Pride and Poltergeists, Page 2

  “Potion rings?” asked Tate.

  “Magic drug lords,” Richmond answered, crossing his arms.

  Rowena cleared her throat. “Over the last three months, Caressa Brandenburg’s administration has been struggling to maintain power. Melchior’s forces had originally scattered, but the major potion rings and crime lords are now banding together under another banner, an unidentified magical creature that calls itself the Darkness. Whoever and whatever it is, it or they are very powerful, as well as the rings they are pulling together. The Darkness vastly outnumbers the ANC, and it is gaining ground. I find it extremely likely that the Brokenview ANC is no longer under ANC control, and now a stronghold for this Darkness character.” Rowena gave me a rather pointed glance. “The last thing the ANC has time to care about right now is government oversight. They are at war, and losing it, badly.”

  “Well, just hijack my presentation, why don’t you?” I muttered, but I was smiling.

  Rowena grinned back at me before turning to face President Odyssey. “Madam President, Brokenview may not be the only compromised branch. And if it has been taken by the Darkness, then every civilian in Brokenview is also at risk, as well as everywhere else the ANC has influence. This ANC conflict is spilling out of the Netherworld and it’s putting our own people in danger.”

  President Odyssey cocked her head, linking her fingers together. “And what, exactly, are you proposing I do, Special Agent James?” Odyssey asked as she faced me.

  Rowena looked at me too. She had the same clearance I did, but a hell of a lot more experience. The only difference was that my badge said “Special Agent” and hers didn’t, so it was my call.

  “Send in a task force to identify the power players and take them out,” I said. “If they’re organized well enough to overtake an ANC office in a major city without anyone noticing, they’re more dangerous than Melchior ever could have been on his own.”

  “You want to run a black op over the ANC’s head?” Hana asked softly, her tone and words revealing doubt, verging on anger, almost. “You want to assassinate the ringleaders before they can do anymore damage?”

  I felt my jaw clench, but I said nothing. Rowena laid a hand on my arm as she turned toward Hana and shot daggers at her. The secretary of state bowed her head and stepped backwards, indicating that she wouldn’t try to second guess me again.

  President Odyssey nodded. “Very well. Special Agent James, select your team.”

  “Marcus Ream,” I said immediately. Marcus was CIA. “Judy Collins and Kent Jacoby.” Judy was ex-MI6. And Kent? Kent was just insane. “And, of course, Rowena,” I answered.

  “Done,” said Odyssey. “Where do you intend to start?”

  “With the person at the center of the conflict,” answered Rowena, her lips tightening. “The woman who is truly responsible for killing Melchior O’Neil. His daughter, Dulcie O’Neil.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dulcie

  I was only dimly aware of the gun.

  When my finger closed around the trigger, my wrist screamed with the recoil, and then all I could see was fire. The blaze disappeared quickly, along with the shadows it cast. My maker, my mother, stared down at them, speaking slowly, offering her blood to the silhouette sprawled on the ground. The other—the tall one, a lanky creature vibrating with an old kind of fury—lurched forward. I pulled the trigger again, bracing myself this time. Yes, that was better. The recoil shot up my arm, but the second time, it made it all the way to my shoulder, dispersing the impact into the rest of my bones.

  The tall, lanky silhouette fell without a sound. My mother turned to me, smiling, her fangs protruding from beneath her lips. Cabernet red.

  “Well done,” she said, and I swelled with pride.

  My mother’s servants carted the still shadows away. She went with them, trailing black hair, leaving perfect red footprints in her wake. I wondered where they were going, and if they intended to come back. If the silhouettes were still alive, then Mother was in danger, and I couldn’t allow that.

  Antoine will protect her, I thought, and the words relieved my worry. Antoine was nearly as old as Mother—his power wasn’t quite so grand, but he was formidable in his own right, and staunchly loyal. Brave, too, and brutal in ways I could only aspire to be.

  I sat on the bed and rang a bell to call Sebastian. The butler appeared a moment later in a rush of cold wind and blue light, smiling amicably.

  “Madam Dulcie,” he said, bowing, before he handed me a steaming cup of tea. I smiled as I drank it, observing Sebastian with undisguised admiration.

  “How is it you already know me so well?” I asked, confused as to why many of Mother’s servants seemed so familiar with me and yet I didn’t know any of them. Green tea, a touch of sugar, and an obscene amount of honey. All in perfect sync.

  Sebastian smiled. He looked like Mother when he did that, sly, coarse, and wildly intelligent. Although Sebastian was centuries old, he didn’t appear ancient at all. He was a vampire and not much younger than Antoine. As a result, he had a spectacular power swimming inside him. I could sense it moving through his frozen blood, tendrils of raw starstuff, desperate to warp the fabric of space and time. The electric cold of it was palpable, even from here, and I found it … well, electrifying.

  “We have watched you a long while,” he said, pushing a shock of lily-blond hair out of his face with a hand gloved in white. There were pink stains on his fingertips, bloodstains that defied the power of bleach.

  “I pride myself on knowing you,” Sebastian said, and I realized the long period of silence where I’d been unabashedly staring at him. I smiled.

  Then my smile fell. “Who were they?” I asked, gesturing to the blackening pools of blood by the door. I opened my mouth to taste the iron drifting languidly through the air. The chemical vapor tasted tangy on my tongue, sweet even.

  “Intruders,” said Sebastian, his voice dark with scorn. “Men foolish enough to believe they could steal you away from us.”

  I laughed at the notion that anyone thought they could steal anything from underneath Mother’s nose. She was all-powerful. “Did they have names?”

  Sebastian shrugged. “Most likely. I believe your mother knew one of them, or she seemed to.” He leaned closer and said, “I don’t believe theirs was a pleasant kinship.”

  “Hmm, doesn’t look like it would have been,” I said with a laugh. “Considering she wanted me to kill them both.” I took a long drink of my tea. Few of Mother’s relationships were cordial. The water scalded the back of my throat and I sighed happily, relishing the popping vibrations as the skin knitted itself back together and the pain vanished. “What were their names?” I finished.

  “Bram and Knightley,” Sebastian answered before he faced me expectantly, as though he thought I should recognize the names. I didn’t. I shrugged to tell him as much, and he beamed broadly. “Is there anything else I might do for you?” asked Sebastian. He was the only one in the house not dressed in bizarre regalia, the only one in an honest-to-Hades black and white suit. Perhaps that was why he stood out to me.

  I looked him up and down, taking in the curving pectorals and the swells of his biceps that were barely concealed beneath his clothes. “Maybe later,” I said, wiping a drop of tea from my mouth with my thumb.

  Sebastian grinned. “Ring if you need me.” He stepped back and disappeared into nothing with a sound almost like a scream.

  “Showoff!” I said with a laugh. I had to bite my tongue and cross my legs to keep myself from going after him.

  With a deep breath, I forced the fire—which had quickly become a ravenous inferno—away, sighing until the urgent sting in the pit of my belly disappeared. It was quite the endeavor, not helped by my mind’s insistence on picturing what I kept trying to ignore… for now, anyway.

  Standing, I walked onto the terrace, toward the great, white French doors, which were open wide to the impossible night. A vast, black forest blanketed the earth, its thick shadows full of
curious noises and hidden monsters. My wings, paper-thin flaps of gossamer green, flowed back and forth languidly at my back, tasting the frigid air. Clouds and smoke obscured the sky, but through the gloom I could see the barest trace of the moon. It was a thousand times closer here, bigger and bolder, tearing the seas to pieces with its incessant gravitational pull. I felt a kinship with the sea that I didn’t expect, but the feeling that we were the same somehow continued to intrigue me.

  Somewhere below, I heard the snapping of a forest beast, a chimera or a burish ferret’s crackling breath. Suddenly, a purple flash of fire appeared between the trees, overlapped by a surprised squeak, and seconds later came the sound of breaking bones. I sipped my tea and listened, closing my eyes to focus on the sound of long, ivory tusks tearing through skin, the starving snarls of a beast half-crazed with hunger and the fading heartbeat of its unfortunate snack.

  The door behind me made no sound, but I could feel it when it opened—a subtle vibration in the floor, and the slightest shift in temperature as the warmer air from the body of the house swept into the room. I turned and beamed at the entrant, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug in my hands.

  Mother strode through the doorway with blood on her hands and a broad smile on her face. Rivulets of red flowed from her mouth down her chin, staining the white of her blouse. She seemed at ease, but there was a severity in her eyes I couldn’t fathom.

  “Are they dead?” I asked. Antoine had not returned with her, so I assumed he was disposing of the bodies. I hoped he was enjoying himself.

  “Yes, princess,” said Mother, removing her black blazer. “Thank you, my darling. The danger is gone.” She put her hand to my cheek. “You were very brave.”

  I sighed my relief. “Sebastian says you knew one of them?”

  Mother’s smile softened, and she laughed. It was a harsh noise. She moved to the edge of the balcony, laying her hands flat on the alabaster banister. “Yes, I did. Long ago.”

  I wondered how long “long ago” meant for someone as old as she. I moved next to her, entranced by the way the moonlight made her skin glow. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever beheld. “How long ago? Sebastian said your relationship with him was unpleasant.” For Mother, that could mean any number of things. An ex-lover, perhaps, or someone she tried but failed to kill.

  That thought gave me pause. There were not many creatures capable of besting Mother.

  She scoffed. “Unpleasant. That’s one word for it.” Her face fell, and the expression she offered me next was grave. “He is the man who killed your father.”

  I stiffened, nearly crushing the ceramic mug between my fingers. Yes, I remembered the man now, standing over Father’s body, dragging the blood from Father’s limp form. A vampire like Mother, but younger, and very arrogant.

  She laid her hand on my shoulder, comforting and cold as ice, and I felt myself relax. “I know you hurt,” she said softly, sitting on the bed beside me. “I know, princess. Don’t worry. He will pay dearly for it.”

  “Will?” I said, my throat tightening. “He isn’t dead yet?”

  “He is,” Mother said, squeezing my hand. “And this time, he will stay that way.”

  I nodded and leaned into her. “I love you, Mother,” I said, and I meant the words with everything inside me. I didn’t know where I would be if not for this beautiful creature.

  I felt her smile. She rested her chin on my head and stroked my hair.

  “I love you, Dulcie,” she replied. She pulled back and brushed away a strand of my hair, tucking it gently behind one of my pointed ears. Her smile was the most captivating thing I had ever seen. I could only smile dumbly up at her.

  “Dulcie,” she said. “Sweet, sweet Dulcie. You want to protect me, don’t you?”

  I was appalled that she could even ask me such a thing when the answer should have been obvious already. “Of course!”

  Mother smiled again, and I relaxed.

  “Good,” she said. She took her revolver from the holster at her hip and flicked open the cartridge, examining the shining steel bullets within. They glittered like stars, like blood in sunlight. “Because there is something I need you to do for me.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sam

  The ANC was a scene of absolute disaster.

  The holding cells were in pieces. Rebar and concrete had pierced through every wall, breaking windows and smashing cars parked too close to the door. The pixie and the two werewolves we had in custody were in the ICU with twenty broken bones between them, and the pixie was threatening to sue. Yellow caution tape was strung up around the crater the wormhole had formed, with half the building and most of the side lot folding in on itself. The hole was a hundred feet deep and half as wide, swarming with witches testing the air and the earth, trying to figure out where the wormhole came from—and where it let out.

  Okay, let me explain.

  My name is Samantha White. I’m a witch in the employ of the Association of Netherworld Creatures, and for the last week, I’ve been conducting a massive investigation into the disappearance of Dulcie O’Neil.

  Two weeks and three days ago, the head of our ANC, Knightley Vander, brought in a prisoner. High profile, extremely dangerous, disgustingly slick. His name was Jax—if he had a last name, no one told me. Jax was here for less than a day before he broke the entire fucking building.

  Jax turned himself in, telling Knight that he wanted out of the game, that he was ready to confess and share intelligence, blah blah blah. According to Jax’s story, every potions smuggler and their grandmother had it in for him, so Knight needed to get him somewhere safe ASAP. That’s why Knight brought Jax here—to the ANC headquarters in Splendor, California—hoping that, since this was a lesser base, nobody from the Netherworld would think to look for him here.

  Big mistake.

  Apparently, this was Jax’s plan from the beginning—his mission, actually. He had orders from somewhere way up the ladder to get to Splendor, kidnap Dulcie by acting as the anchor for a wormhole (one of the most volatile methods of travel in existence), and take her … somewhere.

  Later, Knight found out that Bram, a vampire who’d spent his life riding the line between good and bad, was responsible. Bram oversaw the criminal rings, second only to somebody called the Darkness. Under the leadership of the Darkness, the potions rings were banding together to overtake the ANC. Apparently, Bram was caught up in all of it but wanted Dulcie’s help to thwart the Darkness, insisting that his plan was to dissemble the evil organizations from the beginning. In Bram’s words, “it was in the best interest of the Netherworld to maintain the balance.” That probably meant Bram was losing influence and needed an escape because Bram was only out for Bram and nobody else.

  Now Dulcie was missing, the Brokenview ANC was a base of operations for the Darkness, and both Bram and Knight had gone radio silent.

  Just another Monday, I thought, cracking my knuckles while reminding myself that it was now one o’clock in the morning on Tuesday. I’m losing my fucking mind. My joints popped hard, and I winced as I began the steep descent into the crater.

  The dirt had been burnt by the wind until it was hard as concrete, and the sheer suction of the wormhole compressed everything within a hundred-yard radius into stone. A week later, the ground was still smoking, and whatever was left of the magic that brought the wormhole here was now seeping out of the calcified earth. Cracks deep enough to be ravines radiated from the center of the bowl, flooded with rainwater. And every now and then, the earth around it would shake. Violently. None of which boded well for the people who went through it, but I was trying to be optimistic.

  “Anything?” I called out.

  The witch closest to me, a small woman with red hair and freckles, looked up from her clipboard. She pushed her glasses up her long nose and sighed, shaking her head. “Whoever brought it here, they covered their tracks. There’s no ephemeral residue, no spiritual fingerprints, no alchemical signatures, nothing. It’s like
it was never even here.”

  That meant there was no way to tell who sent the wormhole, how long it was here, and, more importantly, where the other anchor was. They’d been telling me this for days, and every time I heard it, I lost a little more patience. “Thanks, Gelvie,” I said, suppressing the rising urge to curse and scream and set something on fire—which, if I didn’t get a lid on my anger, might have happened on its own.

  There must have been fifty witches or more, brought in from Moon and Estuary and every city that could spare them. Each one carried a wand or an enchanted metal tablet in their hands—finding materials that can contain the spell-equivalent of an entire lab is tricky. Most of the tablets and the wands were glowing blue, which, unfortunately, meant they had nothing.

  Not that I was surprised. At this point, I was seriously entertaining the idea of getting a mug with Nothing new? printed on the side of it. I imagined myself taking passive-aggressive sips out of it while my employees debriefed me. But maybe that wasn’t such a great idea; Hades knew I was already drinking more than enough coffee as it was.

  Gelvie gave me an apologetic shrug and assured me that I would be the first to know when they found something. I nodded curtly, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.

  Gelvasra Henthres was the head of the Magical Anomaly Detection Committee—the crime scene investigators in the employ of the ANC. Witches, mostly, with the occasional empath or Valkyrie skulking around, looked for ghosts, spell echoes, and “emotional insurgencies,” whatever the heck that meant. Maybe they were hoping the person anchoring the wormhole on the other side was angry enough to leave a footprint.