Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1) (17 page)

She gasped. “Who is she?”

“Your twin.”

The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet as this news hit her. “I have a
twin?
”

“Miranda, yes.”

“And the Brotherhood have captured her?”

“According to Josiah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“You’ve only just given up your allegiance to the Brotherhood, and I had no idea if you were trustworthy. And moreover, you’re impulsive and overly emotional. I didn’t think you’d approach it strategically. You’ve been very worked up this whole time.”

Everything about what he was saying made her blood boil. “You can’t trust me because I’m impulsive?”

“You followed me through a portal into another world, with no thought for your own safety. You decided to defy the orders of the Vampire Lord.” He held up his fingers, counting out her offenses. “You threw a fit in Elysium that drew attention to us. Oh, and you stabbed an ancient high demon—three times—in a direct contradiction of my orders. You’re not trustworthy.”

“Well when you list it all out—” She stopped herself. She didn’t want to get sidetracked by an argument. “Forget about all that. I need to know more details. Where has Miranda been this whole time? In Maremount?”

He started walking again, and she followed. “Miranda has been living in Maine. Your parents sent her to live with another member of the Brotherhood, but he didn’t treat her well. She ran away at some point.”

“Where did she go?”

“I have no idea. She must have been sleeping in the streets like a peasant.”

A flood of guilt and anger rushed through Rosalind. “I wish I’d known.”

“I wish I’d known too,” Caine said. “I assumed you were both living safely in the pedestrian world, until Ambrose told me otherwise. I was supposed to bring you both to safety, but the Brotherhood came for you first.”

“And she’s possessed, like me?”

“Yes. And that’s why Ambrose is interested in the both of you,” Caine said. “He wants all three of us together for a triumvirate of power.”

Stunned, Rosalind tried to picture her twin. “I think I remember her braiding my hair.”

“She was the sweet one. She used to give the servants food when they were hungry.”

The servants.
There was that third person again. “And I used to torment them. Are you telling me that I’m the evil twin?”

“If you forced me to choose between good and evil, that would be my best guess.”

“What else can you tell me about her?”

“I haven’t seen her since she was four or five. But I know she completes our circle. Three mages, each aligned with one of the shadow gods. Together, our power would be unparalleled. He has a few old scores he’d like to settle, including one against the Brotherhood.”

Rosalind’s knees felt weak. “Three shadow gods.”

“Right. The night god, the forest god, and—”

“The sea god.” Her mouth went dry. She’d felt the sea mage on Thorndike’s campus.

She’d sent the Brotherhood after her own sister.

She stumbled over a tree root, her mind a whirlwind of revulsion and guilt. “Caine. What if I’ve done something terrible?”

“What have you done?”

Her heart pounded in her rib cage. She had to tell him about Miranda, and the temptation to confess about the incubus was overwhelming.

She closed her eyes, an image flashing in her mind of Josiah, handing her the knife. “If you don’t do this, humans will die,” he’d said.

Rosalind’s body shook like a leaf in the wind. “I did terrible things for the Brotherhood. And I think I’m responsible for—”

“Shhh,” he lifted a finger to his lips. “Something’s happening.”

She listened to the wind whispering through the trees. Distant screams floated along the breeze, and her chest tightened.

“We need to go.” Caine broke into a run.

She sprinted with him, snapping through twigs and branches. The screams grew louder as they ran. As orange flames came into view, Rosalind’s heart constricted. Was this their destination—burning?

She pushed on faster, her breath ragged in her throat, until they reached the clearing. A young woman stumbled in front of a blazing gothic mansion. Blood streaked her beautiful face, and a tiara hung limply from wild, blonde tangles. A black cat stood before her, its back arched.

“I fought them,” the woman said, her eyes frantic. “I fought them with magic, but they’ll be back for me. They found me here.”

Caine rushed to her, grabbing her hands. “What happened?”

“It was the mage Hunters. I used a protection spell, but it won’t last. They wanted to burn me. They burned my house.”

“How did they know you were here?” Caine’s voice was urgent.

She wiped a shaking hand across her forehead, smearing the blood. “I never thought they’d come for me. I didn’t have the shields up.”

Caine gently wrapped his fingers around her arms, staring into her face. “Omerelle. Tell me what they said.”

“They didn’t say anything, but I read inside their minds.” Her sorrowful, brown eyes glistened. “The witch-Hunters had been spying on two women—a vampire and a pedestrian. The Brotherhood heard them saying they were coming to Great Misery Island. The girls are friends of yours. The witch-Hunters are accusing me of aiding the fugitives.”

At Omerelle’s words, a crushing panic began to take root. “Do you know what happened to the two women?” Rosalind asked.

Omerelle stared at her, and the woman’s willowy body trembled. “The witch-Hunters had already taken them by the time they got to me. They’re in the Chambers.”

Bile rose in Rosalind’s throat, and she covered her face with her hands. Not only did the Brotherhood have her twin sister, but they had Tammi and Aurora, too.

Anger crackled through her body. She wanted to storm the Chambers and punch a hole through Josiah’s face. As Caine tried to calm Omerelle, Rosalind took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady her nerves.

Omerelle picked up her cat. “I’m not staying here. Alu and I are going to hide from them.” She closed her eyes and chanted a spell; her body shimmered away.

Caine’s shot a worried look to Rosalind. “We need to get out of here now. Do you think you can do the teleportation spell again?”

She glanced down at the ring. “I think so. If you stay near—”

A hail of bullets cut through her thought, and pain speared her body. She crumpled to the ground, gripping her ribs. Caine rushed for Rosalind, his eyes black. He touched her chest, chanting the beginnings of a spell. Rosalind could feel the wound start to heal, until a spray of iron dust blasted Caine’s skin, snuffing out his aura. Another hail of bullets blasted Caine onto the ground. She looked up, catching a glimpse of a tall, thin man walking closer.
Longshanks.

She gasped for breath.

Before she could sit up, pain exploded through her skull, and her world went dark.

I
cy water ran
down Rosalind’s face, and she gasped. Her eyes snapped open, but she could see only white light filtering through dark canvas. Panic coursed through her, nearly drowning out the screaming pain in her lungs. Something covered her head—a hood, probably, and a rough piece of fabric gagged her mouth, compressing her tongue. She coughed, nearly choking on the cloth. Its oily taste was suffocating.

She needed to get out of there, but she couldn’t move. Coarse rope bound her wrists behind her back at an awkward angle. She tried to tear her wrists free, and her skin chafed against the rope. Terror exploded through her skull. Her arms had been fastened tightly to behind the back of a chair. When she tried to move her legs, she found they were trapped by rope, too. She was completely helpless, unable to do anything except exist.

She took a deep breath, the air burning her lungs.
Gasoline.
She was in one of the interrogation rooms.

By the deep ache in her chest and the sharp whistling sound, she could tell a bullet had collapsed one of her lungs, even if Caine had partially healed it.

Heels echoed on a concrete floor, and someone yanked the hood from her head. Her captor strode in front of her, peering into her bleary eyes.

Rosalind stared into the pale, freckled face of Randolph Loring. She glanced to the right and caught a glimpse of Caine, his body bound to a chair with thick, iron chains—chains that would leach all the power out of an incubus. Black duct-tape covered his mouth, and blood soaked his chest from gunshot wounds to his shoulders.

She gazed around at the iron-walled room. It was nearly bare. A bright light shone overhead, and a metal watering can stood on the floor by two cement blocks. There was a video camera mounted on a wall. She’d seen this setup before, and the sight turned her blood to ice.

Caine’s blackened eyes burned into General Loring with an ancient, primal hatred.

Loring leaned down, examining Rosalind’s eyes. His cold fingers slid over her cheeks, and she shuddered.

In desperation, she wanted to tell him how much she hated being tied up, but the cloth still gagged her. Raw panic gripped her lungs like a vise.

“Mmm. I can see you’d like to speak,” he said tonelessly. He pulled a knife from his belt, cutting through the cloth.

She gasped, looking up at him. “Please untie me.”

“I don’t think so, Rosalind. You look so much like your sister.” He shook his head. “Do you know, Rosalind, that I’d wanted to promote you? We were alike, or so I thought. Not everyone understands that we must take extraordinary measures to fight evil, or that there are strict lines separating the pure from the corrupted. Not everyone has a visceral revulsion to magic like I do. Not everyone understands that the demons won’t respect us if we’re weak and refuse to fight back. I thought you and I were the same.”

“Magic still repulses me,” she said. Apart from Caine’s magic, but she wasn’t going to bring that up now.

“It is a poison. A toxin that corrupts a human body. You seemed to understand that. I’d been watching you from afar. I’d hoped you’d work on our security team. I’d heard about you, and your clever skills. I thought perhaps you’d make a nice wife for one of my officers, or even me. I didn’t know we had a traitor in our midst. We’ll have to be more careful in the future.”

They were in one of the cells deep below the ground in the Chambers. A thick metal door blocked their exit. There was no way in or out of this room without a retinal scan. Even if she could get out of this chair, her own retinas wouldn’t make the “approved” list. She was thoroughly screwed. In a frenzy, she tugged at her wrists, the chair rattling on the floorboards. “General Loring. I didn’t realize you knew so much about me. It is nice to finally meet you.”

Randolph folded his hands behind his back, pacing. “I think Josiah was in love with you. It must have broken his heart to learn you’re corrupted with filth. I’ve promised he could interrogate you. I think it will make him feel better. He asked if Caine could watch, and I granted him his wish.”

Her mouth was dry, and she tried to focus on his words as she tugged at the ropes. “Watch what?”

Randolph tilted his head. “Watch what he does to you. It’s an acceptable strategy. The demon may choose to confess everything to save you. But of course, demons have no compassion at all, nor do you, I suppose. You’re not human anymore. It’s fascinating, really. You do look human. Beautiful, even. Though when Josiah is finished with his interrogation that may not be the case.”

Cold dread snaked up her spine. “I want a trial.”

Randolph crinkled his brow. “What for? We know you’re guilty. We’re no longer required to waste time with paperwork and legal nonsense. We’re at war. Moreover, the sixth amendment only applies to humans. Same for the eighth amendment.”

“The prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Exactly. They don’t apply to your species.” He stared at the floor as he paced, his eyes never meeting hers.

“I’m human.”

“We’ve changed our thinking about that. Once a person uses magic and creates an aura, they are no longer considered human. A person who provides protection for a witch is no longer human, either.”

She struggled frantically against the ropes, sweat beading on her forehead. This was insane. “You can’t just make up your own definitions.”

“Of course we can. It is people like me who create reality. It is people like me who define our terms. This is the way it’s always been. The Brotherhood is an empire, and Blodrial has called on me to lead it.” His cheeks reddened, his pace increasing. “Weak-minded scholars might huddle in libraries, arguing over semantics and ethics. Fine. With their noses stuck in books, they’re out of my way while I create reality. Meanwhile, I’m going to act, molding the world into the way it should be according to divine principles.”

She gasped for breath, her lungs burning. “If you torture people, what makes you any better than the demons?”

“We don’t call it torture, so it isn’t.” His heels clacked faster over the floorboards. “Anyway, that you would even question me in that way shows how far you’ve fallen.”

She wanted to distract him—if only because she knew what was coming next. “Your lack of introspection is breathtaking.”

He paused his pacing, cocking his head but refusing to meet her eyes. “I do often request that our interrogators refrain from leaving marks, because they can make for unfortunate pictures in the wrong hands, but I can’t promise Josiah will heed that request.” He turned with a tight smile. “Well, it was interesting to meet you in person. I’ll let Josiah know you’re ready for him. You already know how this works, Rosalind. You’ve been in here before.”

Terror vibrated in her skull, and she tried to rip her arms from their ties as Loring strode from the room.

Tammi.
Where was Tammi right now? Rosalind’s pulse raced. She needed to get out of here and search the other interrogation rooms—but even if she could get out of here, there was no way to unlock the secure rooms without the retina scan.

As she tugged the ropes, her chair legs banged against the floor. Caine remained still, his black eyes cold as glaciers, devoid of humanity. He must have flipped some kind of switch.

“Caine,” she said. “I need to find a way—”

The door opened, and Josiah stepped into the light, his brown eyes boring into Rosalind.

“Hello, my darling,” he said, voice seething with anger.

“Josiah. You don’t want to do this.”

He crossed the room, reaching out to stroke her hair, eyes glistening. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been so looking forward to this.”

“Why? You know what happened to me. I was turned into a witch against my will.”

His nostrils flared. “Fine, but then you opened your legs for the incubus and declared war on humanity.”

“I haven’t declared war on anyone.”

“You’re either with us or against us. You know that.” He straightened, staring down at her. “When I was five, I hid in a closet and watched as demons ripped into my parents’ necks, drank them dry. They did things to my mother that no child should have known about. Your lover here not only lives among them, but he acts as their leader.” Josiah’s eyes burned with fervid intensity. “To see you lusting after this beast set a fire blazing inside me that can never be extinguished. I want you to feel my pain. I want this monster to feel my pain when he watches me hurt you.”

Caine’s growl reverberated through the room, his demonic eyes dark as voids.

“Tammi didn’t do anything wrong,” Rosalind said, in desperation.

Instead of responding, Josiah shoved her shoulders so hard that the chair tipped back. As it slammed against the floor, she gasped in pain. The full weight of her body landed on her hands, bound behind her back. She struggled to catch her breath.

“Did that hurt? I see you’re injured.” He knelt down, pulling a knife from his pants, before cutting through the front of her shirt.

Revulsion spread through her. She couldn’t believe she’d ever cared for this maniac. She should have let Caine kill him when they had the chance. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at the damage to your corrupted body.” He studied her gunshot wound before pressing down on it with one of his thumbs.

Agony lanced her ribs. Caine had sealed up some of the wound, but fragments of her broken ribs still pierced her lungs.

“That must hurt a lot,” Josiah said. “Your demon lover didn’t get to finish healing it. He won’t be able to heal your broken corpse when I’m done with it, either.”

“You’re a monster,” she choked out. Her thoughts raced, and she tried to slow them, to think tactically.

What did the Brotherhood teach her?
Use the tools from your surroundings.
But what the hell was she supposed to use here? She was tied to a chair, and…

The stiletto knife.
She still had the small blade in the back of her pants, she could feel the hilt jabbing into her spine. She pinched it between her fingers.

“You’re going to torture me because you’re mad about our breakup. Do you realize what kind of psychotic, bunny-boiling asshole that makes you?” Slowly, she inched the knife from her belt, but she couldn’t get much leverage with her hands crushed beneath her.

“I’m not saying it won’t hurt, but we don’t call it torture, Rosalind. We’ve talked about this. It’s an interrogation.” He glanced at a small camera in the corner of the room. He crossed to it, covering the lens with a small cloth. “It may get a bit unconventional, so I don’t want any of this recorded. But it will be an interrogation, nonetheless. I do hope you’ll be as willing to share with me as you once were. Did you know that your information led to Miranda’s capture?” He raised the legs of the chair on to a cinderblock, so they were now higher than her head. As much as she dreaded what was coming next, this position made it easier for her to move the knife, since her hands were no longer pinioned.

“The sea-witch I told you about,” she said through labored breaths. Slowly, she inched the knife up and down against the knots.

Josiah picked up the watering can. “She looks so much like you. I enjoyed breaking her. Though, I’m not sure she was sane to begin with.”

Rage flowed through Rosalind like molten lava. She wanted to crush him.

She cut a glance to Caine, who remained still as a statue, watching. In a room rigged with iron dust, his magic was useless here.

As she rubbed the knife’s blade against the rope, Josiah pulled a dark hood over her face, and her heart rate sped up. She knew how this worked. It made it easier to torture people when you couldn’t see their faces. Right now, the spotlight still penetrated the cloth, but that wouldn’t last long. Next, Josiah would wrap her head with a towel, shrouding her vision in darkness.

She’d watched him do it to the incubus. She didn’t want to think of the demon’s name, but as Josiah blotted out the light with the second cloth, it came to her anyway: Malphas. Fair-haired, but with gray eyes just like Caine’s. Josiah had staked him earlier that night. The hawthorn wood had still protruded from his shoulder when Josiah brought Rosalind into the cell. His pale eyes had looked so tormented, and she’d wanted to yank it out, but Josiah had stayed her hand.

I can’t think about that now.
She needed to focus on getting the hell out of there. Josiah was drawing this out, enjoying her panic. When she’d said humans didn’t enjoy torture, that they only acted tactically, she’d been lying to herself completely.

Still, the longer Josiah drew this out, the better chance she had to get herself out of here.

Her heart galloped in her chest, and she slid the knife against the knots.

Maybe she deserved this, after what she’d done to Malphas. Josiah had told her that the incubus had brutally raped and murdered three women just days before. He’d said that the demon had left their naked, broken bodies in a Walden Woods. There were the pictures of three brutalized corpses, shown to Rosalind in the cell as she stood just inches from the incubus.

As she’d stared at them in horror, Malphas had eyed her evenly, his breath rasping. He hadn’t said a word.

Josiah had done all the talking: “That’s what an incubus will do if you ever get near one. This monster would tear you to pieces if we let him free.”

The pictures of the broken corpses had twisted her gut with disgust.

After Josiah had wrapped the demon’s head with the towel, he’d told Rosalind to pour the water over his face. All part of her training. She was too soft, apparently, since she made the fatal mistake of viewing demons as humans instead of as cold, sadistic predators. In a fight for survival, there was no room for gray areas.

She scraped the knife against the rope.

It was too late by the time she realized Josiah had a bad habit of passing on shitty information. There was every chance that Malphas had never been anywhere near those girls.

The watering can scraped across the floor as Josiah shifted it, and fear rushed through her body. She’d gotten nowhere with the ropes. You couldn’t seriously cut through a thick rope by slowly rubbing a blade against it—