Текст книги "Bespelled"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER 40

I enter my residence hall, no longer fearful of the enemies housed under this roof. I have an ease—and a resolve—I didn’t a day ago.

Inside the house, a row of bags are piled in the foyer, and as I head up the stairs, the witches I pass appear to be packing or speaking in low, somber tones. The atmosphere of the place is strange and unsettling.

I step off the stairs on the fourth floor of the house and head down a wing I haven’t much visited. The buzzing lights flicker on and off in their sconces as I pass by room after room, as though the magic itself can sense a shift in me.

As I sidestep yet another pile of bags stacked in the hallway, I begin to wonder if this exodus has to do with Juliana’s death. But she couldn’t have possibly had so many witches bonded to her, could she?

The hallway at the end of the fourth floor hooks right, and beyond the turn, only two rooms remain, one to my left and one to my right.

The smell of formaldehyde thickens the air, and I feel bad for the witch on the right. It reeks back here.

I approach the door on my left and open it without knocking.

Inside, the first thing I see are shelves and shelves of mason jars, each one containing bits and pieces of zoological anatomy. One jar has eyeballs; another contains toads. I rip my gaze away before I can figure out the rest. Resting on the desk beneath them is a taxidermy cat—one that’s in rough shape. A massive vulture perches on the stuffed creature’s back, and as I watch, it pecks at the thing.

Well, that answers the question of how the cat got to be in such poor condition.

I don’t have time to take in the rest of the room before I hear a gasp.

My gaze moves to the floor, where Olga looks busy putting together a skeleton of some animal.

“Selene?” Her eyes flick over me. “What are you doing here?”

I don’t bother with niceties. “I know you gave me a spiked drink last night.” I step into the room and close the door behind me. “I wonder if you can guess what happened after that.”

She shrinks back. “I don’t know what⁠—”

“I fell off my broom, broke a few bones,” I say it casually as I step deeper into the room, as though the memory doesn’t hurt me. “Then I was collected.”

I stare down at her, letting the silence settle a bit.

“I imagine you don’t want to know the next part,” I say, crouching down in front of her, fully aware I’m being a menace. I don’t care. I want her to see the unshed tears in my eyes. I want her to see my horror and my pain. “I was taken to a room, and I was tortured, then bound to a psychopath against my will, then tortured some more.”

“I—I don’t…”

“I know you were bonded,” I say, speaking over her, “and I know you were made to do many things against your will.”

Olga blinks a few times, and I see her tears well.

“Juliana—Lia—is dead. If you feel a lightness in your chest, you’re not imagining it. Whatever link held you to her, it’s gone.”

Olga’s eyes are wide as she touches her chest. “She’s…gone?” the witch whispers.

I nod. “I understand she made you do things, and you didn’t have a choice in the matter.” I suppress the shiver that wants to work its way through me. “But you do have to atone for what you’ve done—to me and the other supernaturals who you’ve hurt.”

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone!” she says sharply. It sounds like a line she’s been silently telling herself to feel better. I cannot imagine the horrors she’s been exposed to before now.

She opens her mouth to say more, but I wave it off. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we weren’t the only supernaturals forced into bonds, and Juliana—or Lia, depending on how you knew her—wasn’t the only one making those bonds. The murdered witches found on campus were bonded before their deaths, just like you and me, but something happened to them in their final moments, and I want to know what.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks.

My eyes scan the morbid decorations of Olga’s room. “In your ledger, did you record any of the last words given by the murdered witches?” It’s a long shot, but she’s obsessed with that thing.

Olga’s eyes brighten. “I have two of them—but they are not public knowledge, and I’m not allowed to share those lines.”

Oh, so now she wants to be a law-abiding citizen?

I place a hand on her arm and lean in. “I am not one to make threats, Olga, but I had a rough fucking night. So please make an exception for a friend, or I’ll start destroying your room one decoration at a time.”

Wisps of my pale orange magic drift out and move to her shelves. Her jars rattle and clink as my power descends on them.

“All right, all right!” she says begrudgingly, giving me a disgruntled look. “I’ll do it, just this once—to make amends for…last night.”

I withdraw my magic as the witch gets up, muttering under her breath as she crosses to her bookcase.

From it, she pulls out her Ledger of Last Words, her fingers lovingly trailing along the spine. It reminds me of how much I adored my own notebooks, back when I relied on them. An aching sense of nostalgia rises in me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed paging through them until now.

Olga settles back down on the ground beside me and opens the book. She flips through it, and I catch glimpses of names and dates and quotes—the final words these various individuals spoke before they died.

She stops on a page with a redacted row, the name, date, and quote blotted out entirely with black ink. There’s another blacked-out row on the following page as well. I stare at those omissions. I’m sure they hold the key.

A bit of wine-red magic slips out of Olga. She taps a finger on the open pages of her ledger. “What I’m about to share with you was only shared with me because the Politia hired me on to pull last words from a couple of the bodies.”

“They hired you?”

“Yeah. Not everyone can coax information from a body. It’s a rare gift,” she says matter-of-factly.

I mean, I might not use the word gift when it requires handling dead bodies, but sure, it’s rare.

My attention drifts to her mutilated, stuffed cat. “I … understand.”

Olga follows my gaze. “That’s Mr. Whiskers. He was my first cat. Odessa is fond of him.”

As she speaks, the vulture—Odessa, presumably—pecks at the poor thing again.

I take in the rest of her surroundings. “You really like death, don’t you?” My eyes touch on a row of animal skulls resting behind her bed, then linger on a set of mounted shadow boxes that house pinned butterflies.

“It’s the ultimate mystery,” Olga says. “One even us witches only get a few glimpses of.”

With that, she holds her hand over the open book. More of her magic sifts from her palm, small plumes of it billowing out along the surface of the book. When her magic clears, the blotted lines have vanished, and in their place are rows of writing. The first one reads:

Katherine Thompson | Age 22 | Death Date: September 25, 2023 | Last Word(s): Oh Goddess—[screams]

I grimace at the entry.

“This next one, I find particularly interesting,” Olga says, tapping on the second entry. As soon as I see the name, I have to steel myself. Charlotte Evensen.

I knew her, as did Olga, not that she gives any indication of it now.

I don’t really want to read the entry. These are no longer just words on the page but the last and likely agonized words of a former friend.

Charlotte Evensen | Age 20 | Death Date: October 10, 2023 | Last Word(s): Damn you and your kind to the farthest pits of hell. May you rot there.

Damn you and your kind?

I glance at Olga. “What do you think that means?”

Now my coven sister looks particularly animated. “I don’t know, but the bodies I saw were mauled. Perhaps we’re dealing with a supernatural that is not fully human or one that can shift.”

I shiver at that. I’ve been working hand in hand with the lycanthropes. Could they…?

No, the thought is too twisted to consider. Shifters hold family above all else. They were wrecked when one of their own showed up murdered.

But Charlotte’s final words do bring up an aspect of the killings that I’d overlooked—the manner in which they died. Mauled and steeped in dark magic.

What could the Fortunas possibly want with a bunch of gruesomely killed witches? Where’s the profit in that sort of death?

Whatever the answer, it will happen again in a week unless Memnon and I can stop it.

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CHAPTER 41

When I get to my room, my phone is ringing.

I cross the room and snatch it up from where I left it on my bed.

“Hello?”

“Finally.” Kane’s voice is unnaturally gruff.

Goblin’s tits. I don’t want to talk to this man. I haven’t even begun to sort through my own tangled emotions toward him after last night.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

“What do you mean what’s going on?” I say, gathering together the belongings I’m going to need for the next week.

“Memnon is all over the news.”

“What?”

I rush over to my laptop and wake the device up. As quickly as I can, I log into one of the few supernatural news outlets. On its home page is a grainy photograph of Memnon on the street outside the building I was held in. The angle makes me think it was taken by a security camera. His eyes are glowing, and his hair is partially lifted. The camera couldn’t capture his magic, but it’s obvious it must be spread out around him. The headline reads 33 Dead in Largest Magical Attack of the Year: Killer at Large.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You’re just now hearing about this?” Kane says.

“Hmm?” I’m still distracted by the photo. In it, Memnon’s scar is hard to see, and his tattoos are entirely obscured. But there’s likely more images out there.

“He’s in both the magical and nonmagical news.” Kane pauses, then adds, “Selene, I’ve seen at least one picture of him carrying a woman. Tell me that isn’t you.” His voice has softened. “Tell me after the party, you got home safely—that you’ve been ignoring my calls purely out of anger.”

I draw in a long breath, my heart hammering louder and louder. My gaze returns to the photo.

“Memnon blew his cover saving me,” I admit. “Saving you?” Kane echoes. “What happened to you after you left the party?” In his voice, there’s a note of fear.

“I…I don’t think I can tell you over the phone.”

The line is quiet for a moment.

“Selene, I’m sorry,” Kane finally says. At first I think he’s apologizing for last night, until he adds, “You’re status as friend of the pack will be revoked at the next meeting. We cannot protect the mate of a murderer.”

I tighten my grip on the phone.

It’s just you and your bonds. They are the only ones you can trust.

I push away the thought. What would Roxilana say? Roxilana who lived through the death of her own family, who ruled hard men and women and saw too many battles.

She wouldn’t settle.

“Memnon has been officially accused of nothing,” I say. “Any assumption of guilt on his part is pure hearsay.” I draw in a steadying breath. In a softer tone I add, “Your alpha needs to hear what Memnon and I learned last night.”

“Memnon is not welcome⁠—”

“I control Memnon.” I ignore the sick twist in my gut that comes with that statement. “I will give him whatever command your alpha would like to feel more at ease, but, Kane, I am asking you, as the future alpha of your pack, to listen to what we have to say.” After a moment, I admit, “I think if we want to take these people down, we’ll need your pack’s help.”

We cannot trust the Politia, and we likely still cannot trust the witches. The shifters might be the last line of help either Memnon or I have.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Kane sighs. “Okay, Selene,” he capitulates. “One last favor for a friend of the pack. Be at the cabin at six p.m. sharp.”

The line clicks before I can thank him.

I blow out a breath, then reach down my bond.

Memnon? I call out to my mate. I arranged a meeting with the lycanthropes at six to tell them what we’ve learned. Before then, I’d like to discuss with you everything we know.

I feel Memnon’s slow smile through our connection, and it makes my lower belly tighten.

Hello, my queen.

My pulse races at the sound of his voice.

I will have to meet you there, he says apologetically, but before then let us chat like this and form a battle strategy.

A battle strategy. I glance at the news article once more and take in Memnon’s grainy form. We do need a strategy.

A shiver of anticipation—and maybe a little foreboding—moves through me. It’s been two thousand years, but I’m finally starting to feel like the queen I once was.

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CHAPTER 42

The meeting with the lycanthropes is going poorly.

It has been since Memnon and I stepped into their soundproof room minutes ago. Every shifter but Kane is openly growling as we take our seats. Even their elder, Apani, appears hostile.

Vincent doesn’t bother sitting. Instead, he leans his fists on the table and glares at Memnon, his wolf shining out of his eyes.

“Let me make something absolutely clear: at this point, I don’t want to hear what either of you have to say, I’m not interested in working together, and as soon as we take a vote to remove you”—he nods at me—“as a friend of the pack, I am planning on tipping off the Politia that I know who last night’s mass murderer is.”

My clasped hands tremble a little as I sit there and watch the alpha seethe across the table. I’m rusty at reining in my emotions, but next to me, Memnon is making an art of it. He’s splayed in his seat, his forefinger rubbing his lower lip, projecting only mild interest in the words being lobbed against us.

“The only reason this meeting is happening at all is because Kane insisted on it.”

Kane sits on my other side, just as he did during the last meeting.

I draw in a deep breath and force my frayed nerves to settle. “I appreciate you all coming here nonetheless,” I say.

Vincent glares at me.

“You’re an honorable man,” I say. “But the people who have hurt your pack are not. Nor do they care to play by the rules the rest of us supernaturals try to follow.”

“As opposed to your mate?” He nods to Memnon. “Don’t give me that bullsh⁠—”

“On Monday, November 13,” I cut in, “the night of the new moon, there will be a midnight auction at the Equinox Building in San Francisco. But this is no ordinary auction. Supernaturals will be auctioning off other supernaturals. Witches, mages, and likely shifters.”

The growls in the room slowly grow quiet, and reluctantly, Vincent takes his seat.

“Specifically,” I continue, “what is being auctioned is called a forged bond—a magical bond that connects two supernaturals together, potentially until death. Depending on the terms of this bond, one or both parties can exert control over the other. Despite the sometimes distasteful nature of them, forged bonds are technically legal. However, the supernaturals being auctioned have already secretly been bonded once against their will to force their participation and cooperation in these auctions. This is likely what would’ve happened to Cara if the bond had gone through.

“The Fortuna family then scoops up the profit from these … sales, and they will continue to do so unless they are stopped.”

The silence in the room is almost painful.

“That’s not all,” I say. “We’ve discovered the murder victims were themselves bonded to members of the Fortuna crime ring at the time of their deaths. The Fortunas use these bonds to exert absolute control over supernaturals. And like the auction, we know the murders are also happening in the Equinox Building.” I take another quick glance at Memnon. “And we have good reason to believe another murder will happen on the night of the auction.”

Before anyone can ask me how I know this, I add, “For witches and several other supernaturals, the new moon represents not just literal darkness but secrecy, obscurity, mystery, and confusion. It’s when witches are likeliest to perform illicit spells and forbidden magic. It’s the one night every lunar cycle when dark magic carries the most power.”

For a long moment, the room stays quiet.

Finally, Vincent lets out a long sigh and reaches into his pocket. He fishes out two vials of truth serum.

“Before we discuss anything further,” the alpha says, “I want you both to drink this so I can confirm the truthfulness of your words.”

I bite back a groan, but when he tosses the vial to me, I readily unstopper it and drink the thing down, wincing at the taste.

Memnon catches the vial lobbed at him, but he just stares at it. I can already tell he’s going to resist the alpha’s commands.

“Memnon.”

The sorcerer looks at me, the corner of his mouth curving up. He removes the cork then and holds it up.

“For you and only you,” he toasts to me, then he kicks the drink back.

The room is quiet as the potion takes effect. I can feel the magic winding around my windpipe and coating my tongue.

“Is everything you told me about the auction and the murders true?” Vincent asks me.

“To the best of my knowledge, yes,” I say.

His gaze shifts to Memnon. “Did she tell the truth?” Vincent asks.

“As she knows it, yes,” Memnon says.

“As she knows it,” Vincent echoes. “And how do you know it?”

Memnon and Vincent stare one another down.

Next to me, Kane rotates, his eyes fixed on my face.

“How did you get this information?” he asks me. What he really wants to know is what happened last night.

I blow out a breath, even as my stomach turns over. That earlier strength I felt is slipping…

You are the strongest person I know, est amage, Memnon says. Take your time. I am here.

I draw a deep breath. “The same woman who tried to bond Cara came for me last night—after the bonfire. Her name is Juliana Fortuna, daughter of Luca Fortuna. She…forced me to bond with her.”

The room is unnaturally quiet for several seconds.

“What?” Kane finally says. His voice has gone deep and gravelly. “You mean to tell me that if you had left the beach with me, this would not have happened?”

Memnon sits forward a little. “What’s this now?” His magic is beginning to unfurl out of him. He hasn’t heard about what happened between me and Kane last night because it wasn’t important. I didn’t realize we were going to have a clash over it.

“Are you still bonded to this Juliana?” the alpha cuts in.

“No,” Memnon cuts in. “I killed the sorceress.”

It’s quiet again, and I imagine Vincent, Apani, Kane, and the pack beta, Irene, are all putting together what they might’ve seen on the news with this information.

Memnon’s gaze narrows on Kane. “By then, she had spent a good hour torturing my mate. I bound the woman to me, forced her to give up the information we just shared, and then I gave her the death she deserved.”

If I expected the shifters to be horrified by Memnon’s implied brutality, I assumed wrong. They all have a slightly feral look about them, but none seem disturbed by the information. If anything, they seem to be reconsidering him.

“An hour?” Kane says, his voice rough. Clearing his throat, he runs a hand over his mouth. “Shit, Selene…” When Kane looks at me again, there is so much pain in his eyes.

I shake my head. “I’m … fine.”

Hate that word, Memnon says down our bond.

To the rest of the room, I say, “Juliana’s death freed a number of supernaturals from their forced bonds, and it’s likely some of them will bring this information to the Politia. If you have a pack member working for the authorities, this is how you can verify our story.”

The room is quiet, almost thoughtful.

“You’re planning on attending the upcoming auction?” Vincent finally asks.

“Yes, we plan on stopping it,” Memnon says. My soul mate looks like he’s relishing the thought, and why wouldn’t he? It’s undoubtedly going to get messy and violent, and Memnon was raised for battle.

Kane looks between us, frowning. “Doing so could get you killed. Why don’t you just let the Politia handle this? If supernaturals are informing them of these forced bonds like you said, they might go after the sorcerers themselves.”

Memnon leans back in his seat. “If these newly unbonded supernaturals do report their experiences to the Politia, and if the Politia believe them, and if the department’s pockets are not too weighed down by Fortuna money, then perhaps they will go after this crime ring. The stars must align just so for those cursed authorities to do anything.”

“The sorcerer has a point, Kane,” Vincent says, his eyes flicking to the shifter sitting next to me. “It’s not clear the Politia will have enough evidence or time to stop the Fortunas before this auction, especially not when they’re likely pooling their resources to hunt down a mass murderer.” Vincent’s gaze moves pointedly to Memnon.

My mate narrows his eyes at the alpha, but before he can say anything, I cut in. “They’re taking my coven sisters.” There is a whole previous lifetime of steel in my voice. “And they’re taking your pack mates.”

Irene growls at my words. “We’re aware.”

I continue. “I’m not willing to risk another supernatural dying or getting bonded against their will because these monsters care more about money than human lives.”

Vincent clears his throat. “We must discuss this with the entire pack before we make a decision about our involvement in this,” the alpha says.

Memnon leans across the table, his entire demeanor going from relaxed to malevolent in two-point-five seconds. “You will not.”

The alpha growls, his eyes shifting. “Think twice, sorcerer, before you challenge me beneath my own roof.”

Memnon’s eyes begin to glow. “We’ve discussed this before: I will not let you put my soul mate at risk because you believe everyone has a right to know this classified information.” The alpha’s growl only deepens, but now Memnon rises, leaning his hands heavily on the table. “Do you want me to tell you how the sorceress broke my mate’s bones one by one? How I heard Selene’s screams through my bond before I could get there? These are not mild people. You do not have to involve your pack in this business, but you will not risk mine.”

The air is crackling with tension. What muscles I can see of the alpha’s are taut. Something is about to happen, unless I put a stop to it.

“Once the sorceress bonded me,” I say, interrupting the standoff, “Juliana commanded me to keep our bond a secret. She then ordered me to be loyal to her above all others.”

Vincent is still squaring off with Memnon, but the other shifters are listening to me, so I press on.

“So if you want to find the shifters who might be under forced bonds,” I continue, “give your pack mates a vial of truth serum and ask each one these questions: One, did you swear an oath to secrecy with someone outside the pack? And two, were you forced to do so against your will?” Vincent has reluctantly torn his gaze from Memnon. He too is now listening to me.

“Exclude any shifters who answer yes to those questions from the meeting,” I say, “and make sure no information gets back to them. Then make your decision.” My gaze moves over Vincent and Irene, Apani and Kane. “As for me and Memnon, you already know our decision. If a fight breaks out, we will defend any shifters present at the auction as well as any other supernaturals there against their will. I hope your pack considers joining us, but if not, then I want to thank you all anyway for considering me a friend of the pack for a time. I will still always consider the Marin Pack friends of mine.”

I stand and nod to each lycan. Vincent and Irene stare at me speculatively. Apani dips her head, and Kane, Kane looks heartbroken all over again.

Nothing more to say, I head for the door. I’ve barely passed Kane when the shifter catches my wrist.

“Selene.”

I stop and turn to him, decidedly ignoring Memnon.

“Swear to me you won’t die.”

I stare down at him, and though I cannot read his mind, I can practically feel his worry and powerlessness. Kane is hemmed in by the will of his pack. And I think right now, he desperately wants to join the fight, or at least protect me from it.

Memnon’s chair scrapes back, then the sorcerer’s heavy hand falls on Kane’s shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Kane,” Memnon says, “and your protectiveness will serve you well as a leader one day. Selene cannot make you that promise any more than I can. But I can vow to you this: I will not willingly lead her to her death.”

Kane stares at me a moment longer, and I nod.

“It will be okay,” I say softly.

It’s as close to a promise as I can make, and it might not even be the truth. Because none of this is okay. Not the forced bonds, not the killings, not the auction, and not the upcoming violence.

But there’s no going back from what happened last night. Not for Memnon and not for me. The only option for either of us is to stop the Fortunas before they stop us.

And hopefully the shifters decide to help.

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