Taking a deep breath, I step back and make a twisted symbol with my fingers, breathing out a short string of forbidden words. Dark, cruel magic surges to the surface, boiling in my veins as my fingertips blacken and tendrils of shadow swirl around my bare hands.
Silas's eyes widen infinitesimally, but I can tell it's from intrigue and not alarm. Baelfire looks concerned as the dark tendrils climb up my arms, circling and twisting until they encompass me. I shut my eyes and hold my breath, focusing entirely on the shadow heart in my chest.
It magically keeps my blood running, but it doesn't beat. Amadeus crafted this heart for me to replace the one he ripped out. But even with all his foresight, he didn't realize that pouring his magic into this heart would give me the ability to tap into his precognitive abilities in a tight pinch.
My "father's" foresight only encompasses death, misery, and future battles. It's not always accurate, so I rarely glean from it.
But right now, it comes in handy. My body starts to go numb just as images flicker in my mind—a dorm number, blood pooling on a stone floor, the changeling screaming in agony, and a blood-streaked vial of powder.
"Mayflower?"
"Don't get close to her," Silas warns. "Some spells are delicate. It might rebound and harm her if you interfere."
My head spins as I finally break out of the trance-like spell, catching my breath and blinking up at them. But even though Baelfire still looks worried, Silas appears fascinated by my display of the forbidden arts.
I grin. "Follow me."
Minutes later, we wind up at the door to a private dorm marked with the same dorm number I just foresaw. I can only assume the changeling killed to have this space.
Setting my bare hand against the door, I use another small burst of magic to corrupt all wards or protective spells, and then I try the handle. It's not even locked. This arrogant piece of shit puts far too much faith in its own lesser form of magic.
Opening the door, I waltz in to find the changeling posing in front of a full-length mirror in what I assume is a freshly stolen outfit. When it sees me, it hisses in a very un-Monica-like way and launches toward its sword propped against one wall.
Before it can touch the weapon, a flare of Silas's blood-red magic sends it crashing into the wall. A circle of powerful runes emblazons itself into the floor around the monster to keep it from exiting.
He's efficient. I don't mind that.
I also don't mind when the changeling hisses and snarls, flinging itself against the invisible ward, keeping it trapped as it glowers at me. Seeing it trapped and furious like this makes me smile.
Baelfire locks the door.
I approach the sneering changeling. It's strange to see it do that with the sweet empath's face, but things only get more bizarre as it smirks at me before its entire appearance ripples and changes. In the blink of an eye, I'm once again staring at myself.
"Would you look who it is?" it snaps in my voice. "Took you long enough to find me,telum."
“Scourge?” Silas translates with a frown. I'm surprised he knows even that much in the Nether tongue. "Why is it calling you that?"
The changeling peers over my shoulder at my matches and smiles flirtatiously, batting its—my—eyelashes and blowing akiss. Changelings don't experience human emotions but are great at affecting human qualities.
"Hello, pretty boy toys."
Baelfire makes a face. "Okay, that's fucking weird. I can't unsee that."
"We both know why I'm here," I say, drawing the monster's attention back to me. I slip one of my concealed daggers from its place and twist it in my hand, admiring it before I smile thinly at the creature. "You know what answers I want. So tell me. Are we going to do this the easy way or the fun way?"
Fake Maven wrinkles its nose and clamps its mouth shut stubbornly.
I grin.
Looks like this will be fun, after all.
16
BAELFIRE
Holy fuck.
Maven is enjoying the hell out of this.
