Chapter 32
The map sprawls across the table like a beast of legend, its myriad lines and symbols luring my bleary eyes into the labyrinth of Goldgarde’s streets.
I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, the uneasy feeling in my gut rousing me from a fitful sleep.
Revelin and Tiernan are already out, swallowed by the demands of soundchecks and stage setups, leaving the three of us to grapple with the quiet tension that has settled like dust in their absence.
I’ve never been one to shrink from danger, but I don’t enjoy looking over my shoulder all the time.
“Look here,” Dezi points at a cluster of alleys branching off the main square, his finger tracing the routes as if willing them to reveal their secrets. “Henley said we could use these as escape paths if things go south.”
Khol, with his broad shoulders hunched over the table, nods pensively.
The shadows under his eyes suggest he didn’t sleep much either.
“At least this damn thing shows both the town and the outskirts we’re going to explore.
As much as I want to find the shit we came for, I’m also worried about Rev’s show tonight.
We need to be ready for anything—including another one of those skull head things. ”
I bite my lip, picturing the carnage from last time—the lifeless bodies that turned a night of music into a macabre spectacle. “We can’t have a repeat of the last event. People being ripped apart in the middle of a crowd isn’t something I’d like to repeat.” My voice sounds more steady than I feel.
“Everything’s too rushed,” Dezi mutters, worry creasing his brow. “It’s making us vulnerable.”
“We’ll have to be smarter,” I say with forced optimism, studying the map for hidden dangers and silent prayers.
The weight of responsibility presses on me, but it’s a burden I didn’t get to choose for myself.
Even if we hadn’t gone looking for the cause of our parents’ deaths, I get the sinking feeling these fuckers would have come after Fer and me, eventually.
Why, I have no idea, except the lie that was our childhood—but we still haven’t unraveled it to know for certain.
“Sassy’s right,” Khol agrees, his usual stoicism infused with a hint of urgency. “Let’s tighten our plans. We can’t afford any surprises.”
No, we certainly can’t. Whatever lurks in the wings, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, could mean the difference between living and dying, not just for me and my coven, but also a slew of innocent people.
I hate thinking that way, but the past few weeks have shown me that no one is exempt from the shadowy assholes pulling strings in the background.
Khol stands up, stretching his arms above his head in a way that makes his spine pop audibly. “I want to get a feel for the streets. We should grab a bite at The Wet Stone, then sneak around.”
“I can’t believe that place is a bar and a smithy,” I reply, folding the map with careful precision and tucking it into my jacket pocket. “It’s ridiculous. But I agree, we’ve got time before we meet the costuming crew, and we could use more intel.”
“Agreed,” Dezi says, slipping on his leather jacket. His gaze is sharp, alert. He’s always ready to dive into the fray.
We leave the safety of our temporary home, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
Goldgarde is waking up; there’s an energy to the streets that feels both vibrant and precarious.
But instead of heading toward the bustling market squares and polished storefronts, we veer off into the narrow alleys where the buildings lean tiredly against each other, and shadows cling to the cobblestones like dark secrets.
“Revelin would have a fit if he saw this,” Khol murmurs, nodding toward a dilapidated school with windows patched up with cardboard. “The disparity here... It’s not right.”
Dezi scoffs, hands tucked into his pockets as he surveys the graffiti-tagged walls displaying cries for change. “Supes mimic the worst qualities of humans without a shred of shame. Power and wealth dictating worth—it’s disgusting.”
My brain wants to rebel at their words—after all, they’re rich as fuck—but I know Dezi takes care of his people and Khol does, too.
We continue walking, the sounds of the livelier parts of Goldgarde fading behind us.
My frown deepens as the shop gets shadier and the air is filled with a dark quality that almost chokes me.
This is definitely not a place where they would have wanted the Court royalty to go; maybe canceling Rev’s tours was more about hiding this than worrying about safety?
“Khal and I... we went to a school like that one,” Khol says quietly, almost hesitating.
His finger points to a rundown building with a broken sign swinging in the wind.
“Uncle Krystos had the means, but he believed in honing his heirs through violent awakening. Said surviving would make us strong.”
“Must’ve been rough,” I say, glancing at him. The thought of Khol and Khal—both powerful in their own right—facing hardships like these kids is jarring, especially since there was absolutely no reason for them to.
“Taught us to command respect and stand up for ourselves, I suppose,” he replies with a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Some lessons are learned better on the streets than in classrooms.”
“Despite all that, you turned out pretty good for a drug dealing criminal,” I offer, trying to lighten the mood.
“Depends on who you ask,” Khol chuckles, but there’s weight behind his words.
As we meander through the neglected part of town, I can’t shake the feeling of unrest simmering beneath the surface.
These streets hold stories that don’t make it to the headlines—stories of struggle and survival.
Somewhere in these whispers of discontent, there might just be the clue we need to prevent another disaster.
“Wait,” Dezi murmurs, his hand reaching out to halt us mid-stride. I follow his gaze to an ominous storefront where the neon sign flickers ‘Taboos and Voodoos’. His eyes narrow slightly, a silent signal of his innate vampire sense for the arcane. “We should check it out.”
“Looks like a tourist trap,” Khol grumbles, but the uncertainty in his voice betrays him. “I mean, we’re in Faerie; there’s no voodoo here.”
“Doesn’t that suggest something is off?” I ask innocently, unable to suppress the smirk tugging at my lips. The allure of the unknown nudges me forward, and despite the obvious reluctance etched on both their faces, they follow.
The store is draped in shadows, the scent of incense heavy in the air. A woman sits behind a small round table, her garb screaming cliché fortune teller—velvet shawl, bangles that clink with every movement, and a headscarf adorned with fake jewels.
“Ah, seekers of truth, come forth,” she beckons, her voice laced with an accent that’s trying too hard to be mysterious.
Okay, maybe Khol was right; this is almost offensive in its stereotypical presentation.
“Let’s just play along,” I whisper to Dezi and Khol, sliding into the chair opposite the woman. Their reservations hang between us, thicker than the incense fog, but curiosity propels me forward.
“Chaos clouds your future, dear one,” she intones, laying out tarot cards with exaggerated care. “A disastrous event looms, linked to that which you seek.” Her fingers dance between images of towers and wheels, her words spiraling into warnings of time looping upon itself.
“Time looping? That’s new.” Skepticism wraps around my words as I lean back, studying her reaction. A flicker of irritation crosses her face, and in that instant, the room drops several degrees colder. I’m about to backpedal my snark when she leaps out of her chair.
“Disbelievers court danger!” With a guttural cry, her form elongates, skin paling to translucence as her mouth widens into an ear-splitting scream.
“Holy fuck, run,” I shout, bolting from the chair. Dezi is already on his feet, darting towards the exit with Khol on our heels. The banshee’s wail ricochets off the walls, sending a shiver down my spine.
A disastrous event like pissing off a secret banshee? If so, she was right.
Outside, the bright light of day is disorienting after the gloom of the shop. I stumble, my feet lifting off the ground as my magic surges uncontrollably. Glitter erupts from my fingertips, sparkling in the sunlight before fading away.
“Witchling, concentrate,” Dezi commands as he tries to bring me back to myself.
I force my errant magic under control, grounding myself with a herculean effort. As I drift back to the cobblestones, Khol looks over his shoulder, a mixture of relief and mischief in his eyes.
“Never letting some rando read anything for you again,” he mutters, though there’s a grin threatening to break through. His hand emerges from his jacket pocket, fanning out the stolen deck of tarot cards.
“Snakelet, seriously?” Dezi scolds, exasperated yet relieved, as we put distance between us and the banshee’s lair.
“Research material,” he says with a shrug, tucking the cards back into safety. “We need the Prince to help us figure out if she was full of shit or on the nose.”
I can’t help but feel a surge of triumph. Despite the scare, we might have just stumbled upon a clue. A piece of the puzzle hidden in plain sight, wrapped up in theatrics and banshee screams.
Later on, we’re huddled around the scratched surface of the bus’s dining table, our earlier adrenaline rush now replaced by an eager anticipation for tonight’s performance.
The stolen deck of tarot cards lies spread out between us like a puzzle begging to be solved.
Tiernan leans in, his expression serious, as Rev flips through the cards with nimble fingers.
“Anything that could be linked to Amethyst or her cronies?” I ask, my voice tinged with both worry and curiosity.
“Hard to say,” the Prince muses, “but there’s definitely something off about this deck. Look at the patterns, the symbols—they’re not standard.”
“Off how?” Dezi asks, peering over the fae’s shoulder. His eyes are sharp, missing nothing as he examines the designs. “It seems like a normal deck, but a different… theme, perhaps?”
“See here? This card should represent stability, grounding—but it’s been altered. Inverted on the damn card,” Revelin points out, tapping the card with a frown. “If you read with it, and it ends up in the inverted position, it cancels itself out. Why anyone would do that, I can’t fucking imagine.”
“Could be why the banshee freaked out when she noticed we didn’t buy her act,” Khol interjects, still looking mildly pleased with his illicit acquisition. “Maybe she rigged her deck to always give her drama to predict.”
“Or her cards are a trap of some kind used to rope the customers into fuck knows what,” Revelin says darkly, his concern obvious. “We have to be careful not to arrange these in any layouts. She could have spelled them to work certain ways in different spreads.”
“Oh, shit, you’re right,” I say as I think back to the divination classes at school.
“I remember our ‘sight’ teachers always droning on about how to protect your divination tools, and why it’s not legal in Briarvale to do shit like that.
Rigging cards or runes or even crystal balls, I mean.
There are a lot of shenanigans you can get up to if you’re not a seer but want people to believe you are. ”
Dezi grimaces. “Indeed. I knew a coven of vampires in Romania who fell prey to a traveler group whose seer cursed one of them. They’d accused her of being a fraud and came back at night to decimate the entire camp. It was… ill-advised for certain.”
A sudden burst of laughter and chatter outside the bus cuts me off before I can ask him about it. The door swings open and Gwennon sweeps in, followed closely by Orchid, Basil, and Tanya. They come bearing armfuls of makeup kits and hair products, their energy bright and infectious.
“Time for some magic of a different kind!” Gwennon declares, a wide smile on her face.
“Seriously, you lot need a glow up before you hit that stage,” Orchid adds, winking at me as she sets down a box of shimmering eye shadows. “You look like someone dragged you through an orc pit.”
“It simply won’t do for a night with rock stars,” Tanya chimes in, her hands already dancing through the air as if she can already envision the transformation.
“I hope your glam shit is less sparkly than Sassy’s light show earlier,” Khol teases, shooting me a playful glance. “It’s like magic herpes when we have to get it off everything.”
“That was not my fault,” I protest, but I can’t suppress a smile. “We were escaping an offended banshee.”
“Alright, alright, enough cute sniping,” Basil says, clapping his hands together. “We’ve got a concert to prep for, and I haven’t had nearly enough Faetinis.”
Cards and concerns are temporarily cast aside as brushes sweep over faces, and fingers work through hair. Despite the looming sense of unease about the night ahead, for these moments, we allow ourselves to be swept up in getting ready for the show.
Hopefully, this one isn’t crashed by a murderous Faebeast with a taste for blood.