Chapter Two

Never Trust a Scorpio

Texas

Charlotte glides toward me, tugging at the string of a pointy party hat like a bow and arrow. She places it on my head. “Are you surprised?”

I stand frozen, an unmovable mountain as Charlotte carefully winds the string under my chin. I feel like a five-year-old.

My petite but powerful Grandma Lou smiles at me, though it’s quick and joyless. Not nearly as empty as her eyes, which were usually expressive and glowed like jewels against her dark and rich complexion. Today is October fifteenth, and my actual birthday is on the twenty-third, but I suppose it’s close enough for Grandma Lou to have that reaction.

Seventeen years ago, on the same day as my birthday, someone killed my mother and grandfather—her daughter and husband. What should be a happy day is always soured by that.

I pull off the hat and hand it to Charlotte. “It’s not my birthday until next week. And I’m not up for celebrating.”

“I know it’s early, but many of our students are going back into the field next week, and we want to make sure we celebrate you.” Charlotte places the hat back on my head. “And don’t worry, I’ll sneak you and Rich away so you can ask questions. Just smile and have a good time for now. That is…if you still want to talk?”

Charlotte stares at me like she’s scanning the inside of my brain. Or maybe she’s looking at the color of my aura. It was the color of midnight right around the time I mindlessly attacked all those vamps at headquarters.

I turn away from her stare. “Today would be great. Otherwise, I don’t know when I’ll get time off from training to speak to him.” I look past her shoulder at Rich, the former Maximus. He doesn’t look as old and haggard as he did a few weeks ago, and that was thanks to Magister Bacon for finding the right tonic to reverse his accelerated aging caused by Richmond finagling the Philosopher’s Stone. Now he’s looking closer to the age he looked before—in his late twenties.

“Traitor!” The voice inside me is anger pumping like blood, pulsating with the rage and heat of a thousand suns.

“Who?” I mentally ask the voice.

“Richmond. The one who used us for seven centuries.”

Who did he use for seven centuries? Is it someone in the stone? I lift my hand and study it. The jewel heats the inside of the palm like I’m being poked by a hot iron. “Maybe I shouldn’t speak to him. He’s the worst.”

Charlotte drops her smile. “Whatever it is, I’m sure he can help you. Just set your worries aside for now. All I want is for you to have a good time today.”

I know what this is all about—an attempt to get me out of my funk so I don’t go berserker. Or maybe Anton told them about his suspicions, whatever it is he’s thinking.

“Fine,” I say. “And…thanks.”

Charlotte gives me a winning smile. “I’m going to socialize. You should do the same, since you haven’t seen the other Tyros in a while.” She steps off into the crowd.

The students, unlike usual, are intermixing. Still, I can easily identify who belongs to what guild.

The Internists, aka the spiritual kids, who observe with solemn eyes that always seem to be not-quite-here-present with the rest of us.

They’re the “medics” of the guild and help us with healing and, in some cases like Charlotte, a master Internist, can imbue their lifeforce into protective barriers that’s nearly impossible to penetrate.

Then there’s the Evokers, dressed in their finest cottagecore of flowers, billowy dresses and shirts, who can manipulate nature from making ice shields and daggers to quicksand traps on seemingly solid ground.

Finally there’s my guild—the Distorters. We’re like the bloodthirsty version of Bob the Builder. We can recreate weapons out of scraps, as long as we know the elemental components.

Charlotte says that we’re still a few months away from finishing up the new Slayer headquarters—retrofitting an old hotel in the north Georgia mountains, modernizing it, adding tech, gyms, the same stuff we had at the last location before it was overtaken by vampires. Most Tyros, Middlings, Maestros, and Magisters are staying at an old farm in South Atlanta, but Charlotte decided I should stay here with the Prussakovs to train with Anton and Grandma Lou.

No one’s really paying attention to me now. Since the surprise has been delivered, people are in line for drinks or food, or talking to each other.

My attention keeps going back to Richmond the Traitor. The anger I felt earlier resurfaces, shaking my hands so hard I tuck them into my pockets.

Bitch Rich, the moniker given him by Maestro Cali—may she rest in peace—suits him even better now.

I must not be good at hiding my stares, because he snaps his attention to me and gives me a wide-eyed, hand-in-the-bank-vault look. One of pure guilt.

My feet seem to move on their own. One step. Two. What in the world am I doing?

Rich slips outside before I can get up close and personal.

“Whoever you are, be cool. I can’t lose it in front of all these people.”

I already got weird looks after I went feral, mindlessly levitated in the air, and killed all those vampires when they attacked the academy a few weeks ago.

“Do not speak to Richmond. He will not speak for us!”

“Well, how else am I supposed to understand what’s going on?”

“You need to listen! Listen now!”

A shudder trundles through my body, so much it bowls me over. Hands on my knees, I heave in and out. It feels like I’m running a marathon that I’ll never win.

“Please…” I pant out loud. Then I stand, look around. I’m drawing some stares, so I move behind the stairwell and away from prying eyes.

“J-just calm down. I can’t let them know I’m like this. They can’t know I hear you. They can’t know I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Their anger is palpable and wild like a heart on the verge of cardiac arrest.

Long seconds later, the voice speaks again.

“Richmond has a book. A special book about the power of the stone. Ask for it.”

The rage that cages my body flees. I lean against the railing, slumping over until I recalibrate.

Someone taps my shoulder. I grab hold of their hand and squeeze.

“I swear to God, slayer, I will kick your ass if you hit me again!” Rose’s indignation pulls me out of fight mode.

“Sorry, I…I…” I mean, what can I say? That I hear voices? Feel rashly angry at Bitch Rich? Be cool, girl. Play it off.

Rose shakes out her hand. “Has anyone told you that you have the grip of a toddler?”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes. They’re supernatural terrors. Anyway, guess what?”

“What?” I play along, still feeling a little dazed.

“It’s my birthday, too.” She claps. “Well, in two days, our birthdays are like five days apart, and I got us matching gifts,” she announces with a trill. Rose marches across the foyer and pulls out a black shirt from a red tote bag.

“No thanks, I—” I stop speaking when I read what’s on the shirt.

Texas aka The Maximus

Slaying Bitches Since 2023

She tosses the shirt to me.

I grab it mid-air. “I…”

“Shut up. You love it.”

I do, I really do, and despite the crappy morning—scratch that, crappy last six weeks of my life—I laugh.

Rose unbuttons her hot pink cardigan and points to her matching black shirt underneath.

Rose aka Stake and Bake

Slaying Bitches since 1671

“Oh my Lord.” Grandma Lou clutches her chest.

“Want me to make you one?” Rose asks her with a wide grin.

“I most certainly do not want that vulgar nonsense.” Grandma Lou shakes her head and walks away, muttering, “Should’ve hit that child with my shoe while I had the chance.”

“Let there be music.” When Rose claps her hands, music blares from overhead Bluetooth speakers. She hooks her arm around mine and drags me across the floor.

We get lots of smiles and Happy Birthdays. Honestly, it’s just what I need after that weird encounter with Rich and the voice in my head. That is, until I get a chance to speak to him. I scan the room, but I don’t see him.

He better not run away. I sniff the air, then relax when I notice Rich’s cotton candy scent. He’s still here somewhere.

Before I can follow my nose, Rose yanks us toward the living room.

Someone, probably Rose, moved the typical setup of a U-shaped couch and plush rug to the back of the living room near the wall. I guess someone—again, probably Rose—transformed the section into a dance floor. Like a middle school dance, everyone’s hugging the wall, but instead of clutching a cup of cheap fruit punch, it’s flutes of fancy champagne.

I clock Anton sitting near a guy with chestnut brown hair and brown eyes. He, as well as Rose’s uncles—Lev and Evgeny—are having an intense conversation. Their harsh whispers grate my ears. I hear my government name—Raven—from the brown-eyed and brown-haired stranger, and based on his briny smell, I can tell he’s a vamp.

The way he says my name doesn’t sound friendly—it sounds like a curse.

Rose tightens her grip around my arm. “Let’s go say hello.”

I groan and pull my arm back. I’m not in the mood to chat with this salty-ass vampire. And I’m really not in the mood for Anton’s severe stares and pointed questions.

Rose stops us in front of them. “Hi, uncles. Hi, Anton.” She ignores the rude, handsome stranger sitting beside them.

He lifts the lip of a champagne flute, but before he takes a sip, he slyly smiles.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Rose asks the group.

Her uncles bob their heads in sync, and Anton simply lifts one eyebrow. One of his brown curls slips over his forehead. He sets it to the right, locked behind his ear, looks away, and sighs.

Jeez, he’s such a sigher.

“Happy Birthday, Mila Rose.” The handsome vampire who I still don’t know (and honestly, I’m good on that) greets Rose.

“Oh. Hello, Nikolai.” Rose tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder. “I’m certainly surprised you’re here.”

“Lev called me, told me trouble is brewing with Alexander.” He narrows his eyes and glares at me when he says trouble . “Now I am here.”

“Yes. Here you are.” She sips her drink. “For how long?”

“For as long as it takes.” His eyes are warm, but his voice is heavy, husky.

“Well. Atlanta has plenty of hotels, and I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking. Try the Waldorf Astoria in Buckhead. I was there last night. The beds are heavenly—”

“He stays,” Evgeny states, in his matter-of-fact way.

“But Uncle—” Rose sputters, crossing her arms.

“Aunt Mila says he is welcome, so he is welcome,” Lev adds.

“But—”

Nikolai leans forward in his seat. “Three hundred and twenty years old, yet you still act like a child.”

Rose’s face turns the color of that deep-red lipstick from MAC that she likes to wear.

“And you still have immature choices in…friends.” He glances at me.

Okay. No more playing nice. But before I can snatch him up, I hear a low hiss, and my attention snaps to Rose.

Oh shit, the fangs are out.

“I’m not a child—you very well know it. And that’s always been your problem.” She spins on her heels and clickety-clacks away.

“Hold up.” I point at Nikolai. “Why are you dragging me into this?”

“There’s so much darkness inside you, I can practically taste it.”

A chorus of whispers breaks out in my head. I hear them clearly now.

“Listen. Listen. Listen. Texas. Texas. Texas.”

My stomach drops.

It’s the same thing they said the night I went dark. The night I lost control. I look down at myself, checking my hands and arms to see if the dark cloaks me.

“You are a danger to yourself and those around you,” Nikolai continues.

Whatever. He doesn’t know me.

But what if he’s right?

And if he sees it, then everyone else sees it. Everyone else will know that I’m a fraud. That I can lose control at any moment. That I can even hear the power inside of me.

“I appreciate your caution, Nikolai.” Anton inclines his head. “But your assessment is premature and unwarranted.”

I smile my thanks at Anton, who seems to have a new attitude since yesterday.

“Lev, Evgeny, Anton.” I give them a two-finger salute. “Good seeing you again. And you…” I point at Nikolai. “It would be nice to never cross paths again, but since you’ll be staying here, I highly doubt it. So I’ll just pretend you’re a ghost. Feel free to do the same for me.” I give him that same wide smile Rose had given him.

“You and Rose are just alike.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, and he struggles not to smile.

“Have a good night.” I turn to leave, and right when I do, I find Rich standing in the corner, quietly sipping a fancy foreign beer.

“Speak to him. Now!” another voice commands. This one sounds different from the other one from earlier.

“But I thought you didn’t want me to speak to him?” Clearly, the voices are not on the same page.

“Do it!” the voice insists.

I stride over to him like there’s fire fueling my shoes. More stares are fixed on my direction, but I don’t have time for distractions. His eyes widen again when he notices me storming his way. When he turns to leave, I reach out and grab his bicep.

“Come down to the basement and let’s talk. No more avoiding me.” I don’t let go and drag him downstairs. Charlotte’s staring at me and looks like she wants to say something, but I shake my head and mouth, “Privacy.”

She raises her hand like she understands, but I know I only have like five minutes before she follows us.

“What is it you want, Texas?” he snaps.

I don’t answer him. Not yet. Not until we’re out of range from the enhanced ears of vampires and slayers alike.

Once we clear the stairs in the basement, I turn on the lights and motion him to the empty office that Lev and Evgeny often use.

Like a boss, I take a seat behind the desk. Rich just stands there looking like a dumbass with his stiff arms at his side, staring at his shoes.

But then it’s like someone’s yelled, “Action!” from the way Rich suddenly crosses his arms, tilts his head, and twists his lips like they’re being pinched.

“Charlotte told me you wanted to speak. Let me guess, you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

God, he’s such a mean girl. “Settle down, Regina George.”

He shrugs. “You’re the one who brought me here to talk about your troubles.”

“Yeah, I’ve got trouble, and you haven’t lifted one finger to help me.” I cross my arms, matching his energy.

“You’ve made it clear that you don’t want my help.” He leans against the doorjamb.

“Whatever…do you have like…a book or anything that can help me?”

“There are plenty of books about alchemy that Charlotte can give you,” he answers without blinking. “You need to learn the basics.”

“I’m not talking about things you can learn in the textbook. I’m…” I lean back in the chair, thinking through my words. “Things about being the Maximus.”

“Like…?” He lifts an eyebrow.

I raise my hand, pointing at the stone. “Like how does this work?” I yell. Okay, zero points for me and patience.

“I use…” He looks over his shoulder then back at me. “I only use alchemy. The stone simply amplifies it.”

“He’s lying,” the voice hisses.

“Girl, I know. Relax.” I don’t need a voice to tell me that he’s a rat.

“After seven hundred years of being the Maximus, you’re telling me that you haven’t taken any notes about other things you can do?”

The smirk on his face slides off. “What other things?”

“Things other slayers can’t do.” We stare at each other like we’re mentally playing a deadly game of chicken. Neither of us can look away.

“Tell me what you can do and then maybe I can enlighten you,” he says, keeping his voice low.

I laugh. Right, so he can go back and tell Charlotte, who’ll tell Anton and Grandma Lou. Then I’ll spend the rest of my life mediating in between head scans.

No, thanks.

“They’re right. You really are the worst.” I stand and shove my way out of the office, shoulder checking him on the way out.

“Who is they, Texas?” Rich has lost the sneer in his voice. I turn around, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Good.

“ Everyone . No one likes you. All this time you’ve been licking your wounds, taking up space, helping only yourself. I don’t know why you’re hiding shit from us, but it’s not going to help us win against Alexander.”

“You don’t understand…” He looks down at his feet again, clenching his fists. “Just focus on what Anton and the Prussakovs teach you. You can be just as strong as me one day. You don’t need the—”

“Don’t need what?” I jump on the opening.

What is it I don’t need…the voices? The darkness?

“You don’t need me,” Rich answers, disappointing the hell out of me.

Shouldn’t be surprised. Even if he heard the voices before, he’ll never be honest.

“You’re right.”

I don’t need him, and I don’t need this stupid party, and I will not be wasting another minute away from my bed.

Sneaking up the stairs, I jump when I find Anton seated on the padded seat near a window that has a stunning view of the garden in the backyard.

“We need to talk,” he says in a way that I know I won’t be able to avoid whatever grievance he plans to deliver.

“It’s my birthday, Anton. Cut me some slack.” Still, I follow him. The man is a dog with a bone when he wants something. It’s just better to get whatever lecture he has over with.

We’re halfway up the stairs before he says, “You look sallow.”

“Black people don’t look sallow. We’re either ashy or hydrated, and God help you if you say I’m ashy.”

Anton lets out that little breath of his—the one that says he somewhat understands what I mean, but he doesn’t much care for it.

“You don’t look ashen, but listless. Sickly.”

“I’m fine. It’s my birthday, after all.”

He sighs. “You don’t seem happy.”

“Why should I be?” I sit beside him.

“Indeed.” He settles beside me. We sit in silence for a few minutes until he breaks it. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday. I’ve not been myself. And…and I know I’ve pushed you too hard. But this is not out of malice. It’s because I know what you’ll face.”

“Right.” I tug at the loose string on the sofa. “You don’t want me to turn dark.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your darkness. It’s a tool that you must learn to control.” He leans back and does his Care Bear stare thing. He’s good at it, with one eye blue and the other hazel green.

“I don’t want you to fail like I have against Alexander.”

“You didn’t fail, you—”

“I am no match for my father. His strength is…overwhelming. Even with my magnificent sword, Solphear, I could barely cut or burn his flesh.” He clenches his hand into a tight fist. “Right now, you are no match for me, which means you are no match for Alexander. You must get stronger, and I know you can do it. I suspect…I suspect your distraction has something to do with the new vampire king.”

“Khamari?”

“Yes. Him,” he confirms, both soft and swift. “Does he visit you in your dreams? Is that the reason you cannot sleep at night and cannot focus on training?”

“No, he hasn’t, not since…right after I became Maximus. He knows he’s not welcome. So no, he’s not a distraction. I don’t even think about him.”

“Are you sure you don’t think of him? Charlotte says you have experienced some trauma from his abandonment.” He lifts his eyebrows.

His words shock me like a taser.

Abandonment isn’t the right word. It makes it sound like he left me in a puddle of tears and that I can no longer receive company because of my inability to cope. No, what Khamari did was turn into a vampire (not his fault), then disappear and erase my memories (totally his fault).

Later, when he saw me again, he was all like “top of the morning to you, stranger.” Meanwhile, we gave our virginity to each other and exchanged I love yous less than a year ago.

But I’m not traumatized. I’m enraged. There’s an inferno in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t eat at me—it feeds me. And my daily thoughts of his demise stoke the fire.

“Charlotte’s wrong.” I snort. “And don’t tell me you’re getting advice from little Ms. Everyone Needs Therapy.”

“Then what is it?” Anton presses. “What keeps you from sleeping? Is it Dakota?”

The flame inside me flickers and licks at my insides.

Khamari’s not the only jerk in my life. Oh, no. There’s my old roomie, Dakota, who pretended to be a meek mouse but ended up a traitorous mole. She let vampires into our academy, and they slaughtered scores of students and teachers.

I deflect. “How do you know I can’t sleep?”

“I’m half-human, not fully nocturnal. I can hear you—your tears and muted screams.” He focuses his rare eyes on me. It’s not the unusual color that pulls me in, but the ice in his eyes has thawed. He looks at me, genuinely looks at me like he wants to know me—who I am, not just how I’m doing. Like a friend .

But I’ve learned that making friends is the first step toward trouble.

“I’ll try to be quiet,” I whisper.

“Wait here.” He gets up and goes inside a room—his room—then he returns with a small, rounded box the size of an air fryer. “For you.”

“Oh.” I take the box from his hands. It’s heavier than it looks. “What is this?”

“A CD player.”

“A what?”

“It’s… You put a compact disc in it, and it plays music.”

“Oh yeah. I saw this at a museum once,” I tease.

He lets out an airy sigh. “It is old-fashioned, yes. But still usable.”

He presses the middle button and the flap releases, revealing a silver disc. “It has my favorite sounds. Things that quiet my mind. It bears songs and chords and instruments from around the world.”

“Thank you.”

“Play it anytime. It helped me. I hope it helps you now.” He stands. “You’re strong and you fight well. I’m very proud of your progress. But I’m also very sorry you must carry this burden. I’m sorry that I’ve added to it.” He lets out a breath, but it doesn’t sound like frustration. “I’ve never had the pleasure of training a Maximus.”

“I…” My cheeks warm uncomfortably at the odd and infrequent compliment. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” He walks into his room and shuts the door.

I clutch the player and hug it against my stomach. I push down the lid and press play. The low hum of the gongs and chants vibrates my chest.

After pausing the music, I walk upstairs to my room and place it on the nightstand.

“Listen to us. Listen to ME!” a woman shouts in my head. Her command seizes my muscles. I freeze.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“We want you,” the legion of voices shout at distinct tones and tempos and volume.

“And who the hell is we?” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“The one hundred souls trapped inside the stone want you.”