Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

I ’m not into class today. Don’t want to be here. I’m sure it’s worse for Aimee, but she didn’t complain about coming to school. As a matter of fact, when Mom tried to keep her home, keep us both home, Aimee wasn’t having it.

She hasn’t missed a day in five years, and doing it now would lead to questions. And she’s right, but that’s no surprise because she’s usually right. I haven’t spent much time looking at her today because I can’t meet her eyes.Fortunately, I don’t have any morning classes with her. She’s in an entirely different building.

As I take a spot in the back, a professor I’ve never seen before comes in. She puts her books on the desk and then walks around to the front. “Good morning, people.” The murmur of voices and movements quiets and she folds her arms and leans her ass against the desk. She’s a small woman—maybe five feet tall if her heels are four or five inches—and she has long red hair tied into a braid over her left shoulder. She’s wearing a green dress that is form fitting and could easily work if she’s headed to a party after work. It’s got rhinestones sewn in, and if I was one to criticize the garments worn by others, I would tell her that it’s a little too dressy for fifth-year Magic Theory.

Instead, I pull out a notebook and poise my pen for notetaking.

“I know that with everything going on and the attacks on witches, we’re all a little bit worried.” A little bit? She hadn’t seen that…woman. She doesn’t have a sister who’s been bled dry of the thing that makes her herself. “My name is Lilith Creighton. I am a master witch and I’m not afraid to say that I, too, am worried.”

She looks at the clock. “We’re going to discuss what you can all do to protect yourselves should you come into contact with a syphoner.”

A girl in the front—Marissa Morgenstern—raises her hand. “I thought the police weren’t willing to say it’s a syphoner.”

“Well, I’ve been around longer than the police have been working this case. And while syphoners aren’t common, they do exist.” Undoubtedly.

“Have you met one?” I ask the question not because I’m curious, but because I want to know where she gets her knowledge from.

She nods. “Yes. This was sometime ago, and the ‘legend’”—she uses air quotes—“of the syphoner was floating around after a couple of attacks.” She shakes her head. “It’s the eyes that draw a witch in. The power is in their eyes.” And she stares at me for a second before moving on with her story.

“I was walking at night near the beach and I came across a woman staggering; she’d been drained by a man who was twice her size in weight and he came chasing after her. I wanted to be brave and protect her…” She shrugged an d looked away. “I wasn’t brave. I hid and watched him take her power, drain her. Kill her.”

“Oh.” It’s as if we’re having a conversation rather than a teacher-student interaction. “Was he caught?”

She shakes her head. “No. They know his signature, though. So that’s something.”

“Signature?” I watch CSI and all those crime shows, so I know signature in that context, but I can’t figure how it means the same thing here. We all use the same spells, the same potion recipes, the same ingredients and chants and incantations.

She nods. “Every witch and wizard and sorcerer has a specific signature to their magic. It comes from their power source and it’s traceable, so if that signature turns up again, at least they’ll know.” That’s semi-useful information.

“The signature is what’s left behind?” I can’t help it. If someone else wants to talk, I’ll let them, but I have specific questions and I need to know how to help my sister.

She nods. “The tell-tale signs.”

I jot the word signature into my notebook, and more questions swirl in my mind. “So, in the world there are people who have magic in them and those who learn magic over their years, how to use it, anyway. Would someone who’s had their magic syphoned away be able to relearn magic?” Maybe it’s an option for Aimee.

“The evidence all points to no. When a syphoner takes magic, they take the inherent ability and all the power.” That isn’t what I want to hear. But I write it down in the exact words she said it. “Learned magic is a different kind. Still leaves a signature, but it’s not the same as what we can do.”

“And magic taken by a syphoner can only be returned if the syphoner is killed? Does it have to be killed by the person whose magic it stole?”

She shakes her head. “No. And all of the magic stolen will return, not just the last victim. A syphoner uses magic differently, but takes so much more than they need.” She shrugs. “To be honest, there’s very little known about syphoners and their abilities.”

At least I know for certain that if we find this syphoner and finish her, Aimee will get her power back.

I look at the teacher solemnly. “Why would a syphoner not be able to take a witch’s magic?”

The professor cocks her head and a veil of long red tresses falls over her shoulder. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of that.”

Well I have, and I want an answer. That syphoner looked at me, said I wasn’t like the other one . But I am a witch, born to the same parents, live in the same house. We go to the same school and we take the same classes. She’s older and her magic is stronger, but mine couldn’t be taken. It has to mean something.

I wish I could make sense of it. More, I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish we would’ve never found the grimoire. It’s crazy to think that now because when we found it, I’d been so excited. And I felt connected to that damned book. But on the flip side of that I don’t know if by using the grimoire, or even just by opening it, we brought the syphoner back. We don’t know if she’s somehow connected to the magic in the grimoire or if the timing is just a coincidence, but Mom always says that there’s no such thing as coincidence.

Another thought pushes forward. If she’s connected to the grimoire and I felt a connection when we found it, does that mean I’m connected to her? Aimee said she didn’t feel it, but for me, it had been like lightning, sharp and strong.

As I am about to ask another question, the intercom speaker behind the desk crackles and Dean Ryman’s voice warbles through. “Ladies and Gentlemen, under the current circumstances and with the danger surrounding students of the Institute,” he doesn’t say syphoner or even allude to it. He’s only willing to mention danger , “we are canceling classes for the remainder of the day so that a sweep of the building can be made and wards put in place.”

Wow. This is serious. In all the five years I’ve been a student, the Institute has never closed. Not for weather. Not for any reason. Certainly not for danger.

“The attacks have taken a more serious and frenzied nature than any in the past. It goes without saying that we expect students to shelter at their homes and not be out at the beaches or on the street. I cannot stress enough the importance of protecting the magic burning inside each of you.”

Sorry, big guy. This witch has plans for the day.

The sound of books closing and bags zipping open makes a dull murmur in the room, accompanied almost harmoniously by the sound of keys clacking as laptops are shut down. I have to head to my locker because I want to stuff my books in there.

Nothing, not even a shelter at home command from Dean Ryman is going to keep me from going to Club Mera and finding out what happened to Ariya Glover.

After I’ve stuffed my bag and books into the locker I use at the Institute, I shut the door and smile. Zane is standing there with a smile on his face, leaning against the locker next to mine.

“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t make sure you and Aimee make it home.” He is standing close enough I can see the flecks of gold in his melted chocolate eyes, and there is a curl behind his ear laying against his neck that is begging for my finger to run through it, but I shove my hands in my pocket. I don’t know if we’re at that kind of place yet. Or if we will be.

“I’m not going home.” I say it softly because there are other people around—probably a nosy janitor lurking, too, though I don’t see him—and I don’t want word to get back to the dean.

“You’re still going to that club?” He lifts his eyebrows and stares at me, and I could fall into his gaze, but I don’t because I can’t fawn over him and worry about a syphoner and wonder why I was allowed to keep my magic and Aimee wasn’t.

I nod. “Yeah. I have to.”

“I didn’t know you were so close to Ariya.”

Certainly not as close as he was, but I need information, and that club is the only real clue that I have. “Well, I didn’t date her.” I smile, or try to, but the coincidences are building. And being with him might mean I’m in danger, too.

He pushes my hair back and tucks it behind my ear. “I could drive you. We could bring Dylan for extra protection.” He grins. “I think he might have a thing for your sister. It would be helping him out. Doing him a favor.”

I don’t need the distraction, but I also want him to come along. But not for protection. Not for me anyway. I’m not scared, but Aimee without her magic is more vulnerable. No way will I be able to convince her to stay behind, so if there’s a need for magic, having Dylan and Zane along is a good idea.

I nod for a few other reasons I don’t want to examine until I’ve had a chance to digest them. He smiles. “Thank God. I didn’t want to have to beg.”

An hour later, we’re sitting in Zane’s Jeep across the street from my house. Aimee and Dylan dropped the car we share off at home and Zane and I followed them to pick them up.“I didn’t know you lived in the Hadley house.”

All the houses in this town have history because the town is rich with history. “We’ve lived here since I was born, I think.” I wonder how long it would be before they called it the Baum house, or if we would have to move out before that happened.

He smiles as Aimee and Dylan climb out of her car. I lean forward and lift the seat so they can climb into the back, and Aimee squeezes in behind me, but Dylan hops into the backseat over the open side where Zane has removed the top.

Aimee and Dylan sing along to the radio as the wind whips through the Jeep and I worry about the condition of my hair. But this is probably the best ride I’ve ever taken into a town I’m not supposed to be visiting.

“It doesn’t look like much.” Aimee isn’t understating it. The building has a few windows but they’re high up and probably belong to an apartment upstairs. The rest of it looks like sheet metal that has been pieced together to make the outer facade. The door is heavy and plain black, and the sign across the top looked better online and in what the grimoire showed me than it does in person. It looks like hand painted cardboard, although with the amount of rain we get here, it’s probably metal. Sturdier than cardboard, anyway.

I nod at her as she leans up between the two seats. I honestly don’t know if she did it for a better view of the building or if she did it because it puts her closer to Dylan. And right now, I don’t care. I’ll ask later. Right now, all I care about is finding out what I’m supposed to see at this place.

“Maybe they’re saving for renovations.”

What I know is that we’re not going to find out anything sitting in the Jeep. I open my door and walk across the street. If I sit in the car another minute, I might talk myself out of it. Especially since this isn’t what I imagined when the book showed me the sign.

The others come up behind me because I’ve lingered with my hand on the door for a few seconds, which gave them time to get to me before I go in. No one is in a big hurry to get in there, but we look peculiar, at the very least, standing outside, holding onto the handle like we’re trying to keep the building from taking off.

Finally, I take a deep breath, pull the door open, and walk inside. I’m two steps in when Zane tugs the back of my shirt and I stop walking. The place is dark. Dank. And it smells like alcohol and something else I don’t want to think of. If any place could use a cleaning spell, even one that sets it on fire, it’s this place.

I try peeking through the darkness to see what I can make out, but the only light burning right now is a neon behind the bar that says drink. It should probably say buy and spill .

Zane has his hand on my arm and he pulls me back toward him. “Slow down. We need to be careful.”

“Careful.” I parrot the word and let him slip his fingers through mine. Doesn’t stop me from calling out, though. “Hello?”

He tugs me back when I walk ahead. “RJ…”

It’s because he sees them before I do. A man and a woman, sitting at a table in this mostly dark room. The man stands and comes toward us. He’s not big, not wide, but thin. I would bet he’s a runner. The woman flicks on a light that’s sitting in the center of her table. She’s pretty with deep red hair, like the color of blood, but her skin is so pale it’s as if I can almost see through it. It doesn’t stop her from being beautiful.

He’s still mostly a shadow because the light is behind him. “For heaven’s sake, Colt,” she says from the table. “Stop being ghoulish and flip on a fucking light.” She has a slight accent, but I can’t place it.

I can’t take my gaze off her. Not even when the man she called Colt is directly in front of me and a light comes in. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to touch anything but now he’s illuminated. His eyes are rimmed in shadows of their own and his hair is hanging in his eyes. He has a sharp jaw and a square chin. His eyes are gray or maybe silver. And he’s wearing a scowl.

He breathes in deep. “What are you…doing here?” I thought he was going to ask me what I am. And anymore, I’m not sure.

“One of our friends was here last night.”

He laughs like I’ve just said something funny. “A lot of people’s friends were here last night.”

“Jesus, Colt. You don’t always have to be such an asshole. Obviously, they’re here about the girl.” She slides out of the booth and glides across the floor toward us. She’s tall, too. Taller than I thought. She holds out her hand. When I take it, it’s frozen—like really cold. “My name’s Lacey. This is Colt. Since I met him ten years ago, I’ve called him AssColt. It’s a name that’ll probably catch on the more you get to know him. Don’t mind anything he says. He surrendered his humanity and his common sense. ”

“And she’s hanging onto her humanity like there’s a bare-chested lifeguard waiting to save her from it.”

Oh, that’s about all I need to bear from him, and thank you, but not interested in knowing him. I inch closer to Zane. Aimee looks at Colt and nods. “You’re a vampire.”

She pays so much attention in Supernatural Beings class, of course she’s the one who recognizes him for what he is.

And just when I think I have it all figured out—or at least part of it—he shakes his head. “I’m a dhampir.”

“Sounds fancy. Means he’s the son of a vampire mother and a human father.” She rolls her eyes. “Takes his fangs a little longer to grow in.” She pulls her lip back to show hers off. “I’m about to finish turning.”

I nod because I don’t give a fuck. I want to know about Ariya Glover. “What happened here to the girl who was…syphoned?” It’s odd to say it out loud.

Colt shakes his head. “It was fucking crazy. She was minding her business, dancing with some chick. Not a chick like her, but a human chick.” He shakes his head and puts his hands up. “This other chick comes in.” He stares hard at me and I’ll kick my own ass before I back away, but he moves in closer until Zane pushes him back. When he steps back into place beside Lacey, he smiles. “She smells divine. You’re a lucky boy.”

I glower at him because a scowl isn’t enough. “What happened to the girl?”

Lacey rolls her eyes. “She was just dancing when this bitch came in and stood at the end of the bar. I was working so I saw her.” She shakes her head. “This woman scanned the room, like she was taking it all in. Her gaze stopped on the girl and the girl froze like she knew.” She glances at Colt. “And then she turned and she walked toward the…syphoner.”

I’m starting to hate that word.

“It was like there were ropes of electricity connecting them. I thought it was some kind of light show at first, a gimmick from a band or something. But then I saw that girl’s pain.” Colt shakes his head and gives his own shiver. “Fucking weird, man.”

“Colt tried to stop it.” Maybe he had some redeeming qualities after all. “But as soon as the girl started toward the syphoner, there was some kind of shield around them. He couldn’t get into it.”

Yeah. I’ve seen that part up close and personal. I’m not interested in seeing it again. And weird doesn’t quite describe it. “The girl came toward the syphoner?”

“Yeah. At first I thought they knew each other.” Lacey continued. “But when the girl was about three feet away, the ropes of power just…” She glances at me then back at Colt. “When it was finished, the girl just fell into a heap on the floor and the woman walked out and left her.”

Colt nods. “Your girl fought though.” He looks at Lacey as if he either wants corroboration or he wants her to finish telling it. She doesn’t move. “Tried to throw a spell. But it was like the syphoner knew what to expect, how to react. And every time the girl tried to break free, the syphoner had a counter ready to go.”

“But it didn’t seem like they knew each other?” I look at Lacey because Colt has a strange glimmer in his eye.

“No.”

“You guys go to that fancy institute school for witchy witching?” Colt looks at Zane then at me when I nod. “Your library has a giant collection of information about the last syphoner epidemic. Maybe you should check there. Might be some battle information.”

It makes sense, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. The Institute has the largest magic library in the country. They would have records of the last syphoners and how the battles were won. Or maybe there would be a grimoire with information we could use—a spell or potion or glamour—to stop her.

“You said syphoner epidemic?”

Lacey laughs and nods. “Yeah. They tried to keep it all hush-hush, but your witchy numbers were depleted by a few thousand. Entire families were wiped over the course of a few months.”

“Was there more than one syphoner?” There had to be information somewhere. Even if they were hiding, the Institute would’ve collected information for whatever council oversaw and tried to create plans and spells and wards to prevent this kind of thing.

Now, on a day where I don’t have to be there, I very much want to be at the Institute.

“I don’t know how it works. It could’ve been one, could’ve been twenty or two hundred. They don’t teach a lot of witch history at the public high school.” Lacey shakes her head. “Colt’s right though. Your school should have all the deets.”

I nod, ready to go, when Colt takes me by the arm and moves in closer to me—like he wasn’t too close before. “Did you know that being bit by a vampire is a very sensual experience?” And then he brushes his hand under my hair so he can thumb the pulse point at my throat, and he leans close enough I can smell copper on his breath. “I would make it good for you.”

Zane shoves him back. “Get the fuck away from her.” But I don’t need him to say anything. I can feel the power in me. Stronger with Zane’s touch, and whatever the dhampir is promising is nothing compared to what Zane is doing to me.

His touch sends shivers to all the best places.

“Thanks for the information.” Zane grinds the words out and I look at him as we turn to leave the club.

When we’re back in the Jeep again, he doesn’t start the car right away. He waits. Looks at me. “What do you think?”

I don’t know what any of it means. “I think we’re missing something.”

“Maybe we should write down what we know.” Aimee is big on lists and flash cards and even score cards. “It’ll be easy to keep track of.”

And this time, she’s right.