Chapter 3 #2
She scoffed. “Yeah, because that distinction makes it better. You’re a terrible surrogate for the vampires. They need a better PR rep,” she teased, leaning into me, vodka wafting from her breath.
It wasn’t my job, but more often than not, I was running PR campaigns, putting out metaphorical fires, and downplaying some of their less savory actions.
Surveying the room that was becoming more crowded by the minute, I saw William’s familiar face in a corner.
It wasn’t an exclusive section, although it was always blocked off and seemingly reserved for friends of the owner or anyone willing to pay the charge for privacy.
William was both. He smiled, lifted his glass of amber liquid, and took a sip.
The gesture was a greeting and a dismissal, stopping me inviting him to join us.
Despite the smile hiding the edges of his fangs, he appeared contemplative and sad.
I remembered the date. It was always on this date he’d slip away from the house and stay away.
My first year working for the houses, I noticed Belham’s worried, pitying look when William left.
They never offered a reason, but I speculated that it had something to do with it being his vampire birthday.
They kept a lot of secrets, but I always assumed that William was changed willingly.
From his expression now, I wasn’t so sure.
New rules had been established in the last twenty-five years, making it a crime to change someone without consent.
Vampires weren’t known for their willingness to follow anyone’s rules, but the dominant houses abided by that one.
“What do you want to drink?” Rachel asked me, standing from the table. Her frame allowed better negotiation between the spaces. I declined the offer with a shake of my head.
“I’ll have a—” Amelia began.
“Water,” Rachel piped. “You’ll have water.”
“And this.” I handed Amelia the small box that held a few chocolates and macaroons from her favorite shop, or “chocolate artisans” as they had branded themselves.
The niche chocolatier managed to thrive despite their limited hours of operation.
Oddly, that was their appeal. Amelia’s smile widened as she opened the container and jammed a chocolate into her mouth.
To my surprise, she offered some to Rachel.
Amelia was generous to a fault until it came to her favorite foods and then she became an unconscionable miser.
Rachel watched as she savored the food and declined.
“Be back in a sec,” Rachel announced before heading to the bar.
“She doesn’t respond anymore,” Amelia admitted once Rachel was out of earshot, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Her words were precise and slow with the effort to keep from slurring.
Vina used magic extensively to communicate with Amelia, using disappearing texts for woodland creatures to speak as a means of staying in contact with Amelia while remaining under the radar.
The same pained expression moved over Amelia’s face that emerged anytime she discussed her mother’s choice to be with her first love: magic.
Not Amelia and her father. At four, Amelia’s parents had divorced, and she and her father moved across the street from my family.
My parents noticed that any inquiries about Amelia’s mother made Walden sad and Amelia confused, so Vina was never discussed.
Years later, someone in Amelia’s coven had brought up the infamous Vina, whose name alone evoked emotions that ranged from reticent admiration to pure disdain.
Conversations about her always escalated into a heated discussion of whether she was a villain or hero.
Some ridiculed her for stealing magic rather than doing everything she could to save her coven.
And then there were some witches who believed she’d initiated the battle for the sole purpose of defeating her coven and stealing their magic.
“Why else would you learn how to stop the shadow gods?” I’d heard some witches ask during one of their spirited exchanges.
The one thing everyone seemed to agree upon was that the shadow gods would have their revenge.
Vina had done what most had considered impossible.
She’d successfully blocked the shadow gods from entering her coven’s home, and she’d absorbed the magic of the battle’s casualties.
Coven fights were rare, but when they occurred, there was a fierce display of intense magical skills and destructive spells.
Fights were usually sparked by disputes over magical objects and spellbooks, or betrayal.
The reason behind the Nightshade–Grand Park attack on Lunar Veil–Grand Park was unknown, but Vina managed to gain the magic of her coven, violently defeating the Nightshade witches while also taking their magic in the process and evading the shadow gods.
Magic was complex, dangerous, and tenebrous, and the shadow gods were the great equalizers. They made sure that magic died with its owner, preventing its acquisition by another and the creation of someone so powerful they couldn’t be reined in.
Amelia wore the sins of her mother as if they were her own, despite my attempts to convince her otherwise. I hated that for her.
Vina’s extensive magic abilities were a testament to her controversial deeds.
She was the reason I was alive, which complicated my feelings about her and how she’d acquired the magic.
Amelia wasn’t strong or skilled enough to save me, but her mother was.
It was the stolen, illegal magic she possessed that made it possible.
Waldon, Amelia’s father, lived in constant fear of retaliation from other witches or the shadow gods once Amelia hit puberty and her own unique scionce magical powers emerged.
She was a magic power booster. If a spell was intended to bring down a wall, Amelia’s boost of magic would bring down the whole building.
It was a skill very few witches possessed; Vina was the most infamous.
“I’m sorry.” My apology was heartfelt. “I fear you will regret saving this life.” Vina’s final words haunted me. I was sure I was the reason Amelia no longer got even her meager visits.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered with a brush of her hands over her sorrow-hooded eyes.
Her attempt to shrug off the emotion made her breathing heavy.
After an extensive weighted silence, she blew out a long breath.
“It’s been so long. If she turned herself in to the shadow gods and let them collect the stolen magic, then maybe she could live a normal life,” she speculated.
The optimism in her suggestion didn’t match her expression or her eyes.
Her mother had left her for the pursuit of magic and to improve her spellcrafting abilities.
It had always been her top priority. I wasn’t convinced that she’d pursue a better relationship with Amelia.
I believed she’d spend her time discovering ways to get her magic back or return to advancing her skills with the limited magic she possessed.
Shadow gods appeared with death. It’s not like she could send them an email requesting a meeting.
My friend’s sorrow had clouded her logic.
It seemed like we came to the same conclusion when she shored up a tight smile.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re here. And you’re the family I chose.
” She raised her nearly empty cup and drained what was left of what I assumed was a cherry bomb, her drink of choice.
“I’m getting another drink. Rachel’s not the boss of me,” she touted with a huff, sliding from the seat.
“You sound really sober and mature enough to be making decisions,” I teased, nudging her back into the seat.
Before she could make another attempt for the bar, Rachel appeared in time with two bottled waters for us and her drink.
Opening one, I gave it to my best friend, who guzzled it down.
When she finished it, I gave her mine as well.
“Dance with me,” Rachel suggested to Amelia, taking her hand and leading her to the crowded dance floor. Amelia pulled me along.
Amelia’s emphatic dancing was to burn off the liquor. Her body winding and moving. She whispered something and an amber light flowed over her.
Despite dancing to counter the intoxication, it was a beautiful sight.
Her performance of magic always had a theatrical flair that observers appreciated.
All eyes were on her; even William looked up from the drink he’d been nursing while sending away the third person who’d approached him so far.
The last was a very handsome guy. Broody, moody, standoffish, and deadly seemed to be an appealing combination.
Cloak and Dagger was one of the few bars that catered to both human and supernaturals, and for that reason, it stayed crowded.
There weren’t any laws against integration, but many places kept them segregated by making their establishment inhospitable to their rejected audience.
Cloak and Dagger had blood for vampires and the expensive laced wine they preferred.
Because of the ridiculously fast metabolism that shifters enjoyed, people stayed away from their menu.
No matter how wasted you wanted to get, it wasn’t worth the risk of alcohol poisoning.
Amelia caught sight of William watching her, gave him a tight-lipped smile, and inched closer to me. “So, I’m the only one who finds it off-putting that they don’t breathe? Look at him, not breathing and his heart is not beating.”
“You can’t tell when a person’s heart is beating unless you are taking their pulse,” I countered, keeping my tone light.
“That’s your rebuttal,” she teased, glaring at me before returning her attention to William. The corners of his lips lifted in a smile. He never took her lingering looks as an invitation and seemed to find her aversion to vampires amusing—peculiar, but amusing.
“A person shifting to an animal is fine?” I challenged.