The sun lingers, but I rise to my feet anyway. The others follow suit, and I order the humans back to the manor. Their presence seemed helpful when it was our only option,but now, they’re nothing more than obstacles. My followers will arrive soon enough to replace them.
“The leader is returning,” Cora says. She frowns at me as she climbs to her feet. “Just got word from Nicasi.”
I’m still unclear how their mental communication works, but I couldn’t care less right now. All that matters is he’s our eyes where we don’t have them, and Cora is his mouthpiece.
“Dammit,” I mutter. “It’s fine—it was bound to happen. Just hang back here, and let me go in first. It will be more believable if I’m alone.”
“Nothing about this plan is believable,” Beatrice hisses. “We should just slaughter her too.”
“Not unless we have to,” I say.
I expect Beatrice to argue, but thankfully, she doesn’t. Killing the witch leader is too dangerous for a number of reasons. Not only is she likely armed with a horrific protective curse, but killing her would wage war between the Night and Day realms. It’s the last thing we need.
“Everyone know their place?” I ask.
I’ve already started walking before they can respond, but their footsteps behind me are the only answer I need.
By the timenight rises and my vampiric army arrives, twelve witches stand guard outside the prison. They’re eerily still and violently bright in their ridiculous, flamboyant clothing. They glow through the darkness, but there was no point in trying to hide. Their rancid blood makes it easy to locate each of them. Just beyond the hill, dozens more stand in wait. They haven’t broached the forest, which tells me they already know we’re here.
I linger at the treeline, waiting for a final signal from Beatrice.
And there, three sharp sticks cracking in the distance, echoed by a short bird call.
“Windward!” one of the witches screams. He’s nearest me, and his voice lights the area like a siren.
It’s better than I could have hoped. Twelve witches twist in Beatrice’s direction, all aiming their palms toward the darkness. Theo and a pair of men are arrows in front of me. They slice through the pasture, picking off three witches in a matter of seconds.
The witches twist, blasting magic and sputtered curses. Their magic is invisible, but the force is tangible. It hangs in the air as I break from the trees, eyes locked on the prison door.
There are too many vampires and witches to count now. My men burst from the forest, and endless witches pour over the hilltop, hands raised. I’m surrounded by falling witch heads and obliterated vampire hearts, by the sound of frantic screams and desperate moans.
Through it all, I strain my ears for the prison. Three voices come from within its walls. Two men. One woman. Grace is silent, and I can only hope it means she’s been left alone.
Just as I reach the door, a wave of magic blasts against my back. It immediately coils around me, squeezing my chest until my ribs ache. I don’t let myself fight it. I force myself to wait, and within seconds, the magic disappears. A man’s head rolls past me in the dirt, and Beatrice drops his body at my feet. She’s gone before I say a word.
I return to the door, expecting it to be locked, but it swings easily at my touch. Madam Lyrie stands before me, one man a shadow at her side. The other isn’t visible.
With Grace, then.
“Madam,” I say. I stroll into the room, kicking the door shut behind me. “You’ve aged terribly.”
The last time I saw this woman in person, we shared a stage together. It was meant to be a peace treaty of sorts. They wanted vampires to stop hunting humans and supernaturals, and in return, they’d help fund bloodletters for us. I made a show of agreeing, only to turn on them as their people watched. I grabbed Lyrie by the throat and showed the council exactly what I thought of their treaty. I drank from her until their previous leader knocked me unconscious.
It was meant to be a show of power, a reminder to Walter Pruce and his council that we could not be leashed. It had worked. Until, of course, Madam Lyrie rebelled, cursing my entire species.
Twenty years later, Madam Lyrie’s brown hair has turned gray. Her skin is soft, wrinkled. Years of frowning have left deep brackets around her mouth. She’s wearing her usual colors: orange and yellows and other autumnal hues.
“You haven’t aged a day,” Lyrie says. She keeps her hands at her side, but the tension is clear in her neck. “You’re as hideous now as you were then.”
Even all these years later, I can still see the faint puncture marks I left on her neck. She could have used magic to remove the scars. It’s intentional that she’s left them, a reminder to her people, I’m sure, how monstrous my kind is.
“I want to see her,” I say. “I know the whole place is warded. I know she’ll die if I try to steal her.”
“And yet, you’ve risked your life to see her?” Lyrie tilts her head. “Either you’re as impulsive and foolish as ever, or you’re lying.”
“Am I wrong?” I ask. “Is it not warded?”
“I assure you, it is,” Lyrie says. “But seeing as your men have just slaughtered mine to give you this opportunity, I’m not particularly compelled to indulge you.”
