Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the shifter rising onto his knees. He strained upward, head lifted, and demanded, “What needle? What happens to you if you don’t bite me?”
“Don’t you care about what will happen to you if Ido?”
“No,” he snapped, hard and low. “Tell me, Josephine.”
She tightened her arms around her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut. “If I don’t bite a subject, Papa takes a needle and sticks it into the roof of my mouth to extract my venom. Then he puts it into the subject. The first time, I thought maybe it would not work the same, but I was wrong. It still works.”
She could practically hear the shifter’s thoughts whirling around in his mind, trying to process all that she told him. At last, he asked, “Does that hurt you?”
She lifted a shoulder. Josephine did not intend to tell him that every time it felt like a knife was sliding through her soft palate and into her brain. Like the drawing of the syringe’s plunger felt like a nail being slowly pulled from her finger. She got the sense that he would not like hearing that, and since she had every intention of refusing her father again, it did not seem right to trouble him with the knowledge.
Except he didn’t appear to need her confirmation. The shifter strained against his bonds so hard, she could hear the chain links squeaking against one another.“Kone,you will not refuse him this time. Bite me.”
She was so shocked by his command that she lifted her head to give him a brief, horrified look. “Are youmad?”
“No,” he answered, expression cut into such a fierce visage, she could not look away from it. “No, I am not mad. I amafraidfor you. Your father tortures you,kone.I cannot let it continue. Not one minute more. You will bite me. Trust me, it is no hardship.”
“You shouldn’t be afraid for me,” she argued, heartsick. “You should be afraid for yourself!”
“I told you, I cannot get—”
“You can! I’ve seen it again and again!” Josephine’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Do you know what happens when a shifter gets my venom?”
“What?”
A hot tear splashed down her cheek. “They lose their animal.”
ChapterThirteen
An excerptfrom the article “Exploring Lyssa: The Story of Josephine Wyeth,” written by Elise Sasini and featured in The San Francisco Light, May 17th, 2048—
I am not entirely sure how it happens, but by the end of the evening, I’ve somehow been wrangled into accompanying Vanessa up to the Coven Collective in two days. It feels less like an invitation and more like I’ve only just been informed of plans already decided on.
“Come up to the Gulch with me,” she demands, cheeks pink with her second martini and those remarkable eyes sparkling. “I have to go up anyway to finalize some stuff with my mom, so it’ll be perfect. You can sit her down for an interview.”
Of course, I’m thrilled by the invitation, forceful as it is, but I can’t help but ask, “Doesn’t your mother historically turn down interviews?”
Vanessa waves her hand again. “Yeah, but I’ll be there. It’s different.”
I keep expecting Vanessa to sheepishly rescind the offer. It never happens, but somehow that is enough. A handful of spare text messages come through. One contains flight information. The other ominously advises me to “pack boots and bug spray.”
Two days later, we board the m-jet to Seattle. Vanessa spends the entire flight with a champagne flute in one hand and her tablet in the other. When I ask her what she’s reading, she tilts her screen to give me a look.
It’s an announcement from the Sovereign’s Office. I’m surprised I missed it, given I am usually first to know about these things, and then I remember that I’d spent most of the day packing and spending time with my mate, who was huffy about my short trip. Out of respect for him, I’d shut off my devices until it was time to leave for the airport.
I skim the first paragraph of the announcement and feel my eyebrows inch closer to my hairline.
“Three million dollars?” I ask, rereading the sentence twice more.
“Three million tostart,” Vanessa replies, sounding more thoughtful than overwhelmed. Pulling the tablet back over to her lap, she gives me a quick run-down of the announcement in her brisk, no-nonsense way. “Looks like the sovereign’s consort has picked her charitable cause. She’s donating a bunch of money to Were outreach and health services. The director of Solbourne General is taking the lead, looks like.”
It’s a huge deal, considering the Were community has only been officially recognized as such recently. For many years, an infected person was simply thrown out of their community out of fear and a lack of resources for managing the changes. Having funds available for care and the public support of the highest ranking people in the territory could be revolutionary.
“You don’t seem surprised,” I venture.Or particularly pleased.
“I’m not.” Vanessa’s thumb moves over to the screen. When I peek at it, I see that she has scrolled to the bottom of the statement. There, beneath the straightforward promises and clear plan of action, is a signature.
Margot Goode, Healer & Sovereign’s Consort
