Chapter 124 Ch. 94
“I have to go,” Imogen said. She was staring at the wall, her eyes unfocused as if she were seeing something miles away.
“What is wrong?” Ivanna asked, struggling to sit up. The IV line tugged at her skin, and the monitor began to beep a faster, more frantic rhythm. “Imogen, you’re shaking.”
“Someone touched it,” Imogen whispered, her fingers curling into tight fists. “Someone just tore through the barrier I placed around the mansion… It didn't just break, it was dissolved.”
“What magical barrier?” Marcus asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “You didn't say anything about a barrier.”
“You can’t understand. Stay here,” Imogen commanded, turning toward the door. She ignored his question, her face a mask of cold terror. She looked at Ivanna with a hard and uncompromising gaze. “Do not leave this hospital, Ivanna. Do not try to escape the doctors to see Dylan. You stay in the hospital. Do you understand?”
“But Dylan—”
“Stay!” Imogen shouted, and then she was gone.
She didn't take the elevator. She hit the stairs, her shoes echoing against the concrete as she ran. It wasn't Zara, she thought, her mind racing as fast as her heart. Zara was strong, but she was still new and clumsy with her magic. This was clean. This was something experienced—more experienced than she was.
It was 8:00 PM. The sky outside was a bruised purple, and the streetlights were just beginning to flicker to life. Imogen didn't look for a car. She stepped into a dark alleyway behind the hospital and began to murmur under her breath. She used her spells to bridge the distance, the world blurring into a smear of grey and black as she pushed her body to the limit. She felt the drain in her marrow, the way the magic ate at her strength, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.
She arrived at the mansion gates minutes later, her chest heaving as she stumbled onto the gravel. The iron bars were twisted, hanging off their hinges as if a giant had simply swiped them aside.
“Who is there?” Imogen called out, her hand glowing with a faint, green light.
A figure stepped out from behind the stone pillars. They were tall, draped in a cloak that seemed to swallow the moonlight. Imogen’s blood went cold, fear seizing her heart that she hadn't felt in centuries.
“Imogen, dearest,” the figure said in a smooth, sultry voice.
Imogen opened her mouth to scream a counter-spell, but her voice died in her throat. The world tilted, the green light in her hand flickered out, and darkness rushed in to meet her. She hit the ground before she could even utter a sound.
“How long do you think until we will be ready for what we are planning?” Zara asked in a soft murmur.
The moon was high, casting long, silver bars across the bed. She was lying on her side, her head resting on Ethan’s chest.
“The men are still getting used to it,” Ethan said. He was tracing the line of her arm with his thumb, his touch light and distracted. “They have had these powers back for some weeks, but they are clumsy since it’s been hundreds of years since… They need to work on tracking. We cannot move until we know exactly where they are keeping your mother.”
There was a distant crackle of something just then.
“I think I just heard fireworks?” Zara commented, shifting so she could look him in the eyes. “Is that not a sign of victory among your kind? A celebration? A warning of danger?”
Ethan let out a low, dry laugh. He looked down at her, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Oh Zee,” he murmured, his fingers moving to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Those sounds are distant.”
“It reminds me of that day,” she chuckled nervously, her heart suddenly doing flips.
“They are coming from somewhere a bit far from here. The attack was only a few days ago; they will need time to recuperate. They cannot attack again now. There is nothing to worry about.”
“This is what you think, and maybe it is exactly what they want,” Zara countered. She sat up, pulling the silk sheet with her. “They want you to feel safe. They want you stranded in your own position. Imogen said they are working with the Veiled, so I don’t think they need time to recuperate. What if those fireworks are a signal that they’re here again?”
“I will go check,” Ethan said, his tone shifting as he sat up. The playfulness was gone. If Zara was worried, then he would take it seriously. “Stay here,” he added, his feet hitting the floor.
“Like hell I am staying hidden,” Zara snapped, her voice rising.
“You are still weak, Zara,” Ethan insisted. He turned to face her, his expression hardening. “You do not have enough experience with this. You do not even know what is out there yet. I have to go see it first.”
“No,” she whispered, but the word was swallowed by a massive crash from downstairs.
The sound of shattering glass was followed by a high-pitched scream that was cut off with a wet thud. Ethan and Zara froze, their eyes locking. The hair on Zara’s arm stood up, the pounding of her heart getting worse. More screams erupted, mixed with the sound of feet sprinting down the hallways.
“No matter what, stay here,” Ethan commanded. His eyes bled into a predatory red, glowing in the dim light of the room. He didn’t want it to be true—that they were under attack. The first thing he had done was review security and watch out for any mole in his ranks, but now it seemed like all the hard work he had put towards it had become futile. They were here again. “I think something is wrong. You were right. But I do not want anything to happen to you. Stay hidden.”
“Ethan, I am not a child!”
“If this is war, Zara, you do not stand a chance,” Ethan said, his voice sounding desperate. He knew it was war, but he couldn’t tell her that now. “You are just learning. It is different when the blood is actually spilling. Stay hidden. Please.”
He didn't wait for her to argue. He rushed out of the room, his movement a blur.
Zara stood in the center of the room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could hear the grunts and shouts from the foyer, the sound of the Moreau guards fighting for their lives. She couldn’t just sit here while Ethan was fighting when her presence in the Moreau house was the real thing putting her in danger.
But what could she really do? Wait and hope the fight did not get to this side of the house?
Her eyes landed on the heavy spellbook sitting on the nightstand. She grabbed it, her fingers tingling the moment they touched the leather. She had been teaching herself bits of it, whispering words in the dark. She felt a pull toward the book, a magnetic connection that made her blood hum.
Zara rushed out of the room and to the main part of the large house. The hallway was a tunnel of chaos. She peered over the railing and saw the foyer below. It was a bloodbath. Shadows were moving against the walls—distorted, jagged shapes of people moving in tandem with the rebel vampires. They had to be Imogen's clan. They didn’t send the vampires alone.
She ducked as a stray blade whistled past her head, embedding itself in the doorframe. She scrambled down the stairs, her feet feeling bare on the cold marble. Suddenly, the book in her hands began to vibrate. The pages started flipping by themselves, caught in an invisible wind. They moved so fast they were a blur of yellowed paper. It stopped abruptly. The ink on the page seemed to pulse, glowing with a dark, violet light. Zara felt a tug in her chest, a connection so deep it felt like the book was a part of her own soul.
She began to speak without even having control of it. “Finis immortalitas...” she whispered.
The air around her began to swirl. Zara’s voice grew louder, filling the cavernous foyer until it drowned out the sounds of the swords. “Exhaurire potentiam!” she roared.
A sudden blast of power erupted from her. It wasn't a fire; it was a ripple in reality itself. The vampires attacking—and even some of the guards she recognized—screamed as they began to wither. Their skin turned grey, their eyes clouding over as the immortality was ripped from their veins.
Some of the Veiled members—the less ancient ones—in the room suddenly went stiff. They clutched their chests, their faces twisting in agony as they felt their own ancient power being sucked out into the void. They fell to the floor, immobile, dying in a pain that was absolute.
“Zara!” Ethan shouted, turning in her direction. He looked at her with wide, horrified eyes.
Zara was shaking. Her skin was turning a terrifying shade of ash, and her fingers were beginning to crumble into fine, gold-tinged dust. The power she had called forth was eating her alive. She fell to her knees, clutching her hands as they disintegrated.
“Zara, no!” Ethan roared, rushing toward her. He reached out to hold her, but the moment his fingers touched her skin, she began to fall apart. She was turning to ash right in front of him, slipping through his fingers.
“I’m sorry… I failed us,” she whispered, eyes filled with so much pain. “I should have listened— I—”
“It’s okay,” Ethan whispered, his voice breaking. He dropped to his knees, trying to scoop the dust back into his palms, his shoulders shaking with ragged, silent cries. “It is going to be okay. We are ending. I am coming with you.”
He closed his eyes, waiting for the same deterioration to take him. He waited to feel his skin turn to ash, to follow her into the dark. But nothing happened. He remained whole, his hands covered in the grey remains of the only girl he had ever loved.
Ethan looked around the room, his mind breaking. The enemies were dead, dying, or in severe pain, their eyes filled with awe and a terrible disdain for the girl who had destroyed them. The house was silent. The girl they wanted was gone—the fight was now pointless.
He wanted to end with her, leave the problems of the clan and everything. It was supposed to be his consolation for his death; he wouldn’t have to grieve her. They would meet in the afterlife… but here he was. Whole… and not in pain except the empty feeling in his chest.
Then he saw a movement to his right. Jace was on the floor, clutching his stomach. He wasn't dead, but he was breaking, his body reacting to the spell that was only supposed to target those who were against Zara. He was gasping for air, the grey ash-marks crawling up his neck.
Ethan stared at him. The grief in his chest turned into a searing, hot anger that burned through the sorrow. He stood up slowly, his shadow falling over his friend.
“You,” Ethan hissed.
“Ethan... I...” Jace coughed, a spray of blood hitting the floor. “It’s not what you think… I had to—”
“You were supposed to be my best friend,” Ethan whispered. “And you were the one who let them in.”
Jace looked up at him, unable to speak through the pain, but the guilt in his eyes was all the confirmation Ethan needed.