted on the other end of the phone. “This is Marta Karloff.”
“I was expecting your call.”
“Where are you?”
Roz laughed. “I’m not inviting you into my home.”
“I was thinking more of meeting half way. We need to talk.”
“Sure. Where do you live? I’ll decide what’s halfway.”
The woman sighed in exasperation. “Sara tells me you live on the Strip. I’ll meet you at the coffee shop on the corner of Tropicana and Koval in two hours.” The call ended.
“Who was it?” Lukas asked, poking his head through the hinged rear window.
“Sara’s Coven mentor,” Roz said, staring at the dark road ahead. “She wants to meet.”
“That’s a horrible idea,” Connor said. “You burned her letter and silenced her witch. She’s going to be pissed.”
“Yeah,” Roz agreed. “But when will I have the chance to meet a legit Coven witch again? She could tell me who prophecy one thousand eight is about.”
Connor frowned. “What if she turns you into a bumblebee or some shit like that?”
“I’ll turn her into one first.” She smiled, faking confidence. She did not think she was skilled enough to get the drop on a real witch, let alone out cast her. Roz’s power was shaky. She’d bet Marta’s was ste
ady as a stone.
“You’re strong,” Lukas said, wind whipping through the open window. “But this could be a trap.”
“I’ll cast protection spells on myself before I go,” she promised. “Anti-magic stuff.”
“Have you ever used those before?” Connor asked.
She didn’t answer. They both knew she hadn’t. “It’s just a conversation,” she assured. “In a public place. I’ll be fine.”
But Roz wouldn’t give up the opportunity, no matter what Connor said. The Coven had been a thorn in her side for a while. She wanted to look Karloff in the eye and ask her why her application had been denied. Why they’d begun a vendetta against vampires and shapeshifters. Ask what their end goal was.
“No,” Connor said with finality. “Turn the truck around. We’re going to Vegas with you.”
“Great idea,” Lukas agreed.
She didn’t need bodyguards. “You can be in the area, but I go in alone.” Besides, if she let either of them overprotect her on a regular basis, she’d never get any better at defending herself with magic. Most importantly, she didn’t want to rely on Lukas and then watch him fly back to Stockholm.
She made a sloppy three-point turn on the deserted highway and sped north.
Two hours later, after a quiet dinner, Roz stood on Tropicana Boulevard among the throngs of noisy, stinking tourists, staring at a greasy spoon café.
Roz couldn’t help thinking back to her last experience with the Coven. She’d been eighteen and overwhelmed by new magic. She didn’t know any witches. Not in her family. Not amongst her friends. If there had been other witches in her high school, they stayed under ground. Roz had felt like a huge freak.
Desperate for answers and support, she’d filled out the Coven’s online application for membership and waited. It had been the first time she’d ever written the word witch, let alone spoken it aloud. Her mother didn’t even know Roz had power.
Seven days later, she’d gotten a response in the form of an email from Ms. Marta Karloff. Roz’s application had been rejected. No reason was given, simply a boilerplate paragraph of good luck, but no thank you.
She wasn’t sure what she’d say to the woman who’d given her her first big taste of failure and set her on her current path in life. Why hadn’t she been good enough? Why hadn’t the Coven wanted her?
Roz parked the pickup on Koval Street and walked the short distance to the meeting place, but hesitated to go inside. She called her power, just to feel it around her. Still there. She wasn’t helpless or without options. If the witch inside tried any shit, Roz would curse her into next Wednesday.
The restaurant was half full, but only one woman sat at a booth by herself. Roz took a seat across from Her Royal Bitchiness.
“This is how you dress to meet me?” Marta’s left eyebrow rose sharply at the sight of Roz in full tactical gear.
“Sure is,” Roz agreed.
With a sigh, the older woman said, “We need to talk.” She was most likely in her late forties and exquisitely coiffed. Unlike Roz’s flushed cheeks and flyaway hair, Marta’s hair, makeup, and designer pantsuit were flawless.
“Before you say anything else,” Roz interrupted, “I have some questions for you. Why did you reject my application to the Coven? You made me question everything I believed about myself. Why would you do that to me? Obviously I have enough power to join.”
Marta sighed, looking slightly annoyed. She took an extra long sip of coffee before deigning to answer.
“Because I consulted the Oracle. She saw how passionate you would become about this boy and his Very Important Mission, and I knew without even meeting you that he would be more significant to you than anything else, even your education. Being my acolyte means you have to live with me and study every day. I knew you’d never abandon him. But I also knew in a couple of years you’d either leave the boy on your own, or he’d fail, or less likely, he’d succeed. So, which is it?”
“None. I’m still with the boy, and his mission is now my mission.” Roz stood up. “So, it had nothing to do with my experience or power?” She didn’t need an answer. “Never mind. I’ve done more with that boy than you could ever teach me. Tear up my application. Shred it. Burn it. I don’t need you or your Coven. You see, I have one of my own.”
“Sit down,” Marta snapped, calling her power and casting the spell in the same breath.
Roz was scared, doubly so when her knees bent against her will, and she was forced onto the booth seat. More scared than she’d ever been facing a vampire. She called her power, shocked when it blew to life. It must be the adrenaline.
“Be quiet,” Roz fired back.
It had no effect on Marta. In fact, the older woman sneered as she shrugged off Roz’s spell. “That’s the first and last time you’ll ever cast on me,” she warned, “or I’ll destroy you. I’m no acolyte like Sara.” Her power faded, and she sipped from her mug again.
“Speaking of Sara,” Roz said, “did you send her to infiltrate our group?” The pieces were falling into place. Roz couldn’t believe she’d actually trusted that traiter.
“We do whatever’s necessary,” Marta answered. “Recently, I’ve received word of unauthorized portals to the Oracle. Obviously, that will never happen again.”
“Fuck off,” was Roz’s answer.
“In addition,” Marta continued, as if she hadn’t heard the expletive, “you will—from this moment forward—have no further contact with any representatives from the Coven. That includes Sara and acolytes like her. Do you understand?”
“Here’s what I understand,” Roz said. “You’re scared of me. That’s why you keep trying to tell me what to do. The letter from your lawyer. Sara the spy. This scary meeting. And then there’s prophecy one thousand eight. A witch from Miami is going to drive a magical tank through your front door, and you’re terrified it’s me.”
“You’re not the only witch from Miami,” Marta said dismissively. “And, little girl, I couldn’t be less afraid of you.”
“Bullshit.” Roz stood up, thrumming with vindication. “This meeting was your idea, not mine. So, guess what,” she decided, “I’m going to keep doing exactly what I have been. Because anything that scares or angers the Coven, is good news to me.”
Roz swept out of the restaurant, feeling wonderfully victorious and strangely tingly. If she were Alina, she’d be glowing.
Her boys were waiting with the truck when she emerged onto Koval.
Lukas reached her first. “How did it go?” he asked, taking her hands and peering nervously into her face. “You weren’t in there very long.”
“Not much to say,” Roz agreed. “She tried to tell me what to do. I told her where she could go. I left.”
“What about all your questions?” Connor asked.
“She answered some, though I can’t really trust anything she says.” Though the implication that Sara was a plant really pissed her off.
“What about the prophecy?”
“She implied it wasn’t about me. Then she told me a bunch of stuff I’m not allowed to do anymore.”
Connor guffawed. “So, we’re done here? Good. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Eighteen
Roz snuggled deeper into the couch under a throw blanket dreaming about maps and waypoints when something woke her before dawn Wednesday morning. Annoyed, she sat up. Lukas crouched on the floor beside her.
“Do you smell that?” he asked.
She inhaled through her nose and caught the scent of smoke. “Yes, what is it?”
“Someone’s on fire.” He didn’t dress, but rushed out of the house in his boxer shorts.
In her pajamas, Roz chased him through the kitchen and into the garage. She skidded to a stop at the threshold, overcome by the stench of burning human flesh and the sight of Sara whipping an invisible wind of witch power within the room as she stood over four bodies.
Fiona’s neck ended in a stump. Most of her brain and skull were splattered on the walls behi
nd her. Ali lay curled on the floor in a nightgown. Lukas looked like he’d tumbled head over heels before landing in a heap. But Connor… Connor was on fire.
Flames licked Connor’s thighs and torso, inching near his face.
“Stop!” Roz screamed. She tried to call her power, but nothing happened. “Sara, please, for God’s sake. Stop.”
She was trying to burn the infection out of him. Or worse, just burn him to death.
Sara maintained her focus on Connor, her palms aimed at his writhing body.
Roz glanced at Lukas, unconscious and no help to her at all, and then back at Sara.
“You’ll kill him,” she declared, hoping for calm logic in the face of Sara’s maniacal rage.
Sara shrugged, the spell dying on her lips. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I should focus on the shapeshifter. Maybe I can rip the animal from his DNA.” An insane light behind her eyes, Sara focused on Lukas and hissed a spell that made him roll onto his back, his muscles stiff and unyielding, and howl like a wounded animal.
“No.” Roz ceased trying to reason with Sara and called her power. But there was no tingle, no rush of invisible wind, no flush to her skin. Nothing happened.
She attempted it the old-fashioned way. “Blessed is my power,” she whispered. “I call upon thee.”
Not a hair twitched.
It’s just stress, she told herself. You can do this.
Lukas roared in pain as Roz tried again. “Blessed is my power. I call upon thee.”
Nothing.
“Fuck it,” she swore, spinning on her heels to fetch a handgun from inside the house, but she stopped short at the sight of Ali, having revived from her sleeping spell, rising to her feet a gloriously bright shade of neon pink. She glowed brighter than Roz had ever seen up close. She forgot all about how to hurt Sara and instead worried over how to keep herself and her friends intact. Because Ali was about to blow.
Roz threw herself over Lukas, shielding him. “Stay down,” she ordered when he thrashed.
Ali crossed the room in a sprint, a glowing, human-shaped orb of murderous energy.
“What the—” Sara exclaimed a moment before Ali plowed into her, knocking her off her feet. Ali popped with a whoosh, and Sara disintegrated before she even hit the ground.