Page 18 of Of Hearts and Hunters (Fallen Crowns Duet #1)

DARREN

T he mingling factions, the loud music, Pierre’s chortling from my left–all of it melts away and is replaced by the deafening sound of Verity’s heartbeat. It’s so fast, it reminds me of a hummingbird.

Even worse than the sound of her heart is the smell of her blood that Gabriel is hurtling toward my face via her right wrist. I clamp my jaw shut with such force that I’m quite sure I’ve broken it.

I can’t lose control again.

Especially because of Gabriel and Pierre.

Especially around Verity, an unexpected ally and an even unlikelier friend.

“Get off of me!” Verity hisses, jamming her nails into Gabriel’s arm with her free hand. He yelps in response and pulls away from her. The way he looks at her, it’s as if he was touched by refuse and not by a person.

“Enjoy your little chienne, Monsieur Pierce,” Gabriel taunts slyly as he and Pierre slither away from us.

“The fuck did he say?” Verity demands, a low growl rumbling deep within her throat as she wipes furiously at her wrist.

“It’s not important,” I tell her. When I clear my throat, she looks up at me. I probably look blanched and hungry, but my voice is as calm as I can make it when I continue, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I’m not sure how my words affect her. She seems doubtful.

Verity doesn’t express herself easily–unless it’s defiance or snark. I’m assuming she doesn’t want to appear vulnerable in front of anyone, especially another faction.

Verity doesn’t answer me, her eyes scanning the large common room. Upon first glance, it looks as though the three factions are coexisting. They dance, eat hors d'oeuvres, and chat merrily. From the outside looking in, we all appear human, normal. But that’s just a disguise. We all know what lurks beneath the surface. No supernatural race is exempt from that.

“Who are you looking for?” I practically whisper, feeling as though the walls have ears.

“My pack.” Verity seems caught between staying and leaving. I don’t understand. Her pack means everything to her. Why remain here if she feels she is needed elsewhere?

She folds her arms against her chest, her light yellow dress twinkling in the light cast by the chandelier. “Gotta go puke. Be back later.” She leaves almost before she finishes talking. I suppose hugging her chest was a way to alleviate her nausea, not due to fear or anxiety.

I have half a mind to follow her, make sure no one else decides to ambush her–especially in her ‘weakened’ state (part of me thinks nothing would completely weaken Verity, let alone stop her from getting what she wants). Before I can decide one way or the other, Zain appears before me.

“There you are.” He folds his arms across his chest, but unlike Verity, it’s a relaxed expression. His black three-piece suit with a dark gray dress shirt emphasizes his short-cropped hair and sharp eyes that dart from Korama to Magicena. I’m getting slightly more accustomed to sensing these entities, myself. It helps that I’m surrounded by them; it makes me more able to recognize what’s different about my sense of each faction.

“I’ve just been mingling,” I tell him easily.

Zain sips his champagne. “I saw what Gabriel and Pierre did. Pissing off the Kormo–not a good idea.” He frowns at me. “Didn’t they also try to kill her the day of the meeting with the Queen?”

I nod. “A ploy like that could interfere with the treaty,” I theorize.

“Mm-hmm,” Zain murmurs as he sloshes the golden liquid, the crystal shimmering under the umbrella of the chandelier. He pulls it to the side and makes eye contact with me. “I’m a little surprised to see you associating with Korama Nobility. Most Vampyr Princes don’t.”

“She’s not so loathsome–despite the hostility and insults,” I try to assert.

It’s hard to blanket or fib about my associations with Verity. It goes against my ethics (what a thing to possess as a Vampyr). The problem is, it’s difficult to discern the extent of my faction’s disdain for the other races. If they know I’m even friendly with a Korama, it might arouse suspicion or contempt for both of us.

Zain shrugs. “She’s not my type–on all fronts–but she’s nice to look at.”

I turn my head from side to side. “I haven’t really noticed,” I remind him.

He smiles at me. “I know. I’m just saying, maybe pick and choose your friends, Darren. If anything should happen between you two, the Queen and Korma would declare war.”

“Nothing romantic would ever happen,” I assure him. “She’s barely an acquaintance.”

Zain glances over his shoulder at Lenore, who is chatting animatedly with the woman who greeted us at the door–Alia, I believe. It’s hard to tell if the Queen is just being diplomatic or if there is something deeper beneath her civility. However, I’m now beginning to doubt that Verity and I will be able to discover anything about a potential partnership tonight. Too many witnesses. And il Sovrano is nowhere to be seen–likely because he is the host of the affair and is constantly glad-handing.

Zain gives a very slight gesture with his chin, indicating someone behind me. I turn slightly, seeing Verity a few feet away from us. Something in her brown eyes looks agitated. Did something happen?

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” Zain smiles at Verity. “Hey. I’m Zain Duhamel.”

Verity barely looks at him–rude, even for her–and eventually adds, “Hi.”

Zain turns on his heel and leaves, sipping his drink along the way. I regard Verity as she approaches me. “What happened?” I ask.

“Nothing.” She looks behind me before announcing, “I think this is a bust.”

“Agreed. We won’t discover anything here tonight,” I concur, surprised we’ve yet again come to the same conclusion.

“No. I mean this .” She makes a very inconspicuous gesture between us with her hand.

“What?” I frown, bewildered. “What makes you say that?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t trust Vampyrs. And I never will. Thanks for your help, but I can deal with the rest from here on out.”

“Verity–” I begin, reaching for her as she begins to turn.

I’m surprised when she smacks my hand away, the glare she gives me sharp enough to cut through glass.

“Fuck off,” she snarls before grabbing the hem of her dress and marching away from me.

Zander wipes small beads of sweat from his brow as Gary Duschenne brings us another round of whiskey. “Man, you’re gonna kill us!” he jokes as he takes the small glass from the Vampyr.

It definitely takes much more alcohol to intoxicate a Vampyr. I didn’t often drink while I was human (it still feels so odd, so depressing, to think that way), so I can’t truly notice the difference. Still, I take the drink from Gary with a smile of thanks.

Gary is a straight-laced Vampyr who was turned in his thirties. He’s a History professor at the University of British Columbia–a two-sided venture, Zander tells me. Apparently, Gary uses his position to interact with the humans, ensuring they’re none the wiser when it comes to the supernatural goings-on in the city.

In the beginning, I enjoyed talking to Gary. Being in the world of academia, it felt good to discuss history, sociological phenomena, and the like with someone else. It was reminiscent of my not-so-distant past. But after my short-lived alliance with Verity, I’m now wary of bringing a Vampyr so suspicious of tolerance of other factions into my social circle.

Gary laughs at Zander’s joke. “It’s a party, Zander! We can enjoy for once.” He gestures to my hand that’s holding the glass. “You too, Darren. It’s been an entertaining party, to be sure.”

“What makes you say that?” I finally voice my thoughts as I sip my whiskey. Mixing whiskey with champagne on an empty stomach (free of food, anyway) might prove disastrous–but according to Zander, it won’t matter unless we truly indulge.

Gary looks this way and that before answering, “Well, I never thought I’d see a truce proposition, let alone a treaty, in our lifetime–and you know how long those can be.”

Ah. So that’s what he meant. I was afraid he’d somehow overheard Verity and me. I suppose I don’t have to worry about that happening anymore.

I’m surprised to say this, but I’m slightly disappointed about the cessation of our alliance. Part of me wonders if there’s more to Verity’s dismissal than a matter of trust–especially since we agreed to warm to the idea of trusting one another.

And all this begs the question: what will happen in about two weeks’ time when she transitions to a wolf? Will she resume her hunt?

I clear my throat, not wanting to appear rude and uninvolved in the conversation. “I’m surprised by it, as well, despite being new,” I attempt to agree.

Zander waves his hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t mind not being under fire, but I’m kinda unsure it’ll take.”

I’m inclined to agree with Zander, but before I can say anything, the music stops, as does the grand piano playing in the slightly smaller living room.

“May I have everyone’s attention, per favore?”

Talking ceases from all four corners of the space. La Reine breezes through the stagnant crowd of Koramas, Magicena, and Vampyrs, all with trained eyes on Andre Calderone at the front. His white suit enables him to stand out amongst the crowd of onlookers. I am positive his ensemble choice was intentional.

Slow, hushed murmurs circulate through the audience as more supernaturally-inclined individuals spill from the smaller room into the large chambre housing the dancefloor that is now being used as some kind of meeting space. We huddle up closer, gaps between factions disappearing. Part of me wonders if this is symbolic of the peace that might in fact occur.

Perhaps Lenore and Andre were merely meeting to discuss matters of the treaty. That seems more than plausible and sends a very brief, warm sensation of relief coursing through my veins. But as I take a small sip of my whiskey, the relief shatters. If the Vampyr Queen and Magicena King were indeed discussing the treaty, or even the party, why wasn’t the Korma a part of those discussions? If he was, I’m sure he’d tell Verity and Megsie, and Verity would have told me.

No. They weren’t discussing harmony, goodwill, or anything of the sort.

Something has to be afoot.

My senses come alive. I turn my head sharply to the left, laying eyes on the Korma. He is angling himself through the murmuring but immobile partygoers, with Megsie and Verity flanking him. I suppose the Queen feels safe amongst the entire Vampyr Nobility–women in waiting, her paramours, her Princes–whereas the Korma only has his pack at his side. I’m unsure where the other members are situated, but Megsie and Verity seem alert and ready as Paxton closes in on Lenore and Andre.

“As soon as all three leaders are in place, we would like to discuss the purpose of today’s festa,” il Sovrano begins, with a smiling Lenore at his left. She’s wearing a flowing black gown with sparkling sequins–different from the outfits she modelled for her court the night of our tailoring event.

Megsie and Verity stop at the fringes of the gap between the crowd and the now-three leaders of the factions. Paxton continues his walk, placing himself on Andre’s right-hand side.

“We so appreciate you attending this soirée, which promises to be a historical and prosperous event that will be discussed by future generations,” Lenore announces. Her voice, though not booming, echoes through the quiet space, each word absorbed eagerly by the crowd.

The onlookers appear intrigued, relieved, or even excited by the idea of this accord between the factions. Others, however, look antsy, nervous, unsure. And then others still, like Zain, appear miffed or disbelieving.

“We are here to show you our commitment to upholding our own part of the agreement,” Paxton finishes, his voice louder than the Queen’s and capturing the attention of the invitees.

“As each leader of every faction here has agreed to the terms of the treaty, then so, too, will each member of his or her race,” Andre proclaims, holding his hands out as if to non-physically encompass the Queen and the Korma.

Slight exclamations rumble within the crowd.

“No one here or not attending will breach this treaty,” the Queen states as if to settle the crowd.

“Excommunication or other charges will occur,” the Korma agrees.

“We are standing here to prove to you our commitment to one another, and to ourselves,” the il Sovrano announces. “Waiters and waitresses are coming by with celebratory champagne. Once everyone has received a glass, we will salute our agreement to peace! As this happens, the leaders as well as the Nobilities will sign the accord.”

Il Sovrano’s employees slide to and fro with full trays, offering everyone a glass of golden liquid. I thankfully hand over my half-finished whiskey and exchange it for champagne, not wanting to mix any more alcohol than I already have.

What seems like seconds later, Andre raises his own glass, alongside Paxton and Lenore. In turn, we all lift our champagne flutes with absolutely no verbal or conscious agreement. Such social mores always amaze me, but now is not the time for my sociological theories.

“To peace!” Andre calls out to us.

“Peace!” Paxton and Lenore call out in turn.

“Peace!” echoes each and every individual in this room–Magicena, Korama, and Vampyr alike. I say it myself. I even drink my champagne alongside them. But I can’t help but wonder if this will truly be everyone’s reality.

Zander appears to be holding his breath as the leaders of the three factions surround the old oak table that two Magicena brought to the front of the room. The three rulers surround the table as soon as Alia places the treaty–a document many pages long–before them. They’re reading. A large part of me wishes that I, too, could read it upon its arrival.

“Do you think it’s real?” I can’t help but ask Zander quietly, though I’m sure Zain and Gary, who are on the fringes of our conversation, will be in earshot.

Zander turns his head from side to side, considering. “They’re sure going to a lot of trouble if it isn’t.”

Suddenly, the Queen lifts her head, beckoning to the back of the room.

“That’s gotta be the signal,” Zander motions, causing him and me to weave in and out of the frigid crowd, approaching the front of the chamber. Gabriel and Pierre swarm in from the opposite corner.

A male Magicena I don’t know closes in on the table, his shorter frame rigid and uncompromising. His sharp green eyes pierce us as we draw near. Mistrust must be as much a part of him as his flaming-red hair. I assume it matches his personality.

Movement from behind Zander causes him to make way for the Korama Nobility. Megsie and Verity are an arm’s length behind him. Megsie gives Zander a small smile in acknowledgement as she and Verity cross over to Paxton, flanking him as per usual.

Zander and I complete our journey and stand next to Lenore. Pierre and Gabriel have already arrived on her left. One quick glance to the Magicena man beside me shows he is filled with contempt and is merely going through the motions to please his il Sovrano.

In a flourish, the Magicena signs the document on the space indicated. My eyes are sharper, stronger, as a Vampyr; despite the scratch of his cursive, I can read his name: Trevor Jackson. He must be Alia’s husband.

The Koramas are next. Andre places a gentle hand on the pile of papers, gliding it slowly to the other end of the rectangular table. Megsie is first, her keen aqua eyes scanning the document. Something about the way she reads it tells me she must be in a line of work that equips her to better understand such things. I don't know much about her–and I likely never will. I still don’t know how viable, how effective, this truce will be.

What about all our–or my , because Verity and I are no longer a team–proof regarding the exclusion of the Koramas and the inclusion of the Vampyrs and Magicena? What about the sage? Why hide a meeting that could have merely been about the treaty?

I can’t be imagining things. Something suspicious and potentially malicious is transpiring between the two races. I just need to discover what it is–and in the meantime, sign this so-called ‘treaty,’ likely making sleuthing more difficult.

Verity is next. She doesn’t read the accord. She doesn’t even flip through the pages. She glances at Megsie for a few seconds. Many things seem to be unspoken between them, but an obvious exchange is had. Verity grabs the discarded pen from its resting place and delivers her signature.

Megsie slides the papers back to Andre and Trevor, and Trevor in turn plops it in front of Zander and me. Lenore stepped back some time ago, having already signed. Even with her out of sight, I can feel her analytical green eyes on us. It’s unnerving, but I try not to show it. Lenore’s senses are as over-developed as a stalking python.

I flip the pages over, devouring the article. I know Zander, Gabriel, and Pierre also have to sign, so the pressure to complete this task is building. Even so, my eyes bulge at a few key declarations.

All faction boundaries are to be lifted.

The Territory Law is null and void.

Members of all three factions may interact without prejudice, judgement, or any type of injury.

The above accord requires no change to the factions’ involvement (or lack thereof) with the human race. They are to remain unaware of the presence of the three races.

I’m stunned. I don’t know my paranormal history, but I was under the impression that the Territory Law was of the utmost importance. Verity was quick to point out that very fact when her comrade crossed the border to try and end me, and now it’s just a thing of the past?

I hear Pierre suck in an aggravated breath to my left, so I flip to the ‘signatures’ section of the accord. I see the space for the three rulers to sign: Lenore Crané, Andre Calderone, Paxton Costas. Their respective nobilities are listed underneath: the soon-to-be-filled Vampyr Princes, Trevor Jackson, Meghan Diane Silverman, Verity Eadaoin.

I steady my hand and sign Darren Pierce-Crané before handing the stack of papers to a patient Zander. It’s not as though I’ve signed many things since my transition from deceased human to undead Vampyr, but I’m not willing or able to give up my surname.

Zander takes a few minutes to read the agreement, much to the annoyance of Gabriel, who shoots daggers at his ‘younger brother’ with his dark brown eyes, arms folded impatiently. I turn to my right. Megsie and Verity are eyeing the scene before them. Megsie looks wary but resolved, Verity flushed and annoyed. I imagine standing and waiting here in this hot room with a fever isn’t very comfortable.

I still don’t understand why Verity was so quick to end our partnership. I suppose it stings a little. I was hoping she and I could become–friends? Acquaintances? Despite our obvious differences, I think we are more alike than meets the eye.

On the other hand, maybe it makes more sense than I initially thought. Getting found out by her Korma and Kormi must be a deterrent–as well as the fact that the Vampyrs are most definitely planning something with the Magicena. Better not to get too close to a Vampyr when they’re in league against her kind.

Gabriel and Pierre take turns signing the accord, but it’s obvious they are putting on a civil show for Lenore. I’m sure they’re about as interested in peace as they are in getting their hearts ripped from their chests.

Once the treaty is signed by everyone, more champagne is poured, followed by toasts to a prosperous future. I sip my still-barely-touched champagne, wondering what new era this ‘peace’ will usher in–especially with mistrust and hostility as fire and gasoline.

The rest of the party is uneventful. Zander and I have dinner, watching closely as Vampyrs interact freely and even amicably with other races. Zander says nothing about it, but his expression is cautious, alert. He might not believe the act put on by his contemporaries. I’m not sure I do, either.

When it gets to be ten o’clock, Zain, Zander, and I decide to take our leave. We’ve stayed an appropriate length of time by now, and it looks as though other invitees are saying their ‘farewells,’ too. There are less people here than previously.

As Lenore instructed, we make the rounds: saying our ‘goodbyes’ to the il Sovrano, thanking him for the celebration, and then to the Korma, bidding him a good evening.

The leaders aren’t alone. Trevor is stationed at Andre’s right-hand side, while Megsie and Verity are unmoving from their Korma. It looks as though the entire Cold Moon Pack is wedged into one corner of the room. That is a logical strategy; there are only nine of them while this party consists of many more Magicena and Vampyrs.

The Winter air is crisp, but at least it isn’t raining. We trudge down the steps, Zain and Zander discussing the history of Vampyrs in front of me. I listen off and on, but I’m too tired to contribute or to commit much of it to memory. Now that the heaviness of the soirée is over, I can think about the other issues plaguing my mind.

I killed an innocent woman last night.

My second kill.

And I can’t rationalize it by saying I was saving someone. I was the evil one.

I hasten my pace to catch up with my two friends, my tumultous thoughts causing lethargy and self-loathing. Other partygoers are leaving too, as I can sense Koramas and Magicena behind me. Zain told me this mansion houses the most powerful Magicena, and the rest live in this section of the city.

“Congratulations.”

I spin on my heel, surprised by the voice and the tone. I’m halfway to the string of limos that Lenore ordered for the Vampyr Nobility.

Verity is staring up at me, arms folded defiantly, her stance more aggressive than defensive, even in formalwear. I don’t see the Korma or Kormi with her or in the vicinity. Perhaps she is leaving of her own accord–which I find to be odd, as she and Megsie have been glued to Paxton for most of the evening.

“On what?” I answer, bewildered.

“The kill order has been dropped. You won’t have me to contend with on the next full moon,” she huffs, as if it should be obvious.

I’m unsure if she is saying that for the benefit of those passing us or if she truly means it. Despite our alliance being over, I suppose I thought we were friendly enough that she wouldn’t murder me in my sleep. I guess I was wrong.

“Lucky me, then,” I remark as Pierre passes us, glancing over his shoulder at our exchange.

“Are you gonna suck her dry like the last one?” he calls before turning around and using his Vampyr speed to catch up to Gabriel, who is already opening one of the back doors to the black limousine idling at the drive.

“You told him about Jaxon?” Verity hisses, hitting me to get my attention when I don’t turn around the instant she opens her mouth.

“No,” I answer, more firmly than I anticipated. Verity narrows her eyes at me in response.

“I killed someone. Last night,” I finally explain over the sound of reversing cars, engines turning over, and ‘farewells’ being exchanged. It does nothing to the sound of my heart pumping painfully through my chest, obstructing my hearing. It doesn’t eclipse the monumental guilt I feel.

Verity frowns. “You’re a Vampyr. Killing is normal.”

I suck in a breath, wiping sweat from my brow. Even in the brisk Winter wind, I’m still perspiring and overwhelmed with heated guilt.

“No. I don’t want to kill anyone. Especially innocent people.” I hang my head, ignoring the rush of emotion that springs to my eyes. I don’t hold back my tears or the quivering of my voice.

No amount of remorse will bring her back. Nothing will ever stop her screams of pain echoing from within the corners of my mind.

Verity pauses–a feat to be sure, as her comments on anything and everything are frequent and vivid. Finally, she jerks her head to the side. I find myself following her around the side of the enormous, old-style home. When we are shrouded in shadow, she fixes her stance and glances toward the front of the property. I join her. When we’re sure no one is stopping to look at us or listen in on our conversation, Verity studies my face, startling me.

“You really feel bad?” she queries.

“Of course,” I insist. “I never wanted any of this, Verity. And I never wanted any of the in-fighting, the secret alliance between the Vampyrs and Magicena, the three-way war. That’s why I thought we’d work well together. We believe in the same things.”

Verity creases her brow, eyes downcast. Is she mulling over what I said? Or is she too sick to think clearly?

“Look,” she begins, still avoiding my face. She’s probably as disgusted by me as I am. “Killing happens. It sucks, but…” She finally meets my eyes. “Just remember that the next time you lose control.”

I suppose I owe her the truth if I’ve already started down this path of vulnerability and shame. “I did lose control, but…” I clear my throat. “Gabriel and Pierre were harassing some women. Zander and I stepped in to help.”

Verity tilts her head to the side, glassy brown eyes narrowing at me. “No offense, but killing isn’t exactly helping .”

“I know,” I sigh. Maybe I was wrong to tell her all this. I just felt that Verity of all people would understand. She has so far–underneath the snark.

“Have you–have you killed before?” I ask quietly.

Verity shakes her head ‘no.’ “Pups take a while to learn control. So killing happens. But I never have–not humans, anyway.” Despite being overwhelmed by illness, the corner of her lip juts up into a smile, filling in the blanks.

“Hilarious,” I scoff.

Verity rolls her eyes. When she hugs her chest, I realize too late that she’s shivering; her teeth are beginning to chatter.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, shrugging out of my suit jacket as quickly as possible. “I didn’t mean for you to get sicker because of this talk.”

I drape the black garment over her shoulders as quickly as I can, using some Vampyr speed at the thought of Verity having the flu and hypothermia as take-away gifts from the soirée.

Verity stares at me almost open-mouthed, like she can’t believe someone would ever do something kind for her. “Whatever. It's not that cold,” she persists through another body tremor.

“Mm-hmm,” I huff, folding my arms across my chest. “It’s Winter. And you’re ill. Can’t you accept help, even from a Vampyr?”

Something happens to her when I pose that question. Is she rethinking the bias she has against Vampyrs? Or did I hurt her feelings? Maybe positing deep, philosophical questions about centuries-old supernatural grudges wasn’t a wise idea, especially in her condition. Sometimes, I just can’t help myself when it comes to societal make-up and social interaction analysis. That worked well in university, but perhaps not so well now, in the so-called ‘real world.’

The breath leaves my lungs when Verity’s lips are suddenly on mine. Alarm shoots through my body, causing my eyes to spring open.

I don’t know what to do. I haven’t thought of Verity this way before. We’ve just started to get friendly. It usually takes me much longer to develop any kind of personal relationship–romantic or otherwise–with anyone. But how do I tell her without her immediately writing this off as a rejection? Verity is impulsive and quick to judge–I doubt she’d stand around and wait for me to explain myself.

Maybe it’s because I don’t return the kiss. Maybe it’s because she senses how shocked I am. Or maybe Koramas have a sixth sense about particular situations. But whatever the reason, the frigid air around us shifts dangerously. I place my hands on her arms to gently move her backward, but as soon as I touch her, she’s already pulling away.

“Verity, I–”

I can’t continue. Her brown eyes are livid and filled with betrayal, as I expected.

“It–it’s not you. I just don’t–”

In one fluid motion, she yanks my suit jacket off her body and slams it into my chest before stalking away from me. I choke in response, sucking in a weak breath as she storms off.

“Verity!” I call, hoping if I can catch up to her, I can do a better job explaining myself. It doesn’t take long for me to round the corner to the front of the Magicena mansion, but Verity is nowhere to be seen.

My head jerks to the side when a sound breaks through the tension-filled air. It was too conspicuous to be the Winter wind rustling the dead shrubbery around me. I turn fully, scrutinizing the darkness beyond me.

A door closing from around the corner alerts me further. I slow my breathing, straining to hear anything more.

Could it be… ?

Remembering my suit jacket that has almost fallen to the snowy ground in my negligence, I shrug into it and consider the situation before me. Last I checked, Lenore and the other two faction leaders were still inside, giving their final ‘farewells.’ The party is still heavily populated with guests despite the hordes of invitees trickling out of the double doors of the mansion. It would be fairly easy for Lenore and Andre to steal themselves away for another secret rendez-vous.

You're just being paranoid, I scold myself. Despite the obvious difficulties, Verity is your friend. You need to find her and at least attempt to fix this.

My resolve becomes futile when the smallest whiff of sage tickles my nose. I’m already halfway turned, in the throes of trying to locate Verity. I make an about-face and dart quickly for the deepening blackness, remembering Zander’s words about sage.

This is way more than a coincidence!

Sage means a private discussion is being held. I owe it to everyone to find out if this clandestine conversation is a massacre meeting.

I’m not one to eavesdrop or interfere–even though mischief-making seems to be my new philosophy as of late–but the threat of subterfuge is much stronger than any guilt I’ll experience from potentially interrupting a private, innocent moment between two Magicena.

I’m thrown off guard, in both a figurative and literal sense, when I’m tossed backward as if I’ve just run into glass. I lift a tentative hand and press it against the open air, abashed for thinking–

Wait.

There is a barrier here!

Something is keeping me from turning the corner to the backside of the Casa di Calderone. Despite the shadows and heaviness of the night, there is clearly some invisible force keeping me from discovering what is transpiring beyond.

This has to be a magical veil cast by a Magicena.

I hesitate. There’s no way I can discover what is taking place on the other side of the mansion. Another dead-end (perhaps that’s a bad choice of words).

The wind shifts, causing me to suppress a shiver – but something else enters my mind, tingling my ‘sixth sense’ to quote Zander. The sage stops me from sleuthing, but I’ve picked up on two supernatural entities on the other side of the building.

One Vampyr and one Magicena.

My Vampyric senses must be developing further. I can clearly recognize their essences . It’s not a scent or tangible give-away, just an intense feeling that pushes me into fight-or-flight mode.

Disbelief causes my stomach to crash through the frozen earth.

No time to revel in my newfound ability.

Two magical methods are being used to shroud this clandestine meeting in darkness. An eerie weight pushes down on my chest when I realize that darkness could very well be the new reality for the three factions–not peace, as we have been led to believe.

My hand is already clutching my phone within my pants’ pocket–but then I remember the kiss and Verity's now-obvious hatred toward me. Perhaps reaching out to her about the kiss or even about this secret meeting would be ill-advised.

I might have to solve this on my own.