Asylum (Causal Enchantment #2)(30)
“Well, that’s just brilliant.” He slammed his fist on the bistro table so hard that the metal legs snapped like twigs.
A shrill scream disrupted his tantrum. I turned to see a petite, mousy blonde girl of no more than fourteen step out from behind the truck. The body of a male Ratheus vampire lay on the ground beside her, chin smeared with blood, jerking in convulsions before it stopped and lay still. Dead.
“What the—” I began, but then I looked at her neck, where blood ran from two puncture wounds. The other Ratheus vampires hissed at the young woman but slinked away, their comrade’s body keeping them at bay.
“Ileana!” Viggo exclaimed, rushing over to her, his arms wide for an embrace. “How lovely of you to come!”
The hairs on the back of my neck rose as Viggo led the young girl, her face full of fear, away from the throng. It wasn’t until she moved away from the truck and the overpowering scent of blood that the wave of recognition hit me.
Magic.
She was a witch.
“How did—” I began, then cut myself short as I answered my own question, eyeing the garage door. Of course! She had hitched a ride on the back of the truck while I waited for the garage to open, and I was too frazzled after the attack to notice. That was why Viggo seemed so concerned with when I’d be back—he was planning her entry. “Are you insane?” I shrieked. “Plotting with another witch? Because the first time didn’t teach you enough, you moron,” I grated through clenched teeth, my hand flying up to my forehead. “You’re inviting the Sentinel in!”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Mage’s eyes—not transformed by blood lust, surprisingly—narrow as she studied the girl. Good. She wasn’t impressed either.
“Oh, that’s preposterous.” Viggo dismissed my concerns with a wave of his hand. “That mess with Ursula was a fluke.”
The frown on Mortimer’s face told me he wasn’t a part of this plan. He leaned in close to Viggo, whispering, “We didn’t discuss this.”
“I don’t need your permission,” Viggo responded arrogantly.
The two of them turned to face off.
“But this . . . after the fiasco with Ursula and that one—” Mortimer jerked his chin in my direction “—I thought we were washing our hands of these treacherous creatures.”
“Oh, I know.” Viggo patted the air soothingly. “However, Ileana is more than willing to remain quiet. For the sake of her dear mother, right?” He looked at the woman. Pain flashed in her cornflower-blue eyes.
Of course. I exhaled in disgust. Viggo had hired thugs everywhere. This was obviously a well thought-out contingency plan on his part. The young woman’s mother was likely chained up in a basement somewhere with a bunch of sweaty, hairy men eyeballing her, appalling intentions running through their illiterate brains.
“I can’t guarantee your witch will be safe here,” Mage began, regarding the woman with disapproval, “among this crowd.”
“Oh, we’ve taken care of that! Show them, Ileana,” Viggo said. Ileana lifted a shaking hand to her neck and pulled a tiny vial on a chain from her collar. “Isn’t it lovely?” Viggo crowed. “She stole it from one of her teachers. It makes her blood toxic. Anyone who bites her will die.”
My attention shifted from the vial—a powerful weapon that the Fates must have played a part in creating—to the girl. Her trembling knees knocked together and she wrung her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers constantly, clearly terrified. And her young age made her practically useless to Viggo; she would have just learned how to find the magic threads within herself, and she would have few spells in her repertoire—and no idea how to bend the laws of physics to create new spells. There was no hard and fast set of rules around sorceress magic. It took years of experimentation; the more cautious witches never truly figured it out. And this witchling was weak, judging by the tiny glow of magic radiating from her. The smug fool in front of me didn’t know that, though.
“Viggo. She can’t break the Merth’s curse. She can’t get Veronique out. She can’t undo anything I’ve done. So let her mother go,” I pleaded. The child would be lucky to tie her own shoes with her magic.
“Gladly! As soon as you release Evangeline.” Viggo turned to the young witch. “This is Sofie. This is all her fault, you know.”
The young witch turned to regard me, contempt flashing in her eyes. I sighed heavily. Great. Yet another enemy within these walls, thanks to Viggo.
“I hope you’re not planning on having her toy with magic,” Mage called, “considering we have a truce.”
“Yes, I recall Sofie couldn’t use her magic, right?” Viggo answered, smiling. “Sofie,” he repeated. Mage’s lips tightened, his emphasis not lost on her. “Ileana is not Sofie. I have done nothing to break our agreement. And what was that other part? Oh yes, no killing of anyone. That includes Ileana, here.”
“She killed Tanner!” Mage threw back, glancing over at the corpse on the cobblestones.
“In self-defense! You can’t hold that against her!” Viggo was testing her honor, seeing if she would back out of the truce she’d imposed. It was silly, really; she could tear both Viggo and this witchling to shreds in seconds, if she chose. But from what I could read of Mage—which wasn’t a lot—her honor, or the impression of her honor, held sway.