Chapter 6

D ominic

"You didn't think to tell me about her?"

I ignored Vix's piercing stare and focused my attention on the center of the auditorium. The Circle had magicked the hotel's ballroom into a huge, glistening cavern lit by hundreds of thousands of candles hovering in midair. A large cauldron sat in the middle of the room, a metallic gold, waiting for its moment to shine.

A circle of seven high-backed, throne-like chairs sat around the cauldron. Only one was covered by a gauzy white shroud. It was the chair that would remain empty until it was filled by the person elected after all this stupid rigamarole.

"There's nothing to tell," I mumbled back to Vix when it seemed clear she wasn't going to give up the conversation. "Trixie's just a disgruntled tenant from my building. There was bound to be at least one when the letters went out."

Vix shook her head, folded her arms across her chest. "If you want me to do the job you hired me to do, the least you can do is be honest with me."

"I didn't lie to you."

"She's the one, isn't she?"

"What?" I glanced at Vix, startled truly for the first time in a long, long while.

It took me a beat too long to realize what Vix meant. For a split second, I thought she'd been able to see inside my head—witness to the incessant thoughts I'd been having about the curious witch .

Admittedly, some of those thoughts centered on the physical: the image of Trixie's long, slender legs. The way her hair curled invitingly around her face. The smell of her shampoo.

Vix snorted as if she could read my mind. "She's that ‘big rush of power' you met in the alley the other night. The person you were worried might be your brother."

My jaw tightened.

"There's no use denying it," Vix said. "Trixie Gardens is practically a neon sign for repressed magic. The chick glows from a mile away. I'm surprised humans haven't started asking her to read tea leaves and discuss their futures. The woman is a ball of energy."

I gave one succinct nod. "I thought it might be my brother the other night from the sheer amount of magic she gives off. I don't know why it was so intense that night, but—"

"Trixie's birthday's coming up," Vix said. "I Googled her on the way here. She'll turn thirty soon, and that's when witches hit their peak magical abilities. If she hasn't figured out a way to release some of that energy, then she's going to be in trouble."

I gave another nod. I'd had the same thought. I hadn't bothered to tell Trixie because she wasn't exactly reacting well to advice from me these days. Or conversation of any nature. Or really, even my presence.

"Good talk." Vix sat back as the members of The Circle walked on stage covered in their different colored robes. "For what it's worth, she wants you too."

"Huh?"

Vix licked her front teeth and gave me a wink. "The longing's not one-sided, boss."

"How do you know?" I growled. "Your security prowess tell you that?"

"That's all my feminine prowess." Vix winked, bit down on a red lip. "Trust me. She's into you."

"Welcome." Merci Kinkaid, the witch responsible for facilitating the election, wore a gown of midnight blue with sweeping sleeves and a long train. The material was some sort of shiny velvet that glinted beneath the candlelight. "We'll now light the Flame of the Fates."

The room fell silent as Merci flicked her fingers and a black flame licked up the sides of the golden cauldron. She let it burn, watching with a careful eye. When it was ready, she gave another nod.

Silently, the six remaining members of The Circle took their seats on the high-backed chairs circling the cauldron. There was no front to this auditorium and no back. No start, no end to the circle. They were big on analogies here. Very corporate team-building-exercise of them.

Once seated, the members of The Circle waited patiently. All six of them wore different colored robes—emerald green to signify the witches, gold for the elves, deep purple for the dwarves, silver for the werewolves, burgundy for the giants. Black, of course, for the vampires.

The final seat remained empty, covered in gauze. The wildcard seat.

The reason the wildcard selection was such a big deal in the magical community was because this selection could upset the balance of the magical community. Six seats in The Circle were set—there were rules that a witch could only replace a witch, an elf for an elf, a vampire for a vampire. But the seventh seat was a wildcard and could be any species, and that could offset the balance of power in an alarming way for the entire magical world.

"The death of Yarrin Harbringer saddens our community," Merci announced somberly. "Yarrin served The Circle as the wildcard selection for over fifty years, and his loss has rocked our world. While we grieve for him, it is essential to move forward with our selection for the new appointee."

I zoned out as Merci gave a rundown of how things would work. I knew generally how things would go. First, The Fates would spit the names it designated as worthy out of the cauldron, and those would become the nominees. There could be two or twelve, we never knew until the fires burned black and The Fates—our version of a higher power—gave us our options.

Then followed a month-long campaign in which the general public would get to know the nominees through debates, tours, interviews—what have you. When the campaign came to a close, the magical community would vote for our choice. It was a mixture of fate and democracy. I wanted no part of it.

I hoped my name didn't shoot out of that cauldron in a mix of embers and inky black smoke. The last thing I needed was to be in the public eye while my brother was crawling out of hiding and wreaking havoc in my life. My name being chucked out of that cauldron would only lead to disaster.

"We'll start with the incantation now. "

As Merci spoke, a podium of pure gold melted into place before her out of thin air. A moment later, a book slammed down onto the surface, cloaking her in a cloud of dust which she patiently waited to settle before she cracked it open.

As Merci began chanting in the old language, her fingers poised over the black flames, driving them into a frenzy as she called for the power of The Fates, my gaze was drawn across the circle to land on Trixie.

Trixie Gardens had to be the only person in the universe besides me who was unhappy about getting a summons to the wildcard summit. Everyone else in the audience watched the proceedings with rapt attention. And why wouldn't they? Events like this didn't happen often.

The elf who'd served before Yarrin had held the position of wildcard for 153 years. The elf before him, 320 years. It was unusual that Yarrin had only been in power for several decades. He'd been well-liked and mostly impartial, and he hadn't caused waves. Whoever stepped into his shoes would have a hard task of gaining popularity to replace him.

"You think it's going to be another elf?" Vix whispered. "It's hard to think there'll be a change after almost five hundred years of the elves holding the wildcard seat."

I shrugged, not really caring. "Elves are traditionally impartial. They make for good judges. Not super emotional. Not particularly biased. It's not surprising The Fates usually offer elfin candidates."

"I can see someone's cranky."

It wasn't that I was cranky. Well, I was cranky, but it was because I couldn't make out what Trixie was whispering to Emmy. There were cloaking shields on this room set by The Circle that foiled even a vampire's senses by dulling errant noises in the auditorium.

The way Trixie was looking at Emmy had a wisp of jealousy curling in my belly. It was the smile on her face that did me in. I'd never seen Trixie smile like that, as if radiating happiness from the inside out. She was a ray of sunlight in a dark room, and if I let her in, I was pretty sure she could brighten even my black heart.

I couldn't help but smile as I caught Trixie taking another supposedly-sly nip of tequila. She passed the flask to Emmy, who looked disgusted as she took a pull as well. They both giggled a little, stashed the bottle away, and then tried to focus on Merci's incantation.

The discontentment in my gut built. I couldn't figure out why it bothered me that Trixie had a friend that was so close to her, a friend who made her smile so easily. For some inexplicable reason, I ached knowing I'd never see Trixie smile at me like that.

Then it hit me. I was jealous.

Which made no sense because the witch hated my guts. And after the sale of my building went through, I'd never see Trixie again. So why did the thought bother me so much?

"What is happening to you?" Vix looked at me like she was seriously concerned. "Did someone slip a love potion into your drink while I wasn't looking? Merci's about to start reading the names, and you're pining over a witch who is for all intents and purposes your sworn enemy."

"The first candidate is the wizard Lucas Paul the Third." Merci read the name. "Please join us on stage, Lucas. "

Merci waved her hand, and a simple folding chair appeared behind her. A small wizard in the second row of the audience blinked. Stood up. The wizard looked shocked. I could practically feel the poor man's trembling legs from across the room. Lucas Paul the Third was so nervous that as he approached the stage, his toupee drifted upwards about three inches above his head.

Merci watched him carefully, and even I could tell she was trying not to look shocked at The Fates's first selection. It was not Merci's job to judge the candidates. It wasn't anyone's, really. The Fates made their choices based on reasons we'd never understand. It was our job to make sense of it later.

"Our next nominee is an elfin candidate—Levian Brooklyn." Merci let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief that an elf had been nominated. "Please take your place on stage."

Another chair appeared behind Merci as she waved a hand. A silver-haired gentleman who truly looked the part of The Circle made his way up on stage. Levian had dressed for the occasion, as if he'd known there'd be a good chance his name would be called. I was familiar with the Brooklyn bloodline. It was long and boring. A perfect fit for a neutral seventh member of The Circle.

"Good," I said, my hands circling the handles on my auditorium seat. "Let's call that a wrap. Congrats to Levian. Let's get this show on the road."

"Our third nominee." Merci looked at this slip of paper in her hands longer than necessary, as if she really couldn't believe this one. She cleared her throat. "Dominic Kent. "

"Dammit," I murmured.

"Congrats, boss," Vix whispered in my ear. "Knock 'em dead."

I felt my body rise without my brain really having a say about it. I made my way to the stage, feeling numb. My worst nightmare. Fortunately, the only saving grace of my nomination was that I was seated next to Levian Brooklyn. People would take one look at the two of us—a shining beacon of a long-standing, well-respected elfin bloodline and... me .

It might be a month of nuisance dodging interviews, but when the vote came, there'd be no contest, and I'd be forgotten about in another month. I just had to survive the next few weeks. I'd survived three hundred years of war, famine, and tragedy. One month of political rigamarole was nothing.

When I reached my seat, I could practically feel the tension in Merci's shoulders. There'd only been three nominees last time. It seemed like everyone in the room was holding their breath, waiting to make sure it was really, truly over.

We were all ready to be done. Levian was already smiling like he'd won the whole election, which was about right. He really didn't have any competition, seeing as the other options were me and Lucas, and Lucas's hair was floating upwards of a foot above his head now with nervous crackles of magic. He didn't exactly come off as a confident political mastermind.

"It looks like we have our three nominees," Merci said, exhaling a breath. "Thank you everyone for coming, we will now—"

As she spoke, the cauldron angrily bubbled and gurgled, hissing and spitting like it was irate that Merci had cut it off too early. Like The Fates had more to say. Sure enough, seconds later, another paper shot forth from the potion in a startling array of embers and black soot and curling smoke.

"We have another nominee," Merci said, looking astounded. "This nominee is a witch. Trixie Gardens."

Trixie was mid-sip of tequila when her name was called. I would've laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of it all if I wasn't sitting on stage.

She spluttered, eyes widening. I couldn't tell if the look on Trixie's face was due to the foul nature of the gas-station tequila she'd just inhaled, or if it was dismay at the thought of having to make her way on stage.

"Me?" Trixie squeaked.

I couldn't physically hear her due to the muffling charms around the room, but I could read her lips. She looked to Emmy, mouthed, "Me?" a second time, even as her friend tugged her arm.

Trixie stood, shuffled her way to the stage. I wished that I was a more evolved vampire so my first thought wasn't to study the witch's legs and note how long and beautiful they looked moving under a gown that made her look magnificent.

But apparently even after three hundred years of evolving, I was still a feral monster who couldn't keep his eyes off the witch.

Trixie made her way through the crowd. Even the muffling spells couldn't fully quell the murmurs slicing through the room. Trixie came from a long line of strong witches, but we'd never had a witch win the wildcard seat before. It was actually quite unthinkable as witches were often opinionated and their magic quite volatile.

Trixie made her way onto the stage, twitching her dress nervously so it flowed around her knees. She locked her gaze on me, glowering as if it was my personal fault that her name had been shot from the cauldron. As if I could influence The Fates.

"Welcome, Trix," I murmured only for her ears. "I see you can't stay away from me."

"Shove it," she muttered, taking the chair next to me.

Then Trixie leaned forward, took a long look at Lucas Paul the Third, whose toupee was halfway to outer space at this point. She dragged her gaze down to Levian, a little smile playing on her lips as the elfin candidate gave her a polite nod. She skipped right over me as she settled her hands and stared forward.

Merci gave the cauldron a long, weary look as she waited, hands clasped in front of her to see if another name would be spit out. She waited for so long that the black flame beneath the golden cauldron finally extinguished in a puff of smoke, signaling the end of the nomination process.

Merci expelled a breath of relief. She closed the book on the podium before her, and with that, the cauldron vanished in a puff of dusty ash and smoke.

"Now it's time for the welcome speeches," Merci said, obviously trying to regain her confidence. "We'll go in the order of the nominations. Candidates are capped to three minutes, and you may use this time to introduce yourselves before the thirty-day campaign period officially launches. Lucas, that puts you first. "

Lucas Paul the Third looked like he might get lost on the way to the podium. When he made his way to the golden platform in the center of the stage, he was trembling so hard I wanted to put the man out of his misery myself.

In a shaky voice, Lucas Paul the Third introduced himself and got his name right on the fourth try. A glance at the audience told me that nobody was paying that much attention to the speech. Everyone was looking at Levian in hope. Or at me in fear.

After Lucas stumbled his way to a lackluster finale in his three-minute introduction, Levian took over and shared a well-rehearsed, obviously polished speech that had probably been written by a professional. He smiled at appropriate times, didn't mutter a single ‘um', and promised great things for our paranormal community. Bravo to him.

When Levian concluded his speech, the collective audience let out a breath of relief. We were all beginning to realize that it didn't really matter who the other candidates were. There was already a clear winner. The next thirty days would be nothing but pomp and circumstance in the spirit of tradition to celebrate Levian's eventual appointment to his seat within The Circle.

When it was my turn to take the stand, I found my gaze searching through the audience. It landed on Vix, who was smirking. A glance at the elves told me most of their community looked downright offended I'd dare to follow up the golden candidate. When I scanned everyone else, the general look was mortified that a vampire might take hold of the wildcard seat .

Which, to be fair, was reasonable. The last time a vampire had been selected as the wildcard, the power had gone to his head. Bennedict Black had eaten half of a small Ohio town before he'd been stopped in a deadly way.

"I'm Dominic Kent. Vampire," I said roughly. "Nobody's going to vote for me after a speech like Levian's, so I'm going to keep this short."

I gave a wink at the crowd which seemed to further terrify everyone. Except for a few brave souls who chose to laugh at my attempt at levity.

I spewed some garbage about my family history and wrapped up my speech after exactly one minute and six seconds. There was another collective rush of relief after I finished and sat my rear end back down.

"I'm Trixie." Trixie's knuckles were white as she gripped the podium to start her speech. "I've got to admit, I'm totally confused as to why I'm standing here. I'm definitely nobody special."

A tittering arose from the crowd. Trixie seemed completely un-intimidating standing on the podium, so instead of terrifying people, her jokes hit the right beat with the crowd. Unlike mine.

"I'll admit to a little secret." Trixie leaned forward against the podium. "I'm a little bit drunk. That's how surprised I am to be up here, because I definitely wouldn't have had that last shot of tequila if I knew I was supposed to be giving a speech without slurring."

Another laugh from the crowd. Trixie squinted at the lights blinking back at her, counting down the time she had left to kill .

"I've got two minutes and thirty seconds left?" Trixie raised her hand to shield her eyes as she glanced at Merci. "What am I supposed to say?"

Merci shrugged, looking appalled. Granted, this was an unprecedented sort of speech.

"Okay, well I'll wrap this up quickly then," Trixie said. "I told you my name is Trixie Gardens, and I'm nobody special. My magic sucks. So I'll spare you guys a vote and cast my support behind..."

Trixie studied the three of us still sitting on the stage like she had a real decision in front of her. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me. Her gaze barely glanced off Levian, but she softened when she saw Lucas grasping desperately toward his unruly hairpiece.

"I'll throw my support behind Lucas." Trixie turned back to face the crowd. "So if you were going to vote for me, vote for Lucas Paul the Third instead. He seems honest, and that's pretty much all I want in a politician. Yes, I realize that's an oxymoron, which is why it might be good to shake things up."

I glanced at Levian. His eyes seemed to harden just slightly, as if it was blasphemy that he wasn't being promoted as the obvious first choice. Even by the chaos of a nominee that was Trixie Gardens.

"But definitely do not vote for this guy." Trixie thumbed over her shoulder at me. "The vampire candidate Dominic Kent is trying to kick me out of the home I've lived in for all my life. It was my mother's home, my grandmother's home, and now because he's selfishly trying to sell his building, I'm going to need to find new housing. I'm just your average twenty-something that's closer to thirty than I want to admit. I can't afford a new place in The Hollow."

A gasp sounded from the crowd. For someone who really didn't care about painting herself as a real frontrunner for the election, Trixie was doing a hell of a job endearing herself to the crowd.

"I know !" Trixie said, like she was having an easy conversation with the audience instead of giving a professional speech. "I couldn't believe the nerve of Dominic Kent, either. And with the prices of real estate these days, I'm not going to be able to afford to stay in The Hollow. I'm going to have to move out to Jersey just to put a roof over my head."

The second, louder gasp in the audience escalated as if Trixie had announced she was moving straight to hell instead of just across the state border.

"That's three minutes," Merci interrupted. "Thank you, Trix—"

"Shut up, Merci," some knucklehead in the audience shouted. "Let the witch finish."

Trixie threw her hands up. "I don't want to ruffle feathers. Long story short, don't vote for the evil vampire. Vote for Lucas Paul the Third. Or, I guess, Levian. Please don't vote for me because I don't even really want to be here today. I'm only here because I'm with a friend of mine. The End."

Trixie offered a big smile before she headed back to her seat and flounced into the chair next to me.

"Nice," I muttered under my breath.

"It didn't seem like you really wanted the title anyway," she grumbled back. "Just doing you a favor. You're welcome, vamp. "

I bit down on my lip, not sure if I should try to muster up some semblance of annoyance at the fact Trixie had thrown me under the bus, or if I should double-down on the amusement I was feeling. Then Trixie hiccupped a hiccup that smelled like tequila, and I couldn't help but shake my head.

"You're something else," I muttered. "The Fates seriously chose you?"

"Better than you," she hissed back. "Home-stealer."

Merci took over, dabbing at her forehead with a handkerchief. She spelled out the closing charms and wished everyone a safe and fair thirty days of campaigning before the elections would kick off and the new wildcard would be elected.

Then the audience dispersed, and the four of us candidates stood on the stage. Levian and Lucas had fallen into low murmured whispers. I turned to face Trixie, extended a hand toward her.

"Happy campaigning," I offered. "May the best man win."

"Or woman," she shot back. "Except I don't want to win, so have at it. You already don't care about people's feelings, so you're halfway to winning your political title already."

Then Trixie turned on a heel and marched off into the darkness.