70 Dáinn
DáINN
I’m ripped through the void, commanded by the call of my name. I appear in the dungeon of Raven Watch in a swirl of shadows. It’s a large stone room, like something out of a medieval castle. Sconces on the walls flicker with torchlight.
Ludmilla stands before me wearing a black silk dress with a high collar.
It wraps around her like water flowing down to her feet.
The dark stone room is ringed with her cronies.
Dimitri Galanis, the witch with ties to the Underworld.
Nikolaj, the gargoyle. Vivienne, the vampire.
A trio of demons block the door. I know them well too.
Sol is the head of security here at Raven Watch.
Luther and Draethus, his loyal captains.
I float in the middle of the room. “You called for me?”
Ludmilla’s face is a mask of fury. It’s not her real face, of course.
Or her real body. She pays a heavy price in magic to keep herself looking so young and beautiful.
For that is the cost of immortality stolen.
Her soul leeches from mine like a parasite, while her body still withers.
Layers of concealment charms and illusions keep people from seeing the rotting corpse within.
But I’ve always seen it. Her aura flickers now with anger and resentment. She is a wolf in the woods, always hungry, never satisfied.
“Enzo Barsotti is missing,” she announces. “I sent him on a rather important errand, and he disappeared without a trace.”
“All rats will flee a sinking ship,” I intone.
She hisses, stepping forward. “Am I a sinking ship, wraith?”
“You cling to my immortality, but you are not immortal,” I reply. “All mortals die, just like all ships sink. Sooner or later, every creature here will leave you . . . or journey first into the grave.”
This has all her cronies shifting, glaring at me, cracking their stone knuckles.
The diamond bracelets on her wrist twinkle in the torchlight as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you saying you have no information on his whereabouts?”
“It’s not my job to follow Enzo Barsotti.”
“No,” she snarls. “Your job was to follow the witches of Burr Island!”
“Which I will continue to do as soon as you release me—”
“Jasper Prescott is still alive!”
I go still. “Mistress?”
She smiles, though it does nothing to warm the features of her face. “I said Jasper Prescott is still alive. The witch has apparently been in hiding this last week. He revealed himself to me just now . . . just before he ripped all my ravens from the sky with lightning.”
If I had a heart, it would be racing. “That’s impossible.”
“Which part?”
“Jasper Prescott is a green witch. Prescott witches are always green—”
“He ripped my ravens from the sky!”
Inside, I’m singing. Oh, Jasper. My sweet witch is an Aberrant no longer.
I saw the power in him, the raw potential.
When I attacked him that first night, he pulled on his water magic to save him without even realizing it.
Baz saw it too just last night. As Jasper made his threat, lightning flashed in his eyes.
Jasper Lyons Prescott controls two elements—my amazing, clever witch.
Ludmilla’s eyes flash to pools of black, bloodshot in the corners. Stepping forward, she snatches for my collar, grabbing the chain only she can touch to jerk me closer. “I just said Jasper Prescott is alive. How is that possible? I gave you his name!”
I am calm under her assault. I want for nothing. The essence of Birdie fills me. I feel no hunger or fear. And this witch cannot hold me. Something in our bond is already broken. In seven short days, my witch will smash what remains into pieces. We will win. We will defeat Ludmilla.
Holding her gaze, I smile, not caring that she can’t see it. “I found I wasn’t hungry.”
She shrieks, jerking harder on my chain. “You rotten wretch! You wear my collar! You are my creature, you do as I say—”
“No longer,” I rasp.
Dropping my chain, she steps away. “You would dare defy me?”
Growing larger, I let my shadows pool out, darkening the room.
“I hate you. Every moment of every day for the last one hundred and seventy-two years, I have loathed you. I have tried everything to escape you, for there is nothing good in you. You’re a rotten apple, ruined to the core.
You latch on to the souls of others because you have none for yourself! ”
“I will not hear lectures on souls from a nasty little carrion eater—”
“This carrion eater knows more about souls than you ever will!”
She gasps, leaning away. “I did not call you here to argue with you about the nature of souls. I called you in to issue you a warning.”
My fires temper and I take in her confident glare. “A warning?”
“Yes.” Holding her head high, she stares me down. “Whatever you’re doing with the witches of Burr Island . . . stop it now.”
“You stop,” I hiss. “Stop, and leave them alone, or by all the gods, I will dance over your corpse once you’re dead. These rats may flee, but hear me, Ludmilla Latchko, I will dance.”
Her eyes narrow. “Is that their plan then? They wish to kill me?”
“Everyone wishes to kill you! You’re a thief, and a snake, and the Burr Island witches have entered a very long line. Of all your many enemies, at least their cause is just.”
Now she’s the one snarling, stepping forward to lean into my cowled face. “Why don’t I just kill them all now then? Ten witches, ten names. I’ll have control of that island by teatime.”
Her anger is making her sloppy. I revel in it.
She knows why she can’t kill them all. She said the words herself not two days ago.
She worries with them all dead that the blood magic sealing the island might morph itself.
Perhaps it will root to the island, never to be lifted.
No, she has to tread carefully. She needs Howe.
And she needs to keep at least one Burr Island witch alive.
I square my shoulders at her, wholly defiant. “We both know you’re powerless against them now. Jasper still lives.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t save them all, wraith.”
“Can’t I? Why don’t we try? Give me one of their names.”
Eyes wide, she steps back. I can see the wheels of her mind spinning. “So, you’ve found some way around my orders? You don’t have to kill when I give you a name?”
“Try it and see.”
Her lips purse as she considers. “Or perhaps the Burr Island witches have found some magic that stops you in your tracks?”
“Try it and see,” I say again, knowing I’m taunting her.
“Oh, trust me, I will. And soon. But for now, I must ensure you don’t return to them and continue plotting over Homewood.”
“There is nothing for you there—”
“There is everything for me there!” She swoops forward, her face right before mine.
“Do you know how long I have waited? How long I have planned? Mathilde Blake thought she was clever hiding in that church. Then they set that blaze themselves. Oh, so clever. She thinks death can save her? Nothing will stop me from getting what I want. Not you, and not some pathetic group of island witches who make candles and brew tonics. I will root them out of their rocks! I will burn them all down. And once they are gone, I will dig up every inch of that earth until I have what I want. Mark me, wraith. Burr Island is mine.”
Sighing, I shake my cowled head. “What happened to make you so cold? There is still time to correct course. Free me from this bond, and I will go to them now. I will tell them to let you be. You can all walk away. Live and let live, as witches are meant to do.”
It’s clear she’s wholly uninterested in my offer. “Nothing is over until I get what I want. And you’re not going anywhere.”
I bristle, drifting back, ready to fade into the void. “You can’t hold me anymore. I go where I choose.”
At this she smiles, her eyes glinting with malice. “Oh, I know. But I think you’ll choose to stay here.”
“Why would I do that?”
Still smiling, she glances over to the door. “Bring her in.”
The demons Luther and Draethus disappear.
In moments they’re back with Mindy, who holds a chain, leading in a very scared young woman.
She’s pretty—tall and curvy, with dark skin and springy black curls framing her face like a halo.
I note her aura. I’ve seen it many times before.
Jasmine and honey, fresh tomato plants kissed by the morning sun.
It’s Phoebe Prescott.
She looks around this dungeon room with eyes wide, her gaze settling on me. “No,” she whimpers, pulling on the chain. “No, please. Please—”
“Hush, girl,” Ludmilla soothes. “My wraith isn’t going to eat you. In fact, he’s now the only thing keeping you alive.”
“What?” Tears well in Phoebe’s dark eyes.
Ludmilla gestures with the point of an elegant hand. “That collar you’re wearing is a rather special one, courtesy of my demonic friends. You see, if you or this wraith tries to take it off, it will constrict until you die.”
Stifling a cry, Phoebe raises her bound hands, her trembling fingers brushing over the cold metal at her neck. “Oh my god—”
“No, shh shh.” Ludmilla steps forward. “Best not to touch it, dear. It’s rather old and very temperamental.”
Phoebe promptly drops her hands to her sides.
“Good girl. Now, as I was saying, if this wraith tries to leave this room for any reason, the collar will constrict until you die. And if he dares to try and take you with him, the collar will constrict until you die. Do you understand?”
Phoebe glares at her with deepest loathing. “I think I got it, yeah.”
“Good,” Ludmilla croons. “You should know that I have the only key to unlock the collar. If anything should happen to me . . . well, I’m very sorry, dear, but you will die.”
Poor Phoebe sniffles. “Shoulda never left freaking Germany.”
“But you did,” Ludmilla replies. “And now you’re mine.
” Slowly, the rotten witch turns to me. “How happy will it make your new friend, the high priest, when you tell him that you are responsible for his niece’s death, the girl he loves like his own daughter?
Will he welcome you back to his island with open arms? ”
Feeling defeated, I let my shadows curl in. “I hate you.”
Satisfied, Ludmilla smiles. “And I mean to earn your hate, wraith. Every shadowy inch of it. Until I find a way to do without your pestilential presence, I will bask in your hate . . . as I drain your life. Now, I’m going to leave the two of you down here for a while.
The choice is yours, Dáinn. Leave, and I kill her.
Take her with you, and I kill her. Touch the collar in any way, and I kill her.
But then again you are a wraith. You might start to feel peckish and just kill her yourself. ”
At this, Phoebe gasps, looking at me with fear once more.
This makes Ludmilla smile wider. “If you do kill her, I’ll be sure to show your new friends the proof.” She points to the corner. I don’t even need to look to know the red light of a camera glows, watching our every move. All the corners are rigged with cameras.
Ludmilla claps her hands, and her cronies quickly begin filing out of the room. Turning at the door, she casts me one last smile. “Make good choices, Dáinn. We both know you’ll live with the consequences for a very, very long time.” With that, she leaves.
I’m left alone in this bare dungeon room with a weepy Phoebe Prescott.
We both watch the door slam shut. We hear the heavy bolt latch.
Phoebe at least is locked in. But for me, there are no bars to this cage.
I could leave. I could be back with my human and my witch in a blink.
All it will cost me is the life of Birdie’s only friend and Jasper’s only niece.
“Creepy psycho witch!” Phoebe shouts at the closed door. Turning around, she flaps her arms at me. “They snatched me at the freaking airport! Who does that?”
“I’m so sorry, Phoebe.”
Her dark eyes widen. “You know my name?”
“I do.”
She wraps her arms around her middle as she takes me in. “You’re him, right? You’re Death. The one who came for my uncle?”
“I am.”
“But you didn’t kill him?”
“I didn’t. But we will speak no more of it here,” I add, pointing with a skeletal hand towards the glowing red camera light.
She huffs, shaking her head. “Just freaking perfect.” Turning in a slow circle, she glances all around. “Well, I get the feeling from her little supervillain monologue that this torture is meant more for you than for me. But you have a plan, right? You have a plan to get us out of this?”
“There is a plan,” I rasp. I know Ludmilla is likely listening through the camera, but there’s nothing secret in her knowing Jasper Prescott has formulated a plan of attack against her. She would be foolish to think otherwise. And Ludmilla Latchko is sadly no fool.
Phoebe points with both hands at the collar on her neck. “But will the plan get me out of this?”
I wince, saying nothing.
No, this was not in the plan. Not at all.
Her expression looks haunted as she nods. “All right. No, that’s fine. We’ll figure it out. You know, Uncle Jasper will come, and he’ll fix it.” She looks to me. “He’s gonna fix it, right? He’s gonna kill this rotten witch?”
Holding her gaze, I nod. “Mark me, Phoebe Prescott, your uncle will kill Ludmilla Latchko. He’ll kill her or die trying.”
TO BE CONTINUED