A Twist of Fates

  “And who are you to roam the land of The Dunes?”

  “Sir,” I said, bowing my head in respect. “My name is Bastien Blackhall.” I still found it difficult to use the name Mortclaw. “I am a werewolf. Excuse me for intruding on your land, but I have come to seek a favor.”

  The jinni’s brows knotted as he looked me over. “You have come seeking a wish to be granted?”

  “Yes,” I said, eyeing him warily. “You could put it like that.”

  “What have you to offer in return?”

  My heart lowered. Although I wasn’t naïve enough to think that all people were as charitable as those who lived in The Shade, I had held out a small hope that perhaps someone here might just do me a favor for a favor’s sake, without expecting something in return.

  What could I offer such a creature in return? I had nothing. Nothing but my skin and bones.

  I ran a tongue over my lower lip before replying tentatively, “What would you seek of me?”

  “That will depend on what kind of service you wish to be rendered.” He glanced around the desert. “But let us not linger up here. Let us go somewhere more comfortable. You might be a stranger, but since you have ventured into Drizan territory, we will hear you out.”

  Drizan? We? Territory? What territory? All around me for as far as I could see was nothing but desert. Desert and dunes.

  The jinni began to sweep across the sand, leading me onward, until I caught something glinting in the moonlight on the ground. A giant, golden medallion depicting a scorpion. As the jinni stooped down and opened it up, he revealed it to be a trap door. He gestured to me to step inside and follow him down a staircase.

  “For now,” he said, his dark lips parting in a courteous smile, “be our guest.”

  Bastien

  I did not trust this man. Not in the slightest. But I had come all this way to seek out a jinni, and I had finally found one. I was hardly going to back down now. I just had to pull through this, and hope that it would lead me somewhere better than where I had started.

  “I will take you to see my king,” the jinni announced as he led me down into an entrance hall whose beauty had me gaping. Diamonds and gems shimmered in every corner. I had never even dreamed of such luxury.

  As the jinni led me deeper into what appeared to be an underground palace, my mind only continued to be blown away by the sheer extravagance of the way these creatures lived. How had they even gathered such wealth in the first place?

  We traveled down countless hallways, passing many other lavishly dressed jinn along the way—jinn who barely gave me a second glance—until we stopped outside a towering set of doors. The jinni, who had still not given me his name, led me inside a towering hall, where an ornate throne sat, elevated by a raised platform.

  The jinni took me to a seat in one corner of the chamber and told me to wait. I sat, elbows on my knees, hands clasped together, until the jinni returned with a second jinni, who wore a dazzling crown.

  “Hail King Turak, most worthy son of late Cyrus the Great.”

  Turak, a man of similar skin tone to the first jinni, had dark eyes, a thick beard, and thicker hair. The strength in his body beneath his scant clothing hardly seemed real. His muscles bulged like they had been stuffed with something.

  I bowed my head. “Your Majesty,” I said. “Forgive the intrusion.”

  “My courtier tells me that you have come seeking a wish.”

  “That’s right. I’m a werewolf now, but I need some way to… change what I am.” I explained in as much detail as I thought necessary to them about my family, and why it was so necessary for me to cut all ties with them in a way that was irreversible. In a way that would make them want to never have me back.

  The king was quiet as he listened to me. When I finished, he laid a forefinger over his upper lip and gazed at me thoughtfully.

  “I can think of a way we can fulfill your wish,” he said. “A way which, as you desire, would alter you permanently. But understand, werewolf, that if we were to grant this wish, you would be indebted to us.”

  “What would you want from me?” I asked. “I’m willing to give anything that’s… reasonable.” Reasonable. What a subjective word that was. My mother thought that she was reasonable.

  “I doubt you possess anything material that would hold our interest,” the king replied. “But we could accept payment in servitude instead. Keep you here in our palace for some time…”

  “For how long?” I croaked. “And what exactly is your idea? How will you alter me?”

  “As for how long, I believe that three months would be fair in exchange for our services,” the king replied.

  Three months. That sounded like an awful lot of time. But if the jinn were able to help me effectively, then it would be more than worth it.

  “All right,” I said. “Now explain how you would alter me.”

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “Rather than talk, I think it’s best that we show you,” the king replied.

  Victoria

  I had never felt so confident, so self-assured in my life. The tugging deep within me continued as though I was attached to an invisible rope. It felt like it was impossible for me to take a wrong turn, a misstep. It almost felt like I had already found Bastien. I wasn’t quite sure where such confidence was coming from, but I hoped that it was not unfounded—that I was not suffering from some form of delusion or post-concussive symptomology.

  As I flew, I pictured Bastien in my mind more vividly than ever before. His beautiful, expressive face. His wintry gray eyes that seemed to bore into my very soul. I remembered the way my stomach flipped when he glanced at me. The way he held me. The way it felt to have his body pressed to mine, his arms engulfing my waist, keeping me safe. My being yearned for him the way fish yearned for water.

  He had possessed me, mind and spirit. Now, I just had to let this intense attachment lead me to him. For once, dreaming of Bastien had some practical use and did not simply cause me frustration.

  I sped over the waves, faster and faster, traveling for countless miles. I passed a number of landmasses along the way. Still, my instinct drove me onward. Onward, onward, until my skin began to tingle with excitement. Somehow, I simply sensed that I was getting closer. Much closer.

  I caught sight of land up ahead of me. Land that looked like nothing but one colossal desert. As I hovered over it, it hit me where this must be. The land of the jinn.

  For all the optimism that had been flowing through me at the thought of reuniting with Bastien, I couldn’t help but crash down from Cloud Nine and experience a moment of panic.

  The Dunes. I recognized the land from all my family had told me about it.

  What on earth is Bastien doing in The Dunes?

  Grace

  My family and Orlando remained in the hospital room with me the whole time. My mother and Orlando stood closest to the bars of my cage, gazing through at me hopelessly. My need for blood was beginning to consume me. It was hard to even think straight anymore. I just needed that warm red liquid—or even cold liquid would do. Any blood to fill my dry, deprived veins.

  I found myself writhing and screeching on the floor. The noises I was making horrified me more than anybody else.

  As much as I appreciated everyone’s support, I was beginning to wish that they would evacuate the room, leave me without temptation. That might help to ease my frenzy, but there was no way I could communicate my wishes to them.

  And so I continued to claw at the bars whenever somebody approached, even as the thirst burned me up inside. I feared I would soon no longer even see people around me, just fleshy sacks of blood.

  My grandmother Nadia even put the television on, as though that might distract or soothe me somehow.

  Although I stared at the screen at first, I could barely muster the concentration to watch it for more than a few seconds. My lack of attention was disturbing. As time passed, I was becoming like a child, more and more incapable of deep, pr
olonged thought on any subject other than my excessive thirst for blood.

  More hours slipped away—witches and jinn moving in and out, as well as other inhabitants of The Shade who came to visit me. My friends, family and well-wishers.

  At least, for the most part, humans were kept out of the room. Although Orlando was technically human, his blood was not quite as tempting because of his illness. It smelled slightly bitter, akin to a vampire’s.

  I sank to the floor in desperate frustration and found myself rolling from side to side, compulsively, like a mental patient in an institute. It was the only thing I could bring myself to do.

  I was brought out of my stupor only by a woman’s voice—which sounded like Shayla’s—uttering a familiar word. A word that meant a lot to me.

  “Lawrence!”

  Her voice came as such a strangled gasp that I couldn’t help but look in her direction. She was gazing up at the television screen, extending a trembling finger. I followed her gaze and managed to concentrate long enough to catch sight of an image flashing up on the screen.

  The photograph of a young man was being shown—a young man who looked very much like Lawrence, even though I couldn’t see his face. Strapped to a chair by thick bonds, he sat in the middle of a small, stark white room. He didn’t look well at all. What I could see of his skin was pallid, and his head lolled strangely to one side over his chest. A vase of white lilies threaded with black ribbon stood at his feet. The type you might see at a funeral.

  I managed to summon the concentration to focus on the words the newscaster was speaking after the photograph disappeared. “Viewers will remember the young man we showcased just a short while ago, the brave young man who participated in the IBSI’s most recent drug trial. It is with deep regret and sadness that we report he passed away in the early hours of the morning. As we reported, the procedure was still in early development and the IBSI has been sailing uncharted waters. Although the young man—who must remain unnamed for the privacy of his family—made a swift, miraculous recovery from the initial procedure and was showing drastic improvements. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen complications, he was admitted to the IBSI’s specialist hospital last night, where his heart failed and medics were unable to save him.”

  “Oh, my God,” my mother breathed, her hand clasped to her mouth in horror.

  “A private memorial service will be held for him by his family and closest friends. The IBSI has issued a statement expressing their deepest condolences to the heroic young man’s family, and have assured us that nobody else will be put on trial for the drug—not even willing volunteers—until it has been through at least a dozen more rounds of testing.”

  The vision of Lawrence’s pale form slumped in a chair remained stamped in my mind, even as the news topic changed. I remained staring up at the screen. The news had struck me like a bolt of electricity, forced clarity to my fast fogging brain. And yet, although I absorbed the words and understood what they meant, my emotions had not yet caught up. They felt disjointed from my brain, almost. Lagging behind.

  I felt numb inside. Like an explosive in freefall, just waiting to collide with the ground.

  Lawrence… Dead.

  Ben

  I had Ibrahim transport me back to the IBSI’s Chicago base to make the journey faster. He took me to the lab in Bloodless territory on the shore of Lake Michigan, where he remained outside the crematorium.

  As I drifted down through the lab’s ceiling, I quickly realized that the search would be a short one. During the brief period since I had last been here, the place had been completely evacuated—all the drawers and equipment emptied, the Bloodless, the convicts, all of them gone. Only the cages were left. Cages, bare tables and hollow cupboards. Not a single tube had been left to roll on the floor.

  I cursed beneath my breath, though I couldn’t have expected anything different. It was as Dr. Finnegan had predicted. Since they’d realized that the lab was no longer a secret, they’d moved elsewhere.

  But where? I couldn’t bring myself to believe that they would just shift into IBSI’s main Chicago base, on the other side of the river. We had already trespassed there too many times before.

  I finished searching the entire lab, and then Chicago’s main base anyway, just so that I could return with confidence. As I passed through room after room, passageway after passageway, I was on the lookout for Lawrence. And his father. I should have killed that man back in Aviary while I had the chance. I had him right in my clutches.

  After hours of searching, I found nothing. Frustrated beyond expression, I vowed that this would be the last time I would ever search this stupid place. It seemed to be a rule of thumb that when I needed to search for something, I should assume that it was already gone. Like I said, the IBSI had a way of making things vanish…

  I hurried back to Ibrahim, who I felt ever so grateful for in this moment. Although I wasn’t exactly slow, I wouldn’t have been able to hack any journey that was not instantaneous. The Shade would have seemed like an eternity away.

  The warlock gripped my shoulder, and a few seconds later we had returned within The Shade’s border and were back on the ground floor of the hospital where we had left Dr. Finnegan, her son and my father.

  Dr. Finnegan still sat with her son, though others had entered since. My mother and sister now stood tensely behind my father, their eyes trained on the doctor. They had been in the middle of a conversation, but stopped short as they caught sight of us.

  I didn’t like the darkness in my father’s expression. It was as though he had been given some bad news. Some exceedingly bad news. And he hadn’t even spoken to me yet.

  “Did you find it?” my mother asked hopefully.

  My eyes trained on Dr. Finnegan as I replied, “No. It was as you said, Doctor. They are very quick at moving stuff.”

  Dr. Finnegan’s face took on the same dark look as my father’s. I took a seat opposite her and leaned forward, clasping my hands together tensely.

  “So what now?” I asked her. “You’re going to have to tell us exactly what the missing ingredient is so we can find it ourselves.”

  My father cleared his throat. “Actually, I pressed Dr. Finnegan for that answer while you were away with Ibrahim…” He ran a hand over his face, grimacing, as though it were painful to just spit out the answer.

  “What?” I urged. “Tell me!”

  Dr. Finnegan sighed. “You will need to solve a mystery…”

  Ben

  When the scientist revealed the fifth ingredient, I could hardly believe my ears… and yet, deep down, it made sense. It made perfect sense. All the other ingredients were apparently derived from Aviary. It was only logical that the last one would be too.

  The thought had occurred to me before how the Hawks were natural-born enemies of the Elders—whom the Bloodless were merely a walking mutation of. And how fatefully in line it would be that, if a cure truly existed to combat the Elder-originated infection, it would be found in the Hawks’ realm.

  “For every evil born, another is born to counter it…”

  Those were words once spoken by Kiev many years ago, and recounted to me by my mother. They were true. The universe provided us with a natural balance for everything. Fire and water. Earth and sky… Lilith and Kiev.

  The fifth ingredient was Hawk blood. But not just any Hawk’s blood…

  The scientist’s explanation took us through some history of the IBSI’s scientific advancements, their methods proving even more shocking than I had thought.

  Her story began with Frans Sanderson—the same scientist whose home we had visited in Bermuda before stumbling across the gate to Aviary, and who had been assassinated by Atticus.

  Frans had been one of the IBSI’s most trusted, leading scientists. He’d been an expert in many fields of science, though he specialized in botany. For years he’d been commissioned by the IBSI to spend time in Aviary examining its natural resources—which were abundant—to see if we on Earth could derive
any benefit from them.

  Well, he’d ended up discovering more than the IBSI—or specifically Atticus—had bargained for.

  With the epidemic of Bloodless plaguing the human world, he’d somehow latched on to the same train of thought that I recently had: that if there was any cure for the Bloodless, it was to be found in Aviary. Thus, although he was supposed to be doing other research work for the IBSI in Aviary, he’d focused his attention on searching for a possible cure. He’d never told his authorities about this, but rather planned to present the results of his findings to them if he was successful in developing the cure.

  As fate would have it, around the same time that Frans was conducting his research and experimentations, a different division of the IBSI’s scientists—those of the organization’s lab in Canada, the same lab that my wife had been taken to when the IBSI kidnapped her—had been experimenting deeply with genetics. They were in full swing seeking ways to enhance the human body. Although Dr. Finnegan was not aware of River’s specific kidnapping case, she confirmed that the eggs of half-bloods had been collected, and these played a big part in the experiments that went on during that period. Why? Because half-bloods, at the time, were the closest one could get to being supernatural while still being partially human. That was the reason the IBSI had found them so interesting—the way human genes could co-exist with supernaturals’—and why they had taken River in to study her.

  When they cut her open, without a doubt, they’d removed some of her eggs… which left me wondering if that process had indeed damaged her, and was one of the reasons we’d had such a hard time conceiving a child. Bastards.

  “Independent of Frans’ research,” Dr. Finnegan went on, “this Canadian group were specifically honing in on mixing Hawk and vampire genes. They were curious as to how these two opposing species would meld. They had managed to capture a number of Hawks and, using the half-blood eggs they had harvested, they began trying to create the specimens… Only five of which were successful.”