Asylum(78)

“I’m not . . . ” My words drifted away, unable to form that one lie.

“Really? And where is your family? Your friends?”

I paused, the mention of friends reminding me of Leo. Pain ripped through me as I thought of my old companion for the first time since the witch attack, of the delivery of his message, of how the connection cut off so abruptly, so completely. There was only one way that could happen. Death.

“I have no one,” Mage offered when I didn’t speak. “Not one friend. Except you.”

I opened my mouth to deny her claim to this supposed “friendship,” but she was already talking again. “I should have told you. I should have trusted you.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Well . . . like you said. There are no words left to make me trust you.”

“I did say that.” That steady, confident “Mage voice” was back again. “So read me. You will know everything about me in thirty seconds.” She crooked her head, smiling. “Maybe a minute. Five thousand years is a lot of memory to rifle through. You will see that my intentions are genuine. You will see that I don’t have some grand scheme. I am here to help you protect Evangeline and this world.”

I wanted so much to believe her, I realized as I gazed at that tiny, pale, Asian face. At my . . . friend. I never would, though. Not until I uncovered what she could not hide.

Without another moment’s hesitation, before she could renege on her offer, I sank a dozen magical tendrils into her body. They sailed in as if invited through a wide-open door, snaking into Mage’s memories and thoughts as they had done with Caden. Only here, there was more—so much more. The moment five thousand years ago, when she realized what that Fates had turned her into; her first human kill and her horror as she gazed down on her victim. Regret tainted her every thought. Regret for testing the Fates with such a superficial request. Regret as her own family of sorcerers shunned her with disgusted sneers and ghastly screams.

I wove in and out of years, jumping from decade to decade, one century to the next; through the common stages of denial and then acceptance, of eccentricity and then a craving for normality; through the overwhelming boredom, the recurring urges to end her eternal life. So many years, besieged with melancholy and distrust as her strength grew to undefeatable heights. Cycling through one male companion to the next, with no desire to stay; guarding her back as those around her plotted to usurp her from her invisible throne. And then suddenly . . . a face. A woman’s face. Young, beautiful, vampire. Just like that, it was as if the sun rose over a horizon, and warmth blossomed within my heart. Yolanda. That was her name. A sister. A friend. Mage’s best friend.

From that point on, Mage’s memories took a turn toward a blissful place, the days filled with laughter and peace. Mage now had an ally, someone to watch her back, someone to trust wholeheartedly. There were no more thoughts of death. Not for six hundred years.

Until suddenly, that security was yanked out from under Mage, vanishing in a haze of darkness and fire delivered by witches and baited by the Sentinel. I watched as Mage stepped through carnage to find Yolanda’s dead eyes staring up from where she had fallen. Like a twig snapping in half, something broke in Mage then. I felt her tumbling backward, back into darkness, only it was so much bleaker this time.

In the next memory flash, I was peering out over a sea of heads in a football stadium. Cameras were everywhere, aimed to capture any angle. It was a really big game. Mage’s attention was on the football team in the green and white uniforms. She had previously traced two of them as Sentinel spies. In their football gear, she wasn’t sure which ones they were. She decided it didn’t matter. She’d just kill them all.

And that’s exactly what she did. On live national television, in front of millions of spectators, a vampire slaughtered an entire football team to avenge her best friend’s murder.

Filtering through the rest of Mage’s memories, I watched the war unfold through her eyes, the eyes of the catalyst who brought about the end of the world. Through the moment when she realized the grave impact of her rampage, however noble the intentions may have been; through her desperate attempts to stop the devastation; through to the migration to the South American continent that she would rename New Shore; through her order to exterminate three-quarters of the vampires because there were simply too many to keep the peace. The aftermath was a long, endless stretch of regret during which guilt ate away at her dark soul. So many times, Mage held flint and stone in her hand, ready to step into a blazing inferno. Only the seer’s words stayed her desire, burning into her mind as surely as if they were on fire. A parallel world. A second chance, perhaps. A chance to do right. If only she could get a second chance . . .