Bereft: Foretold

10 | A Given Name

Amoroth released her grip upon me and I shrugged off the Realm's influence, blinking my eyes in the sudden shift of light.

We were in the Sin's penthouse. The rain had been quieted to an insouciant hiss outside the plate-glass windows, and the dim, atmospheric lights gave the room a tired, yet inviting, ambiance. No sooner had her hand freed itself from my shirt than the woman vanished into the far rooms. I heard heavy objects being thrown aside with loud thuds and bangs of shattered glass.

Cage coughed. Though he'd only loosened that ridiculous ribbon an increment, the mage was studiously reinforcing the tie, measuring the width of the loops with his thumb and forefinger.

He saw me staring and grinned. "I'm quite fond of it. Wouldn't do to lose it now."

"I don't care about your stupid ribbon," I snarled, brushing bits of exploded concrete and splattered mud from my arms. "What, by the Seven, just happened?"

The mage eased himself onto the sofa's arm—but he didn't sit. No, none of us could sit after what we'd witnessed. Though he feigned nonchalance, I could see how rigid the man held his body and how he laid his hands upon his thighs like bared weapons. They were weapons; I'd been witness to the devastation he could wreak with just a few simple gestures.

"I thought it was obvious," Cage said. "To me, at least."

"Well, it wasn't obvious to me." Amoroth responded before I could, storming back into the room with her bare, filthy feet trailing grime. She threw a duffel bag to the floor, and from it spilled a collection of scribe runes, enchantress baubles, and stacks of currency. Not only were there American dollars, but renminbi, pounds, euros, and a sack of clinking coins I didn't immediately recognize were present.

It was a bag for an alternative—and more plane bound—escape. Plan "B," as it were.

"Why was that winged bastard there?" she demanded, gaze swinging from the mage to me and back again. "Did it follow you?"

Cage shook his head, though the corners of his eyes creased as if he'd not given that any thought. "No. I did nothing to draw his attention, nor did you. Think. Who was there? Who witnessed our arrival to the Gate? Who reported your presence without word or message?"

Brief images flicked through my thoughts as I recalled the glazed, open eyes of Sethan's children waiting in the Gate's tunnel.

"The vampires," Cage explained in a calm, measured tone as his fingers tapped together. "were the ones who summoned the High King's golden boy. He saw what he needed through their eyes and didn't have to follow a disturbance in the void or a stirring of magic. Don't you see, girl? The Call has passed on. Sethan's Call has been inherited by another."

Lightning flashed against the horizon as I stared into the fathomless dark that filled the sky in its absence. I remembered the winged Absolian in his black garb and that familiar—yet so unfamiliar—face. "Brother," he'd called me. 

"That creature named me kin," I muttered as my fingers skirted over my jaw and felt the roughness of hair beginning to grow there. The word hung at the tip of my tongue as if it were branded there, and the taste of it was upsetting. Brother. I wasn't his brother. "Is that even possible?"

"Haven't you ever considered the possibility?" the black mage asked, splaying a hand before himself. "You Originals were once Absolians, and though you were defeated in the Rending and thrown from Absolia's cliffs, you had lives in that realm. Don't you ever wonder about those you left behind? About your mates or children? Sisters or brothers?"