Page 6 of Enchantra (Wicked Games #2)

5

SPECTER

The foyer was grand in the way that only people with more wealth than they know what to do with could make things grand. Its ceiling was a mosaic of the night sky, encrusted with what she’d like to assume were diamonds for the glittering stars. The top halves of each wall were covered in jewel-toned murals of the Italian countryside. Shining foil details highlighted the strokes of the swirling clouds and flowering trees. The bottom halves were adorned with the most intricate wainscoting she’d ever seen, the molding painted a rich midnight blue.

The star of the scene, however, was the chandelier. Six tiers of pear-shaped crystals scattered specks of rainbow light across the room. Taper candles were nestled into the opulent sconces that hung every five or so feet along the walls. And every inch of the room was covered in dust.

Decaying opulence. What a waste.

On the far side of the foyer was a set of enormous wooden doors wedged between two marble pillars. To her left was a corridor that seemed to lead to the main part of the villa, windows stretching along its front wall to allow the natural light—or, in the present case, the snowstorm’s gloom—to flood between the rich plum curtains. Large rectangular frames draped in taupe drop cloths were affixed along every wall, and Genevieve couldn’t help but approach one of the hidden pieces, wondering why anyone would cover so much art. Except that when she brushed back the thick material, she saw that it wasn’t art at all—it was a silvered mirror.

How odd …

To her right was a hallway, its left side lined with doors. On the opposite wall, however, was a row of enormous oil portraits, all framed in scrolling silver. Genevieve started down the hall, wondering whether she might be able to find someone in one of the rooms, but the strangeness of the first portrait caught her attention and brought her to a halt.

The painted girl was not much older than Genevieve, with striking white hair that fell to her waist and wispy bangs that parted on either side of her forehead to frame her face. Her eyes were pitch-black beneath her thick lashes, a jarring contrast to the rest of her fair features. As were her wine-colored lips, set in a way that made it seem like she knew a secret the viewer did not. She was posed on a silver velvet wingback chair in an ice-blue gown, and at her feet sat a full-grown snow leopard.

Genevieve blinked twice at the large spotted cat.

Surely not a pet , she thought as she shuffled over to the next portrait.

This one depicted a man whose facial structure looked very reminiscent of the girl beside him. Instead of pale hair and dark eyes, however, his unruly tresses were the color of ink, almost navy, tucked behind his ears, where large sapphire jewels dangled from each lobe. And his eyes…they were such a pale gray they were nearly white.

Genevieve shivered. If I ever thought Ophie’s eyes were creepy …

The man was propped up on the same chair as the girl, and though there was no leopard at his feet, there was a black owl perched on his shoulder. Its glare painted in a way that seemed to follow the viewer.

Before Genevieve could move down to the next painting, a thud echoed from somewhere overhead. She spun and hurried back toward the foyer, hoping to find a staircase that could take her to whoever was making the racket. Hopefully the owner of the estate himself. Or at least someone other than the golden-eyed stranger.

She noticed now that the set of double doors at the back were slightly ajar. She strutted toward them and hauled one open, stopping in her tracks as she took in the room on the other side. A grand ballroom. The sort that she often imagined as the backdrop of her daydreams.

High above her head, the ceiling was adorned with lively frescoes depicting battles between various paranormal and ephemeral beings—Devils with red talons ripping apart Shapeshifters in the middle of their transformations, Reveries spilling their opalescent blood into the mouths of Vampires, Angels ripping off one another’s wings. The walls were draped in golden curtains tied back to reveal the tall arched windows that allowed silvery light to spill over the marble dance floor and illuminate more covered mirrors on the wall across from them. Between two of those windows was an enormous, gilded clock. The Roman numerals of its hours sat in the center of twelve large circles, all of them black except the current hour—four—which was as gold as its faceplate. And at the farthest corner of the ballroom, she caught a glimpse of exactly what she’d been looking for—a grand staircase. The steps led to a second-story landing, where a balcony surrounded three sides of the dance floor.

Genevieve moved toward the carpeted stairs, running her fingers over the gilded banister to leave a clean trail through the thick dust as she climbed, eyes searching through the shadows ahead for anything living. When she reached the landing, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye, unfurling like smoke.

Her head snapped toward the fox. “ You .”

The fox gave a taunting swish of its tail before spinning and scurrying away. Genevieve gave chase, following it around a sharp corner to the left and into a wide corridor lined with closed doors. She squinted into the dark, but either the fox was blending in perfectly with the shadows, or it was gone.

“Hello?” she called out as she slowly made her way down the hall. “Anyone up here?”

She approached the first door to her right and twisted its knob, surprised to find it unlocked as she pulled it open. The room was…empty. No bed, no furniture, just a plain white box. She shut the door and checked the next room. Empty.

What a peculiar waste of space …

“Who the Hell are you ?” someone hissed.

Genevieve reared back from the empty room’s threshold and spun to find someone standing at the mouth of the corridor. They had spoken in a language Genevieve didn’t recognize, and certainly shouldn’t have understood, and yet every word had been crystal clear in her mind.

As they came closer, Genevieve realized it was the girl from the painting. Except her ghostly-white hair had been chopped into a sleek, blunt bob, the strands barely reaching the tops of her shoulders as they swished with the swiftness of her approaching stride.

“How did you get in here?” the girl demanded in that same language as her gaze roamed over the state of Genevieve’s dress.

“Through the front door,” Genevieve answered as she smoothed her hands over the boning of her bodice. She must look horribly unkempt. Definitely not her idea of a good first impression.

The girl snorted. “You’ve got gall, you know. If you’re one of Knox’s guests—you’re early. And absolutely fucked. The Hunt is tomorrow .”

The Hunt?

“Not that you’ll be there, since your funeral will be tonight,” the girl continued, her tone too nonchalant for the words she was speaking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Genevieve told her. “And how could I understand you before? You weren’t speaking English…”

“Are you daft?” the girl asked, genuinely concerned now as she scrutinized Genevieve’s face. “How exactly did you end up here?”

Oh. “There’s this black fox?—”

“Umbra?” The girl’s eyes narrowed shrewdly now. “Did Rowington let you in here?”

Umbra. Rowington.

Genevieve filed those names away for later. “ Let isn’t necessarily the right word?—”

“Ellin?” a deep voice echoed from around the corner, and for a moment Genevieve’s stomach churned with worry over the confrontation that was about to occur, but when she and Ellin turned toward the voice, Genevieve was relieved to find it was not the golden-eyed bastard at all. No, this man was just a bit leaner, his raven hair perfectly combed back, the sides slightly more cropped than the top. The skin of his chest peeking out beneath his half-unbuttoned shirt was tattooed with crude tally marks, as were the slivers of his wrists right above his cuffs. The most striking detail about him, however, was the crimson color of his eyes.

Well, his eyes and the fact that he was perhaps the most attractive person Genevieve had ever seen. It was startling how handsome he was, honestly. Enough to make her blush.

“Ellington, you’re dawdling,” the man drawled around what looked to be a lollipop hanging out the corner of his mouth, his strut unhurried. And again Genevieve noted that he was speaking the same language the girl had been before, yet she had no problem understanding him. “Rowin already made up all of our rooms, and he’s going to be cross if he finds out I got blood all over my?—”

The man paused abruptly when he finally spotted Genevieve, then swung his gaze back to Ellin, his scarlet eyes narrowing into a brotherly glare. And Genevieve was pretty sure he was: the girl’s brother, that is. Not only because of the clear resemblance—in the sharp slopes of their noses, the shapes of their eyes and mouths, their pitying, judgmental stares—but because the expression on his face was the sort of look only a sibling could give you right before they helped you clean up a mess and then extorted a favor out of you for it. Ophelia had worn that exact expression many times in their childhood.

“What the fuck , Ellin?” the man said as he pulled the cherry-red sucker from his mouth. “Did you leave the Hellmouth open again? Have the last two centuries not made you tired of watching Knox slaughter people?”

What the Hell is he talking about?

Ellin propped her hands onto her hips. “ I did not let her in. I just found her here, asshole. Rowin is the one to ask?—”

“ Rowin? ” He cut her off, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.

Ellin shrugged. “She mentioned Umbra.”

The man flicked his gaze over to Genevieve. “You’re here with Rowin?”

“If I am?” Genevieve asked, mostly because she didn’t quite understand what they might be getting at, but his previous words were still ringing in the back of her mind like an alarm.

Have the last two centuries not made you tired of watching Knox slaughter people?

Knox. That was the name Barrington had mentioned in his letter. Something about having a brief break from his duties to Knox .

“If you’re with Rowin, I have quite a few questions,” the man said, switching to English just as easily as Ellin had. “But if you aren’t, I think it’d be more humane to put you out of your misery before Knox or Grave find you here.” He casually unsheathed a blade from his belt with his free hand.

“Sevin, not over the carpet,” Ellin sighed.

Genevieve was careful not to give a reaction, despite her quickening pulse at the sight of the knife and the lingering threat in his words. What in the fuck was wrong with the residents of this household?

“I am with Rowin,” Genevieve rushed out as Sevin shifted on his feet, waiting for her response.

“Fantastic, because I’ve spilled too much blood already,” Sevin admitted at the same time that Ellin asked, “With Rowin in what way?”

Before Genevieve could answer either of them, there was a sudden shout from somewhere downstairs. The siblings exchanged a loaded look.

“Did that sound like Grave?” Ellin wondered.

Genevieve cautiously backed a step away. They didn’t seem to notice.

The smile that unfurled on Sevin’s lips was terrifying. “I want a front-row view of Grave’s face when he sees her .”

Ellin huffed. “What in the Hell do you think Rowin’s up to? He couldn’t possibly be trying to attempt?—”

Genevieve shifted into her invisible state, letting the rest of their discussion fade behind her as she slipped past them and hurried back toward the stairs. She dashed across the ballroom floor and sighed in relief once she made it back to the foyer, turning solid only so she could collect her bags. Before she managed to grasp onto their handles, however, she was being pushed back against a wall.

She glanced up into furious amber eyes.

Rowin.

Genevieve tried to sidestep from between him and the wall, but he simply pressed his palms against the flat surface on either side of her and caged her in place with his arms.

He was really starting to piss her off.

“You’re a Specter ?” he demanded between clenched teeth.

“Do you have some sort of issue with that?” she snapped, itching to bring her knee up between his legs and make him move out of her way.

“What I have an issue with is the fact that you clearly don’t know how to fucking listen,” he growled, dragging her thoughts back to the present. “If I had known you were capable of getting through the wards on the gate, I wouldn’t have bothered to help you recover from the demonberries. Do you have absolutely any idea what you’ve done? What game you’re now playing? I suspect you don’t, or you would never have come here.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” she demanded before letting her magic flood through her and slipping through his form. He spun. “And your siblings threatening to put me out of my misery ? What is wrong with all of you?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he warned.

“Oh, I guarantee I’m dying to know whatever ludicrous explanation you have for your ghastly hospitality,” she told him. “I grew up in a house full of dead people, and it was less hostile than this. Were you all raised by the animals in your portraits? Do you have rabies? Or should I be concerned about the water?”

He stared down at her with an unreadable expression for a long moment. Then, “You met my siblings?”

Genevieve lifted a brow at his abrupt change in subject but still gave a nod of confirmation. “Ellin and Sevin, right?”

“Anyone else?” he interrogated.

“No, thank goodness. Or else I might have had to start using both hands to count all the threats I’ve received in the last half hour,” she muttered. “And who is Knox? And Grave? What is the Hunt ? Where is Barrington Silver? Why is it that they spoke to me in a language I don’t know and yet somehow it still made sense?”

“You’ll be getting those answers soon enough,” he promised, his tone making the words sound almost like a threat. “I hope there isn’t anyone waiting on you. A parent or a spouse who?—”

He stiffened now, cutting himself off, and the way he was suddenly regarding her made her shift on her feet. His eyes began to darken as he flicked his gaze down to her…hands?

She glanced down at her suede gloves. Dyed a lovely blush color and trimmed with fur, they were her favorite pair because of their little pearl button details. But she didn’t think the gloves’ craftsmanship was what he was admiring.

“Are you married?” he asked, eyes narrowing in on her left ring finger.

Genevieve tucked her hand into her chest. “And what business would that be of yours?”

What an odd question.

The smile that began to unfurl at the corners of his mouth made alarm bells go off in the back of her mind. “You truly have no idea what sort of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Then I’ll leave,” she insisted, but when she tried to take a step toward her luggage, he blocked her path yet again.

“Leaving stopped being an option the second you set foot in this house,” he told her.

“ Move ,” she ordered. “I’ve had enough of being in your presence.”

He huffed a laugh. “Well, you may want to find a way to get used to it.”

“What do you mean?” she fumed. She was exhausted from the day’s travel and desperately needed a proper bath and a hot meal. She had no energy to decipher any more cryptic threats.

His smile turned grim, but he didn’t offer any more explanation. All he said was, “Umbra.”

The shadows she’d seen swirling around him earlier began to reappear, slowly spilling out from him , the smokelike tendrils forming shadowy limbs. She watched in awe as a few of the inky wisps broke away and transformed into the fox. Genevieve glared at the fluffy creature as it wove itself affectionally between Rowin’s legs. Umbra blinked wide yellow-orange eyes back at her—the color of them an exact match to Rowin’s—and again Genevieve wondered what sort of being he was.

“Umbra, would you mind watching over our guest while I go find my father?” he requested the fox, the word guest sounding like a placeholder for something much more unsavory.

Before any of them could move, however, someone said, “Rowington.”

Rowin’s head snapped to his left as a tall figure appeared next to them in a swirling cloud of deep violet smoke.

“You know if Knox arrives and the mirrors are still covered, he’ll be cross,” the voice continued as the purple wisps of magic fully dispersed in the stale air.

Genevieve’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the new arrival. She would have recognized this man anywhere.

Barrington Silver.