Vicente is the only person outside of my family who joins us in the lounge, choosing to position himself in front of the giant floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the campus. The entire place is set slightly away from the rest of the university, but close enough for us to see everything that’s going on.
Down below, all you see is tinted black glass, but from up here? You see everything. Ancient architecture and stone finishes crafted by the hand of only the finest artists. Our “private dorm” is more like a mansion. Six bedrooms, a gym, a private pool that stretches out onto the patio with water that flows down, evaporating before your eyes. It is definitely our home away from home.
It didn’t take long for us to completely deck it out either. The view from our balcony is the best the campus has to offer, being our house is at the highest point of the hillside. The ample mountains behind the school are the home of the Lycans, and to the far right of them, the catacombs.
Of course, he can’t see any of that at the moment, as the demonic smoke senses his eyes on its power and sparks, taunting the monster staring at it. My lips twitch, but I move closer, and the entity settles, slowly separating until a circle-shaped hole appears, allowing Vicente to keep watch.
When the clink of crystal sounds, I turn back, finding my father and Creed at the bar, pouring each of us a finger of whiskey while Legend prepares my mother’s cocktail just the way she likes it. A skill we learned early. Alcohol helps keep our thirst down, but it does jack-shit for hunger. It’s a good distraction, even if it does nothing to get us drunk without some added party favors.
The sweet little Mage we’ve got in our back pocket provides it all. The Argents here at the school will do just about anything for a taste of darkness. Even if they’d never admit it out loud.
The royal lounge is exactly what it sounds like, a lounge built for royals. It’s nearly identical to the one in our wing of the mansion back in Rathe. Like a battle of war and peace, it’s a constant tug-of-war in Rathe between Argents and Stygians, even though we haven’t had an incident in some time.
Since Creed was here on his own his first year, even if we did portal in nearly every weekend, Mother wanted him to walk into the comfort the Deveraux mansion provides. This is about as close as you’ll ever get.
The royal lounge has walls the color of burning ember right before it turns to coal, and the windows are a satin shade of black. The rooms have their own level. Four levels are for the bedrooms, one for the main living and kitchen area, one for the gym and pool. From every room you have a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the campus below. From the outside, the building looks like a black glass tower, with a sharp castle-like point that’s reaching for the sky.
Legend lowers beside our mother on the sofa, and no sooner than the liquor warms her throat, does she speak.
“Something is wrong,” she says, capturing all our attention with those three words.
I cut a quick glance at my father, but his eyes are on her.
“I’ve been nocto-purging.” Mother takes another sip, her jewel-covered hand lifting to brush her hair behind her. “Going to sleep, but not sleeping, waking with odd items in my hands.”
We listen intently as she shares what led her to making this impromptu visit. Her Principal Power, the gift you’re born with and passed down from your mother’s bloodline, is a tricky one. Her mother, our grandmother, was an Oracle, but my mother’s gift is different. She’s a Presage without clear vision. She knows when something is coming … when that something is a threat to us or our world. It’s the perfect gift for the Queen of Darkness, but one that causes more frustration than anything else.
Thank hell, my brother and I have a much clearer Principal Power than she does. How could it not with the blood that flows through our father’s veins?
“The first night it was a feeling of confusion. Loneliness. The ache for a place but in a person. The second was blood. So much blood. Death…” Her eyes find my father’s for a moment, and then she says, “The third was the head of a crow sitting in my left hand, its body still jerking in my right.”
What she’s saying means nothing to us, that’s obvious by the mirrored confusion painted across all my brothers’ faces.
Still, my father asks, his eyes focused on our temples rather than our eyes, “Have any of you felt a change within you in the last few weeks?”
My parents know I’ve been in full-on dick mode since I got back, so I shake my head no. Nothing they aren’t already aware of.
My brothers do the same.
Next, it’s Vicente who speaks. “What about with your power or within your mind? Anyone causing trouble outside of the normal?”
“Nothing we haven’t dealt with ourselves and even then, just your normal angsty, teen bullshit. People trying to show off and having to be put in their place.” Creed frowns, resting his forearms on his knees. “What else should we be looking for?” He focuses on my mother, who loses herself in the deep amber liquid inside her glass. “What signs might there be?”
Our mother thinks hard for a moment, but when she comes back with a simple smile, we know the conversation is done.
“If concerns rise, you will know.”
And now we know for certain there’s more she isn’t telling us.
With that, she finishes off her drink and rises from the single leather chair. My father takes her arm, and without a goodbye or glance back, they’re gone.
The feeling of loneliness, death, and a decapitated crow…
None of that shit means a thing to us, but her purging items never do. Only her mind can connect the dots, and she will. If not now, eventually. Like a puzzle that refuses to be solved, my mother’s mind is her best friend and her worst enemy.
Until then, this little trip will be wiped to the back of our minds.
Mine especially. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, starting with a white-haired doll that I’m looking forward to breaking. Maybe see what’s inside of her. I want to rip her apart to get to know her better. See what makes her tick.
Watch out, Little London, ’cause I’m coming for you, and if you’re a good girl, I might let you come for me too.
Nine
London
I love the feeling of sweat sliding down my skin. The way my heart thrums to a dangerous beat and my legs ache from fatigue the longer I go. I could continue for hours, my stamina unmatched. Well, I only have Ben to compare myself too, and yeah, I beat out the hockey stud every time.
Tapping the next song on my playlist, I suck in a deep breath as the dirt beneath my sneakers kicks up. The incline hits my calves in a way squats never can, and I push forward faster, desperate to get to a flat area. The Weeknd is singing about how he wants whoever his latest girl is to call out his name, and I am hundred percent sure that he is talking about Selena Gomez.
I skid to a halt, tearing my AirPods out of my ears and swiping the sweat from my forehead. The track is rugged terrain, but of all the places I could find around this small town, it’s by far my favorite to run. After yet another day of feeling like I’m studying for no reason at all, I need the clarity that nature gives me, and since I promised Ben I would stop running at night—when I can really fucking breathe under the glow of the moon—this is as good as it gets.