Chapter 2 #2
Faith’s voice stayed intense, but there was a bite under it. “Just interesting wording. You trust her. Nice of you to say out loud what you do not trust.”
Eve’s fingers tightened around her necklace again. She did not look at Faith, but I could feel the gratitude and the discomfort coming off her in equal measure. Being defended by Faith was like being protected by a blunt instrument.
Lucinda nodded once, decisive. “Mina is responsible. Caton, you should call her.”
Caton did not call. He pulled out his phone and started typing, thumbs moving fast. A text, not a conversation. Control maintained.
While he did that, the rest of the room continued to circle the problem like wolves around a fire.
Alex tapped the board, focusing us. “Containment. If this continues, we need to limit movement in town.”
Hunter nodded once. “The pack can set physical boundaries. We can keep mundanes away from any hotspots.”
Nishi added, “My hunters can do the same, but we need something that does not look supernatural. Barricades. Emergency detours. We can feed mundanes a reason they accept.”
“Gas leak,” Carnell suggested.
Eve gave him a look. “Gas leak that smells like death.”
“Rotting sewer line,” Carnell tried.
Faith nodded in agreement. But the council members did not seem to like the idea.
“Something else then,” Carnell said, mildly offended.
Nishi’s gaze drifted, listening to things none of us could hear. “Fear is spreading faster than bodies.”
Lucinda’s tone rose. “Then we stop the fear.”
I could not help myself. “You want to tell them to breathe and drink some water?”
Lucinda’s eyes flashed. “I want to give them a story that allows them to file this away as nonsense.”
Alex nodded. “A film. A prank. Something viral. If it looks like a stunt, the public will argue with itself until the truth gets buried under opinions.”
I hated that I agreed. I hated that my brain immediately pictured comment sections doing the council’s work for them.
This is fake.
No, it is real, my cousin saw it.
That is makeup.
That is a demon.
You need therapy.
And while people fought online, they would stop looking for answers in the real world. That was the goal. Not truth. Containment.
Caton’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and the tightness around his mouth eased by a fraction.
“She is coming,” he said.
Lucinda’s lips curved. “Good.”
Eve flinched.
I shifted closer to her without thinking. Not touching, not making it a thing, just close enough that she was not alone in the moment.
“Are you okay?” I murmured.
Eve’s eyes stayed on the portal. “Ask me later.”
I pressed my lips together.
The portal shimmered, the air folding in on itself as if someone had pulled back a curtain. The light that spilled out was not bright, but it was concentrated, like the doorway held its own weather.
Mina stepped through.
She paused immediately, eyes widening as she took in the chamber. Awe washed over her face so openly it made her look younger than twenty-two.
“Whoa,” she breathed. “Okay. This is… this is a lot.”
Caton’s expression softened, just slightly, in the way people did when they saw someone they loved in a space that mattered to them.
Mina’s gaze swept the room, landing on faces, then the pulsing board, then the torches. She looked as if she wanted to touch the marble just to confirm it was real.
Then her eyes found her father, and her posture straightened. Excitement pulled her features bright.
“Dad,” she said. “Your text was terrifying. Are you okay?”
“We are fine,” Caton said, which was a lie if you counted the undead outside. He motioned toward Eve, then Lucinda, then the board. “We need your help. Eve suggested we bring you in.”
Mina’s gaze flicked to her mother, and something warmed in her expression. Then it shifted again when her eyes slid to Lucinda.
She smiled, quick and practiced, as if she had done it before. Like she had been trained to.
“I have been waiting for an opportunity like this,” Mina said, and there was no hesitation in her voice. No fear. Only eagerness.
Of course.
She was young. She was ambitious. She was a witch whose spells went wrong sometimes, according to what Eve had muttered in passing. She wanted to prove she could do more than post pretty edits and film snappy clips.
Mina’s eyes glittered as she looked at Caton. “What do you need?”
Caton inclined his head toward the board. “Mundanes saw the undead. Too many. We cannot mind wipe the town.”
Mina’s brows drew together. “So you need a cover.”
Lucinda stepped forward, smile smooth. “We need a story that spreads faster than panic.”
Mina nodded as if she had been asked to plan a birthday party, not clean up supernatural exposure. “I can do that.”
Then she turned fully toward Lucinda, and her smile widened into something sweet enough to rot teeth.
“Thank you, Lucinda.”
Eve visibly flinched.
It was subtle, but it was there. A tightening around her eyes, a momentary stiffness in her shoulders. The kind of reaction that did not belong in a room full of political predators, because it revealed something real.
Lucinda smiled as if she had just been handed a crown. “Of course, Mina. You are an angel.”
Mina beamed. “I know.”
Faith made a low sound in her throat. Not quite a laugh, not quite a growl. She leaned closer to the wall, arms crossed tighter, as if she needed physical restraint to stop herself from speaking.
Mina turned back to Caton, then glanced at Eve, her smile dimming for half a second. There was guilt there, quick and fleeting.
Then she pushed it away and went practical.
“Okay,” she said, brisk now. “We say we were filming. A zombie movie. An indie student project. We post behind-the-scenes footage immediately. Makeup, props, fake blood. We show the cast laughing between takes. We apologize. We say we had no idea people would think it was real.”
Hunter’s brow furrowed. “And the injuries.”
Mina’s expression tightened. “We say the crowd panicked, and some people got hurt in the rush. We say we are working with authorities. We offer to pay medical bills.”
Faith’s eyes narrowed. “You can pay medical bills?”
Mina’s gaze flicked to her father, then back to Faith. “We can say we will. It is optics.”
Caton nodded once, approving.
I hated how competent Mina sounded. I hated even more that it would work.
Alex studied her, lavender eyes potent. “How quickly can you move?”
Mina pulled out her phone as if it were a weapon. “Immediately. I already have a group chat for the film club. I will pull in the empowered students too. They can help sell it. If enough witches say it was a project, the mundanes will argue with themselves until they are exhausted.”
Lucinda clasped her hands as if she might actually swoon. “Mina, you are perfect for this job.”
Mina’s grin returned. “I know.”
Eve’s breath left her in a controlled exhale. I could feel her trying to decide whether to be proud or furious. Mothers had complicated emotional math.
Mina started typing, thumbs flying, then looked up again. “We will film a quick clip here too. We do not show the chambers, obviously. But we can use a plain background, talk about the project, act flustered. I can do a live. People eat up live apologies.”
Carnell murmured, “Yes, the ritual humiliation of contrition. It is very popular.”
Faith shot him a look.
He smiled wider.
Mina’s gaze moved around the room again, and I saw the awe creeping back in. The chambers were still impressing her. The stakes had not fully landed. Or maybe they had, and she was choosing to treat it like a challenge so fear would not have room to grow.
Then she looked at Eve, and her voice softened just a fraction. “Mom, can you help me with the makeup story. Like, confirm we used your shop supplies. People know your place. It adds credibility.”
Eve’s throat bobbed. “Sure.”
Caton’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he did not like Eve being part of the plan. Like he wanted Mina’s success to belong to him and Lucinda.
Faith caught it. I saw it in the way her jaw set.
Eve leaned toward me, quick and quiet, and whispered in my ear, “I am not sure if I should throw up or be grateful Mina has an in with the wicked bitch.”
I pressed my lips together so hard it almost hurt.
Because the worst part was, Eve was right on both counts.
Across the room, Lucinda was still smiling at Mina as if she had personally invented her. Like she had plucked Mina out of the air and shaped her into the perfect tool.
Alex turned back to the board, voice returning to command. “All right. Mina handles the narrative. Faith, Hunter, you coordinate physical containment. Nishi, I need you to track aura anomalies around the hotspots. Salima…”
Lucinda’s gaze snapped to me again.
Alex hesitated, then finished, “Salima, I need you to focus on what you felt, and what you did not feel. If this necromancy is masked, we find the seam. There is always a something.”
Lucinda’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she did not argue. Not because she trusted me.
Because she needed me.
I did not know whether to feel vindicated or nauseous.
Probably both.
Against the wall, the board pulsed again, red flares multiplying.
And while Mina typed and Lucinda preened, I could not shake the thought that the undead outbreak was not the main event.
It was the opening act.