Chapter 14

A witch never selects her true name. It's chosen for her, not by her parents but by her sisters.

-A Witch's Guide to the Arcane

Quiet

"Ihear voices," Rorick said.

The air grew colder as we neared the sitting room that separated the east wing from the main spire of the castle. Little white butterflies flew out between the columns in a small swarm.

"They made it!" I exclaimed, lifting my skirts above my boots to speed ahead.

I could hear them, my sisters, and relief and joy washed over me. Relief that was immediately crushed by the daunting weight of what was at stake if I failed to find the culprit in time and escape this horrid place.

Theywere at stake. These women I loved.

"Perhaps if we shouted again, Quiet might realize we've arrived." Prim's sugary voice reached me first.

"No," Astor groaned, "no more bloody shouting. My throat is on fire as it is."

"Colder than a witch's tit out here," Goose grumbled.

I sprinted into the sitting room, leaping over the river of inky darkness that separated the chamber from the columned entrance. "Sisters!"

Prim let out a cheer. Her warm brown eye appeared, peeking through the hole above the desiccated stump of a werewolf's hand.

"There you are!" Goose said, her voice younger and higher than her usual alto.

"About time!" Astor said from somewhere on the balcony out of sight. "I was beginning to think your butterflies forgot what they were supposed to be doing in there."

Butterflies were indeed forgetful, and I was so proud of mine for staying the course long enough to bring them to me.

Rorick hung back near the columns. "There's a witchling here," he said, worry in his voice.

"It's just Goose," I explained.

Concern lined his face and tugged down his mouth. "I don't think this is the place for children. Even if she's a witch. It's too dangerous."

"I'm no child!" Goose's amber eye appeared in the hole, narrowed to a slit. "Tell your tick to shut his potato trap."

"She's not a child," I told him. "What you're seeing is a common side effect for witches who study time magic. They tend to bounce around from maiden to crone, especially after they've cast a spell. Occasionally they manifest as a child, though that happens less often."

"Mind your business, tick," Goose said, and all I could see of her was her moving lips until she shuffled back to make room for the others. At a quick glance, she appeared to be about eleven years old with wind-whipped light brown hair and tawny skin.

"I take it you've had a good look at the castle?" I asked them.

"We have." Prim was back in front of the hole, voice sweet and gentle. Her wand was the heavy pair of goggles she wore over her braided black hair. She specialized in the sociology of magical beings with an interest in lesser creatures. She was the perfect person to diagnose the castle.

Her skin was sable, and her smile was a welcome ray of sunshine in the middle of the night. I didn't often crave affection, but I wouldn't have turned away one of her fierce hugs just then. Not after all I'd been through in the last few days.

"It'd be better if we could look inside the castle," Astor muttered, always the overprotective pessimist. I still couldn't see her, though.

"I wish I could get you inside too," I said solemnly, and I meant my words. We especially needed Astor. Her wand was a revolver, and her specialty was metallurgy. Magical bullets made by her never missed.

Astor moved in front of the opening. She wore an enchanted fedora over her auburn hair, instead of our typical conical hats. Arctic blue eyes fixed on Rorick behind me. "You." She crooked a finger at him. "I'd like a word with you."

I stepped aside so Rorick could have my place. He zipped over and leaned in closer to the hole. His nose scrunched. The rot from the dead wolf hand was pungent even with the filter of fresh air. "How can I help you?"

Astor lifted her wand lazily and spun the cylinder. "I just wanted to introduce myself."

"Introduce yourself," he asked, "or introduce me to that weapon of yours?"

"Both," she said, sighting down the barrel at something off in the distance. She pulled back the hammer, cocking her wand. "If you hurt any of my sisters, I'd think nothing of putting a bullet of magic between your eyes, tick. The only reason why I didn't after what happened last year is because Quiet wouldn't like it."

"Ah. I see what this is," Rorick said patiently.

"Do you now?" Astor lifted a ginger brow. "If you hurt our girl again, I won't care so much about her feelings on the subject anymore. Understand?"

"Perfectly," Rorick said.

I wanted to roll my eyes and squeeze her all at the same time.

"Since you witches are supposedly a bunch of brilliant geniuses," Rorick said dryly, "I take it you've already thought of a few ways to get us out of here, yes?"

"Not exactly." Prim's sigh was as beleaguered as it was melodious. I heard the metal thud of one of the special lenses on her set of goggles sliding into place. "The castle appears to be less actual building and more creature at this point. It's manifesting the features of a greater shifter. We can't just throw open the doors and let ourselves in. In fact, we're trying not to even poke it so hard that it . . . well, you know."

"Eats us faster?" Rorick offered.

"The darkness you see in patches on the outside, it's feeding coffin-dwellers here on the inside," I told her.

Her brown eyes went wide. "Coffin-dwellers by their very nature are made stronger by what they consume, living and dead. And where there are many lesser coffin-dwellers gathered—"

"—there's a greater one," I said solemnly. "It's not the only thing that poses a threat in here. The halls are swarming with vengeful spirits and mischievous clown specters. I'm reasonably sure the castle did something to the large staff of geds who lived here. It's sophisticated. At one point, I even suspected it was responsible for Penance's murder, though I now doubt that theory. Penance and the late duke were poisoned. I don't think the castle would fuss with toxins when it could just trap them inside and eat them slowly the way it likes. It's more likely that their murder gave the consequences already brewing here full sway."

Astor stepped back to join the others. Prim had lines under her eyes left by her goggles. She rubbed at them. Over Rorick's shoulder, I watched them huddling together on the balcony, and my chest ached dully. I wanted to be in that huddle, surrounded by the comfort of the family I'd chosen for myself.

"What was Penance even doing here of all places?" Astor demanded, holstering her sidearm.

"She and the duke were courting," Prim offered quietly.

Simultaneously, all heads turned to gawk at her.

"What?" Prim shrugged. "She asked me not to tell. I don't share any of your secrets either when you request it."

Astor ran a hand down her face. "First Quiet goes soft on the vamps, now Penance. I don't like it. I don't trust them."

Rorick shifted his weight uneasily but didn't comment.

Prim pulled her goggles back down over her eyes, examining the scaly darkness and sharp teeth that made up what remained of the balcony doors. "If we could get inside, we could help destroy the castle-creature from within. Stop it from turning fully into the biggest coffin-dweller I've ever seen."

"I still think we should cast a shrink spell on me," Goose said, pulling her woolen cloak up higher around her shoulders against the winter chill. "Then I could ride one of Quiet's insects inside through the hole."

"We already discussed this," Astor grumped. "How would Quiet get you back to regular size without destroying your heart?"

"Gradually," Goose insisted.

"We ran the math," Prim said gently. "It would take years to grow you back to size safely."

I frowned.

"Are you upset because your sisters are stuck out there away from you," Rorick whispered in my ear, "or are you frowning because they did math without you?"

My lips quirked. "A little of both."

"I think," Astor scolded, "you keep bringing up this shrinking business because you just want to ride around on a moth."

"You don't know that!" Goose fired back. Although she kept most of her adult sensibilities when in child form, she occasionally regressed in certain ways. "Maybe I'd rather ride around on a spider. Don't pretend you know my mind."

"We're not going to shrink anyone," I said. "This is not a place to make ourselves more vulnerable. Even out there, it's not safe. The corpse-eaters won't bother you, but there are ichors and werewolves and coffin-dwellers about that certainly will."

"We've got it taken care of," Astor said. "Worry about your own hide for now. Ours is well-covered."

"Hers is covered too," Rorick insisted, and heat poured off of him. His pale skin looked clammy.

"Thank you. So is yours, of course," I added softly. I wanted to reach out and feel his forehead, but I refrained. Gilbert landed in his hair again, like he'd read my mind.

"Blech," Astor said. "Too soft, you are."

Chuckling, I lifted my palm, calling the butterflies to me. As each of them perched daintily on one of my fingers, I whispered instructions to them.

"They're coming with you," I told my sisters when I was finished. The small white butterflies fluttered back out of the hole, swooping around Astor's fedora. "If you think of something, they'll fetch me."

"We're making camp in the courtyard," Prim said. "A good shout should be able to summon us if there's a problem."

"Keep any fires low. The castle doesn't like them," I warned.

"Hm," Prim hummed. "Good to know."

"And one other thing, Primrose," I said, removing my hat. I dug out the parchment lizard, only it had rolled itself into something that resembled lumpy paper. The blueprint was a mess on its back. "I found this creature tucked inside a book. I need to observe the map on its hide. I'm trying to find a secret passage the former duke used to come and go from the castle. It might be a way out of here."

Prim squealed delightedly at the chance to interact with yet another beast. "Hand him over," she cooed.

Careful of the rotten edges of the opening, I slipped the parchment lizard out to her.

Prim cradled the creature in her arms like it was a babe. She slid a colorful lens down over her goggles, and a red glow shone out through the right eye hole, Prim's magic at work. The paper squirmed in her arms.

"Fascinating," she said. "You're just delightful, aren't you?" The creature reformed into the gecko-like being from before. Its long tail wrapped around her arm.

"Is he some sort of lesser shifter?" I asked.

Goose came over to investigate. She tickled under the lizard's chin, and his long tongue lolled happily out of his mouth.

"Not at all," Prim said, smiling down at the small beast like he was her firstborn. "He's a fae creature made of glamour. Their magic is different. It's not of our world. Let me keep him for a day. I'll get back to you about the map."

I didn't want to say goodbye to my sisters so soon, but it was clear this wasn't a problem we were going to solve in one night, and Rorick was looking unwell. I didn't like the sheen of sweat on his forehead or the green cast to his skin.

"Didn't you want to have a look at the wards in the east wing?" Rorick asked me as I headed away from the columned entrance, into the main portion of the castle. He followed at my side.

I waited until we were far enough away that my sisters couldn't hear me. "You're getting sicker," I accused.

A muscle in his cheek jumped, but he didn't deny it. "The sun will be here soon. That's not helping. Sunrise always weakens me."

"This much?" I asked.

Even his walk seemed stiffer and slower. "Not this much," he confessed. Gilbert fluttered from his shoulder to his hair and back again, evidence of where my fretful wishes were firmly focused.

He followed me back to the small sanctuary we'd made of the bedroom by the stairs in a silence so absolute I could hear something slithering between the walls. The messages scribbled across the bottom of the oil portraits of Rorick's relatives had changed, but the letters remained backward.

Save the children, it now read.

Wish we could. We were more than a little preoccupied with saving ourselves.

I opened the bedroom door for him. Lightning beetles crawled across the ceiling, igniting the room. When he hesitated in the threshold, a stubborn look in his eye, I set my jaw and pointed a threatening finger in the direction of the bed we shared. He would do as he was told, or I'd make his life very unpleasant. None of this needed to be said aloud. He knew me well enough, and he gave in with a huff.

Rorick plopped onto the bed as I secured the door. He was agile and didn't need the stepstool, even as sick as he was.

I came to stand in front of him. He buried his head in his hands rather than look at me. I kicked at his boot, but he continued to hide his face from me mulishly.

"I can't do it, Quiet," he said, palms firmly over his eyes. "I won't bite you. I won't be the reason you have nightmares again."

"Nightmares," I said with more patience than I felt for his foolishness. He was being the worst sort of martyr, and if it wouldn't have been completely pointless, I'd have pinched him for it. "Is that what all this brooding is about? You're afraid you'll give me nightmares?"

"I have before," he groused. "It stands to reason I'll do it again. It'd be completely different if this was something you wanted even a little, but it's not. So I can't."

I shifted in closer until my thigh bumped against his knee. "I did have nightmares about that night, but . . . well, it's not what you're thinking . . ."

Finally, his hands dropped. He looked at me, smudges under his eyes and skin splotchy with fever. "What do you mean?"

I wrung my fingers in front of me. The ward on my wrist clinked. Gilbert continued to circle Rorick's head anxiously until I sent him to his perch on the desk blotter to rest.

"While I did have nightmares about that night . . . it wasn't entirely your unexpected bite that inspired them," I confessed, cheeks warming.

His lavender eyes, duller than their usual sheen, narrowed. "Not the biting," he parroted.

I cleared my throat, hunting for courage. It felt a bit like I was taking my clothes off in front of him, sharing these vulnerable things. "In the dreams," I explained, "you'd take my blood and then I couldn't save you. You died in my arms every night for over a month. Prim had to mix me a potion to make them stop."

As the words settled over Rorick, his brow slowly smoothed. The corner of his mouth curled upward into the laziest half-smile that made me want to pinch him again. "Your nightmares were that I died? Not that I'd frightened and hurt you? Not that I bit you and made you terrified that I was about to drain you dry like some horrid monster?"

I rolled my eyes, annoyed that he sounded so delighted. "Yes. I dreamed that you died, and then when I awoke, I'd forget that we weren't partners anymore. I wanted to come and see you to scold you about your terrible dream behavior, but I couldn't. You might as well have died based on how terribly you acted. You vanished on me."

His slowly spreading smile made muscles low in my belly clench.

"Your pulse is racing," he said, and his voice dropped an octave. He patted the space beside him. "Have a seat here next to me, Quiet."

The organ in my chest took off like it was trying to escape the cage of my ribs. The pulse between my thighs and in my throat surged. I swallowed hard. "I think I'd rather stand, if it's all the same."

He smoothed the bedding out in one slow stroke. "It's not the same. If we're going to do this," he purred, "then we're going to do it right. Not like last time. First, we're going to make you as comfortable as possible."

"And then?" My voice broke. I worked my throat to clear it.

"And then we'll see to our needs." His lavender eyes darkened to plum, and his pupils shot through.

Our needs. Not just his. Those words hung between us, heavy and unexpected and utterly compelling. I felt pulled to the spot he'd readied for me, closer to him.

I struggled to climb the high bed. He offered me a hand, and when his palm engulfed mine, connection simmered through us. I felt the phantom of his touch even after he released me.

"Take off your boots and stockings. Get comfortable," he said. When I hesitated, he added, "Or I can remove them for you, if you'd like."

I removed them myself, dropping boots and stockings in a pile on the carpet. Finished, I sat up beside him, his scent of cider strengthened in my nose. I could nearly taste him on the tip of my tongue.

"Does everyone think you smell like apples?" I asked, always the scientist. The thought was out of my mouth before I could process it.

His broad smile revealed his fangs. They seemed longer and sharper than before, and they gleamed in the glow cast by the lightning beetles crawling across the ceiling.

"You can smell me?" It was like a switch had been flipped. His expression changed, his scent grew stronger, his pupils dilated.

I blinked at him, confused by the question. "Can't everyone?"

"No," he said, and he scooted in closer, pressing his thigh to mine. "Not everyone. To most people, I smell like nothing. A countermeasure that protects my kind from other hunters."

"Oh?"

"Only the people who want me to bite them can smell me."

Our eyes met. "Well, of course I want you to bite me. I can't have you slipping into unconsciousness, now can I?"

He chuckled like I'd said something intentionally funny. "That's not the kind of wanting I mean. Usually, I catch the person scenting me and know we're a match. How long have you been able to smell me?"

I wasn't answering that question. I already felt naked before him, like I'd revealed my darkest secrets. Those thoughts and feelings belonged only inside my head, and that was where they were going to stay. Internally, where they couldn't cause trouble.

Where they couldn't hurt me.

I hadn't realized I was revealing something so personal, but the news had transformed him from stubborn martyr to hungry, seductive hunter. I had mixed feelings about both.

"Where would you like me to bite you, Quiet?" he asked, voice silky smooth and rich enough to taste. "You've thought about it before, haven't you?"

My pulse jumped in my thigh. Immediately, an image of his lips pressed over that demanding surge of blood popped into my mind. I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear the image.

"You have a beautiful mind and long, long legs," he said, his kind words a balm for my nerves, "so I know where I want to bite you, but you should be the one to pick."

He sat beside me patiently, gaze roving down my skirts, letting me sift through my thoughts. Without looking at him, I laid my arm across his lap like an offering. "Just . . . have a go at that. Please."

He ran one slow finger down the vein in my wrist, and my whole body lit on fire. My cheeks flamed, and my heart stuttered.

"This is so much better now that I know you're going to enjoy it," he breathed. He was all seductive vampire, and I couldn't decide how I felt about that. "Now that I know we're compatible. No wonder you smell so exquisite to me."

"I—I'm . . ." I said dully. My tongue wouldn't cooperate. "I'm going to like it?"

"It's not going to feel like before. I'm not drained of magic and desperate and injured. We're not both stressed and panicked."

I worked my throat. "But I'm feeling a little panicked right now."

His laugh was smooth as velvet. He held my arm over his lap like it was the most precious thing. "There's no hurry. We'll get you ready."

"But the sun . . ."

"We have plenty of time still," he said, and I felt completely hypnotized by all of him. His voice, his scent, his alluring tone, his lovely eyes, his promises to be gentle with me.

His vow that I would like to be bitten. That I wanted it. That some trait in him and some trait in me let off a pheromone that I could scent and so could he. He was all seductive vampire—and I definitely didn't hate it.

Rorick lifted my hand closer to his mouth, and I sucked in a breath.

"Relax, love," he said, and his breath puffed down my arm. "I'm just getting you accustomed to having my lips on you. I'll let you tell me when you're ready. Yes?"

I tried to say something, but only a squeak slipped out. I nodded dumbly.

He brushed his feverish lips over my wrist, watching me out of the corner of his darkened eyes. He left another kiss on my burning skin, then another. And another. The next was wet and warm. He kissed my wrist with teeth and tongue, skimming the thin membrane of flesh gently with his fangs.

My arms pebbled.

Rorick was right. I wanted him to bite me.

"I'm ready," I told him, licking my lips. "Do it now."

As his teeth punctured my flesh, his lavender eyes, blown nearly black, never left my face. Pressure at my wrist released, and a flood of pleasure teased my nerve endings, cascading up my arm. A flush worked down my skin. And then he suckled there, the pull of blood gentle at first. My back bowed.

His next pull was stronger. The connection between us in that moment was blindingly sweet. For just a heartbeat, I tasted the hot flow of intoxicating life as he did, felt it coating my tongue. Pleasure tugged behind my navel and quivered through my core.

I squeezed my thighs together. My free hand knotted in the bedding so fiercely my knuckles went white. I moaned like a wanton, but I no longer felt embarrassed or naked. I felt joined to something greater. A part of a unit. No longer alone.

I lay back on the bed, still connected to my partner, and my knees came up, heels digging into the mattress as he worked his tongue over that pulse point. I felt every lick in a flutter between my thighs, and I wished that was the vein he was sucking on.

"Ugh, you were right," I moaned. "I like it. I'd let you drain me dry, I like it so much!"

One last long, luxurious lick down my arm, and then it was over. The magic in his saliva healed my flesh. It itched dully, but otherwise there were no signs at all that I'd been bitten.

"Oh?" I said lamely, shocked that it was done already. I cleared my throat and sat up on the bed, rubbing at the spot where his teeth had punctured. It was sensitive to touch.

His lips were pinker than before. His eyes glistened, and his skin radiated heat, but he no longer seemed sickly. His warmth made him feel alive.

He chuckled at me, wiping a corner of his mouth with his sleeve. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem disappointed."

"Do I?" I straightened. "No! No, of course not."

"I'd be disappointed if I'd gotten so close to the edge and was stopped. If we kept going," he said, his voice in that smoky purr that made my body warm all over, "you'd have found your release. But we hadn't talked about it. I didn't know if you wanted that."

I stared down at my arm and expected embarrassment to swamp me, but I still felt so connected to him there was no shame to be found. My nipples pebbled against the cotton of my shift.

"Is that what you want?" I asked softly.

His slow smile curled through me, and I felt a corresponding tug between my legs. "After a fantastic meal—and that, love, was a feast for the ages—I always want dessert."