by Tarah Scott
He goes rigid. “No,” he responds with vehemence, but I know it’s because he wants to convince himself I’m wrong. “No,” he repeats, this time, in a whisper.
I give a single nod.
“If I had… Leilah?” he says. “Crowe?” He sucks in a long breath. “If I’d had the slightest idea… I should have sent Zadkeil back to Olympia. Fuck. Leilah Crowe can’t be Ciarah. You have to be wrong.”
He knows dragon energy is never wrong.
“She’s angry we took possession of her grandmother’s home,” I say.
He shoots me a narrow-eyed scowl. “You shouldn’t have marked her with your sigil. Why didn’t you let her walk away?”
“You know as well as I do that Olympia would have found her,” I say. “She’s a High Potential.”
“Fuck,” he curses again.
I nod. “She’s strong. Even stronger than last time.”
He slams his fist on the desk. “Where the hell are Caleb and Matthias?”
I don’t say what I’m thinking.
“If they were dead, we’d know,” he says, although we have no idea whether that’s true.
We five have never died, so we have no idea what happens if one of us dies. Even if we attempt to call Caleb or Matthias from the dead and get no answer, we wouldn’t know whether their silence meant they were alive, they reside in Shadow Hell, or they’d died in the Shadow War and their—lost—spirits are unable to reincarnate.
In truth, with the Hell Gates closed, no one is certain if souls bound for Hell can enter. Aside from another Shadow war, the thing we most fear is that those we love, those mired in bitterness and fear and most vulnerable to The Shadows, might be trapped in Shadow Hell with the evil deceased who can’t enter Hell.
I hope Raith’s right and we would sense if something happened to Matthias and Caleb. I wish I could say I’m more worried about Matthias than Caleb but that’s not so. Despite Matthias’s grotesque gargoyle features, when he shifts, he’s the closest thing to an angel that walks the earthly plane. One of The Most High’s grand jokes.
As the quintessential guardian, there’s simply nothing that will induce Matthias to desert Ciarah once he learns she’s alive. He’s just made that way. Just as Caleb is made to pick at every wound until it festers. Since her last death, we haven’t heard from Caleb. During the intervening years, I’ve often wondered if, this time, he’d died of a broken heart. Not that I would blame him. I’m not sure I could survive if Ciarah had died in my arms.
Raith slowly shakes his head. “A street witch, specializing in black market potions. I should have known,” his tone is grimmer than usual. He taps the topmost folder of a stack on his desk. “Leilah Crowe. Twenty-two. Young to be breaking the law with such abandon.”
“You’re just getting old,” I say.
He flicks me a ‘fuck you’ look, but his pique doesn’t halt the memory that rises.
“Remember Venice?” I ask.
His expression remains stormy. “Even in the eighteenth century she made a habit of breaking the law.”
“There wasn’t a chance in hell she would agree to marry that fat old merchant—in any life,” I say with a laugh.
My amusement dies when I recall the man she did marry in the early eighteenth century. Gregory Warwick. Despite the three hundred years that have passed, my gut twists. It took all my willpower, and the strength of the others, to keep me from killing him. He’d been good to her, but how does a man watch the woman he’s loved for millennia marry another man?
Raith releases a heavy sigh that puts me on guard. Vampires are almost unshakable and Raith is a rock amongst his kind. But there’s a weariness in that sigh I’ve never heard before.
“She shouldn’t attend The Academy,” he says.
Shouldn’t attend The Academy? “We have no say in the matter,” I reply carefully.
He hesitates, and I realize that he wants to argue. “She’ll have one helluva welcome.”
I force my fire to cool. “What do you mean?”
Raith meets my gaze. “We never did learn who leaked the news that Miriam Crowe killed herself while practicing Shadow magic.”
“Now most, if not all, the students know about Miriam and they will not be kind to her granddaughter,” I finish his thought.
He leans his head against the back of his chair and closes his eyes. “Tomorrow, then.” There’s a strange note in his voice I don’t recognize. “Tomorrow…it all begins.”
Before I can ask for an explanation, he vaults to his feet and crosses to the sideboard positioned to the left of the bookshelves behind his desk.
“You want a drink?” he asks.
My earlier desire for whiskey has vanished. “No thanks.”
He half fills a crystal tumbler with bourbon then drinks it in two gulps, and I know he’s remembering what I’m remembering: the last time all five of us were together, the day Ciarah died in Caleb’s arms.
“Olympia’s on her way from Greenland,” Raith says suddenly. “Be here at noon.”
Too much is happening at once. Olympia, Grand Witch of the North and Superintendent of all Illumina Academies, is coming to set up the virtual Shadow world we will use for our War Games. I don’t trust those who manipulate, and Olympia’s done nothing but manipulate from the moment I met her at that tavern on the Rhine in 1862.
“Has she said anything about filling the Headmaster position here?” I ask.
Since we lost George Brown last year to retirement, Raith has taken on extra duties I know are wearing on him. We fought alongside the tall black man during the Shadow War, and Raith had a great deal for respect for him, which is largely why Raith didn’t mind that George was his superior. I’d bet Raith isn’t looking forward to answering to someone new.
“She said we would discuss candidates on this visit.” Raith returns to his desk, picks up his cell phone, and thumbs the lock. As the screen lights, he hits the number two: speed dial for Blade. The first ring sounds. A second, third and fourth follow before voicemail switches on and Blade’s cultured English voice announces, “Sorry I’ve missed you, but no one answers phone calls anymore. Text me instead.” After the beep sounds, Raith grates, “Blade, get over here. We found Ciarah.” He jabs the End Call button on the screen. I notice he doesn’t text.
It’s cruel for Raith to break the news to Blade like that, but Raith can be cruel—just as Blade can be an asshole.
Chapter Three
BLADE
Games and More Games
I ignore the whip of wind that lashes strands of hair loosened from its tie into my face and stuff my hands into the pockets of my tailored black slacks. I lean against the brick of the building in the alley across the street from The Witching Hour Cabaret Club. As if on cue, Leilah bursts from the club with Ethan close behind. I wince when he seizes her arm, then laugh when Ethan barely blocks her roundhouse kick and grabs her ankle. If he’d been a little slower, she would have caught him in the nose. Everyone hates a solid nose hit, but dragons more than most, something about the septum cartilage in their noses when they shift. As Ethan grabs her waist and drags her into the opposite alley, I know I’ve kept Ciarah to myself longer than I had a right to.
How did he find her? Even as the question forms, I know the answer. With the power oozing from her, it’s surprising it’s taken this long. Quid erit, erit. There’s no turning back now. In truth, The Academy needs Leilah. Though Ethan and Raith will, no doubt, disagree with my assessment once they learn she’s Ciarah. I had wondered how long it would take before she was identified as a High Potential. She is too powerful for the famed Illumina Stone not to name her.
I wonder if Leilah Crowe being named a High Potential is why Olympia, the Grand Witch of the North, is dragging her creaking bones from Greenland to visit tomorrow. She has a controversial plan to have our students fight the most real mock Shadow battle we’ve ever staged. But I’m not fooled. She’s equally interested in discovering why a High White Witch like Miriam Crowe tu
rned to Shadow magic.
Leilah seizes Ethan’s collar and shoves him against the wall and I shake my head. Trust a dragon to poke the wrong witch. Now, there will be hell to pay. My humor fades as I acknowledge I’ve created a little hell of my own. When Ethan and Raith learn I already know that Leilah is Ciarah, they’ll be furious. I don’t plan to confess, but I’ve lived long enough to know such secrets never stay secret. If I’m lucky, they won’t find out for a century or two. My one saving grace is that I haven’t taken advantage of the situation and fucked her. Yet.
Leilah emerges from the alley. I drink in her every curve. She’s a heavenly body to shame all others. She’s clearly furious with Ethan, and Ciarah and fury make for the best sex.
My cock twitches. Leilah stalks to the curb and flags a passing cab. The cabbie veers across two lanes and halts two feet from her. Ethan emerges from the alley as she enters the cab.
I discern another approaching cab and silently command the driver my way.
Ethan is watching like a forlorn puppy as her cab merges into traffic. I’ll be damned, he has the hots for Leilah. No, I realize with a start. It isn’t Leilah he’s lusting after. It’s Ciarah.
He takes a couple steps toward the curb. Dammit, he’s going to follow her. Instead, he spins and stride’s down the sidewalk. I step from the shadows and slip inside my taxi the instant it halts at the curb. With my mental command to follow Leilah’s cab, the driver takes off.
Now that Ethan knows about Ciarah, he’ll run straight to Raith.
City lights blur past the window. There’s no more keeping Leilah to myself, even though I never really had her to begin with. I focus on her cab, which is slowing and stopping in front of Studio 59. Perfect. She’s gone from cabaret and leather to jazz and cigars. The girl always did know how to get around.
Leilah exits the cab, then my driver pulls into the spot vacated by her cab. I tip the driver an extra fifty, slide from the cab and squint as I enter the club. The lighting is low, and a tall, leggy brunette is playing a baby grand located in an alcove at the corner window facing the street. Cigar smoke hangs heavy in the air and I breathe deeply of the aroma. Cigar clubs are among my favorite in the city.
Leilah is heading toward the stairs leading to the second level. It’s not quite midnight, but the place is almost full. The crowd is a little older, and much more mainstream than the patrons at The Witching Hour Cabaret Club. Still, I know the club will stay busy until its two a.m. closing.
I sidestep a group of men, step up to the bar, and order a Grey Goose on the rocks. Leilah reaches the top of the stairs and leaves my range of vision. The bartender sets the drink in front of me. I leave a twenty on the bar then casually climb the stairs.
She’s seated at a corner booth, a drink in front of her, her raven hair concealing half her face. I’m betting she’s drinking tequila. She’s a whiskey girl at heart, but when she wants to forget something, she drinks tequila, and often a lot of it. I near her and she looks up. The sorrow in her eyes kills me. I stop as if just noticing her, then smile.
I change direction. “Something wrong, love?”
The moisture welling in her eyes tells me she’s on the verge of tears. What the bloody hell did Ethan say to her?
Leilah shakes her head. “Just a long day.”
“Want company?”
“You’ll do better to find one of your lollipops.”
I chuckle. Her way with words remains consistent throughout her incarnations.
“I’m not in a licking mood tonight,” I lie. I’m always in a licking mood.
I slide into the booth to her right and immediately sense the heat of magic. Ethan’s work. He must have marked her with a sigil. So, the little hellion refused to accept her admittance into The Academy. That’s what I most love about Ciarah. Her unpredictability. Being forced to appear against her will must be killing her. Ciarah hates being controlled.
“What do you think of The Illumina Academy?” she surprises me with her bluntness.
“It’s a prestigious institution,” I keep my voice neutral. “Those who train there are the best of their kind.”
Leilah hrmph. “Well, not anymore.” She lifts her hand.
Ethan’s silver lace tattoo glitters on the back of her hand. I give a low whistle. “Are you a recruit?”
She scowls. “A prisoner.”
I pretend to inspect her sigil and work hard to ignore the rose scent she must have bathed in. I sense magic roiling deep inside her, just as angry as she is. I’m tempted to stretch my arm along the back of the booth, but I’m not keen on getting stabbed or punched in the stomach. I know she carries a small blade hidden somewhere in the skin-tight skirt. Instead, I lean a causal elbow on the table.
She takes a sip of her drink and crosses her legs. My vantage point allows me to see her skirt ride up so high on her thigh that I’m sure I glimpse red lace. A hiss escapes my lips before I can stop myself.
“Something wrong?” she asks but doesn’t look up.
I’m grateful for that small mercy, before I realize the reason she isn’t looking is because she understands my reaction. My chest tightens. What man has already taught her to be so attuned to a man’s reactions?
I don’t reply. I can’t reply.
She lifts her head and looks me in the eye, but I can’t read a damn thing she’s thinking. Despite knowing her all these centuries, she remains an enigma. But aren’t women just that? Unsolvable mysteries?
Her gaze sharpens and I startle. Bloody hell, she caught me staring. I may not know exactly what she’s thinking, but I recognize that look. It’s the universal female look for I’m figuring you out. She’s smart—which means I have to step up my game, and quickly. Any other woman, I could outwit by using my Fae talents of seduction. With Ciarah, that’s like throwing gasoline on fire.
“I don’t care for organizations that become too powerful.” She startles me with the sudden change in direction. She lifts her glass, then pauses, the glass an inch from her lips. “The Academy shouldn’t have the right to upend lives whenever they choose. Or take what doesn’t belong to them.” She slams her drink down. Tequila slops onto the table. “They’re abusing their power.”
I can’t tell her the truth about her grandmother. I’m just relieved she was nowhere near the damn house while Miriam was playing god and consorting with the bloody Shadows. The woman deserved her fate. I should feel guilty about withholding the truth, but guilt has never been my favorite pastime. Plus, I figure Leilah will understand when she finally learns the truth. I pray so, anyway.
“The Academy must protect Margidda,” I say.
“So they claim.”
I sense a powerful shifter headed our way. I won’t mind getting Leilah off the streets, away from these kinds of characters.
The wolf halts and towers over the table as Leilah looks up. “There you are.” At six foot five, he’s a solid wall of chiseled muscle. Even in human form, he can’t hide his power; plus, he’s got some Middlewich in him somewhere.
He ignores me. “Got the goods?”
Leilah looks at me and says, “Business.”
She shifts in her seat and pulls a small vial from a front pocket hidden in her skin-tight skirt. The glimpse of her tanned skin sends a message to my cock that will demand satisfaction before the night is through. I grab my drink and slide off the booth with an easy smile that promises I’ll be back, but her attention is focused on the shifter.
A lovely redhead in a black miniskirt sashays past as I lean against a nearby booth. Her four-inch silver stripper heels catch my eye. I imagine Ciarah in my bed wearing those shoes and nothing else. The fantasy is going to remain just that.
I glance back at Leilah and her customer in time to see him disappear down the stairs leading to the men’s room. I sip my drink, my eyes on Leilah as she turns slightly aside and stuffs the bills into her bodice. She throws back the remainder of her drink. I take a another sip of my drink, push off the booth, then halt when a pale
, anemic man of about twenty-one emerges from the stairs leading to the men’s room. I stare as he walks past, astonished that I can barely detect Leilah’s shifter lurking inside. How did she accomplish such a feat? Leilah rises and starts toward the stairs behind me. I step into her path. She halts and narrows her eyes.
“Impressive,” I say.
She studies me. She doesn’t trust me, but the gleam in her eyes tells me she’s confident of getting herself out of any trouble I might start. “Thanks.”
She abruptly seizes my collar. I realize her intent and allow her to yank my mouth down onto hers. Her lips. God, how I’ve missed that moist satin skin against mine. Our tongues stroke, but not nearly long enough, before she ends the kiss by sliding the tip of her tongue under the seam of my upper lip. Funny how she remembers the action through every incarnation. I grab a fistful of her hair. Soft as corn silk, as it’s always been. She grunts, then pulls back.
“My place?” I growl.
Fuck Ethan and Raith. They wouldn’t say no after that kiss, either.
“You wish,” she snorts, then walks away.
I force my breathing to slow and order my cock into submission while my eyes caress her curves, her buttocks. We’ve shared so many ‘first’ kisses, but this one surprises me the most. I’ve always been the one to initiate. I’d have much preferred a different ending to the night, but this rejection is better for both of us.
She’s going to be angry once she discovers I’m the one investigating her grandmother…the one who pronounced Mariam guilty of evoking Shadow magic.
Chapter Four
LEILAH
Compelled
I head back into the cold before the heat of Blade’s mouth against mine cools. The nighttime temperature has dropped several degrees in the short time I’ve been in the club and the cold wind burns my skin. Why hadn’t I accepted his invitation? I shiver, but not because of the cold. I have a weakness for Fae, and Blade Tyrion is a prime specimen, all loose-limbed grace and elegance, his every muscle coiled with easy power. Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve wondered what it would be like to pull his long blond hair from its tie and tangle my fingers in the softness while he drives his cock so deep that he touches my soul. He would have made me forget about Grams, her house…and now, the fucking Academy. Maybe I would even be able to vanquish the memory of Ethan’s body against mine in those seconds before I broke free of his hold.