Page 34 of Switching Graves

Harold Mirasen sits beside Terry, a skeletal figure draped in black robes who has represented the Valeria bloodline for longer than I’ve been here. Outside of this, he works as a government diplomat—the perfect job for an empath who can sense intentions and emotions. He has incited wars and genocides with his gift.

Angelica Sunspire is still as a statue and wrapped in shadows. She took over the role last year, after her grandfather was found dead in his basement one gloomy, autumn morning. She blames me for his untimely death, though I’ve sworn up and down that it wasn’t me.

Prior to stepping into the role as representative for the Luminara line, Angelica spent most of her days hole up in a studio apartment in New York. She was world-renowned for her abstract paintings that perfectly depicted tumultuous times in history. When her grandfather died and her parents called her back, she disappeared from the public eye and moved back to Nocturne Valley to live in the shadows and haunt the town with her morose grumbling.

The Luminaras are our guides beyond the veil and the masters of light and dark. They’re all so moody, it’s insufferable.

Next to her, a stiff-looking figure is dwarfed by the black robes that are draped across their shoulders. Ronald Everwatch always looks like he would rather be anywhere else. His mask does little to hide his identity, as it’s impossible to miss the bright red mess of hair falling out of his hood or the potbelly thatsits above his lap. Outside of his role in the Midnight Syndicate, he’s the head librarian of the Library of Congress—a perfect waste of talent for a bloodline as interesting as Aeternum, if you ask me.

But no one ever does.

And as always, the seat beside him sits empty in honor of the Mirrane bloodline. No one knows if they all disappeared by choice, or if they were killed off, but their mysterious powers always made people uncomfortable. They could cloak themselves in darkness and walk beside you without you ever knowing. They could infiltrate your mind and convince you there’s a thousand spiders crawling beneath your skin, then let you claw at and mangle your own flesh until there’s nothing left for their own entertainment. They could manipulate the very fabric of reality.

They were powerful and dangerous, and that was enough for everyone to beg the Syndicate to put an end to them.

No one has seen a descendant from the Mirrane line in over half a century, when the final council member representative took his last breath.

I make my way down the line of masked faces, identifying each one with practiced ease when Divina Ellery slips into the row ahead of mine and gracefully falls into a seat beside one of her usual accomplices.

If Mayor Stanson is pure evil, then Divina Ellery is the source from which he feeds. She’s worse than every sorry excuse of a person in this room combined. Parading around as an empath, she certainly senses the energies of those around her, and then sucks them dry. The beginning and end of all my suffering—she will be the final part of my plan. Only after I get my hands on her daughter. I refuse to allow her to prance around as if she isn’t a cold-blooded murderer for much longer.

“Let the record show that the meeting has officially begun as of 7:33 in the evening. We’ve got a full docket of topics to be discussed, so without further delay, let’s get right into it,” Mayor Stanson announces into his microphone in a dull, robotic voice that comes out muddled through his fabric mask. He begins to read from a sheet of paper sitting before him as the other members pass around a sign-in sheet.

In all honesty, I spend most of these meetings zoned out from what they’re speaking about, taking the time to study the body language of those around me instead.

Most members fly in from around the country to attend, then take a redeye out as soon as the meeting ends. Not every Ravenshurst legacy finds themselves imprisoned by a Midnight Syndicate membership. These are the ones who have gotten themselves involved in one way or another—usually with something having to do with their financial standing or hunger for success. Their squirming bodies and expressive eye rolls usually indicate they don’t want to be here, mostly for fear that their presence will somehow put them in the crosshairs of one of the Syndicate’s many enemies. Or of the Syndicate members themselves.

It’s truly a group of petulant children throwing tantrums that cost lives.

Others, like Divina and me, were offered a choice: to join or to die. Her father did a lot of negotiating to get her that deal after what happened in the woods, just as mine had done. She wisely took the option to join. I know it haunted my old man every day he had to look into the eyes of his son’s killer without permission to retaliate the way he craved.

“Motion to grant Raze permission to eliminate the threat,” Stanson mumbles into his microphone sometime later. My attention snaps back to the front. Hands fly into the air, castingtheir votes, and I realize I should have been paying better attention.

“Majority vote says the motion is granted.” Swinging his gaze toward the back to meet mine, he nods his head. “You’ll take care of the Haggartys before our next meeting.”

Fuck. The Haggartys?

I nod once, refusing to look at anyone in particular as I work to school my expression.

They were my old neighbors growing up—a kind couple who went out of their way to help us whenever they could.

What could they have done to get in the Syndicate’s crosshairs?

It doesn’t matter much anymore. Once the issue is voted on and Stanson swings his godforsaken gavel, the issue is settled. I’ll have to kill them as soon as I receive the text that it’s safe to do so.

It never pays to care.

17

Raze

Divina Ellery has gone to great lengths to keep her family life separated from the Syndicate’s business. Only a few short appearances at events disguised as charity galas or holiday brunches have given us a small insight into what matters to her, and everyone was too focused on masking their own families to bother with anyone else’s.

Well, everyone but me.

Makes sense, considering her role in the suffering of so many innocent people. How many lives have been ended on her command? Can’t imagine what her husband or daughter would think if they were to find out she’s a malicious goblin. All the Carmichaels are. I’ll be sure to be present when that day comes.

In due time.

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