Wicked (The Drake Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

“But my father loved Cass. So he still included him in things we did. He almost killed me once but my father didn’t believe me. But he’s a fugitive now. The council wants him dead and if they find out that my father’s been aiding him, they’ll kill him too. I don’t want that bastard in my house.”

“I love you too, little brother.”

Ethan’s heart shot into his throat as he turned to the bedroom door. A dark skinned man was leaning on the door panel, a devilish smirk on his face. Adam raced toward the door but Ethan caught him by his shirt and pulled him back.

              “Adam, calm down.”

              “Yes, brother, listen to your little boyfriend.” The man’s voice had a honeyed tone and he had a faint British accent.

              “Shut the hell up,” Adam sneered.

              “He’s gorgeous, brother. You’ve done a splendid job this time around. The others were horrid,” the man explained as he walked deeper into Adam’s room. He had on a long black coat that stopped sat his knees and he was around the same height as Adam.

              “Get out of my room,” Adam commanded. Ethan’s fingers had turned white from holding onto Adam’s shirt.

              “Ethan Drake, is it? My name is Cass Waverly,” the man said as he advanced toward Ethan.

              “Stay away from him,” Adam released himself from Ethan’s grip and pushed Cass back. “I don’t like you. You know I don’t. So don’t test me right now, Cassius.”

              “Boys, shut it down.” Preston stood in the doorway. “Ethan, there’s someone in the living room who wants to talk to you.”

12

“Emma?” a voice teased her ears. It sounded far away, echoing. She had heard it before. The voice repeated itself and Emma tried to place it.

Slowly, Emma opened her eyes and immediately noticed they weren’t in the basement anymore. They were somewhere else, somewhere cold but colorful. She pushed herself up but was hit with a shock of pain.

She quickly remembered the magic rope she was bound with. The blurriness of her vision began to subside and she could taste blood in her mouth.

“Emma? Are you okay?” it was the familiar voice again.

She turned her head and saw Logan leaning to the side, blood and dirt smeared across his angelic face. His eyes were closed but he was still breathing. So where was the voice coming from? It hurt to look around, but Emma forced herself to take in her surroundings.

The colorfulness was coming from the enormous stained glass windows that nearly took over the walls, sunlight spilling through. Broken pews garnished the building and the woodwork was incredible.

Large crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, covered in cobwebs and black birds cawing at each other. It was some sort of cathedral.

Something caught Emma’s attention out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, she turned. A giant silver pentagram hung on the wall just above the podium and a dangerous looking candle altar sat just below it. Emma’s heart fell into her stomach and she began to scream.

In the middle of the pentagram, Mason King was suspended by rope from limb to limb. His clothes had been torn and his hair was in a ravished mess.

“It is okay, Emma.” Mason’s voice was hoarse and he was almost unrecognizable, covered in blood.

“It’s not okay. I’m going to get you down from there, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep, Emma Drake.” Emma turned. Petra was sitting at the end of a pew, reading a small orange book.

“Get him down from there, you bitch.”

“That’s not a polite way to speak to someone,” Petra snapped her fingers and Mason began convulsing, his body rattling against the pentagram.

“Stop it. Please, stop!” Emma cried out frantically.

“That’s not the magic word,” Petra said as Mason began yelling out in agony. His toes curled and his ears began to bleed.

“I’m sorry!” Emma screamed.

              Mason instantly stopped moving and began breathing hard.

              “Good girl,” Petra said as she picked up a wooden bucket near her heels and made her way over to Logan. “Wakey, wakey!”

Petra tipped the bucket over Logan’s head.

Freezing water rushed over both Logan and Emma. His eyes snapped open and he began breathing out hard and ragged. Emma got a hold of his hand and squeezed it tight.

“Where the hell are we?” Logan snapped at Petra.

"We're at church, silly. We’re here to cleanse you of your sins.” Petra let out a ring of husky laughs and threw the empty bucket over her shoulder.

The doors to the cathedral swung open, warm sunlight struck Emma’s face as a two figures stepped through the illuminated doorway. Petra turned as Vander and Hoke strode through the pews.

“Are our guests still breathing Petra?” Vander placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and she suddenly grew tense.

“Yes. They- they’re fine.”

“How about Mr. King over here?”

Emma turned to Mason and saw him staring down at Vander with disgust.

“Eat shit, you scum,” Mason spat in Vander’s direction and before Vander could react, a mass of blue smoke appeared in the middle of the cathedral.

Everyone’s eyes were on the smoke as it slithered through the pews and rushed into the air, vanishing almost instantly.

As it cleared, Emma could see someone standing where the smoke had materialized. It was a man and for some reason, she felt as if he were familiar to her. She’d seen him somewhere before, she could feel it.

Vander, Hoke, and Petra dropped to their knees as the man strode forward, his long hands in the pockets of his coat.

His light blond hair was slicked back with foul smelling gunk, showcasing his extremely pale face. His eyes were as dark as Vander’s and his smile was sadistic.

“Craven,” Vander said, his voice rattled.

“
Craven?
” Emma said, her eyes widening. Craven Bell’s eyes moved to Emma and he smiled at her. She felt her stomach turn.

“Emma Drake. How I’ve longed to see you again. You’ve grown to be beautiful just like your mother.” Emma could see why everyone was frightened of him. He looked wicked enough.

“Why did you kill her?” the words fell out of Emma’s mouth. Logan grabbed her hand and held on tight.

“Foolish girl, I didn’t kill your mother. She was a friend of mine, to be honest. No one ever found out who did that to her, poor woman.”

“Everyone knows you had something to do with it,” Mason yelled from across the cathedral. Craven spun around on his heels and stared up at the pentagram.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mason King. Looks like you couldn’t keep your wretched promise to Marina. You failed old man.”

“I’LL RIP YOUR HEAD OFF—”

“I’d love to see you try you—”

“Sire, the boy isn’t here yet,” Petra interrupted Craven. He turned around, his eyebrows set like daggers.

“He’ll be here soon, my dear. I want you to call on me when he is. I have some things to take care of,” Craven explained as he walked back over to the middle of the cathedral.

“Why do you want our powers?” Emma asked, stopping Craven in his tracks. He turned, slowly, and stared into her eyes.

“To put it truthfully, I’m dying, sweet one. I need more dark magic, but not just any dark magic. I need yours and your brother’s.”

“You’re not going to get it,” Emma snarled at him.

A smirk grew on Craven’s face as blue smoke materialized at his ankles. It rose upward, engulfing his entire body in its thickness.

The smoke rapidly faded and the man was gone, leaving the cathedral silent, except for the cawing of the black birds as they flew between the chandeliers and out through the fractured skylight.

13

Oleandra Braswell was bound to a kitchen chair, her hands tied behind her back and her long brown skirt torn from her knees to her ankles. Her hair was plastered to the sides of her cheeks and she looked worn out.

Ethan stepped out from the hallway and caught her full attention. Her eyes trailed up from the ground and met Ethan’s. He couldn’t deny that she seemed familiar to him. Had he known her before Mason took them to the mortal world?

“Why is she tied up?” Ethan turned to Adam.

“Because she didn’t want to come,” Cass answered.

“I don’t associate with dark bloods like you, Cassius Waverly. Preston should’ve sent someone more trustworthy.”

“Oh come off it, you old hag.”

“Cass!” Preston snapped.

“Sorry,” Cass mumbled and looked down at his shoes.

“Ethan Drake, you look so much like your father, it’s uncanny.” Oleandra’s voice was soft and soothing to Ethan’s ears. He swore he had heard it before.

“You knew my mother?” Ethan asked.

“We were best friends. I knew her better than anyone could. I’m sorry she’s gone. She was an amazing mother and friend.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said, tears on the verge of spilling from his eyes.