Chapter 5
After making sure Amelia was in a comfortable position, I called Rachel again and gave her an abridged version of the situation, including William’s use of his ring to disrupt the course of the magic.
Rachel didn’t seem surprised by William having the ring, or else the urgency limited her usual questioning.
I excluded the kinborn witches’ involvement and my intentions to imprison Cirrian.
“Why would anyone curse her, Kara?” The frantic cadence of Rachel’s voice destroyed all the efforts I’d made to calm myself before calling her.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s because of her mother, isn’t it?” Rachel was the only other person who knew about Amelia’s connection to Vina. It surprised me last year when Amelia confessed to her. But Rachel had proven to be a vault when it came to secrets.
Rachel quickly answered her own question. “No, that wouldn’t be it. They’d leave a message like ‘bring your ass to justice or your daughter dies’ or something equally villainous.”
I envisioned her pacing and chomping on her nails, her typical nervous response when things didn’t go as planned. She was a talented witch but lacked crisis management skills.
“Could she have been the unintended victim?” Rachel asked.
Rachel’s outside the box thinking often came in handy. She had a brilliantly divergent mind, but I couldn’t imagine how she’d come to that conclusion.
“What?” I was not ready to reveal that we believed I was the target.
“William?” she whispered. “Everyone hates him— Well, maybe not him, but the House of Knight. Maybe the intention is to take them out one by one until the major players are gone and they’re too weak to be a threat. And a drive-by cursing would be the best option.”
I was good at situational awareness and made it my business to gauge the mood of the covens, houses, and packs when it came to my employers. Hate for the House of Knight was news to me.
“I don’t think people hate them,” I said thoughtfully. “The House of Hollows and House of Knight are standing between complete chaos. They maintain order and protect humans and the supernaturals.”
“Is that what people want? They’ve designated themselves as the unelected authority of the supernatural world, doling out threats and punishments.
And while they hold others accountable for their misdeeds, who holds them accountable for theirs?
Not everyone agrees or likes their self-appointed role. This could be a warning.”
Rachel was right. My knowledge of the vampires’ actions was from the perspective of the houses.
They appeared to only get involved when sects failed to rein in their problematic witches and werewolves.
Part of me didn’t think it was just vampire involvement that bothered others.
It was the proficiency with which situations were handled.
It made the other sects appear inept and weak.
And it deprived them of members. There was strength in numbers.
Vampire intervention meant there wasn’t a chance for rehabilitation or probation.
The problem was met with a swift, violent, and often gruesome punishment that seemed primarily to be a deterrent.
I didn’t agree with their methods but couldn’t ignore its effectiveness.
Part of me wanted Rachel’s claim to be true. There had been too much distance between us for Amelia to be mistakenly hit if William was the target. If the curse was meant for him, it would be to initiate true death, not to siphon magic.
I shared my thoughts with Rachel.
Exhaling a slow breath, she agreed. “It’s good that William was quick to respond. The situation could be so much worse. What do you need from me?”
“Can you find the person who cursed her? Your coven’s link could be used to locate them.”
After several moments in contemplative silence, she said, “I believe I have the perfect spell for that. But I can’t do it alone.
Give me an hour to gather some members, ingredients, and material.
” Her easy confidence made me relax significantly.
Rachel never displayed arrogance or unsubstantiated confidence just to reassure.
If she could do it, she’d let you know, and if it was beyond her abilities, she had no problem admitting that, either.
I changed into black joggers. The numerous hidden pockets, comfort, and material that helped prevent scrapes and scratches during physical encounters had made them among my favorites.
I paired them with my favorite oversized threadbare teal hoodie and white tank that I’d gotten for the same reason.
The moment we located the owner of the curse, I planned to grab my weapons and head out.
I was dressed for a confrontation and—worst case scenario—murder.
I hurried downstairs, gave William a reassuring nod as I passed him, and cued Jamillah to continue.
Her invoking the spell from the front door should have sent up all types of alarms. The powerful trio clearly didn’t want anything to do with this.
They weren’t risking Cirrian getting even a glimpse of them.
The last of the invocation slipped out as Jamillah closed the front door, their quick departure leaving me standing next to William, splitting our attention between the front door and the sigils of the enclosure that would house the shadow god.
Minutes passed and nothing came of the magic that had thickened the air.
Then, without warning, the trinket placed near the enclosure flared a vivid yellow before it faded to black and cast an ominous darkness inside and out.
The moon was eclipsed by a shadow, and the dusk-to-dawn lights on every garage in my neighborhood blinked out.
Even the fairy lights strung across the bushes of the house across the street went dark.
Several tense minutes were spent blanketed in darkness.
My short, shallow breaths filled the eerily quiet room. William’s hand pressed against the small of my back but did little to relieve my uneasiness. If this didn’t work, Rachel would be my only plan, and it would move the timetable up substantially.
Heart thundering, I started to move toward the light switch when the house and the neighborhood was briefly flooded with brilliant bright light before returning to normal.
Of course I’d be blamed for this weirdness, along with being the topic of endless neighborhood gossip.
I didn’t know if my neighbors knew what I did for a living, but since moving into the neighborhood less than two years ago, the many vampires and known witches visiting me meant I got more looks of suspicion than greetings.
Crouched within the sigiled enclosure was the vanishing stranger from Cloak and Dagger.
He stood, bringing his shoulders back to come to his full stature.
He seemed taller than I remembered, or maybe it was his commanding presence.
Haunting amber eyes rimmed with hunter green studied the chalked sigils on the hardwood floors.
His attention snapped from the markings to my feet and dragged up my body.
His head tilted. A glint of curiosity sparked in his eyes before he shifted as far forward as the ward would allow.
His slow roving smile moved into a smirk.
There was no mistaking it. This was definitely the stranger I shared a fleeting moment with at the club.
The cavernous eyes and distinctively carved features possessed a diametric combination of rugged and ethereal beauty.
The appearance of such a man wouldn’t be easily forgotten.
He ran his fingers through his espresso brown waves that were already tousled, I assumed from doing what he was now.
His hair tapered low to the side, drawing my eyes to his full lips, aquiline nose, cleft chin, and the shadow that danced over the sharp angles of his features.
He’d offer an astoundingly beautiful moment before death.
It was unfortunate that the bodies he took didn’t get a chance to see him.
Shoving his hands in the pockets of dark-blue slacks meant the rolled-up sleeves of his crisp lighter blue shirt revealed forearm muscles that bunched and flexed with the slightest movement.
The two undone top shirt buttons seemed strategic to offer a glimpse of his collarbone and the silver necklace displaying an infinity charm.
I was unable to make out the engraving on it.
Something about death standing in my living room dressed in business casual was off-putting.
Okay, death anywhere near my house was off-putting, but this was especially so.
Admittedly, I’d been expecting something entirely different. A hooded robe. Relaxed linen tunic and pants. Or anything that gave off an air of macabre. And a scythe. Death in a tailored shirt and slacks was nowhere near the realms of my expectations.
My unmet expectations and disappointment seemed mirrored in his expression.
Turning his gaze from mine, he surveyed the allotted space that provided access to a half-bathroom, one of the sofas, a cart of nonperishable food, and water.
I’d even filled a cooler with more water, juices, cold brew coffee, and the few cans of pop I kept for guests who drank them.
I wasn’t a monster despite what this monstrous situation had forced me to do.
“Hi.” I waved. “I’m Kara.”
Silence. His unblinking eyes stayed on me.
“You’re Cirrian, right?”
His expression hardened, making me wonder if Mr. Silent and Rude expected me to address him as shadow god, Your Highness, My God, or some other highfalutin’ title.
More stifling silence made the room heavy and suffocating.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Holding someone in a magical prison when they hadn’t done anything specifically to me gnawed at me.