Chapter 18

Eighteen

Seeing Julian makes my stomach twist and my blood turn hot.

There was a time when I thought he was on our side, that he was concerned with our safety and well-being. But after what he did to Kelly, I know that was never true.

Julian Locke is only out for himself and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants.

Once we’re out of the car, Bran offers me his arm and I eagerly take it. Damien steps to my other side and behind me are Cal and Fox. I catch sight of Bianca hurrying up the sidewalk. She’s not wearing heels but sensible tennis shoes with a pleated plaid skirt.

Tennis shoes are always better for running. Is Bianca worried about getting away?

“An escort from the wolves?” Julian calls over to us as we make our way up the main walk. “Bran, I’d think that was beneath you.”

My body goes rigid.

“Do not engage,” Bran says beside me.

“I won’t,” I say beneath my breath, but then grip harder at the crook of his elbow.

“If I wasn’t a vampire,” he says, “I think you would be piercing my flesh.”

“Sorry.” I let up a little and exhale.

Everything will be all right.

Bianca falls into step on Bran’s other side.

“You’re late,” he says to her.

“Apologies. My father tried stopping me from coming.”

“Don’t make that my problem.”

“It won’t be. I’ve handled it.”

The Renshaw witches line up behind Julian. They’re all in varying shades of black, white, and dark gray. The coven leader—Tabitha—watches me from Julian’s left. Her gaze is penetrating and it makes me shiver. I’ve never had the bad luck of crossing paths with Tabitha until now. They’ve mostly stuck to themselves. The fact that they’ve aligned with Julian makes me wonder what they’re getting out of it.

When we finally enter the Harbor and are out of their prying eyes, I exhale. But the relief is short lived.

I’m used to the Harbor being busy. I mostly only come here when there are parties to attend, so seeing the halls full of people is nothing out of the ordinary. But the two dozen witches and shifters and vampires just lingering in the hall for a routine Pledge is certainly out of the ordinary.

And worse, everyone’s eyes are on me. “There are so many people here,” I whisper to Bran.

“Everyone is ready for a show,” he answers.

We go left, bypassing the onlookers.

The Pledge Hall was added to the Harbor sometime in the fifties. It was constructed as a circular amphitheater with sloping seating on tiers so that everyone in the back can see easily down to the front.

When we enter, we go down to the reserved seating.

The Pledge director, Carl Philmore, greets us with a wide smile. “Jessie! Did you see the turnout today? My god, this must be exciting for you.”

If only he knew.

“Yes, so exciting,” I say as he shakes my hand vigorously.

“We’re just about ready to get started if you are.”

I swallow hard and Bran watches me.

“I’m ready.”

“Great. Excellent.” Carl rubs his hands together and the dry skin rasps. He’s a nice man with a small family in Midnight. He’s not Pledged to anyone, since he’s Pledge Director. He’s a man of the humans, as I’ve heard him say on more than one occasion. “Have a seat,” he tells me, “and we’ll bring the room to order.”

I drop into the padded seating and try not to fidget.

I have several powerful, strong allies on my side.

How can any of this go wrong?

Carl disappears into a side room while my heart races and my hands grow clammy. When he returns in a black robe, much like a judge, my knee starts bouncing. Bran reaches over and grips me reassuringly, and I can barely meet his eyes, afraid that if I do, I’ll start sobbing with nerves and anxiety.

I have to get through this. There’s no way out but through.

“We call to order Pledge number 207 of this year for Jessie MacMahon. Jessie is twenty-one as of today and now eligible to Pledge to a House in Midnight Harbor.”

Behind me, I hear chairs squeaking and clothing rustling and bodies shuffling around as everyone finds a seat and gets settled.

I dare to look over my shoulder and catch sight of Julian taking a seat two tiers up. But he’s noticeably alone.

My stomach drops.

Carl rubs his hands together again. “Now, I know many of you are familiar with the Pledge Code, and this part will bore you to death, but my boss makes me do it. Of course, my boss is the law.” He laughs to himself. There is a weak chorus of laughter behind us.

“As soon as we get through this part, we can move on to the fun stuff!” Carl opens a book in front of him and starts reading from one of the passages. He’s not lying—the Pledge Code is boring and dry and if I wasn’t so keyed up, I would be sleeping by now.

Bran gives me another squeeze. I lean into him and whisper into his ear. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Mouse.”

Carl flips a page and continues.

I catch sight of Bianca on the other side of Bran, her big, wide eyes searching as much of the room as she can from her vantage point in the front.

Beside me, Damien is still as water, but I sense an underlying tension in his body.

Finally, Carl reads the last of the code from his book—blah blah a Pledge agrees to show his or her house the utmost respect and be a stand-up representative of his or her chosen House.

When he shuts the book with a thud, I have a hard time taking in a full breath.

This is happening.

It’s really happening.

“Now!” Carl booms. “We’ll start with House bids and will conduct opening bids in alphabetical order.” He steps back where the wall has been divided into twelve sections, each with a button and an old-fashioned light bulb above it with the House name in bold, block letters.

“Abernathy,” Carl calls. Witches. There is silence in the room for a beat and then Carl goes to the next house. “Bowen.” Silence again.

We make it through several more houses before finally reaching Duval House and when Carl calls out the name, both Damien and Bran stand up.

“We would like to formally bid on Jessie MacMahon to be a member of our house,” Damien says.

“Excellent!” Carl taps at the button for Duval House. The old-fashioned light bulb glows bright gold before Carl calls out the next name. “Locke House.”

Fuck.

Behind us, Julian stands up and I hear the shuffle of papers. “Before I formally make my bid,” Julian says, “I’d like to submit to the court a promissory note from her mother.”

“What?” I shout.

Bran grabs my hand and holds me in my seat.

Carl frowns and makes his way up two tiers to retrieve this supposed promissory note. He squints as he reads. “Interesting. Did you have this authenticated?”

“I did. I had it authenticated by both the human court and by the Renshaw witches.” Julian hands over a second piece of paper.

I lurch from my seat. Bran reaches out for me, but for once, I’m able to dodge him. “Fuck you, Julian,” I yell.

The crowd takes in a collective breath.

“That’s probably a lie just like my sister’s blood license. Or did you compel my mother too? Make her your puppet?” Anger and frustration and fear are pounding through my veins. I don’t know what else to do other than to lash out. “I’m not Pledging to your house. Fuck you and fuck the Lockes, and you can fuck off!”

The scandal of it all races through the room. People are snickering and openly gaping.

If they wanted a show, they’re about to get one.

Julian’s teeth grind together. There is a tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth and glowing ire in his blue eyes.

“Your mother did make this promise, and she was under no compulsion. She knew what was good for you and Bran Duval was not on that list.”

Bran stands up to flank me. “You don’t get to decide that, Julian. She’s not going to be yours.”

Julian sighs. It’s not a sigh of defeat, but of exasperation. As if we’re petulant children he now has to correct.

Still in his seat, Damien’s cell phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and lights up the screen and I can’t help but be distracted by it, by him. Because watching him digest the message is like watching someone learn they’ve just been diagnosed with a fatal disease.

His shoulders level out, his eyes widening, nostrils flaring.

He looks up at his brother and Bran looks down at him.

“Jimmy just woke up,” he mouths.

It doesn’t take me long to parse out the meaning of that.

Jimmy just woke up …meaning she was either knocked out or had her neck snapped.

If Jimmy just woke up, then Kelly?—

One of the doors in the far back pulls open and a Renshaw witch steps through.

And held in her grip is none other than my sister.

We knew this was coming and yet now that it’s happening, I think we’re all a little shocked by it.

What was it Cal warned us about?

“Kelly will be on the north end of the Pledge Hall when she’s struck down.”

And where is Kelly now?

On the fucking north end.

I can barely hear the whispering of the room over the rapid thudding of my heart.

Damien is on his feet in a second. “Julian,” he says, his voice rumbling with warning. “I don’t think you fully understand what it is you’re doing.”

“On the contrary.” Julian steps into the aisle. “You think I would, what , just let you take something that was owed to me? Something powerful beyond comprehension?”

“I’m not something ,” I say. “I’m a fucking human being.”

He screws up his mouth. “Don’t play dumb, Jessie. We all know you’re far from human.”

The whispers pick up in the room.

“Wait,” Carl says. “Jessie isn’t human?”

Julian’s face falls as he realizes his grave error.

“If she isn’t human,” Carl starts.

Julian gestures to one of the Locke House vampires and he darts over to the director, compelling him to forget this minor detail—if I’m not human then I can’t Pledge.

“This is a stupid plan,” Damien yells. “You have two hundred witnesses in here. You can’t compel them all.”

“I won’t need to.”

The Renshaw witch drags my sister further into the room and down two steps. Kelly fights against the woman, but judging by my sister’s lack of progress, I’d say the witch is using some kind of magic to keep her under control.

“What do you want?” Damien asks.

Quietly, slowly, people start backing out of the room.

“I want what’s rightfully mine. Both Jessie and Kelly. Those are my terms.”

“Absolutely not,” Bran and Damien say in unison.

“Then you leave me no choice,” Julian answers.

The witch at my sister’s side pivots behind Kelly and places her hands on either side of her head.

For a fraction of a second, I see Damien ready to move, ready to spring and save my sister.

But even he can’t beat the speed of magic.

The air around my sister’s head undulates like heat rising from an oil fire.

Then her eyes roll back so that all I can see are the whites. Blackness appears beneath the fingertips of the Renshaw witch and the black spreads like wiggling tendrils of ink beneath Kelly’s skin.

Beside me, Damien jolts.

Darkness is seeping into his skin too.

And within seconds, Damien and Kelly are consumed by the spell and both hit the floor with a resounding thud.