A deep-seated nausea took root in my belly, spreading like ice through my veins. My ring thrummed and tightened uncomfortably, as if it too were reacting to the image before us.
“Michelle Nelson was marked for death,” Dan explained. “Only Bloodwrights can see these markings, so I recognized what the police couldn’t. Of course, I can’t issue it into evidence, but it got me thinking. Michelle wasn’t the only dead body to show up in the morgue with these markings.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “What do you mean?”
He pulled more files and more autopsy photos; nothing gruesome or terribly traumatic, but different body parts with the golden sigil tattoo—on arms, legs, torsos, backs. It looked like there were at least 20 other case files, including various victims, causes of death, but with one thing in common—they all had a golden sigil tattoo. My hand drifted to my left arm, rubbing the mark softly, feeling a phantom itch.
“This is only from the past six months.” Uncle Dan ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. “I typically don’t even look too closely at the autopsy photos, just read the reports, but I started to notice more and more death marks, and started taking my own photos. The victims have nothing in common; most of the causes of death are accidental or natural. But then Michelle Nelson turns up murdered . . .”
“And you get assigned as the ADA to try the case,” I finished for him. “So you decided to dig deeper. Why not bring this to the Council?”
Dan sat next to me, his eyes wild with passion. “Idid, and they dismissed it. Said it was a coincidence and that I should let it go lest I draw unwanted attention.”
“You’re clearly good at following instructions,” I replied dryly, my gaze moving to the map across the table. “You’ve been keeping track of emergences not just in New York, I see.”
He jumped up. “Yes. I have contacts with other Bloodwrights from other smaller councils around the world, and a few of them have also noticed an uptick, but also maintain that the majority seem to be coming out of New York.”
“So, do you think the New York Council has something to do with this?” I asked.
“God, I hope not, but it makes you wonder. It mademewonder, so every free moment I’ve had, I’ve been trying to get to that boy, the one we arrested for the Nelson murder. I want a moment alone with Jacob Donohoe to evaluate him for any Bloodwright influence, but his lawyer filed a motion blocking me until the arraignment, so I can’t access him outside of the courtroom.”
“You think he’s a Bloodwright?”
“Either that, orhe was under a more experienced Bloodwright's influence when he committed the murder,” Dan elaborated, shaking his head in frustration. “His lawyer continues to claim that Jake had no memory of that night and that he did not kill Michelle. All he remembers is meeting up with Michelle after school in the library and then waking up in the locker room next to her dead body early the next morning.”
The thought churned in my stomach. “That would mean there are Rogue Bloodwrights again. Forcing emergences. That’s suicide—they’d draw the Stonebound.”
Uncle Dan’s expression hardened. “Unless that’s the point. Unless they want to draw them out. To destroy them.”
I shook my head slowly. “That would take an army.”
“Exactly.” His voice trembled as he sank into the chair beside me. “And that’s what all of this points to. A coordinated effort. A war on the horizon.”
The silence that followed pressed heavy on my chest. For the first time, I realized Uncle Dan wasn’t just exhausted or haunted. He was afraid.
I closed my eyes in concentration, trying to feel the echo of my power enough to let it flow freely through me, just as Alaric had said. Right now, we were in the Archive of Shadows, a specific training area that existed within the New York chapter of the Bloodwright Council. The entire New York chapter existed underground, beneath St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan. While there were only currently five members on the Council, there were upwards of twenty-two Bloodwright members who had turned up within the last two years. Most were apparently younger, having been officially initiated recently, making it appropriate for their presence in this secret place. While my presence on the other hand wasn’t exactly welcomed.
Apparently, after the Ancient Council fell to the Stonebound and their Warden a thousand years ago, smaller councils scattered across continents had taken their place. But they didn’t work together. They barely spoke. Sitting here underground, I understood why. After last night’s chase, solitude felt safer than solidarity.
I sat on the cold stone in the center of the room that was the training space. With my eyes closed, my other senses were heightened—the smell of iron and old stone mingled with the creaking of the floor above us and the sound of Alaric’s careful footsteps as he walked circles around me. I swear I could almost hear the sound of his teeth grinding as he waited for me to do something.
And that was the problem. Nothing was happening.
This training was starting to feel more like an unproductive mediation session where I just focused on my breathing and tried to bring my power to the surface. My right pointer finger felt naked after Alaric had taken my ring again for training purposes. But since this place was warded against wandering death echoes and the Stonebound, I’d be safe. In theory.
“You’re not focusing.” Alaric’s deep voice echoed across the chamber, making the hair on my arms rise.
“I’m trying,” I replied curtly, attempting to bring my mind back to my breath, back to the vibrations within my own body.
“Your power flows through you like the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs,” he continued, the sound of his voice getting closer till it felt like he was right beside me. “You have to think of it in tangible terms, even though it is not. Like with the death echoes at the pool. Visualize your power as it floods through you from your center down to your fingertips.”
I nodded, furrowing my brow in concentration. I tried to picture my power much like my heart, at the center of my chest where a deep thrumming felt like it was echoing against my chest. I leaned into that sensation, willing my power to make itself known to me in some tangible way. Something stirred in my fingertips, a warmth that fizzled out before I could hold on to it. Like I was trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
I groaned in frustration, shoving my head into my hands, refusing to meet Alaric’s disappointed gaze.
“Enough,” Alaric said at last, voice low but sharp. “If you cannot call your power seated, perhaps you will call it hunted.”
My head snapped up at his words. “Come again?”
