Barnabas has lived in Mysteria for a long time, and he hasn’t slaughtered the population. Hunter paused, blinked. How seductive the thought was and he grasped onto it with desperation. Maybe he was wrong about vampires. Maybe vampires didn’t kill—
He squeezed his eyes closed. Such rationalizations were dangerous and could get Genevieve slain. No, he couldn’t see her, couldn’t risk it.
“Are you worried that you will no longer have a sexual appetite? You will, I assure you.” The vampire’s eyes stroked over him, stripped him, glowing a brighter red with every second that passed. “Despite the myths, you will function as you always did—except for the sunlight thing and the blood thing. Small prices to pay, really.”
“Considering what?” he snarled. “There are no advantages that I can see.”
“There are most certainly advantages.” Barnabas tapped a blackgloved finger onto his chin. “You’ll get stronger every day. Faster. You’ll be a force no man—uh, woman—can resist. Like moi. After a while, you’ll even enjoy taking blood. I pinky promise.”
“I’ll be a killer.” This wasn’t happening, couldn’t possibly be happening. He tangled a hand through his hair.
“You won’t be a killer.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Mais non, you won’t.”
“Yes. I. Will. Your continued arguing is really starting to piss me off.”
“Do you want to fight me?” Barnabas asked hopefully. “I’m always up for naked wrestling.”
Hunter bared his teeth in a scowl. As he did so, his incisors elongated. He actually felt them do it, sliding down, sharpening. He smelled the metallic twang of blood in the air—blood from a recent feeding Barnabas had enjoyed. How thirsty Hunter suddenly was. He shook with the force of it. “I can’t drink blood. I just can’t.”
“You smell me, don’t you? You want to sink your teeth into me? Go ahead. I already gave you blood, but you were asleep and didn’t get to taste the sweetness of it.” Barnabas motioned him over with a wave of his hand. “Taste it. You might like it. But you had better hurry. Soon my heart will shrivel up again, the blood gone, and there’ll be nothing left for you to taste.”
Hunter’s stomach twisted in revulsion—and eagerness. He found himself stepping toward Barnabas, closing the distance between them, unable to stop himself. He found himself leaning down, teeth bared, mouth watering.
Genevieve’s beautiful image flashed inside his mind. She’s in trouble. The knowledge flooded him, his psychic ability attuned to her. Even in death. He straightened with a jolt. Blood was forgotten. Only Genevieve mattered. “Show me the way out of this cave before I kill you, vampire.” He’d save her, then leave her.
Barnabas frowned. “You’re not ready to leave.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Mais non, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. And you’re not French, so stop with the accent.”
“I haven’t taught you the way of our kind yet.”
Rage poured through him as if he’d drunk it. “Your kind, vampire. I will never be like you.”
“Oui, you will.”
“No. I. Won’t. Stop arguing. My woman is in trouble, and I will save her.”
“Fine. Go. I’ve already fed you, so you don’t have to worry about drinking for a while yet.” Barnabas’s eyes flashed red with jealousy. “But when the hunger hits you, you’ll come back to me. I know you will.”
“She hasn’t stopped crying for three days.”
“She refuses to eat. She barely has the energy to sit up and drink the water I force down her.”
“What should we do?”
“I don’t know. Great Goddess, I don’t know.”
Genevieve heard her sisters’ hushed voices and stared up at the hole she’d blown in the ceiling yesterday. Why couldn’t she have done that the night of the brawl? The morning after Hunter’s death, her magic had returned to full operating capacity, but she hadn’t needed it. And now she didn’t care.
“Should we call a doctor?”
She rolled to her side, placing her back to her sisters. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? She just wanted peace—from their voices, from life. From the flashing, bloody images of Hunter’s death.
“Genevieve, sweetie, we know you’re awake. Talk to us,” Godiva begged, her tone tinged with concern. The wolf she had saved plopped at her ankles and nudged her hand, wanting to be petted. “Tell us how we can help you.”
“Bring Hunter back to life.” Her throat ached from her crying. Raw, so raw. Like her spirit. “That’s all I want.”
“We can’t do that,” Glory said softly. “Raise his body from the ground, yes, but the risen dead become predators. Killers. You know that. The longer the dead walk the earth, the hungrier for life they become. He would eat you up and spit out your bones.”
Yes, she knew that, but hearing it tore a sharp lance of pain through her. One moment she’d had everything she’d ever dreamed, the next she had only despair. Hunter, her heart cried.
“The surviving demons are destroying Mysteria,” Godiva said. “We need your help to stop them.”
“I can’t.” Strength had long since deserted her. More than that, any concern she’d had for the town and its citizens had died with Hunter. “I just can’t.”
Glory claimed her right side, and Godiva sat at her left. Surrounding her. “His funeral is today. Do you want to go?”
“No.” She didn’t want to see him inside a casket. A part of her wanted to pretend he was still alive, simply hiding somewhere. “Why did he have to die? Why? The love potion had worked. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.”
“Uh, um.” Glory looked away, at anything and everything but her sisters. “Humm.”
Godiva’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Glor?”
Pause.
“Glory!”
“Well, Evie asked for a love potion. I didn’t think Hunter deserved her, and knew if he loved her for one night, then dumped her the next day, she’d be devastated.”
“What did you do?” Godiva repeated.
Another pause.
“Don’t make me ask again,” Godiva said, raising her arms as if to cast a spell.
“I, uh, sort of gave her a power depressant instead.”
“Sort of?”
“Okay, I did. But I didn’t mean any harm. I thought it would be okay. I didn’t think she’d need her powers.”
The sorrowful fuzz around Genevieve’s brain thinned. Power depressant, echoed through her mind. How many spells had she attempted with no results? One spell, that’s all it would have taken to save Hunter. One spell, and the night would have ended differently.
She squeezed her eyelids closed, wave after wave of fury hammering through her, each more intense than the last. “He’s dead because I couldn’t help him. He’s dead because I couldn’t use my magic.”
Her younger sister’s cheeks bloomed bright with shame, then drained of color with regret. “I didn’t think you’d need them. I didn’t even think you’d notice.” She clutched Genevieve’s hand. “I’m so, so sorry. You have to believe I’m sorry. But think. Hunter wanted you. Not because of a potion, but because of you.”
Genevieve’s fury fizzled, leaving only despair; her muscles released their viselike grip on her bones and she sank deep into the mattress. Hunter had wanted her. Truly wanted her, without the aid of a love potion. All the things he’d said to her had come from him.
That made the pain of his death all the harder to bear.
I killed him. I killed him! If she hadn’t decided to make Hunter love her, no matter the methods used, if she hadn’t made a wish for excitement, he would still be alive. My fault. All my fault. Hot tears slid down her cheeks.
“Please. Leave me alone for a little while. Just leave me alone.”
Hunter’s funeral had begun an hour ago.
The digital clock blurred as Genevieve’s eyes filled with tears. Any moment now, they would lower his casket into the ground an
d the cycle of his life—and death—would be complete.
Sobbing, she turned away from the glowing red numbers and mashed her face into her pillow. She’d never been so miserable. Her sisters had gone to the funeral. Genevieve simply wasn’t ready to say good-bye.
She cried until her ducts could no longer produce tears. She cried until her throat burned and her lungs ached. Then she remained utterly still, absorbing the silence, lost in her sorrow. Minutes later, or perhaps an eternity, a buzzing sound reverberated in her left ear, and a fly landed on her cheek. Weakly she swatted the insect away.
“Bitch,” she heard.
“Murderess.”
“I wish you would have died instead.”
Genevieve rolled to her back and blinked open her tired, swollen eyes. Three tiny fairies swarmed around her face, flashing pink. All three were female and scowling. She recognized them from the bar.
“You killed him,” one of them hissed.
“You killed him,” the others reiterated. “You could have used your magic against the demons, but you didn’t. You killed him.”
You killed him. Yes, she had. “I loved him.” She’d thought her ducts dry, but stinging tears beaded in her eyes.
“How could you love him? You don’t care about him. The demons have sworn their vengeance upon him for killing their brethren and are even now desecrating his grave, yet here you lie, doing nothing. Again. Someone even took his body from its casket.”
“What?” She jolted upright. A wave of dizziness assaulted her, and she rubbed her temple with her fingers. “Desecrating his grave, how? And who dared take his body?”
“Does it matter?” Buzz. Buzz. “Your sisters are fighting the demons off, but they cannot do it without you, the witch of vengeance.”
Without another word, Genevieve leaped out of bed. Her knees wobbled, but a rush of adrenaline gave her strength. Arms shaking, she tugged on the first pants and T-shirt she could find, then raced through the hallway. The wolf—what had Godiva named him?— trotted to her, following close to her heels. He was almost completely healed, and his brown eyes gleamed bright with curiosity.
“There’s trouble at the cemetery,” she felt compelled to explain. Trouble she would fight against. Heart racing, she grabbed her broom and sprinted outside. No one—no one!—was going to destroy Hunter’s grave. Whoever had taken him would return him.
Moonlight crested high in the night sky, scooping low. The citizens of Mysteria did everything at night, even funerals. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and kissed her fiery hot, tear-stained face. Moving faster than she ever had in her life, she hopped on her broom and flew toward Mysteria’s graveyard. When she passed the wishing well, she flipped it off. When she passed Knight Caps, closed for the first time in years, she pressed her lips together to silence a pained moan.
Soon the graveyard came into view.
Monuments rose from the ground, white slashes against black dirt. Only a few patches of grass dared grow and the only flowers were silk and plastic. Death reigned supreme here. Broken brick surrounded the area with a high, eerie wall. The closer she came, the more chilled the air became, heavier, laden with the scents of dirt and mystery.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw the open, empty casket. Her eyes narrowed further when she saw the group of demons taunting her sisters and spitting on Hunter’s grave.
Hunter’s mourners must have already escaped, for there was no trace of them. Her sisters were holding hands and pointing their fingers toward the short, monkeylike horde of demons whose wings flapped and fluttered with excitement as they tried to claw their way through an invisible shield.
Both Godiva and Glory appeared weakened and pale, their shoulders slumped. Genevieve dropped to the ground, tossing her broom aside as she ran to them. She grabbed both of their hands, completing the link. Power instantly sparked from their fingertips. In pain, the demons shrieked.
“Thank the Goddess,” Glory breathed. Her hands shook, but color was slowly returning to her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure how much longer we could hold them off.”
“There weren’t this many left at the bar.” Right now Genevieve counted eight. “Hunter and Falon killed a lot of them.”
“They keep multiplying,” Glory said. “I have a feeling we can kill these, too, but more will come. You’re the vengeance witch, Evie. Do something.”
Genevieve focused all of her rage, all of her sorrow into her hands. They burned white-hot. Blistering. Her eyes slitted on her targets. “Burn,” she said. “Burn.”
One of the demons erupted into flames, its tortured howl echoing through the twilight. Another quickly followed. Then another and another turned to ashes, until only one remained. “Go back to hell and tell the others if they ever return I’ll make their deaths a thousand times worse.”
The creature vanished in a panicked puff of black smoke.
So easy. So quick. Exactly what should have happened at the bar.
Finished, depleted, she allowed her hands to fall to her sides. Weakness assaulted her as it always did when she used her powers to such a degree. She should have felt a measure of satisfaction. She should have felt vindicated. She didn’t. Inside, sorrow still consumed her.
“Everyone must have raced home,” Godiva panted. She hunched over, anchoring her hands on her knees. “We need to do something to prevent more demons from attacking.”
“Like what?” Glory settled on the ground, her hand over her heart. “Genevieve warned them. What more can we do?”
Genevieve stared up at the stars. “A part of me wants them to return.” Her tone lacked emotion, but the cold rage was there, buried under the surface. “I want to kill more of them.”
Arms folded around her, comforting arms, familiar arms. “That puts other citizens at risk,” Godiva said softly. “If Hunter were still alive, you’d want him protected. Let’s give everyone else the same consideration.”
She closed her eyes at the pain those words brought—if Hunter were alive—but nodded. Always the voice of reason, Godiva was right. If Hunter were alive, she would do whatever was necessary to protect him. “Do you know who took his body?” She gulped, the words foul on her tongue.
“No.” Glory.
“No.” Godiva.
Genevieve fell to her knees in front of the empty casket. Tears once more burned her eyes. There was a fresh mound of soil beside her, the spot Hunter was supposed to rest in for all of eternity, a gift to Mother Earth.
He’s lost to me. No, no. She could not accept that. Would not accept that. “I want to raise the spirits of the dead to protect Mysteria,” she found herself saying. No matter where Hunter’s body was, his spirit would be able to find her—if she raised it. In that moment, she would have sold her soul if it meant seeing him one last time. “They can guard the town against the demons.”
Pause. Silence. Not even insects dared speak.
“I don’t know,” Glory hedged. “Spirits are so unpredictable.”
“Genevieve . . . ,” Godiva began.
“Please. Do this. For me.”
Her sisters glanced at each other, then at her, each other, then her. Concern darkened both of their expressions. Finally Godiva nodded. “Alright. We’ll raise the spirits, but only until the next full moon.”
Elation bubbled inside her, not obliterating her sadness but eclipsing it. Hunter, her heart cried again. We’ll be together again soon. If only for a little while.
Five
“Let’s begin the spirit-raising spell.” Godiva removed the band from her hair, letting the long pale strands cascade down her back. She breathed deeply of the night air. “We need to be naked for this one, so no part of our magic is trapped in the clothing fibers.”
“Oh, great,” was Glory’s reply. She remained still, not stripping. “This is the twenty-first century. Do we still need to strip?”
“Yes. Now hurry and take off your clothes. I need to get home and feed Romeo.” Romeo, the perfect name for her injured wolf. He’d charmed h
er with only a look.
Already Godiva missed him. He’d become her constant companion, a comfort in these last dark days. She wished there were something she could do for Genevieve, anything to remove the haunted glaze from her sister’s eyes.
Remaining silent, Genevieve removed her clothing. Godiva unbuttoned her dress and shimmied it down her voluptuous hips. The buttercup yellow material pooled at her feet. A chill night breeze wisped around them, and with a sigh, Glory, too, stripped.
“There,” she said. “Now we can begin. Form a circle and clasp hands.”
The tortured howl of a wolf cut through the darkness. Godiva stilled. Had Romeo somehow gotten out of the house and now stalked the woods, searching for her? Another howl erupted through the night.
“Oh, Goddess.” Losing all trace of color, Glory shoved her hair out of her face. “The wolves are out. Maybe we should go home.”
“We’ll be fine,” Godiva said, though she was worried. For a different reason. She didn’t fear the wolves; she feared for Romeo. What if he got in another fight and was injured again? He might not survive this time. Her need to hurry increased.
She was just about to grab her sisters’ hands when, a few feet away, her gaze snagged a silver phone and a masculine arm. Her mouth fell open. A cold sweat broke over her skin. “Girls,” she whispered frantically. “Someone is taking pictures of us.”
“Did you say someone is taking pictures of us?” Glory’s silver eyes narrowed. “Nobody takes secret pictures of me unless I’ve had time to diet.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” Cold and emotionless, Genevieve raised her hands into the air, a dark spell slipping easily from her lips.
A startled scream echoed through the night.
“What did you do?” Glory bent down and swiped up her broom.
“See for yourself.”
The girls closed ranks on the tombstone, circling the intruder and blocking him from escape. They found the flip phone hovering in the air in front of a trembling, horrified man, the phone clamping and snapping its way down his body. Only after it had bitten his favorite appendage (twice) and he screamed like a little girl (twice) did it fall to the ground.