I was riding the high from kissing tabby cat, a little dazed and disoriented as I strode toward the guest bedrooms where Valarie and I were settled for the weekend. I could still taste Tabitha's sweet kisses on my lips. Her soft scent of roses lingered on my clothes. And the residual feel of her breathy sighs and moans that vibrated against my tongue was a melody I couldn't get out of my head. Every single atom hummed inside my body as if I'd come alive. I felt lighter than I had in months. There was a bounce in my step and everything was brighter. The colors in the hallways and oil paintings were awash with a gem-like vividness.
Underneath all that primness Tabitha was a fucking wildcat.
She'd barely let me up for air. My lips were kiss-swollen and raw. My scalp throbbed dully where she'd pulled at my hair. And my shoulders and chest stung where she'd raked her nails. But hells if I didn't like it. I fucking loved it.
She'd fisted my hair and I let her. She'd bitten my lips and I nipped her back. She'd writhed and cried out for more and I'd given in to her. I'd easily, so easily sank beneath the waves of her sweetly-laced wickedness, and forgotten about everything wrong in my life, and who I was.
She. Had. Touched. Me.
In some pathetically grateful way I was relieved that everything was still in working order.
Hells, yes.
It had been half a year since I'd gone on that screw-you-Irma-Szarvas tour of revenge-fucking, and shortly afterward when I'd given it up, no pretty face or generous cleavage or direct offer had stirred interest.
I ran the flat of my palm down my chest, puffing out a gusty breath, not able to stop the stupid grin. Holy hells-gate. I had been so into this girl for the past hour, my cock ached like a motherfucker. It strained against my pants' zipper so hard it was either going to bust through, or the metal teeth were going to injure my cock. And I sure as hells wasn't okay with that. I needed a cold shower, a freezing-ass kind of cold shower to cool down. Or, I needed to jerk off.
My swollen cock bobbed in agreement.
Duly noted.
I slowed down as I approached the oak wooden door to my room, taking a moment to blow out a deep breath, roll my shoulders, and run a series of ridiculous math problems through my head just to soften the fucker. I entered my bedroom, and the soles of my shoes were cushioned by the fuchsia shag carpet. The nicest part of this room was the opulent bathroom, the rest of it...I couldn't even begin to bend my mind around. I'd been given a fluffy pink bedroom, papered in some sort of spine-shuddering chintzy pattern. Shabby chic my sister called it when we'd been escorted here last night.
Valarie had howled in laughter at the foul expression on my face when I'd encountered all the offensive frills and gingham and weird tie-dyed furnishings, with enormous sunflower rugs adorning the thick carpet. It looked like a graveyard where every tacky trend had come to perish. It had matching lava lamps for fucks sake, along with creepy cowhide lampshades and leather tassels, a princess phone studded with rhinestones, and a godsdamned disco ball hanging from the ceiling. Not to mention the abundant collection of porcelain ducks and swans gracing the walls amongst the macramé string whatever-the-fuck artwork. I'd started referring to my room as Chateaux Crappo.
I moved to the waterbed, with its pastel-floral bedding which had been turned down earlier by the servants. A waterbed. I tsked at the monstrosity with its suede curves. It was a pain in the ass to clamber into at night, and whoever invented the thing needed to be ended.
The wyrm daggers I'd left here earlier were on top of my weapons bag seated on an old-fashioned luggage holder beside the bed. The leather was worn and frayed from a long line of ancestors using it, and the bone of the blades contrasted against the black leather.
I stroked my fingers through my scruffy beard, pacing back and forth, wondering what to do next and how to go about it.
Tabitha was in a world of danger. If Laurena woke up to find the mane of hair she gloried in shorn off, she was going to turn this place upside down in a vicious quest to find the person responsible and enact retribution. The only thing shielding Tabitha was the fact that there were a vast number of guests here tonight. The perpetrator could be any one of us—a servant or one of the upper ranks—and with Laurena's charming personality, there'd be a slew of suspects.
I could understand Tabitha's rationale, hiding the fact Laurena's hair had been cut off at the Deniauds tonight by bewitching her with a glamour potion.
Since the actual heist had occurred here at the Deniauds, in three days' time when Laurena was back on the Wychthorn estate and she woke up to discover herself pretty much fucking bald, there would be no incriminating evidence, not a wisp of cut hair in her surroundings.
Laurena could still point the finger at someone at the Wychthorns, and I'd seen the worry scoring Tabitha's pretty face at the thought that an innocent might take the blame for something she'd done. However, more plausibly, it wouldn't take Laurena long before she'd come to the correct conclusion that it had indeed happened at the Deniauds. But three days after the Servants' Dance, it would be a mess to figure out who had been there and their whereabouts on the night.
Tabitha might get away with it if I managed to get my hands on some more glamour potion. There were a few daughters here I could steal a vial from, and amongst them, the first that came to mind—Rosa Battagli and Irma-the-liar Szarvas. I could steal into one of their rooms, thieve a potion, and then find my way back into Laurena's bedroom. Though, it was one hells of a risk going for it a second time.
Cutting the hair of a Wychthorn Princess was quite the protest from a servant. Tabitha could have done something else to Laurena that was less obvious and less confrontational. Despite how ferociously Tabitha had spoken about defending my sister, I called bull-fucking-shit on that. This wasn't for revenge. She needed the hair for some other reason, I was positive of it. Whatever reason Tabitha had, I'd figure it out later, right now I needed to help her get out of this fix.
I undid a few more top buttons on my shirt as anger bubbled beneath my skin, thinking about what Tabitha had shared with me.
Laurena had threatened my twin sister to stay away from Byron.
Was it merely because Laurena was fearful Val would end up marrying into the Wychthorn family and become the matriarch of Great House Wychthorn? Was her reason as simple and shallow as Laurena being embarrassed by my sister's stuttering? Or was it because my family was enforcers? We did the dirty work for Upper House Novak, keeping the crime syndicates under control and the money flowing to the Horned Gods. As far as most of the Upper Houses thought, we were from the wrong side of the Houses, considered no better than thugs. Yet they needed us as a line of defense so they didn't have to pick up blades and coat their hands with blood.
The inky waves of wyrmfire coiling up my arms were stark against my tan as I rolled up my shirt sleeves. My thoughts wandered to what Tabitha had overheard Laurena say about Gratian and myself. Because the term was brothers. I didn't give a fuck what Laurena had inferred about me, but what had Gratian done? Had he become involved with Laurena at some point?
I rubbed my hand over my chest at the weird feeling inside as I turned toward the adjoining bedroom door. Why the hells had I felt guilty over hurting Rosa's feelings? When did I start caring about the chatterbox?
I didn't know which room Rosa was staying in tonight. I hoped my twin might know. I couldn't afford to go around knocking from door to door like a godsdamned salesman. And if Valarie didn't know where Rosa resided for the weekend, then my last resort would be stealing from Irma. Either way, I was going to drag my twin into this mess. Even if Valarie refused to answer my knock on her bedroom door I was going to break my way in.
I stalked over to the interconnecting door, raising my fist to knock and rouse Valarie, to demand she help me out. If I hadn't been pondering deeply on Tabitha's problem and getting my hands on some glamour potion, I might have felt the unease in the air, the earth bracing itself for the wrath of an oncoming storm.
But it was there, teasing the edges of my mind.
Something isn't right.
As my knuckles rapped on wood, it finally registered that there was some sound...some discordant noise...muffled behind the stone and mortar and glass of the mansion.
I stilled and tilted my head, all my senses alert.
Icy teeth of dread chewed away at my bones, unsettling my nerves.
I spun around and quickly moved to the bedroom window. Yanking aside the frilly curtains with their lacing of pink and white lines, I opened up the window. I was on the second floor of the northeastern side of the mansion and faced away from the back lawn. Chilly air rushed in and prickled my cooling skin. I gripped the window sill and leaned my upper body out. Cocking my head, a gentle night breeze teased my hair as I listened to what coursed on the wings of the wind.
The explosions of the fireworks were dying and few and far between; the display was either coming to an end or something was off. The folk band was still playing a jovial song, but it faltered, the melody becoming off-kilter as musicians stumbled and fell out of time with one another or stopped playing altogether. Above it all came panicked noises in random eruptions that became more rhythmic as time marched on. It was an ocean swell with cruel winds whipping waves and building momentum to higher peaks.
Cries of horror—
Names being shouted out—
What the hells is going on?
Screaming—
Screaming?
Fear twisted low in my throat.
I shoved back, my heart beating wildly, and surged across the room racing for my weapons bag. Shoving the wyrm daggers into my belt, I grabbed hold of the zipper tag and went to open it up, when the adjoining door opened and Valarie burst into my room. Her eyes, still puffy and red-rimmed from crying, locked with mine as she ran for me, her long white nightie tangling around her ankles. Her long black hair was mussed from either dragging her hands through the sleek black locks, or she'd managed to snatch a moment of fitful sleep.
Valarie's fingers bunched by her sides, and her wide-eyed gaze warily bounced to the open window and back to mine. "W-W-What th-the hells is going on?"
She'll head straight here. She won't be mindful that they're children of the Houses. In her drowsy state, they're simply the closest food source.
My fingers clenched tight around the zipper tag. I shot her a dark look, my nostrils flaring. "Jurgana," I answered.
Valarie's mouth fell open and she took a hurried step back. Her hands rose and her fingers spread wide as she fluttered nervously on the spot. "H-holy h-h-hellsgate."
"Yeah," I gritted out. I unzipped the weapons bag, and Valarie suddenly disappeared in a flurry of rippling white cotton. She reappeared a moment later in a pair of combat boots and her sword strapped to her back. Crouching down, she swiftly adjusted the boot's buckles. She rose and ran her fingers through her hair, bunching it together and tying it back into a ponytail.
Oh hells no.
"No," I warned her, sweeping a hand through the air as I rounded to face her fully. "Stay here." There was no way I wanted my twin out there with a Horned God.
"Like f-fuck I will," she snapped back, a fearsome gleam in her narrowed eyes as she closed the gap between us. She snatched a wyrmbone dagger from my belt and slashed her nightie's skirt so it sat high on her thighs to give her extra movement. The scraps of white fabric fluttered to the carpet around her black boots.
I tried again. "Val—"
"Sh-Shut it," she interrupted, stepping over the ruined material. "I'm g-going out there. Fuck, Varen, you need me at your b-back." Her features were set in cold determination and I knew that her mind was made up. But all I could think of was Jurgana...
And Gratian...
And how I'd panicked with Sander and the Yakuza.
I swore through gritted teeth and rubbed a hand over my furrowed forehead.
Shit, fuck, shit.
Valarie nudged an elbow into my ribs, pushing me aside, and she pulled wide my weapons bag and dug out my twin bastard swords, handing them to me with an arched eyebrow, challenging me to take them from her. Cold sweat beaded on my hairline. I dragged in a deep fortifying breath, shoving my fear for her and that slight tremor of anxiety and dread that rattled my bones, down deep. I had to hold my shit together. My fingers curled around the battle-knicked sheaths and just the feel of the weapons in my hand assuaged the panic.
Both of us were a flurry of movement. I lashed the sheath's leather straps over my shoulders, buckling and tightening the swords to my spine. Valarie quickly fished out a pair of bandoleers armed with small blades and cursed incendiary devices from the battered leather bag, tossing one to me while slinging the other over her head. I slid my wyrm dagger into a free sheath and strapped it around the outside of my thigh, my sister shoving hers into a free loop on the bandoleer. I untied a leather thong from my wrist to bind back my hair as I moved to the bedroom door and opened it.
Valarie stood beside me. Her slender arms were taut with tension as they hung beside her sides. Her fingers were curled into fists and she nervously kneaded her knuckles with her thumbs as she waited for my instructions.
"Ready?"
Valarie nodded, a jerky movement that bounced her ponytail. Her violet eyes still held strong determination but there was a sliver of fear shining in them too, as the sound of terror seeping inside the room from the open window became louder and louder.
I stabbed a finger toward her and glared. "Stay close, and don't do anything reckless."
Amusement cracked through her nerves and softened her muscles. Her mouth tipped up on one side in a small smile. "W-Wouldn't dare."
I jerked my chin toward the hallway and surged forward.
Valarie matched my pace as we raced from the room, through the twists and turns of hallways in streaks of yellows and golds, clattering down graceful staircases bracketed in metal, both of us a smear of speed and foreboding as the tumultuous noises from outside became louder with every pounding footstep.
We erupted through a back door that led to the lawn, not too far from the main entrance to the Banquet Hall, and stumbled to a halt as we met the harrowing mayhem outside.
The darkness of the night, the pandemonium, and the piercing screams were an ode to chaos.
A tide of terrified people surged from the middle of the lawn where the dance had been held. It was like watching a rogue wave, frothing and foaming as it rose up to smash upon ironshore. The wave of panicking servants pushed and shoved at one another, desperately trying to reach the safety of the mansion. Some fell amongst the melee and disappeared beneath trampling feet.
Not everyone was running away. Many were gathered into tight knots and remained in the dance area surrounded by straw bales that had been shunted aside. Some were elderly and needed help, others ran about desperately looking for their children or loved ones.
Blood-curdling screams—
The bleating of children—
The shrill cry of parents frantically shouting for their lost kids—
The noises burned my ears, and a repugnant stench of fear rolled on the crisp night air, singeing my nostrils and churning down my throat as I gasped rapidly for oxygen.
The musicians' stage was littered with instruments that were too heavy to carry out— drums knocked over; harps too big to easily lift; cellos rocking from side to side, their strings and polished, rich wood catching the light from the bonfire raging nearby.
The black netting that had wrapped around the posts of the folk band's stage and covered them overhead had been pulled down with people being knocked and thrust aside, falling into it. A few servants were tangled amongst its nets, tugging to free themselves like flies caught in a spiderweb. The tall bamboo poles alight with wildfyre, paper lanterns and bunting strung between them, shuddered and swayed when they were abruptly hit by someone. Or they had toppled over, spreading blue flames across the damp grass—the loose ropes tripping those fleeing toward the mansion.
Long tables were upended, their white linen turned brown with mud. Big barrelled beer kegs were on their sides. Free-flowing beer and wine and water soaked the grassy earth and had become muddy pools from the many feet that had earlier trampled around to refresh their glasses and tankards.
My gaze swept beyond, straight to the end of the lawn and the Hemmlok Forest, its treeline swaying and bending—to whom or rather what approached.
Jurgana.
A Horned God.
One of the Witches.
Jurgana, a tall, lithe figure, was naked but for the many loops of old rope that crossed her body, tied with small leather pouches made from all manner of skin—human, animal and lesser creatures alike—swinging with each footstep as she walked toward the Servants' Dance. She was humanoid in appearance with long graceful limbs that matched her gait. Moonlight glanced over the crown of her hairless skull and shimmered across her reptilian skin, giving her an iridescent sheen like the scales of a fish. Her wide-set eyes were wholly green like damp moss, with a vertical slit of amber. They drooped half-mast and were glazed as if she was still caught in a dream world.
Vaguely similar to Sirro's otherworldly silver strands of dark power, Jurgana's might whorled around her figure and pooled at her feet like a wild, black nightmare, sticky and oily like a painting come to life. Roiling within the banks of darkness was a horde of critters that were her bedmates.
In a flash of movement, Jurgana pinched a pouch and tipped the contents into a cupped palm. Her thin lips never ceased in movement. Words spilled from her mouth in an ancient language infused with magic. I saw it almost like musical notes hanging in the air—the notes and stems and flags a delicate handwritten script. She raised her palm and spoke once more, and dashed the dust into the swirling sticky power flowing around her.
It bubbled and spat like the heart of an erupting volcano spewing lava.
Out of the darkness came crows with ink-dripping feathers, spiraling out on midnight wings. The birds soared upward, their beaks overly long and blade-like, twisting like a corkscrew against the night sky, splitting apart into smaller flocks.
The Horned God stole another pouch and wove a new incantation, letting the dull ochre potion drip between her splayed fingers into the billowing darkness. From ebony clouds surged a pack of crudely-formed dogs, their hackled fur coated in a greasy substance. But I realized that they weren't the first to have been made and released upon us. My gaze shot forward to an earlier pack bounding across the lawn. Straight for the servants.