Chapter 2 #2
“What’s her name again?” Beatrice asks. She’s a step behind me. The other two flank either side, spread out like body guards. It’s a comfort I’m not sure I deserve but appreciate all the same.
Most witches don’t stand a chance against vampires. Not when the sun is down like this. Not when vampires are powerful and hungry, fast and deadly.
“Virginia,” Amelia answers for me.
I’m not surprised she remembers. Where Beatrice and Milas are loud and brash, Amelia has always been one to listen, to observe. When Sebastian brought me into his inner circle twelve years ago, she was the first to welcome me. To trust that I wouldn’t betray them like Beatrice feared.
“Is that right, Cora?” Amelia asks.
I blink twice before looking at her. My brain feels hazy, and it takes me a moment to process what she’s asking.
“Correct,” I say finally. “Virginia is an augur. She has access to a lot of powerful people. She was always kind to me.”
I’ve already told them this. I’m not sure why I’m repeating it now, except that I’m nauseatingly anxious.
It’s been twelve years. I’m not sure Virginia will recognize me, and if she does, it likely won’t be a good thing.
At the very least, I know Virginia is still a practicing Augur.
Milas found her with little effort, and if there’s a chance she can provide what I need…
“Go east here,” Milas says.
I follow the direction, tensing as my insides flutter with unease.
I may have removed most of my Ochre memories, but I still recognize certain parts of this village.
We’ve reached a strip of half-timbered buildings, framed with dried wood and filled with pale, cracking clay.
Before Milas gives further direction, I stop in front of a three-story structure.
Now that I’m here, I recognize it as the augur house.
Most of my memories of this place are undoubtedly in my bedroom, labeled and gathering dust. And still, my body knows it. It remembers this augur building and the terrible things that once happened here.
I shift on my feet.
I am not afraid.
I study the building as the inner circle presses closer around me.
There’s a thatched roof that’s likely been magicked to withstand the weather.
A series of windows with thin orange drapes.
A candle flickering in the upper-left room, casting shadows against the curtains.
The front door is simple and unassuming, painted yellow, surrounded by an unnatural halo of light.
I pick at the hem of my dress. It might be my imagination, but I swear this thing is starting to itch. It’s as if a thousand bugs have hatched in the fabric and are now rapidly dispersing across my skin.
We should go, I think. Far from here, back to the Night Realm and Sebastian’s manor and the safety of our own shadows.
“Cora?” Beatrice asks. Her voice is hard, irritable in the way it too often is. “What’s the deal? Do you think she’s in there or—”
Rather than respond, I lift my hand in a silencing gesture. For once, Beatrice quiets. I stride forward, center myself in front of the door, and knock before I lose my nerve.
There’s a rustle of movement behind me. The sound of quick, near-silent footsteps that I only recognize from years of exposure.
In the darkness, vampires are lethally fast and quiet. Their bodies are barely human. They don’t need to breathe, to blink, to move. They can sit perfectly still for hours and then surge across the room before you realize they’ve moved.
Without looking over my shoulder, I know Beatrice and the others are gone.
I knock again, a bit firmer.
Overhead, the candle flickers, then extinguishes. Straining my ears, I can just make out the sound of creaking footsteps on an ancient staircase.
Goosebumps trail over my skin. The augurs can likely see me through their threadbare curtains. The magicked light surrounds me, highlights my stupid braids and ill-fitting dress.
“I know it’s late,” I say, leaning against the door. “I need to speak with Virginia. Immediately. I need help, and it’s your Motherly duty to—”
“Quiet,” a woman says. Her voice is rough, deep for a woman. I don’t remember what Virginia’s voice sounds like. This morning’s memory has long faded.
I fidget on the stoop before forcing my hands to still. I look guilty. Agitated. If I have any chance of her helping me, I have to play the part.
“What business have you?” she asks.
“I told you,” I say, lifting my chin. I speak to the door knocker, imagining a face in its place. “I need to speak with Virginia. Right. Now.”
“It is after nightfall,” she says. “This must wait until morning.”
“No,” I say. My voice shakes, and I clench my fists to hide their trembling. “It is not safe for me to wait. Get Virginia. It is imperative—"
“I thought it was you,” she interrupts. My skin goes cold, and without conscious decision, I take a step back. “You’re as homely as you were in childhood.”
I swallow. Her insult doesn’t offend me. Of all terrible things about me, my appearance is the least of my concern.
My eleven-year-old self thought Virginia was kind. That she was merciful on the downtrodden, unwanted types.
Clearly, she was wrong.
“Virginia—”
“Do not use my name again,” she says, cutting me off. For the first time, she sounds as nervous as I do. “You have no business here, Secora Reed. Now get off this stoop before someone sees you and gets the wrong impression.”
“Let me inside,” I try desperately. “Let me at least explain what I need. You are indebted to the Mother. It is your duty to provide aid to witches in need.”
The door opens with a violent thrust. I stumble backward again, narrowly avoiding a collision.
“My faith does not apply to the likes of you,” Virginia says.
She’s taller than I expect, and I have to crane my neck to look up at her.
She holds a palm toward me, and I can sense the magic, the invisible tension zapping between us.
“You are no child of the Mother, Secora Reed. You lost that right the day they clothed you in black. Now, get out of my sight before I do to you what you did to—”
I’m too distracted to hear them coming.
One moment, I’m cowering before Virginia, feeling pathetically small and foolish. The next, I’m gasping for breath, the world spinning out of focus. I squeeze my eyes shut and flail for stability. My hands find the stiff fabric of Beatrice’s dress.
“You were supposed to alert us,” she snarls. “Not beg to go inside.”
She doesn’t slow her pace, even when I notice we’ve left the Day Realm. The neutral territory is covered in street lights and festive music and drunken chatter. I dig my fingers against her dress and will myself not to puke.
We’re moving faster than usual.
I should tell her Virginia won’t follow us, but it’d be a guess at best. My memories, it seems, can be deceiving.