I shrug.
“You retrieved it for the wrong person. It was
stolen from me, and you will get it back for me.”
“What will you pay me for the job?” I ask. She’s
a dragon, which means she obeys the Usurper.
Why hasn’t she attacked and taken me back to him
already?
“I do not follow the False Emperor. I care not
about your feud with him. You will do the job for
me, and you will do it for free.”
“I don’t think so.” I back away, but she makes no
move to follow, her face the serene mask most fae
wear. Five steps back, I stop. Why hasn’t she
attacked? She knows something. Maybe I can get
her to spill a secret. “You won’t help the girl, but
you expect me to help you.”
“She is not your concern.” She holds her bare
hands in front of her mouth as if warming them
with her breath. Which doesn’t make sense. She
should be warm enough.
“Are you the one controlling her? Using your
dragon telepathy to guide her? What is it you want
from her?”
“I am not controlling the child, just observing
the situation.” No emotion on her placid blue face.
“I am the Archivist. My job is to observe.”
With a growl, I leap at her, but she brushes off
my attack with one rake of her claws. Fire burns
through my veins, heat searing through me.
“She’s just a human child,” I grind out from my
position curled up on the ground. My muscles
cramp, locking into place. I can’t move as every
nerve fires, every muscle contracts, throughout my
body.
Dragon claws aren’t supposed to do this.
“My telepathy is more acute than a normal
dragon’s. Saliva on my claws is now worming its
way through your body, giving me complete control
over you.”
“Kill me and get it over with, bitch.”
“I still have a use for you. The time has not come
for you to obey my will, but soon you will come for
my aid.”
“Never.”
She laughs, the sound more like grinding gears
than joy. I catch a glimpse of her sharp teeth
against the blue lips.
From my fetal position, I curl my lip, showing
her my own sharp teeth. I’ll give as good as I get,
bitch. Just try me.
Once I can stand again.
“Ryne Ashverdi—”
My insides turn to ice as she uses my real name.
“There is no need for violence here. We are on
the same side. You will see that soon.” She
shimmers and disappears. Leaving me curled in a
ball of pain in the snow.
One thing is for sure, I will never work for her.
But there is something I can do.
I can get my revenge on Jezebarra for her
double cross. Protect my reputation. Teach by
example what happens to those who betray me.
Learn more about what this bracelet is for and why
everyone wants it.
Chapter 17
~ ANGELINA ~
Six in the morning on a Saturday, and I’m
studying at the library—or trying to. I should be
sleeping in, like everybody else, but the long list of
things I need to do churns in my mind, frizzling on
my nerves, pricking me like needles in my skin.
In the last week, I’ve managed to sleep a total of
two hours, taken in fifteen-minute doses, and my
skin burns as if I have a fever and my muscles ache
from the lack of sleep.
Snapping my notebook closed, I stand up to
start packing things up to head back to my dorm. I
only have an hour before I have to meet up with
the other cheerleaders to start our bake sale.
Maybe I have enough time for a nap … or at least a
shower.
My cell phone vibrates on the table beside my
homework, and I pick up the phone and answer it,
keeping my voice quiet. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” Sarah asks on the other end.
thought we weren’t meeting until later.” I zip up
my bag.
“You promised you would help me with the first
batches of cupcakes, remember? I’ve been here
waiting for half an hour.”
I feel like banging my head on the table. I don’t
remember promising to get there early, and there’s
nothing on my calendar. I faithfully keep track of
every engagement, assignment, and even my free
time. What’s gotten into me lately?
Oh, yeah, insomnia, voices, talking black cats,
and strange blue ladies. And a wolf man with wings
surrounded by grief. My heart still aches for him.
“Sorry, I’m grabbing a shower, and then I’ll be right
over.”
As I hang up, I glance at the clock. Eight o’clock.
The sun will be coming up soon. I blinked and the
time was gone. A few moments ago, it was still six
something.
As if someone is stealing time from me. I look
around the library, but there’s nobody around.
Ugh, silly, paranoid delusions. Nobody can steal
time from me.
Right?
I hurry to my dorm, grab a shower, and then
meet Sarah at the small kitchen available for upper
classmen. I’m just a freshman, but Sarah is a senior
and she can get us in.
“Hey, Angelina, you finally made it.” Sarah puts
a hand on my shoulder.
I jump. I’d been standing in the doorway of the
kitchen, when Sarah came up behind me. “Oh hey,
yeah, I’m here. Ready to get to work.”
“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m fine.” I give her my biggest
smile and tell myself I really am absolutely fine.
Nothing wrong with me. “We only have a few hours
to bake hundreds of cupcakes. Let’s get started.”
“What time are the guys showing up?”
“At three, I believe. Gives us enough time to sell
most of our cupcakes before the bachelor auction.”
The stove is old, an ugly green thing from the
1970’s, and after the first batch burns, we adjust
the temperature down a hundred degrees.
The next hours fly by in a whirlwind of flour and
sugar, and by midmorning, the other cheerleaders
show up to help frost the cupcakes. But nobody
else has an eye for detail or a steady hand, and so
they take over the baking while I frost cupcakes
with pink, red, and white butter-cream.
“Did you hear about Bri?” Cyndi asks.
“Yeah,” another girl says—I don’t look up to see
who. “She dropped out last week. I was in the
office taking care of a problem with my scholarship
when her parents came with her to withdraw.”
“Rumor has it that she’s pregnant.”
I keep my head down, not wanting to see who is
saying what.
“I heard from Tyler’s roommate that the police
visited him, asking questions. They didn’t hav
e a
warrant but were definitely snooping around.”
“The administration called me out of class
yesterday. Some female detective was waiting for
me in the superintendant’s office. She was full of
questions about Tyler—had he ever touched me
inappropriately? Did he ever say anything that
made me uncomfortable or feel threatened? You
know the drill.”
“If that bitch gets our star forward arrested, I’ll
personally help the entire team pay her back, if you
know what I mean,” Cyndi says, and I glance up in
time to see her make a rude gesture.
Blood boiling, I press my lips together tightly.
Women should support each other, not tear each
other down. So much for women’s lib.
I open my mouth to speak, but a sharp pain
shoots through my head. The room spins, and I
grab the counter to keep myself up until the dizzy
spell fades.
The door swings open, and Sarah enters,
followed by a few basketball players. “Ready? It’s
almost noon, and our table outside the cafeteria is
all set up. Liz and Tonya did an awesome job
decorating for us.”
“We’re ready.” I stand up, taking a step back to
look at my cupcakes, and smile. As messed up as
my life is right now, I at least got something right.
The guys carry the trays, and we follow. My
hands are shaking, and I wonder when the last time
I ate was. Yesterday, sometime. I think. Maybe.
Actually, to tell the truth, I don’t really
remember yesterday. Did I go to class? No, I was
scrubbing down the stove in that old kitchen at the
warehouse.
I ball my hands into fists to hide the shakes and
march into the cafeteria behind the guys. I’ve got
to focus on this fundraiser. Valentine’s Day is still
eleven days away, but our theme for the fundraiser
is “Give a little love …” Put everybody in the holiday
cheer, and they’ll be happy to part with their
money.
Before I know it, we’re outside the cafeteria and
setting up our table. Some of the girls in the art
program made some awesome signs, and
decorations. Last week, we had races and walk-a-
thons, and on Wednesday, we had a silent auction
using donated items. A prize package (the perfect
date night: two movie tickets with a gift certificate
for pizza and ice cream) was awarded to the person
or group who provided the best donation.
The entire team stepped up to make this
possible, everybody pitching in, even Cyndi. It was
an amazing feat of teamwork.
I’m keeping track of all the money, and so far
we’ve raised almost four thousand dollars. A few
more events to go, and hopefully, we’ll get the ten
thousand I need to pay Hunter.
Once all the money comes in, I’ll send a small
amount to the charity, and when I get the Thank
You letter, I’ll doctor it up to make it look like I sent
the full amount. Nobody will know.
Nobody but me.
But I’ll pay back every cent later. Somehow.
At our table by the cafeteria exit door, we sell
loads of cupcakes. I’m taking money and making
change so fast, I barely have time to look at the
people on the other side of the table.
“Three dollars? That’s awfully expensive,” a girl
says to me.
“It’s for a good cause.” I gesture at the poster of
pale children with big smiles and bald heads. I wish
the money really was going to help the kids. I’ve
given the speech a thousand times of how much
these kids suffer and how many times their parents
don’t have insurance … or do have insurance but it
doesn’t cover experimental medicine.
“Don’t you look like a sweet cupcake.” Tyler
brushes his hand over my jaw line, his thumb hot
against my lips. “You have flour on your face.”
My skin crawls, and I force myself not to bite
him or rip his fingers off. Smiling, I step back and
put the cupcake between us. “Hi, want a cupcake?”
He lowers his voice. “I know you told Bri to go to
the cops. Don’t think for an instant I’ll let you get
away with this.”
Gulping for breath, I glance around, looking for
help. Cyndi watches us, her face full of jealousy, but
no one else notices.
Because no one else cares.
Bright, happy smile. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”
Stepping in close, he plays with my hair and
tucks a strand behind my ear. “You can’t lie to me.
I’ll take you down.”
As I watch him walk away, fear squirms in my
stomach like snakes.
Chapter 18
~ HUNTER ~
I take the watch Spyder hands me. “How much
will this cost?”
“Your usual fee and you’ll owe me a favor.” His
shapeless body cloaked in shadow, Spyder stands
on the shore beside me. The sound of the ocean
and the movements of his crew on the ship below
us are deafening loud to my sensitive ears, but I
can’t even hear him breathe.
“You realize I’m not getting paid for this, right?
Ten percent of nothing is still nothing.”
“Let’s just consider it a public service.”
I strap the watch to my wrist and stare at it. It
looks like an ordinary watch. “How does this
work?”
“When you twist the face plate, it activates for
thirty seconds. You can phase through anything—
metal, concrete, magical wards, but be careful. If
whatever you pass through is too thick and you
take too long getting through, you can get stuck.”
“And then I’ll be dead.”
Spyder nods. “Ten minutes for it to recharge, so
plan your moves carefully.” He hands me a ring.
“This is a one-shot teleportation device.”
The ring has a small ruby embedded into the
gold band. I slip it onto my pinky, but I can’t get it
over my last knuckle. If this was made for Spyder,
his fingers are awfully small. Or more likely, my
hands are just huge.
“Press on the jewel and picture where you want
to go in your mind. Range is about a hundred yards,
and you can only go someplace you’ve been before.
Not great, but if you need to escape, it will give you
a nice head start.”
“And if I teleport to someplace out of sight, they
might not be able to find me.”
“And then there is my ship.” He gestures at the
dark expanse where I can hear the waves of the
ocean washing up on the beach. “You’ve got the
services of my crew, but their orders are to only go
in if you don’t come out in one hour. If we have to
pull your fat out of the fire, it’ll cost you.”
The sliver of moon hides behind the clouds.
Without light in the sky, the ocean stretches before
us as a da
rk, empty shape. Even with my sharp
eyes, I can barely make out the outline of the boat
and the crew preparing it for sail.
“This operation isn’t cheap. You sure it’s worth
it?” I ask.
A firm hand rests briefly on my shoulder. Spyder
is not a ghost after all. “Get this bitch,” he says.
“Yeah, I will.” Without looking back, I walk up
the pier and board the sleek, dark ship waiting for
me. Once on board, I glance over my shoulder, but
Spyder is gone.
I wonder what Jezebarra did to piss Spyder off,
but whatever it was, she’ll pay for it tonight.
Silently, the crew hoists the anchor and powers
the magical engine. We slip through the water, not
even leaving a wake behind us. Magically enhanced
engines are incredibly expensive. Whatever favor
I’ll owe Spyder will be painful.
I stand at the bow of the ship, the captain
beside me. He’s human but smells of magic—not
the tainted death and blood magic I smelled on the
sorcerer—but something more natural, so I am
guessing this man is a wizard.
Most races, including humans, have a genetic
magical trait. The ones who enhance that trait or
steal it by making pacts with devils or drinking
down the power of greater beings become
sorcerers, and eventually vampires.
I can’t believe how smooth this ship speeds
across the water. Magic and tech can be a volatile
and unpredictable combination. If you’re lucky, the
tech will simply not function, but occasionally, they
explode.
Sometimes things get really dangerous. I
remember a story of a wizard who was a fighter
pilot back in WWII. After so much time in the pilot
seat, the plane (the Brooklyn Bitch) became
sentient … and carnivorous. It ate three of the
ground crew before anyone noticed. They tried to
subdue it, but it escaped into the wild after
shooting down four other fighter planes.
It is assumed it was destroyed in the war, but
the truth is no one really wanted to go looking too
closely for it. It became a story told in whispers at
night, around campfires or at the bar.
Ever since then, anyone with a lick of magic has
found it wise to ward their tech. Mostly, this means
they mark the tech with simple glyphs to act as
grounding wires for the magic. Small devices like
cell phones and coffee makers can be warded with