Sharp, tingly pins and needles coursed through my body to my fingertips. I was in that same dark, dank room that smelled of dirty water. I was chilled to the bone. This time, though, instead of lying against the cold, concrete ground, I was sitting on it. A steady drip echoed in the room, drilling into my eardrum. Drip, drip, drip. As I hunched in closer to myself to fight off the chill, I noticed how badly my back throbbed. It felt like my skin had been badly burned by the sun. I knew that couldn’t be the case and yet I longed to peel my shirt off, to eliminate all contact. Reaching down, I rubbed the light, gauzy material of my dress with my fingers. Too light to irritate skin, one would think.
Drip, drip, drip ...
The same crack of light stared at me from beneath that same door. Just like the other night. My Veronique dream. Would a crazed, whip-wielding witch come flying through the door at any second?
A shadow passed in front of the crack of light. Inside the room. It was small and moved haltingly. Scurried was more like it. My focus glued to the crack, I waited to see it pass again. A moment later, a softness brush up against my forearm. My arm shot out reflexively to launch it across the room. It let out a squeak of displeasure. “Ahhh! I hate rats!” I cried out, shuddering.
“What?”
I froze with the single word. Not because there was another person in my dark, dank cell. The question had come from my lips, but it wasn’t me who’d spoken. The thought wasn’t mine—I knew that much—but my mouth had moved.
“What?” I echoed, testing for a difference. This time it was clearly my thought, my brain controlling my mouth’s movements.
Silence. My eyes shifted in the darkness, warily, waiting for it to happen again. After a long moment, I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m all kinds of messed up,” I muttered.
My lips moved in a gasp. “How are you doing this?” Another foreign thought asked the question.
My stomach knotted. What the hell was going on? I was used to Max’s intruding voice inside my head. But this was different. This was like I was sharing my body with another person. With trepidation, I answered. What’s the worst that could happen?
“How am I doing what?”
“Who is this?” the voice asked, her tone pleading. Before I could answer, she asked, “Do you know Sofie?”
I paused, my curiosity overshadowing sheer terror. This strange back and forth where I controlled my mouth and then I didn’t control it and then I did control it—like what I imagined a person with multiple personalities would need to manage—took some coordination.
“Evangeline,” I answered cautiously. “And yes, I know Sofie.” Then I dared ask the next question, the one I was fairly certain I knew the answer to. “Are you Veronique?”
Another gasp. “Yes! How is this happening?”
And there it was. I knew then and there that this was no dream. Somehow I was still connected to Veronique. Even though the Tribe released me from the curse, we were still bound. Of course! It made perfect sense. When I sat atop that platform with the Tribe circling and chanting below, when I saw that vision of Fiona dead in the atrium, I was witnessing it all through Veronique’s eyes the moment she was released. Now I was somehow connecting with her in my dreams.
“Evangeline?” She pulled me back from my thoughts.
“I don’t know how it’s happening. When I fall asleep, I find myself here. I thought I was dreaming at first,” I explained. Here we go again.
Veronique’s voice turned low and fearful, almost a whimper. “This is no dream. It’s a nightmare, Evangeline. Please, help me!” she pleaded. “They’re torturing me! They told me they will kill me soon!” My cheeks burned with her tears. “I don’t understand. Why has Sofie left me like this?”
I awoke with a wheezing gasp and Veronique’s question playing over and over in my head. Why has Sofie left me like this? Because she doesn’t know, Veronique. Because I’m keeping you a secret. My heart pounded against my rib cage as panic seized, as I began rationalizing the situation in my head. I’m sure it’ll be fine, once she does find out … that you’re being tortured and threatened while we sip eggnog and hang seventeenth-century nutcrackers on Christmas trees. It won’t bother her at all. She’ll pat me on the back and say, “You’re so brave and smart, Evangeline.”
I sat up in bed. I was alone in my room, Max nowhere to be found. Absently, I remembered being carried up here and realized it must’ve been Caden whispering softly to me, tucking me into bed, and not violin-strumming angels in the clouds. I silently wished he were here so I could bury my face in his chest and forget everything else for just a moment.
But he wasn’t here to soothe my guilty conscience, I acknowledged bitterly. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Veronique was being tortured and begging for help and I was the only one who could help her. I was denying her that by not telling Sofie. I was single-handedly risking Veronique’s life because I was worried. Because of a possibility. Nothing more. I assumed Sofie couldn’t be pragmatic. Was that fair? Didn’t Sofie have a right to know? Didn’t Mortimer? Viggo … I didn’t care for his rights. He could shrivel and starve for the next million years in a silent, lonely hell.
But the others … and Veronique! I pulled my knees to my chest as the pieces clicked together. My back, blazing, skin raw, bothered by the lightest of materials. Lash marks would do that to a person. They were whipping her. Recalling the words of the witch last time, Veronique was immune to magic. Like me. Because I got up on that platform to rid myself of the pendant, she was now in the hands of the enemy, being tortured because they couldn’t use good old magic to do it.
I began to hyperventilate. Sliding over to the edge of the bed, I leaned forward and cradled my forehead in my hands, rocking back and forth. What am I going to do? My head throbbed. In, out, in, out. She’ll go crazy if she stays in that dungeon with that torturous dripping sound ... Drip, drip, drip … I’ll go crazy if she stays there. I wasn’t made for this deception.
There was no way around it.
I had to tell Sofie.
It took a minor panic attack and fifteen minutes of a one-way conversation to convince myself that this was the right choice. But how on earth did I deliver news like this? The one thing I knew was that Viggo and Mortimer could not be around. Once I told Sofie, the weight would be off my shoulders and on hers. She could decide what to do and whom to tell. Selfish, but she was made to handle this. She was made of something stronger than titanium.
By the time I walked down the stairs and through the halls, my body was moving in a zombielike daze while my belly was threatening to empty itself of that delicious ham and cheese sandwich. I took a deep breath, my subconscious giving me a pep talk. This will be no problem. I just need to get Sofie alone. A grandfather clock somewhere gonged ten times as I stepped into the Christmas tree room. Everyone was there.
“Lilly’s plane has landed. The rest of them are congregating at the airfield before coming here. None of them will enter alone,” Mortimer announced as I walked in.
Around me, organized frenzy erupted. All thoughts of my confession vanished as a new pot of turmoil boiled over. I stood by, an unnoticed bystander, while Mortimer barked orders on the phone to someone to keep their distance and report back every fifteen minutes. His spies, I gathered. In an excited flurry, Viggo sailed past me, announcing everyone needed to get “blooded up” to be ready for a fight. Amelie shifted closer to Julian, her arms wrapped protectively around his body, no doubt planning on attaching herself to him at all times. Caden stood like an unpleased statue, arms crossed, brow furrowed, glaring from Sofie to Mage.
It felt like the war might begin in this chateau, on this night.
“Ready?” Mage asked Sofie. They shared the longest stare. Finally, Sofie sighed, nodded, and disappeared. What are they up to now? I tried to catch Caden’s eye but it was locked on Bishop, his mouth curved downward with discontent. I didn’t have to wonder what was going on for long. In fewer than ten seconds, Sofie reappeared with a silvery cord in her hand.
Merth. I recognized that stuff. It was nonexistent on Earth until I brought two giant duffel bags back from Ratheus. Sofie must’ve grabbed some as she ran out of Viggo’s palace during the assault. Were they going to bind Lilly with it? Seriously?
“Um, I don’t think that’s the best way to get on this Lilly person’s trusting side,” I said. My voice drifted off as Sofie’s focus zoned in on Bishop, a suspicious and intentional gleam in her eye. Bishop, my unmoving, unspeaking, emotionally frail friend in the corner, was being eyed like mouse in a snake’s cage.
“What are you …?” I said, as it slowly dawned on me what they were doing.
“I’m sorry,” Sofie offered softly as she and Mage moved in to sandwich the motionless Bishop, Mage in behind and Sofie in front, their standard predatory position. Sofie was speaking quietly to Bishop. Standing in front of him, an apologetic smile on her face, threads of paralyzing silvery weed in her grasp.
My head began shaking side to side. “No … no … no.”
“She needs all of her magic available for this meeting, Evangeline,” Caden explained softly. “She can’t risk losing a hold of the binding spell again and we don’t know what to expect of Lilly. If Sofie needs her magic to fend her off or if she gets hurt, she’ll end up releasing Bishop. He’ll do anything to escape, remember?” I looked up to see his eyes boring into me, a stern reminder within. “That’s not good for anyone.”
“But …” I looked at our friend again, hunched over, so pathetic, so lost. “He’s already suffered so much.” I heard the shrill sound of my own voice by the end of it, pleading. “We’re treating him like a prisoner! It’s not right. He hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“He almost killed you, Evangeline!” Caden exploded suddenly.
“He wouldn’t have and you know it!” I threw back, setting my jaw defiantly. “He was bluffing. He just wanted to be free.”
Caden turned away from me as he shook his head with frustration.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “I know what you’re all thinking! Poor, naïve Evangeline! She’s clueless! She’s a silly human! Well, maybe I am but at least I don’t torture my friends!” I looked to Amelie and Caden, to Max, but got no support. Nothing. Only Julian dared meet my stare from his spot out of the line of fire.
It’s for the best, Max said.
“Of course you would think so,” I muttered.
“It’s just for now,” Sofie explained softly. “I’ll think of something else. I promise.”
“But …” I began but the objection died at my lips, all of my steam evaporating instantly. I knew no amount of begging and pleading would convince them otherwise. They were vampires. This was temporary for them. Anything temporary could be endured, even if it was excruciatingly painful. My body tensed as Mage reached forward to grip Bishop’s shoulders, securing him. Sofie’s lips moved swiftly.
The second the binding spell broke, Bishop let out a roar and began twisting and thrashing against Mage’s grip. “Don’t let them do this, Evie!” he bellowed, his plea shattering my heart into a thousand pieces. Tears began burning in my eyes as I pawed for Caden’s hand. “Please!” I cried but it was no use. Caden’s jaw tightened as he stared forward, his hand lifeless in mine.
“It’s the right thing to do and you know it,” he answered in that cold, distant tone I had heard so long ago, the one he used when he needed to shut everyone out. He was shutting me out. My head jolted as if he’d slapped me. He may as well have. By the time I turned back, Sofie was already securing the Merth around an immobile Bishop’s wrists. It was done.
“A thousand tiny razor blades cutting you, over and over again … each one feeling like the first,” I whispered a reminder to all of them in case they had forgotten.
Utter silence met my words. Six vampires, a werebeast, and two toxic humans watching the one who had suffered the most, who continued to suffer, for the mere fact that he couldn’t scream out. I felt like I was sitting in one of those glass rooms, witnessing an execution of an innocent person. But what was worse—what I couldn’t bring myself to admit—was that I knew they were right. This was for the best. This was only temporary. Bishop had survived Merth before. He could survive it again. What did that acceptance say about me? What human was I turning into that I’d listen to a dear friend plead for his freedom, that I’d stand and watch him tortured? My friend, whose internal struggle was enough to splinter an army’s will?
Suddenly, there was nowhere I wanted to be less than there, in this vampire world where this was an acceptable solution to a problem. Yanking my hand out of Caden’s, I bolted from the glass room and sprinted down the hallway. I didn’t stop. Caden didn’t chase. This time, just this once, I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want to be around these cold, calculating creatures. I didn’t want to become one of them.