Page 60

ROMAN

“Both of my parents were vampires. What the hell are you saying?” I ask. “Actually, fuck that. Get in the car.”

Agnarr nods, and we pile into Nico’s Audi.

“This vehicle is nicer than others,” Agnarr says, hands rubbing over the leather seats. I sigh, realizing he’s new to cars, which is an insane concept.

“Where is the portal?”

Agnarr leans forward, naming what sounds like an intersection.

“Is that in Chicago? How do you know this?”

“I assume it’s here. I just…know it. That is how her magic works. She slips knowledge into the minds of those who need it.”

I type the intersection into my phone’s GPS, pulling up a location in South Side, near 31st Street Beach. It should take about a half an hour with traffic. Twenty minutes if Nico knows what’s good for him.

“Scoot the hell over,” comes Hale’s voice from the back driver side door as he rips it open. I don’t even know where he came from. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Agnarr’s brother has Gwyn…And he’s a blood purist. Also, Roman is a hybrid,” Nico rattles off as he floors it down my street toward Lake Shore Drive.

“You know what, that only gave me more questions,” Hale says, but when I turn and give him a look, he sits back and doesn’t say a word.

“Explain,” I say to Agnarr.

“Bjorn did not love your mother. He kept her as a pet. It is part of why he had no hesitation when defecting to my brother. Alice was a sweet soul when I knew her, able to draw a smile out of anyone. I considered her a friend. Once Ketill and Bjorn cursed me with Slumber, I would visit her in dreams on occasion.”

“You’d do what ?”

“It is something those of us touched by Ansi can do. It is not like sitting down and having a conversation—more like sending…messages. Moving paintings. It is how I fell in love with Cynthia.”

“And you sent dreams to my mother?”

“I liked her,” he says, almost as if in defense.

“Bjorn stole her will to live, and she became reckless. One night, she dreamed of a sorcerer. A friend of Bjorn’s, a man who placed the wards on the compound.

I recognized his bloodline. The traits are strong amongst those men who call themselves Proctor. You have the same features.”

Hale gasps, and I assume the family name means something to him.

“But I have no magic.”

“You had no one to show you,” Agnarr retorts.

“But Hale is a vampire and he lost his magic when he Ascended,” I argue.

“I wasn’t born a vampire though. I imagine it’s similar to how vampires are either born or Made.” Hale sighs. “I feel like this should be obvious, Roman. Keep up.”

“Why do I recognize the name? Proctor?” I ask, ignoring Hale. The car weaves in and out of traffic, making me unsteady, so I grab the handle above my window.

“The Institute,” Hale answers, but Agnarr doesn’t stop his story.

“The sorcerer is your true father. He is the one who killed my félagi.”

“How do you know?”

“I stumbled into a dream of your mother’s that left little room for confusion.”

“Not that,” I say. I have always taken after my mother, so the idea that Bjorn is not my true father is less shocking than it ought to be.

Truthfully, it’s almost a relief. How many times have I been around magic, sensed magic, completely unaware I have the power to manipulate it in my blood. “How do you know he killed Cynthia?”

“Magic is born from pain and emotion. It leaves a mark. His family’s magic is what forced my Slumber, so I am intimately familiar.

His touch still lingers on my daughter. I hunted down the place of Gwyn’s birth, knowing he’d be called upon to help deliver the hybrid child.

I could taste his grief in the traces of magic he left behind.

It was vengeance and heartbreak and rage in those incantations. ”

“I don’t understand. Why would he?—”

“I suppose I could be wrong. But Cynthia didn’t know what I knew—that Alice meant something to Johnathon.

Secrecy breeds chaos, and he learned that the hard way.

He wanted Bjorn dead and thought a hybrid child could be the answer.

When he allied with them, I doubt he anticipated Bill Parson’s vitriol for vampires would get his lover killed.

I was stuck in Slumber, unable to do anything.

Do you know how helpless that is? I tried to send Cynthia dreams to help sort it out, but that method of communication isn’t always easy.

I sent them to Gwyn as well—to push her toward you. ”

“What kind of dreams?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.

“With Cynthia, I was too late. In murdering her, I believe Johnathon was trying to get revenge. He took from Bill Parsons that which belonged to me.”

“This all sounds awfully fucking convenient when everyone in your story is dead,” Nico says, and I’m tempted to agree with him.

“Proctor still lives,” he says, then sighs.

“When you are stuck in Slumber for nearly thirty years after the death of your mate, it leaves much time to riddle over the past. I fell in love with Cynthia while she dreamt of a future for the child growing inside her womb. I don’t know if she loved me back, but I have to hope she would have. Are we nearly there?” he asks.

I look down at my phone to see we aren’t even halfway there and tell Agnarr as such. He sits back in his seat, and his story seems to be over. I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.

The only thing I don’t find confusing is what Gwyn is to me.

Mate. Partner. Félagi.

The rest means nothing. The sins of the generation before us don’t fucking matter.

It doesn’t matter if I was born of an affair, and Gwyn was an experiment.

Who gives a fuck? We’re both hybrids. If there’s a bigger meaning within that knowledge, it can wait.

It’s not what’s important. I am hers and she is mine, and all I know is that if I don’t find her, I will destroy every vampire from here to the Pacific.

“What does Ketill want with her?” I ask when we’re only a few minutes out.

“If he hasn’t already killed her, he plans to use her.”

“He hasn’t killed her,” I insist. “I’d know.”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s probably that building on the corner,” Nico says as he pulls into the parking lot. My heart stops when I see the Chevelle.

“We must hurry and find the portal,” Agnarr says, but I’m already out of the car and halfway to the building.

I kick the door in and close my eyes. Breathing deep, I feel for the crackle of magic that I thought everyone felt.

Down a hallway, past what I think used to be a break room, there’s a storage room.

Faintly, I sense the shape of the portal. Instead of an object existing in space, that I can see or feel or sense with closed eyes, this magic feels like the lack of something. Like a subtraction from the air around me.

“Do you feel that?” I ask Nico, assuming the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up like mine.

“We cannot feel it,” Agnarr says. “The witch said only two may travel through it.”

“Great,” I deadpan. “I can only take one of you then?”

“Fuck,” Hale swears. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Agnarr,” I say, betting on the original vampire’s strength—and his story. After the last few months, I probably shouldn’t trust fucking anybody. But here I am.

“If it’s already set up, all you have to do is spill your blood,” Hale instructs.

“What’s your plan when you get there?” Nico asks.

I don’t hesitate. “Kill them all.”