They both attended university, even made a few mortal friends, but it became difficult to hide what they were when more and more Daemons began to integrate into society. Every day that they sat in those stuffy lecture halls or wandered round the bars in town, Adriana worried that another Daemon may sense something. She’d spent years training herself to appear mortal, and had made sure to feed in private from bottles of Cass’ blood or blood bags she stole from hospitals.
Daemons being accepted into society did have one upside. Blood bags were readily available for any hungry Lamiae, and Adriana could easily swipe a few from the weekly handouts intown without anyone really caring. The blood parties were her preferred method of feeding, though.
After a while, Cass made the decision to not hide her magic, and urged Adriana to do the same. They told the few mortal friends they had made at university that they were in fact Incantrices and, despite Adriana’s concerns, they were not shunned or feared or abandoned. They were welcomed, even congratulated for being truthful. But Adriana couldn’t help but feel it was even more of a lie to call herself an Incantrix when she was so much more than that, so much worse.
Cass stayed in touch with their friends after they graduated. Some of them would still come round during the evenings, but Adriana had begun to make herself scarce long before then. She got a job working late nights in a bar owned by Mitch. Most of the staff were Daemons, too, but she never told any of them what she really was.
No one really knew her, not truly. Only Mitch and Cass knew what she was, but no one knewwhoshe was. Not even Adriana herself knew that anymore.
She avoided looking at Cass as she took the damp cloth from her and continued to wipe at her face. “I’m sorry, Cass. I wasn’t thinking.”
Cass was twenty-four now, two years older than Adriana’s frozen age of twenty-two, and she was the closest friend Adriana had ever had. Though they did not look alike, with Cass’ rich black skin, dark curly hair and gorgeous brown eyes, they would call each other their sister. Not by blood but by choice. And so Adriana felt awful for her stupidity, for putting not only herself but her sister at risk.
“I just needed more tonight,” Adriana explained. “I needed the pain. I’m sorry.”
“I take it you fed, too?”
Adriana nodded. Mitch always made sure she fed before leaving, but she didn’t like discussing it with Cass, or with anyone really. It was her dirty secret that only she and whoever she’d feed from would know. It was why the blood parties made things so much easier; sometimes it felt like the only time she could give into what she truly was, was in a place where no one would ever even care enough to ask for her name.
Ever since being taken in by Armida Romilly, she had learnt to curb her bloodlust and reduce her likelihood of frenzies, using the strength in her powers to stay in control of herself. Armida often filled small bottles with her own blood so Adriana did not have to feed from someone, something that her descendents continued to do for her, including Cass. Their Incantrix blood meant it was stronger than mortal blood, so she did not struggle with bloodthirst as often as other Lamiae who drank from mortals tended to.
Drinking stored blood was nothing like feeding, though. It did not involve the desire, it was purely about sustenance and nowhere near as satisfying as feeding from someone. Nothing could compare to the euphoria of biting into the neck of a person as they writhed in pleasure.
Cass rose from her knees, snapping Adriana out of her thoughts as she took the cloth back. She scooped up her discarded bloodied clothes, throwing them in the washing machine with the cloth, and opening the fridge to search for something.
“Well, if you need any while I’m out, there’s three bottles left in the fridge.”
“I still don’t understand why you keep them in the fridge.”
“It’s a drink, isn't it? I figured it might taste fresher. There’s beer, too, if you want to cure your hangover, hair of the dog and all.”
Adriana laughed at her, not bothering to correct her that fresh blood was the type to pump out of a recently inflicted wound rather than in glass bottles, stocked in a fridge, next to the beer. It was comical how easily they fit together. One of the bottles contained Cass’ blood, whilst the others were from the weekly handouts, courtesy of the World Court’s generosity.
When the World Court formed at the start of 2020 and the UK government laid their laws of all Daemons carrying identification cards, they knew they were screwed. They’d have to show their brands to a leader of the Courts, who would then provide them with a card labelling them as mortal, Lamia, Lupus, or Incantrix. Apparently, it was to ensure the safety of everyone, though Adriana always felt it was just another way for mortal leaders to separate Daemons from mortals within their cohabitating society.
Fortunately, Mitch was able to get his hands on a prototype of the identification cards before they were rolled out. According to him, he had ‘gently persuaded’ a mortal customer of his bar who just so happened to work for the government to provide him a copy. Using that, he managed to make two fakes for Cass and Adriana, labelling them as two regular Incantrices. He didn’t ask questions, he just gave them what they needed. Mitch was good like that. He knew who they both were, what they both were, and he accepted it all under discretion.
They could stay under the radar that way, just two young women who were distant descendants of The Three, with fake surnames that were nothing special, nothing that needed to be looked at. Thankfully, no one ever seemed to check up on Incantrices like they did with Lamiae and Lupi, partly due to the fact there was no Incantrix Court. The other Court leaders thought Striga’s bloodline had been wiped out and had never sought out Divina’s descendents, and so the Court never reformed. It likely never would, seeing as the heirs to Striga’sand Divinas’s seats currently sat together in a small flat in Manchester and refused to make their heritage known to others. No one would ever think to check up on Addie Brown and Cassandra Campbell.
The World Court consisted of three Courts. The mortal world leaders, three Lupus leaders who were descendents from Allen, Akinyi and Rhys, and six of the Pureblood Lamiae. And, of course, the leader of it all: Xander.
Adriana knew they had to do everything they could to hide from him; she knew she would lose every bit of control if he were to find her. The only times she had suffered a frenzy since her rebirth was when his name had been mentioned whilst she was hungry, or if her thoughts lingered on him for too long during a moment of weakness, or if his face was on yet another news channel.
It had been particularly difficult to avoid seeing him when he had been on every single television since the year 2000, campaigning for peace between mortals and Daemons. He looked exactly the same, only his hair was shorter and more well kept, and he had a faint scar that ran down the side of his left cheek from his cheekbone disappearing into his stubble beard. The same scar from the cut that had dripped blood into her mouth before she’d died… the blood that had changed her forever.
The last time she had lost control was fifty five years ago, when she had snuck out of the Romilly household she’d been in and travelled to London to attend her first blood party. The underground clubs had been going on for a few decades, welcoming Daemons and open minded mortals, but she had never thought to brave one until then. It was there that she’d met Mitchell. The two of them allowed each other to feed from one another in heated passion, and then she had seen Deion and Edward walk down the stairs arm in arm.
She flipped out. Her entire body ran hot, her control in her powers almost disappeared. She ran to one of the back rooms, stripping her gloves and dress in an attempt to cool down as her body began to glow with painful light. That was when Mitchell had seen her brands.
He’d followed her out of concern for her sudden change in demeanour, and saw the markings on her back and arms. He said nothing as he locked the door behind him and approached her with his hands up to show he was not a threat. Mortals were becoming increasingly aware of Daemons by that point, but they had not been accepted into society, and any displays of magic were met with riots of outrage, often resulting in Daemons being hunted down and slaughtered. And Adriana had begun to fall into a frenzy, itching to kill.
She told Mitchell she could not be seen by the two Lamiae who had come in, she could not be caught by anyone with her brands on display. As he’d stared at her, she had expected him to alert Deion and Edward. Everyone knew who they were, every Lamia knew the Courts. Instead, he simply asked, “What can I do to help you?”
She was unsure why he was offering any kind of support to someone he had just met. But she knew she wasn’t in a position to argue or question, she just needed to feel in control of her body again before she did something awful.
“I need you to hurt me,” she had told him. “You see these scars? I need you to hurt them. I need to choose the pain, to ground me and let me escape all at once.”
Mitchell didn’t say anything, didn’t ask anything else, he just obliged her wishes.
