Page 5 of The Clash of the Damned
She is right, the rare time that she is. I take the locket from my neck, and a faint glow appears around my hands as I feed some of my stored magic into it. Every time I convert magic, it’s an incredible feeling, like a burst of coffee directly to my veins. Not for the first time, I wonder if our brand of magic is more addictive than we realize. Handing the locket to her, I say, “Faith, that’s how. Aren’t you big on that stuff?” Her eyes narrow at my spin on her beloved word, and I explain to her how to use it. “With magic, intention is everything. With mine, there is a time limit; don’t forget that. So only use it when you really need it.” The locket glows in my hand for a moment. “This will help you force the shift on the Druid for a short period.”
She takes the locket from me hesitantly, almost like my magic will taint her. It’s the first time I’ve let her see my Supernatural abilities, and she does better with it than I gave her credit for. We’ve never had anyone teach ushow to do magic, a lot of what we know we’ve learned through trial and error. I had to learn the hard way that magic is not something I can sustain on my own, but any source of energy, from a life force to the electricity in the walls, is enough for me to convert it into my own magic. The more I drain, the better. Once I start using the magic, it doesn’t last long, unless I find spells to keep it in stasis.
Regardless of how well she handles it, I can still see her struggling with indecision. Knowing I need to get back to Dom soon, my patience officially runs out with this entitled brat, so I lift my glowing hand and drain some power from the hotel’s main grid. The lights briefly flicker as the power grid overcompensates from my unwelcome theft.
“Tap this three times when you’re ready. It will give you ten minutes to force the Druid to do whatever you want. Once the time is up, it will be a cheap trinket, then you’re on your own, and your faith will need to be in your God again.”
Lifting my palm, I feed magic towards Eden, and she calms. “We’re friends, and you want to help me.” Her eyes go blank, and she repeats my instruction. “Film everything, and make sure the reporter we discussed gets it.” She repeats my instruction again.
“Good,” I tell her. “Keep this up and I’ll be ready to share everything with you in no time.”
Chapter 4 | Pretty Little Thing
Sloane
“Honey, I’m home!” I call out as I enter the front door of the Hart Estate. Quickly, I establish that no one is home as the place is still dark. Thinking back to a movie I once saw, I giggle as I remember wishing I could be home all alone, and now is my chance. This works in my favor because I don’t want them to know I only just got home, which would open up questions I don’t want to answer. As it is, I took much longer with Eden than I wanted, and I had to take the long way there and back to make sure I wasn’t followed.
I decide that arranging dinner is a good place to start, and I walk to my favorite living room, scrolling through one of the delivery apps. Quickly spotting my favorite Indian restaurant, I order some butter chicken, then I switch on the electric fireplace and soak in its warmth. Fireplaces for ambience have always felt wasteful to me; the money could be better spent elsewhere. But since this is not my money, and I’m missing the summer sun from our holiday, I lean into my guilty pleasure. Sitting down on the sofa, I take off my boots and massage the ball of my foot through my socks.Our holiday feels like a distant memory. So much has happened in the days we’ve been home, yet I can’t stop thinking about the two weeks that I was Sloane the fiancé. I was part of someone’s family.I mattered.
But the memories don’t change the plan I need to execute. Reality is less pleasant than what must happen next. When we heard of Dimitri Hart’s untimely death, we had no idea if Dom knew of us or not, so we needed a back up plan. After Eden was in place, I risked my life by approaching and telling him the story of our heritage. While it took some convincing on my part, eventually, he believed me.
According to the story passed down to me, our ancestors fell in love. When that love wasn’t returned, the Sorcerer murdered my relative in a jealous fit of rage. I would agree with the humans and think we are all legends if it wasn't for the fact that I exist and was raised hearing the stories of my ancestors.
Regardless of whose version of events you believe, after the Sorcerer’s ran to America and left us behind to fend for themselves, it’s a miracle we’ve survived as long as we have. Or just sheer determination. It wasn’t a good time to be Supernatural back then, but we hid in the shadows until we too could finally make the trip to America. It wasn’t until years later that a different ancestor of mine ran into another Sorcerer, and instead of having to fend for their life, they were instead met with remorse. The deal was, if our family kept their mouth shut, every few years, the Sorcerers would help us with money.
It was never enough to truly get ahead, but it was enough to survive. And I always tried to figure out why they wanted to help instead of executing us, as is the rule. After all, compassion amongst the Supernaturals is rare. Blood money, maybe? It was one of the many reasons why I didn’t fightthis assignment. I want answers about our history. Again, history repeats itself as Dom and I work together. I wonder if he would feel the same if he knew what my family did to Hecate and why none of the empires know what happened to theiralmightyGoddess.
My phone rings, bringing me back to the present. It’s an unknown number, but I still answer it, knowing it could be Dad. I say nothing as I wait for the person to speak first.
“Can you talk?”
Relief courses through me as Dad’s familiar bass sounds on the line. It’s quickly followed by paranoia, and I realize I need to double check I’m still home alone. My hand raises, glowing a faint white as I drain electricity out of the grid, and the fireplace flickers. I’m getting stronger; that was less than I normally take, and my magic stores are lasting longer than usual. Flicking my wrist in the air, I release a spell to detect if a living presence is in the house with me. When the spell returns that I’m alone, I confirm it’s safe to talk openly.
“How is the plan progressing?”
Here I thought he would care whether I’m okay while in the center of enemy territory, but I should know better. I’ve done this dance with him too many times to count to expect a different outcome. Mom was the only thing that brought out his humanity, and with her dead, he only cares about the stupid fucking plan. Makes me wonder if he would even cry if I was killed in the crossfire while here enacting his revenge. There are so few of us left as it is.
“Better than we hoped. After I solidified the partnership with The Children of Christ, things became almost too easy. No one knows I’m helping things along.”
A rebellious streak rears its head, and I’m tempted to tell Dom the full truth of why I’m here. It would be a great way to fuck up Dad’s precious plan. But…I know I will regret it if I do. So many years of my life would be wasted, and I’m many things, but spiteful or stupid is not one of them.
“Good. I’ve trained you well for this. Failure would be unacceptable. And your cover story?”
I’m suddenly tired and eager to get this call over with. So I let him think he is in control. “Well, you said I had to do whatever possible to sell it, and Dom has proposed I step into the role of his future wife, instead of using the Supernatural cover story we discussed.”
Dad is silent for a beat longer than necessary, and it makes me uncomfortable. “So he’s Dom now?” I don’t bother answering, knowing that was rhetorical. Neither of us thought I would need to sleep with the enemy, but I am my father’s daughter; I’m just doing what needs to be done.
“You’re taking it a bit far aren’t you?” Of course he judges my decisions. It wasn’thisidea, it was mine. As I prepare my argument, he tries another approach. “Are you at least being safe?” he asks, and I cringe inwardly. First, his lack of outrage that his daughter is sleeping with the enemy hurts more than I thought it would. But no adult child ever wants to have a sex discussion with their parent, and I’m no exception. Everyone knows it’s happening; we just don’t talk about it, and we’re all happier that way. Growing up on the run, there weren’t many opportunities for me to learn about sex. Between what little mom told me and what I figured out with another one of my kind, porn movies helped me figure out the rest.
“Yes, Dad, I am.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch.”
He ends the call, and I stare at it like a snake. I whisper to the now dark phone, “I love you too, Dad.” I would give anything to have the version of him from when Mom was still around, when he was so full of life and love. Now, it’s like he stopped loving me when she died. I see how Dom loves his sisters, and it reminds me of what I used to have, and how I will never have that again.
“Sloane?” Dom calls out for me.
Shit, he is home. He could have heard that. The intensity of him calling out gets louder as he storms into the living room. “Imagine this. Giselle is finally negotiating and giving me everything I want. She’s even suggesting a merger, one I would be the head of, and the expansion plans are falling into place. It’s been a long fucking day, and then I hear some very disturbing rumours. Would you like to know what they are?”
