Chapter 3 #2
The TV on the wall had a telenovela playing called Nieves del Engano, Snows of Deceit.
It looked as if they were replaying episode four, where the actors found themselves snowed in after a large storm, and things were already heating up between the two main lovers.
The lead actress reminded me of Lydia—unapologetic, dramatic, beautiful, and fiery all at once.
English subtitles scrolled lazily across the bottom of the screen.
When I was a kid, my mom used to watch it this way, and on the days I stayed home sick, I’d end up watching with her.
I’d had a small crush on the leading lady back then, though I’d never have admitted it.
The door in the back of the room swung open, and a name at random was announced. The man in front of me rose and headed through the door.
In the following minutes, more individuals were called back. I sighed. It appeared as if this wouldn’t be quick. I relaxed into my chair, prepared to settle in for the long haul.
An unexpected door on the right side of the room opened. “George Wickham?”
I stood. “That’s me.”
The officer nodded. “Mr. Artois will see you now.”
“See me now?” That was worded differently from the others that had been called back.
I glanced at the door in the rear of the room that everyone else had gone through, then gave a shrug and proceeded through the entrance.
The officer led me down a hallway of empty cells.
Was this the hidden vampire wing? It made sense that they didn’t hold vampires with the rest of the inmates.
Everyone understood that this was a minimum-security prison.
Because it existed beyond Austen Heights, I pondered how they hid the inmates, like my sire, from the world.
And I wondered how much those working at the prison even knew.
I’d never seen a jail with both people and magical beings, so I was unaware of the procedures.
The guard next to me didn’t have the same smell to his blood that humans had, so I figured he must be fae with a glamour to hide his ears. I also wore a glamour to hide my ears.
“Are we going to a side room to meet?” I asked.
The corrections officer smiled at me. “Oh no, he prefers his visitors to come to him.”
I frowned at that. The officer had a strange gleam in his eye, and I had an odd twist in my gut that he must be under my sire’s power. He carried a small hibiscus plant in his arms.
We passed through the door at the end of the hall.
On the other side was a room with a single massive cell.
My jaw dropped at the king-size bed filling one section of the enclosure.
The plush rug appeared soft and handwoven.
The large plasma TV hung on the wall, broadcasting the local basketball game with live commentary.
And in the center of everything sat Dante Artois in a leather recliner, drinking a glass of sherry. He set it aside and began to sing. The fae next to me stiffened and then relaxed. I froze and stared. The tune had a captivating and stunning quality, which made me feel unwell.
“Wait right here,” the officer said to me and eagerly headed for the bars. “Mr. Artois, how are you today? I have disabled the cameras before coming as you asked. I have brought you something I think you might like.”
Dante glanced over at the officer’s eager puppy-dog expression and stopped singing. Something dangerous flashed across his face when he saw the plant the officer held. Dante set down his glass of wine and pulled in the recliner before rising and heading toward the officer.
“What is this?” my sire asked.
“A plant. I thought you might like it to brighten up—”
A crashing noise occurred as Dante took the plant and smashed it on the ground outside of his cell. “No plants! I hate plants!”
The officer looked crushed. “But it’s not real—”
Dante paused and glanced at the decimated pot. “It’s not? Oh, then clean up this mess.”
“Yes, sir. I will bring you another one. A better one.”
I hid a smile at the ridiculous display. The officer didn’t realize it, but talking plants aided in getting Dante Artois incarcerated.
My sire stepped away from the harried guard, who did as he was bid. Dante’s sharp eyes landed on me. A grin spread across his face.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the prodigal son.”
“Dante.” I greeted him and then nodded toward the officer. “You’re controlling him, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have the power to turn or even bite anyone here.
” His mouth turned into a small pout of disappointment.
“This prison is warded against turning others, as well as certain compulsions—releasing me or anything violent. However, harmless little favors”—he motioned around him—“for an experienced vampire who has mastered the song are within my ability to compel.” He waved a dismissive hand at the officer.
I took a step back, the sickly feeling in my gut growing.
The song was something only very seasoned vampires could do.
It compelled a human or even fae without a vampire needing to bite them.
I had yet to master the song. If Dante could do it, and I had heard his melody, then he possessed the ability to compel me.
In fact, he must have used it to convince the authorities to let him stay here.
If they could have decided for themselves, they wouldn’t have allowed him to remain in such a low-security prison.
At least that worked out for me today, because it granted me easy access to my sire.
But it also made me vulnerable. I thought of leaving but clenched my hands into fists.
He could stop me before I got to the door, even with my speed.
All it would take was one word from him, and he looked ready, like he expected me to try.
It was too late.
“Leave us,” Dante snapped at the corrections officer. The officer bowed and left the room. Dante turned his full attention to me. “It was clever what you did, working with that fae princess to bring me down and get me locked away. I couldn’t control you anymore.” He cast me a low glare.
Alarm shot through me. Was that how he saw it?
As me plotting against him? I wished I had been that smart, but the moment I found out that my sire was involved, I did everything in my power to get Georgiana to stop investigating the case.
But she’d uncovered the truth anyway with the assistance of the plants with whom she could communicate.
“That’s not how it was,” I blurted. In fact, putting others in danger had forced me to remember that horrifying moment when my sire turned me. After seeing how easily I put Georgiana at risk, I broke things off with her and sworn never to get serious with anyone again.
Until my fae-witch fought her way into my heart.
“Oh well, either way it’s foolish of you to come here and place yourself at my mercy,” Dante replied.
I swallowed. It was, but I hadn’t realized he’d mastered the song. “You can’t compel me to do something violent.”
He sighed with disappointment. “Alas,” he said as he picked up a dart and threw it. At the center of the bullseye was a picture of a rose plant. The paper hung torn and shredded, almost unidentifiable. “To what do I owe this surprise?”
“I’m here to make reconciliation. What do I need to do to get you to leave us alone?”
He arched an eyebrow at me. “Us?”
My eyes narrowed. He had to know about Lydia. “Someone left a dead fae man on my doorstep, drained of blood. I figured you aimed to send a message.”
He tossed another dart without looking, and it struck the rose plant picture.
Part of the image ripped off and fluttered to the ground where I noticed the remains of other shredded plant images.
“What message might I want to send?” He picked up yet another dart and rolled it between his fingers.
“Sounds as if someone is trying to set you up, dear Wickham. But I’m slightly disappointed to inform you it wasn’t on my orders. ”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You think I’d ruin everything I have here simply to exact retribution on you?
If they suspected that someone was setting you up, who’d be the first person they’d look at?
Even if you were accused, who’d believe that you’d be so stupid as to leave a body on your own doorstep?
It’s a tad too convenient. And then, of course, suspicion would fall on me since I supposedly have a motive, and I’m also a vampire who you’ve had contact with.
A simple witch spell could confirm I was your sire. ”
I hesitated. Could this be true? “So you weren’t trying to get back at me for…”
“For what? Why do I care that you married some insignificant witch?” His eyes gleamed. If there was anything about Dante, it was that he loved keeping his subjects off balance.
“So you’re aware of that.”
“I have my informants who keep me up to date on people I find… of interest. But again, your little witch means nothing to me… unless you told her about us?”
“No, I can’t tell anyone what I am. You compelled me against it when you turned me, remember?”
He hummed a melody. “Let’s try this again. Be truthful. Did your witch wife discover that you’re a vampire?”
The compulsion washed over me like a wave, and the answer rose unbidden up my throat.
“Yes.”
He was powerful. He shouldn’t be in here.
Despite that, I felt certain he couldn’t have forced anyone to harm the slain fae man.
The wards at this prison were strong enough to prevent that but not much else.
The undertaking to prevent every urge proved too difficult—the spell craft and witches needed to maintain it proved excessive.
That was why this facility could only partially contain vampires and why he should be in a maximum-security prison where they took the care to have enough witches on hand.
He tsked. “That’s against vampire code, my offspring. Was this witchling present when you found the dead fae body drained of blood?”