Staring at the pot, I realize what needs to be done. “Starting today, I’m going to actually make a plan. It’s time to put the brake on and stop rolling downhill.”

CHAPTER 26

DAMIEN

Now dressed in some of her mother’s clothes that are just a hair too tight on the hips and chest area, Violet is carrying a tray of potions she assures us are extremely dangerous. Of course that means we’re all watching her like we’re ready to save her life, even though she can’t die, as we pointlessly trek through the snow toward the burial ground.

Emit’s in wolf form, and he’s out ahead of us, sniffing the air, on high alert.

Marta says nothing, as she walks at her daughter’s side, keeping Violet’s pace.

I trail Violet and Marta as they talk about the encroaching storm and how long we have before it closes in on us.

I have no idea why she’s risking being outside with no cover, rubber, or salt to keep her safe from the lightning so soon. I’m on edge, glancing back at the increasingly darkening clouds, because I don’t want to endure watching Violet feed ever again.

“We should wait and do this another time,” I suggest, careful not to sound too pushy, since Violet is being frustratingly more stubborn and impatient than she already usually is.

Arion is with Vance, waiting on him to wake up, so he can question him first, most likely. It’s already clear that he wants to get the jump on catching up to Idun before us to start his foolish plan of ensuring Idun won’t be a problem. I don’t even know the plan, but I still know it’s foolish.

Unless the vampire is playing us all like flutes and has no such plan at all. It’s hard to tell with Arion sometimes, but I believe he’s smitten with Violet, since he broke his vows of honor and bedded another for the first time.

It’s a nightmare to piece together all the new things in a stale pond that hasn’t had much new anything in centuries. Motives are more uncertain than ever before.

Thunder rolls in the sky, and we all come to an abrupt halt, as Violet releases a shuddering breath.

“There won’t be any storms too close to the site. The seal keeps lightning from reaching it,” Marta tells her quietly, almost regretfully, as though she’s admitting she never wanted them capable of feeding and possibly gaining enough strength to rise.

We were uncertain what the Simpletons were capable of. They weren’t ever much of a threat, and Idun made it unbearable to care about them, considering she’s far crueler than even the vampire alpha.

“They can’t stitch themselves together, so keeping the lightning at bay was a mercy. It ensured they didn’t wake,” I point out…and then remember the Portocale curse that likely woke them.

I swallow down my next words and avoid the look Violet tries to shoot me.

“I can get us there faster,” Marta suggest.

Violet doesn’t acknowledge her mother’s guilt—be it mockery or sincere, something that is broadly hard to distinguish with Marta.

Still, Emit and I play her game, keeping mostly quiet unless it’s to agree, and discreetly observing every move and interaction she makes with Violet.

Violet shakes her head, eyes on her tray.

“No lightning yet, which means the storm is still far enough away, and I don’t want to risk disturbing the tray too much. I don’t trust the glass on these,” she answers, most of her concentration on said tray.

Marta drove us here at a snail’s crawl, while Emit ran ahead this time, leaving vampire territory edges as we traveled to an old center. It feels wrong to be so close to this place after swearing I never again would.

A breath hisses out of Violet when one of the glass vials rattles just a little on its own, almost like it’s ready to combust. It’s not supposed to do that, obviously. Marta and Violet relax when it settles down.

Violet always carries around hazardous, dangerous things. She never uses the bloody things, though, so I’m not entirely sure they’re quite as volatile as she imagines they are.

Marta wouldn’t be standing so close to her if she were the slightest bit concerned. The hovering fucking hen wouldn’t allow her fragile daughter to carry them either, if they were as vicious as Violet claims.

Marta’s playing games. I can see it in her every action.

I’m quite good at games.

Violet’s spine suddenly stiffens when we cross over the first, subtle threshold, possibly feeling the small pulse of power.

“It’s one of the two thresholds we’ll be able to cross without the others here to do the freaky shit we have to do,” I tell her, giving her only the gist, since she gets almost annoyed with too many details.

“I’ll be able to cross them,” Violet says with certainty, and Marta hangs me out to dry, not arguing, as Emit waits for us in front of the second threshold, standing on two legs and in naked flesh, as he stares over at the foggy center.

Violet’s breath fogs out in front of her seconds before mine does the same, and she grimaces, almost like she’s in pain, the tray rattling in her hands.

My hands are cupping her face in the next instant, ignoring Marta’s threat to stop touching her daughter. Violet’s hazy eyes meet mine, and a single tear falls, much to my horror.

“They’re in so much pain,” she whispers on a whimpered breath.

“What the fuck is happening?” I snap, glaring over at Marta as her jaw grinds.

“You know as well as I do what’s going on right now, Damien. Violet is the only one of her kind for a damn good reason. She was designed for one purpose, and she’s found it, even when I tried to keep her away from it.”

Violet makes another pained sound, staggering out of the second threshold and back into the first, clutching the rattling tray as she catches her breath.

My hands slowly drop to my sides as I just stare at her, feeling dread inching up my spine.

I have a feeling this isn’t a toss some shit and hang out sort of situation like we discussed. She looks shifty now. What recklessness is this gypsy plotting?

“Violet, you cannot go beyond the second threshold,” I caution her, my eyes dropping to the tray again. “It won’t let you. You’ll be crushed and your body will be shattered by a phantom vacuum suction you can’t fight,” I go on, carefully explaining things.

“No, I won’t. I raised Arion, remember?” she argues, and Emit slowly approaches, eyes moving around our spots.

“Arion was different,” I quickly argue. “It was a much weaker, lesser seal, sweet gypsy.”

“Even if you could reach the dead orchard burial ground’s center, you have Neopry blood, Violet. The wraiths that formed with the seal will drag you down,” Emit adds, which is something I forgot all about.

“I just have to reach the final threshold to toss these in,” Violet states, eyes still on the center as she doubles over again, pain contorting her features even from the first threshold.

“You brought her out here to let her attempt this, knowing it’s impossible?” I shout at Marta. “Why is it hurting her?”

So much for my bloody game. She’s fucking ruthless!

Her lips tug up in a smirk, and I once again question if this is Idun. We took Violet’s word it was Marta. But Idun is calculated enough to attack from a diabolical angle such as—

“The tea leaves warned of blood and death. Four gypsy first-borns breathed the last breath,” Marta sings, her eyes moving from me like I’m no longer consequential as her gaze lands on Violet.

My brow furrows as Violet’s eyes go a little more violet, and her gaze stays on the ground, as her breathing starts to slow.

“War! War! Beyond the double-dutch doors! Sing, sweet gypsies, who will be mistaken no more,” Marta goes on, a little more sadly.

“Why the hell are you singing that right now?” I ask her quietly, moving to cut off her view of Violet.

Her glare narrows on me before she starts singing again, louder this time, as a solid sheet of rain abruptly plummets from the sky as though it’s been unceremoniously ripped open, pelting us without warning.

The wind starts to stir.

“Six gypsy families all stood nigh. Five gypsy families for one sacrifice. Four gypsy families broken apart. Three gypsy families turned cold of heart.”

Violet’s eyes go brighter, the color almost solidly taking over, as her pupils start to retract.

“Two gypsy families couldn’t back down. One gypsy family went underground,” Marta adds on a softer melody, her words carrying over the wind as I finally start toward Violet. “Forever is such a long time to bleed. Worst are the gypsies brought to their knees.”

“Leave her be, Damien,” Emit snaps, pulling me back by my shoulder, as Violet’s heartbeat ticks down ever so softly, the beats loud enough to hear over the rising storm in the background, as Violet clings to her tray.

“This is her purpose,” Marta tells me, ambushing us with this shit like she has every right to make decisions, making her all the more suspicious.

“If your only argument is the fact this is her alleged fucking purpose, then why did you hide it from her all this time?” I grind out.

“Because of Idun,” she spits out like the words leave a bad taste in her mouth. “I didn’t want that evil storm raised or on my daughter’s conscience when she slaughters everything in sight just for fun.”

Just as I open my mouth to argue again, a voice whispers over the wind in a familiar chime that can only be impossible.

“Sing, gypsies, sing of your lies,” the mostly mute Simpleton sings from nowhere, the fog lifting to show the black trees that mark the places of their dismembered bodies.

There are a lot more trees than people…than what I remember. Only twenty come to mind, but there are at least sixty, maybe more, trees. For fuck’s sake, how many were there?

A chorus of phantom singers jump in for the next line, as the wind howls harder, dragging their voices to us as the fog rolls back in. “Never trust a gypsy with no gypsy pride!”

Emit and I look around as Bobo’s melodic voice mysteriously sings again, the ghostly tune wrapping chills around us.

“Sing, gypsies, sing of your truths.”

A hushed, eerie silence follows, the freak storm halting like it’s been put on pause.

I continue to look around, stepping back toward Violet, reaching for where she was, but finding nothing but vacant air and her red boots. I’d be worried that I’ve gone deaf if not for the sound of my dull heartbeat thudding in my ears as panic claws its way up me, my gaze jerking from spot to spot in search of where she’s gone.

Emit sucks in a breath of surprise, and I look up just as Violet lifts the tray over her head, standing in the middle of a fucking dead tree forest she shouldn’t be able to stand in, snow barely stirring around her bare feet as a breeze sneaks by.

“The apples have all rotted; the oranges just bruised,” she says in a trance as she throws the tray.