Chapter 2
two
OPHELIA
The prison's magic forced Dante to his feet, and made him walk stiffly down another hall that looked like the first one I'd gone through.
"Where are we going?" I whispered, as the glaring and/or confused prisoners disappeared from my sight.
Dante and I hadn't exchanged greetings, but having his fangs in my throat seemed like greeting enough.
"Solitary confinement. Twelve hours there is the consequence for drawing blood."
I blinked. "You didn't draw blood."
"The magic of this place considers a vampire's bite as drawing blood. It only gives you long enough to manage one or two swallows before it kicks in."
Oh, shit.
I hadn't factored that in when I was weaving the magic.
"How do vampires survive?" I asked.
"We get used to hunger, and spend most nights in solitary."
"Will the prison let you carry me in there?" I asked, as a door opened in front of us. The magic had opened it, of course. There were no guards in my prison. They weren't necessary. They probably wouldn't have survived, either.
"Yeah. The magic generally doesn't stop anyone else from going into solitary with you. Some pairs use it as a way to have privacy while they're fucking. There's a mated couple who lives in one of the solitary cells almost permanently."
Dante stepped through a door and into what basically resembled a closet. There was a tiny bed inside, with a toilet beside it, and barely enough room to walk to both. It wasn't glamorous, but I guess it served its purpose.
Magically, I was the one who built the prison. Physically, there had been a team of other people in charge of it. The Cabinet had paid them, and given them orders.
I'd seen a map of the place while it was being built, and used it when I was creating the framework. When I wove the magic into place, I had to walk through it, but I'd been focused on the magic.
My power continued functioning after I released it. I could unravel it with enough effort, but there was no reason to do that. Not when it kept monsters like the blue-aura psychopath and the creepy green-aura dude away from the rest of us.
"A couple lives in solitary confinement?" I asked.
"Yeah. More privacy that way."
"Wow. Romantic," I said.
Dante sat down on the bed. When he did, I realized I was sitting on his lap.
And he was sporting an erection.
Awkward.
I cleared my throat. "I'm not really interested in prison sex at the moment, so..."
"Drinking blood when you're hungry is a turn-on for any vampire. Don't take it personally."
So it was my blood, not me.
That was cool, I guess.
"As long as you're not hoping this turns into anything else." I gestured between us.
"I'm not. And for the record, I'm not the one sitting on your lap."
Right.
Ahem.
I tried to climb off him, but the room was tiny, and my backpack weighed a fucking ton.
Dante unbuckled my backpack's chest strap without touching my skin or overalls.
"I don't need help," I lied, scooting away from him so I could get to the strap around my waist. As soon as that buckle was unlatched, the backpack slid off my shoulders.
A panicked sound that resembled a pained animal's escaped me as I tipped backward. The vampire had to grab the backpack to keep me upright.
He gave me a look I couldn't read as he helped me pull my arms out of the straps. When I was free, he set the bag down next to the bed, unceremoniously blocking our path out. There was literally nowhere else to put it, unless he tried to set it on the toilet.
Thankfully, he didn't.
"Why does your backpack sound like it has glass in it?"
"Because there's pottery in it."
"Pottery?" Dante lifted an eyebrow. "You carried pottery into a prison full of deadly immortal psychopaths?"
"Yes. It's more important than it seems."
The vampire let out a long breath, and finally deposited me on the bed next to him.
I hadn't realized I was still sitting on his lap.
Oops.
"Alright, Pixie. I fucked up the very delicate balance between the penitentiary's gangs for you, so I'm going to need you to start talking. Now."
"Fist off, I have a name," I said.
"I assumed."
My face flushed. "Don't be a dick."
"Prison does that to people."
"You were probably a dick before you went to prison."
His lack of offense told me I was absolutely correct. "Who and what are you?"
"Why do you sound so suspicious?"
"I dated a pixie for a few months, a long time ago. I'm damn sure the magic in her blood didn't taste like that. That's not pixie magic."
"What do I taste like?" I asked, slightly curious
"Darkness."
So my blood tasted like a liquid nightmare.
Fabulous.
"Fine." I blew a puff of air at my bangs. They were always in my eyes. Maybe I should just grow the damn things out. "Someone sent me to get you and Jazz out of here. The pottery is supposed to help."
"Grayson sent you?"
"Yeah." It was kind of true.
Grayson Darke was the incubus king. One of the three other types of demons. Him and Dante were basically family, along with the woman I was supposed to rescue from the prison too. Her name was Jazz.
"Fuck." Dante leaned back against the wall. The man had clearly spent a lot of time in the tiny room, because he seemed perfectly comfortable there. "So, what are you?"
I hadn't actually planned on telling him who I was. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters. You wouldn't be hiding it from me or lying about it if it didn't."
I grimaced.
Dante studied me for a few seconds, but didn't push. Not for a minute, anyway.
"How are you supposed to get us out?" he finally asked.
"With the pottery."
"Can it take more than me and Jazz?"
"No. Just me, you, and her," I said. It had taken me nearly a year to put enough magic in the pottery to make that happen. "Why?"
"You heard the other guys mention Shiv?"
I nodded. "I figured that's you. Seemed like they were the gang leaders."
"They were. I'm not. I'm Shiv's left-hand man. Jazz is his right." Dante paused. "And she's his mate. She can't leave this place without him. He's the only person she can feed on."
Oh.
Fuck.
My stomach clenched. "Was he one of the other guys I met?"
"No. He and Jazz avoid big group meals. They're dangerous for her."
Jazz was the siren queen. Her magic, like all sirens', would draw people in. Make them want her.
"What is he?" I asked.
There was one person in the prison I had no desire to see again. He usually kept to himself, so I'd figured he wouldn't be in the big group area I'd walked into.
"Shiv? He's an angel."
Double fuck.
There was no way there was another angel in the prison. Zero chance. The Cabinet was under strict orders not to put angels into the prison, and they did their own thing in our city, anyway.
I fought a wave of panic as I tried to lean back against the wall like Dante had. He was significantly taller than me, so my lower back hit the firm mattress. My torso bent at a weird angle, too.
Dante watched me with an unamused look on his face as I scooted back so I could sit the way he was sitting.
"Why is it a bad thing that he's an angel?" he asked.
"I didn't say it was a bad thing."
"Your face said it, Pixie."
"I still have a name."
"And you're still not a pixie." He eventually looked away. "How is the pottery supposed to get us out of here?"
"It's... complicated."
"I'm sure."
He didn't sound sure.
"Mostly, we just have to break the pottery when we're in front of the elevator," I said.
"Mostly?"
"Yeah. Mostly." I cleared my throat. "How long are we going to be trapped in this room?"
"Twelve hours, remember?"
Right.
He had told me that earlier.
"Show me your wings," he said.
"That's like asking me to strip."
"I've been locked in this hellhole for twelve fucking years, and we both know you're not a pixie. Show me your wings so we can clear the air."
I grimaced.
The sports bra I had on was a specific design just for winged immortals. Most of us could make our wings disappear and reappear at whim, using the tiniest bit of our magic.
"I really don't think that's necessary," I finally said.
Dante gave me a look. "The only way to get out of this place is with angelic magic, and you're not a pixie. You taste powerful. The magic in the pottery is yours, right? You're an angel?"
I tried not to visibly react to his suggestion. "Maybe."
"Show me your wings," he repeated.
I sighed, but slid the straps of my overalls down my arms. Leaning forward just a little, I focused on my wings.
They emerged from my back smoothly, unfolding as they did. I winced when one smacked Dante's chiseled arm, and he eased my wing in front of him with a gentle hand.
They weren't what he'd been expecting, obviously.
My feathers weren't white and silver, like most angels'. They were black, dark gray, and deep, dusty purple.
"How long ago did you fall?" he asked quietly.
"Right before I built this place."
Dante didn't react to the admission.
"There's something dried here." His fingers brushed it lightly. Now that he mentioned it, I could feel a light tug. It was in a place I could barely see, though.
"Clay, probably," I said.
There was another tug, and the weight disappeared as he pulled it free. I looked over as he rolled it between his fingers.
Definitely clay.
"You made the pottery?" he asked.
"I did. It's storing some of my power. Almost all of my magic lives in the prison, so I can't access it. If we want to get out of here, we need to keep the pottery from breaking until we're ready to go."
He nodded slowly. "What about Shiv?"
My throat constricted at the thought of seeing him again. "I'm going to have to try to teach him how to weave himself out. He still has access to his magic, right?"
"Shiv? He's got an assload of power."
"And he hasn't fallen?"
"No. He's tried hundreds of times, but he can't make it through the pain."
Yeah. I could see that.
My transformation had been so painful, I thought it was going to kill me.
"So getting him out too won't be a problem?" Dante asked.
"I wouldn't say that. There's a decent chance he tries to kill me the first moment he sees me."
If I died, the prison's magic would disappear completely. Which Shiv knew, but Dante didn't.
"I'm not letting him kill our first chance at getting out of here," the vampire said, still rolling the clay between his fingers.
I needed to change the subject. The more we talked about Shiv, the worse my stress was going to be, and I was terrible at hiding my emotions.
"Before those doors open, we need a plan," I said, putting my wings away again and pulling my overalls' straps back into place.
"We don't have many options. Do you know anything about the way this place works?"
"Magically? A little. Socially? Not at all. And to be honest, I don't socialize anyway. I'm terrible at it."
Dante nodded. "This whole prison is a social game. As far as a plan goes..." He stared at the wall for a little too long.
I waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello?"
"I'm thinking, Angel."
God, that nickname was even worse than Pixie.
"I still have a name," I pointed out.
"What is it?"
"Ophelia."
He blinked. "Isn't there a fictional Ophelia who goes insane?"
"She does. And she drowns, too. Insanity and drowning do feel like legitimate possibilities for my eventual demise, so I can't say the name doesn't fit."
He blinked again. "Alright. Well, most people don't go by their real name here. Pick a different name."
"People would probably believe Ophelia was a prison name," I said.
He shook his head. "Let's just go with O."
"I'm not letting people call me O. What do they call you?"
"Inferno."
It was my turn to blink. "Like Dante's Inferno?"
"Yeah. I'm aware that it's ridiculous. Jazz spread it. She thinks it's funny."
"What do people call her?"
"Jazz. Back in the real world, most people called her Jasmine. Shiv said it was fine, and he's too powerful for most people to argue with. Jazz and I included."
He grew quiet again.
When I glanced over, I decided he was probably back to thinking, and gave him a minute.
He finally said, "We need to make sure everyone believes you're a pixie until we can get out of here. Everyone other than Shiv and Jazz, obviously. Can you do what a pixie can?"
I lifted a shoulder. "Yes and no."
"What does that mean?"
"Fallen angels have dark magic. I can create things and repair them like light angels, but it has to be for some kind of nefarious purpose. So I can make a blanket thicker, but I have to also make it hold less warmth in the process."
"You're kidding me."
"Nope." I popped my lips on the p. "There's a reason I taste dark."
"Clearly." He studied me. "The other gangs are going to want you to work with them. Shiv's is already the most comfortable. If you fix a blanket, will the owner realize your magic is the reason they're colder?"
"No. My power is too weak for that right now. Any changes I make will be subtle."
"We can probably make that work."
He went quiet again.
I waited one minute.
Two.
Three.
"Hello?" I finally asked.
"Let me think, woman," he grumbled.
"Can't you think and talk at the same time?"
"Maybe if I hadn't been starving for the last twelve years."
Ah.
Right.
"You could just bite me again," I offered. "We'll be better off if you're at full strength, anyway. I was useless in a fight even when my magic was strong."
"Don't make offers like that."
I shrugged. "Okay. Your loss."
He went quiet again.
I waited.
Tapped my foot.
Wiggled a little.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked.
"I get antsy. Don't like to sit still. Never have. It's probably a condition of some kind, but I'm not interested in being diagnosed. Personal preference."
He grunted, and went back to thinking.
I tapped my fingers on my arm.
Waiting wasn't my strong suit.