Opening the bottom drawer of my desk, I withdrew a vial of mercury. It slithered against the glass, alive and hungry, then trembled as I poured it onto the scrying mirror’s surface. It pooled, then surged into the cracks, stitching the silver with quicksilver veins. A petty waste of resources, but symbolism had its uses.
Let the girls find it later. Let them wonder what secrets the reflection now held. Tools always showed their wear eventually.
The clock chimed, and the mirror finished repairing itself just in time. My spy in the vampire court would be waiting.
“Arabesque.” Recognition pricked my skin at a familiar voice warped by the mirror’s Dark magic. The surface darkened, then bloomed with a wavering silhouette. “Your stepdaughter has charmed the king. He hasn’t stopped singing her praises since returning from Evermere.”
I schooled my surprise into a laugh.
“Tell meallabout it,” I crooned, my mind spinning each tidbit like a jewel in the light, looking for where to best place it on my future crown.
“—and now Kaori has asked to meet her.”
With that, the spy severed the connection, and I allowed myself a tiny smirk.
Lucian was enjoying his new queen too much. The distraction provided an unexpected advantage. By the time he smelled the poison in his court’s veins, I’d be carving my throne from his ribs.
5. Tired of Coddling
Amabel Harrow
I paced to the tall arched window that overlooked the sprawling fields of the Bell homestead. The setting sun cast long shadows across the Michigan countryside, painting the farmland in deceptively peaceful hues of amber and gold. My reflection stared back at me. Dark hair sleek around my shoulders, eyes narrowed with calculation.
The robin’s vision still played in my mind like a theater reel I couldn’t shut off. I’d seen everything through its beady eyes: the hawk’s perfect dive toward Serafina, the flash of the curse as it activated, and then… Chaos. Those damn dhampirs moving with inhuman speed, that big blond one taking the hit for her.
“The curse worked,” I whispered to my reflection.
That was the only consolation. The Withering Veil had taken root. I’d felt the telltale pulse of magic that confirmed successful embedding, but the satisfaction was hollow.
I closed my eyes, imagining whatshouldhave happened. Serafina would have begun to fade slowly, like a photograph left too long in sunlight. First, strangers would look through her as if she weren’t there. Then acquaintances would forget conversations mid-sentence. Eventually, even those closest to her would struggle to remember her name, her face blurring in their memories until she became a ghost in her own life.
And she would never even know why it was happening.
“They were ready,” I said, pressing my palm against the cool glass. “How were they so damnready?”
Had Serafina warned them?
No,I decided, dismissing the thought as quickly as it had come. She was many things, but not a seer, and there was no other way she would have known.
So, what, then? Those husbands of hers simply operated on a level of paranoia that accounted for magical attacks?
That sounded more plausible for the monster hunters known as the Cimmerians.
I turned away from the window, crossing to my vanity where I’d laid out the grimoire with The Withering Veil curse. My fingers traced the ancient script, feeling the power still humming within the pages.
“They weren’t just strong. They were prepared. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
A cardinal landed on my windowsill, its crimson feathers bright against the darkening sky. I stared at it, calculating. Perhaps birds weren’t the right messengers. Perhaps we needed something more subtle.
“Fighting prepared enemies head-on is how idiots die,” I told the bird, which cocked its head as if considering my words before flying away.
I wasn’t afraid of those dhampirs; fear was for lesser beings without my abilities. But I wasn’t stupid, either. Mother had taught me better strategy than rushing into battle against opponents who clearly had resources we hadn’t anticipated.
Hell, Sun Tzu had taught me better when I readThe Art of Warat age nine.
“We need to be smarter. More patient.”
I ran my fingers through my hair as I sank onto the edge of my bed.
