CHAPTER 6

 

 

 

Orestes Voltaire sat behind the sprawling hickory desk and drummed his hands along the beveled edge. Eagle-sharp eyes took in the order of his office. A place for everything and everything in its place. He had people to make sure of it, the lower echelons of the food chain who had nothing better to do than see that his personal space remained neat and tidy. He preferred to maintain the status quo. Hated getting his hands dirty more than anything else.

Those things were for other people. He was a Voltaire, with magic in his veins, magic allowing him to manipulate carbon and silica atoms and bend the world to his will.

As the head of the Earth Elemental division of the Great Lakes Claddium, Orestes used whatever control he had to make sure his life—at home and at work—was systematized, with the strictness of a headmaster.

He’d worked his way up the ladder. He’d strapped on a suit and tie and put in the time, the man-hours, punched the clock, and looked up, up to the top. His determination, in addition to the raw power he wielded, helped him rise. Since his youth, he’d always known he wanted to be in a position where other people looked up to him. Both literally and figuratively. Whatever the cost may be. He would fight for might.

And he’d succeeded, in part. So why was he so dissatisfied with everything?

Restless, he surveyed the paperwork in front of him. It was always the blasted papers. Never-ending stacks of them, growing and multiplying like vermin in a rabbit warren.

No one had told him the price of his position was to be beholden to other people and their endless need for paper. No one told him there would be board meetings and constant intra-office memos, not to mention the conferences with the other Claddium heads in the United States. Not to mention the overseas branches. Not to mention the people on the streets, and their families, and so forth.

There was always someone else to ask and permissions to receive before proceeding. They were a unit, the others reminded him, with no one branch holding sway over the others. The only way the witch community survived was by working together to maintain regulation and secrecy. It was their mantra.

His hair was gold shot through with silver, once a shade almost identical to his son’s. All the fairness Orestes lacked had been passed down to the next generation and skipped him entirely. He kept his hair short to suit his square face, thin mouth, and slightly too large brow.

If he’d been as handsome as Leonidas, then progressing through the ranks might have been an easier road. Life was good for those with physical appeal. It was a hard lesson learned through personal experience. If one didn’t have the face for politics, then one damn sure better have a bulldog at one’s back or money in one’s pocket. Now, he had both.

Orestes had once wanted those looks and coveted them the way some wanted fancy cars or pretty girls. Instead of pining for something he would never have, he’d turned his sights to power. Something anyone could obtain with the right motivation and means.

That simply meant, to Orestes, he hadn’t yet reached the pinnacle of what he was capable of achieving. The only way to go was up and he intended to do so. Fast. Only when he was perched so high no one was above him would he be satisfied. Luckily, with the eclipse on the vernal equinox approaching, he would soon have the means to accomplish every goal, every desire written on his heart. He couldn’t help the smug grin on his face. Power, he mused, was worth more than anything else in this world.

There was only one hitch: the Cavaldis.

Their file was locked in a box hidden inside the confines of his desk. Orestes collected any information he could on the Cavaldis and their offspring and stored it all away for future use. With another smug grin, he thought of the only male child of the Cavaldi line, Zenon. The null, currently locked in the Vault under his orders. It was a prison no elemental could manipulate. Impenetrable. Once a witch or wizard entered the Vault, they didn’t walk out again on their own.

It was heady, the sensation Orestes received knowing he was the one to lock Zenon Cavaldi away.

He’d grown up with stories of the family, their prowess in the magical community and their wealth in the public at large. Thorvald Cavaldi was head of the house and patriarch extraordinaire. They’d spoken on several occasions. Business matters, always.

Thorvald’s level of prestige was like a siren’s song to Orestes. His need for what they had consumed him and provided the spark for his motivation.

Over the years, his ambition had generated quiet and jealous fury. Fury that Thorvald and his line had something he didn’t, and when Orestes did manage to accumulate the status, the wealth, he’d never garnered the same level of respect. That was untenable, especially considering the darker aspects of the magic in which the Cavaldi children dabbled. Orestes felt his anger turn to cold logic in the face of their blatant disrespect, and his need for control had him facing tough decisions.

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Once upon a time, he’d orchestrated the banishment of Thorvald’s middle daughter, with her abomination of magic. Sent one of his bulldogs to watch her afterward. It was step one to weakening the clan as a whole. Now he had more eyes watching them, everywhere, waiting to see what they would do and how they regrouped. He had one Cavaldi in custody. The rest managed to elude him.

Still, the rising tide of leaking magic seeping through the veil into their world was a concern. The Cavaldis appeared to be at the heart of it. The banished daughter came home and made nice with her family, which had been wholly unexpected. His bulldog was put to sleep. Next, the oldest daughter had the gall to attack both Orestes and Zelda Vuur, head of the Fire elementals, with polluted magic.

The worst of it—the real slap in the face—was that his son actually chose the abomination, Astix, and the rest of her clan over Orestes. His own father tossed to the wolves. It irked him like a constant ache. Leo was his pride. Hell, the boy was hired under Orestes with ample opportunities for advancement. Apparently, familial loyalty meant nothing when faced with the prospect of what lay between a woman’s legs.

He and Leo looked alike, from the angles of their faces to the mops of golden hair atop their heads. How the boy could abandon him, he would never fathom.

A quiet knock interrupted his thoughts, a knock hesitant and weak, like the person behind the fist. His assistant peered through the crack in the door and delicately cleared her throat. Orestes caught the flash of brown eyes, mousy ash-colored hair, black-rimmed glasses.

“Sir? I have the papers from the earth elemental out in Niagara. The one who nearly brought down half a block of buildings when his ATM card failed? I tried to pass it off on Kenswick but he told me to come straight to you. More rogue magic.”

Kelsi was just another object to Orestes. Something necessary but expendable, useful in the same way a piece of furniture was useful. He relied on her like he did his bed at night, with little thought and casual acceptance. Easily replaceable. She was a domino, with another and another and another behind her in a line ready to fall before him if the need arose.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Drop them off and be on your way.”

He gestured for her to bring him the files, and she slowly approached. In truth, he cared little for the majority of the elementals under his jurisdiction, including his peers. Too many people and their issues. They could all take a flying leap, Orestes thought with easy apathy.

The girl approached him with mincing steps. She was an intern, one of many waiting to work under the fearsome elder Voltaire. One step out of line and she would be replaced. Simple. Effective.

“Has there been any word?” Orestes asked her. “On the Cavaldi girls?”

Kelsi shook her head until hair obscured her face. “No, sir. Nothing yet.”

Orestes continued to drum his fingers in a harsh tattoo. “How is it possible,” he began slowly, “for three women to disappear in the blink of an eye without even a hint of their whereabouts? Not an inkling as to where they went?”

When the girl did not answer, Orestes slammed his hand down and jostled several items on his desk. Kelsi jumped and he felt a rush of elation at her reaction. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know, sir!” she squeaked timidly. “No one has seen or heard anything, but we have witches and wizards looking around the clock. We have everyone at your disposal doing their jobs.”

“I need them found. Immediately.” Orestes’s hand vised around a cup of water and threatened the integrity of the glass. He kept his powers firmly in check, preferring to first rely on physical intimidation.

“We’re looking, sir. It’s difficult to—” Kelsi shut her mouth, realizing immediately that talking back was not the correct response.

Orestes narrowed his eyes, called on his gifts. His magic subtly crackled in the air around him. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” She vehemently shook her head until it threatened to fall off her shoulders.

“It sounded as though you were on the verge of telling me how hard it is to find three young girls with significant magical signatures. It sounded as though you were complaining at the duty you’ve been tasked. Am I correct?”

Kelsi opened her mouth to respond and shut it again for risk of saying the wrong thing.

“You will double the manpower searching for the Cavaldi girls. I want every able-bodied person under my command utilizing their strengths. Put them on the streets. Find them.”

“We’re already working our hardest,” his assistant protested, although meekly.

“Work harder. They need to be found. I won’t rest until I have them in custody. They need to pay for what they’ve done, what they dabble with.”

A sly voice came to life inside of Orestes, urging him to do what was necessary. It whispered to him of the glory to be gained once the Cavaldi empire fell. What admiration would be his for exposing those girls as the cause of the destruction once the veil broke apart for good. He thought of the admiration and praise to come, once he drew the Harbinger witch to his side, the one witch with the power to restore balance. To further his agenda. It was the same voice that had spoken to Herodotos, the voice that had brought the two of them together.

Orestes smiled slyly. “Find them and bring them to me. Draw them out if you must,” he demanded.

At his own words, an idea sprang to life in his head. The seeds of it grew and blossomed until Orestes knew exactly what he needed to do.

“Use any force necessary to get them here.”

His assistant hesitated only a moment longer before shooting him a final, curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

The Niagara earth elemental would have to wait, although Orestes knew the man would be dealt with harshly. There were certain steps to take, pieces to move on the great chess board before everything could fall in line.

He leaned back in his chair with steepled hands and ice creeping along his heart. Yes, he knew exactly what needed to be done. Now to put it in place…

 

**

 

Karsia woke hours later, collapsed on the side of the road and throat sore from screeching. Blood lined her hands where her nails had dug into the ground and cracked. The wounds were already healing.

She sat up with an aching back and no memory of her actions the previous night. Except for Morgan, his slow smile and odd gray eyes.

“Morgan,” she groused, pushing to her feet. Frost crept along the ground and the threat of snow hung heavy in the air.

Karsia no longer felt the cold. She cracked her knuckles to work the blood back to her blue fingers, shook ice from her hair, and peered at her surroundings.

She’d run far. That was her first thought. Gone was the small city with quaint buildings and focus centered on the college. Here, there were fields quiet with lack of activity. Trees bare of leaves creaked in the wind, branches reaching out like arms. The sun slumbered and wouldn’t rise for hours.

She wiped the remaining blood on her pants. Black was a good choice. It was much better at hiding stains. A hard lesson to learn, after her first few times blacking out and waking up with odd, unidentifiable pigments dotting her clothes and skin. No recollection of why, or how, or what.

She turned back the way she’d come, surprised no one had driven by and tried to help her. Night hid all manner of sins, she thought, stretching her legs.

When she first jumped in front of the bolt and darkness grew inside of her, Karsia half expected to sprout claws and become the monster. The stuff of nightmares and stories to scare children into behaving. It took time to realize malevolence was more human than anything else. Evil could be deliberately hurting someone. It could be physical violence. It could be a gunshot, or an ill-timed word, a lie or a stolen trinket or a refusal to help someone in need. It was any dark deed stemming from a place of selfishness.

She understood more now than ever. During the fight with the entity she and her sisters called Darkness, Karsia wondered why the thing didn’t attack them outright. With Astix, Darkness hunted them down from inside her lackey, a man named Herodotos. For Aisanna, Darkness chose a more direct approach, driving the woman insane by hearing voices in her head, then taking her body out for a test drive. Karsia assumed the closer they got to the eclipse, the stronger the being became.

Now she understood it was free will. She had the power at her disposal, but the results of her actions depended on the affected person. Those strong of heart had a better chance of resisting.

She felt the pull to those deeds every waking moment. During her first week on the run, she’d spent a few minutes talking with a woman over food only to realize each word said pushed the woman, already skirting the edge of dementia, into full-fledged Alzheimer’s disease. Karsia had no idea until the woman became a drooling mess in front of her and was taken away by a hysterical son.

She rubbed the particular spot on her chest and made her way back to town. Seeing the town, sleepy and quiet, got to her. Nostalgia rose until she tamped it down. Days blurred into weeks and passed into the recesses of her memory as she struggled to find herself.

She walked until she saw the restaurant where she’d dined with Morgan hours before. The lights were off and the door locked, chains pulled down to protect the interior from thieves. Hard to imagine hours earlier there were people packing that square interior, couples on their first date and families enjoying a meal together outside the home.

Morgan was long gone.

Karsia scowled and turned away. What had she expected, in the wee hours of the morning?

She walked to the hotel on feet sure to blister and slammed the door to her room behind her, waking several patrons in the process. Their hearts sped, she knew, recognizing the instant their conscious selves burst to life. There would no longer be any sweet dreams there.

Her jacket dropped to the floor, with the rest of her clothes following. Karsia moved naked into the shower and stepped under the cold water.

It did the job, if only for a moment. She felt her old self return with a great heaving sigh. Guilt swamped her, remorse for every foul thing she’d done. Tears streaked down her face and mingled with the steady stream of water. Eventually, the hot water heater kicked in and brought the drops to a near boil.

She stayed there until her skin turned pink. A punishment. In spite of everything, she felt tension release from her shoulders. It had been a long time since she’d let herself relax. The combination of steam and blistering water had a dangerous effect on her brain. Her mind was a vault constantly in danger of opening. The wall keeping her feelings of guilt and sadness under control began to crack. Soon a pure, profound sorrow came over her.

“Why?”

Her fist pounded the tile. Depression loomed if she thought hard enough about her situation. It took minutes for her self-pity to vanish. It always did, never staying long. The only reason she had any ability at all to draw back from the brink of evil was the gemstones guarding her heart.

Her tears turned to laughter and Karsia sank to her knees, control lost.