Her entryway opened up into a small living room with plush furniture, a giant TV on the wall, an expensive rug, and paint and decorations that perfectly accented the space. It was cozy and comfortable while still trendy and top of the line.
“Want a drink?” She disappeared through an archway into a kitchen that had received the same treatment as the living room. The various gadgets would be at home in a rich person’s kitchen. Even Callie and Dizzy would’ve been envious of all the state-of-the-art appliances, though probably not of the tiny quarters into which they were all systematically crammed.
“Water, please.” I sat at a small, round table in the corner, with artfully aged wood, each strip a slightly different color than the other, but all blending into a really neat piece. “Did you decorate?”
She laughed as she pulled down a bottle of whiskey. “Yeah, right. No, Marie came through and did all this up after my house was burned out by a ridiculous mage hopped up on—” She stiffened before continuing, “Painkillers. Never mind.”
I sagged into the chair as she got to work on our drinks. A suspiciously short time later, she delivered a glass with a lime floating among the ice cubes.
“That’s my version of a margarita. You’ll love it.” She sat opposite me with a darker liquid that was almost certainly whiskey, her version of water.
I ignored the glass in front of me. “I don’t understand how I made Ja react like that. Darius said my magic was doing it, but…” I shook my head, at a loss.
Reagan set down her glass and leaned forward. “Marie said your magic acted as a catalyst. It pumped out a sort of aggression that said, in essence, get lost or I’ll kill you.” She leaned back again and took a sip of her drink. “Elder vampires use a similar approach with newbies, I guess. They exude a sort of…mood or something that gives them control. I don’t totally get it, but you must’ve shoplifted the ability without knowing it. The problem is, elders are the scary ones, not the ones who are scared. Darius thinks Ja felt your intention, and it stripped away all the layers of dust collected on her personality. You, in essence, woke up the beast.”
Shivers ran through me as I remembered that red, white, and black thing jerkily walking toward the top of the stairs. She’d been through hell, and refused to sit down for a rest. “Will she go back to sleep, or whatever?”
Reagan stared into her whiskey. “That’s what has me concerned. If she lives, and she doesn’t slip back into a dormant state—which is basically a vampire’s version of a vacation from life and intense introspection—there’s no telling what it’ll mean. We might be introducing another, very intense, player into the supernatural game of politics.”
I took a sip of my drink, then sputtered and shook, immediately putting it back down again. “That’s straight tequila.”
“No! It has a lime and a little sugar. I said it was my version of a margarita.”
I pushed the glass away. “So what will Darius do if Ja wants to get back to life?”
Reagan shrugged. “That’s the real question, isn’t it? What will Darius do. Because honestly, it has nothing to do with me. Unless that she-bitch tries to kill him to steal his interests. Then it very much has to do with me, and I’ll get to see how hard it is to kill an ancient vampire. Otherwise, it’s Darius’s problem. Tomorrow we’re going to hit the books. You have the power to be great. I’m going to help you blindly stumble into actually being great. It’s a foolproof plan.”
“Certainly seems so.” I stood and went to the cabinet.
“Oh good, you’re already used to waiting on yourself. We’re gonna get along fine. Bottom line: we’re in unknown territory, and if anything makes vampires itchy, it is unknown territory. So we’ll avoid them for now, especially the old one you drove crazy, hole up here, and do some magic. Easy.”
If there were any certainties in life, one was that Reagan’s and my versions of easy were vastly different.
19
Emery turned off the fast-track path in the Realm. Ever-blooming flowers lined the side of the cobblestone track, giving the slight breeze a floral fragrance. A green meadow stretched away, dotted by small huts with grass roofs in the distance.
He’d picked the fastest possible route to the gateway into the Brink, on pins and needles the whole time.
After that first foretelling about Penny’s possible demise, he’d received two more of the black mist visions in quick succession. He couldn’t totally make out the situation based on the fits and starts of the scenes, but in the end, it seemed like she was battling vampires in a very nice house.
He’d rarely seen vampires engage in open battle in the Brink unless defending themselves from the shifters, and one of those vampires had looked very old, which was even rarer, yet—if he had made sense of the images—that was exactly what had happened. In that very nice house.
Trust Penny to engage in something that made very little sense.
There had been a pause after that, long enough to lodge his heart in his throat. Had all of those close calls eventually ended in her death?
But then he’d had one more.
A dark area outside. A leafy tree leaning over a weed-choked patch. And a shape sitting within the shadows, its identity obscured.
There had been no movement, and no sense of urgency. Just an open letter of warning.
He’d never experienced that type of foretelling before. Usually the situation was immediate, and if he didn’t react, he was done. But this…
He didn’t know what was happening, but it was unfolding on a large scale, and it involved Penny.
He’d been walking before he knew it. She needed help, and he would offer what help he could give.
It had only belatedly occurred to him that she might not want his help. He’d left her in the lurch, after all. He’d walked away with a “Good luck, I traded my monetary freedom to an elder vampire so he’d watch over you, which will probably shackle you to him for life. Bye-bye, you’re welcome!”
By now she either hated him or wished he’d just leave her alone already.
But he couldn’t. That was the bottom line. He couldn’t, not only because she was in danger, but also because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
On the walk through the Realm, trying to get to the Brink gateway closest to her whereabouts, he’d made a compromise with himself. He’d just check on her. That was all. She didn’t even have to know he was in the area. He’d get a glimpse of her beautiful face (possibly from a distance, like a true creep), maybe talk to the Bankses, and calmly assess the situation.
If he wasn’t needed, fine. But at least he would know she was safe and happy. He couldn’t offer her a single thing, but he could ensure things were going well for her. That, at least, was in his power.
A white, fuzzy line jagged through the air up ahead, indicating a gateway into the Brink. To the side was a bench with an old-fashioned street light next to it. On the bench sat an old and slightly deformed creature. The elves had designed all of the gates to be especially beautiful—an ego thing—and this being’s ugly appearance and stunted growth made it an eyesore. Based on its characteristics, Emery guessed it was some form of goblin, which was odd.
Goblins almost always crossed to the Brink in darkened places, like mines or deep forests. Though some could take the form of a human, most could not, and if they went into more populated areas, they’d be noticed immediately. A big no-no in the magical community. So for this one to be hanging out here, by the gate that let out closest to New Orleans, meant something was amiss.
Emery slowed, on his guard.
The goblin, whose head had been nodding like it was asleep, jerked up and blinked its knobby eyes. It looked around and smacked its slobbery lips, only then noticing Emery’s presence.
“Oh.” It shifted in its seat and stretched out its legs. “Oh.” It bent one leg, then the other. “Forgive, master. Forgive.” It stood up stiffly, as though it’d been sitting on that bench for days. “I must’ve dozed off within such a lovely area. Forgive me.”
The creature stomped through the row of flowers separating itself from Emery, who narrowed his eyes. Goblins, as a whole, did not cherish flowers, meadows, and soft breezes. They’d prefer dark, dank little caverns filled with unsuspecting humans carrying valuable trinkets ripe for the stealing.
Clearly this goblin assumed Emery knew very little about the creatures of the Realm. Something that got many a Realm creature killed.
At the end of a newly created dirt trail, the creature stopped and looked up at Emery.
“You are the Rogue Natural, are you not?” it asked.
Emery started slowly weaving an attack spell he knew worked particularly well on goblins and the like. “Who’s asking?”
It nodded, as though that was answer enough. “I’ve been posted here to stop the Rogue Natural from using this crossing. My great master believes this crossing is too near New Orleans. A crossing at this point will likely have devastating consequences, since mages are continually setting up spells on the other side. The Rogue Natural should, therefore, choose a crossing in another part of the country. One of the coasts would be ideal—the busier the better. Should the Rogue Natural agree to follow these precautions, intended to keep the Rogue Natural and the creature Penny safe, the Rogue Natural may call my great master from whatever location it uses to enter the Brink, and my great master will send its jet to collect the Rogue Natural.”