An iced-over desk stood at his left, and a frozen gentleman sat with his focus on the daily paper. He never had a chance to run. The storm happened so fast he probably didn’t feel a thing. Maybe a draft, and then nothing.
Taylor shoved him out of his office chair, but the corpse and the chair both toppled over and broke like fine china across the floor. He had long stopped letting the idea of the dead get to him. There was nothing he could do, and he couldn’t dwell on it any more than he had.
“Ringo!” Taylor screeched as he scraped his fingernails into an icy drawer pull. The cold bit into his fingers, the chill racing up his arms. He gritted his teeth and groaned with the fury of too much bullshit piled on him since being here.
He would find Ringo. He would get back to Corentin. And he didn’t have any fucking idea how, but he would solve this.
The drawer panel snapped off in his hand, and he crashed backward onto the ice block of a bookcase. His lower back clipped the edge, and the heat of pain shot from his pelvis to his toes.
Taylor cried out in shock and frustration. He tried to soothe himself, but only made it worse. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to find the only friend who could help him now.
“Zee?” he asked, his voice trembling.
Silence.
“Zee? Please….” His voice cracked.
The silence persisted.
“Please…. Please….”
He sniffed and failed to keep it all in. All of Corentin’s advice about making choices had failed him.
Taylor, instead, chose to cry.
He chose panic.
He chose fear.
He reached inside himself, hunting for the one spark that would center him. He searched for the fragile strength he desperately needed. Taylor visualized a burning pink ball in his mind’s eye. Sparking, pulsing, and urging him onward. He physically reached out, as if he could snatch it from his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he imagined the ball in his hands. He let the warmth drift through his fingers. He cradled the magic close. He could do this.
He chose to try.
He’d once braved an insane road trip and took on a Witchking, with no magic and all the while believing he was no one special.
Corentin had made every effort to make Taylor understand how special he truly was. Corentin never stopped trying. Even when things turned bleak, he never stopped.
In that moment, Taylor chose love.
He stood, not sure of what was coming, but for Corentin’s sake, he would be brave. He would find Ringo, and Ray, and Zane, and specifically give him a piece of his mind.
Outside the window, the cresting and ebbing howls of the mundanes filtered through the city even louder now. Taylor once thought their pandemonium could be solved within five minutes of his arrival. But nothing was as easy as that, or what it had seemed.
Taylor pressed his fingers to the frozen window blinds, and they collapsed under his gentle touch. The shards gathered at his booted feet. He shook his head at the view. The mundanes weren’t quarantined into their safe zones. They were right outside, corralled like cattle. They screamed and groaned, packed in too tight to breathe for blocks down the streets. The National Guard trucks had also come into the city and herded the mundanes even closer to Taylor’s prison.
Guardsmen surrounded the doors, and Taylor shook his head. They weren’t protecting him, that’s for sure. They were keeping him in. The guardsmen pulled lines of mundanes out of the mob and then shoved them to their knees. The mundanes screamed, not understanding what was happening. Babbling, crying, messing themselves.
Taylor’s lip quivered, and dread clenched at his chest.
This was the true horror of magic exposure for humans. At such a high dose, the mundane mind was lost forever. Caught in an endless cycle of trying to reason out what they saw, only for their reason to shatter as fragile as ice.
Taylor covered his mouth as the guardsmen pressed the barrels of their rifles to the mundanes’ foreheads.
“No….” Taylor trembled.
Echoing cracks rang out.
The mundanes dropped in lifeless heaps.
“No!” Taylor screamed and banged on the window. “Stop!”
The guardsmen pulled out another group.
Taylor screamed and slapped on the window, the cold stinging his hands. “Stop! Stop!”
A burst of blue sparks flashed out of the corner of his eye. Taylor spun about just as Honeysuckle collided into his chest.
“Taylor!” Honeysuckle cried and clung to him. “Taylor! Something terrible has happened!” She buried her face in his chest and sobbed openly. Her neat bun unraveled into a psychotic mess of white curls, and her dress was caked in ash.
“They’re killing them.” Taylor pointed to the window. “And I can’t stop them.” He pulled Honeysuckle away from his chest and met her gaze. “They’ve herded the mundanes here just to kill them!”
“Taylor!” Honeysuckle yanked on his coat. “Corentin’s dead!”
Taylor’s heart stopped. “What?” He swore he misheard her. “Corentin’s dead?” He shook his head. “No….
No
!” He took Honeysuckle by the upper arms, fighting every urge to shake her. “You’re lying! You have to be. Tell me you’re lying!”
Honeysuckle shook her head. “Idea’s gone. Corentin, Aliss, everyone. I was casting a heartline to get us to you and Ringo, but there was an explosion, and I ended up… here.” Her voice broke. “Where’s Ringo? I need Ringo!”
Taylor crumpled to his knees and maintained his grip on Honeysuckle. “I don’t know…,” he whispered. “I don’t know.” His words died, replaced by wordless screams. Corentin was dead, and now he was forced to leave things where they were. He would never be able to make it right.
Honeysuckle wriggled free of Taylor’s grip. “Taylor, listen to me,” she said sweetly, despite her tears. “You always said you’d think of something. There’s always a way. Always.”
Taylor startled as the doorknob creaked. Ice crystals flowered over the metal, and the cold slithered through the cracks.
He shot to his feet, then scooped up a frozen shard of the window blinds. Honeysuckle zipped behind the desk as Taylor brandished the shard like a dagger.
The door swung open, and Taylor blindly launched himself at whatever was on the other side. He screamed a deep, guttural rage for everything he had lost. His swing hit nothing, and he took another, only to be grabbed at the wrist. Taylor jerked to attention.
And stared into the face of his brother.
Atticus Hatfield.
May 9
Sheraton Hotel, New Orleans
ATTICUS WAS
still the Fairest of Them All, but the time in Andersen’s had matured him. The soft, unfortunately feminine features they shared were gone and replaced by the hard angles of a young man. His lilac eyes no longer showed kindness, but an air of psychosis. His carefree smile hid the madness within. As if Atticus was all too proud of what he had done to New Orleans, he strutted about in only a tank top, cargo shorts, and flip-flops.
Atticus smirked and released Taylor’s wrist.
Taylor stumbled back, shaking his head. “It is you….” He shook his head again. “You really did do all of this….” Taylor clutched his head and turned away. “No. No. I’m making this up. I just want it to be true. I just want this to be true!” He dropped to his knees before Atticus, trying to convince himself otherwise.
“Oh, believe me,” Atticus said as he considered his fingernails, “it’s true.”
Honeysuckle shivered from behind the desk. Her lip quivered at the sight of him. “Atticus….”
Atticus smiled like a cat ready to devour a mouse. “Hello, Godmother.” He tilted his head in Taylor’s direction. “Thrown in your lot with this one, eh?”
Honeysuckle shook an angry fist. “He’s a better princess than you could ever hope to be, you dark-hearted shit.”
Atticus scratched his chin. He seemed so unfazed by anything—calm, collected.
All the while, Taylor burned from the inside out.
“Excellent,” Atticus said with a smile. “You two can die together.”
He turned to walk away, like Taylor was nothing more than refuse.
“Don’t you dare walk away!” Taylor bellowed and lunged for him. But he slammed hard into a sparkling barrier in the doorway. Taylor crashed onto his back, and Honeysuckle came to his aid.
“Dear,” Honeysuckle urged him. “Dear, get up.”
“What’s the rush?” Ray asked as he and Zane loomed over him.
Taylor hissed in challenge and spat at their feet.
Ray retaliated by flicking a golden lock from the floor and smacking Taylor across the jaw.
Taylor gasped and tumbled back.
Honeysuckle squealed and zipped out of the way.
Zane smirked. “Not so tough without your magic now, are ya?”
Honeysuckle pumped an angry fist. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re a big bully!”
Taylor wiped his bloody lip and squinted through the throbbing pain in his head. He took a swing at Zane, but Ray was on the defense and snatched Taylor’s wrist.
“Give it up, Dragon,” Ray said calmly.
“Pfft!” Atticus snorted with an arrogant toss of the head. He watched from a safe distance behind Ray and Zane’s protection. Zane glanced back at him, appearing to wait for orders. Atticus nodded at Honeysuckle. “Grab her.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Honeysuckle growled and slapped her hands together to conjure a burst of magic. But nothing happened. She gasped, her eyes round in terror as Zane closed in. She darted away as Zane tried to snatch her out of the air. He tried again, and she zoomed out of his reach.
“Find Ringo!” Taylor called to her.
Honeysuckle set her jaw as Zane tried to grab her between both hands, and she zipped through like a daredevil through a burning hoop.
Caught off balance, Zane stumbled and crashed into the bookcase.
Honeysuckle vanished through the halls, but Atticus didn’t seem the least affected by her escape.
“Zane,” Atticus said calmly. “You can’t catch something as simple as a pixie.” He gave a dramatic shrug. “A pixie with no magic.”
Zane shook his head. “What are you—” His words died as a ragged cough ripped through his chest. He shuddered violently, and his head fell back as icicles emerged from his eyes and mouth.
Ray recoiled. “I can find her. I’ll do it.” He nodded quickly, looking for Atticus’s approval.
Atticus pointed casually to Zane and nodded to Ray with a bright smile. “Him? You don’t want to end up like him? But he’s going to make such awesome snow cones.”
“I can get the pixie. I promise,” Ray said with a quake of fear.
Atticus tossed up his hands. “Fine. Fine. You’re going to miss the whole thing, but whatever.”
Taylor shook his head, confused by the spectacle as Ray hurried down the hall. He listened to the sound of the suite door opening and slamming shut. So there was a way out of this place.
Atticus shifted when a man Taylor didn’t recognize approached them. Something was different about him. He seemed not to have murder on his mind, merely a disinterested tagalong. Taylor was more confused by his similar fashion sense to Corentin, with flannel shirts and Levis. In the rogues’ gallery of villainy he’d encountered, this guy was new.
The man slipped an arm around Atticus’s waist and whispered something against his hair.
Atticus twitched a dark brow. “Honestly?” he said, clearly irritated. “I’m finally back with my brother.” Atticus gestured to Taylor and looked back at his scruffy companion. “Doesn’t he look good? That’s what clean living does.”
Atticus leaned in to his companion and nested his fingers in his dark scruff of hair. The guy watched Taylor over the top of Atticus’s head. He said nothing, but seemed curious about Taylor.
Atticus drew his brows together as Taylor worked through puzzling all the parts together. Atticus made a childish pout. “Seriously, Tay?”
The guy stepped toward Taylor, and Taylor tried to scramble back. The guy shot forward and captured Taylor by the upper arm, then hauled him to his feet.
Taylor jerked against him, but the guy kept his grip tight and worked Taylor’s arm into a tight twist behind his back. Taylor squealed in protest, and the guy leaned in to whisper calmly into his ear.
“Stop fighting it.”
“Another one of your flunkies?” Taylor grunted as the guy forced him toward the door.
Atticus followed, his flip-flops
clop-clopping
down the hall of the spacious suite. He snorted. “You honestly don’t recognize Idi, do you?”
Taylor stiffened in Idi’s grip and locked his knees. “Let me go!”
“Stop fighting,” Idi ordered and kicked Taylor’s knees forward.
Taylor cried out and stumbled forward in Idi’s grasp. “Atticus,” Taylor called out. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever it is you’re doing, you can stop this.”
“Oh?” Atticus arched a brow. “What exactly is it that I’m doing?”
Taylor growled as Idi shoved him onward. “Taking over New Orleans to harness the magic here, so you and your fuckwit soul mate here can conquer Enchants everywhere.”
Atticus went quiet. Was that sadness in his gaze?
“Atticus,” Taylor pleaded. “You need to put an end to this. They’re killing mundanes in the streets.”
“They are?” Atticus asked.
Did he not understand? Taylor’s heart ached for Atticus’s loss of sanity.
“You’re hurting people,” Taylor said. “You’re hurting a lot of people, and you’re going to hurt a lot more. Do you know what that means?”
Atticus snorted with a toss of the head. “Of course I know what that means. I’m not a child, Tay.”
They guided him to the sitting area, only the plush couches were now frozen solid like ice cubes with hidden treats. Idi shoved Taylor to his knees. Outside, the mundanes screamed, and more gunfire echoed. Atticus stared out the windows, seeming lost in thought.
Taylor trembled. He realized the damning truth: Atticus didn’t feel anything at all. No empathy, nothing. Even if he was now a man, he was miles away in the mind of a little boy before his destiny had claimed him.
Atticus smirked and turned to Taylor. “I just wanted to fuck with you.” He leaned in. “But tell me about this taking over New Orleans to harness the magic? That sounds cool!”