Page 7 of Enchantra (Wicked Games #2)

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FAMILIAR

The first thing Genevieve noticed as she stared at Barrington was that the locket he had worn in the photograph with her mother was nowhere to be seen.

The second thing was that, while the photo must have been taken at least a couple of decades ago, the man didn’t seem to have aged a day since.

Immortal.

Genevieve’s mother had held powerful magic, but she had aged like any ordinary woman. Barrington Silver was no Necromancer. He was some other kind of being entirely.

A cold feeling of fear and disappointment settled in Genevieve’s stomach. She had made a mistake coming here. This family was definitely not like her own. Back in Grimm Manor, hunting down the reason for the matching lockets had seemed like a stroke of genius. But now she knew it had been nothing but desperate hope.

Barrington was taller than Rowin—though not by much—with pure salt hair and bright purple irises. The resemblance between them was crystal clear when they were side by side, except Barrington seemed warm .

Perhaps that is simply the effect of knowing him for so long through a photograph , she thought. Or the fact that Rowin has been nothing but insufferable since the moment he opened the door—and his mouth.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go now,” Genevieve said as she flicked her eyes between the two men.

Barrington’s gaze snapped over to Genevieve as if he hadn’t realized she’d been standing there. His face drained of color as he took her in. Like he was seeing a Ghost.

“Father,” Rowin greeted dryly. “There’s been an…occurrence.”

“What have you done ?” Barrington growled at Rowin.

Rowin’s expression remained smooth. “I tried to stop her from coming in, but she doesn’t respond very well to threats.”

“But I’m leaving now,” Genevieve insisted before the strange tension bubbling between the men could boil over. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions. And then you can lift the wards on your gate and I’ll?—”

“I already told you that leaving was no longer an option,” Rowin threw at her. “The magic on the front gates will fry you if you go back there now.”

“I’m afraid you don’t seem to understand what’s happening here, dear girl,” Barrington agreed, his eyes still shining with a bit of disbelief as he took a step toward her. “It isn’t your fault, of course?—”

“We’ll have to disagree on that front,” Rowin bit out. “She was warned away several times.”

“But the wards are not ours to lift,” Barrington finished as if Rowin hadn’t spoken. “You should never have been allowed to set foot inside Enchantra.”

“Why? What is going on?” Genevieve demanded.

“She’s a fucking Specter ,” Rowin snapped. “What else did you want me to do? Maim her so she couldn’t walk back in?”

Genevieve made an indignant noise.

Rowin gave her an unsympathetic look before addressing his father again. “She made her own bed, and now she’ll have to lie in it. Which, incidentally, could be a win for me. Don’t you think that has a nice ring to it?”

Barrington gave his son an odd look; then his eyes lit up with an emotion Genevieve didn’t understand. He flicked his gaze between her and Rowin like he’d had some sort of epiphany, but he didn’t bother saying what it was. Rowin gave his father a nod.

“Stop with the silent conversation,” Genevieve demanded.

“You’re right, we’re being rude. Rowington, why don’t you go inform your siblings of what’s happening,” Barrington suggested.

Rowin readily stalked away, and Barrington turned his full attention on Genevieve.

“You’re Tessie Grimm’s daughter,” he stated.

Genevieve raised her brows in surprise at his recognition. She was not the daughter that favored Tessie Grimm. Not in any way.

“Yes. I am,” she confirmed.

“Ophelia?”

She shook her head. “My name is Genevieve. Vivi, if you’d like. Ophelia is my sister.”

Barrington’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “What, exactly, has your mother told you about me?” he said.

“Nothing.” The answer was automatic, instinctual. Truthfully, it wouldn’t have mattered what he’d asked, as long as the question started with what has your mother told you? The answer to any question beginning that way would always be the same. “But I found a photograph of you and her. And I read some of your old letters. I thought maybe you were also a Necromancer. I was hoping…well, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Damn it, Tessie,” Barrington muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were starting to get a migraine. “It seems there has been some confusion. I would very much like to return you home to your mother, but today is the one day of the year that visiting Enchantra is…catastrophic. Leaving will not be straightforward, and I will need your cooperation.”

“My cooperation with what ?” she asked.

He sighed and beckoned for her to follow him. “Come. The house still needs to be prepared. And since my children refuse to do anything useful in this household, an extra pair of hands would be valuable.”

He walked over to one of the covered mirrors on the wall of the foyer and Genevieve helped him pull down its drop cloth in a cloud of dust. She coughed, waving her hand in the air to shoo away the dust as Barrington moved on to the next mirror. She huffed and followed.

“I want to know who Knox is. And what is the Hunt? Who controls the wards on the gates? How come I can understand what you’re saying even when it isn’t in English? What exactly do you want me to cooperate with?” she demanded as he went from mirror to mirror, uncovering them. “And why the Hell are there so many mirrors in this house?”

“You certainly are Gabriel White’s daughter,” Barrington murmured.

Her inhale was sharp. “You’ve met my father? I thought perhaps you and my mother had stopped speaking before…”

“I met him very, very briefly,” Barrington said. He turned sharply and began to walk toward the ballroom’s entrance. She stayed on his heels.

“When I said the wards on the estate were not mine to lift, it is because they were made by a very powerful Devil named Knox,” he explained as he hooked a right inside the ballroom. “His magic is also the reason you’re able to understand our first language—the language of Hell. Many different types of beings will soon walk these halls, and the translation magic allows us all to understand each other. Soon you will not even notice the switch between tongues.”

“Wait, Knox is a Devil ?” Genevieve stopped in her tracks. “I’ve dealt with enough Devils in my lifetime already.”

“Not any like Knox,” Barrington promised as he ripped down another drop cloth, this covering one of the enormous mirrors that paralleled the arched windows on the far wall. “Surprising him with an uninvited guest, today of all days, would usually result in us cleaning up a lot of blood. But, fortunately, Rowington is the most practical of my children.”

“You’ve lost me,” she admitted. “So you work for this Devil?”

“I don’t just work for him, Miss Grimm. I am his Familiar,” Barrington revealed, a dark edge to his words. “Do you have any experience with Familiars?”

“I’ve…heard of them,” she said as they walked back toward the front of the house now.

Genevieve thought back to the classification of paranormal beings she had studied in Grimm Manor. Familiars were creatures with no magic of their own who were bound to a powerful host like a Devil. They were classed as immortals, because their lifespans were bound to those of their hosts. If a host lived eternally, so would their Familiar.

It was rare for a human to become a Familiar, though. Mostly they were animals.

The animals in the portraits , Genevieve realized as they made their way across the foyer, to the hallway of paintings. The snow leopard. The owl. Umbra.

“The bonds between a Familiar and its host are practically unbreakable,” Barrington continued. “Which is why I’ve been stuck with Knox for as long as I can remember and why most people choose animals over sentient beings. Imagine being tied to someone you hate for eternity.”

“Why did you agree to such a bond then?” she wondered.

“It was a foolish endeavor on my part,” he admitted. “A mortal man who discovered the world of paranormal beings and became unsatisfied with his fleeting life.”

He scoffed at himself as they made it to the painting in the very center of the hallway, the only one that was covered up. To its right was a portrait of Barrington himself, though he did not have a Familiar like the others. It was only him, staring at the viewer with his violet eyes, though she swore at certain angles his irises had a familiar sheen of gold.

“Through my work for Knox I met my wife, Vira,” Barrington said as he gently uncovered the painting next to his own. “As you can see, she is a Demon.”

The woman in the painting looked to be Ophelia’s age, maybe a little older, but the illusion of youth was broken by the heaviness in her crimson eyes. Her hair was white as snow, a single black streak running through it, and her smile was warm despite her pallid complexion.

“We were married, with Knox’s permission, and eventually went on to have our seven children: Gravington, Covington, Rowington, Remington, Sevington, Wellington, and Ellington.” He waved his hand at the other portraits down the hallway.

Despite his solemn tone, Genevieve had to stop herself from giggling. All their names were utterly tragic .

Again, Genevieve thought back to her studies of magical beings.

“If your wife is a Demon and you were once mortal, that would make your children…”

“Wraiths, yes.”

Genevieve fought the urge to shudder. She knew little of Wraiths, and none of it was good. The books said they were made from darkness itself, that they craved the blood and souls of others. Thankfully, Barrington did not seem to notice her alarm.

“Due to my work with Knox,” he said, “I missed a lot of my children’s formative years. By the time they became adults, I knew I needed to find a way to…retire.”

“Mr. Silver, what does any of this have to do with my questions?” Genevieve implored. “I just want to leave.”

“You asked me about the wards—and the Hunt,” he told her as he beckoned her back toward the foyer. “While I was researching ways to sever my bond to Knox, my wife became very sick. A rare illness called Crimson Rot. When Knox heard of her ailment—and perhaps also of my desire to be rid of him—he offered me a bargain.”

Genevieve’s eyes widened.

Bargains with Devils were not simple agreements. They were rooted in deep magic, with dangerously specific terms that bound both parties. Devils used them to prey on the desperate or weak-minded. Genevieve might have learned nothing from her mother, but even she knew that making a bargain with a Devil could only ever lead to disaster.

“There is no cure for Crimson Rot.” Barrington’s voice became hushed now. “But there are temporary fixes—rare and stupefyingly expensive elixirs—that prolong death for about a year at a time. And, as luck would have it, Knox has access to a supply.”

Barrington paused now, in the center of the foyer, the light of the chandelier bouncing off the exposed mirrors illuminating the devastation on his face.

“I didn’t realize what I was agreeing to. Not fully. Or maybe I did, and I just convinced myself otherwise. Knox had set his eyes on my children, and what he proposed was the Hunt. A game that he designed as a punishment, because I wanted to break my bond. And a spectacle for every gambler and sick fanatic in Hell. He made it sound like the children would only need to go through the Hunt once, and on that basis I convinced them to agree. But the wording of his contract…was too clever for me. They have been forced to play every single year since.”

“And this game affects my ability to leave how?” Genevieve pressed, though the pieces of the puzzle were already starting to click into place in her mind. Her chest began to tighten.

“Today is the day that Knox’s magic locks in the players of the Hunt,” Barrington explained. “At midnight sharp, anyone who set foot within Enchantra today, aside from Knox and myself, will officially be a player. They cannot escape until they either win the Hunt or they’re…”

“They’re what ?” she whispered, though she sensed she already knew the answer.

“Killed, obviously,” someone else announced.