Authors: Brenda Drake
“She had the power to make a person’s insides erupt in flames, burning the poor soul from the inside out, right?”
“That’s correct. This is my granddaughter, and I will incinerate you if you touch her.”
“Or suck my blood,” I interjected.
Faith snorted. “Contrary to popular belief, humans don’t taste at all good. They’re bitter and salty. Lucky for you, I’m on your security detail. I promise not to eat you while on duty.”
“Yeah, lucky.”
“You could have Herman, instead. He’s an Aqualian.” I detected a hint of teasing in her voice. “But he’s kind of slimy.”
I liked her, but she needed a spritz of perfume. “So, if you’re staying the night, you could take a bath here. We won’t mind.”
Faith lifted a smile. “That would be fun. I don’t remember the last time I had one.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No one ever told me how often I should take a bath. I was raised by the pack after my parents were killed.” Faith sniffed her underarm. “Oh, that’s bad.”
“You mean you were
born
a Laniar?”
“Did you think I was made?” She laughed. “I’ll say it again; we are
not
vampires or werewolves, or hounds, for that matter.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“No need to be sorry. I barely remember my family. I enjoyed living with the pack. I met Ricardo there.”
“Oh, is he your boyfriend?”
“He was until he broke things off. I fell hard for his charms, so I was devastated and I left the pack. That’s when Merl took me in.”
“I had me a Ricardo in my younger days. It was a lovely, fleeting moment.” Nana walked over and put her arm around Faith.
Oh God. Not this again.
No one should ever have to hear their grandmother swoon about past, present, or future lovers.
“Come on, dear, we’ll get you in the bath. A lady takes a bath or a shower each day.” Nana was always taking in strays, even if they had sharp canines.
“Or, if you’re like me and you work out a lot, you might want to take two a day,” I added, following them. I grabbed a small knife from a cheese and fruit tray on the coffee table as I passed and then tucked it into my back pocket. Who knew what might be lurking in the corridors…or the walls…
Coaxing Faith out of the bathtub later was like trying to drag Afton out of a mall. The sun was rising, and apparently, Laniars fried in the sun because their skin was paper-thin and their blood combusted under extreme heat. I was beginning to suspect Laniars
were
vampires, but they just didn’t like the stigma that came along with the name. I got it. I hated when people called me a tomboy.
After the bath, and against my protests, Nana insisted Faith stay on the couch in the sitting area instead of out in the hall. Not that she didn’t seem okay, but I didn’t want her to suddenly develop a hunger for salty food. Faith sank into the backrest cushions and flipped through one of Nana’s many tabloid magazines.
I traced my finger around the gold curlicue design on the comforter and stared at the curtain enclosing the bed, waiting for sleep to overtake me. I couldn’t fight it any longer. My eyes burned. Anyway, if Faith wanted to eat us, she’d had enough time to have her two-course meal, flee somewhere, and be happily digesting us by now. Plus, I was more at ease about things after Merl had stopped by to check on us and assured me Faith wouldn’t eat my face off.
“Gia, are you still awake?”
“Yes.”
“We’re not vampires.”
What the heck? Can she read minds?
“I wanted to clarify, you know, just in case you were still wondering. Vampires are dead. We are living. I’m warm. Come touch me, if you don’t believe me.”
I figured if I didn’t touch her, this could go on forever. I slipped out of bed, padded over to her, and placed my hand on her arm.
“You
are
warm. Toasty, in fact.” Okay, so maybe she was telling the truth. I dashed back into bed, shut the curtains, and pulled the covers up to my chin. “Good night…um…morning. Whatever.”
“Sleep tight,” she said. “Oh, and thank you for being honest with me, for the bath, and for letting me stay on the couch while I guard you. This is much better than standing in the hallway.”
“No problem.” I slid a hand under my pillow to make sure the cheese knife was still there.
“One thing about Laniars, we make excellent protectors. Our hearing is better than a dog’s.”
“Good to know,” I said around a yawn and shut my eyes, yielding to sleep.
I
mages flicked across my closed eyes. I bolted down a long hallway lined with burning torches. Fear twisted my stomach as broken thoughts rushed through my mind.
I can’t fail at this. Thousands of people will die if I do. Epic storms. Death. So many. So many already gone. I’m almost there. The trap. Where is it?
My heels clanked over something metal covered with straw.
The trap.
A sigh escaped my lips. I reached the end of the hall and turned the doorknob of the only door.
Locked? It should not be locked.
A slow, rumbling thunder echoed down the hall. I spun to face whatever was coming. A reflection flashed across the night-darkened window beside me. I expected to see myself, but instead, it was a beautiful young woman with long blond hair. She reminded me of a fairytale princess in her red-and-gold renaissance dress that touched the floor, except for the sword in her trembling hands.
A mountainous shadow moved down the hall, getting nearer. I gasped, or rather, Sleeping Beauty did. The sword shook as she readied it. The floor cracked from the force of the mammoth footfalls.
The creature stomped into the light. Its facial features were leonine—fierce eyes, flattened nose, cleft upper lip, and fanged teeth—all framed by a dirty-yellow mane that brushed the candelabras hanging from the ceiling. There was something different about this creature, though, something almost human. Claw-like nails twitched at his sides. Scars branched across his face and massive arms. He looked as if someone had cut him up and haphazardly sewn him back together, like an experiment gone epically wrong. And he had friends. Three other creatures followed him.
One had a boar’s head with sharp tusks that protruded out from his lower jaw. Bristly black hair covered most of his body. Another one was a man with two large ram horns coming out of his forehead that pulled and distorted his face. His torso and upper arms were human, but his forearms and legs were that of a beast—deformed and hooved.
I thought the others were bad, but when the last monster came into the light, a scream jammed in my throat. His forked tongue darted in and out over rows of razor-sharp teeth. Scales covered arms and legs that bent like a lizard’s limbs. The only human parts to him were his pumped-up chest, neck, and abdomen.
They all moved as one—every arm, foot, and head movement a perfectly synchronized performance. It was as if something invisible tethered them together in a diamond formation as they slithered down the hallway.
Lion Man reached her first. “Do not fear, Athela,” he said. “It is I, Barnum.”
“It
cannot
be,” Athela said, pointing the sword at him. “Thou perished in the great battle. I prepared thy lifeless body for burial.”
“Mykyl brought me back to life…as this
being.
”
“My father did this?” I knew Athela’s horror as she eyed the thing in front of her.
“Yes, Mykyl did this,” he roared, the windowpanes shaking from the force. “He could not leave me in my glory, a warrior slain. Instead, I am a beast, and my soul is connected to the other warriors he resurrected.”
“Why did he do this to
you
?” she asked, taking a step back.
“He only needed a body, and I was already dead.”
Fear fisted Athela’s stomach and I felt it, too. I was her, or inside her, but she wasn’t aware of me. I wanted to let her know I was there, that she wasn’t alone, but I didn’t know how. The terror inside her intensified, but she didn’t scream. She stood her ground bravely.
“What others?”
“Chetwin, Felton, and Harlan.” He said their names as he pointed to each—Boar Man, Lizard Man, and Horned Man.
“Masssster, wilt thou sssshare her with ussss?” Felton’s black tongue licked the air with each word.
“No!” Barnum turned and snarled at him. “She is my bride.”
“We watch, then.” Chetwin snorted. “There is no ridding thyself of us. Tell her.”
“Tell her how only thy soul survived the change”—Harlan pounded his hoof against the floor—“and how her father stretched thy soul into our bodies. How we are one soul with four minds.” His eyes focused on Athela. “Give thyself to us. It shall be as if thou art with Barnum.”
Athela choked on a sob.
“Silence!” Barnum slammed his fist into Harlan’s jaw. He stumbled back and the others went with him, pulling Barnum along.
“What will be my fate?” Athela asked.
“Be with me,” Barnum said.
“Thou wilt have me shared with them?” Bile rose in her throat.
“No! I would never…I shall not let them…” Barnum shook his head as he trailed off. “I feel my humanity slipping from me, my love. I do not know what I will eventually become. In time, I may be fully evil.”
“I am with child.”
Barnum’s head jerked up, and the others copied. He bent, reaching out and barely touching her cheek with his clawed hand. The others mimicked him, touching the air.
“No harm shall come to thee. Go now.” Barnum punched the nearest windowpane. Shards of glass rained down and clinked onto the floor, leaving a jagged gap just Athela’s size in the panel.
Athela hiked up her skirts and stepped over the frame. She turned back to face him, tears drenching her cheeks. This was not her husband anymore. He was part of an evil, an evil that could end the worlds. The trap was set, and the beasts would rot for eternity in their tungsten tomb buried within a mountain known only by the high wizards. Her heart sank as she tried to imagine what hell her love faced. Not alive, and not dead. Forever frozen. She wanted him to know his memory would live on. A seed of hope until the madness took over and he was no longer Barnum.
Her sadness choked me and I wished I could hug her, console her. How horrible for all of them.
“Go with my love, Barnum,” she said. “Your child will know what a great warrior his father was.”
A loud squeal came from the ceiling and a heavy metal cage crashed over Barnum and his beasts. Dust punched Athela’s face, and she covered her nose and mouth with her hand, coughing. Seven older men with graying beards rushed the cage, brandishing rods. Blue light shot out from the tips of the rods, and electric sparks ran across the metal bars of the cage.
Athela stared at one of the men. His ink-black beard and heavy brows were at odds with his strikingly pale skin.
Father. You betrayed me. Why could you not leave Barnum in his eternal rest? The others, as well? What evil consumes thee?
The thoughts of revenge playing in her mind were dark and scary. She backed up, stepping on the hem of her dress and tripping herself. She landed on muddy grass. Cold wetness soaked through her dress.
Why wasn’t the door unlocked? Did Father hope the creatures would kill me? Why—?
I thought,
Probably because you saw something you weren’t supposed to see. That’s what happens in all the movies. You’re minding your own business, stumble onto something you shouldn’t, and in the next scene, they kill you.
She stabbed the sword into the ground and then used it for support as she staggered to her feet. Her foot twisted on a clump of grass and we both winced.
Ouch
. That hurt.
“Who is there?” Panic rattled Athela’s voice.
Whoops.
She
can
hear my thoughts.
My mind raced, wondering what I could do to help her. Why isn’t she running away? I’d have been out of there like yesterday.
She glanced around the field. “Show yourself.”
I got an idea.
I’m your subconscious. This is where you RUN!
Athela yanked the sword out of the mud, hiked up her skirts, and darted across the field into the darkness.
Chapter Ten
E
ither I was dreaming of jackhammers or someone was rapping on the bedroom door. The room was dark under the cloak of the heavy drapes.
The idiot banged louder.
“Okay, I’m coming!” It sounded like Faith sprang up from the couch.
“Who’s bugging us?” I rolled onto my other side and slid the drapes over.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
Our intruder pounded louder. I pushed myself up from the mattress. “Someone isn’t patient,” I said.
Faith’s claws were ready as she eased the door open and peeked through the crack.
“Do you know what time it is?” asked a man.
“No.” She opened the door wider.
A man with floppy brown hair, standing extremely straight and poised, frowned down at her. He pulled a watch from the vest pocket of his gray three-piece suit and then held it up by its chain, not bothering to look at it. “It is precisely three thirty, and Gianna was to be in my chambers by three. Carrig may have delayed his training for tomorrow, but my lessons are still on schedule.” He looked past Faith and directly at me. “You have a lot to learn and little time in which to do it.”
“What—” I cleared my throat. “Um…what lessons?”
“Your magic lessons, of course. Has no one explained this to you?”
I rubbed my eyes and shook my head.
There’s that word again. Magic.
My stomach soured.
And, no. No one tells me anything.
But I thought it was best not to tell him that. Not with that stern look pulling on his face.
“Get dressed. I’ll wait here for you.”
Faith eased the door shut. “Shoot, I forgot to tell you. The man is Philip Attwood. Actually, you should call him Professor Attwood. He’s very strict about ceremony.” She fell back onto the throw pillows. “You’d better hurry. He hates tardiness.”
“You think? He’s very uptight.” I dashed across the tiled floor, flinching at the coldness under my feet.
“No need to be nasty.”
“Me? You could’ve told me I had a lesson.”
“I
said
I forgot.”
“Okay. Whatever. That man is full-on scary, just saying.”
I ran to my backpack then dragged out jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt. After dressing, I yanked the door open. “See you later,” I called back into the room.
“Chivvy along, now.” He walked off, and I shadowed him down the hall. “I have too many duties to have an inconsiderate girl waste my time. I only agreed to work late because your training must start straightaway.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to meet you. No one told me. If they had, I’d have been there
on
time.” He didn’t need to know I was a perpetual tardy violator. I made a quick mental note never to be late for lessons with him. Hopefully I’d learn enough helpful magic to make it worth putting up with his attitude.
He swung around to face me. “I fear, Gianna, we have gotten off to a bad start. I’m Professor Philip Attwood and you’re to call me Professor Attwood. Not Mr. Attwood or Philip, you understand?”
“Yes.” The man was definitely intimidating, so I didn’t correct him on my preferred nickname.
“I am your mother’s half brother.”
“You’re like my uncle?”
“I am, but don’t assume I’ll be easy on you because of it.” He spun back around and continued down the hall. “Follow me.”
Obviously.
I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes behind my back.”
“How did—”
“I’m intuitive.”
I slumped.
“Posture, Gianna.”
I straightened my back, searching the walls and the ceiling for mirrors, but there weren’t any. We rounded the corner and scaled a narrow stairwell. Professor Attwood stopped at a door with his name etched into a wooden plaque attached to it. He unlocked the door with a fancy long key and then pushed it open.
Several lamps placed around his office emitted a harmonious glow over the furniture. Pink and yellow notes had been pinned or taped onto the wooden faces of the bookcases occupying every wall. Stacks of books covered the dark wood floors, and mounds of papers and books landscaped the top of a large desk. For a man bent on promptness, he sure was messy.
In the far left corner of the room an enormous glass globe sat securely in the hawk-like claws of a pedestal. Bolts of bluish light zapped within the transparent sphere.
A white cockatoo rested on a thick wooden roost beside the globe. A round, clear stone dangled from a leather cord hanging from its neck. Smoke puffed up from what looked to be incense in a metal bowl on a table between two reading chairs, emitting a cedar scent into the room.
The bird’s eyes were vacant and gray. “Is that bird blind?”
“Well, at least you’re observant,” he said in clipped tones. “He may be blind, but he can see more than anyone with eyes—”
“Who is it?” the bird squawked. “
Arrrk!
”
“Pip, this is Gianna,” Professor Attwood said gently. “You aren’t able to sense her because she’s shielded with a charm.”
“It’s Gia,” I asserted, then, at Professor Attwood’s disapproving glance, instantly added, “Um, I mean, I prefer you call me Gia, please.”
“
Arrrk!
Good day, Gia.” Pip’s head turned from side to side. “She be wizard?”
“No. She’s Asile’s missing Sentinel.”
Pip fluttered his wings and paced his perch. “More.
Arrrk!
Something more.”
The professor gave him a biscuit. “Calm down, mate.”
Pip gobbled the biscuit. Then he stretched out his lovely white wings, rested them on his back, and lowered his head.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s sensing the globe. Pip is a Monitor. The globe is how he sees. He can only view what comes over its sphere, what comes across the surveillance eyes, or what goes through the gateways.”
“Surveillance eyes? That sounds like spying.”
Professor Attwood let out a frustrated sigh. “The eyes only go in public areas. Should Pip sense a threat in what the eyes see, he sends out an alarm. Pip couldn’t care less about any private matters.”
“How does that work?” I touched the glass and then snatched back my hand. Its ice-cold surface had bitten my skin.
“It’s made out of magical glass blown from sand found on the shores of Alato, the lands of the bird people. The magic makes it frigid.”
Now he tells me.
My fingers prickled.
Professor Attwood sank into a leather chair behind the desk and motioned for me to take the one across from him. He placed his elbows on his armrests, formed a steeple with his hands, and studied me with intense blue eyes.
Uncomfortable, I crossed my legs and stared out the window behind him, watching the clouds mingle over the countryside.
“Hmm…” He tapped his fingertips together. “How shall we begin? Sentinels usually commence their training at a much younger age than you are now, allowing more time to develop their magic.”
“Can I ask you something?”
He nodded.
“Someone said Asile doesn’t know where her loyalties lie. What did he mean by that?”
He parted his hands and leaned back into the chair. “There was an attack on a Mystik city a few days ago, and we’re not certain which tribe was responsible for the assault. Many think an exiled French wizard was behind it.”
“Do you mean Conemar?”
“That is the one. If it were him, then his adopted Haven, Estril, is backing him.”
“Where is that place?” I asked.
“It’s within Russia,” he said. “Until the threat is eliminated, travel through the gateways has been restricted. Asile is one of the havens open to the entire Mystik world. Many come to visit our city, work in our Haven, or attend our academy. Anyone with ill intentions may have a plant here.” He rocked forward. “I do agree with this
someone
; you should be careful. But you will have to trust me, so I can help you come into your power.”
“Did you say a plant, like in a spy? What are they searching for?”
“There’s a rumor mushrooming in the Mystik cities that a chart documenting the whereabouts of some powerful relics is hidden somewhere here in Asile.” He swiveled the chair back and forth. “But that is not our concern at the moment. Our lessons are. Shall we begin? Have you ever created any magic, by purpose or by accident?”
I hesitated. “Well, yesterday I created a light globe.”
“Only yesterday?” He stilled his chair. “Have you ever created a globe before?”
“By accident, when I was younger. Yesterday, I did it on purpose.”
My leg started to shake. I was as nervous as that time I’d been called to the principal’s office after reaching my tardy quota. Okay, maybe triple that time.
“You just performed one with no problems or false starts?” he asked.
“I had a few false starts. Arik helped me get it.”
“I see. And your mother, did she ever talk about our world?”
“Sort of. I was four when she died, so, you know…” The right corner of my mouth started doing the nervous twitch thing, joining my spasmy leg.
“No. I don’t
know
.”
“Well, she didn’t
tell
me, but told me by way of a story…sort of.”
“I see. You resemble her, slightly. Marietta Bianchi.” I swear tears were pooling in his eyes. “Your mother used to have the same tremble at the turn of her mouth. It was the only way under her strong Sentinel pretense that I knew when she was nervous.”
“And how are you related, again?”
“We share the same mother. I was three when my father died, and shortly after, our mother married Marietta’s father. A year afterward, Marietta was born and then taken away by her faery parent to train.”
“How did you know about her? I was told no one was aware of the exchanges.”
“Very few Sentinels are born to families in the havens,” he said. “They’re created in the human world, from parents who are distant descendants of the original knights. The ones the fey used to create the Sentinels. Marietta’s birth was a rarity. The last such incident happened nearly sixty years ago. The Department of Magic Sciences determined it had to do with an anomaly in the Sentinel gene.”
“That had to be strange having the two of them around.”
“Changelings aren’t allowed to stay in the havens. The truth of what they are and the existence of the Mystik world are kept from them. My parents were forced to relocate into the human world with her. I’d visit occasionally, but not often. They may look the same but a changeling has their own personality. Much like a clone would. The changeling was a horrid sister. Marietta, on the other hand, was a complete angel.”
“I would’ve been born in the havens if my mom stayed here,” I said.
“Yes.” He stared at something across the room, a somber expression on his face. “She would have been forced to leave, just as our parents had.”
I glanced to where he was looking and it was a photo of him as a teenager wearing a cloak and holding a rolled document.
Graduation?
Was he thinking of how his parents were absent in the photograph as they were in his life?
A smile might have hinted on his lips just then, but I couldn’t be sure, not with the weak lighting coming from the lamps. “Marietta and I discovered each other by accident. I knew instantly that she was my sister. Her resemblance to the changeling was precise, down to the mole on her cheek. I can hardly believe Marietta is gone.” He spun the chair to face the window.
“But my mother’s last name was Costa, not Bianchi. Marty Costa.”
“Costa, eh?” He swiveled his chair back to face me. “It’s the surname of a childhood friend of hers. She couldn’t use her real name. She didn’t want to be found.”
Of course, she’d changed her name. “That makes sense.”
He studied me. “Well, we needn’t speak of sad things right off. Shall we get to work, then?”
I swallowed hard. “Sure.”
Professor Attwood stood. “Well, then, each Sentinel can perform two globes. One is a light globe, which you can do, and the other is a battle globe.” He walked around the desk to me. “Stand up and give me your hand.”
I pushed up from my seat and then placed my hand in his.
“We’ll start with fire. Flatten your palm.” He unfurled my fingers. “Just focus on everything you know about fire. Imagine a flame burning, consuming your mind. Feel the heat. Smell the smoke. Hear the crackle. All magic starts from deep inside you, within the core of your being.”
I stood there, thinking about fire. I even roasted a marshmallow.
“Now, command it by saying
fuoco,
which means—”
“Fire. I know. I took Italian.”
“Good. Go ahead and try it.”
“
Fuoco!
” I said.
Nothing happened.
“Try it again.”
I attempted it several times. Nothing.
“Okay, so we can eliminate fire. Let’s try water.”
I tried to create water, but it just made me thirsty. Next, I strained to conjure wind. We continued working through his list of possible globes.
A Sentinel’s wizard ancestry determined their abilities. Whatever magic was their ancestors’ specialty showed up in their globes. And there were many of them. Along with fire and water ones, we tried others—stunning, lightning, smoke screen, wind, and one that was like a sonic wave.
An hour passed without any results. No matter how hard I imagined, or thought, or focused, nothing happened, and I stomped my foot. Maybe I couldn’t invoke globes after all. I’d had enough trouble keeping my light from winking out.
As frustrated as I was, he dropped my hand. “There’s only one globe left. I hoped it wouldn’t be the one.”
“Why, is it bad?”
“It can be. It requires the person’s blood and getting it from someone can be dangerous. If it’s the one, you must promise to do as I say.”
Yeah, that didn’t just raise a red flag.
If I believed in superstitions, I would’ve crossed my fingers behind my back when I answered, “I promise.”
He reached behind me, grabbed a pushpin from a holder on his desk, and pricked his finger with the point. Panic fluttered in my stomach. I hated the sight of blood, and there was no way I was going to make a blood oath with a stranger. There’s no telling what kind of diseases might transfer.