“I suppose that makes sense,” Amicia says. “We do not want this magic at the hands of just anyone. Only those willing to bear the burden of casting such dark magic will dare to delve into these arts.”
“Exactly, and unfortunately, once the spell is performed and the cost is paid, there is no going back,” Holland says, voice dark.
“How can we be so sure this spell has a cost?” Jasik asks, ever hopeful.
“There is always a cost, Jasik,” Holland says. “Sometimes, it is as heinous as a life for a life. Every spell is different. There is no telling what cost the witches paid to perform such a dark spell.”
“But this cost, the witches must bear it?” Malik asks.
I understand his unspoken meaning. If those who perform the dark spell are the ones who bear the greatest cost, then we have nothing to fear. We did not cast black magic, so Malik assumes we should be safe. But I know better, because I know something the vampires do not know.
“Yes, the witches will bear the brunt of it,” Holland says.
“That is good news, then,” Malik says. “Ava should be okay.”
I do not look at them. I do not admit what happened, because I cannot bear to see the truth of it flash before their eyes.
Holland’s words reaffirm what I already know. I am doomed to spend the rest of my days as an empty shell, my soul blackened by the chasm my own mother forced me into.
Unfortunately, I am not alone.
Deep inside of me, Mamá is there. Her essence coats my own, blending together, reminding me that we are linked. Forevermore, she will always be there to guide me, to usher me to her side, and for the first time in my life, I can envision no greater hell.
Chapter Four
The silence in the manor is so loud, it hurts my head. I finger my temples, feeling the onset of a migraine burrowing into the depths of my skull. It has been far too long since I have experienced such mundane pain, and I am not even sure how to treat it. I can feel the vampires’ gazes on me, watching silently as I sink deeper into my weakened, mortal state.
The longer I sit and assess the damage done, the worse I feel. When I can no longer mentally check my wounds, I open my eyes, and they all look away. In unison, their gazes are averted, and they all pretend to be far too interested in banal things—the dust-coated chess pieces on a nearby table, the leather-bound books on shelves, the crackling logs in the fireplace, the floorboards that creak with every uncomfortable twitch. All at once, I feel like I am an animal in a cage or a fish in a bowl, and it makes me uneasy.
I toy with the hem of my shirt, hyperaware of how desperately I need a shower. My fingernails are chipped and dirty, blood is caked to my skin, and my frizzy hair clings to my forehead. My scalp is itchy, and I am certain the stagnant odor in the room is coming from me. The vampires do not react to my stench, but I know it lingers in the air.
When the front door crashes open, I jerk upright, muscles tight. My body aches at the sudden jolt, but I land on my feet. The pain resonating from my lower back, where I greeted the frozen earth far too many times tonight, is reaching ear-piercing volumes, but I try to ignore it. I do not want the others to witness just how injured I actually am.
As I slowly trudge to greet our visitors, wincing with each step, the other vampires are already making their way toward the foyer. Someone shuffles inside, and I struggle to see who has come in. I suck in a sharp breath when I try to stand on my tiptoes. The pain radiates down my legs, and it offers no better view. The wall of vampires, all with their backs to me, are impeding my vision, and I have just about had enough of it.
Finally, I push through and find Jeremiah, bloody and burned, leaning against the adjacent wall, and Hikari, seemingly as badly wounded but still offering support to her fallen brethren. Jeremiah attempts to stand upright, only succeeding in falling against Hikari, his towering frame comical beside her tiny stature.
I watch, unmoving, as the others rush to their sides, scrambling to usher their fallen comrades into the parlor, where they can hopefully rest. Amicia disappears down the hall, running toward the kitchen. In a flash, she is gone, my mortal eyes unable to keep up with her blurry image.
By the time Jeremiah and Hikari are seated, she has returned with an armful of blood bags. Not bothering to warm them in a mug, Amicia rips open the tiny plastic bags with her teeth before she guides the flowing crimson liquid into Jeremiah’s mouth. Malik mimics Amicia’s actions, feeding Hikari.
The wounded vampires slurp down heaps of blood, the noise echoing through the entire manor, and my blood runs cold. My stomach churns at the sight of the thick, juicy substance, and bile works its way into my throat. When their mouths overflow and blood seeps down their chins, splattering on their chests, I groan. Turning away, I jerk around in my seat, grunting at the flash of pain behind my eyes. I pray my face does not betray how startlingly different I truly am now.
When I finally regain my composure, I look up to find Jasik watching me. I am not sure how long he was watching me, but now, he stares intently, his face lacking emotion. Behind his blazing crimson irises, I am certain he realizes just how serious my condition is. The witches committed a hateful act, and now, I must bear the consequences. In a manor full of vampires, I am mortal. And I am hungry. My stomach growls, reminding me that I reside in a house with a kitchen stocked full of blood, not bagels.
I frown and look away, not able to maintain eye contact with my possibly former sire. He might not be able to show it, but I feel his pain, his longing, his disbelief. It matches my own agony. And I cannot bear witness to that truth in his eyes. I am too busy dealing with my own roller coaster of emotions.
When Jeremiah and Hikari finally stop feeding, they have drained at least a dozen blood bags. Exhaling slowly, I dare a peek. The empty bags are piled on the floor, sucked almost completely clean.
For the first time since the battle, I see the vampires clearly. The devastation of the witches has had far too great a toll on them, and I know it is my fault. We all could have died tonight. Thankfully, both are slowly healing. Their wounds, fresh and raw, are closing. But even though they no longer bleed, I know they are not out of the woods yet.
Jeremiah wipes his damp forehead dry. Outside, a raging snowstorm is settling upon us, and I cannot help but think the roaring fire is a courtesy to Holland—and to me. I have to keep reminding myself that as a mortal, I need these luxuries I did not require just yesterday. I need food and water and warmth during these cold winter months.
I shake my head, not wanting to focus on what I need. I meet Hikari’s gaze, and she nods at me. She wants me to believe she is okay, and though I know she will be fine, her desire to assure me of her status carves a hole in my heart. After everything I have done, after sending these vampires to the brink of death far too many times, why do they keep loving me?
At the sight of her, I suck in a sharp breath and hold it far too long. She must have fought a fire witch, because her clothes bear the marks. The fabric of her jacket is scorched, leaving only threads in some areas. Beneath the worst of it, even her T-shirt is gone, revealing flesh never meant to be bared. Her flesh beneath is bright pink and raw, and she grunts as muscles thread together, slowly healing the damage done. When Malik attempts to get a better look, she winces.
I grind my teeth, wondering if Liv is to blame. It would take a strong firestarter to do this much damage, but the culprit is not exactly powerful. A truly great fire witch would have summoned enough strength to kill them. Whoever did this is a novice. She is strong enough to harness fire’s power, but she is too weak to kill a vampire. I hate that I have just described Liv. How has it come to this?