Chapter XVII #2
Vic accepted a glass with a laugh.
“What is this place?”
“Some of the full-timers come here to relax when we’re off duty,” Sarah told her. “It’s the only spot we’ve found that’s far enough away from the castle we can actually feel at ease, but not so far that we can’t make it back in time if there’s an emergency.”
“No one lives around here?” Vic asked.
May shook her head. “The Order owns most of the land on this side of the mountains.”
“So we’re free to do our business without fear of prying eyes,” Sarah added, brows high with drama.
“Except mine,” Vic pointed out.
“Except yours,” Sarah agreed.
Vic drank in the scene with the wine in her hand, leaning against the wooden railing running the length of the wall.
The drink was gross, which she expected, but the ambience was pleasant.
A steady thrum of noise filled the room as people spoke in low, relaxed voices.
It reminded Vic of nights in the restaurant right before closing.
With almost everyone gone, the evening slowed to a crawl.
Those still unwilling to part ways with their company hung around the edges, and the staff started to clean up despite them.
She smiled to herself, feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks. She felt bold, in her element among the Sentinels and the professionals who just wanted to forget the castle for an hour or two.
“So, May,” Vic said, handing her glass to Sarah for a refill. “What’s your deal?”
May arched an eyebrow. “My deal,” she repeated in a tone as sharp as the knife Vic suspected she had hidden somewhere on her person.
“Yeah,” Vic said, nodding thanks when Sarah returned her drink. “You’ve been hanging around me and Sarah, and you haven’t tried to kill me in two weeks. What gives?”
“For the record: I never tried to kill you.”
“Killing, grievous bodily harm,” Vic said with a shrug. “To-may-to, to-mah-to, am I right?”
“If I had tried to kill you, you would be dead,” May said.
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Sarah said, putting a placating hand on May’s arm. “Nobody’s killing anybody.”
“My deal,” May replied with a touch of distaste, “is that I’m a Sentinel. I’m a Born witch from an oldish line, though I’m the first of my family to join the Order. I’ve been here for eight years.”
“I thought all witches joined the Order,” Vic said.
“American witches,” Sarah added, with a face like the words tasted bad. “Otherwise you have to earn a spot.”
“My parents have middling power,” May said, still not looking at Vic. “But they’re obsessed with gaining more. They moved to the U.S. because of the Order. Their marriage was a deliberate attempt to build a stronger bloodline. When I was born with more power than either of them—”
Vic started. “Wait, they got married because they wanted to—”
“Half the people in this room were conceived under similar circumstances,” May said, and she finally met Vic’s eyes, though hers were cynical and cold.
“Old bloodlines, new bloodlines, it’s exhausting trying to keep up with who wants to fuck whom for which political advantage.
Never mind that it doesn’t even work most of the time. ”
“That’s unbelievable,” Vic breathed.
“My parents got what they wanted. The Lins have joined the Acheron Order,” she finished in a tone of pronouncement.
Behind Vic came the pop of a speaker turning on, and May groaned. Vic watched as witches drifted toward an open area, and then loud music poured into the room.
Excitement fluttered in Vic’s chest. Sarah and May were talking, low under their breath, heads nearly touching. Sarah caught Vic’s eye and smiled.
“Dancing!” Vic cried above the music. May folded her hands over her chest. “Oh, come on, Sarah, you have to come with me. I don’t want to dance by myself.”
Sarah smiled at Vic with a look of bemusement. “You want to dance?” Sarah asked. “I would not have expected that.”
“I love dancing,” Vic said. “It’s like a built-in excuse to let loose, to stop thinking and let the music take over. How rare is that?”
Vic stilled when she felt the energy of the room shift.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, as something like a breeze tilted the air.
It reminded Vic of what happened at the meeting, when the Elder’s words spread a chill through the crowd.
The fire in the center of the room fell low for an instant before flaring again.
Vic scanned the witches for signs of alarm.
Sarah and May had gone on talking, unaware of Vic’s distraction.
A shape passed in front of the window, and for half an instant Vic expected the shadowed Orcan to enter.
But a familiar figure walked inside. Xan’s hair fell into his face as he bent, but he made no attempt to pull it back.
He stood almost as tall and wide as the doorframe he entered, the angel of death come to call on mortals.
Maybe that was the pulse she’d felt—he’d sucked all the air out of the room, and the rest of them hadn’t noticed they were suffocating yet.
He wore the same all-black outfit as always, and Vic found herself imagining his closet lined with identical rows of black pants and shirts, each hanger a standard-issue inch from the ones beside it.
Xan hung his chore coat on a hook by the door and ran a hand through his hair before approaching a trio of witches.
A short woman with dirty-blond hair handed him a beer from a cooler. The bottle looked small in his hand.
Sarah’s fingers snapped in front of Vic’s face, and she blinked. She hadn’t heard Sarah talking to her.
“What are you looking at?” Sarah demanded as her eyes followed Vic’s. “Oh.”
She looked at May with wide eyes.
“Xan is here,” Sarah added in a stage whisper. “Xan and Vic had words the last time they spoke.” Vic hadn’t told Sarah about their encounter after the strix, about Xan touching her face with an expectant look in his eyes. The memory felt hot to the touch, unexplainable.
“I think she’s a tiny bit scared of him,” Sarah said.
“She’d be stupid not to be,” May replied. “Xan’s a scary motherfucker.”
“And maybe a teeny, tiny bit of something else,” Sarah added.
Vic shot Sarah a look. Had she been that obvious?
“Is that right?” May asked, her eyebrows higher than Vic had ever seen them.
“No, of course not,” Vic whispered. “I don’t even know why you would suggest that.”
“Are you sure?” Sarah asked in an innocent tone. “Are you positive there’s nothing going on there?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Vic leaned in, dropping her voice. “I mean, he’s hot. I’d have to be blind not to notice that he’s hot. But no, absolutely not. He’s tried to kick me out of the castle like a dozen times. He called me a liability.”
“Heterosexual mating habits are a mystery to me,” May said.
“That’s not what’s happening here,” Vic snapped. “There is no…mating. Stop talking about that, immediately.”
“He’s coming over here,” May observed.
Of course he was fucking coming over here.
Vic reached for Sarah’s arm. “Come dance with me. Now.”
But a mischievous smile bloomed on Sarah’s face.
Vic didn’t have to turn around to know that Xan was behind her. She felt the air move out of the way to accommodate him—before a deep voice announced his arrival.
“I’ll dance with you.”
The hair on the back of Vic’s neck stood at attention. She was as ready to follow that voice as any of his Sentinels would be.
Vic tugged on Sarah’s arm in a silent plea. Sarah did not budge.
A heavy hand landed on Vic’s waist and pulled her to the side.
Vic followed, aware that she should object to the manhandling.
But his hold was firm and gentle, and Vic looked up at Xan with a wrinkle in her brow.
Again with the proprietary touches, just like the night of the Rite.
What had gotten into Xan? Still, Vic’s heart began to pound in rhythm with the music.
He led her toward the open space some witches were using as a dance floor, his hand like a brand against her side. Vic wanted to squirm away from the touch. She wanted to lean into it. Again she breathed in the smell of him, like earth and sweat-slicked skin mixed together.
“It’ll be fun, I promise,” he said, dropping his head close to hers. His breath teased the right side of her face. He was only inches away. “I’ve always thought dancing is like…” Xan paused like he wanted Vic to draw the wrong conclusion. “Fighting. Don’t you agree?”
Vic nodded, still staring up in confusion. Was he flirting with her?
“Since we’re both very good at fighting, I assume our skills will transfer,” he added with a knowing look.
He was definitely flirting. Vic’s stomach flipped.
She stuck her hand up and brushed his forehead with the tips of her fingers. “Are you sick?” she asked. “You don’t feel feverish.” But he did feel hot, like a furnace burned beneath the surface of his skin. Vic put her hand in her pocket, her skin buzzing.
Xan chuckled and pulled her to a stop beside another small table along the way.
Vic looked behind her at Sarah and May, expecting them to be watching her with poorly repressed glee.
But they were oblivious to the strange scene unfolding between Vic and Xan.
Sarah was explaining something, complete with sharp hand gestures, and May’s face broke out in the first real smile Vic had ever seen on her.
“What were you talking about when I came in?” Xan asked, pulling Vic’s attention back to him.
Vic found another bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. “You know, I don’t remember.”
He leaned in toward Vic. “Did I distract you?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Vic told him. “Of course you distracted me. You came in here looking like you rode in on a hellhound. All doom and gloom.” Vic imitated his constant frown.
The music wasn’t so loud they had to shout to be heard, but they stood closer than they normally would.
The proximity ran like electricity over Vic’s skin.
“You’re in a room full of witches and my ‘doom and gloom’ stands out to you?”