Blaze: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Spelldrift: Coven of Fire Book 4) Read online

  “I liked it so much better when they were unrequited,” Asher quipped.

  “You’re terrible.” Liv guffawed. “But, yeah, I’m with you there.”

  “They’ve waited this long,” Asher said without sympathy. “Surely it won’t kill them to be apart for another three days.”

  Bonaventura had claimed the trip would only take that long, but I couldn’t help but fear he was being overconfident. I knew better than anyone what a formidable opponent Tenebris was.

  Reluctantly, I pressed my hand on Matt’s rock-hard chest, pushed him back, and collapsed onto one of the charcoal grey couches arranged in front of a giant flat screen.

  I still had no idea where we were headed. After Bonaventura’s threats about being late, I made sure we’d gotten here early, but the vamps had yet to show up. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bonaventura was doing that just to piss me off and remind me of my place as a mere witch, assisting his operation but not a part of it.

  This deal felt like drinking broken glass. The Coven of Fire should be the ones to take down Tenebris…for more reasons than I could count. But there seemed to be no alternative.

  No wonder my entire coven was on edge.

  “Watchdog, it’s been nice to see you get past your tortured inhibitions,” Asher said, “but I wonder if you could possibly find them again? If I have to see you stare at Alix with those deep dark eyes one second longer…”

  “If we bother you so much, don’t look.” Matt plopped down next to me and curled his fingers around mine, practically growling in Asher’s direction. Asher’s recent crush on me was over, and he was just trolling Matt. I was ninety-five percent sure of it, anyway. “If the shoe were on the other foot I’d have the class to stay quiet, and take it like a man.”

  “Oh please,” Asher waved him off. “If the shoe were on the other foot—”

  “Warlock, you are getting on my—”

  “Shhh!” On the flatscreen, a hauntingly familiar face caught my attention. Masumi’s searching, intelligent eyes were staring down at me. It must have been her official Fidei headshot, lab coat over a crisp black uniform. Her thick dark hair pulled back from her face. I leapt up and fumbled around to find the volume on the side of the TV.

  The image cut to a reporter standing in the snow outside a coffee shop with the lights of a dozen emergency vehicles flashing in the background.

  “Explosions in the underground tunnels prompted evacuations of a three-square-block area,” she said in an incongruously perky tone. The video feed switched to a helicopter aerial view. What had once been the towering upscale condos was now a smoldering pile of rubble. “Miraculously, only one death has been reported thus far. Police have confirmed that Dr. Masumi Shimizu, 42, was trapped inside at the time of the explosion. A dozen more are being treated for minor injuries. While the loss of life is always tragic, Steve, this could have been much, much worse.”

  The scene cut back to the studios, to a grim-faced silver fox anchorman. “Thanks, Amber. We’ll hope that death toll doesn’t rise. Keep us posted. Next up is Chad with sports.”

  I looked away from the screen. Masumi was gone, but she’d managed to smuggle the painting to me, the key to her armory of information redeeming Mals and Deviants. She'd expected me to succeed her—to shine a light on the truth and vindicate those who’d been wronged all these years. Was I worthy? Would I be able to make a difference? Given the terrible risks and worse odds, was I even willing to try?

  With all the emotions surging through me, I was grateful to see Bonaventura stroll in with his bespoke entourage…and the casually rumpled Griffin. One crisis at a time.

  “Miss Hill.” Bonaventura nodded to me, as if I were the only one standing at the gate. As if my coven didn’t count for anything. “We’re boarding now.” He snapped his fingers. Literally snapped his fingers at me. Instantly, my hands itched with the same heat they used to feel on the playground before a fight. I swallowed hard, knowing I was going to have to pick my battles.

  This was going to be a long three days.

  I picked up the gorgeous leather Coach carry-on I’d borrowed from Liv, just in time to hear my phone ring inside the front pocket. Damn, I thought I’d put it on silent.

  And then I recognized the ringtone, “Levels” by Avicii. Callie’s ringtone. I felt all the blood drain from my face. I couldn’t dig through my bag fast enough.

  Bonaventura tapped his foot and let out an audible sigh of exasperation.

  “Really, Alix,” Asher said emphatically. “Whoever it is, they’ll call back.”

  I didn’t stop my frantic search. If Callie’s phone was calling me, it had to be the Splinter, that evil presence inhabiting her body. The Splinter had a special hate-on for our coven, and it hurt to hear her taunting barbs pour from Callie’s mouth. But if I could keep the Splinter on the line just a few seconds, the Fidei could possibly trace her location.

  My fingers found the phone, and I swiped to answer on the last ring before it went to voicemail. “Hello,” I said, breathless.

  At first, there was nothing. I thought I must’ve missed the call then I heard a soft breath. A couple of gulps of air, like whoever was on the other end was trying to decide what to say—or struggling to get it out? Finally I heard a single word croaked out, “Alix—” The voice was so raw and rough, my heart shattered at the pain and plea it carried. Instantly the line went dead. When I pulled the phone from my ear my hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone.

  “Oh my god,” Liv said when she saw my phone screen. Callie’s contact picture faded as the connection terminated.

  “I’m sorry, Director,” I said. “Something’s come up. I’m afraid I can’t get on that plane.” And as badly as I wanted to take Tenebris down, I needed to do this more.

  Bonaventura spun and sucked in a breath in that almost soundless way only a vampire could. He’d already thought I was a flaky amateur, now he probably thought I was a nutcase. Even Matt and Asher were looking at me like I’d lost my mind. I could really see how it might look that way.

  “So am I to understand,” Bonaventura’s voice dripped with condescension, “that after begging me to help with the amulet, insisting you be present when Tenebris is killed, you’re now refusing to accompany me?”

  “Believe me, if it weren’t absolutely necessary, I wouldn’t do this.” My magic was begging to come to my fingertips. But starting a brawl with a vampire seemed like one of those poor life choices they’d warned me about in middle school.

  Bonaventura composed himself with a smooth exhalation, then turned to Liv. “I suppose you’ll have to do.” Another finger snap. “Let’s go.”

  “It’s a coven matter that has come up,” Liv said. “None of us can go.”

  “We’ll send you the deactivation spell,” I said, not caring in the least that I was giving up the only leverage we had with the Director.

  If Bonaventura could’ve killed me with a look, I’d be bleeding out right now. I’d seen what he’d done to Wes, his own son. I got the feeling he was picturing doing worse to me. “Not an option, Ms. Hill.” The terminal dropped ten degrees in an instant. “One of you two witches will board the plane. Or I will release you from your pitiful existence.”

  Strange what a difference a little blood could make. More than scaring me, those words hurt. I’d disappointed him. I took a deep breath and shrugged off his compulsion. Vampire mind tricks aside, I owed no loyalty to Bonaventura. Callie was my coven sister. Family came first. “If you want to try,” I said, “have at it.”

  Matt, Liv, and Asher had already flanked me, ready to fight at my side even if they didn’t fully understand. Bonaventura’s crew did the same for him. The Director narrowed his eyes, looking at each of us in turn. I couldn’t decipher the calculations he was making behind those ice blue eyes. “Know this, witch—and this goes for your whole coven—when our paths cross again it will not be a friendly encounter.”

  My heart was racing. Did I really want to make the d
irector of the Council Suprema my enemy? But we had to follow up on that phone call. To find my coven sister. “I have no choice,” I told Bonaventura. “It’s family. That trumps vengeance.”

  Was it my imagination, or did his glare get less homicidal at the word family?

  “Send over the spell at once,” he commanded and turned on his heel.

  All the other vampires followed suit.

  I watched as they disappeared through the gate door, hoping there’d be a way to make things right with them later.

  “Alix, luv.” Asher turned to me, his voice sweet as saccharine. “Be so kind as to tell me why I just voluntarily incurred the wrath of the most powerful vampire in the northern hemisphere?”

  Chapter Two

  Strong Brew’s ass-early Monday morning crowd looked as glassy-eyed as zombies as they stood waiting for the harried punk girl barista to make their lattes and Americanos. Asher and I snagged a half booth, half table near the front while Liv grabbed our pastries off the counter. Matt leaned against the wall, waiting for our usual drink order to be called. Three lattes, one Earl Grey tea.

  Yeah, we had a system.

  On the way here from the airport, we’d stopped by the Fidei HQ and handed my phone to Agent Larch. She’d promised to use every means at her disposal—Wont and magic alike—to trace the call and let us know the city it originated from. Maybe even the block, depending on cell tower triangulation. I was grateful she was so willing to help. The stodgy, rule-obsessed agent hadn’t been our coven’s biggest fan at first. But Matt’s saving her partner’s life had gone a long way to turning Larch into a friend.

  “Why would the Splinter call you?” Asher’s voice brought me back to the present moment. “It’s got to be a trap.”

  “Alix already told you, it wasn’t the Splinter.” Liv plonked down the white paper bags filled with goodies and threw a circle of silence around us. “It was Callie.”

  Asher sighed. “I know what she said, but…Occam’s razor, luv, which do you think is more likely? Callie’s ringing us up for a chat or the Splinter’s setting a trap for us?”

  “Your own research says it can’t be Callie, Liv.” Matt set down our drinks and slid across the wooden bench, his face full of sorrow. “She may still be in there, but she’s not calling the shots anymore. The Splinter is.”

  “I hate to agree with our guard—witch—whatever he is.” Asher stumbled over his usual quips and gave up. “Matt’s right. Callie would be very weak by now. Fading. It’s a terminal condition.”

  “Which is why we can’t ignore her cry for help!” Liv’s hand smacked the table in frustration. “Why am I the only one who still has hope for our sister?”

  “You’re not the only one.” Yesterday, I would have sided with Matt and Asher. But they didn’t hear that voice. The anguish. The honesty. “It was Callie on the phone. I have no doubt.”

  “And I respect your intuition, Alexandra,” Matt began, “but we can’t afford to make coven decisions by gut alone. Not when every source agrees—”

  “Every source says Mals are evil monsters, too,” Liv shot back. “And we all know that’s horseshit.”

  Matt blinked, looking stunned for a moment. Then to my surprise, he laughed. “Touché.”

  Asher looked from Liv to Matt and me, as if he was worried she’d infected us with some horrible disease. Perhaps she had. Hope. “Well, all right then.” Asher threw up his hands in resignation. I knew he wasn’t convinced, just gracefully backing away. For the moment. “Either way,” he said, cautiously, “we need to track that call.”

  Liv pushed away her half-nibbled croissant, wiping buttery, flaky crumbs off her lap, and checked her phone. “The sooner we hear from the Fidei, the sooner we can separate our Callie from the Splinter.” Liv’s defiant tone dared us all to argue.

  Asher bit. “As long as you understand a separation would be fatal. It has been in every known case.”

  “The info I found was so incomplete, so anecdotal. Half of the findings based on a single inhabitation.” Liv’s voice was hyper-calm, almost monotone, like she was trying to keep herself sounding reasonable but inside she wanted to scream. “We can’t be one-hundred percent sure till we try.”

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.” Asher wadded up a pastry bag in his fist. “But if you won’t take logical extrapolation, you should know I did some digging as well.”

  I blinked. “You did?” If Asher had researched this, it meant he too had some hope. Right?

  “Checked in with a guy I know,” he said. “An expert in all forms of inhabitation and co-opting, Splinters and whatnot.” Asher paused. “And he’s witnessed it up close.” He shrugged off an emotion I couldn’t read. “He’s just come back to town after teaching at the Witches Institute in Basil, Switzerland.”

  “Lemme guess, he’s one of your special friends too?” Liv asked, using air quotes. Asher’s collection of admirers, former flames, and on-and-off bed friends had been useful to us on more than one occasion.

  “Not this one.” Asher let out a spontaneous chuckle. “You’ll see.”

  To see, we had to leave Seattle and hop onto the 520 floating bridge to the ritzy Eastside suburb of Medina, where people like Bill Gates and other tech elites lived. Whoever Asher’s friend was, the dude wasn’t hurting for money.

  Asher motioned for me to turn left onto the waterfront and park in front of a three-story brick Tudor set back half an acre from the street. Though it was among the smaller houses in the neighborhood, it still deserved the term “mansion.” And with that view, it had to be sporting a multi-million-dollar price tag.

  As we climbed out of the car, the black metal gate opened automatically. Either this warlock was watching our every move from inside, or else he’d hooked up his gate to a complex ward system that let in friends by their signatures. Either possibility was intimidating.

  I shrugged and began to hike up the sloped and curving path toward the house, but the sight of an ancient Citroën parked in the driveway gave me pause. Every inch of its matte grey finish was covered with paintings of lions and tigers. To see an art car in this neighborhood was jarring. I wondered what this guy’s rich, Wont neighbors thought of him.

  At the front door, Asher flipped a finger and used a swoosh of magic to lift the lion’s head knocker. “It bites,” he explained.

  The enchanted brass piece roared, and the door swung open revealing a lanky, striking mid-thirties warlock. Platinum hair hung in waves to his collarbone. His nose was as lean as the rest of him. Hazel eyes alert and amused. Pale cheeks rock-star hollow. But the main thing I noticed about him—the main thing anyone would notice—was that he was dressed in a full-body tiger-print leotard. He was also rocking some fierce eyeliner.

  To say this dude was eccentric was putting it mildly.

  I saw Liv’s eyes go wide at his good looks and this startling getup, but she got it under control.

  Asher’s face was completely composed as he made introductions. “Matt, Liv, Alix, meet Professor Hayden Duckworth. Hayden, this is my coven.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at how far Asher had come. Not only was he unashamed to describe himself as part of a coven, he actually sounded proud.

  “Nice to meet you,” Matt said.

  With a coy smile, Hayden offered Matt just his fingertips, as if expecting a kiss on the knuckles. Without missing a beat, Matt stretched out his big hand and firmly shook Hayden’s.

  “Well, we can’t be standing here letting all my aura out into the wild, can we?” Hayden said. From the twinkle in his eye, I could tell he enjoyed messing with our expectations. “Oh for the love of magic, come in.”

  I shouldn’t have been too surprised by now that every inch of Hayden’s living room was covered in mix-matched faux-feline fur patterns. Liv and I sat on opposite ends of a purple velvet leopard-print couch. Matt took a black armchair with tiger striped pillows, while Asher lounged on a huge ottoman ringed with a mane like a lion’s. Professor—as he’d ask
ed us to call him—was like a jumping bean. One minute he was sitting, the next he was up stretching like a dancer. And the conversation between him and Asher jumped back and forth as much as Hayden did.

  Small talk gave way to shop talk about the gate’s warding system—expensive, unless you had DIY skills. Then to the latest trend in potions—blood magic was becoming less taboo, thanks in part to Althea’s adorable shop down in Issaquah. By the time they began to discuss Nequam reincarnation stats, my head was starting to spin.

  “I know it’s rough.” Asher stood and put his hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “But they need to hear the story.”

  And just like that, the Professor’s twitchy body slowed, and his shoulders slumped like the emotions he was trying to run from finally caught up with him. “Xavier and I met in college.” He smiled at the memory, and my eyes locked on a large framed photo on the wall. A younger Hayden in jeans, standing beside a tall, dark-haired young man with an impish smile. “Xavier’s passion was magicborn archeology, mine genetics, but our real goal was the same: to escape our small-minded hometowns and be free to be ourselves. He was brilliant, warm…kind. I have never met, nor will I ever meet, one who compares to him…” His voice trailed off, and he sank onto Asher’s ottoman as he let the memory run its course. “He was on vacation in Uzbekistan. Feral magic in that country. I warned him. But there was a dig at a magicborn ruin, and he wouldn’t be dissuaded. Ever the archeologist.” A faraway look entered his eyes, and he went silent.

  “Hayden,” Asher said softly. “They need to know.”

  The Professor took a staccato breath and steeled himself to continue. “The crew who kidnapped him was run by a Caedis and a powerful mage. They’d been perfecting the art of creating Splinters, and they created a masterpiece in Xavier. Powerful, fast, strong, all his abilities heightened.”

  Hayden told us how he’d made it his life’s work to try to save his beloved. Researched for years, found every teaching ever written on Splinters. Even though all the information led to the same conclusion. Every attempt—recorded over the millennia—at freeing the magicborn host from the Splinter had resulted in death.