On The Run With A Vampire

15. Raven

CHAPTER 15

RAVEN

A human and a vampire walk into a witch’s lair and… And what exactly? My life has rapidly turned into the setup for a bad joke, and I have the sinking suspicion that we’re about to find out the punchline.

As soon as we step over the threshold into the room, the door slams shut behind us with an unnervingly loud bang.

Cordelia is sitting behind a large oak desk, a look of carefully crafted disinterest on her face. Her dark eyes flick lazily from me to Lucien, as if she’s weighing the worth of the interruption to her evening.

I glance back at the door as if it might hear my silent plea and open up again. It doesn’t, of course, so I turn back to look at Lucien. His face is a perfect mask of pleasantry as he steps forward.

“Cordelia,” he says with a tight smile. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Cordelia quips back. She leans back in her seat and then gestures to the empty space in front of her desk. “Sit.”

Two comfortable-looking armchairs suddenly poof into existence.

I gasp.

Cordelia smirks.

Lucien rolls his eyes. “Are the parlour tricks really necessary, Cordelia?”

“Absolutely,” Cordelia says, her eyes twinkling with a dangerous sort of curiosity as she takes me in. “It’s been a while since I had a human in my audience. I’d better make the most of it. Tea?”

The last part is directed at me, and I get the sense that Cordelia is enjoying my obvious confusion and discomfort with the situation. The phrase “fish out of water” has never felt so applicable to my life before.

I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and try to put on an expression that doesn’t scream how hopelessly lost I am right now. “I?—”

Before I can finish, Cordelia tilts her head slightly, and a black cup appears in my hands. The tea inside is a rich brown with a faintly sweet aroma that tickles my senses. I eye it warily, half-expecting it to morph into black sludge or something equally insane. She is a witch, after all, and a possibly hostile one at that.

A bubble pops ominously in the cup, and Lucien stiffens slightly beside me. I can feel his gaze boring into me, but he doesn’t say a word. I would turn and look at him, but Cordelia is also staring intently at me, and I get the sudden, and deeply unsettling, feeling that Cordelia isn’t someone you should take your eyes off.

She nods at the cup and says, “Drink up.” Her ruby lips curl into a smile that reinforces my understanding that I am definitely on the back foot here.

I nod and then bring the cup closer to my face to take a tentative sniff. It sure smells like tea, but there’s something about Cordelia—something about the menacingly eager way she’s looking at me—that doesn’t feel right. It feels like the kind of trap a witch might set for a sweet, cherub-faced child in a fairy tale. One sip, and I’ll have doomed myself to an eternity transformed into a frog or something.

Though I don’t suppose frogs have to worry about being accused of being a mass-murdering psychopath, do they? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I could find a nice lily pad in a quiet pond and?—

Lucien not-so-subtly clears his throat and snaps me out of my increasingly deranged thoughts.

I place the cup gently back on the desk, lean back into my chair, and meet Cordelia’s gaze with a forced smile. “No, thank you.”

Cordelia’s smile widens. “Smart girl.” Then, apparently bored with me, she turns her attention back to Lucien. “Though I can’t say the same for you.”

I heave a quiet sigh of relief now that I’m not the sole focus of her attention. Lucien, at least, seems to be able to put up a better front than me when it comes to her. Though his smile does falter ever so slightly as she arches a thin brow and looks at him. “As I understand it, your grievances lie with Mother. Not me.”

Something violent flashes in Cordelia’s eyes. She leans across the table and points a long, perfectly manicured finger at Lucien. “My grievances, as you’ve so diplomatically put it, are currently rotting at the bottom of a lake.”

Lucien flinches. “That has?—”

“Nothing to do with you?” Cordelia supplies.

Lucien clamps his mouth shut, his jaw ticking again.

I have no idea what’s going on between Lucien and Cordelia, but they clearly have a history. And, judging from the way Cordelia looks like she’d happily stick a third stake through Lucien’s chest, I don’t think it’s a positive one.

Don’t get involved , I tell myself.

He’s a vampire and she’s a witch.

Don’t get involved.

This is not my world.

Don’t get involved.

I have no business getting involved in whatever drama there is going on between them.

Don’t get involved.

“I thought perhaps you were here to finally apologise,” Cordelia says with an overly dramatic faux yawn. “Not that an apology from you would be worth anything. But it would have been a start. Alas, you’re apparently as lacking in compassion as your mother.”

“Isn’t the fact that I’m here proof that Mother and I have—” Lucien hesitates and, for a brief moment, I think I see a hint of hurt flash in his eyes. “That we’ve gone our separate ways?”

Cordelia purses her lips but doesn’t say anything.

“Mother is—” Another beat of hesitation from Lucien. “She’s set in her ways, and that stubbornness has resulted in a few events I sorely regret. Events I’m sure she regrets too.”

“‘ Events I sorely regret ,’” Cordelia mimics with a dry laugh. “It’s okay, Lucien. You can say it. Your mother’s hardheadedness is the reason my sisters are dead.”

The room goes deathly still. I have to assume Cordelia’s using some kind of magic for dramatic effect because I can’t even hear my own breath. It’s like she’s frozen time so we can all sit in this horrible moment and replay her words over and over again.

Your mother’s hardheadedness is the reason my sisters are dead.

Well, shit . Earlier, when Lucien said, ‘ we’re going to unburn some bridges ,’ I’d assumed it had been him who had done the metaphorical burning.

Clearly, I was wrong.

Lucien gives Cordelia a sharp nod. “Yes. That.”

“Do you know that the witch population is dwindling each year?” Cordelia says suddenly. But she’s not looking at Lucien now. She’s turned her attention back to me. I reflexively sit up a little straighter. “No, of course you don’t. Why would you? But it is. There are probably fewer than fifty of us in the entire country currently.”

“I’m sorry?” It comes out sounding more like a question than I’d like, but Cordelia doesn’t seem to notice or care.

There’s a faraway look in her eyes as she leans back in her seat and crosses her hands gently over her chest.

“You don’t hear about it nearly as often these days, but witch hunts still happen, just under the guise of other names. You people, you humans,” she says with the faintest hint of a sneer. “You’re so afraid of anything different from what you know. From anything you don’t immediately understand.”

“When our powers were discovered, my sisters and I were driven out of our home and hunted by people we once considered friends.”

She flinches like she’s remembering a particularly bad memory.

“We travelled for weeks—months even, it was so hard to keep track—but they kept finding us, each time with more anger and hatred in their hearts than before. Tired of running and hiding, we thought we were doomed until my sister, Willow, heard a rumour of a vampire living nearby.”

She cocks her head back toward Lucien, a sad little smile playing at her lips. “Three vampires, actually. An elder and her two little protégés.”

Lucien fidgets slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. He just lets Cordelia continue.

“We thought we were saved. That, although vampires and witches have our differences, we could rely on our similarities for help.” She laughs softly again. “So naive. Tell your companion what your mother did when three young women turned up at her door. Cold. Weak. Frightened. Desperate for help.”

Lucien hesitates, and Cordelia leans forward again. “Tell her.”

The lights in the room flicker on and off, and I feel a cold, otherworldly breeze fanning across my body. Lucien really wasn’t exaggerating when he said that Cordelia was a fan of dramatics.

“She turned them away,” Lucien says after a beat of silence.

“She turned us away,” Cordelia echoes. She lets her words hang heavy in the air around us for a moment or two before shaking her head. “I won’t bore you with the gory details, but we were caught not long after that, and my sisters did not survive to tell the tale.”

“Cordelia,” Lucien starts, his voice slightly hoarse. “I cannot over?—”

“It’s why I opened The Hideout , you know?” Cordelia continues as if Lucien hadn’t said a word. “To create a sanctuary. A place where every witch, ghost, selkie, werewolf, or any other supernatural being can find safety and a community.”

It doesn’t escape my notice that vampires were conveniently left off that descriptor. From the way Lucien frowns, I have to assume he picks up on it too.

“So I suppose I should thank your mother for that,” Cordelia says with a wry smirk. “Without her callousness, our community would never have this haven.”

“You can’t build a haven on anger and pain,” Lucien says quietly. “I understand that only too well.”

Cordelia’s eyes flash dangerously again. “I’d say I’m doing pretty well so far. But back to the topic at hand.” She leans forward and rests her chin delicately on the palm of her hand. “I have to wonder, given our history, how you have the audacity not only to dare to show your face here—when I explicitly warned you not to—but also to bring the S.B.E.F. right to my doorstep.”

Lucien’s eyes widen, and I can’t help but sit up a little straighter too. It probably shouldn’t surprise me that Cordelia knows all about our problems with the S.B.E.F. already, but it does.

Cordelia lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Honestly, Lucien. I know your heart is a ball of dust at this point, but do you not have a working brain either?”

I stifle a snort.

“I wasn’t aware the S.B.E.F. was on your radar,” Lucien says stiffly. “Have you had any run-ins with them?”

“Of course not,” Cordelia snorts. “I’m not incompetent, and they’re a bunch of idiots who wouldn’t know magic even if it smacked them in the face. Until recently, I didn’t think they were a problem I needed to keep an eye on. And then you arrived and did—” She shoots Lucien a vaguely distasteful look. “All your murders.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lucien says, sounding vaguely offended.

“We’ve been framed,” I supply helpfully. “I mean, Lucien’s been framed, and I’ve kind of just been pulled into it for—Well, for medical reasons.”

Cordelia casts a disinterested eye over me. “Medical reasons,” she deadpans.

“They think I’m a vampire too,” I say, waving a hand over my heart as if that’ll explain everything. “Long story.”

She raises a brow. “As I said: idiots.”

“For once,” Lucien says brightly, “we appear to be on the same page.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Cordelia says. “They may be idiots, but I cannot—I will not—have them sniffing around here. There are too many lives at stake.”

I can’t help but feel a begrudging kind of respect towards Cordelia. Ignoring the fact that I’m 90% sure she tried to poison and/or curse me with the tea, you have to admire her dedication to her community. This whole place might, as Lucien said, have been born out of anger and pain—towards his mother, no less—but I have to disagree that nothing good has come out of it.

How many supernatural beings have found safety and friendship inside these walls thanks to Cordelia?

How many more will?

“I understand and appreciate that,” Lucien says diplomatically. He sounds like I do when I know I’m about to say something that’ll likely trigger a fresh wave of panic in Mum, and I’m trying to ease her into it. “But our lives are at stake too. And I know seeing me torn apart by the S.B.E.F. would give you a great sense of satisfaction?—”

Cordelia doesn’t deny it.

“—But Ms. Hartley is innocent. It’s not her fault that she’s been pulled into this mess, and I owe it to her to get her out of it.”

The urge to reach out and give Lucien’s hand a squeeze is overwhelming.

“Your human pet or bloodletter, or whatever the hell she is to you is—” Cordelia starts.

“Is sitting right here,” I blurt out before my good sense can kick in to remind me that Cordelia is most definitely not someone I want to piss off.

Her narrowed gaze slides back to me.

Ah, well. Too late for that now, might as well get it all out.

I square my shoulders and meet Cordelia’s gaze head-on. “And I’m not a pet or a bloodletter—whatever that is.”

Cordelia deliberately stares at the spot on my neck where, not even three hours ago, Lucien had passionately been sucking, but otherwise doesn’t say a word.

Heat starts to crawl up my spine, but I shove away the creeping sensation of embarrassment and try to pretend like I’m the one in control of this situation.

“Like Lucien said, I’m just a regular human who’s been dragged into this mess because of circumstances beyond my control. I get that you’re angry with him and his mother and—I get it. I really do. But you said that this is a place where people can come for help. And now you’ve got people at your doorstep asking—no, begging —for your help, and you’re about to turn us away? How are you any better than his mother?”

It’s equal parts a low blow and the truth, and I think Cordelia knows it. From the look on her face, I don’t think anyone’s ever spoken to her like this before. Even Lucien is deadly still, like he’s afraid one wrong move or loud noise will make her erupt.

And then, against all odds, Cordelia laughs. “You’ve got some nerve.”

I tense, waiting for the inevitable blowback. What’ll it be? Maybe she’ll wave her hand and trap me inside a painting for the rest of my life.

“And you need nerve to survive in a world like this,” Cordelia says with a smile. It’s not a friendly smile exactly, but it’s definitely an improvement. “Tell me what you want, and be reasonable. My compassion reserves are running low today.”

I turn to Lucien. He’s staring at me with a mixture of surprise and admiration, as if he hadn't expected me to hold my ground so effectively with Cordelia.

After a moment’s pause, Lucien clears his throat and says, “We need somewhere to stay. Somewhere safe,” he adds with a knowing look in Cordelia’s direction. “And we need information.”

Cordelia clicks her tongue. “You can stay until the end of the week.”

“It’s—It’s Friday,” I splutter. 2 a.m., Friday morning if the grandfather clock behind Cordelia’s desk is to be trusted.

“And you have until Sunday,” Cordelia says brightly, as if she’s being perfectly reasonable and hospitable.

“But that’s only two days,” I say. “We need mo?—”

Cordelia holds up a hand. “You have until Sunday,” she says firmly, leaving no room for argument whatsoever. “And what information are you looking for?”

“Who is heading up the S.B.E.F these days?” Lucien asks. “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that they’re marginally more competent than usual. Their last leader?—”

“Melvin,” Cordelia says with a roll of her eyes. I doubt Melvin left a positive impression on her.

“Yes.” Lucien allows himself a small smirk. “Him. When did he vacate the position, and who has replaced him?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘vacate’ is the right word to use in this instance,” Cordelia says with a frown. “Not voluntarily, at least. He vanished about a year and a half ago. As far as I can tell, our dear, useless Melvin has disappeared without a trace.”

Lucien mirrors Cordelia’s frown. “There’s been no sight of him these last 18 months?”

“Not one,” Cordelia says with a shake of her head. “I know the girl—Oh, what’s her name?”

Lucien shrugs, and it hits me that he genuinely refuses to dedicate brain space to remembering the names of the S.B.E.F members.

“Melody,” I say. “Her name is Melody.”

“That’s right,” Cordelia says. “I know Melody spent some time looking for him—I believe she thinks he was done in by a wolf pack.”

“But there’s no proof?” Lucien asks.

“None whatsoever. I’ve put out feelers, but none of my sources have found anything to suggest he even came close to interacting with any packs near here. Anyway, Melvin’s successor ordered her to stop investigating and to focus all the attention and resources of the S.B.E.F on you.”

Lucien bristles slightly. “And how long have you known the S.B.E.F have been so singularly focused on me?”

Cordelia’s lips split into a wide grin. “About a year now.”

“Isn’t that lovely?” Lucien says, sounding anything but. “I’ve had a pair of murderous imbeciles on my heels for an entire year, and you’ve done nothing. Not even a warning.”

“Exactly!” Cordelia’s smile doesn’t falter. “I figured they’d either continue on their path of incompetency and fail to find you, or they would find you and kill you. Either way, not my problem.”

“Except now it is,” Lucien says, tilting his head to the side.

Cordelia’s smile drops. “Yes. Now it is.”

“So who is running the S.B.E.F now?” I cut in, sensing that Cordelia’s limited goodwill towards us is rapidly depleting.

“That’s the million-pound question, isn’t it?” Cordelia asks. “Nobody knows.”

“Excuse me?” Lucien says. “What do you mean ‘nobody knows’? How do you, of all people, not know who it is?”

“I mean exactly that,” Cordelia snaps. “Nobody knows who replaced Melvin. Except, I have to assume, Melody and—Trent? I want to say Trent.”

“Todd,” I say, feeling an irrational wave of sympathy towards Todd and Melody. They may have recently tried to murder me, but they’ve dedicated their lives to catching supernatural beings. The least said supernatural beings can do is have the decency to learn their names.

Cordelia nods absentmindedly. “Yes, yes. Melody and Todd. They’re the only ones who would know.”

Lucien hums in obvious displeasure. “But?—”

“Enough,” Cordelia says, raising that hand again to demand silence. “You asked for information, and that’s all the information I have.”

“You gave us nothing,” Lucien says in disbelief.

“I didn’t say it was useful information,” Cordelia sniffs. “But it was, undisputedly, information. What you do with it is up to you. I have no interest in solving this little mystery for you.”

“And what do you think is going to happen once the S.B.E.F finds us?” Lucien asks. “That they’ll simply be happy with catching a vampire and won’t refocus their efforts on the wider community?”

Cordelia says nothing.

Lucien shakes his head. “Helping us benefits everyone, Cordelia.”

For the first time since we walked into the room, Cordelia’s mask of glacial boredom slips slightly, replaced by a look of deep concern. “Do you honestly think I don’t know that?” she asks quietly. “For the last year, you’ve been almost entirely oblivious to the S.B.E.F, but I haven’t. I’ve exhausted every resource I have to try and uncover who is leading them currently, and I’ve come up blank.”

Realisation dawns on Lucien’s face. “You’re hoping we’ll draw whoever it is out, aren’t you?”

Cordelia simply shrugs.

Lucien’s eyes narrow as he processes Cordelia’s silent admission. “You’re using us as bait.”

Cordelia’s gaze turns steely. “It’s a pragmatic approach. If you manage to survive a little longer, you’ll likely draw out the leader.”

I can’t help but feel a twinge of unease at how flippant she’s being right now. “And if we don’t survive?”

Cordelia’s expression is unreadable. “I suppose that would be unfortunate.”

Lucien’s face darkens, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he snarls. “We’re not pawns in your personal game of chess.”

“Believe me, even with our history, I wish I didn’t have to resort to such measures,” Cordelia says. “But when you’ve been dealing with the S.B.E.F and others like them as long as I have, you learn that there are no easy answers. I’ve had to make difficult choices to protect the ones who need it most.”

There’s a long, heavy silence. Lucien’s shoulders slump slightly, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Cordelia. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “But understand this. I have no intention of dying at the hands of those buffoons at the S.B.E.F or letting Ms. Hartley be harmed by them.”

Cordelia glances between the two of us curiously. She opens her mouth, closes it, purses her lips, and then lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Alright,” she says, glaring at us like we’re the source of all her problems in the world. “You find out who is currently heading up S.B.E.F for me, and I’ll put out some feelers and see if I can find a lead for you on the murders you’ve been accused of.”

After a beat of consideration, Lucien nods. “And…?”

Cordelia rolls her eyes. “And you can stay here as long as you need.” She waves her hand, and a set of keys poofs into existence on top of her desk. “Sixth floor. Second room on the left.”

Lucien smiles as he reaches for the keys. “Thank you, Cordelia. Truly, I?—”

“Don’t,” Cordelia says, pretending to gag. “Don’t you dare. Now, go. Before I change my mind.”

She glares at us as we push away from our seats and make our way to the door, but there’s no bite in it anymore.