Spellcaster All-Stars, page 60
“Yes, sir,” Anthony says, showing Malachi the deference he’s promised in exchange for more than a title—because to refuse would mean immediate extermination.
Serafina is unable to leave her spot beside Alvan, but she fights the compulsion with everything she has, jerking in place like a marionette with tangled strings. Her eyes bulge, her face turns beet red, and spittle flies from her lips as she loses what’s left of her composure.
“You can’t just give my title away! I earned that. That’s not how things work! Anthony has to fight me for it! Give me back my wand and we’ll see who’s really master of my clan.”
Carolina strides back into the sitting room wearing a big smile and carrying my old wand in one hand, a katana that gleams with deadly promise in the other. “Look what I found upstairs in her bedchamber . . . along with a decapitated vampire. There’s no reason to get creative. Off with her head.”
Cameron laughs at this, a chilling sound, causing Carolina’s eyes to light up with pleased satisfaction.
“No,” I say firmly, and everyone looks at me in surprise.
I stare at one person as I speak—the one who will understand exactly what I’m saying and why it matters. Malachi.
“She found out how I reversed the spell of sanity the first time she and her clan attacked me, and she knows how I came back.” Malachi’s eyes widen with alarm. I keep going, my voice gathering strength. “She was going to force me to do it again as her unwilling zombie killer. She wanted a demonstration, so let me give her one—up close and personal.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Serafina hisses, but there’s a tremor in her voice that wasn’t there before. Even as she speaks, I can see her mind racing, calculating, searching desperately for an escape that doesn’t exist.
I bask in her fear like it’s the sun after monsoon season. My voice changes to one I hardly recognize.
“Oh, but I would. It’s like you said, Aunt Chloe. I’ve seen worse. I’ve done worse. And you need to understand the consequences of your actions. Firsthand.”
“Haylee, please,” Alvan begs.
My attention snaps to him. “Please what, Uncle Al? Show you the mercy you just refused me?”
He winces and squeezes his eyes closed like I struck him across the face.
“Vampires aren’t my favorite food, but I’ll take the sweet flavor of dishing out your just deserts.”
For just a moment, Serafina’s mask slips completely. Raw terror flashes across her features—the kind of fear that comes from knowing you’re about to experience something worse than death. Her pupils dilate to pinpricks, then expand rapidly as the full horror sinks in. She watched as my parents and sister were torn apart and eaten alive without a second thought. Now it’s her turn to experience that terror.
“No,” Malachi says immediately, his voice sharp with concern.
“No,” Cameron agrees, reading quickly between the lines and picking up on the gravity in Malachi’s voice. “I’m still your guardian, Haylee, and it’s my job to protect you.”
I glare at both males, floating higher in the air as my anger builds. “The punishment should fit the crime.”
Carolina walks up to me and holds out the gleaming katana. The blade seems like a kindness. Too quick and clean.
As though reading my thoughts, she says, “Being completely powerless in the face of death is a terrifying way to go. And, for a master vampire, the ultimate humiliation.” When I stare at the sword, Carolina adds, “If you swing the blade, it’s still death by zombie.”
“I want to do the honors,” Cameron says.
My mind screams no. Cameron has only been a vampire for two days. I don’t want to add killer to his list.
Before I can object, Malachi clears his throat and says, “I think Anthony should.” He looks at Carolina, who squints back at him. “Final death by a former underling would be the most humiliating of all and assure his position as master.”
Her lips part, and she nods in agreement. “And we can film it to show the East River Vespers.” She hands me my wand and backs away with the katana.
“Wait!” Alvan’s voice cracks with distress. “Haylee, please—I’m your uncle! I know I don’t deserve mercy, but I never wanted your mother or sister to get hurt. I tried to save them. You have no idea how desperately I tried. Please, Haylee.”
His voice breaks completely. Uncle Al, who chose vampirism to live a life of luxury and stay young forever, is realizing that his immortal dream is about to be cut brutally short. He would have lived longer as a mortal man.
“Let me be the uncle you love,” he whispers. “I’m no longer under Xerxes’s control, and if you end Serafina, I’ll be truly free. We can be a real family again. I’ll make it my personal mission to earn your forgiveness for the rest of our long lives.”
“You traitorous coward!” Serafina shrieks.
She attempts to lunge at him, and Alvan tries to jerk back, but my compulsion spell keeps them locked in place. Her terror has transformed into something uglier, but I can see the fear lurking beneath the surface.
It’s after hearing Uncle Alvan’s panic and pleas, and seeing Serafina’s uproar, that I make my decision.
“Call in Anthony,” I order, like I’m the master of every vampire in this house.
Malachi nods once and strides to the French door, calling Anthony’s name into the hallway. Serafina’s former driver walks in swiftly.
“Do as the lady asks,” Malachi tells him, jerking his chin at me.
Anthony faces me, waiting. And now it’s my turn to see if he will take orders from a zombie.
“Behead them both . . . starting with my uncle.”
Alvan immediately starts crying. Tears pour out of his eyes, and any further attempt to speak ends up in choked sobs.
Serafina’s upper lip curls at his pathetic breakdown, but I notice her hands are clenched into tight fists.
Carolina strides over to Anthony and hands him the katana, which he takes without hesitation.
My grip tightens on both wands—one in each hand—in case he tries to use it on any of us. Hilarity burbles just below the surface of my mind at the realization that I’m looking out for Carolina Bellmore in this moment too. She’s the one standing closest to Anthony if he decides to go back on his word.
He doesn’t do that, though. He heads over to Alvan.
“Serafina, give Anthony space to end your brother’s life.”
“Happily,” Serafina sneers, separating herself from Alvan by about ten feet and folding her arms. But her bravado is cracking. I can see it in the way she can’t quite keep her gaze steady, how her voice slightly wavers.
“I’m ready too,” Carolina announces, aiming her phone camera at Alvan.
Even though he’s the lesser of two evils, I chose Alvan first to give Serafina a preview of what’s coming and to prolong her torment. I’ll savor every extra second of it.
When Anthony raises the blade, Alvan screams in terror—a scream that cuts off as his head leaves his body and hits the marble floor with a wet thud.
Serafina can’t hide her shudder. The sound that escapes her throat is a strangled whimper that she tries to disguise as disgust. But she’s seen the terrible truth—watching her own future play out in front of her. The blood pooling around Alvan’s severed head is a brutal preview of her own fate, and the reality of it is finally breaking through her denial.
Carolina crouches with the camera, filming Alvan’s head. After she straightens up, she smiles and gives a thumbs up. “Perfect. Next!”
“You F23 skank,” Serafina shrills at her, but her voice cracks on the insult. The mask is completely gone now. She’s no longer the imperious master vampire, just a terrified creature facing her own destruction.
Carolina gives her a side-eyed glare that could cut through bone. “Lady, no one’s going to miss you, not to mention your family won’t be welcoming you into the afterlife.”
Serafina freezes, her eyes widening and face paling like she’s just seen a ghost. Her eyes dart frantically around the room—from the blood still spreading from Alvan’s corpse to Anthony holding the katana that drips crimson to my face with its cold determination.
“No, no, no,” she whispers, the words tumbling out in a desperate mantra. “You can’t—I won’t—this isn’t how it ends for me!”
But even as she protests, her body begins to shake with the full force of her terror. The vampire sorceress who orchestrated the murder of my family, who ended my human life, who abandoned her daughter to an abusive father, who would have used me as her personal weapon, is finally experiencing the helpless fear my family felt in their final moments.
Cameron walks over to me and holds my free hand. “For Kendra,” he says to me softly.
“For Kendra,” I repeat. “For Mom, Dad, and Kendra.” I look at Anthony and nod. “End her once and for all.”
Serafina’s final scream builds in her throat, a sound of pure, animalistic terror that speaks to every primal fear of death and oblivion. She knows she’s about to join Alvan in that spreading pool of blood, and there’s absolutely nothing she can do to stop it.
My aunt’s unmaking is over in a flash. A literal flash of steel and speed. Her head, followed by her body, joins Alvan’s on the floor. We’re in a different living room. Different state. Different circumstances. Same result. They’re gone for good. Dismembered. Justice has been served.
In the end, Serafina felt what it was like to be trapped with no escape from the undeath coming for her.
Once it’s finished, I allow Malachi to place a numbing spell over me.
“I can’t stand,” I tell him.
“I’ll carry you to the couch.”
I shake my head. “First, I want you to burn this.”
I hold out Serafina’s wand. All Lignum Vitae wands are spelled with a fireproofing spell before they’re sold. If anyone knows how to remove one, I’m betting Malachi does.
Malachi takes it and nods. With his own wand, he touches Serafina’s and casts, voice low and steady, “Vitae ignis exsolvo. I open the life-wood to fire.”
Cameron takes my hand once more and tugs me gently toward the marble fireplace, like my arm is the string on a ballon. Carolina kneels and twists the iron valve until a sharp click is followed by a low hiss. A flick of Malachi’s wand sends a spark dancing into the hearth. Blue flames lick up instantly, catching on the dry wood logs stacked for show.
I float there gripping Cameron’s hand, my body weak but my purpose unwavering.
Malachi turns to me. “Haylee, would you like to—”
“Cameron will do it,” I say.
Without hesitation, he releases my hand, takes the wand from Malachi, and tosses it into the flames. It clacks against the fake logs. Malachi points his wand, whispering words I can’t make out. Serafina’s instrument of death catches fire instantly. The flames brighten, licking hungrily at the grain.
This is what she used to have my family killed. I want her wand burned out of existence.
I watch as the thin stick of wood blackens and turns to ash.
The damage Serafina caused will live inside me forever. But she is no more. Her weapon is ash. She can’t touch me, or the loved ones I have left, ever again.
Chapter Seventy-Four
The finely chopped brain sizzles over a mini cast-iron skillet, the sound filling the charged silence between me and Cameron.
“Careful, it’s very hot,” the waiter cautions, as he sets it on a wood board in front of me. His practiced, reverent movements reflect the kind of service the Thirst Parlor provides. Afterward, he moves the sterling silver fork and knife aside delicately to access the linen napkin, which he shakes out and places over my lap with ceremonial precision.
Oxblood suede walls, tea light candles in frosted votive holders, and a ceiling so dark it looks like it could swallow Cameron and me both whole make the restaurant’s private room feel carved from midnight itself. It’s fitting somehow—this liminal space between what we were and what we’ve become.
I’m patched up—again—thanks to Malachi’s skilled (and discreet) alterationist. At least I didn’t have to cut my hair any shorter. After showering and changing back at the hotel, I blew it out straight, taking care with each section. Even though I’ll never age, somehow the reflection looking back at me in the bathroom mirror looked older. Beaten down and reshaped by everything I’ve endured over the past year and a month. I feel older. Battle-scarred. Also, I feel a sad sort of acceptance about my life going forward. This new normal.
The waiter returns carrying a crystal goblet filled with blood, the liquid catching the candlelight like liquid rubies. He places it in front of Cameron with the same reverence he showed my meal. “For you, sir.” He takes a step back and says, “Bon appétit,” then leaves us to navigate this new territory alone.
Carolina wanted to be here, but Cameron told her he needed to talk to me alone before he flies back to Virginia. I’m grateful for that—this conversation feels too personal to include anyone else.
“I’m returning with you,” I say, picking up the argument where we left off on the ride over, in a town car provided by F23. That’s Cameron’s new reality now—town cars, private rooms, and first-class plane tickets. Before turning, he made it clear to F23 that looking after Joni and remaining my guardian indefinitely was his number one priority. Forever 23 agreed—with stipulations. Once Joni goes to college, they expect him to be available for all clan gatherings at a moment’s notice. At least F23 members aren’t required to live together, unlike other clans that operate as though they’re an everlasting frat house from hell.
“Joni can never know the truth about her mom,” Cameron says.
“There’s a reason I didn’t say anything after I found out,” I tell him.
Cameron nods. “She’s too sensitive.”
“She’s human,” I say, and it strikes me as odd all over again that Cameron has joined me in this everlasting life.
I pick up my fork. Cameron doesn’t touch his goblet, and I see the internal struggle playing out across his features—the vampire who needs to feed warring with the human who’s still processing what he’s become.
“You have to finish the competition,” he says with his earlier conviction.
I roll my eyes, but it’s half-hearted. “I already missed dress rehearsal.”
“You don’t need it. Malachi says you’re ready. We all know you’re the best, Haylee.”
“Well, I don’t care anymore.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
“Remember why you’re doing this,” Cameron insists.
“Oh my gosh, you’re relentless,” I grouse, but I’m glad he’s not letting it go. It would haunt me forever to walk away now, and he knows it. He understands me the way Kendra did. It’s like having a part of her still with me.
I stab a piece of brain matter with my fork, lift it to my mouth, and blow on it to cool it off. This fancy vampire joint needs some feedback about how zombies don’t like to wait for their food to cool.
As soon as I’m sure it’s not going to burn my tongue, I shove the piece of brain between my lips and start chewing. I do like the way the chef chopped it up into tiny little bits—easier to manage than big chunks or an entire brain.
Cameron still doesn’t touch his blood.
After I’ve finished chewing and swallowing my first bite of brain, I point my fork at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be off enjoying some week-long blissful transformation getaway?”
Cameron cracks the first smile I’ve seen since we arrived at the Thirst Parlor.
“It’s a total racket contrived by vampires. I’m already turned. The ‘transition process’ is really just a drawn-out seminar about how lucky I am to have joined the most elite species on the planet. Cult brainwashing-type stuff.”
“How do you know that, if you’re here with me and not at a presentation drinking the Kool-Aid?”
Cameron snorts out a laugh—the first genuine sound of amusement I’ve heard from him all day. “Malachi was charitable enough to give me the condensed version and arrange for me to watch the Zoom presentations from home after the holidays. Which reminds me—as soon as you get back, I’ve got an ugly sweater waiting for you to wear until the end of the year, so if I were you, I wouldn’t be so eager to get back.”
The normalcy of it—ugly Christmas sweaters and inside jokes—makes my stomach twist with emotion.
I set my fork down and sigh sadly, the sound echoing in the private space. Little did I know when we hung out over the phone on Sunday that it would be Cameron’s last night before becoming a vampire. The last time I’d hear his purely human voice.
“I’m glad I got to talk to you as a human one last time.”
“I’m still me.”
“I know.” And I do. Whatever else has changed, I know he’s holding on to his truest sense of self.
I pick up my fork and blow on another piece of brain, watching the steam rise. Cameron sits stoically, eyes looking out of focus, not touching his blood. I can practically feel the struggle radiating from him. He’s more stubborn than me.
“You can drink that in front of me, you know,” I say between chews.
Cameron blinks and refocuses on me. “It won’t bother you?”
I snort and look at my sizzling brain skillet, then back up at Cameron, raising my brows like really? We’re both supernaturals now. “I actually drank blood once,” I add. “It wasn’t terrible.”
He chuckles but still doesn’t reach for the goblet—so I do.
I slide it in front of me and smile at him. “Here, I’ll take the first sip.”
It’s not a sip so much as a gulp, followed by another. Hopefully it’s enough to break the ice. I slide the goblet back to Cameron, who slowly reaches for the blood. His fingers are steadier than they were at the mansion.
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