“Asshole,” I say, out loud this time, narrowing my eyes at him and gripping the straps of my backpack tightly. I feel power sizzling off him, and I make no move to get any closer. “How do I know this isn’t a trap? How do I know that when that door closes, it’s going to open again to let me out?”

  “You don’t,” he answers, shrugging and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a pocket watch and studying the face.

  “He already has one woman trapped in here,” Lyric’s voice shouts from somewhere inside the house. “He doesn’t want another one.”

  “Lyric, go back to your lesson,” he shouts over his shoulder, his brows knitting together in annoyance.

  “Fucking make me.”

  Ronan is so engrossed in his battle with Lyric that he doesn’t see when I balk at the mention of lessons. Almost every single night I am woken by the memory of those lessons. It hits me all at once: he’s a mage, a powerful one. Surely nothing other than a force to be reckoned with. I can feel the sea of power crashing off him. And he has a woman trapped inside his home. Irina did not send me here to find a solution—she sent me here to be caged by yet another master.

  He turns his eyes back to me moments before I launch myself at him. He doesn’t have a second to prepare before I’m barreling into him, sending the two of us careening over the threshold of his house.

  “Oh, shit,” I hear Lyric swear as I raise my fist and slam it into his cheek.

  “Run! Get out of here!” I shout to her, hoping she will listen to me and take her chance at freedom.

  I raise my fist again, but Ronan’s momentary shock has worn off, and he rolls forcefully, flinging me off him. I tumble, slamming into the wall, sending several picture frames crashing to the ground, the glass shattering around me. I ignore the shards that dig into my palms as I scramble up on my knees, before coming to a freezing halt.

  A switchblade is pressed to my throat. Casting my eyes sideways, I see Lyric kneeling next to me, holding the weapon. Confusion and betrayal war within me as I study her stern features. “Run,” I whisper, my voice pleading.

  “Ease up, psycho, I’m not going anywhere,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

  “Thank you, Lyric, but that’s not necessary,” Ronan says.

  I flick my gaze to him. He’s rubbing his jaw where I hit him, and I smile ruefully at him. He glowers in return. Lyric pauses for another moment before pulling back and flipping her blade closed. She tucks it into her front pocket as she moves to stand next to Ronan, crossing her arms and staring down at me.

  Ronan steps forward, glass crunching under his polished shoes as he crouches down and looks at me. “Tea?” he asks, and I open and close my mouth several times, but no words spill out. I’m having a hard time keeping up. “Or maybe something stronger?”

  I can’t answer, can’t get my voice to work. I dart my eyes between the confusing pair. Swallowing hard, working some kind of moisture into my throat, I ask, “Who are you?”

  Ronan flicks his eyes up and down me, just once, as if determining whether I’m trustworthy. I guess I’m not found wanting, because he catches and holds my gaze as he says, “I trained them. I showed them how to read those books they had no business owning. I created Alister and Irina. I’m their master.”

  We were young, and I was blinded by love, so when he stumbled upon someone who would teach us, I agreed without hesitation.

  “Oh, fuck,” I whisper, realizing just what kind of force I’m dealing with.

  He looks at me, staring death in the eyes and not flinching as he says, “My thoughts exactly.”

  The bed dips, rousing me from sleep, and my eyes flutter open just as Sean is standing up. I watch him creep to my door, opening it silently and pausing. He turns, his deep red eyes catching and holding mine. I don’t call out to him; I don’t make a single move to draw him back to me. I simply watch the shifting skeletal ink that fades in and out over his skin. He flashes me that crooked smile, and I find myself returning a grin of my own.

  “Until next time, pretty bird,” he says, turning and sauntering out of the door.

  I feel my cheeks heating at his words, at the veiled promise of more, but the feeling is instantly chased away by a frigid cold that slams into my body so quickly I am left reeling. I wince, shivering uncontrollably as I tug the blankets uselessly over me. I know they will provide no warmth. I was so blissfully unaware that I was feeling again, that I was warm outside of Alister’s embrace, that the sudden return to numbness nearly has me crying out.

  After a few shuddering breaths, my body acclimates to the cold, and I let out a sigh. I sit up, feeling the too-large shirt sliding off my shoulders, and I can’t stop myself: I pull the collar to my face and inhale. His scent clings to the garment, and I try to imagine some of the warmth from his touch filling me again.

  Until next time, pretty bird.

  My toes curl at the idea of a next time. I was so uncertain after waking in that stone room with the blue flames, so ready to run from what I had done and try to forget those memories entirely. But as we passed the remainder of the night silently in each other’s arms, I felt those nerves sliding away. Something about curling up in his arms as he gently traced circles along my back left me feeling like I was finally home.

  “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

  Alister’s voice startles me into dropping the shirt collar from my face. He’s standing in my doorway, watching me with a ravenous look in his eyes. He looks disheveled, like he spent all night awake doing god only knows what. His shirt is wrinkled, his usually coiffed hair falling into his face. But there is a feverish light in his eyes, an undeniable power that flows off him. He looks wild, untamed, like his body can barely contain the energy within.

  “Was…was that the ritual?” I ask, ignoring his question entirely. He was there, he saw, he doesn’t need me to confirm it.

  “It was one of them,” he says, stepping into my room, his seductive aura reaching out and caging me. “It was far more successful than any ritual before, and do you know why?”

  He stands before my bed, holding a hand out to me. Crawling to the edge of my mattress, I rise onto my knees, taking his hand in mine and letting out a sigh as his warmth invades me. He grips my chin, pulling my face to his and burying me in the strength of his kiss.

  “It was all because of you, Magpie,” he says, breaking the kiss at last, but not releasing my chin. “This house is finally whole with you in it,” he croons, stroking my hair with his free hand, petting me like an animal as he flashes me that crescent-moon smile. “I cannot wait to see the kind of control you have over your power.”

  “I…Alister, I don’t have any powers,” I say, shaking my head and pulling out of his grasp. I don’t want to disappoint him, even more so now with Sean’s warning drifting around in my mind.

  He simply laughs at me, grabbing the shirt and beginning to unbutton it, popping the buttons steadily. “Of course you do, Magpie. This house wouldn’t have called to you if you were powerless.”

  The shirt falls around my shoulders, and he pushes it down my arms, leaving me bare before him. He stares at me, drinking his fill, and I stay still, letting him. Turning, he walks to the dresser. Pulling one of the drawers open, he rummages around inside and takes out a silky black nightgown. The exact outfit he prefers me in. He walks back toward me and hands me the garment. I stand, pulling the gown over my head and tugging it down.

  “Would you like to taste your powers?” he asks, his voice dark, deadly, and something about the tone stills my movements. “I promise, the first touch of it will leave you begging for more.”

  I turn to him. He’s holding a hand out to me again, and I know he’s not actually giving me an option. He made the choice for me before he even voiced the question. I knew he was preparing me for something with all the spell books he’s had me read—I just didn’t realize I would be tested so soon.

  Panic tries to grip my throat, a burst of those old alarm bells sounding in my mind, but I refuse to step back into the hazy fog of my old life. Shutting off those panicked cries of warning, I smile and step toward Alister, readily accepting his outstretched hand.

  He leads me out of the house, and I’m startled to find night has fallen again, though I just woke up. Glancing at the sky, I get the strangest longing to see the sun, but the thought is there and gone in an instant. He tugs me after him, and my head swivels around, taking in the unfamiliar city. There are more people out than I expected, gathered around storefronts and street vendors. The smoky smell of meat cooking rises from a cart, and I suddenly realize I’m starving. When was the last time I ate?

  I falter, coming to a stop as I stare at the man grilling links of sausages and piles of onions. He doesn’t notice me, no one ever does, but I continue to study him. Alister has stopped, observing me as I continue to stare, transfixed, at the street vendor. Try as I might, I can’t remember eating since waking up in Alister’s house. Not once have I needed as much as a glass of water.

  “Magpie,” Alister says, trying to draw my attention back to him.

  “I think I’m hungry,” I say, finally peeling my eyes away from the man, turning and focusing on Alister. One of the reasons I’m hesitant to ever set foot outside of the house is the strange effect the world seems to have on me. The way it tries to remind me what life should look like. What it should feel like.

  “Then let me feed you,” Alister says, gripping my hand, those white gloves soft against my skin. He continues, pulling me after him, drawing me away from the savory smells that do nothing to fill my empty stomach. The ache of hunger is there, but it is not for food. I’m not sure what I need.

  We follow the sidewalk to a park a few blocks from the house, the bustling sound of the city streets gently waning as we stroll into the mostly secluded park. Alister sits us down on one of the many benches lining the walking trail. He draws me next to him, holding me tight like he always does. There are barely any people here, just a few midnight wanderers like us.

  No one notices us. They never will.

  “There,” Alister says, breaking the quiet of the night. His eyes are locked on a couple strolling the park across from us. They are young, young enough to make me think they are breaking some rule by being out this late. The boy says something, and the girl throws her head back, letting out a peal of laughter. I grin. Their happiness is infectious.

  “Tell me about him,” Alister says, his voice low and tinged with a hypnotic power that has my eyes instantly glazing. His arm around me is the only thing anchoring me to the world as the park drifts from my sight.

  There is a shrouded figure in the distance, and I concentrate solely on it, until the figure comes into sharp focus. It is the boy. I see him standing in front of me, a goofy smile plastered across his face. I recognize the look in his eyes instantly, and another soft smirk graces my lips at the sight of it.

  “He is in love,” I say, my voice sounding far away in my own ears. An understanding of the boy and his life fills me, as though I have known him since he was born. His thoughts, his memories, his emotions whirl before me, and I am lost in them. My voice drifts from my lips, but I’m unaware I’m even speaking. “He is starting his last year of high school. He’s focused on football, but secretly wants to study archeology.” I can’t help but laugh at the image of a small child playing with dinosaur toys that blooms in my mind.

  “You’re doing so well,” Alister praises, his deep voice cutting through the gentle joy of the childhood memory. “What else?”

  “He plans to propose to her at prom. He dreams of a family, of playing with his sons and daughters. He tells everyone he wants a dog, but he really wants a cat,” I rattle off as his hopes fill my mind.

  Alister’s grip on me hardens, and the smile fades from my lips as I begin to lose sight of the sparkling memories, the glittering joy of youth and hope, the desperate longing for the future. There is a dark tinge around the boy, beginning to soak into him, covering everything until he is nothing more than a shade. Red fissures swirl in and around the darkness, like so much red thread tying him down. I realize all at once that the darkness is blooming from me, yet I cannot stop it, can’t contain the red thread that binds him.

  “Keep going, Magpie,” Alister whispers, his silky voice seeping into my ears, his commanding embrace tightening, verging on painful. There is a hunger in his voice I have never heard before, and I am frightened by the intensity of it. My heart is racing, pounding a funeral march in my ears.

  “A car accident,” I say, choking on my own voice, my eyes growing wide. I want to tear my gaze from the boy, but Alister is pinning me in place, and I find I cannot move. He is all I can focus on, the shadowy figure cut with red thread. Until the scene blurs, shifts, then sharpens before me.

  I cry out as I feel the steering wheel jerk in my hands, the car spinning out of control. My head slams against the window. Cracked glass, a splatter of blood, and the piercing scream of a girl next to me. I hear her shout my name, and I turn to catch her wide blue stare in the split second before we slam into a guard rail.

  The feeling of falling.

  Darkness.

  Then, pain.

  I gasp, my vision filled with flashing red lights, a ringing in my ears, and the world turned upside down. The smell of gas and burning rubber coats my senses. I focus on the bloody windshield first, splintered glass and gore illuminated in the flickering emergency lights. Then I see her. Hanging from her seatbelt, her blonde hair dangling around her, drifting gently in the wind from the shattered windows. She’s splattered in red paint, and I can’t for the life of me understand why. Until she twists in the shifting seatbelt, and I fully take her in. Half of her face is caved in, her one remaining eye wide and unseeing, her mouth open in a scream that will never grace her lips.

  Then there is a scream, and I don’t know if it’s his or mine.

  “I didn’t see the truck, I didn’t see the truck,” I sob, pitching forward and holding my head in my hands. “Becky, please—Becky, wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

  I weep openly, soul-ending grief coursing through me as tears flow down my cheeks in rivers. I know my hands are wet with tears, but it feels like blood, her blood as it leaks from the giant wound covering half her face. A face I have known since childhood. A face I will never see again.

  I am still there, hanging upside down in the car, wishing I had died instead of her, until Alister’s touch brings me back. His hand is stroking my hair, a soothing gesture, but all I can see is the shattered windshield, the reminder of her last moments alive.

  Before I killed her.

  I felt her remaining years as they were stolen, ripped from her with my own hands. I feel them entering me, filling me, warming me for the barest moment, before Alister’s touch has them sliding out of my body like a conduit.

  “Very good, Magpie,” he says, his voice quaking with power. He continues to pet me, and I continue to sob. I cry into the night, long after the vision fades. I cry on as the couple laughs, holding hands and strolling from the park, getting into their car for the last time.

  Iwatch Maggie leave, my eyes trained on her until she is nothing but a speck in the distance. I turn, looking but not seeing the glittering store in front of me. My sanctuary, and my home, these last several decades. I thought it would be my reward, my end to a story that was written in so much blood.

  I move through my store, letting my fingers trail over the crystals, taking in their gentle whispers and their soft energy. They beg me to take them, to mold them, to create something great and powerful like I used to, but I don’t. I never will. Not again.

  Sitting at the table, I slump forward, the weight of endless years pressing down on my shoulders. Unbidden memories of the past, of a life I thought I buried, rise to my mind, and I am lost in the swirling haze of them, like so much smoke trapped in a crystal ball.

  Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and cup my hands over the chunk of crystal on the table in front of me. Whispering the incantation, I feel warmth and power spreading down my arms and flowing into the crystal. I continue to whisper to it, speaking the words of the ancient spell as the crystal melts and takes shape under my hands. When the last ounce of warmth has left my fingers, I pull my hands away.

  On the table in front of me is an iron key with a lifelike black widow spider nestled at the top of the handle, its gleaming red diamond shining in the dim candlelight.

  “There you are,” Alister says as he walks into our room. Coming up behind me, he leans over and kisses the top of my head, and I smile at the gesture. I start to lean back into him, start to reach for his hands on my shoulders, but before I can move, he has plucked the key off the table and pulled back from me. I twist in my chair, studying him as he holds the key up in a shaft of candlelight, examining it.

  “I tried to make it exactly as you described,” I say, watching him inspect the key, turning it over in his hand. He pops it into his jacket pocket.

  “Perfection, as always,” he says, flashing me that dazzling smile.

  I give him a halfhearted smile in return. The effort of creating spirit keys always leaves me feeling hollow and weak. Each time it takes a little more of me, and each time it takes longer to recuperate from the effort. I hope, as I always do when I create a new key for him, that it will be the last time. The last key. That it will finally be enough for him. But I’m not foolish enough to really let myself believe that. He will ask me for another one, as he always does, and I will be powerless to say no. I can deny him nothing, no matter how it might be killing me.

  “I should rest now,” I say, massaging my aching hands as I stand and move to our bed. Before I can make it more than a few steps, he sweeps me into his arms and steals my breath as his lips find mine. I moan into his mouth, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing myself to him. It has been so long since he touched me, and I am aching cold in his absence.

  “Come,” he says, breaking the kiss and taking my hand in his. “I want to show you something.”

 

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