Standing at the front of the cabin, I swept my eyes over its occupants, assessing the atmosphere. It was one of complete and utter despair. We had all taken a turn in the jet’s shower, washing the sewers off our bodies. Caden and Mage had pilfered fresh sets of clothes for all of us from the other private planes at the airfield. The physical evidence of the attack was long gone. But all I had to do was glance at Bishop, who sat in a seat off to himself, his forehead pressed up against the window as he stared out at the night sky with empty gray eyes, to see that the witches’ attack had wounded us gravely. My heart ached for the young man. He had just watched his love of seven hundred years burn! The sickness now growing inside him was one to which I could relate. It was dangerous, for him and everyone around him. We’d have to watch him closely.
“Miss Sofie?” The pretty young flight attendant, Jasmine, poked her head into the cabin, pulling me from my dark thoughts.
I turned to smile at her. I had summoned her and the two pilots on our way to the airfield and then compelled them to fly without Viggo’s consent. The three of them were on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, with the expectation that they’d be ready to take off within an hour’s notice. It was an unreasonable demand, but they didn’t work much and they were paid handsomely for it, making them willing to cater to Viggo’s eccentricities, taking residences nearby and dropping everything to run at the ring of their phones. Of course, they had no idea what their employers were, other than assuming they were involved in seriously shady business. “Yes, Jasmine?”
“You asked me to tell you when Mr. Viggo arrived at the airfield. The tower called. He just did.”
How predictable. So Viggo and Mortimer had made it to the airfield to take the jet I had already commandeered. They’d be pissed, realizing I had duped them to get a head start to Evangeline. Not that they’d be surprised. I was actually shocked they’d waited in the Warehouse as long as they had. “And?”
“And they tried to take another plane, but all of the cockpits had been vandalized.”
My eyes shifted briefly to Mage, who offered a tiny smile. She and Caden must have busted up the electronics while looking for clothes, to buy us a bigger head start. Smart thinking. Now Viggo and Mortimer would have to find a plane as well as a pilot.
“Thanks for the update, Jasmine.” I smiled warmly. As she was turning away, another thought struck me. “Oh, Jaz?”
“Yes?”
“Have you heard anything over the news about an explosion or terrorist attack in Manhattan . . . anything at all like that?”
Jasmine’s perfectly-sculpted brown eyebrows furrowed as she shook her head. “No, Miss Sofie.”
I smiled again. “Thanks.” That meant the witches were containing the attack, keeping it under wraps. For what reason, I didn’t know. But every day the vampires stayed out of the news kept us away from being exposed, and the fated world war from beginning.
Jasmine pulled her head back into the cockpit, leaving behind a hint of floral-scented shampoo, and closed the door. I heard the lock click and chuckled. If we wanted in, we’d get in, but if a lock made them feel safe, have at it.
“So what does that mean? Will they still come?” Amelie asked, looking up at me with wide emerald eyes from the same seat that Evangeline had occupied on her way to New York.
“Oh, I’m sure they will. We just stalled them slightly. They’ll find a way to get there; we’ll just be there before them and, I hope, be gone by the time they arrive.” That remote island off the southern tip of South America where the tribe lived was the absolute last place on earth Viggo wanted to go. But if that was where Veronique’s pendant was, then as sure as the sun would rise in the morning, that’s where he would go. I just hoped it didn’t require a massacre to get there.
“And what happens when we get there?” Caden asked, his arm wrapped protectively around his sister, worry marring his beautiful face. “Who is this ‘tribe’?”
“Ah, yes. My creation.” I felt my lips curve up in a smile, though nothing about that tribe deserved a smile. I strolled over to take a seat—the same one I had occupied when flying with Evangeline—and asked, “Did Evangeline ever mention the spell I cast that inadvertently cursed her?”
Amelie and Caden’s heads bobbed in assent. “She said something about some . . . fates?” Amelie offered.
I nodded. “Yes, the Fates. They’re basically like the gods of the witches. I liken them to a group of overweight housewives sitting around a table, thinking up ways to twist hopes and dreams into some perversion of a solution,” I explained sardonically. Mage chuckled softly, amused by my interpretation. I turned to give her a flat stare. “But—oh, that’s right. I forgot, Mage. You know all about the Fates, don’t you! That slipped my mind. Much as it slipped yours.”