Page 42 of Quintus

“Enough with the games, Absinthe,” Quintus growled.

“Look, I know your coven must have some super witchy, voodoo, get out the cauldron and dance naked kind of thing to do, so a little less chatting. Full moon and all. Gotta go soon,” Hunter told her.

Gabriella’s heart pounded in her chest. What the hell did the witch have for her vampire?

“One question before we leave. The outside covens. There’s no chance you might miss one of these witches? Maybe, let’s say, they blend into your coven. New witches. Things go on in the underground all the time…even with the vamps. Rumblings. Rumor is that there’s a particularly rough coven from Salem. Circe.”

Gabriella froze at the name, taking note that Quintus didn’t mention the high priestess. Absinthe smiled broadly in response, her eyes cold as ice.

“I have a private table in a blood room. Care to join me?” she asked.

“Let’s go,” he agreed.

Gabriella’s focus darted to Viktor and Hunter who both moved to follow.

“We all have a stake in this. Agreed?” Quintus asked, but his tone commanded.

Absinthe gave a subtle eye roll, a hiss escaping her lips. “Yes. This way.”

Gabriella held tight to Quintus’ hand as they navigated through the sea of gyrating bodies. The scent of burning sage and sweat drifted in the air. The heat from strangers’ bare skin emanated onto hers. Tunneling through the crowd, she breathed in relief as they approached an open area in the corner. She caught sight of a tattered white linen cloth swaying, light pricking through the porous fabric. Cold air rushed into her lungs as she pressed into the stark white hallway. The walls reflected bright light that shone down from the ceiling. Gabriella calmed as the pounding music went silent, their footsteps echoed as they made their way through an endless labyrinth of winding tunnels.

“Ah, here we are,” she heard Absinthe announce, the hallway abruptly flashing into a red haze.

Gabriella’s pulse raced, an intense magick rushing over her. Easy, little one. She blinked, realizing he’d communicated to her again without speaking. She shoved the uncomfortable realization to the back of her mind, her wolf warning her of danger.

“We’ve arrived,” Absinthe declared.

Gabriella steeled her nerves and straightened her spine as she strode through the threshold into the dimly lit room. Lined with faux leather sofas and white candles, the cozy room appeared innocuous until she spied the sanguine-colored tubes that sprouted from the circular teak coffee table.

Quintus nodded, and she slowly inched her way onto the royal blue cushion, keeping close to her vampires. The door slammed shut, and Absinthe reached for a chilled glass of champagne that sat near an ice bucket to her left.

“Too many prying ears out in the open.”

“Agreed,” Quintus said. “The Circe coven. What do you know?”

“They’re purists. Have been in the U.S. for nearly three hundred years but have mostly flown under the radar.”

“They must have a special kind of broom.” Viktor gave a half smirk, his eyes not revealing a hint of humor.

“Funny, pretty boy.” Absinthe took a deep breath. “They mostly keep to themselves. Inbred some say. In my opinion, they’re dangerous. Always have been. I’m not saying my coven comes without drama but Jesus, you don’t need to sign up with a cult that won’t let their witches even look at another breed. And when I use the term cult, that’s exactly what it is.”

Cult. Gabriella had always thought them evil killers, but she’d never considered that she’d grown up in a cult. Scared, intimidated, it was all she’d ever known. Don’t trust them. They’ll kill you. No outsiders were ever welcome. She began to question her deep-seated fear of other covens.

“They’re violent,” Quintus commented.

“Well yes. I suppose. Now wait…are you trying to insinuate it’s them who’s causing the fuss?” she asked, her voice raised.

“I’m not saying anything. I’m just asking questions. Questions that perhaps only a high priestess would know the answers to.”

“I’m not hearing any questions,” she challenged.

“Let’s just say that perhaps it was their coven. That maybe they had a spell of some sort that was riling the supernaturals. And maybe they were threatening certain members of their organizations. How would one most quickly go about…” Quintus went silent and shrugged, raising an eyebrow at her, “ridding themselves of such a problem?”

“Theoretically?” The corner of her mouth upturned slightly.

“Theoretically.” Quintus gave a squeeze to Gabriella’s hand but kept his focus on Absinthe.

“I suppose you’d need an artifact to disable the high priestess. It’s her direction that steers the cult. For example, if you had a car that had been totaled, there would be no other choice but to replace it.”