Chapter 18 – Regina
Chapter
Eighteen
REGINA
Villeneuve’s living room is bursting at the seams with wolves and witches tonight.
The wolves have claimed most of the available seating, except for Killian, who’s yet again standing by the window, keeping himself apart from the rest of us.
Actually, I’m starting to think he’s photosynthesizing.
Sean is in full storytelling mode, perched precariously on the arm of the couch with his hands moving in increasingly dramatic gestures. His eyepatch has shifted slightly off-center. The one with the flames, because that’s his “evening look.”
His words, not mine.
“—and then she just starts screaming, right? Like a fucking horror movie. And this purple shit starts spreading all over her skin and—”
“We were there,” Rowan says weakly from his corner of the couch. He’s got one arm pressed against his stomach and his face has a distinctly greenish tint to it. “We don’t need the play-by-play.”
“Dude, Killian and Micah and Sadie weren’t there,” Sean protests. “They need to know what happened, it’s journalism.”
“It’s absolutely not that,” Killian says flatly.
“So anyway,” Sean continues, ignoring him, “the purple stuff is spreading, and it’s like watching someone melt in fast forward. Her face just starts sliding the fuck off.”
Rowan makes a noise that sounds like a cat with a hairball.
“And then her arms go all goopy, and there’s this smell, like if you left a can of ham in your car for six weeks in August—”
“Sean.” Rowan’s voice is strained. “I’m begging you. Stop being so descriptive.”
“What? I’m just painting a picture.”
“Paint a different picture. A nice landscape with some happy little trees, furry art, fucking anything but that.”
Sadie, who’s been watching this exchange with her arms folded and her usual expression of vague disdain, lets out a snort. “So the bitch who was boinking your ex right under your nose got turned to goo. That must have been satisfying to watch.”
I don’t answer right away.
Everyone turns to look at me.
Sadie’s eyebrow arches, waiting expectantly.
“No,” I say slowly. “It was actually horrifying.”
The eyebrow climbs higher.
“Okay. Fine.” I cross my arms. “There was a moment where watching her realize that Kyle had fucked her over too felt pretty fucking good. And then she melted into a puddle of magical gore, which kind of ruined the vibe. I’m not a psychopath.”
“More than I can say for the guy—or gal, we’re equal opportunity here—who turned Rebecca into a human smoothie,” Sean chimes in.
Rowan gags again as soon as the word smoothie is out of Sean’s mouth.
“Please stop calling it that,” Rowan groans, looking like he’s going to be sick all over again. I’m not sure there’s anything left in him at this point. It’s aspirational puking now.
Killian hasn’t moved from the window. The light from outside catches the dark veins on his neck, making them look almost black against his skin. I think they’ve grown even more since we left.
I hate it. I hate watching him pull away inch by inch, like he’s already preparing us for his absence.
But that’s not something I’m going to think about right now. Not when we actually might have a lead.
“Just got a text from the dragon,” Micah announces, checking his phone. “They’re cross-referencing the sample Vyse collected against some database or something.”
“Wait, Villeneuve texts you?” Sean asks, sounding jealous. “I tried to give him a high five the other day and he just stared at me.”
A high five is still more than I’ve gotten from him lately.
And he texted Micah instead of me.
Yeah, he’s avoiding me alright.
“What could you possibly have wanted to high five him for?” Killian sounds vaguely jealous, which is at once hilarious and a relief to see him have an opinion on something so trivial.
“That spooky maid dropped a bunch of plates and he caught them all with one hand,” Sean answers. “It was fucking awesome.”
“I still haven’t seen this maid,” Micah says warily. “Should I be concerned?”
“She’s probably a spirit who’s only visible to small children and people whose minds are unclouded by complex thoughts,” Sadie offers from her chair. “Like Sean.”
“I’ve seen her too,” I say. “Her name is Margot. And yes, she’s very spooky.”
“So much for that theory,” Sadie muses. “Then again, you do fuck my brother.”
“Damn right she does,” Micah says with a grin.
Sadie grimaces. I just snort.
Fuck, they really are rubbing off on me.
“Think Vyse will have any luck with the database?” Rowan asks of no one in particular.
“It’s the Council database,” I answer. “Every registered practitioner, every known magical signature, every recorded case of forbidden magic going back centuries.”
“That sounds good,” Sean says, ever the optimist.
I hesitate. “The database is extensive. But if this necromancer is as powerful as he has to be...”
“Or she,” Sean corrects.
“Or she, it’s unlikely they’re reckless enough to leave any traces through the official channels. One slip-up and it would all be over.”
“So we’re dealing with the Moriarty of dead people magic,” Micah mutters.
Sadie blinks at him. “You’ve read a book?”
Micah shrugs. “I like his little hat.”
Rowan rolls his eyes.
“We need a backup plan,” I say. “Something that doesn’t rely entirely on Vyse tracking this guy down.”
Micah nods. “Agreed. I don’t like relying on that weirdo.”
“A weirdo who apparently has the hots for Sadie.” Sean grins and I can practically see the lightbulb pop up over his head. Always a dangerous sign. “Maybe we can use that.”
Sadie’s death glare is so aggressive I’m surprised she doesn’t strain something. “I’m not seducing that psycho for intel, dumbass.”
“Why not? You’ve got the whole Morticia vibe going on. He’s clearly into it.”
“Because he’s a literal siren who can read minds and probably eats people for fun?” she challenges. “Hard pass.”
“Fair point.” Sean considers this for approximately half a second before shrugging. “Well, I’m sure as fuck not doing it. I’ve seen the way he eyes these guns.” He kisses his right bicep, then his left.
“Come on, man,” Micah complains. “Rowan just stopped throwing up.”
“Hey, I can’t blame the guy,” Sean says, holding up his hands. “I’m very charming. Especially with the eyepatch. Unfortunately for him, I’m as straight as the C’s on my transcript and I only have eyes for Regina. Um. Eye.”
He winks at me. With finger guns.
It’s… more charming than I’d like to admit, actually.
Micah squints. “If we’re using Sean as siren bait, I’m not really sure the eyepatch is going to work. I like the one with the studs better.”
“The studs are definitely an improvement,” Rowan agrees from his fainting couch.
Sean’s hand flies to cover his eyepatch. “The flames are sick and you’re both haters. And I said I’m not gonna be siren bait!”
The bickering continues, with Killian half-heartedly attempting to referee, but I’m only partially listening. My brain is spinning through possibilities, discarding them almost as quickly as they form.
The remaining coven members are useless. Rowan is right, anyone who gets close to spilling useful information apparently turns into sludge. Kyle is gone, presumably taken by the same necromancer who raised the werewolf. And the necromancer himself is a ghost. No name, no face, no trail to follow.
Except the aforementioned sludge, if Vyse is as good at his job as he claims to be. Feels like a long shot.
But there might be one place we haven’t looked.
The thought is still forming when the door to the living room opens.
Villeneuve enters, and his presence shifts the atmosphere immediately. He looks more ominous than usual, which is saying something for a man who literally transforms into a dragon.
Sadie is on her feet before he’s fully through the doorway, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair.
“Gotta go,” she announces. “Big test in the morning. Very important. Very not here. I’ll show myself out.”
She’s out the door before anyone can respond, the sound of her combat boots fading rapidly down the hallway.
Villeneuve watches her go with an expression that could be amusement, if amusement involved absolutely no change in facial features whatsoever.
“Your sister continues to find my presence unsettling,” he observes to Micah.
“Yeah, imagine that,” Micah says dryly.
I cross the room to where Villeneuve is standing, ignoring the way Killian’s attention snaps toward me. He doesn’t like me being this close to the dragon. But he’s also afraid for me to be close to him.
Tough. I need answers.
“Any leads?” I ask.
Villeneuve’s dark eyes meet mine. “Vyse is cross-referencing the sample against the Council’s complete database. Every magical signature they have on record, including classified archives that require special clearance to access.”
It’s nothing I don’t already know, but I nod. “So how long is it going to take?”
“It’s being expedited. The Council takes necromancy seriously.” He works his jaw slightly. “However, it’s likely the necromancer may not be in any official database. Practitioners of the forbidden arts make a point of staying off the grid.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “I figured. So, what, Vyse just wanders around with his magic sludge sample until he gets a hit?”
“Essentially, yes. He has certain... abilities that allow him to track magical signatures across significant distances. If the necromancer is within range, Vyse will find him.”
“And if he’s not within range?”
“Then we expand the search.”
I don’t like it. It’s too passive, too dependent on factors outside our control. Vyse could take days or even weeks.
Time Killian doesn’t have.
“I want to help,” I say.
Killian’s voice booms from across the room. “No.”
I turn to face him. He’s moved from the window when I wasn’t looking to position himself closer to where Villeneuve and I are standing. His ice-blue eyes look even more amber than they usually do when he gets like this. His hands are clenched into fists.
“I wasn’t asking for permission,” I say evenly.