Chapter 2
THE LIKES OF YOU
CORA
In the Echo, every realm has a unique landscape.
The Flight Realm has jagged mountains and pale sand dunes.
The Float Realm has peaceful shores and treacherous waters.
My original home, the Day Realm, is lush with thick forests, winding rivers, and a bottomless lake.
Even the neutral territory, overpopulated and poverty-stricken, can be categorized as lively.
It’s filled with colorful markets and schools for all ages, loud restaurants and businesses of every kind, winding neighborhoods and even community greenhouses.
The Night Realm is different. It reeks of death, particularly within the vampiric sector.
The land here is unkempt and rocky, spanning aimlessly in either direction.
There are no trees or plants for miles. Occasional clusters of buildings, oddly spaced and in different states of disrepair, are the only break in an otherwise grey expanse.
Nothing here is measured or strategic. For a species that once terrorized the Echo, the vampires lack practicality and organization.
Perhaps this is why they fell so easily.
They were untouchable for so long, they didn’t realize how fragile their power was. They only needed cruelty and bloodlust to rule—until the witches, until Madam Lyrie, destroyed them with a single, violent spell.
Cursed to burn in the sun, vampires lost their hold over the Echo in a matter of days.
I’d only been a child at the time, but I remember how our entire world shifted.
How we suddenly switched from being prey to ordinary people.
The vampires could rampage during nightfall, but by daylight, they either cowered indoors or burned until only their bones remained
Sitting here now, sharing a table with three vampires, should feel traitorous. It doesn’t. It feels like relief and redemption, all at once.
“We’ll meet here,” I say. “Midnight.”
Amelia and Beatrice nod, but Milas shifts in his seat. They’ve already agreed to venture into the Day Realm with me tonight. The only reason we’re meeting now—in the minutes before Sebastian’s clan meeting—is so I could update them on my plan. But of course, Milas has to be difficult.
“We could at least—”
I lift my hand, silencing him. I already know what he wants to say.
He sits across from me in his usual place at the stone table.
We’re positioned in the manor’s outside courtyard, surrounded by crawling ivy and a dying patch of grass.
Overhead, the afternoon sun blazes, mocking those trapped within the manor walls.
Forget the betrayal of sitting with vampires. These particular three—and the two coming—can only be out in daylight because of me.
“I’m just saying—”
“Look up there,” I say, cutting Milas off again. Without looking myself, I gesture to the overhead windows, where undoubtedly, vampires lurk behind the protective glass. “Do you know how many of them would kill to sit where you are now? To feel this sunlight on their skin?”
“Trust me, I know better than you,” Milas says. His face tightens, even as his gaze betrays him. He looks up, eyes slowly shifting from window to window.
“You’ve already agreed,” Amelia points out.
At almost the same time, Beatrice releases an exasperated sigh.
“Cora needs witch allies,” she says. She taps her sharpened black nails against the table, leaning forward to steal Milas’s attention. “Sebastian will throw a fit if he knows her plan for getting them. He won’t stop it—he can’t—but this will at least avoid the theatrics.”
Beatrice is right. Ever since Sebastian stepped down as king, making the four members of his inner circle his equals, he can’t squash all my good ideas. He can, however, be needlessly arrogant and vicious.
“All right, Milas?” Beatrice demands.
He huffs out a sigh. The nod he finally gives looks painful, and it takes all my effort not to smirk. Beatrice is unpleasant and obnoxiously brash. It’s why I appreciate her more than the others.
“We’ll tell him after,” I point out. “Once we’ve secured some allies, he’ll be too relieved to be angry.”
I hope, I add mentally. As much as I’d like to pretend I make sunwalker spells for the pure satisfaction of pissing off Madam Lyrie, that would be a lie. At this point, I’d be happier to pretend the Day Realm, the witches, and that horrid woman don’t exist at all.
But Sebastian saved my life twelve years ago, and I’ve been determined to repay the favor ever since.
I open my mouth to say more, but the tiniest shake of Amelia’s head stops me.
Where Beatrice is blunt and cruel, Amelia is softer, more difficult to read.
I pride myself at understanding people. Beatrice, for example, wants love so desperately she makes it her life’s mission to convince everyone she doesn’t.
Milas pretends to scout the Echo for the adventure—and for the vampires’ needs, of course—but I know it’s deeper.
He can’t handle being stagnant for long.
His soul is restless, as if desperate to find the place it belongs.
Amelia is different. Blurry. Whatever she wants in this life…it’s not clear to me. I’ve never cared to pry. I may be the vampires’ resident witch, but I am not one of them. They’ve all lived much, much longer than I have, and they’ll continue to do so, long after I’m dead.
Still, I’ve known Amelia long enough to read her body movements. That small head shake is a clear warning. They’re coming.
I don’t nod to confirm I’ve heard her. I don’t need to.
It’s yet another skill I’ve learned while surviving in a house of the undead.
Vampires notice everything. If I so much as nod when Sebastian enters the courtyard, he’ll sense the unspoken conversation.
He’ll pry and demand, until Milas inevitably cracks.
I don’t say a word. We’ve already discussed everything we needed in the minutes before our scheduled meeting. They know where we’ll go, what they need to wear, and who I plan to recruit.
I only hope I don’t let them down.
“This feels like a terrible idea,” Milas says. He stands to my left, clothed in the customary orange of the autumnal witches. To my right, Beatrice and Amelia wear dresses and tights, their hair twisted into matching double braids.
We all look ridiculous. Black is by far the most popular color worn in the Night Realm, and even when I lived amongst my kind, I still didn’t wear orange or yellow or any other color.
Since before my sixth birthday, I’ve never worn anything but black.
The color of death, of mourning, of my long-rotted heart.
With a yellow long-sleeved dress and white leggings, I look like an imposter. I am an imposter.
“It is a terrible idea,” Beatrice agrees. She plucks at the loose fabric of her dress, lips twitching with distaste. “If the witches don’t kill us, Sebastian will.”
“He’s not going to find out,” I say. Harder than I should, maybe. “We’ll tell him if we succeed. If we don’t, he doesn’t need to know.”
“Relax,” Beatrice says on a lengthy sigh. “Unless it’s directly related to Grace’s vagina, Sebastian is clueless.”
“Gross,” Amelia says.
I agree, with both of them.
Rather than continuing that conversation, I take stock of our surroundings. We’re on the edge of Ochre Village, facing a long-rusted metal archway. It spells out Ochre in black letters, and around the text, a series of bloodied thumbprints stain the pale yellow background.
It’s tradition amongst the witches. Every coven leader in history has their fingerprint on their village’s sign.
My mother’s thumbprint is somewhere on the Hayver sign outside my birthplace.
Distantly, I wonder if Margot ever became a coven leader like she planned, if her thumbprint is amongst the bloodied marks overhead.
I clear my throat, swallowing an unexpected lump.
I blame this morning’s memory. Even though I’ve since forgotten it, the memory has undoubtedly stirred my emotions. It’s made me feel reckless, anxious, uncertain. The Cora of today is not afraid, and I remind myself of that as I address the inner circle.
“I’ll go alone,” I say. “Stay close. Listen for my signal, and don’t approach unless you hear it. Remember, you won’t be able to come inside, so if she pulls me in, don’t try to save me.”
“And what, leave you here?” Beatrice asks with a snort. She ducks to my height, eyes narrowing into slits. “Let’s be clear, Cora. We’re not leaving you with these freaks.”
I run my tongue over the back of my teeth.
I’ve got three of five vampiric clan members here, and Sebastian will kill me if I come back without a single one of them.
We’re here to, hopefully, negotiate a deal with Virginia to make more sunwalker spells.
It’s a long shot, but it’s the best option we’ve got.
“It will be fine,” Beatrice continues. She pulls back, glancing between Milas and Amelia. They nod in agreement. “Either make the deal or retreat. Do not go inside.”
“I’m going to make the deal,” is my immediate response.
That earns me an eye roll.
I lead the way beneath Ochre Village’s metal archway, a few paces in front of the others.
The settlement isn’t warded that I can feel, and I’m not surprised.
Of all the witch villages, Ochre is farthest from neutral territory.
It’s a trek to get here from the Night Realm, making the risk too great for vampires to take.
Well, most vampires.
Without a sunwalker spell, most vampires would catch fire if we didn’t make it home before sunrise. These three will just bitch about having to walk as mortals, rather than running with their typical speed.
I clench my jaw as we walk, scanning our surroundings. The streets are empty.The sun is down, and the moon barely provides enough light to show the cobblestone. The village, it seems, has not been updated in the years I’ve been gone.
I’m not surprised. Witches prefer history over maintenance.