He took the stairs again, walking to Robin, his heart pounding at the thought of his treasonous action.
Lucidia
The smugglers had gotten her into House Demonte with ease.
She’d been met with a naturalist caster, whom she was wary of, but decided to trust because of the circumstances. With her were two vampire guards. The witch had given her a change of clothes; the deep red uniform that strongbloods in Demonte’s service wore. She preferred her black, but also preferred keeping her head attached to her body, so she complied.
The witch had also given her a little makeover.
In the span of three seconds, Lucidia’s jet-black, short hair had changed into amber curls, shoulder length, and wound into a tight bun.
Leave it to the casters.
Honestly, she hated the look but felt secure in the idea that she wouldn’t be spotted.
They’d gone down tunnel after tunnel, with a spell of concealment protecting them, until they’d reached the laundry closet in the basement of House Demonte.
Lucidia had been here once, on a diplomatic mission. She’d only been thirty years old at that point, traveling with Darian and Adonis and a whole host of other strongbloods.
After all the time that had passed, the building hadn’t changed.
House Demonte was regal, sprawling, and massive. Wings and offshoots and beautiful courtyards decorated the over-the-top castle. But thankfully, it was organized like the rest of the great vampire houses.
The basement housed all manner of human activity: kitchens, laundry rooms, tech servers and utility controls, and human servant quarters. The ground level was reserved for professional endeavors. The offices, parlors, grand hall, lesser halls, and everything in between.
Up another floor were the vampires’ quarters, and most of the blood slaves, and above them, the strongbloods. Then, the entire top floor was reserved for the Head of House. Strict security and control, and a whole floor of strongbloods stood between them. A roof full of astute guards and watch posts ensured nobody attacked from above.
And every square foot of the compound was made out of the finest materials, including marble. Large chandeliers and candelabras stood at periodic increments, along with gilded mirrors and filigree.
Lucidia made her way up the stairs, walking with unparalleled confidence. She often felt this burst of clarity during an undercover assignment; a strict sense of ‘do or die’.
After the third right she’d taken, a vampire stopped her with a rough hand on her arm.
Her pulse lurched, and she immediately calculated an attack option, but none of it showed on her cool exterior.
“Everybody’s supposed to be in the grand hall,” the vampire guard growled at her.
Lucidia gave a nod and he released her. She scurried off, banking right, through a row of arches. The route took her towards the heart of the palace-esque building.
Recovering her inner calm, she made her way to the destination, wondering why it was so quiet. Nobody was patrolling, other than a few sparse servants, whom she nodded to. After another few turns, she entered the main foyer.
It was a large open space with gothic arched ceilings. Ahead, two massive staircases curled around a set of ornate doors. The whole place was just a series of columns and arches and stunning architecture. Just wait until the historical society got a hold of this one.
She recognized the doors that led to the grand hall.
Bingo.
From her previous mission she knew that there was a side door reserved for strongbloods to enter without causing disruption. She nodded to the guards and then made her way under the curling staircase to her left, eyes trailing along the wall until she saw the door. A guard let her in.
Her eyes took in all the different figures, overwhelmed for a moment.
So this is where everybody is, she thought in a daze.
She checked her watch. It was five p.m., and strongbloods, vampires, and witches alike congregated on the sides of the grand hall, which had two levels like a theatre. The balcony was just as packed as the ground floor. Lucidia pressed up as close as she could, blending into the crowd and offering sparse conversational topics, utilizing her famed undercover skills.
In between small talk, she snuck glances to the throne, and to the seats where Magnus’s court should have been.
A deep pit formed in her stomach.
Neither Magnus nor any of his vampires were at the front of the grand hall. Vampires, particularly head honchos, almost never left their strongholds.
Where the hell did they go? she thought, the unease building.
Reykon
He and Robin stood at the head of the boat. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close in the dying sunset. It neared 7 p.m. now and the sky had turned a dark cornflower blue, striped in notes of brilliant red.
“Where are we going?” Robin asked, laying her head against his chest. The wind played with tendrils of her long blond hair, making them dance in the breeze.
“To New Orleans.”
“I’ve never been there,” she said. He could feel her smile.
“We’ll stay for a year or so. Until they stop looking. Then, we’ll decide where we want to go from there.”
“Where do you want to go, Finnigan?” she whispered, turning around in his arms and putting her hand against his face.
Reykon smiled at her. “I don’t know.”
“I guess we have time to decide.”
She kissed him again, softly, and rested her head against his shoulder.
Reykon felt no fear, no concern. As long as they had eachother, nothing else mattered. Not Magnus, not the law, not the whole wide world full of people looking for her.
He memorized the crisp chill of the wind on their faces, and the dark navy swirls that broke against the bow of the Marianna. The waves had picked up now, and they’d moved closer to the shore. He could see make out lights on the shore, as they passed sleepy marina towns.
He pictured them living there, operating some small-time ice cream shop or something ridiculous like that. She would be in overalls, painting, and he would make her a cup of coffee and admire her work
