Dreven’s gaze is annoyingly heavy. I turn to him. “What?”
“We got lucky. If the Order had gone to the crypt instead, we’d be outed as being returned, and Nyssa would be on trial for treason for not reporting it, and worse.”
“And this is my fault, how? Because I didn’t let her freeze her tits off in the lake? Forgive me for providing a bit of comfort. You were quite happy to watch her get fucked into next week, so don’t suddenly get all protective now.”
Voren drifts between us, a placating wisp of cold air. “Dreven is right to be concerned. Taye felt your magic, Dastian, and it led them straight here.”
“Nyssa handled it. She outsmarted them, stole their secrets, and that book, wherever the hell she found it, will give her the answers she seeks.”
Dreven’s jaw tightens. “She is reckless, and you encourage it.”
“I embrace it,” I correct him with a grin. “Chaos and recklessness are old friends. You should try it sometime. All this brooding is giving you wrinkles.”
He looks like he’s about to throw me through another wall, which, honestly, sounds like a decent way to pass the afternoon. Better than standing here listening to his doom-and-gloom monologue.
“Relax. She’s got the book. She’s got the power of the Firsts buzzing in her veins. Tonight, we will enter our realm, and she will get her hands on that crown and end this fucking depressing end of the world shit.”
“You hope,” Dreven growls.
“I know. You don’t give her enough credit.”
“I give her plenty of credit. She is the only one who can do this. That doesn’t erase the fact that it is dangerous, and she has never faced anything like this. We can’t lose her.”
“She’s not going to follow our rules, Dre. That’s why she’ll win. She’ll find a way to break the board.”
“Or she’ll get herself killed trying,” Voren adds from the corner, his voice a dispassionate whisper. “Her mortality is still a liability, no matter how much power is crammed inside it.”
“Then we’ll just have to make sure the things trying to kill her are more scared of us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find something to break before I go insane from all this doom-mongering.” He doesn’t try to stop me. I wanderdeeper into the house and find the old ballroom. The floor is warped, the chandeliers are cocoons of cobwebs. Perfect. I raise my hand, and a ball of red-gold energy fizzes into existence, creating a vortex that spirals outwards, causing destruction in its wake.
The truth is, Dreven is right. The Order got too close to us. The seer sensed the sheer power that has descended on their small village. There is no way to hide it. We bleed power. It’s who we are. But perhaps a little meddling won’t go amiss.
I leave the ball to cause chaos in the ballroom and vanish, appearing beside the seer, under a cloak of invisibility, as she lingers outside a small shop, smoking a cigarette, under the cover of her umbrella.
“You, my dear,” I say, leaning in and crushing the end of her cigarette between my fingers. “Are a bit of a problem.”
“Who’s there?” she mutters, dropping the cigarette.
“There’s nothing at Marrow House. Just a drafty old mansion full of ectoplasmic residue. You’re just stressed. Overworked. Seeing things.” I let a thread of chaotic energy slip into her mind to scramble the signal. The next time she has a vision, it will be of singing badgers and raining teacups. No one will believe a word she says. She clutches her head, groaning.
“Dastian,” she mumbles, and I freeze. She inhales deeply, and her eyes fly open as clear as day as she smiles coldly. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”
I blink, and the glamour fades from her face, revealing her old, weathered and definitely someone I know.
“Tabitha,” I hiss. “I might’ve fucking known it was you.”
“You have returned. Who let you through?” she demands.
“No clue. Some crazy dude with a death wish.”
She hums, and it slices through my head like a blade made from divine steel. “Compromised the slayer,” she murmurs. “She is under your thrall.”
“She is under no such thing,” I say indignantly. “She rides my cock all of her own volition.”
Tabitha’s expression doesn’t even flicker. No shock, no outrage. Just a cold, calculating assessment that reminds me why I loathe her. “You’ve infected her.”
“Infected? We awakened her. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” She takes a slow drag from a newly manifested cigarette, the tip glowing cherry-red in the gloom. “You always did have a talent for breaking things and calling it progress, Dastian. Aethel should have erased you when she had the chance.”
