I was right.
Mortimer wrapped a hand around a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. He crouched in front of me, his chocolate-brown eyes smoldering with rage. “I knew we were fools to trust you,” he growled through gritted teeth. “What else do you have up your sleeve, witch?”
“I had no choice,” I managed to whisper, pain making me wince with each word.
“Lies!” Mortimer boomed. With a fierce shove, he propelled me facedown onto the cobblestones. I felt my forehead split open and my delicate nose explode. A metallic taste filled my mouth as blood poured in.
Normally I used my sorcerous powers to numb the pain of my physical scuffles with Viggo and Mortimer. But until my magic had time to rejuvenate, I would have to endure for the next few minutes. With great difficulty, I turned my head to rest my cheek on the stone. I lay unmoving on my stomach, focusing all of my attention on the destruction around the atrium and on the spectators, only half hiding, intrigued by this violent exchange. I just needed five seconds, and my face would regenerate. Within ten seconds, I’d be as good as new. Relax, Sofie. You can handle ten seconds . . .
I gasped as a blunt object tore through the middle of my back, through my ribcage, to exit through my stomach and thud against the cobblestones beneath me. Viggo’s signature move. Bastard!
It made healing hard. I had to get it out. Gritting my teeth, I flexed my arms and pushed my broken body up until I rested on my knees. I grasped the jagged end of the steel pipe with shaking hands, took a deep breath—One . . . two—and jerked it forward. My scream filled the silent atrium as the steel slid through my flesh. Again . . . I had no choice. I had to get it out now. Clenching my teeth, I prepared for another tug.
A swift kick between my shoulder blades sent me sprawling on my stomach again, shoving the pipe back into my stomach. Another lightning bolt of agony raced through my battered body. Something against my back—presumably a foot—pinned me down.
“I’m sure Sofie can explain everything,” a musical but authoritative female voice called out above me, adding, “once you stop torturing her.”
From my position, I could see Evangeline’s two female friends—Fiona and Amelie—standing forty feet away. It clearly wasn’t either of them speaking. Evangeline had no other friends. The hairs on the back of my neck spiked. How does this vampire know my name? “Who—” I began, then gasped as someone ripped the pipe out of my body and tossed it clattering onto the stones beside me. The weight lifted off my back. Again I lay waiting until my regenerative abilities—a magnificent vampirism—kicked in, praying that Viggo and Mortimer would allow me time to heal. This time, they did.
Once mended, I flew to my feet to assess the scene before me: the players, the situation, the threat. The atrium was no longer the scene of bedlam it had been only minutes ago. It was now a scene of silent chaos. Charred heaps—the remains of unlucky vampires—littered the ground. Scorched foliage and billowing smoke filled the once-picturesque atrium. I scanned the crowd, quickly counting the remaining Ratheus vampires. Forty. They were scattered, appearing ready to dive behind benches and statues at the first sign of a magical assault. Forty blood-crazed vampires, their eyes dancing wildly as they searched the atrium for humans. If only I had a few sparks of magic, I could level the rest of them. I could—
“Right, Sofie?” the unknown vampiress said, interrupting my plotting.
I turned toward the voice to find Viggo and Mortimer squared off opposite a diminutive, Asian-looking woman with porcelain skin and juicy red lips.
“Right . . . Sofie?” the woman repeated, regarding me with black, almond-shaped eyes. “I’m sure there’s a good reason why Evangeline vanished into thin air and you just charred seventy of your own kind?”
Gritting my teeth, I forced a small smile. You are not my kind. “Right,” I answered as levelly as I could, determined to match her confidence. The problem was, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even answer her by name. Who is she? I needed information—quick. Reaching inside once again, I scoured my body for a magical helix. Just one. Normally I had thousands of tiny purple coils floating around my body, ready to be plucked for various spells. I just needed one to send out a probe, to dissect this vampire’s very core, to grasp her true intentions, to know everything there was to know about her. But I was empty. I had drained my magical tank and until it began to regenerate I would need to rely on my wits. Damn it!
Viggo’s smooth croon broke the silence. “Of course there is! Excuse my rudeness. My desperation got the better of me.” He flashed one of his brilliant smiles. “So sorry, Sofie. That was barbaric of me.”