Clashing Tempest (Men of Myth Book 3)

by Brandon Witt

  Once I was in Christina’s room, I made a beeline for her white vanity dresser across from her bed. I didn’t even pause to look at Ricky Martin’s teenage face from the old Menudo poster on the wall.

  She sat there, back leaning against the mirror, ever-pointed toes jutting off the edge of the dresser top. She was the only doll Christina still had out. I couldn’t remember what the story was, why she was so important. Mom had bought the doll when she’d been pregnant with Christina or when Christina had been very young. Either way, I knew she was the first Hispanic Barbie doll ever made.

  Christina had let me play with all her other dolls, but never that one.

  I stared at her, scared to actually reach out and touch her now she was within my grasp. She was beautiful. More like a member of a mariachi band or gypsy than any Latin woman I’d seen, but gorgeous nonetheless—long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, red hoop earrings, matching rose choker at her neck, and billowy red skirt. She had a white blouse, and a black fishnet shawl cinched her waist.

  Checking once more at the open door, I finally lifted the Barbie off the vanity and stroked her hair reverently. I’d been planning this for weeks. As beautiful as she was, one thing needed to be different for her to be perfect, and I was going to make sure she reached her full potential.

  Both Cynthia and I had been obsessed with the color lime green for months. Every time we sat down to color, we made most of the page lime green. We’d had to magically alter the color of the majority of the other crayons in the box to keep from running out of lime green. Mom had even started making a lime-green sugar for the top of the pan dulce at the bakery, especially for Cynthia and me.

  I slid my back down the vanity and sat cross-legged on the floor. Within moments, both the doll’s earrings and the rose at her neck were a vibrant lime. I was having a harder time with the skirt. Maybe it was the material or the larger surface area, but whatever the reason, only the top part of the skirt had shifted to the appropriate hue. It looked like green paint had been dribbled over the skirt. The combination of lime and red was horrible.

  Redoubling my efforts, I held the doll tighter in my hands and closed my eyes. Lately, I hadn’t needed to cast out loud, and I was frustrated with myself for needing to again, but I began, words coming out in a hushed blur.

  “Finn, no!”

  I jumped at the sound and stared wide-eyed at the doorway.

  Cynthia craned her head around, looking down the hallway, before slipping in and closing the door.

  “Finn, what are you doing? You’re going to be in so much trouble.” Cynthia rushed to me, her voice a whispered plea. “We’ve got to change her back before Mom sees her.”

  I held the Barbie, her skirt now a brilliant lime green, out to her, certain that, if anyone, she would understand. “She looks better now, right?”

  Cynthia’s gaze flashed to the doll, then back at me. “Yes. She does. Still, you’ll get in trouble.” She looked at the door. “Quick, give her to me, and I’ll turn her back.”

  Tears threatening to spill, I handed her the Barbie.

  With a quick touch from Cynthia’s index finger, the skirt was once again its offending red hue.

  We were both so caught up in the doll that neither of us heard the door open. “I am so gonna tell Mom and Dad. You’re gonna be in so much trouble.” Caitlin stormed into the room and snatched the doll away from Cynthia. “You better just be glad you weren’t messing with stuff in my room.” With a sneer, she turned and stomped back out into the hall.

  Tears now flowing freely, I rushed after Cynthia as she followed our older sister, who was already making her way down the stairs. “Cate! Wait, please! I was already changing her back to red. Give her to me and let me finish. I can put her back, and Christina doesn’t even have to know. The doll’s not hurt or anything.”

  As soon as Caitlin whirled around, I knew we were lost. Realizing her mistake, Cynthia clamped her mouth closed with her hand.

  “Why should you be the one to change her back?” Caitlin took two steps up the stairs, returning to glare at Cynthia, who was already as tall as she was.

  Taking a step back, Cynthia looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean it like that. You can change her. I only meant we don’t need to get Finn in trouble. We can fix it.”

  Caitlin glanced back and forth between the two of us and the doll, an internal war raging between the desire to get me into trouble and to prove to her younger siblings she was just as good with her powers as they were.

  After several seconds, a grin broke across her face. “Fine. I’ll fix the stupid doll, but I’m telling Mom and Dad. They left me in charge, and it’s my responsibility to make sure you guys follow the rules.”

  Neither of us said anything, knowing nothing would be gained from arguing with Caitlin.

  My sisters’ forms blurred as my tears increased.

  Catlin’s cast was slurred, and her eyes were shut so tightly she didn’t see what her spell was doing until Cynthia let out a terrified cry.

  Catlin looked at the doll, horror-struck. Her expression quickly shifted from fear to anger, and she rounded on Cynthia and me. “This is all your fault. I can’t even concentrate with you two whining and crying.” She threw the doll on the ground, whipped around, and rushed down the stairs. I was fairly certain she too was wiping tears from her face. “Wait till I tell Mom and Dad!”

  Cynthia and I just stood over the doll, its melted legs already hardening into the carpet.

  My heart plummeted into my stomach, and I stretched out my hand to slip into Cynthia’s. “Can you fix it?”

  “No. I don’t know how.”

  Cynthia tried to take the blame when Christina got home with our parents, which caused her to get into even more trouble for lying.

  While she wasn’t thrilled I’d snuck into her room, Christina was so excited about the possibility of having her license soon that she didn’t care about the doll.

  Mom, on the other hand, came unglued. Yelling, she promised a month’s grounding for all three of us—even though she’d both fixed the doll and the carpet in a matter of seconds.

  It was Dad who noticed the lime green and how Cynthia stood protectively in front of me while Mom lectured about responsibility and honesty. Later, when all the commotion calmed down, he took me for a ride in the van to have a little man-to-man chat. In no uncertain terms, he informed me that, even though I was the youngest, it was my job to stand up and protect my sisters. That he expected more from me than standing by while Cynthia tried to take the blame for me. He also told me that if I wanted dolls of my own, all I needed to do was ask.

  I pressed my hand against the glass, just like I did every time I stood in front of the window. Like every time before, Cynthia turned and looked directly at me. Then her gaze slid away, once again confirming she knew someone was there, but not who. I wasn’t sure what she saw on her side of the glass. Maybe it was a one-way mirror. Maybe the window was charmed to look like the rest of the stone walls inside the room. I’d tried pounding on the glass, screaming, and every spell or incantation I could think of. The only thing that got a reaction at all was pressing my hand against the surface and focusing all my energy toward her. Only then did she respond, but never enough to let me know if she knew it was me or not.

  The first few times she smiled when she turned toward me, and I was certain she knew it was me. That had been weeks ago. Now all she did was jerk in surprise like she’d been startled, look toward me, then return to whatever she was doing.

  Her prison was dazzling, just like the rest of the Vampire Cathedral. If it were larger, I would have assumed it was Gwala’s chamber. As with everything else in the Cathedral, each aspect in the room seemed formed solely from the mountain itself. The only thing that wasn’t organically hewn from the stone was the mattress, pillows, sheets, and the gossamer that hung from the boughs of the canopy bed. However, even the bed seemed to rise out of the rock itself, swirling and twisting like the gnarled branches
of a tree. At first, the bed had reminded me so much of the willow on the cliff that I felt a bit at home—as if Cynthia had the nymphs with her. As time passed, such fantasies left a bitter taste. Surely the nymphs had had some idea of our fate. The thought of Jordskote bringing forth the irises to honor the impact of my relationship with Brett had helped give me the strength to move on. Now I couldn’t help but feel anger at the memory. Had she known what was in store for us then? Had she felt it worth healing my heart but not protecting my sister and me from the Royals?

  I had yet to see Cynthia in any other position than sitting on the bed or pacing around the room. One entire wall was a curving bookcase, filled with hundreds of gilded volumes.

  Sofas and small tables were spread throughout the space, each rising seamlessly from the stone. The sconces that flickered on the walls were gold and silver, mixed with precious gems, as were most I’d seen throughout the Cathedral. For as much as vampires were supposedly terrified of fire, I would have thought they’d have sprung for electrical wiring a century or so before.

  Beside the bed, on a three-foot twisting silver-and-bronze pedestal that rose from the ground, was a huge glass ball. I couldn’t tell from the distance, but it seemed filled with jellyfish whirling around endlessly. Toward the left, I could see another room through a doorway, which I assumed was a bathroom. Probably as lavish and golden as everything else.

  Cynthia was surrounded by more riches and luxury than she’d ever known. Even the clothes they’d dressed her in reeked of expense. She looked healthy and well taken care of. In her golden prison, with her glistening gown and long mahogany hair, she looked every inch a fairy-tale princess. And every inch as trapped as Rapunzel in her tower.

  I came and watched over her several times a day, as often as I could when I wasn’t with Omar or Gwala. I’d begged countless times for the king to let me speak to her. I didn’t even need to have a long conversation. I just needed to let her know I was here. That she wasn’t alone.

  It was always the same thing: “Once you’ve earned Omar’s approval of your magical capabilities, we will discuss it.” It was the carrot he dangled. Not that he’d set her free or let her even roam about the Cathedral as I did, but that he’d let me speak to her. That was it. And I couldn’t even pull that off.

  No way was Omar ever going to give his approval. The asshole hadn’t said two words to me that weren’t insults our entire time together. Schwint was the one who was helping me with my magic. We figured if I didn’t improve, Gwala would begin to threaten Cynthia’s life. I had to give it to the vampire king, no threat would have been as motivating as using my family against me. I was certain it was only a matter of time before Schwint became such a pawn as well.

  I’d already strengthened my power more than I would have ever dreamed possible. I’d never seen any other witch do what I could do. I was literally creating things from thin air. Granted, I’d figured out how to gather particles that were in the air, so it wasn’t technically from nothing, but still.

  I’d managed to use my power to contact Caitlin, who was still in hiding with Newton, though I didn’t let Gwala know that. Undoubtedly, he already knew they were close and was waiting to use them as pawns as surely as Cynthia and Schwint. True, it would be a long time before I could communicate with people as far away as San Diego, like Omar was capable of, but I hadn’t thought I’d even be able to communicate from room to room. As it was, I at least knew Caitlin was safe for the moment, and she’d been able to pass on that Mom had been released from the hospital a couple of weeks ago, that it looked like Dad would soon follow, and that Christina’s baby bump was already showing.

  We’d even been practicing controlling water in the room Gwala had assigned to us. When Gwala had introduced me to Omar, he’d mentioned that manipulating water was one of the things Omar excelled in. Though I couldn’t imagine what he wanted that for, and Omar for sure wasn’t sharing, Schwint and I figured it was something I’d better learn. So far, I was able to change its color, density, and flavor. Who knew what he was going to want me to do to water, but at least I could show I’d learned something.

  Schwint had tried to get me to tell Gwala that Omar refused to help me strengthen my power. I almost had several times. Schwint thought Gwala would rip Omar’s throat out. While I hated to admit it, I would have enjoyed that show, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to say anything, though I wasn’t sure why. I just had a gut feeling it would enrage him or make him decide that I needed more motivation. Catlin was too close for comfort, and Gwala had already proven that my family in San Diego was far from safe.

  No matter how I tried, and regardless of how guilty I felt about it, I was so angry with our parents. They’d given us a nearly perfect childhood, and we couldn’t have asked for a more loving Mom and Dad. Still, I constantly felt completely unprepared for what we had to face. We’d been so protected from darkness that we weren’t ready to defend ourselves from it. Mom had been so dogmatic about there not being magic, and that we simply had elevated powers, that we did only the most basic of spells. From what I was learning now, they seemed like nothing more than parlor tricks. Maybe Mom didn’t even know the extent to which she could push her power. I kept trying to remind myself that no parent prepares their child to be attacked and taken captive. If they had, what kind of fucked-up childhood would that have been?

  Still, if only we’d had a clue what we could do with magic, maybe Cynthia wouldn’t have been taken by the vampire. Maybe she wouldn’t even have been assaulted by that fucking scum all those years ago. Maybe Mom and Dad wouldn’t have gotten their car slammed into the bakery, and none of this would have happened.

  Hell, while I was wishing my life away, maybe if I’d known enough, I could have stopped the attack on Brett in the alley and killed the vampire. How different our lives would have been. Brett and I would never have dated. He might not know that he was a demon. His best friend Sonia would still be alive and not the new girlfriend of the vampire king—I was still struggling to wrap my brain around that one. I never would have gotten my heart broken. Never would have gone to the Square. Never would have had any of this shit. Cynthia would be safe. Rodrigo would still be alive. I would have remained a baker, a son, a brother, and an uncle, and been perfectly fine with it all. Yeah, I’d trade places with that naïve son of a bitch any day.

  Now here I was, badass warlock in training. Learning it all too late. Learning it from a fairy. How much quicker would I be learning and how much more power would I already have if I could learn from another witch—be that my parents or Omar? Maybe I’d already be powerful enough to destroy Gwala. Or at least communicate through that pane of glass that stood between my sister and me.

  Cynthia glanced my way again, bringing my thoughts back to reality. As always, hope spiked through me momentarily as I thought she saw me. Like every time before, her gaze kept moving. Maybe even if I wasn’t powerful enough to ruin Gwala, if I could earn the right to talk to her, I could let her know that we are so much more powerful than we thought we were. Then together we could destroy the Vampire Cathedral. Why stop at just Gwala?

  The sconces in her room lowered of their own accord. Barely enough light was left to see her, but I could make out her form as she lay down on top of the plush bedcover and curled up on her side.

  This was the position she took every night. Weeks ago, watching her in such a helpless, childlike position had brought me to tears. I’d ended every night wracked with sobs, and it took Schwint hours to calm me to the place where I could fall asleep. My fear and helplessness at being unable to protect her had transitioned from tears to rage.

  No more crying. Maybe not ever again. Only actions that would make it so we would get out of here. All five of us, Newton included. Only efforts that would ensure Cynthia and the rest of my family would never be in danger again.

  Eighteen

  FINN DE MORISCO

  The gray in his hair shone in the reflection from the flames that flickered from
the sconces in our room. The same effect was true for the sweat gleaming on the muscles of his naked body.

  Schwint let out a low growl and slammed into me again.

  He pummeled so hard that my face collided with the stone of the wall, forcing me to quit craning my head around so I could watch him fuck me. I lifted one of my hands off the floor and braced it against the wall, simultaneously protecting my face and enabling me to push back toward him, forcing his thrusts deeper into me.

  At first I’d refused to have sex with Schwint, not that he had pushed the issue at all. It had just felt so disrespectful to be romantic in the midst of all the injustice that was being brought down upon my family.

  However, nearly two weeks after we’d arrived, I’d come back from trying to communicate with Cynthia. I was so angry. At everyone. At the vampires. At our parents. At Schwint. At myself. I don’t even remember exactly at which point my frustration had exploded on Schwint, but I’d shoved him as he tried to console me. Already my power had increased, and I sent him flying across the room. He stopped before he hit the wall, hovering in midair before diving at me, dragonfly wings a blur in his speed. I thought he was going to hit me, and I was so shocked at having shoved him, I would have let him. Instead, he wrapped me up in his arms, so tightly I couldn’t break his hold.

  He held me until I began to struggle in earnest, then kissed me. As he forced his tongue inside, his motives became crystal clear. I wasn’t the only one trapped here. Not the only one terrified. Not the only one angry and powerless. However, we did have each other. We could alienate ourselves from one another, making it even more miserable, or we could meet each other’s needs. We could get out our anger, our frustration. We could have a release. We could find renewal and strength in each other, in our relationship.