No one dared interrupt.
“The Universe has no answers. I have the answers. Cloning has brought forth new opportunities, and we are decades further in our advancements than even the top scientists in the world. We will come forth with our cures for disease, and the humans will welcome us with open arms. No longer will we need to live in the shadows. Humans will sacrifice their blood to us in thanks.”
“But the witches—”
Callista whipped around. In one movement, she broke a leg off a chair and dove across the room, plunging the wood into the young Cruor’s heart. To me, her movements were all a blur, pausing at the final result: her body hovering over his as his veins turned visibly black, his body crumbling to dust, a broken chair toppling behind her. Callista’s eyes held a murderous glint, and her mouth twisted in a cruel smile. But all that quickly melted away, a resolute calm reclaiming her features.
She stood, the stake in her hand hanging limply at her side. Blood dripped in small splatters to the floor, turning to ash like a flicked cigarette. “Does anyone else object?”
Everyone looked away except the stenographer.
“As for these witches—do not doubt me. We will find them and they will join us,” Callista said. “Starting with Sophia. We will guide her into fully realizing her gifts and using them to protect our kind.” She gave each Cruor in the room a long stare. None of them made eye contact, though most were devoted to the cause. “She will come around.”
I shook my head. In the human world, genocide wasn’t acceptable. In the world I knew, people at least felt bad for hurting others or feared repercussions.
But not here.
***
SOMEONE LAUGHED outside my cell door, and I shuddered. Marcus. I’d spent the last few hours sinking into the recesses of my mind. Already dead. With him near, the elemental thoughts quieted, no longer accessible. Damn disabler. There had to be some way around his gift-thwarting ability.
He unlocked the chamber and strolled in. “I sensed something about you that night at Club Flesh,” he said casually. “Not quite human…and yet, not quite one of us.”
I flinched one shoulder in a defensive shrug.
“Now I know what it is. Your soul doesn’t belong to you. You’ve merely inherited it. How easy then to sacrifice it for something more.” He paused a moment, then added in awe, “A forever girl. Yes, the Queen has told us all about you. I’m always telling her what a shame it is we don’t keep more Strigoi with us, if for nothing other than reading auras on our behalf. We would have invited you here sooner, had we known.”
When I didn’t respond, he pulled from his pocket the matchbox Thalia had taken from me earlier. “You like fire?”
I pressed my lips together.
“That’s okay. I don’t mind doing the talking.” He flipped my box of matches in his hand. “Did you know, in some parts of the world, they used to burn witches?”
He looked at me, as if expecting a response. Or maybe my silence was all he expected.
“Yep, burned them.” He drew his eyebrows together, glanced up, and tapped his index finger against his cheek. The gesture looked rehearsed, as though all this was a game to him. My stomach churned.
“Canada. That’s it,” he said, nodding. “They definitely burned witches in Canada.”
“Idiot,” I rasped.
Suddenly, he was crouched at my side, lifting a cup of water to my mouth and helping me take a sip. “There she is.” He patted my cheek a couple times before standing up again. “Denmark.”
I swallowed. Why was he telling me all this?
“I was there,” he said, his interest returning to the matches in hand. “In Denmark, I mean. I was there when they burned the witches. Have you ever smelled the burning flesh of a human?” He laughed. “They thought they were burning witches, anyway. Thought they were burning the Strigoi and Cruor and all other elemental beings. But here we are. It was only the innocent who died. This is why we need our wars. This is why Callista needs you. You wouldn’t want any more innocents to die, would you?”
“Innocents are dying.” Did he really not get this? “Your Maltorim is the one killing them.”
He set the box of matches on the floor. I didn’t need to read his mind to know he was mocking me.
“See you soon, Sophia,” he sang as he left the room.
***
MARCUS RETURNED what might have been days later. The ropes were digging valleys into my chest, arms, wrists, shins, and ankles. I gritted my teeth against the dull, never-ending ache around the edges of the rope where my skin had swelled. My dried tears stiffened on my face, and snot ran down to my lips. I hated how pathetic I must have looked.
He pulled a table and chair into the room and sat with a plate of food. He cut a piece of steak and bit it off the fork.
“You like steak?” he asked, chewing.