A thin, female voice broke the silence. “And how do you propose we do that, Your Highness?”
He grinned, showing white, even teeth. “It's simple. We buy their loyalty.”
The woman sat down, her lips pressed into a line. This answer did not satisfy.
“The shape-shifters have been threatening to secede from the Council for quite some time now. They are on the verge of collectively coming out to the humans and revealing our world. All of our world,” he added, “which cannot be permitted. With the advent of this recent wave of Slayer activity, revealing ourselves now could prove to be the tipping point to our race's destruction.”
Outrage—and fear—met this statement. He paused a moment, letting it take root. They were playing right into his hands, this group.
“The vampires want blood, and the Slayers are able to provide them with a paltry amount. Enough to wet the tongue but not to satiate. Whereas we have a ready supply at our disposal.” He looked at them all, meeting each eye in turn. “In this way, we can kill two birds with one stone. We gain the vampires' allegiance and silence the shape-shifter insurgency—forever.”
There was a drawn-out pause.
Another man stood up. This one was quite old, with a long, silver beard and an emerald python coiled around his neck like a collar. “Are you proposing that we allow the vampires to reinstate the slave trade?”
Royce shook his head slowly. “I never said that.”
“Not explicitly.” The man was frowning. “Four hundred years ago, the vampires were at the crux of their civilization. They threw the world into darkness, hunting the savages—and our kind—with untold ruthlessness. Do not forget, Your Highness, that they are mercenaries. Mercenaries who would think nothing of hunting us for sport. They would be quick to bite the hand that feeds if they thought they could get a supply of fresh blood without the use of an intermediary.”
The woman who had spoken before stood up again. “His Highness does have a point, though. The savages are just as ruthless as the vampires, especially the young ones. They heal rapidly; and while their intelligence may be found wanting—” scattered laughter “—their brutish strength and speed make them difficult to match, physically. Silver is precious and hard to obtain, and it is the only thing capable of warding off those creatures, whereas vampires can be destroyed by both fire and wood. Might I suggest sending those with mastery of fire as delegates?” she added suddenly.
“Better the devil we know, than the devil we don't,” the old man retorted quietly.
“The vampires can't drink our blood,” the woman said sharply. “They pose no threat to us.”
“What if they decided to form an army?” the old man asked. “You know how they obtain their eternal life—if they tired of being our indentured servants, as they undoubtedly would, the vampires would most certainly pose a threat to our kind.”
“Shape-shifters are like animals,” another man pointed out, uncrossing his legs and sitting up taller to be better heard. “They won't listen to reason. They kill their own kind and eat humans.”
“Ah,” said the man next to him. “Blooding. Yes. Such a primitive ritual.”
“What about the Glamors?” The old man seemed determined to make a nuisance of himself. “Should we punish those who have voluntarily assimilated?”
“It is just something to meditate upon,” the witch king said, smoothly interrupting their argument. “Perhaps further action will not be necessary, in which case no further discussion will be needed.”
His familiar growled, low in her throat; and with that, the subject was closed.
Principal Avers' voice crackled on the intercom. “Good morning, Barton Academy.”
Mr. Hauberk ignored his voice, as he usually did, and continued taking roll. All around Catherine, students were talking and whispering, catching up on the latest gossip as they discussed the various parties and stints that had occurred over the weekend.
Catherine, on the other hand, was still shaken up from the witch's unbelievably terrible driving. Luddite was an understatement. It was as if the witch caused technology to malfunction by simply being around it. The stolen truck was parked about a block away from the school, with smoke pouring from the hood and a tree trunk lodged in its fender. Catherine didn't care what the witch threatened her with; she was taking the bus home from school.
“I have an important announcement that concerns both the teachers and the students,” Principal Avers continued, in a solemn voice. Hauberk froze. “The mayor and the chief of police have asked us to inform you about the town curfew that has just been put into motion. All persons under twenty-one years of age must be home by eleven P.M. Violators of this rule will receive a police escort to their home and parents and/or legal guardians will be notified and possibly fined.”
Groans and curses followed this statement. “Sucks!” seemed to be the majority view. Catherine couldn't help but agree with them on that one. It did suck. Mr. Hauberk made shushing sounds and looked at the black speaker meaningfully. The attendance roster sat on his desk, forgotten.
“Fliers have been posted on all the main bulletin boards in school, as well as downtown, to remind you. The reason for this curfew is because a significant number of children and adults have been going missing. It is not a high number, per se, but I am very sorry to say that our own school has already suffered a loss and for your safety, we are taking extreme precautions.
“You can help by providing any information you can on these missing persons—even information on when and where you saw them last could prove incredibly helpful; reporting suspicious activities; and forming neighborhood watch committees. One of our clubs, Sterling Rep, is already in the process of finding members.” He cleared his throat. “The following are the names of the missing Barton students, as reported by their parents. They have given permission for these names to be released: Karen Shields. David Tran. Emily Abernathy. Soledad Mendez.”
He repeated them twice. Each time was like a slap in the face.
“In the meantime, we encourage your parents to check their school e-mail accounts frequently for updates being forwarded by the local police. Be careful and stay safe, Barton Academy.”
There was a final burst of static before the loud speaker went dead.
The witch slid a piece of notebook paper at her. She was about to crumple it up and throw it aside, but the words caught her eye. They're all Others, aren't they?
She chewed on the inside of her cheek and nodded, keeping her eyes on her notebook so nobody would see the pain there. Yes, they were all Others. Soledad was a shape-shifter and Emily was—well, Catherine had never been sure, but her aura certainly hadn't been human.
And as for Karen and David…
Then it's already starting.
“What is?” she asked, but the witch shook his head, and Hauberk whirled around to glare at her.
“Miss Pierce,” he said, “We are having a moment of silence. Kindly show some respect for once.”
She was forced to corner the witch after class, in a small grove in between the shop and humanities buildings. Pines grew on either side of the large lawn, curtaining the area off from the watchful yard duties on campus. It was probably considered out of bounds, since it was technically off-campus, but most of the students didn't wander this far out—and even fewer had been curious enough to wander through the trees and explore. When they got there, it was completely deserted.
“What's already starting?” she demanded, the moment she was sure they were out of earshot.
“The Taking,” he said ominously. “This is how it always starts, shifter mine. A few youths go missing here and there, since they're the most inexperienced and easiest to overpower. Only a few, at first. Then it increases exponentially as they infiltrate the schools and civil offices and brainwash hapless humans into joining their cult by telling them that Others are horrible monsters that want to rape, kill, and eat them … not necessarily in that order, either.”
“And they believe them?” Catherine asked incredulously. “They don't think the Slayers are crazy lunatics that managed to shirk off the straight jackets?”
“Some do. At first. But remember, they have been doing this for thousands of years, and play into the popular beliefs of the time—and they can be quite convincing. In ancient civilizations, we were evil spirits; in the middle ages, we were demons. Now—” he shrugged “—invaders from space, mutants, experiments in biotechnology and bio warfare; although some traditionalists stick to the classics. A couple Slayers know what we really are; and they're the real enemies—the mercenaries who perpetuate the markets for ichor and other clever little bits of pseudo-science.”
“Goddess,” Catherine whispered, sinking back against one of the trees.
“The gods are gone, shifter mine.” The witch regarded her through half-closed eyes. “They've been gone for centuries. You don't have a prayer; no pun intended, of course.”
“They're not gone, they're sleeping!” she retorted. “And you shouldn't mock them.”
“Why not? Nobody has heard from them for eons. They're probably all dead,” he added.
“Gods can't die.”
The witch's eyes twitched. Not that he would ever deign to roll them, of course. But the muscles around them appeared to have the wish to convey to her how unimpressed they really were. “Anything can die,” he said, in strong, sure tones, taking a step closer. “As long as you use the right weapon in the right spot.”
His eyes flickered suddenly, a strange smile flitting across his face.
“But as fascinating as this theology lesson is, I think you're missing the overall scope of the situation.”
“And you're sure it's Sterling Rep?” Catherine asked. “You heard what the announcement said—”
“If you're leading the investigation of your own crime, think of how easily you could deflect all suspicion away from yourself with just a few subtle, well-placed hints.”
Catherine let loose a series of blasphemies that lasted for nearly thirty seconds.
“Very astute observation,” the witch remarked.
Chapter Ten
Sharon wanted to meet up for lunch after school at a local greasy spoon called the Cabana Burger. Catherine was glad she wouldn't be required to make a selection. Her argument with the witch had given her a lot to think about. She dug her knuckles into her forehead. Too much.
Since the witch had totaled the stolen car, they had to walk downtown to meet up with Sharon and Mike. The school was actually pretty close to Cabana Burger and the rest of the local shops and diners, so Catherine didn't mind. The witch did, but about that she couldn't have cared less.
The Cabana Burger was smack-dab in the center of the street, unmistakable with the palm tree decals sprayed on the window and its cardinal red awning. A bell jangled overhead as she pushed open the door, making her start unpleasantly. The smells of grease and meat both cooked and raw assailed her nose, intermingling with the scent of humans in a way that was far too appetizing.
She swallowed hard and looked around for Sharon, who wasn't hard to miss because of her unusual coloring. Catherine finally located her friend's platinum mop at the back of the restaurant. She and Mike were crammed into a booth, paying more attention to each other than the closed menus in front of them. She had brought Ashley and another girl Catherine didn't know—probably a friend of Ashley's, which meant she was only a freshman. Ashley spotted her first and waved.
Sharon tore herself away from Mike. “Sweet, you came! Squeeze in—Ashley, move over.”
“It's fine,” said Catherine. “I'll sit here on the end.”
“This is my girlfriend, Laura,” said Ashley.
Catherine shook the brunette's hand. Ordinarily, she did not go in for shaking hands—she eschewed most physical contact, in general—but she also did not want Laura and Ashley to feel as though she were put off by their sexuality, because she wasn't.
Forcing a smile, she said, “Nice to meet you.”
Mike introduced himself in a swaggering, boisterous tone that seemed to imply that they should already know him. “I graduated two years ago so you probably won't remember me from Barton, since you were only sophomores at the time. I wasn't on campus much, unless I had to be.”
Stupid, arrogant boy. She suppressed her frown. “What college are you currently attending?”
That knocked the smirk from his face. “I'm currently taking a year off.”
“Doing what?” said the witch.
Catherine snapped a look at him. So did everyone else at the table. His tone was chilly, a far cry from the smooth voice he normally assumed with her friends. It was far more like the tone that he used when speaking to her. Clearly, the witch doesn't like him either, she thought impassively.
Mike sized up the witch. “Work,” he said brusquely.
Catherine took out her phone and began fiddling with it on the pretense of texting.
What the fuck are you doing?
She nudged the witch with it. Without looking away from Sharon, who was talking about a date she and Mike had been on, the witch's fingers closed over the electronic device. From the corner of her eye she saw him give her note a quick once-over. Then he began typing something.
At that moment, one of the waitresses approached. Her red shirt matched the awning outside and she was wearing a gaudy-colored lei. “Hi, everyone. I'm Amber. Can I get you guys started with anything? Any drinks?”
“I think we're ready to order,” said Sharon. “What about you guys?”
“I could eat,” Catherine said. The cooking smells were driving Catherine half-mad. When Amber got to her, she ordered a double-bacon pineapple burger with a side order of steak fries.
The witch shrugged the waitress off, causing Sharon to give Catherine a raised eyebrow. Because human females weren't supposed to eat without their mates' consent, she supposed. She was annoyed at the witch. Did he think he was too good for mortal fare?
Perhaps he thinks he can subsist on light and air only.
Maybe he'd do her the favor of starving to death.
Catherine kept one eye on him as Ashley and Laura attempted to gloss over the snarl the witch had created. The witch was typing deliberately, taking his time. Probably composing some lengthy insult. She gave him a look as she took her phone back, before reading his response.
He's a Slayer.
She turned to stare at him slowly, incredulously.
The witch snatched her phone and typed, Look at his hand.
Both of Mike's hands were beneath the table. Catherine had to wait until he reached for his glass to get a good look. Once he did, though, she saw straight away what the witch had been talking about. There were marks on the middle finger of his right hand—thin tattooed bands, like rings.
Those are Slayers' marks. It means he's killed five Others.
Before Catherine could reach for her phone again, Sharon put her hand on Finn's shoulder. “Mike works with Sterling Rep,” she said pacifically. “I think you mentioned you were interested in going to one of the meetings? He practically runs the Barton Middle School branch—” she broke off abruptly, “Oh, hey, isn't that where your brother goes, Catherine?”
Catherine suddenly remembered her brother mentioning a college-age guy named Mike. Gods, he'd been so terrified of that club. He had told her that something dark and sinister lurked beneath that bright finish of camaraderie that the club had become known for. Something deadly.
“Oh yeah?” Mike raised his eyebrows. “You have a brother?”
She tried very hard not to stare at Mike's hands. “Yes,” she said shortly. “I do.”
Sounding a little desperate now, Sharon said, “I'm taking Catherine and Finn to the meeting at our school this Wednesday. I thought Finn should see it. Maybe start one at his school.”
“Yeah?” Mike said again. “And where might that be?”
“Westbook Prep.” Finn stirred the ice in his water but didn't drink it. His piercing eye
s were focused on the man seated across the table. “It's on the East Coast.”
“That's a big region,” Mike said. “Where specifically?”
“Salem, Massachusetts.”
“Are you a witch?” Mike asked bluntly.
His question made Sharon giggle and even Ashley and Laura exchanged smiles—but there was nothing humorous about the look in Mike's eyes.
Catherine flinched.
“How would you even know what a witch looks like?” Sharon teased.
“I imagine they wouldn't look all that different from a human.” Slowly, almost reluctantly, Mike turned his attention from Finn to Catherine. “What's her name again?”
“Catherine,” she said, before Sharon could. “My name is Catherine.”
“Catherine Pierce,” Sharon added helpfully.
“Pierce,” he said. “Pierce—hmm, that sounds familiar. I think I know a Lucas Pierce.”
“That's her brother.”
Shut up, Sharon.
“Cute kid,” Mike mused, before flashing her a sleazy smile. “Looks a lot like his sister.”
“You'd be the first to say so,” Catherine said coolly.
Another awkward pause. Sharon flicked a resentful look at her, moving the conversation back towards safer territory. While Sharon, Ashley, and Laura nattered on about a recent movie, the witch pressed her phone back into her hand. “I'm going to wash my hands,” he said aloud.
“Don't be long,” Sharon called after him.
Catherine read the message on the screen.
He knows.
He's carrying a gun. The bullets are enchanted, probably silver. He was hoping to get lucky. Now he's probably going to try and get us alone after everyone leaves.
Catherine looked up in time to see Mike glance away.
Bathroom. Now.
“What do you and Finn keep writing about?” Sharon asked, turning away from her boyfriend. “You've been texting each other nonstop for the last five minutes.”
“It's private,” Catherine said, shoving the phone deep into the pocket of her jeans.
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