Page 33 of Magic of the Damned

“What the fuck did you do to Reginald!”

I was the only one surprised by my outburst. We watched each other with mutual skepticism.

“It needed to be done,” he said, his tone cool and his expression flat.

Did it? It wasn’t for Reginald’s safety; it was for theirs. “Did you compel him to forget, like vampires, or manipulate his memories?”

He nodded. “I can’t compel people, only vampires can. Manipulating memories is close.”

“Can you do it from just a look, like the vampires?”

His head barely moved into the nod but his eyes showed knowledge. I was sure Anand had told him about my run-in with Kane.

“Anand said I should gouge a vampire’s eyes out if they try to get me to look them in the eyes. What should I do to you?”

Moistening his lips, he fixed me with a roguish smile. “What would you like to do to me, Luna?” There was nothing innocent about his insinuating words or the look he gave me.

Heat ran up my neck and over my cheeks. I dropped my head to look at my book and hopefully hide my flush. If the warmth radiating on my face was any indicator, I wouldn’t be able to hide the strawberry coloring.

His eyes were heavy and inquiring, making it difficult to return to the work in front of me. Redirect. Discover what is necessary to survive in this world. I got this. I repeated it over and over with no success because I was drowning and there wasn’t anyone to throw me a lifeline.

“What do you think is happening?” Dominic’s grave voice splintered the silence.

I didn’t have an answer.

“Supernaturals have been living among humans for as long as humans have existed. But they do so with the agreement to stay hidden. It works to the benefit of all involved, but know that not everyone is happy about it. There are supernaturals who want to awaken the world to all that exists. They want to be known, to eventually have power. There aren’t many and they are so inconsequential, they were regarded as just a fringe group. An insipid cult.”

“The markings on the book,” I guessed.

He nodded. “That’s their mark. Fifty years ago, some supernaturals wanted the Awakening. Everything that is hidden to be brought into plain sight. The Conventicle is the ruling body of the supernaturals and represents the supernatural community. Staying hidden was decided upon. What is best? The Conventicle and I work together to make it so. You met the representatives, but the Conventicle comprises one hundred and twenty members. Awakeners are dissenters, believers of the Awakening. In the past they were a simple nuisance and were managed rather easily. Once in a while, there’s a revival when new, ambitious members join.”

Annoyance showed on his face. “The Conventicle is efficient and ruthless about maintaining their anonymity and dealing with the Awakeners. I assure you, manipulating Reginald’s and his coven’s memories was the most humane thing. It wasn’t what the Conventicle wanted for them… for you. They wanted a permanent solution for all involved.” He’d halted at the word ‘coven.” Accustomed to dealing with actual witches and covens, it had to seem blasphemous putting Reginald and his friends in the same category.

Swallowing, I got a handle on my agitation. Why were the options they chose permanent? Did death always have to be the answer?

“I suspect the Dark Caster is part of the Awakening movement or will eventually become part of it. There’s no doubt that the supernaturals you released will join as well. They were reckless for the sheer enjoyment of it, but it was also their unsubtle way of being discovered. If their existence becomes known, it will open up speculation that there are more out there. Although most supernaturals follow the way of the Conventicle, in any group there are those who are opportunistic or complicit. It’s the opportunists that concern me. They will latch on to whichever side they believe will be the victor. If the Awakeners are a viable movement, then this will be a problem. I’m not just trying to retrieve the prisoners and discover the Caster; I’m preventing a war.”

This wasn’t about altruism. If the supernaturals were discovered, he would be, too. There were benefits to anonymity.

“So, there’s an agreement between you and the Conventicle. That’s why you warned them about the prisoners, right?”

He didn’t respond. I looked up to find him scrutinizing me with suspicion.

There was honor among thieves, killers, or whatever the hell type of reprobates they were. It meant he honored agreements. Whatever oath bound him to the Conventicle, I needed that extended to my friends and family. Protect them the way he protected the Conventicle, despite them clearly loathing each other.

“We have a binding agreement.” Suspicion was heavy in his tone. “What is it you’re hinting at, Little Luna?” His full lips tightened into a rueful line. A stony expression and fierce intensity replaced his previously amiable demeanor. He relaxed back in the chair, his fingers clasped behind his head, causing his slim-cut hunter-green shirt to conform to the muscles of his chest and stomach. The folded sleeves revealed the taut muscles of his tattooed forearms. The muscles bulged and relaxed with the most minor movement.

“I want you to agree that my friends and family will be protected.”

“Only Reginald and his coven were involved, correct?”

I nodded, happy that I hadn’t disclosed everything to Emoni. He was looking past me at the new bookcases with a look of contemplation.

“He won’t agree,” Helena provided as she entered the room. She leaned down, wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. Pressing her face against his, she gave me a full view of her cleavage in her slinky low-cut maxi dress. As it had before, her attire made everyone, including Dominic, look underdressed. Her presence unsettled the room. A shift that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was as if her presence caused the room to recoil.

Even if she wished to, I doubted she could go unnoticed. I considered Anand’s beauty quiet, whereas hers was flamboyant, intrusive. From the smoldering dark liner that highlighted her intense amber eyes, the bone structure that was carved to striking precision, the supple lips that formed a resting pout, to her wardrobe, everything demanded attention and required appreciation. I wasn’t in the mood for either.

“Eventually you will become collateral damage,” she cooed. Her tongue made a ticking sound like a clock counting down.

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