Twisted Soul (Cursed Legacies #3)

20. Silas

20

SILAS

It's hushed between the four of us, bordering on awkward, as I lead them to the Great Hall.

We slow as we approach the massive open-air dining room lit by a cacophony of holiday-colored mage lights drifting around the Grecian pillars surrounding the dining area. Holly, mistletoe, and other festive plants deck the hall while classy holiday music plays courtesy of someone's spell. Three or four dozen acolytes are already here, discussing holidays back home, philosophy, religion, holiday foods, and so on. Many glare as we pass, and I'm not surprised when one of them throws a slice of baked ham at me.

It bounces off an easy spell, but I keep my hands in my pockets to draw less controversial attention to my blackened fingertips as we head toward the grandiose main dining table. I'm sure the Garnet Wizard will want us seated near him so he can talk to Maven.

“Is it just me, or do these other nerds hate your guts?” Baelfire asks as we sit. “Especially Overbite.”

“Parker,” I nod. “He tried outranking me a year or two ago. I humiliated him, and he isn't over it. The others have similar stories.”

“You, friendless? I'm shocked,” Crypt drawls, tapping the empty plate in front of him. “Where’s the food?”

“You don't eat,” Everett reminds him.

“My thanks for informing me of the fucking obvious, Frost, but I meant for Maven. I want a feast ready for her.”

I tap his plate, activating the prepared charm on it. Popular holiday foods appear: prime rib, turkey, baked ham, scalloped potatoes, roasted Brussels sprouts, minced pies, stuffing, and gravy.

“Only casters can use these plates,” I explain.

“If you make me ask you nicely for dinner, I'll let my dragon eat you instead,” Baelfire warns testily.

I smirk and activate their plates, adding an additional protection charm to each of them out of habit.

Just as I transfigure their water glasses into festive fae wine, a hush falls over the Great Hall. My quintet turns to see Maven walking in with the Garnet Wizard.

The expressions on the other acolytes’ faces are priceless. They range from appalled to furious to outright fascination as they watch her join us at the head of the main table set apart from the rest.

I note that one of the gawking acolytes’ attention quickly moves from Maven to Everett, and he gets that same obnoxiously starstruck expression on his face as the former model received at Everbound all the time.

Baelfire frowns deeply as he watches the Garnet Wizard take a seat at the head of the table. My mentor is far more wrinkled and grayed than earlier. I've seen him at every phase of his curse—having been around it for nine years, I forget to find it odd.

Dinner proceeds. Now that we're more or less alone where the other acolytes aren't likely to hear, I address my old mentor.

“What do you know of hybrid casters? Those able to use multiple types of magic?”

“I know your keeper became one through years of torturous experimentation,” he muses, sampling the potatoes. “Otherwise, it is highly uncommon.”

Baelfire cuts straight through his plate with his dinner knife, his expression stormy as his eyes shift to dragon slits. He covers his face, trying to calm down.

“Boo,” he says roughly, clearly wanting answers.

“He's making it sound worse than it is.”

She's lying. I'm getting better at reading her, but when she pointedly ignores our stares and pretends like the Brussels sprouts are fascinating, I sigh and turn back to my mentor.

“I can still use my blood magic. It wasn't burned away in the fever transitioning into a necromancer.”

His face lights up with fascination. “Truly? Show me.”

“I can’t until I feed on her.”

The wizard rubs his graying facial hair. “Only from her, eh? How very unprecedented. Perhaps it's all to do with who you are bound to, as she is also quite unprecedented. After all, the most powerful keepers result in the most powerful quintets and have been known to influence the range of their quintets’ abilities. Or perhaps this has something to do with you being bound to her shadow heart.”

I frown, telepathically reaching out to Maven. You told him we're bound? And about your heart?

I told him a lot of things. The good news is we'll get etherium as soon as it arrives from where he's been storing it outside the country.

What’s the bad news? I press. The price?

She stabs a sprout. He wanted knowledge. I’ve had to tell him about shit I’ve tried hard to forget.

“Pity, though, that you had to become a necromancer,” the wizard tuts, interrupting us.

I look at my own plate. “I regret nothing.”

“Besides, it’s the best of both worlds,” Baelfire pipes up, his shifter emotions swinging back to cheerful as he finishes his ham. “Now you can heal our keeper and see dead people. I see it as a win.”

“Except for the part where he's now a feared pariah of society,” Everett points out.

Crypt isn't eating, of course. He's trying to balance forks in a tower as he smirks. “Aren’t we all, though?”

Very true.

“E—excuse me?” the starstruck acolyte says, approaching our table nervously. He dips his head respectfully at the wizard but turns quickly to Everett, eyes wide. “You’re the Everett Frost! I’m—gods, I’m a huge fan. I’m an atypical caster,” he adds almost sheepishly. “Grew up in New York, and my mom and I are both fashion enthusiasts. She’s actually an editor for Vogue, so I’ve been to lots of shows and…again, I’m just a big fan.”

Everett slips into a pleasant, practiced persona I’m sure he perfected for his career, thanking the fan despite Baelfire snorting derisively and Crypt tossing scalloped potatoes across the table at them.

“Sorry to bother you, but…” The acolyte holds up a permanent marker hopefully.

Everett autographs the caster’s arm, politely answering a couple of questions to say he isn’t going to be at Paris Fashion Week next year, and, yes, he is friends with some famous human singer I’ve never heard of.

When the acolyte finally thanks him and hurries away, Maven tips her head.

“Kenzie told me about autographing, but I still don’t understand. Does that happen often?”

“Much more often among human fans.” Everett turns back to his food.

Baelfire scoffs. “Okay, it’s so fucking bizarre to think that you have fans. Clearly, they don’t know what an asshole you are, outside of whatever the fuck models do.”

“I’m not an asshole to everyone. Just you three because you fucking deserve it,” Everett corrects in a grumble. “I happen to be really good with humans. Believe it or not, there’s a reason the Everbound staff assigned me to teach Advanced Human Relations.”

So that’s what he supposedly taught.

Baelfire continues to rib him about it as I refill Maven’s cup of wine. Dinner continues for a while with light conversation until, as has happened with every holiday dinner since the beginning of time, politics arise.

Baelfire makes an offhand comment about Everbound’s recent anti-legacies troubles, and my mentor launches into a tirade about his political views.

“…of course, those immortals relish their influence in the mortal world, but at least the Reformists are not nearly so thickheaded as those blasted Remitters,” the Garnet Wizard says, finally taking a moment to sip his wine.

“The Reformists are the other faction of anti-legacy activists?” Maven clarifies.

He hums. “The Legacy Council labeled them as anti-legacies, and so everyone believes it—but that is utter horseshit. The Reformists lobby for legacies and humans to have equal footing in the mortal world, and they question the current system as a whole. They insist we are far more civilized than monsters and thus should be allowed to mingle with humans freely, choose other careers, and even inter-marry.”

He scoffs at that.

“You disagree with them,” she surmises.

“They're idealists. Dreamers. If the world could work the way they want, it would take such a major upheaval that it would create far more problems than it could solve. Their intentions are in the right place, but it hardly helps their cause that they were founded by a human who openly fraternized with demons. I disagreed with the council’s decision to execute Amato, but he certainly contributed to the current unrest between humans and legacies.”

Everett chokes on his wine, cursing as he spills it on himself. I raise a brow at him questioningly, but he shakes his head, glancing at Maven quickly before frowning down at his food.

Our keeper is thoughtful as she slides the steak and ham from her plate to Baelfire's. The dragon shifter pantomimes swooning and kisses her cheek.

“The Reformists sound less insane than the Remitters. After all, the system is archaic,” Maven mutters. Then she pushed her plate away, clearly done as she regards the wizard. “Do you have a training area?”

Shit. I know what this line of question is leading to. So do the others because we all groan in synchrony.

“Indeed, I do. Looking to train more, telum? From all you've told me, I would rather think you lack very little in that department.”

My gorgeous, vicious keeper smiles too sweetly as she looks at the four of us.

“It's not for me.”

“Hey, we survived First Placement,” Baelfire protests.

“Barely.”

“That was a skewed result,” I argue. “We fought some of the Immortal fucking Quintet, not to mention their band of followers. Take that into account, at least.”

Maven sips her wine. “You four are not getting out of this. Suck it up.”

Everett sighs and telepathically says, That’s okay. I love even the sadistic, merciless side of you, so I accept the hell that tomorrow will bring.

She downs the rest of her wine, shooting him a look. Stop using that word.

Admit it, sangfluir. You love that we can't get enough of you. I grin when she flips me off.

“All this telepathy shit is getting so fucking old. You don't happen to know what made those two pricks bond when I haven't, do you?” Bael grumbles to the wizard.

My mentor smirks. “You are asking the wrong question.”

“What the hell is that supposed to?—”

Fuck , Everett swears, standing to pull Maven's chair back.

It takes me a moment to realize he's freaking out because even though she's keeping her face free of pain, one of her hands is clutching at her chest.

Do not make a fucking scene , her strained voice echoes in my head.

Damn it all.

I stand, glancing at Crypt. He nods once and vanishes, not needing to be told what to do.

Meanwhile, Baelfire surprises me by not blowing up with shifter emotions in reaction to our keeper’s episode. Instead, he turns to the Garnet Wizard to politely excuse us as Everett walks hand in hand with Maven away from the table.

She's stopped clutching her chest, but I can see the sweat breaking out on the back of her neck as we walk under the holiday mage lights and pass the other acolyte tables full of stares and glares.

“Leaving so soon, your ladyship? ” that bastard, Parker, mocks from somewhere.

I'll hex him with some horrible disfiguration later. Right now, I take Maven's other hand as she keeps pretending everything is fine. I know she doesn't want to appear weak in front of the acolytes here, which is wise, but knowing she's in pain is fucking awful.

“Breathe. You're doing great, Snowdrop,” Everett murmurs gently.

It’s bizarre how soft he is with her when he’s always been such an icy prick.

As soon as we're out of sight of the Great Hall, Maven sways, choking and clutching harder at her chest.

“Fuck,” she grits, voice breaking. “Something's wrong. Different. I?—”

Her legs give out, but Baelfire is abruptly there to scoop her up. He hurries toward the guest cottage, cradling her like the precious cargo she is as we follow.

“Crypt will have the medicine ready,” I promise, opening the door and then locking it behind us. Earlier, I gave the incubus a draft of my new batch, the kind she can hopefully take orally, in case we were caught by surprise precisely like this.

Maven's face is twisted in agony, shaking her head as Baelfire gently lowers her to the bed.

“S—something feels fucking wrong ,” she chokes again.

Crypt appears and brings the vial to her lips, looking as tormented as the rest of us to see our powerful keeper like this.

“Here, love. Open up for me?—”

Maven suddenly goes slack as her eyes slip shut. At the same time, something tugs so godsdamned painfully in my chest that I cry out. Everett does, too, staggering against the wall as he grapples over his heart, grimacing.

My vision blurs as pain blossoms through my center, and then a chillingly deep voice rumbles in my mind through the bond.

What game do you play, my daughter? You begin to test my patience. I sense a change in the shadows within you. You wax stronger, but how?

“Silas? Snowflake? Shit!” Baelfire swears, trying to shake me out of this trance.

A horrible sensation fills me as I hear flesh-crawling screams from somewhere far away. A chorus of people in agony, and one woman in particular sobbing out Maven's name.

I give you five days until your next mark must fall. Fail me, and they shall perish and be devoured.

I can finally draw in a breath as the tugging feeling fades, though the terror and pain lingers in my chest, wrapped around my pounding heart like a vice.

I realize I'm propped up against the wall, coated in a sheen of cold sweat. Everett is just as shell-shocked as I feel.

Maven is still out. Gone.

Crypt and Baelfire are nowhere to be seen. If I had to take a wild guess, I would venture to say the dragon shifter lost his shit again, seeing his mate like this.

At this point, I don't fucking blame him.

I swear and rub my face, moving to Maven's side to feel her arm. She's freezing and pale, her hair a dark mess around her face, and she remains unbreathing.

Everett mutters a quiet prayer to Galene, the goddess of life and healing. When he speaks to me, his voice is hollow.

“That was the Entity.”

I gently check Maven's pulse. It's still missing.

“As she anticipated, he's threatening her,” I mutter, anger slowly replacing the lingering fear.

A dragon roar from somewhere far outside the cottage briefly draws our attention before Crypt reappears with a groan, slumping into one of the dining room chairs. He's covered in burns that are quickly healing as his clothing smokes slightly.

“How is she?” he rasps, gaze on Maven.

“Expired.” I rub my face.

He swears. “I fucking hate this.”

“We all do,” Everett mutters. Then he pins us with a look. “Maven has her plans. She's driven and does whatever it takes to get shit done, but right now, she's doing it on her own. What have we done for her besides tag along and try not to get killed?”

“Very little,” I agree, glowering out the window. “She's no longer fighting us, yet she does everything necessary for her plan entirely on her own. If we could just contribute something, anything… ”

We all consider it until Crypt tips his head.

“Suppose Maven succeeds, and the humans in the Nether manage to make it into this plane of existence. I assume our clever keeper has a thorough plan to help them out of hell, but what then?”

Everett frowns. “So many humans arriving out of nowhere will cause mass hysteria, especially because it was thought impossible. The media will run rampant, the human government will be scrambling…and you know what? There may be more than just humans slipping into this world. The weaker the Divide gets, the more surges of shadow fiends will escape.”

“The Nether humans will need somewhere to go, not to mention supplies and healing. Knowing what little we do of their lives there, it’s safe to assume they will be in dire condition,” I muse, casting the Frost a long look. “If only we knew someone with deep pockets and shady connections who could fund suitable aid in preparation for their arrival.”

He nods slowly, thinking. “Although, it will be a pain in the ass to keep my connections from stirring up rumors.”

“Leave that to me,” Crypt smiles darkly. “It's amazing how tight-lipped people become when their sanity is on the line.”

We're all quiet again for a moment, considering this new pursuit.

“When it's all over—when the humans are safe and Maven has fulfilled her blood oath…” Everett sighs. “What happens if she doesn't fulfill her purpose as a revenant?”

That question has been weighing on my mind, too. Guessing by Crypt's unusually somber expression and the way Everett can't stop rolling and unrolling one of his sleeves, we're all equally dreading the answer she hasn’t given us.

We're such a morose trio that I startle when Maven speaks.

“Gods. You guys look like someone died or something,” she jokes.

Crypt immediately moves to the bed, pulling her into his arms. She peers over his shoulder at me, appearing exhausted.

“How long was I out?”

“Not long. But, ima sangfluir …we need to talk.”