Dark Needs at Night's Edge

40

Mariketa faced the mirror, tilting her head. "This is the first time I've really looked at my reflection in months." To the Lykae, she said, "No wonder you love me. Could I be any cuter?"

"You will no' charm me from my apprehension, so doona bother," MacRieve said. "You're tae pull back if you feel anything amiss. Do you ken?"

She nodded. "Got it. Now, I need two mirrors standing on both sides of me, stat."

Conrad eased away from Néomi. "The broken mirrors on this wall are all there is."

"Grab them. Bring them to me."

He ripped a sizable shard from the wall in the studio. Blood from his fingers ran along the edges as he shoved the jagged tip through the wood floor until it stood upright. "Will this work?"

Gazing at his blood, she absently said, "It'll have to. Do the second one."

He repeated the process. As she continued staring at the blood, her eyes went wide as if with realization, before they narrowed on the streak.

"Should I clean that?"

She hesitated for long moments. "Leave it," she finally said with a swallow.

Conrad grated, "Witch, what is it?"

She averted her face, as if with guilt. "We're ready."

Once Mariketa was nearly enclosed by the mirrors, she made her hands into fists and closed her eyes. When her lids slid open, her eyes were... mirrors themselves, gleaming and reflecting everything she gazed upon. Her fingers uncurled and light glowed from one of her gloved palms.

Conrad hurried back to Néomi, but she was fading. The more Néomi's form dimmed, the brighter the light in the witch's palm grew.

Just as Mariketa's toes left the ground, a language even Conrad didn't recognize began to spill from her lips, but he could sense that her words were throbbing with power. With one hand, she made a fist around the light, as if physically grabbing onto Néomi's spirit. "She's going to disappear now," Mariketa told him, never glancing from the mirror.

When Néomi's hand vanished from his own, madness threatened. Her robe, nightgown and the ring he'd given her remained on the cot. He swallowed. Keep it together.

He took the ring, determined to see her wearing it once more.

"Found her grave." The witch pointed the forefinger of her other hand down and stirred. "I'm beginning the body." Again and again, she circled that finger, seeming to be meeting great resistance. The spell began taking a toll. She grew out of breath, nearly hyperventilating.

"You can do this, Mariketa." Conrad swallowed. "Bring my Néomi back to me... ."

The light in her hands intensified even more. The air grew heavier, ominous. As if agitated by the tension, creatures began skittering in the walls surrounding them.

MacRieve peered around him. "This does no' feel right. As if we're doing something we ought never do!"

"Shut up, MacRieve," Conrad snapped, though he'd felt the same atmosphere, threatening, like they were challenging a force far greater than they—and might be crushed for their audacity.

She began chanting once more. The light was building, building... . She shoved her hands out, seeming to fuel even more magick into the spell. The house began quaking.

"Have to... break through. Need to age... "

Age?

More unintelligible chanting, louder and louder, until she was practically screaming the words. The studio windows exploded. Papers flew in a tempest. "Bowen, I'm... losing it!"

"Mariketa!" With a roar, MacRieve lunged for her, trying to heave her away from the glass. But the Lykae couldn't budge the small female from the mirror's hold.

The silver glaze of her eyes darkened, as if ink flooded inside them. They began to turn wholly black. "This is bad!" she cried.

"No, Mari, doona do this!" He cupped his hand over her eyes, but the skin of his palm began to burn away in two distinct holes.

"Oh, Hekate, no!" she screamed.

The light in her hands exploded like a bomb, so intense it briefly blinded Conrad. "What was that?" he yelled. "What is happening?"

Mariketa gasped for breath. "Néomi... embodied."

He yanked his head around. "Where is she? Tell me!"

"There's a problem! It—" Her body stiffened, unmoving. She stared unblinking at the mirror.

"Ah, God, no' again, Mari!" MacRieve used his other hand to shield her eyes, until two smoking holes appeared in that hand as well. He snatched at her again, but even with his strength, he couldn't wrest her from that spot.

"What was the problem, witch? Where is Néomi?" Conrad was frenzied to see her. "Where is she embodied?" He charged for Mariketa. "Wake your witch up, MacRieve!"

The Lykae peered over his shoulder, baring his fangs. "Watch your step, vampire. I'm a breath from turnin'."

"How can I find Néomi? Break the goddamned mirror!"

"No' a chance—it could kill her."

"Put something bigger in front of her!" Conrad bit out, struggling to control himself.

"She burns anything away!"

"How long could she be like this?"

"Fucking forever, vampire!" MacRieve roared, his irises turning ice blue, the beast flickering over his form. If the Lykae turned because his mate was in danger, even Conrad couldn't defeat him. "As I'd bloody told you!"

Pacing, Conrad stabbed his fingers through his hair. "Christ, I don't know where Néomi is!"

He'd dreamed that she was kept from him no matter how hard he fought to reach her. Nightmares of her being... trapped in the dark? He clutched his forehead.

She was trapped somewhere right now. And that was why the witch hadn't returned Néomi to him here. But where in the hell would she be?

Wait. If the witch had been able to restore Néomi's body and put her spirit within it, but then got interrupted...

The answer hit him.

"Ah, God, I know where she is!" And he couldn't trace to her because he'd never been there before. "I need a car!" MacRieve and the witch had come through the mirror. Nikolai had driven his away weeks ago.

The Lykae ignored him, curling his finger under the witch's chin. "Mari, love, this is goin' tae hurt like hell." He took a deep breath. And then he stepped in front of her gaze.

The skin of his torso began to melt away as if burned by lasers, but he gritted his teeth, took the pain. "Lass," he bit out, "after this we will have words."

Where am I?

Néomi woke in a dank, close space, blinking repeatedly in the darkness. She had no pain in her body, none at all. Her wound felt totally healed. Mari had done it! But where was everyone? Why was Néomi alone?

A horrific suspicion tried to take hold of her mind, but she fought it. Her breaths grew ragged, sounding so loud in the confines.

When her dizziness passed, she rose and immediately knocked her head.

"Nooo," she moaned, beginning to shudder. "It isn't possible." Tears began pouring from her eyes. Mère de Dieu... This can't be happening!

She was in her coffin, which resided in the French Society's tomb in St. Louis Cemetery #1. At least thirty other coffins lay within.

Conrad will come for me. Somehow he'll find me... .

But hours seemed to grind by. Gasping rank air, she fought not to think about the bodies decomposing all around her.

None of her bones were in her coffin—it was as if she'd reincorporated them. She was embodied, which meant she was alive once more.

Néomi had grown a body just in time for it to die... .

Then the insects came.

She screamed. She screamed hysterically until the foul air grew scarce.