Legion of the Lost (Witchfire 3)

Chapter 3 - Control

"Cheers for the offer, but no thanks," I said. "I have better things to do."

Chance made a small sound of dissatisfaction, the kind a cat emits when it sees a hand descending and doesn't want to be touched. I wondered if she was aware of the noise, and beyond that, if she was aware of the irony of her feline characteristics. Either way, I didn't care enough to ask, and I was fed up with everyone's manipulative whiles and nonchalant allusions to a prophesied supernatural war. I wasn't even sure that I cared about the mysterious beauty with the teacup anymore; after all, if I wanted to look at a beautiful woman, there was a perfectly good mirror in the bathroom at home.

"This isn't negotiable," the City Alpha snapped. "Midna's letter was very specific — the task-force needs to be comprised of everyone on the list she sent me, or we're doomed to fail."

"Someone latched their bra too tightly this morning," I muttered under my breath.

The leather-clad woman went still — too still. It was the lack of motion that came with intense deliberation, or an internal battle with feral instincts. Was she an ounce of control from dashing my head against the corner of the coffee table and spilling my brains? Was there anyone here capable of stopping her? I looked slantways at my mother, our unspoken enmity pressing heavily on my mind. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't count on her to intervene. It looked like I wouldn't be able to count on Drew, either. He was twitching nervously already, suggesting inexperience or ineptitude regarding confrontation. That left...

I'm such an idiot, was all I could think, before the waters of fascination and lust closed over my head and all self-awareness drowned. Daina was a vision. Dark, lustrous eyelashes framed eyes like pristine alpine lakes, a stunning turquoise that took my breath away like an impressive vista. Pink and full, her mouth was delicately contoured, but daringly expressive. Her nose was fine and linear; her skin clear and almost luminous; her brows were exquisitely tapered, like strokes of calligraphy; her hair —

— her voice. It was nothing short of musical. "Honora Walker," she said, and I melted on the inside like an ice-cream in summer. For the first time in my life, I enjoyed the sound of my full name. "Could I trouble you to explain the mechanics of your particular magic?"

"Parasite magic?" I asked. She nodded, and I found myself rushing to satisfy her curiosity. "Parasite magic loosely involves using energy sourced from third parties to cast spells. Take blood-witches, for example," I said, and was surprised by the flicker of recognition in Daina's eyes. "I'm pretty sure they tattoo energy-imbued blood into their skin, and can draw upon it whenever they feel like. My branch of parasite magic is a little different, though, because its hereditary. The source of my energy is readily available at all times, and I can access it psychically." I realised, heat rising in my cheeks, that I'd gone off on a tangent but hadn't actually answered her question. "So, basically, I feed on peoples' negative emotions and translate them into spell-casting energy. Pretty handy, huh?"

"Does that mean," Daina ventured slowly, her brows pinching together in a delightful expression of confusion, "that your power is practically limitless, in an overpopulated city like this?"

"Mum's is," I admitted with a tinge of bitterness. "I'm still a fledgling though, which means I can only hold onto so much power at a time."

"Fascinating," the lovely lady remarked. "And somewhat perturbing, if I'm going to be totally honest. Between the four of you here today, it's quite difficult to keep a secret."

Chance could tell truth from lies. Mum could detect and dredge up negative emotions — fear, jealousy, anger, spite — and I could do the same, conditions allowing. But what could the veterinarian bachelor on the far couch do? He looked too flushed to be undead, too weak to be a werewolf, too meek to be a member of the prestigious Incantum. That avenue of thought led me to another point of curiosity: who and what was Daina?

As if sensing my unspoken questions, Daina smiled, revealing two slender, alabaster fangs. Living vampire, I realised, suddenly understanding the strange combination of predatory grace and colour in her cheeks. What's the name for that again? Lamia?

Daina the lamia reached for her tea, which she'd set down on the coffee table. Something about her tugged at my memory, but my full attention was quickly absorbed by the task of looking anywhere but the gaping neckline of her blouse. She's a lady, I admonished myself. Not the standard clubbing fare.

"Now," Daina said, broaching my awkward silence with the ease of a talk-show host. "Would you mind clarifying why you're hesitant to join our defensive task-force? Please know that I ask because I wish to understand, not manipulate or belittle you."

I narrowed my eyes nonetheless. "I do what suits me. And war suits me quite nicely, considering that negativity is the source of my power." She opened her mouth to reply, but I cut her off, feeling the need to explain myself further. "Why should I seek to apprehend a fight that can guarantee me power, and through that safety and control? You'll probably argue that with power comes responsibility, and a duty to protect those who can't protect themselves, but I don't owe anyone anything — let alone my life. It makes sense to let this supernatural spat run its course."

Daina considered my words for a moment. "Do you see chaos as a stone striking a pond?" she asked eventually.

"Excuse me?"

"Forgive the metaphorical nature of the question, but it seems to me that an event such as war would be like a rock striking water. The water closest to the site of the impact forms the biggest wave. Then the disturbance peters out into ripples, weaker and weaker, until the reaction dissipates altogether and there is calm once more. Does that make sense to you?"

I frowned, considering the nature of grief. Those closest to the deceased felt the loss more severely than acquaintances. "Yes, I suppose it does."

"By participating in task-force, you'll have a front row seat to all the drama," Chance said, catching on to the point her colleague was trying to make. "If you don't participate, you'll only experience the weakest ripples of the war."

Daina nodded amiably, but I got the impression that the interruption disgruntled her. "So you see, it's in your best interest to join the task-force and meet the enemy head on."

I found myself frowning at the lamia. "You said you weren't trying to manipulate me," I complained, turning to Chance. "Was she lying?"

The City Alpha was evidently disgruntled to be put in this position, but she nodded nonetheless.

"Fine," I snapped, rising and turning on my heel, giving them what they wanted even as I turned my back on them all. "I'll participate in your damn task-force. But don't think for a second that I'll be an enthusiastic, reliable team member. And I'll have you know that I would literally rather die than wear a uniform."

I left the room with a magnificent hair-flip and a pounding headache, a love letter to the open bar and pounding bass I was about to leave behind.