Chapter 12

TWELVE

Asha

Dark magic enfolds the mansion like an invisible dome, and I feel its nauseating power the moment the wheels of our SUV roll past the gate. Orson notices when I clutch my stomach and clench my jaw, and he leans forward from the backseat to ask, “Are you alright?”

I nod and bite back the queasiness. It’s only a moment before I acclimate and the dark magic takes on an alarming allure. Like Satan offering his hand to lead you into a world of wicked pleasure.

I’ll stab him in the eye instead.

The magic I can ignore, but it’s everything else that will be tricky. I take slow, even breaths and focus on where I am and who I’m with. The Blood Mages will be powerful, but I can handle them. Whatever happened to my people, I can help them get better. And Simon? I can kill him, because I don’t have another choice. His time has come.

Sweet Simon with the goofy grin. Sweet Simon, who used to grab my hand as we laughed and ran through our town. He’s gone forever. I can lay his body to rest.

“Earpiece check,” Max says, drawing me back to where we are. “Everybody hear my voice in their head?”

“Like a gnat buzzing in my ear,” Braxton teases. He’s leaning back, as if relaxed, but I can sense the tension singing through his big form.

I press my finger to the device and ensure that it's hidden deep enough in my ear canal that no one will notice. It is, even though it feels weird.

“Good?” asks Max, removing his eyes from the lambo ahead of us to check in with me. I hear his voice twice, once from the air, the warm baritone with the power to thrill me, then again after a millisecond delay, stripped of its bass and made tinny.

I nod. “Good.”

“Loud and clear,” says Orson.

“Obviously, be discreet,” Max cautions, “and for god’s sake, nobody touch your ear when you’re talking. This isn’t a movie.”

Ahead of us, the lambo’s doors slice upwards and a pair of sexy vampires step out into the moonlight. The driver casually tosses his keys to a young valet, who catches them mid-hustle while rounding the hood. The flashy squat wedge of a car pulls away and we take its spot.

“Here we go,” says Orson.

The valet service descends on us, opening each of our four doors. A slight boy, likely no older than eighteen, offers his hand to me. I refuse, hopping out of the seat indecorously. He spares me a split-second of side-eye before his duties call him towards the next car in line.

Okay, so I guess this dress is working for me. Hopefully, that won’t be the only thing that goes well tonight.

The four of us gather before the entrance, where a butler in a tailcoat smiles at us with a faint air of impatience. Max presents him with the tickets, their gold embossed text flashing as they change hands. The butler gives each of the four tickets a quick inspection before disappearing them behind his back.

Did he slip them into a pocket or use magic to burst them into flames?

He bows and sweeps his hand towards the front door of the mansion, saying, “Lady and gentlemen, enjoy.”

Yeah, right.

With a hand against the small of my back, Max whisks me through the foyer, down a hall, and into the soiree. The interior is lavishly cavernous, with a vaulted ceiling whose gilded beams glimmer by the light of the enormous chandelier. Beneath its nest of crystal shards, a marble floor spans ballroom to lounge, the whole of it covered in guests.

I can sense the vampires, the shifters, and every variety of other supernatural. Not just by their scents, but by the power they emanate. Among them are the Blood Mages, who stick out to my heightened senses. Their magic is far more powerful, but also dark, tainted, and unsettling… leading me to wonder if they’ve used their powers recently.

The blood my mates have given freely enhances my extrasensory awareness, gives me a wider range, allows me to pick on the subtlest presence of magic in my surroundings. It’s like my senses have been amplified to the maximum, and now I simply need to work on staying focused.

Even though the dark magic in this place is anything but subtle.

It throbs and pulsates in the air, like the thumping bass at an electro dancehall, vibrating the floor beneath my feet, vibrating in my chest, whispering for the dark magic within me to answer the call.

My eyes narrow as I scan over them. The Blood Mages bask in its corrupting power. The men and women stand about the room, laughing and smiling, drunk on their power. Mages have never been like this. They were men and women with enough power to make their lives a little easier, but certainly not dangerous. They were looked down upon by most other supernaturals. I don’t know what changed with these mages, but they turned themselves into something else. Something powerful, illegal, and awful all at once.

I want nothing more than to cut short their indulgence with swift, lethal justice.

But I suppress vengeful Asha, cage her for a later time, placate her with a promise. Don’t go off half-cocked . I’d told Max I’d be careful, and I would be.

“Let’s split up,” says Max. “Our first objective is to locate the members of Asha’s Blood Pack. Two teams. Braxton, go with Orson. Asha, come with me.” Max leads me by the hand into the ballroom while Braxton and Orson peel off towards the lounge.

They don’t answer. They don’t need to. Max is leading this mission, even if I’ll be butt-fisting these assholes with my powers soon.

We mingle with the crowd, a blur of suits and dresses, a potpourri of magic, a gaudy display of wealth and privilege. We circle the ballroom, surveying the crowd like we’re just casually enjoying the beauty of the night and the sights of the wealthy.

“What’s your Blood Mage headcount?” Max whispers.

“Twelve,” I answer, having picked them easily out of the throng.

A lot. Maybe too many. It all depends on how powerful they are, as each mage has a different level of abilities. Still, it’s more than I wanted.

Except, I shouldn’t care. As long as it’s all of them.

“How can you tell?” Braxton asks, his voice like an AM radio frequency nestled into my ear.

I stare at the last Blood Mage I clocked, a man with silver hair and bleached teeth, and whiff the stench of his putrid magic with the supercharged powers of my lupine olfactory. “I’ve got their scent,” I growl. The silver-haired Blood Mage whispers in the ear of a raven-haired witch less than half his age at what he thinks is a discreet volume, but their conversation is anything but private.

“The magic I could show you,” he boasts cryptically.

Before she has a chance to flirt back, the lights suddenly cut out.

Darkness.

Sharp inhalation of oncoming panic.

Prickling of cold sweat on my brow.

It’s okay. This is all probably part of the night. Relax. Stay calm until you’re sure.

My eyes rapidly adjust, my wolf compensating for weak human sight. My supernatural vision carves each individual figure out of the mass. I’m ready to shift if needed, but suddenly a bright light flares in the ballroom. Flame, neon green in color, swirls overhead, churning like water caught in a vortex. Tongues of fire chase themselves in circles, a widening gyre that gradually spreads across the ceiling.

The initial fear ebbs into wonder as the audience discovers its source. In the center of the ballroom, a mage lifts her hands above her head, feeding the hypnotic display, a showman’s smile on her lips. A literal magic show . I laugh at myself, and coax my wolf back from the edge. A sheet of levitating fire undulates above, embers like glinting emeralds drip and fade out of existence before they have a chance to scorch the revelers below.

The mage lifts her voice to address the room. “Good evening! Find a partner, everyone. It’s time to dance!”

Music drifts through the air with no discernible origin, as if leaking from the walls or perhaps woven into the flames. The attendees in the ballroom begin pairing off to dance. “Come on,” says Max, “we won’t find the Blood Pack in here.”

But I overhear the silver-haired Blood Mage speaking with the young witch again. “Our magic was crafted by an almighty mage, the most powerful Blood Mage,” he says.

“Is that so?” she says, her voice sultry and smooth.

“Come here,” I say to Max, grabbing his hand and pulling him into me. We adopt the posture of the couples surrounding us, my hands on his shoulders, his holding my waist. As we sway and rotate slowly like teens during a slow dance, I direct us into the orbit of the indiscreet mage.

“What are we doing?” asks Max.

“Shh! I’m trying to listen.” I roll my eyes to the right to indicate the pretty witch and the lecherous old mage dancing beside us.

“It’s a little known secret,” says the mage, “that our power emanates from a single locus.”

Is that true? My thoughts spin. It can’t be, can it?

“Where’s that?” asks the witch.

The Blood Mage merely grins and bounces one of his eyebrows mischievously.

The witch’s curiosity boils over. “C’mon, you can trust that I’m loyal to the Blood Mages.” She pairs this with a little more contact, pressing her body against his, guiding his hand down from the small of her back to the mound of her ass. “Power excites me.”

The mage laughs like a moan in the back of his throat. “I can tell. Of course, I can’t tell you about our power, but I think I have a consolation prize. Come a little closer, love, and I’ll share another secret with you.”

She lifts her face to his and he claims her lips with a slobbery hunger that makes me turn away in disgust. “Ick.”

Okay, so I’m not going to gather some incredible secret tonight, but it has me thinking. I have no idea where our powers come from. I thought it was just like other supernaturals, but maybe I’m wrong.

“What do you make of that?” asks Max.

I shrug. “Could be a lie, wouldn’t put anything past a guy like that when he’s trying to bag some booty.”

“But you’re not convinced it's bullshit.”

No, I’m not. There’s a strange ring of truth to it, like I heard that possibility before.

I shake my head. “No.”

The wheels start turning. A source .

Maybe a weakness.