by Iris Walker
Reykon
His eyes shot open. A dull ache spread out from the back of his head, and he pressed his palm to it, wincing with the pain.
His memories were a jumbled mess, something about water, drowning, and Lucidia’s face staring at him, yelling at him.
Robin, he thought suddenly. Reykon jerked upright, smacking his head on something cold and hard. He grunted with pain, swatting whatever the offending object was, and staggered to his feet.
Whoever had dumped him on the table had chosen one with wheels, which was about as smart as putting a blind man in a skittle sorting contest, because the second he moved, it did.
Reykon slipped, his hand coming straight off the table and jamming it across the tile floor. It collided with a counter and sent tray after tray of metal instruments careening across the room. Dim green-gray light filtered out of florescent light panels, half covered in plastic, hanging in shreds, and the faint smell of antiseptic stung his nostrils.
“What the…?” Reykon stammered, stumbling back.
It was a dental office.
An abandoned dental office, by the looks of it.
“You want to keep it down in here?” Lucidia growled, busting through the hanging plastic with a look of utter fury. She had her hand pressed over the end of a burner phone. “Trying to alert the whole world?”
“What?” Reykon shot back. “Where the hell are we?”
Lucidia gave him another glare of irritation before bringing the phone back to her ear.
“Slow down, Max,” she hissed. “I don’t-”
Lucidia’s eyes widened and she pulled the phone away from her face. “She hung up on me.”
“Who?”
“That bitch,” Lucidia seethed.
“Lucidia!” Reykon roared. More and more memories hit him like bullets, stinging with force. Ivan. The Dam. The crushing blow to the back of his head. “What happened? Where are we?”
She threw the phone across the room and pushed both hands through her hair, purple eyes flaring with anger. “Ivan’s a traitor. I don’t know why, and I don’t know who he’s working for, but he ditched us and made off with Magnus and Robin. I was trying to figure out who hired him, but my contact said something about a situation and hung up on me, so it looks like that’s shot to hell,” she grumbled.
“Why would your contact know anything about a Demonte agent?”
Lucidia quirked an eyebrow at him. “You guys really are behind on your intelligence, aren’t you?”
Reykon sneered at her and collected his thoughts.
Who wanted Robin and Magnus, alive? Who would have known about them? “You think it was Calliope?” he asked, anger replaced by deeply rooted fear.
“I don’t see how. Or why. Ivan was in the prison when we got there. Seems like a crap place to keep your clandestine agent, and there was never a guarantee that we’d break him out.”
“I knew him,” Reykon said. “He was in Magnus’s inner circle. He was promoted after one of the generals was killed by a wolf mercenary.”
“Any ties before that?”
“I said I knew him, not that we were best buds. I don’t know. He was a transfer from one of the satellite houses, or something like that. I think he was involved in the Ottoman Empire. We worked together a lot, but other than that…”
“Damnit,” she hissed.
A silence sunk between them, and Reykon scoured his brain for anything else. Relations in House Demonte had grown tense over the past few years. Magnus had gotten paranoid, starting to mistrust all of his officials, at the end. Reykon hadn’t thought anything of Ivan’s imprisonment because of Magnus’s increasing angst. With the information they had now, he’d assumed it was Calliope driving a wedge between them. But that was conjecture, at best, and they needed concrete. “What was he in for?” Reykon murmured.
“Huh?” she asked, digging through the cabinets.
“He told us Magnus had thrown him into prison for finding out about the Robin plan and speaking out against him. But obviously…”
“He’s a liar.”
“What if he was caught for giving information out?” Reykon posed. “That wing of the prison was reserved for traitors and clandestine agents. We find out who he was caught sneaking with, and we might be able to figure out who he’s bringing her to.”
“Great idea,” she muttered. “But my contact’s shot. There are other plugs for Xander I can try, but I don’t trust them like I trust her.”
“I’ve got someone,” Reykon said, glancing around. “I’ll need a phone.”
“Not a problem. There’s a whole closet full.”
Reykon followed her through the small corridor, and down a rickety set of stairs, leading to the basement, until he found himself in the middle of a state-of-the-art tactical supply room. “Where are we?” he repeated, crossing his arms and raking over the weapons, gear, and supplies.
“Somewhere we shouldn’t be for long,” Lucidia muttered, rifling around in another duffle. “This is one of Darian Xander’s ‘break in case of emergency’ rooms. They’re set up all over the world. Safehouses specifically in case something happens on the road and you need to split quick or lay low.”
A burst of anger shot through him. “You took us to a Xander safehouse? Darian wants your ass nailed to his wall and you take us to one of his secret hideouts?”
“He doesn’t monitor these places,” Lucidia growled. “Hardly anybody knows about them. Besides, it’s thirty minutes to the nearest satellite house with two minutes for gear up. We’ve got thirteen left.”
Reykon shot her a glare and started taking down weapons, ammo, any supplies they’d need.
Lucidia found a bucket with prepackaged burners and tossed him one before grabbing her own. “I have to make a call,” she said. “We’re leaving in five.”’
“Hurry. We need to catch up to them. Before…”
An array of horrifying endings to that sentence started popping up, and Reykon’s shoulders tensed with each one. Lucidia turned, chin held high, that same fierce glare on her face. “Reykon, we will find her.”
He gave a sharp nod, and she disappeared up the shadowy stairwell.
Lucidia
Pick up, you idiot, she grumbled, tapping her foot against the cold tile floor.
… is not available to take your call. Please leave a message at the tone…
“Damnit,” Lucidia growled.
She imagined Clay, sipping sweet tea on a porch somewhere under the sun, his phone on silent in his pocket. That was something he’d do; never concerned, never worried. Just going with the flow.
The opposite of her.
But even still, she found herself craving him, looking back on those days spent around the fire, in the midst of their hidden war camp, with fondness.
Fondness, she thought bitterly. You sound like a fool.
Clay had a way of turning her into a fool, especially when she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad had happened to him. Not that they’d had concrete plans. He’d risked his neck for her by attacking a Xander prisoner caravan, and they’d parted ways on a half-baked goodbye phone call.
He was probably just trying to lay low. Darian Xander didn’t like it when his agents were attacked while out on mission in the big scary human world. He didn’t like that one bit. No doubt he’d already launched a counterattack.
Clay and Megan are fine, she tried to convince herself.
But still, it wasn’t like Clay to not call back. She added it to the growing list of concerns and focused on getting out of Darian’s supply pad in time. They hadn’t exactly parted on good terms, even though the cunning vampire master had ended their last phone call with his infuriatingly glib laughter.
She let out a sharp breath and returned to the supply room.
“Ready,” Reykon said, tossing her a pair of keys.
She caught them easily and nodded, keeping up with his quickened pace.
“Where to?”
“My contact fled during the att
ack, but there are a couple of places to try. West, for now.”
West, Lucidia thought. Away from Clay.
They broke out of the back entrance and into blinding sunlight.
Chapter 2 Awake
One month later
Robin
Her mouth tasted like something had crawled inside of it and died there. “Rey…” she mumbled, pushing her fuzzy hand across the bed, feeling nothing but slippery silk sheets.
Silk?
Robin’s heart quickened, a steady thump-thump-thump between her ears. She didn’t have silk sheets, and Reykon didn’t have silk sheets, and nowhere that they would have chosen to hide out would have had silk sheets.
Her fears mounted, fears that the ritual had worked and that she was still trapped in Magnus’s over-the-top suite on the highest floor of House Demonte. She felt prickly adrenaline, imagining the brutish vampire standing over her, triumphant, all manner of wicked intentions running through his mind. Magnus… she thought, the name sending a bolt of fear through her chest.
Robin shot up and forced her eyes open, ignoring the wave of dizziness that hit her.
The room was elegant, luxurious, and (thankfully) not at all like Magnus’s palace. For one, it didn’t look like someone had splashed every inch of free space in crimson, and there wasn’t gold lining the walls.
This room was dark, with a large, four post bed, luxurious curtains, and a satin comforter in deep, storm-cloud gray. Gothic, elegant designs lined the wallpaper; swirling lace and bourgeois emblems. A few feet away from the bed sat a couch, a lounger, and a large, curled back chair. A massive wardrobe sat on the other side, illuminated by soft lamps and warm candlelight. But the thing that drew her attention was the cold blue glow dancing off the TV.
It was strange, seeing a plasma in a room this elegant, but there it was, up against the wall opposite her. She recognized a noise, a droning whine of TV and familiar voices. In fact, she’d seen this exact one many times.
A Friends rerun?
As a wave of confusion and disorientation crashed over her, she fought to keep her mind straight. She felt like she was in a bad dream.
Hell, her entire life had become one bad dream with no end in sight.
Not two weeks ago, she’d been calling clients from her Portland apartment, scheduling family portraits or business website gallery shots. She’d been stocking up on Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and trying to figure out what to buy her cousin for her birthday.
Robin Wright, a human girl in a human world. Now, though, she was in a strange place with strange people, or creatures. She’d found out about vampires, strongbloods, casters, and werewolves, and her head had been a constant washing machine of worries and concerns ever since.
Robin’s bleary, confused eyes fell on a single figure lounging in the chair, one leg sprawled out on the expensive carpet, and the other heel digging into the luxurious fabric of the cushion. Nestled on her lap sat a bowl of microwave popcorn; Robin recognized it from the sharp smell.
The strange woman had a sprawling halo of frizzy red hair, a beautiful, sharp face peppered with freckles, and bright emerald eyes that now settled on Robin, a flicker of interest lost in a sea of boredom. Robin could tell that she was a strongblood, the deeply hued gaze (just like Lucidia’s) giving her away.
“Morning, sunshine,” the woman mumbled absentmindedly, crunching on another bite of popcorn.
Robin’s brow crept together. “Um…”
The woman held a single finger up in a quiet gesture, her green eyes snapping back to the TV.
Robin’s scowl deepened, but she took the opportunity to push the covers back and-
Purple. She was nearly blinded by it.
The whole space around her lit up with an electric purple glow, coming from something that was swirling around her arms.
Swirling in the air?
Ropes of vibrant energy hovered, suspended in the air above her skin. Robin bent her arm, and the symbols and cords followed, moving exactly how she had, an inch away from her body. She threw the covers back and slipped off the bed, those infuriating glowing symbols following her.
There was a massive vanity sitting a few feet away from the bed on the same wall, with a tri-fold mirror that tapered down in an elegant slope. Robin stood directly in front of it and stared at the strange hovering symbols that threaded into a collar around her neck, with cords going straight down to manacles around her wrists. But they weren’t made of… anything.
Other than strange, glowing purple energy.
Magic, she thought, a sickening pit growing in her gut.
She raised her arms, tracking the glow, and then brought her fingers tentatively to the symbols floating around her neck. They didn’t feel warm or bright, whatever that felt like. If anything, they just crackled a little. Fizzy, maybe? If that was an appropriate response to magic.
But when the shock of her green accessories faded, she looked past them, and into her own blue eyes.
Seeing her reflection was like being hit with a Mack truck.
Her blond hair was smooth, recently brushed and falling in soft waves, smelling like strawberries in the spring. She wore a dark purple dress with satin on the inside and velvet on the outside, that tapered down to a very low V and had wide-cut shoulders. The sleeves were long and billowy, but were slit up the arms, and fell behind her.
It was a glorified cloak; really, just a cloak with extra steps.
But it certainly showcased her birthmarks, which had changed since the last time she’d seen them. They’d been a dark red before but had mimicked the splotchy color of other birthmarks. Now, though, they were deep crimson, and looked like they’d been tattooed straight onto her skin with ink taken directly from Satan’s ugly mug.
And there were more of them.
They’d crept all the way up her neck like rebellious vines, strangling her. Robin shivered and traced them, ignoring the blinding purple symbols.
Robin turned her head to the side and inspected that area on her neck, brushing it with her fingertips. She could still feel the white-hot fire, burrowing deep into her muscles, as Magnus had ripped his teeth into her, but the wound was entirely gone.
Speaking of Magnus, where was the power-mad vampire?
Robin turned around and walked up to the strongblood, still sprawled out on the chair. “Where am I?” she asked, mustering up as much force as she could.
“Take a seat,” the woman said, crunching on another bite of popcorn, eyes fixed on the TV.
“No,” Robin snapped, standing tall. “Tell me where I am right now.”
If there was one thing she’d learned in her crash course of the paranormal world, it was that the bigger fish liked fear. She wasn’t going to give them any satisfaction over her, not anytime soon.
Not after what Magnus had done to her.
Memories swirled in her mind as she stood there, confronting this stranger, who was infuriatingly aloof. Memories of Calliope’s wicked amulet and cold, cruel chanting flared up in her mind like hail, striking her with sting after sting, reminding her of the caster’s flaming hair and the way she’d commanded the wind. A shiver raced up Robin’s spine.
“Sit down,” the woman repeated firmly, her eyes narrowing.
“Tell me where we are.”
“Fine.” The strongblood in front of her stood, setting the popcorn bowl on the end table and wiping her hands on her pants.
Robin watched her for a moment, the annoyance surging underneath her red birthmarks at the way the woman nonchalantly cleaned up, straightened her vest, and turned towards Robin.
In all her frustration, Robin hadn’t even seen the woman’s hand move as it struck her dead-on.
But she sure felt it.
A sharp blow to her sternum knocked her back, lightning fast but somehow not bludgeoning. It stung more than anything, and sent Robin crashing backward, clutching her chest in shock and fear. The couch caught her mid-descent, jostling her shoulder, and sending her hair into a fre
nzy.
“Hey!” Robin growled, righting herself. The woman had already plopped back down on the chair.
“You’re fine. I barely touched you.”
Robin smoothed the pleats of the strange dress and slowed her frantic breathing. “Where are we?” she repeated after a moment.
No reply, except for those fierce eyes, snapping back to hers, a silent warning that she still felt on her chest.
Robin decided not to push the woman.
But after another full episode of Friends spent in tense silence, Robin’s muscles felt like they were going to jump out of her skin, and that purple glow was really, really irritating her.
“What are these?” she asked sharply, raising her hands.
“Restraints.”
She speaks! Robin thought. But after the first outburst, she decided to keep that one to herself.
Instead, Robin waved her hands around in circles, face set in a deep scowl of irritation. “They don’t do much restraining, do they?”
Her strange companion barked out a sharp laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Robin shot back.
“They’re magical restraints, dumbass.”
Robin raised an eyebrow. “But… I can’t…”
“We don’t really know what you can and can’t do,” she said, sinking further into the chair. “And you weren’t awake to fill us in.”
Robin’s fingers brushed against her neck, to the place where a wound used to be, and a nagging thought crept into her mind. “How long was I asleep?”
She reached for the remote and muted the show, leaving the silent pictures dancing on the screen, shifting colors on the otherwise shadowy wall.
“It’s been a month, sleeping beauty.”
Her eyes widened, and just as another question danced on her tongue, the doors behind them swung open.
Robin turned around, her gaze focusing on a single figure with burning red eyes and long silver hair.
The sight of Darian Xander, the vampire master that had called for her immediate execution, turned her blood to ice.
Lucidia
“You’re sure about this one?” she shot back at him, leg propped up on the dashboard, a hand massaging the bridge of her nose as a last-ditch effort to keep her cool.