“This… this is amazing,” she said. But the words were not as effective at imparting how delicious she found the coffee as was the tone of her gluttonous voice.
He chuckled. “I’m glad you approve.” Then he straightened, pushing off the counter. “You… have a little something,” he said, touching his nose.
Violet’s eyes grew wide. She ran her hand over her face, and it came away smeared with whipped cream and pixie dust. She laughed, and without really thinking, she used her magic to clean both face and hand. It was easier than it normally was, as if it took little to no effort.
It’s that other magic inside me, she thought, staring at her hand.
“Violet?”
She looked up. The Shadow King was watching her intently, and by the look on his face, it was clear he’d noticed something was on her mind.
“I need to go after my sister.”
Just like that, it came out. She was here with a king, drinking coffee in a deserted Starbucks. She was wasting time – while her sister was possibly injured. Maybe dead.
No, she’s not dead. I would know it if she were dead.
All of the nonsense that had been flitting through her mind until then took an obedient back seat. “Are you coming with me?” she point-blank asked.
His expression didn’t change, and secrets skirted behind those intensely dark, reflective eyes.
A new, high-pitched and crackly voice suddenly asked, “Pardon me… your majesty?”
Violet jumped at the intrusion and spun to face the voice. The magic within her leapt to attention, flooding her palms for further use.
But there was no need for magic. “Good evening, Pi,” Keeran greeted calmly.
The fire elemental in the hearth across the room was barely visible from this distance, he was so small. But she could tell that he attempted a bow.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Pi said politely. “But an emergency meeting has been called.”
The Shadow King’s brow furrowed. He straightened, his look darkening all over. Violet could imagine why. She’d been an acquaintance of sorts with the Unseelie King, Caliban, for years. She knew that “an emergency meeting” referred to an urgent meeting of the Thirteen Kings, and it was never a good thing when they were suddenly called to the table like this.
It meant there was a crisis of some sort.
“Pi, what’s happened?” she asked, hoping she could trick the elemental into answering her straight out.
But the living flame looked from her to Keeran and back again, remaining mute.
“Inform D’Angelo I’ll be there shortly,” the king responded. His tone had changed, taking on a note of authoritative calm. The flame vanished with a small puff of smoke, and Violet’s gaze narrowed.
“Violet.”
She turned to face him, but failed at keeping the scowl off her face. She’d allowed the king to distract her from her task, she’d been dragged back to the mortal realm, and now she was going to be abandoned for a meeting concerning something secret, something big – something she really wanted to know.
“Can you wait a little longer before going after your sister?” he asked.
“I’d rather not –”
But Keeran’s look was resolute and dark, and with sudden comprehension, Violet understood what he had done. She understood what all of this was for. And it didn’t help her mood.
“You tricked me. You brought me here to the mortal realm, plied me with coffee, and then locked me out of the Dark. Didn’t you?”
“You’re perceptive.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t stop you from attempting to head into the Dark alone, however I can promise you that you won’t get far before I catch up to you.”
“Oh?” she ground out.
“How fast do you think the dark moves, acorn?” he asked. His smile was the devil’s. “As fast as light, if not faster.”
Violet swallowed hard. It was like swallowing bricks, she shoved down so many swear words. The heat she’d been feeling since she’d awoken in his chamber turned into a full-on inferno, one not of desire, but of rage.
“It will also be more difficult for you the second time around,” he explained, gesturing to the coffee shop and the mortal world beyond it, which it was now obvious he really had pulled her back into so that she’d have to start all over again. “Which will slow you down. Because I won’t lie; if you start out again without me, you’ll find a few more obstacles in your path.”
Of course I will. She swore internally. He’d sealed off not only his realm, but any chance she had of heading into the Dark without him. And he’d done it all without batting an eye. She should have known one of the Thirteen would be capable of something like this.
Violet chewed on the inside of her cheek ferociously to keep from saying something she shouldn’t. It was beginning to get sore.
And then she let go of her cheek, because she frankly didn’t care. “You had no right,” she accused with an acid tone. “She’s my only family.”
“I have every right,” he said calmly. “Those who pass through my realm are my responsibility. I am accountable for their safety.” He moved around the counter and approached her with the sleek grace of a black cat, but his boots echoed his approach with clear warning.
She tried not to retreat when he stopped within a hair’s breadth and leaned in. Their encounter in the Underground came slamming back into her. The shadows, the mystery, the danger in his hooded secrets and mirrored eyes. She held her breath when he raised his hand, and his fingers brushed her collarbone as he pulled the chain of her pendant gently out from under her clothing. At the contact, something zapped through Violet, hot and hard, and it met up with the magic inside her as if positive and negative ions were connecting at last.
He held the acorn diamond up with a knowing smile. It sparkled madly against his fingers from the light from the fires in Starbucks’ fireplaces.
He was too close. For the first time in her life, she truly understood what it meant to be caught in someone’s gaze. She was held immobile in the stark, unusual beauty of his eyes. From this distance, she could at last see past their mirroring magic. She had the odd sensation that she’d been the first to do so in a very long time.
His eyes were not black, but dark, sparkling gray, surrounded by a ring of silver that burned like molten mercury. They were hypnotic; she was literally unable to look away – un-allowed. She was suddenly burning up, her head swam, and she felt dizzy. It had been forever since she’d taken a breath.
But he was relentless, and his beautiful smile told her as much. He drew even closer still, and when he spoke again, she felt his words brush her lips. “I’m afraid, my very precious acorn, that goes especially for you.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Shadow King turned away from her, strode to the shadows along one wall, and stepped right into them – leaving Violet alone and breathless with unspoken retorts and unanswered questions. Rage warred with self-restraint, which warred with fear for Dahlia. She’d never felt so much the fool.
Son of a bitch.
Beside her on the counter top, her coffee cup began to boil over. She glanced down to watch the liquid inside rise with more and more vigor until it began jumping out of the cup. The whipped cream instantly melted, running like lava onto the counter, along with pixie dust and tiny butterflies.
Violet stepped back. Anger surged through her, but warning bells were ringing softly, like a distant church announcing service. Now that she paid attention, she could feel a crackling at her fingertips. She glanced down to see lightning jump from nail to nail, and her eyes widened. She shook them, as if to dislodge a bug or dirt, but the lightning only intensified, riding up her arms.
What’s happening?
It’s the magic, she answered herself. It’s Lovelace’s magic. You have to get ahold of it!
Behind her, Starbucks’ fire places whooshed, and she spun around, hair flying like a thick, golden spray. The flames had built impossibly, bypassing
their metal and glass covers to begin climbing up their casements.
Oh gods!
Violet took a deep, deep breath, shaky though it was, and forced it slowly out through her clenched teeth. Her body tensed painfully and began to tremble, like a turgid garden hose with no outlet for its water.
The smoke detectors beeped a few warning beeps, and the fire alarm sounded, sending more adrenaline coursing through her blood stream.
Control it!
She concentrated with fierce, determined tenacity, and compelled the fire alarm to go quiet. It was probably too late to forestall a visit by the fire department, but at least it would stop screaming at her.
Now the fire! She turned a narrowed, angry gaze on the licking flames trying desperately to catch and spread in the material surrounding the fire places. On a wild whim, she imagined them icing over.
And that’s exactly what they did.
She gasped, taking another step back. That was impossible. She’d never been magical enough to turn one basic element into another – fire into ice was fire into water. That was something no one she knew could do! Not even Lalura! At least… she’d never seen Lalura do it. Nevertheless, it was a nearly epic ability, and one only the most formidable and commanding mages could perform.
Mages like Lovelace? her inner voice prompted.
Violet shut her eyes. She exhaled, and the violently tremulous sound echoed loudly in the new silence. Okay, she thought. Okay. Breathe again.
She opened her eyes. Now, clean up the mess.
She’d learned long ago, as a fledgling mage, that sometimes voicing what you wanted to do helped focus the power you were using in a spell. So she looked at the frozen fire and said, “Evaporate.”
At first, nothing happened. But she held her will steady and did not look away. Within seconds, a tendril of steam could be seen rising from the mass of orange-white ice. That tendril became two, then three, and soon the ice was diminishing in size. Before twenty full seconds had passed, the frozen fire was gone.
Violet let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and turned to the spilled coffee on the counter. That, she simply decided to relocate and deal with later. Using a very basic spell she’d known most of her life, she waved her hand over the mess and thought of her kitchen sink in the apartment she had in downtown Seattle.
The coffee, the cup, and the tiny butterflies vanished.
Now you need to do the same, she thought. You need to vanish. She nodded at her own reasoning, gave the coffee shop a quick once-over, and as sirens began to sound in the distance, she stepped into the hall that led to the co-ed bathrooms. Since continuing on her journey had been temporarily stalled, Violet summoned a portal that did not lead to the Dark, and stepped hastily inside.
When she stepped back out a few moments later, it was to find visitors waiting for her in her apartment living room. Lalura Chantelle and Poppy were both there, standing side by side to watch as she exited the portal.
She was surprised, but overcame it enough to prepare to formally greet her teacher – however, something on their faces brought her up short. Dread bloomed in her chest. “What’s going on?” she asked warily.
“Vi, you have to come with us,” said Poppy gravely, stepping forward. “Almost every mage in every faction is being called together. Something terrible has happened.”
*****
He sensed it while he was inside the portal. Something un-nameable shifted as he moved through the darkness, and for a split second, it seemed ultra-dimensional, as if it had been fractured around him. The next moment, it pulled together again, but he was already unsettled by that point. When he stepped out of the shadows and into the meeting room, he was expecting something bad.
But he wasn’t expecting this.
The table was devoid of women. The queens were elsewhere, and that alone made Keeran feel very circumspect. It had been agreed from the very beginning that the women had as much right to the table as the men, if not more so. On the chess board, it was the queen who held all the power, and here, in this mish mash of worlds and ways, it appeared as if the same rule held true.
However, the women were gone. Three seats of the thirteen that remained around the table were empty. One was his. Another rested devoid of the man who normally occupied it, Jason Alberich. Ten of the chairs were filled with silent men wearing stern expressions.
And the last chair had been wrapped with a black ribbon.
Oh shit.
“Alberich is tending to a critical affair at the moment,” said D’Angelo. His voice sounded strained. It reminded Keeran of a rubber band that had been pulled a touch too tight. “We waited until the last to call you in, Pitch. We know you are busy with something vital as well.” His tone was sincere in this respect, for nothing was more important to this group than securing their queens. Yet, there was that thirteenth empty chair – the one with the ribbon around it.
That was the general knowledge floating around the room. It was impossible to ignore, that knowledge that one of the seats amongst them was wrapped in mourning.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Keeran didn’t feel like waiting. He didn’t want to have to be told in circling, flowery words that danced around the bush. He just wanted to know. “Mason is dead.”
He knew it was true even when he said it. So, maybe he didn’t need them to confirm it for him after all.
That’s what he’d felt in the portal in the shadows. It was the after-effects, the shockwave of the murder of one of the Thirteen Kings, splitting the fabric of the multiverse ever so slightly.
D’Angelo didn’t say anything. Perhaps he couldn’t. He was the king of kings, the one who sat at the head of the table. He’d lost one of his own.
But Keeran would damn well speak. “Tell me who did it.”
“The Entity,” said the Winter King, who had also been one to speak when others would not. That was the way of cold like his – it sliced clean and true, and could cut clear to the bone. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
“They’re all gone,” said Thanatos, the Phantom King. He looked fittingly white as a ghost and entirely troubled. In a voice that held the repercussions of a thousand slaughtered souls, he said, “Every last gargoyle on the planet is dead.”
Chapter Seventeen
The scene Violet arrived into was surreal. She stepped hurriedly out of the portal, sensing Poppy and Lalura coming through after her. But when she looked around, she became confused on several levels.
The field they stood in stretched to the horizon and was dotted with a multitude of colorfully banded hills. The hills were multi-hued rock with layers of minerals that seemed to denote time periods and weather patterns. The ground of the field was littered with scrub brush and desert weeds. A lonely breeze blew through the grasses, jostling Violet’s hair and filling her with a deep sense of forlorn desolation.
Other than the sound of that wind, it was quiet.
“Where are we?”
“Wheeler County, Oregon,” said Poppy, who stepped up beside her. “This is the Painted Hills.”
Lalura took up the reigns next, moving past the both of them to stand a few feet away, a solitary figure, small and hunched, yet imposing and otherworldly. The wind died down, as if it knew that she was about to speak. In her ancient, scratchy voice, she said, “This is where they came to die.”
She glanced at them over her shoulder.
“Who did?” Violet asked. But Lalura didn’t answer.
Just then, Violet saw something that explained everything, and an answer became unnecessary. Up ahead, approximately twenty to thirty feet away, one of the small hills moved. It shifted, causing sand to tumble from its upper layers to land in piles around its base. When it did, Violet noticed the facial features – eyes and a nose, the remnants of a mouth. Darker colored layers that were once hair. A bump that was an arm. A foot.
A person.
“The gargoyles,” said Poppy, voicing the thoughts already blossoming in Violet’
s mind. “They were cursed by the Entity.”
Violet blinked and turned to her. “What?” She was so confused. “All of them?”
Poppy nodded, her face ashen.
“How? Why?” Violet shook her head. How could one simple curse strike an entire nation of beings like genocide? How could it work in mere hours to destroy every last one of them? Who could possibly do that? And why hadn’t she found out about this sooner? Why hadn’t someone been able to stop it?
Lalura turned to face them, and Violet looked to her with desperate eyes.
“The Painted Hills have always been one of the resting places of Gargoyles,” she said softly. “It is their blood that makes the earth red. Their tears that turn it blue.” She moved forward, drawing closer. “At just after six o’clock this afternoon, Roman D’Angelo received a message from Mason Rushmore, the Gargoyle King. However, the message was incomplete.”
She stopped and gestured to the hills. Now that Violet knew what to look for, she could see that almost all of them were moving in some way; hills both large and small shifted as they disintegrated into the rubble they would ever after remain.
“It took mere minutes for them to begin traveling here to die,” Lalura said gravely.
“If he can commit genocide on this scale, this fast, imagine what he can do to the rest of us,” said Poppy, her voice filled with anxiety and despair. She sounded as desperate and hollow as Violet’s heart felt. But that hollow feeling made Violet angry, not sad – and that damn magic she’d absorbed by casting Lovelace’s spell wanted revenge.
“Lady Lalura, you brought us here for a reason,” she said, perhaps speaking a little too harshly or a little too loud considering the one she was speaking to. But she couldn’t stop herself. The hollow sensation was also edged with pain. “What can we do if they’re all dead?” She didn’t want to talk about the Entity. She needed to stop this – to save them – before it was too late and they really were all dead. “Are there any left? Any at all?”