Her words make my heart race. An “initiation” is one of the methods devised by the Order of Keepers to control the magic of girls like me. Basically the idea is to expose someone to a place of so much power that the magic slumbering inside them bursts forth immediately, instead of emerging slowly and organically over time—a pretty traumatic experience by all accounts.
“I thought my mom made you swear not to do that to me.”
“Yes. I admit it wasn’t what Bella wanted for you. But now that the White Lady and her Skykeepers have broken from the Order, we don’t have a choice. That woman will stop at nothing to see you dead. You need your power and you need it now.”
Her words chill me to the bone, but I stubbornly lift my chin, unwilling to trust her. “Is an initiation really the only way to get me this power?”
“If I’m right about you being in flux, yes. An initiation will force you all the way down the path of blood, and once you’ve fully mastered bloodmagic, the other paths to the magic inside you should open up again, leaving you stronger than ever.”
“But why here? Why the Pendragons?
She’s silent for a while, then answers with a question of her own. “You met both the Red Lord and the Red Lady at the trial last year. What did you think of them?”
I look at the lights ahead as I reluctantly think back on that night. “He was clever and manipulative, but his magic wasn’t particularly powerful. I don’t remember much about her except that she cried at the end.”
“Exactly. Now think about it. If those two are the strongest Bloodkeepers in the world, what’s happened to bloodmagic? Why is the Red Clan so weak? Where did their power go?”
I shrug.
She points to the strangely dim lights of the buildings in front of us. “It’s all in there. There’s more bloodmagic in the Pendragon compound than in all the rest of the world thrown together.”
“Are you telling me that this is a place of power?”
“No. It’s the Pendragons themselves who hold the power. There flows so much bloodmagic through their veins that a gathering of the entire family should be more than enough to spark the magic inside you.”
I decide not to dwell on how this “spark” might happen.
“Where did they get all the bloodmagic from? Did they steal it? Is that why they were banished from the Order?”
“No, they didn’t steal it. Not exactly. Stolen magic is quickly spent. Their crime was far more unforgivable.”
She doesn’t say anything more, and I don’t ask. The time for me to play the eager student to her concerned teacher has long gone.
The moment we come to a halt, the black glass barrier rolls down again. “Welcome to the Pendragon residence,” the driver says. “Please stay seated until we open the doors; we’ll be happy to escort you inside.”
The two men help us out of the vehicle and lead us up a gravel path, past a black marble fountain where a huge stone dragon spews murky water from its open mouth. This close, the main house looks less like the mansion I expected than a real ancient fortress: old and grim and menacing. Despite the towers and general goth-like aura, there’s absolutely nothing romantic or fairytale-like about it, perhaps because the entire building is built from colossal blocks of stone so black they seem to create their own darkness.
It doesn’t get much better once we’re inside. The blood-red carpets, the dark wooden paneling, the dizzyingly high ceilings and the portraits of dead-eyed people staring down at us all make my skin crawl. There’s a creepy smell to the place too: a cloying scent of age and wealth and something disturbing that I can’t quite identify.
“If you’d be so kind as to wait over here.”
The driver guides us through a door to the side of the vast entrance hall. Inside, the large, gloomy room is far too warm, and no wonder: built into one of the walls is the most enormous fireplace I’ve ever seen, the fire roaring inside literally big enough to roast an ox.
“Miss Waymond.” The driver motions Ingrid outside. “Mr. Pendragon has asked to see you in private. The young lady can wait in here.”
“Will you be okay on your own?” Ingrid asks.
I look at the glassy eyes of the stuffed buffalo head against the wall and I suppress a little shudder. “Sure,” I say.
“Stay here. Don’t go anywhere, don’t touch anything, don’t speak to anyone.”
“Okay.”
She follows the man out of the room.
For a while I stand around awkwardly, trying not to let the buffalo’s dead stare freak me out. Then I hear the door open behind me.
“Jess.”
Jonathan, Jack Pendragon’s only son and heir, is standing in the doorway. Dwarfed by the dark wooden frame, he looks very different from the way he usually does at school. Younger maybe. Less confident.
“Hi, Jonathan.” I give him a self-conscious little smile. In all the years I’ve known him, we’ve probably only spoken three or four times, and I don’t think anybody from school has ever been to his house—not even Chloe, who dated him for years. “Um. It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Really. It’s like…. huge.” My eyes fall on the thick iron bars in front of the windows. “And very secure,” I add lamely.
“Huge and secure.” A faint glimmer of amusement lights up his eyes. “Right. I’d say that pretty much sums it up.”
I feel myself blushing. There’s something about Jonathan’s glittering green eyes that makes him very hard to look at. I used to think it was all in my head, but now I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with the family’s bloodmagic. Because the truth is it’s almost impossible to look into his eyes and not feel… stirred in some way. Excited. Wound up.
Sexy.
I clear my throat, desperate to keep my spiraling thoughts from going where it really cannot be going right now. “So…” I smile again, my face stiff, frantically trying to think of something to say. “What’ve you been up to lately?”
A complicated expression flickers over his face. Guilt? Shame? Anger? He gives me a tight little smile. “They told you?”
“Told me what?”
“About me and Chloe.”
Ah, yes. I suddenly remember Eve and Maggie’s bit of gossip this afternoon.
“Yeah.” I shrug, seeing no point in denying it.
“It was nothing. A slip-up.”
“Whatever.”
In the awkward silence that follows, I do my best not to look into his eyes, scanning the room in desperation. Think of something to say. Think of something to say. Think of something to say.
“So. That buffalo. It’s, yeah. Really something.”
“I wouldn’t want you to think…” He looks down, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, I realize it might seem as if I’m chasing every pretty girl in town, but it’s not really like that.”
“Hey, it’s got nothing to do with me,” I say, surprised that Jonathan Pendragon, of all people, would worry about his manwhore reputation.
“Only it does,” he says. “And I realize that. And I’m sorry.”
I frown. “Why are you apologizing to me?”
“You know why.”
Right. I now officially have no idea what’s going on.
Before I can say anything, the door opens and a stately older woman in a black-and-white uniform enters the room. “Mr. Pendragon. Miss.” She flashes a coolly polite smile in my direction. “Your company is requested in the upstairs library.”
I raise my eyebrows at Jonathan. “Your house has more than one library?”
“You don’t want to know. Trust me.” A faint wry smile.
“If you could both follow me please,” the woman says.
I look at Jonathan, who lifts one hand. “After you.”
As I follow the woman into the echoing entrance hall, down the dark passage and then up the vast, black marble staircase, I can’t suppress a faint shiver of revulsion. There’s something wrong with this place.
It’s in the eyes of the beautiful blonde women staring down at me from the portraits in the hall, each of them wearing the same vacant expression. It’s in the eerie silence: apart from our echoing footsteps, everything is as quiet as the grave. It’s in the smell of the house, that disturbing scent I can’t quite place. It’s in the strange shift in perspective when you walk up the stairs, a terrifying illusion that makes the ground floor appear miles away, another world entirely. But most of all it’s in the enormous portrait of Jack and Jonathan Pendragon on the second-floor landing, father and son both sitting with their arms around…
A faint buzzing as the world starts to spin.
I shake my head, try to clear it.
What was I thinking…?
While I’m trying to get my bearings, the uniformed woman briefly knocks on a too-big door of black wood and leads us inside.
The first thing I notice is all the books. Hundreds of them. Thousands. The next thing I notice is the size of the room, and then Ingrid’s face, pale and old and exhausted. There are other people in the
my old enemy
Killers
flail wildly
blindingly beautiful
angels or gods
love
blossoming
magic calls to
leopard chained
comforting touch
soulless, witless
trueborn
term of abuse
abomination
dark, and cold, and terrible
stone and ice
sickening crunch
Seaprophets
the horror of it
No. No. Not this
please not this
*
I am sitting on the leather sofa in the room with the stuffed buffalo head. I am staring into the enormous fire. The room is very hot.
Ingrid is sitting next to me. She is holding my hand. Jack Pendragon is sitting in an armchair across from us. Jonathan is sitting next to his father.
“Are you okay?” Ingrid asks me.
I note, a bit distractedly, that she looks terrible. Her face is wrinkled and hollow, as if she’s aged twenty years since I last saw her, and her dark blue eyes have faded to a rheumy gray. Under the deathly pallor of her skin, I can clearly make out faint purple veins, like a roadmap, all over her neck, her face, her arms.
I take my hand from hers. Think about her question.
Hmm. The truth is that I’m not quite sure. My body feels floaty and light, my mind heavy and dull.
“What happened?” I ask.
“The initiation was unsuccessful.” Ingrid’s voice is hardly more than a whisper. “You were exposed to the full force of the Pendragons’ bloodmagic, but we couldn’t find as much as a spark of power inside you.”
I think about this.
“Why can’t I remember anything?”
“You were… distressed by the experience,” she says hoarsely. “And you asked him,” she tilts her head in Jack Pendragon’s direction, “to make you forget what had happened.”
“I asked him to Enthrall me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
A small sigh. “I could tell you, but you’d forget it immediately.”
“Really?”
She nods tiredly, as if speaking would be too much of an effort.
“I’m not sure how I feel about this.”
There’s a harsh bark of laughter from the opposite chair. “Oh, the arrogance! Not sure how you feel about it? Try gratitude, for one. I don’t waste my powers of Enthrallment on just anyone, you know.”
I look at Jack Pendragon, considering his words.
He probably has a point.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’ll owe me for this one, kitten.”
The idea of owing this man anything makes me deeply uncomfortable.
But what’s done is done.
“What happens now?” I ask Ingrid.
“We’re not sure,” she says. I notice that her hands are shaking slightly, as if she’s fighting a fever.
Jonathan is staring at me with his strange green eyes. He looks more beautiful than ever, if a little sad. No, he looks more than sad. He looks…
sword of light
so much
blood
A loud buzzing in my head.
A lightning bolt of pain.
Seconds lost.
“It’s best not to try and remember what happened,” Jack Pendragon says. “The less you fight the Enthrallment, the smoother your experience of reality will be.”
I rub my temples, trying to get rid of the pain. “This feels really weird.”
“You asked for it, now deal with the consequences. We have bigger problems to worry about.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one, your magic is broken. The power has left you completely. And seeing that at least half the Skykeepers will stop at nothing to see you dead, this means you probably won’t live long enough to bear a daughter.”
I make a small, shocked sound.
“This presents a real problem for those of us with an interest in your bloodline,” he continues calmly, “especially since your keeper flatly refuses to have you mated right away.” In spite of the cold look he gives Ingrid, I detect a hint of grudging respect in his voice. “Usually this wouldn’t be a problem, of course, but she’s a pure-blooded heir to the Waemundings and the last lady of the Black Clan, which means she’s proved too strong for us to kill.”
Another shocked sound escapes my lips.
“Stop frightening the child,” Ingrid says tiredly.
“She’s not a child!” He slams his hand on the arm of his chair.
“What she is, is not for you to decide.”
They glare at each other.
I close my eyes. I am so tired. And so sad. Everything hurts. I wish I could just disappear, dissolve into nothing. I don’t want this to be my life.
But it is.
I open my eyes. “So I’m not in flux?” I ask Ingrid.
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand it. I was so sure. At the trial you wielded more bloodmagic than any other individual has in centuries, at least to my knowledge. But we’ve exposed you to everything the Pendragons have, and you’re completely deaf to the call of blood. There’s no doubt about it.” She leans back and rests her head against the sofa, as if even this short speech has exhausted her.
I try to force my foggy brain to figure out what all this means. If I’m not in flux, it means my power has simply gone. There’s nothing left inside me to be sparked; I’ve used up everything I had. I listen to the enormous fire crackling away, feel its heat on my face.
“What if it wasn’t Bloodmagic she used that day?”
I look up to see Jonathan’s strange green eyes playing over me speculatively.
“What do you mean?” his father asks.
“I’ve been watching her for years. She has power inside her; that’s always been abundantly clear to me. But she has no gift whatsoever for bloodmagic.” He shrugs. “Some inherent Physicality maybe, but that’s it.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“I’ve never met anyone less gifted in Seduction or Enthrallment in my life.”
“And your point is…?”
“I know people said she Enthralled all those keepers, but that story never made any sense to me. Yes, the Red Lord and his sister are weak. But the Green Lord is widely respected by the Earthkeepers and the Deleons have always been very powerful Seakeepers. And there’s simply no way she could’ve Enthralled the White Lady—Sonya Orlov’s gift for Clear Sight is legendary.”
“You’re talking nonsense, boy. What else could it have been?”
“There are other kinds of power apart from bloodmagic.”
“None that matters.”
The tension between father and son is suddenly thick in the room. There’s real anger in the look between them. And hurt.
And loathing.
“Your son makes a good point,” Ingrid says weakly. “Lilith’s heirs always did turn to water first, blood second.”
Her words spark a flash of hope inside me. Maybe I am in flux—just not on the path of blood. Maybe all of this can still be fixed.
“Could I have used some other magic that day?” I ask. “Like seamagic or earthmagic?”
“Not likely,” Ingrid says, her voice so soft I have to lean closer to make out the words. “Illusion is at the heart of bloodmagic, and the illusion you created that day was so powerful that even the White Lady believed herself to be scorched in a sacrificial fire.”
“What if it wasn’t an illusion?”
The unexpected voice behind me makes me yelp in surprise. I jump up, spin around.
Zig.
“What’s he doing here?”
Nobody answers.
“No seriously. How long has he been here?”
I look from one face to the other. Jack Pendragon seems irritated at the interruption. Ingrid avoids my eyes. Jonathan looks faintly amused. Zig glowers at me.
It takes a while before the truth dawns.
“I don’t believe it! He’s been here the whole time, hasn’t he?” I try to recall what was decided this afternoon, realize I can’t remember. “You bloodmagicked him right out of my mind!” I point an accusing finger at Jack Pendragon. “I know you did! You had no right.”
He ignores me, addressing Ingrid instead. “Get your ward under control. She’s starting to annoy me.”
Ingrid slowly turns to me, as if she’s in terrible pain, and I suddenly realize that she’s close to the point of collapse. I remember Jack Pendragon’s words—she’s proved too strong for us to kill—and finally grasp they must’ve found that out tonight, in this house.
“It was a small deception, meant to spare you further distress,” Ingrid tells me. I notice that her shivering has gotten worse even though she’s sweating lightly in the heat of the room. “I know Zig makes you uncomfortable, but we need him, little one. I am old, and I cannot fight this battle alone.”
The fact that she admits this in front of the Pendragons takes the wind right out of my sails. Obviously, this is not the time to throw a tantrum. We must be in deep trouble here.
“You can stay,” I tell Zig, ignoring the scowl on his tattooed face. “But don’t you dare use your dirty magic tricks on me. I want to know where you are at all times.”
Fireborn (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 2) Page 3