Chapter 8

When I open my eyes, I see the sparkling stone of my engagement ring still on my finger. A beam of light has caught it and attempts to blind me. Typical. Even now, Cole is trying to piss me off.

Rolling onto my back, I see the familiar underside of a bed. All beds look the same from underneath. Dark. Solid. Protective. Familiar.

Dusty.

Apparently, Shaw's bed is just like everybody else's. Underneath, anyway. Not sure how many other beds are stained with my blood or regularly have three monsters biting a girl as they finger fuck her into oblivion.

Part of me hoped I would wake up and find myself home at my father's house. That this was all a nightmare. That the Blood Rite hadn't happened yet.

‘Hello,' says a soft voice.

I turn my head to see a set of orange eyes peering back at me and a mop of black hair.

I scream. She screams.

I sit, whacking my head on the bed, and she falls backwards.

‘Sorry,' she squeaks, dropping a plate and hurrying back. ‘I didn't mean to startle you.'

‘Ow. My head…' I groan, clutching my forehead.

‘Why are you under the bed?' she asks.

‘Who are you?' I counter.

‘I brought you some food.' She gestures to a plate on the floor. ‘I'm not going to hurt you or anything. I swear.'

She stands and steps back, giving me room to slide out. The sun has risen. The curtains are open, and the light hurts my eyes a little.

By the door is a young and slight female with pure orange eyes. Her hands are knotted together as she stands watching me. Her dark hair falls to her waist, and her skin is littered with dark veins.

She looks like a demon.

‘I don't want any trouble.' I step back, but the chain around my neck tightens, keeping me tethered to the bed.

‘Oh. I'm not trouble,' she insists. ‘Well. Unless you hear me start to scream,' she giggles, waving her hand through the air. ‘Then we might be in some trouble.' She leans down and picks up the plate. ‘Bread and an apple. Sorry. There's no human food to eat here. Not that you're exactly human. Unless you are? Tell me. What are you?'

‘What did Shaw or the others say I am?' There is no way I say a word, not after their warnings. Not after I know everyone wants me dead because of my type of magic.

She just giggles and hands me the plate.

‘What are you?' I ask, seeing those vibrant orange eyes look me up and down. ‘What's your name?'

‘Piss off, Banshee!' Archie says as he walks into the room, picking at his teeth.

‘I was just saying hello,' she croons.

‘You've said that. Now go.' He stands between us and nods to the door. ‘Unless you have a wail in you, I'm not interested in anything you have to say. And neither is she.'

She pouts. ‘You know. If you three get a plaything, I think it only fair I do, too.'

‘You want to be back in your cage, Banshee? Cos I can arrange that.'

‘I would rather be returned to my marsh.'

‘Losing patience,' he sighs.

‘Can I at least watch you play with her? I'm so bored.'

She looks me up and down with a hungry little smirk.

‘I'm going to count to three,' Archie replies. ‘If you're still standing there by the time-'

‘Fine,' she huffs. ‘Keep your pet all for yourselves. But unless you want her to starve to death, you will have to fill your kitchen with actual food, Master. She will not last long on scraps or any of the nasty rotten things you keep around here.' She looks at me. ‘And I recommend keeping a close eye on her beyond the safety of your bedrooms. I would hate to wail for her if one of your friends corners her in a hallway.'

‘Banshee. Fuck-off!' Archie says slowly and through his teeth. ‘Now.'

‘Yes... Master.'

I gasp and stumble back, tripping over and falling flat on my backside, as the girl fades into orange smoke.

‘S-she just faded!' I point to the now empty space. ‘She just-'

‘Yeah. Banshees do that.' Archie holds out his hand to help me back up.

‘Banshee?'

‘Yeah.' He pulls me up, picks up the plate, sniffs it, and hands it to me. ‘Eat. You have to get your strength up.'

I take it as he starts rummaging in the wardrobe.

‘I didn't know there were any banshees left. I thought they died out.'

‘There's not many,' he tells me. ‘We grabbed her a few years back and tethered her to us and this house.'

‘You can do that with banshees? Trap them?'

‘If you know how.'

‘What's her name? I did ask, but she didn't say.'

‘That's because she can't speak her own name. And if you or anyone else speaks her name out loud, it frees her from confinement to us. A great little tether enchantment, don't you think?' He tosses me a long black coat. ‘Put that on. It's chilly. I'm sure Shaw won't mind you wearing it.'

I slide it on. It's far too big for me and smells of smoke and lavender, but it's thick and warm and creates a little sense of protection. I wonder if it would stand a chance against Archie's claws.

Doubtful.

‘So you make a habit of trapping and stealing powerful creatures?' I accuse.

‘Only the pretty ones,' he replies with a wink.

‘I'm going outside?' I ask.

‘You're asking a lot of questions. Just do as you're told, yeah?'

‘Why do you have a banshee?'

‘Seriously? Another quest…' He lets out a groan. ‘They sense disaster and grief yet to come.' He concedes. ‘She's tethered to us. We're her masters, so if disaster or grief are heading our way, she lets out a wild shrieking warning.' He throws back his head and lets out this high-pitched wail, waving his arms wildly in the air. Then he looks at me, thoroughly amused. ‘Good to have a heads up, you know?' His gaze lands on the plate of food. ‘You gonna eat that?'

‘Not hungry. You captured a banshee and tethered her to you as an alarm? Don't they eat flesh? Won't she eat you?'

I can't get my head around this. A banshee is a fiercely dark and dangerous creature that dwells in the deepest and dankest swaps. Swamps so wild no man can reach them.

‘They eat tongues and eyes. Pluck them right out. Man. Woman. Child. Animals. They're not fussy. And the question of you eating was more of an order,' he says, nodding to the plate. ‘Eat it, or I've been told to shove it down your throat. Come on.'

He nods again to the plate. I eat, biting into the bruised apple and stale bread.

‘Good girl.' He snaps the chain, separating me from the bed, and pulls it.

I snatch it and refuse to move. He looks back, a little amused at my defiance.

‘Don't call me a good girl. I'm not your good fucking girl. I'm your prisoner. I'm like the banshee you stole and sealed up in this…' I look around the room. ‘Whatever this place is.'

‘Castle,' he says.

‘A castle? Really?' He nods. ‘I've never been in a castle before.'

‘I imagine you haven't done many things, considering you're a sheltered little mud witch who was promised to the next coven leader.'

‘My name is Ashe. Not mud witch. Not Pixie or anything else you want to call me. Ashe. Can you at least give me that dignity since you have stripped me of all others?'

‘We're not the ones who tied you up and cut you to ribbons. And we aren't the ones who wanted to fuck you with a knife as you watched the man you love roughly get balls deep with your bestie.'

My glare deepens.

Prick.

‘Come on, Pixie.' He leads me out the door, guiding me like a leashed dog. As I trail behind him, I try to snap the chain just as he did. No luck. It might as well be made of solid steel.

Archie leads me down the hall, tugging when I slow, distracted as I try memorising my surroundings. Fixing the locations of the doors. The halls. The stairs leading off this way and that. Everything is stone and metal. A castle, bare and unwelcoming.

‘You were under the bed again,' he says. ‘Why do you go under there?' He peers back at me. ‘And what was the sheet over the mirror about?'

I shrug, not interested in telling him shit.

‘I'll get the underside of my bed cleaned for you when you stay with me. You want a pillow under there, too, Pixie?'

I frown at him, but he's not mocking me. He's genuinely asking.

‘A blanket, maybe?' he adds.

‘I will not be sleeping in your room, dog boy.'

‘Dog boy?' he laughs. ‘That's the best you can come up with?'

‘Mutt? Hair ball? Mongrel? Pooch? I have others if you would like to hear them. Seeing as you insist on calling me Pixie and Mud Witch.'

‘I'd prefer you call me…' He looks at me with a smirk. ‘Master. And you will be spending time in my room, Pixie,' he replies matter of factly. ‘And you're a fool if you think Dorian won't want you as well.'

‘Shaw gave me his word I wouldn't be raped.'

‘Did I say "when I rape you"?' he repeats in a deep voice attempting to sound like some ridiculous villain. ‘Or did I say "when you stay in my room with me"?' He drapes the thin chain over his shoulder and pulls a little, making me stumble after him.

As we walk through this stupidly large castle, I begin to see others. Males mostly. Then, a few females. Then, creatures with scales or feathers. Some have strange markings, and others have abnormally coloured skin. One blue. Another a peculiar grey.

When one of them sniffs me, I pick up my pace and get closer to Archie.

‘What else lives in your castle?' I ask him.

‘Nothing you want to find yourself alone with.'

Can't say I disagree.

After a while, we come to a steep set of winding stone stairs that lead down. We follow them further and further until we come to another door. When we step inside, Archie locks the door behind us.

And I'm looking at Dorian and Shaw.

They're sat with their feet up by a roaring fire. Each holds a goblet of wine and watch me as I stand before them. I quickly scan the room for any idea of what they plan on doing to me next. I spot a long table to the side. Several black squares of silk are draped over whatever lies on its surface.

‘She was under the bed again,' Archie says, dropping the delicate chain around my neck and going to join the two others.

He takes a goblet of wine left waiting for him and leans against the leather chair Dorian is sitting on. They all look at me, and their dark excitement makes me uneasy.

‘I will fight you,' I warn them. ‘Anything you want to do to me, I won't make it easy.'

‘That's a step up from trying to kill yourself, I guess,' Dorian says. ‘I'll take that as a good sign.' He stands and heads towards me, stopping close and offering me his wine. I don't take it. I don't trust him, his wine or anything else.

My head tilts back so I can meet those black eyes.

‘Take the wine. You'll enjoy it.'

‘I'd rather not. If you want to drug me-'

‘Drug you?' he laughs. ‘It's wine. Nothing more.'

‘I'm not an idiot. Warm wine makes you slow and pliable. It-'

‘Warm wine?' he cuts in, a deep frown forming on his face. ‘You mean Skullcap wine?' His head tilts. ‘Who the fuck has given you Skullcap wine?'

‘I don't know what it's called, but I know it well enough to refuse it when I can.'

Dorian looks at the others, and all wear that same expression.

‘Skullcap?' Archie repeats. ‘Isn't that used to drug and rape by mercenaries and pimps?' His head flicks up. ‘Who the fuck has been giving you Skullcap wine?' he demands, his words harsh and angry for the first time. ‘That's toxic. It can kill.'

‘Like you care,' I mutter, clasping my hands together. ‘I will not be drinking your wine.'

‘It's just wine,' Dorian assures me.

I refuse to take it. ‘I don't believe you.'

From his pocket, he pulls out what looks like a little doll. It has hair and little beads for the eyes. I feel its aura and shudder. Darkness emanates from it. Power too. Such power. He holds it in his fingers and stares at me.

‘Drink the wine,' he repeats, gripping it.

My arm lifts the goblet. I shake, and wine spills over my fingers as I resist. But there is no resisting.

The goblet reaches my lips, and my body obeys, gulping down the cool wine until it's empty.

It's actually delicious.

His grip eases, and I drop the cup.

‘That's not possible.' I shake my head. ‘Not possible!'

‘See? Just wine. I'm not a liar. You will never drink that other poison again,' he snarls as if warning me. Like I chose to drink it. ‘When did you drink Skullcap? Who gave it to you and why?'

‘That's a Poppet doll!' I look at the doll as he tucks it into his pocket. I know the hair on its head is mine. That it's stuffed with straw soaked in my blood. But that's not possible. It can't be! ‘You're…' I take a shaky breath, almost too afraid to say the words. ‘You're a shadow master?'

He offers me a little bow. Well, it is an achievement, I guess. In the stories, they're demons that escape Hell and inhabit the body of a just dead witch. They control others with poppet dolls. Not only that, if they kill the one they make the doll for, their souls belong to them.

They're dark creatures. Death incarnate, inhabiting flesh and becoming masters of those they murder.

Some call them demigods.

I didn't even think they were real. Poppet dolls are myths. The kids in my village used to make them and leave them at the doorstep of whoever pissed them off earlier that day.

‘You're a myth…' I whisper, looking him up and down. ‘In the stories, you're…'

‘I'm?' he asks, his brow hitched a little.

‘Well, you're a monster. Horns and a tail. Scales and bits of you rot and fall off.' I wave my hand in his general direction. ‘Not…'

‘Not?' he encourages.

‘Well,' I scoff. ‘You're beautiful.'

The two guys snort as they try to hold in their laughter, and again, I feel my face blush in utter embarrassment.

Did I seriously just call one of my kidnappers beautiful?

Dorian's not laughing along with them. And he hasn't looked away.

‘You're the stuff of legend.' I find myself walking towards him. My curiosity crushes my fear. I am literally looking at a creature from another world. Somewhere inside that body is an ethereal creature. It's lived in an entirely different realm of existence. How could I not be enthralled by such a thing? ‘Is the Goddess Hel real?' I ask. ‘Does she really rule over a realm of fire, death and suffering? Is that where you come from?' My hand rests on his bare chest. ‘You have a heartbeat. Wow. It's so slow.' I look up again and see him watching me with deep curiosity. ‘Can you feel me touching you? What's it like inhabiting a body? Is it true that you're a demigod?'

‘You're not afraid?' he asks, looking at my hand on his chest. ‘Most faint when they learn I'm real. Or run in terror.'

‘Where do I have left to run?' I reply. ‘Besides. I'm a monster too. Do you have to inhabit new bodies when the one you're using starts to rot?'

‘You've read Higgs and Falcon's book of fairy tales, haven't you?' he says, lowering my hand. ‘Nothing on me will rot and fall off.'

‘No,' Archie chuckles. ‘You'll stay beautiful forever, Dorian.'

Archie laughs harder, making Dorian's eye twitch.

‘Is this world better than the one you came from?' I ask Dorian, ignoring Archie.

‘Infinitely,' he replies.

‘There's nothing worse than your home being hell.'

His eyes dance left and right as if reading my mind. He can't do that. Not if he's a shadow master.

‘You know something of hell yourself,' he says quietly. ‘I can see it in your eyes.'

I step back and look away, feeling far too exposed with him so close.

‘What am I doing down here?' I ask them all.

Dorian gestures to the long table across the room. I head over.

‘What's this?' I ask.

Shaw pulls the cloth away.

‘We need to know your Kindred.' He waves his hand over the many items laid out on the surface.

‘My Kindred?' I repeat.

‘Yes. You mud witches seek out your Kindred, don't you?'

‘Earth witches,' I correct. ‘And I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘I told ya,' Archie says. ‘They only let the highborn coven members test for a Kindred.'

‘And she was due to marry the next Coven leader,' Dorian snipes.

Again, they all look at me as if I'm about to admit I know what they're on about. But I merely shrug. Cole never mentioned it.

‘Many witches have a Kindred,' Shaw explains, scanning the items on the table. ‘It's a certain kind of magic that resonates with them. To find it, they stand before specific items and feel a draw to one. A call. Not everyone who seeks a Kindred will find it. In truth, not many do.'

‘So something on this table could lead me to my Kindred? What if none of them do?'

Will they punish me? Make me pay? Be filled with rage?

‘There are hundreds of possibilities,' Shaw says, distractedly looking at the countless items on the table. ‘These are the most powerful ones for a blood witch, so we'll start here. Don't get your hopes up, Pixie. It's unlikely you'll have one. But we're keen to know what, if any, gifts you may have that we can play with. It is not in an earth witch's nature to use their gifts for selfish or harmful reasons. Nature is about balance. But you? A blood witch? It's about taking. Draining and devouring. It's all passion and need and want. Blood magic is not about balance.'

‘If I use this twisted magic, I'll become a monster.'

‘Good. Then you will be in perfect company with us.' Shaw snatches my hand and uses a dagger to cut my palm. The tip of the blade moves as I yell in pain and anger. Blood seeps from the markings he carves and he holds it over a strange straw dolly.

‘Well?' Shaw urges. ‘Feel anything?'

‘No.'

He moves my hand. Blood falls over some rune stones.

I shake my head. There's nothing there.

Thank the gods.

The next is over a dead cat. As soon as my blood lands on it, I gasp, feeling the connection. The boys all inhale, smelling it somehow. And they all let out a growl from deep inside their chests, staring at the cat that twitches as my blood lands on it.

‘W-what does that mean?' I ask, staring at it with wide eyes.

They all share a silent, unreadable stare.

‘You feel that?' he asks. ‘Feel the connection?'

‘To the dead cat?' I snap, still trying to pull my hand away.

‘Yes, Pixie. Do you feel the connection to the dead cat?'

‘I… I don't like… Shaw…'

The longer I hold it there, the stronger it becomes. This connection… this pull, calling me. Pleading with me. My hand starts to lower. The closer I get, the more powerful it is.

And the worst part is that it's downright intoxicating. The strength and sense of belonging. The rush of heat coursing through my body.

‘Don't be afraid of it,' Shaw encourages. His hands go to move, to let me go. As soon as he eases, I feel the stability of the connection become unsteady and volatile.

I slam his hand back on me.

‘Don't let me go,' I demand.

‘Why?'

‘It feels safer. Just don't move!'

His hands grip me tighter. When he let me go, it felt like I was being consumed by chaos.

This is steady. It's firm and solid.

It's fucking euphoric.

My hand touches the cat.

And it fucking meows.

Screaming, I let go and throw myself backwards. I would be on the floor if Shaw weren't there.

‘It m-m-meowed!' I stammer, staring at the now lifeless cat. ‘How?'

He bites his wrist and offers it to me. ‘For the cut,' he says.

‘I don't want your blood.' I shove his hand away and step away from his touch.

He moves quickly, pressing his wound to my mouth. His blood oozes onto my tongue and slides down my throat.

‘I wasn't asking, Pixie. The smell of your blood is too distracting. I can hardly think smelling you.'

After a few swallows, he stands and looks down at me, still gasping.

‘You good?' he asks.

‘Fuck you,' I reply.

‘Take that as a yes.'

He leaves me to discuss what happened with the others.

Their words are distant as they mumble to each other, standing across the room by the fire, sipping their drink.

My head spins wildly like I've consumed bottles of wine instead of a single glass. And the after effects of that power still tease me. I grip the edge of the table of dark objects and use it to haul myself up.

Blood drips from my nose from completing the Kindred. With a groan, I hunch over the table and close my eyes. Why does my head always feel as if it's on fire? Why must everything hurt?

The damn cat moved. It meowed at me from beyond the grave, but I didn't feel life. All that I felt was a black, endless pit of emptiness. A void. No pain or joy. No wants or needs. Just an infinite nothing.

Is that what awaits us all? When our hearts stop and our eyes finally close, will that greet us?

Just nothing.

And that frightens me more than anything. More than hellfire. More than limbo.

Nothing…

Blood continues to drip from my nose and splatters beneath me. When I open my eyes, I'm looking at my reflection.

It's a black fucking mirror.

I scream, feeling pain and absolute terror in equal measure as the shadows within move. As they reach out to me.

I fall on the floor, scrambling away, still screaming as I try to escape it.

Shaw is standing before me in a matter of seconds with the mirror in hand.

‘Did you just find another Kindred?' he asks.

I violently shake my head.

He snatches my hand and forcefully wipes it under my nose, gathering up the blood there before slamming it on the glass of the black mirror.

‘STOP!' I cry, trying and failing to kick him away. To separate from that mirror.

I struggle so much that I end up in Dorian's arms, held fast as Archie takes my head and forces me to look into the mirror.

‘Please!' I cry. ‘Please stop!'

‘Look into the mirror,' Dorian commands. ‘Stop struggling and look.'

Through the pain and terror, I'm vaguely aware of the burning of the mark he left on me. I obey his command, and I'm still as soon as I see the black reflection.

My breathing slows as I gaze into it. My heart thumps hard.

Thump… thump… thump…

It's so loud, it's almost deafening.

‘Two Kindreds?' I hear one of them say. ‘Have you ever heard of that before?'

‘No,' another replies. ‘Both an earth witch and blood. Two kindreds. I've never heard of such a thing.'

I can't tell who is who or if they're mad or happy.

I stare harder into that mirror. My face becomes another's. A woman with dark hair blinks back at me. I wince at her mangled face. At the deep gashes across her cheek. At the eyeball hanging by a long piece of muscle to her chin. And I feel such pain and fear.

I fucking feel it. The more I look, the more I do. The way it feels to be clawed to pieces. The hot ripping. The agonising cuts.

Why won't they let me go? Why can't I look away?

The woman in the mirror slams her fists against the glass.

‘Let me go!' I scream.

‘You have to link to it!' Shaw insists.

‘She's breaking through!' I thrash harder. The mirror cracks. ‘Shaw. I beg of you. Let me go!'

‘She's already connected to this Kindred…' Dorian whispers as he holds me from behind. ‘That's impossible.'

‘What?' Shaw demands, his eyes dancing between us.

‘She has already connected!' Dorian reaches over and smacks Shaw's hand. ‘Move the mirror before the spirit breaks through!'

The mirror cracks further, and a ghostly hand wraps around my throat. Dark fingers with black staining on the tips claw at my skin.

Dorian's eyes widen as he sees it. ‘Destroy it! Before she possesses her!'

Archie rips it from Shaw's hand and tosses it across the room.

The sound of it shattering is followed by silence. We all look at the shards scattered on the floor. Then they all look at me as I gasp in breath after breath.

‘Shaw…' Archie whispers. ‘Did you see who that was?'

‘I saw.'

‘She already had a Kindred?' Archie asks, falling back on his knees. ‘But, she has no scars. There are no marks on her body except those we put there when we claimed her.' He gestures to my forearm. ‘Where's her Kindred mark? She should have-'

My stomach turns, and I retch and heave, vomiting the wine I had only moments ago.

My head… my head!

‘Pixie?' Shaw says, tapping my cheek as my head lolls. ‘Ashe. When did you connect to your Kindred?'

No words come out. Not a single one.

‘What the hell has happened to you, Pixie?' he whispers. ‘What are you?'

My eyes close, and everything fades to black.