Portia Read online

  Worried chatter breaks out through the crowd. Roy’s features brighten. He just got the scoop of a lifetime and he knows it. “Is that an official statement? You’re turning into one of the Void and know about their plans to attack.”

  Rage seethes under my skin. “The Void are tearing apart the Firmament that holds the after-realms together,” I say. “That’s as official as it gets. Whether or not I’m one of them doesn’t make any difference.”

  Gram wraps her arm around my shoulders. She’s the picture of smooth. “For the record, my granddaughter is an expert on magic, not a representative of the government of Purgatory. If she has reason to believe that the Void are a threat, then I’m sure she has the documentation to support her claim. However, that does not mean that threat is immediate.”

  Roy starts to talk again, but Gram simply raises her hand and speaks in a deadly soft voice. “That’s enough. I realize the quasi are wary of full-blooded demons. That’s why I’ve supported the Senate’s regulations on keeping them guarded within our borders. But to extend this scenario to my granddaughter is simply unacceptable.” Her tone says that this is not up for discussion. “The lecture is over. We’ll now retire to the gardens for more refreshments.”

  For the first time, I notice a series of servants standing by the French doors that line one wall of the ballroom. Acting in unison, they motion the crowd to step out into the gardens. The audience leaves so quickly, it’s like a gunshot went off in the ballroom.

  Gram pulls me aside and kisses my cheek. “That was a solid step forward, honey.”

  I lift my eyebrows in disbelief. “That was an all-out catastrophe, Gram.”

  “Give it time. Today, the quasi people saw that you’re impassioned about their welfare. They didn’t see a demon; they saw a young woman with a good heart.”

  Her words soothe my frazzled nerves. My anger cools, only to be replaced by a hot wave of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry I let loose on the Void. I know we agreed to keep it a secret.”

  “It’s fine.” Gram stiffens her spine. “More than fine, actually.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re way past due to start messaging this to the general population. Xav’s been on me about it for ages. I just wish we knew the timeline we’re looking at.”

  “I’ll finish the spell soon. I promise.”

  Gram sets her palm on my cheek. “You’ve such a good heart. Whoever cast that spell on you, they knew what they were doing.” She runs her fingertips along my marks. “There’s no one better to find out what’s happening with the Firmament.”

  Warmth and pride seep through my chest. “Thanks, Gram.”

  “Why don’t you take a break first? Xav told me that he found you some new magic books.”

  My eyes widen with excitement. “The medieval alchemy series?”

  “That’s the one.” She gives me another quick peck on my cheek. “They’re on the desk in his office.”

  “I’ll stop by right away.”

  “Great idea.” She makes shoo fingers at me. “Now, take the rest of the afternoon off. You deserve it.”

  Gram walks away while glad-handing everyone in sight. Turning on my heel, I beeline toward my grandfather’s office in the Ryder mansion.

  Alchemy books, here I come.

  Chapter Two

  I quickly find the office. It’s the only one with a snarky poster on the door: a pic of a rainstorm with a caption that reads ‘Purgatory, because sunshine is for losers.’

  I knock lightly. “Hello Pops? Are you here?”

  No response.

  The door’s unlocked so I walk right in. The place is decorated in all manly man stuff: leather club chairs, recessed lighting, and dark violet walls. There’s even a wide balcony that makes it easier for him to land, angel-style.

  I spot the alchemy books right away. The leather-bound volumes sit in a neat stack on his mahogany desk. I gently turn the old vellum pages and marvel at the illustrations. Reading a book is like coming home. Everything’s warm and cozy. If only people could be that way.

  Something rustles on the balcony. I set aside the book to check things out. Peering through the balcony’s glass doors, I find someone waiting outside: a muscular guy with black tousled hair. He wears jeans, biker boots, and a leather jacket. He’s a total bad boy and a handsome one, too.

  Wait, what?

  I never go for the bad boy type. I like my men clean-shaven and buttoned up with nothing out of place. You know, the kind of guy who irons his jeans. Sure, those men look at me in horror, but at least they’re usually polite about it. I consider that a win.

  I frown. Chances are, this guy will react the same as all the others. I should walk away. There’s a reason I’m nineteen and I’ve never had a full conversation with a man who’s not a relative. I nod once to myself, the decision made. I am definitely leaving right now.

  For some reason, I don’t go anywhere.

  Instead, I keep right on staring. The guy leans casually against the outer wall of the mansion, his right boot propped against the brick siding. His long, black tail sways lazily behind him. I give myself a mental kick in the butt.

  You need to leave. Go, go, go!

  I do no such thing.

  Not only do I stay in place; I try for a better view. No matter how I shift, I can’t see the guy’s face. My skin tingles with curiosity.

  Screw it. I’m going in.

  Part of me knows that this is a big mistake, but I can’t stop myself for some reason. With silent steps, I walk onto the balcony. Instantly, an electric awareness charges the air between us. The guy starts turning toward me, and then stops. Moving slightly, he refocuses his gaze on the line of trees. Rain patters on the tin canopy that stretches above our heads.

  There’s no question about it. I saw that half-look. This guy totally knows I’m here. Still, he doesn’t turn to greet me. Instead, he stares off into the trees, his tousled black hair hanging over his eyes.

  For a full minute, I look the guy over. He’s well over six feet tall with broad shoulders that are more than twice as wide as mine. From the way he stands to the set of his jawline, every inch of him exudes confidence, power, and trouble.

  “Hi.” My voice comes out about an octave higher than normal.

  Smooth, Portia.

  The Mystery Man slowly turns to face me. At last, I get the close-up I’ve been craving. The man has intelligent brown eyes, a nose that’s been broken a few times, and scar along his strong jawline. The imperfections only make him more appealing. He watches my stare and bit by bit, his full mouth arches into a crooked smile. Butterflies take up residence in my stomach.

  “Hullo, luv.” His accent is British, deep and hypnotic. Surprisingly, those words aren’t accompanied by any signs of terror. It’s dumbfounding. I stare at him for way too long without saying anything.

  Start talking, Portia.

  I revert to the basics. This is Pops’ office, after all. “Is the Archangel Xavier expecting you?”

  A mischievous light twinkles in his liquid-brown eyes. “Without a doubt. Are you here to keep me company while I wait?”

  A jolt of happiness moves through me. He doesn’t seem frightened of me, but maybe he hasn’t noticed my marks yet. It’s a little dark out here.

  “Sure, I can stay with you, but…” I gesture around my eye and wince, waiting for the terrified look to cross his face. “That’s only if you don’t mind.”

  His smile doesn’t waver. “That you’re a Princess?”

  “What?” I must have heard him wrong. “Did you say Princess?”

  “That I did. Princess Portia. That’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, that’s me. That’s not what I meant, though. It’s my marks. They make everyone nervous. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Not that you look uncomfortable. I was just checking.”

  Wow. Babble much?

  I decide that now is a great time to look at my sensible shoes and plot my quick escape.


  “Portia, look at me.”

  I slowly lift my gaze. Mystery Man fixes me with a stare that’s so intense it could cut diamonds. “Please keep me company.”

  I’ve never done drugs, but they might feel something like the rush of happy that those words bring to my soul. “Sure. I can stay.”

  “Good.” His grin returns. My knees go wobbly.

  The quiet that follows is somehow comforting. More like a warm blanket than the awkward silence that usually happens when I talk to guys. My gaze lands on his tail. Mom has one like his, as does every decent Arena fighter in Purgatory. “Are you from around here?”

  He lets out a low chuckle. “Not in the slightest.”

  I look at him expectantly.

  “You really don’t know who I am, do you?” he asks.

  My skin turns so red, even my scalp burns with embarrassment. “No. Should I?”

  “Come to think of it, no, you shouldn’t.”

  I inspect the man more closely. “Something about you does seem familiar, though.” My body feels light as a feather. I’m having a conversation with an actual guy that doesn’t involve terror and running away. And hey, I’m even having fun.

  Another face pops into my mind. “Do you know my brother, maybe?”

  “Everyone knows Maxon.” A playful light dances in his eyes. “Guess again.”

  “Are we making this a game, then?”

  “Only if you wish it.”

  I tap my cheek, pretending to consider this turn of events. “Fine. A guessing game it is.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Let’s see. Are you maybe a quasi-demon… But one who’s not living in Purgatory?”

  He winks. “I’ll give you a hint. I’m one of the Furor.”

  I scrub my hand over my forehead. That makes him a full-blooded dragon shifter. Now, I’m really stumped. I may be part Furor, but I know hardly anything about them. All of a sudden, that seems like a huge miss. “Are you from the Hexenwing tribe of Furor? I know their Level One spells.”

  The arrowhead end of his tail moves in a ‘no’ motion. “Wrong color dragon scales.”

  I snap my fingers, trying to make memories appear. Maxon talked about color schemes for Furor scales. I didn’t pay attention. “Don’t tell me. Black scales mean you’re from the Thornclaw tribe. Or is it Shrillroar?”

  Another chuckle. “Neither.”

  “Okay, I need a hint.”

  “Why not ask your Mum? Her scales are the same color.”

  “True.” I can’t help but laugh. “Wow, I need to take an interest in the after-realms outside of magic.”

  “Maybe I can help on that score. How about I come round for tea sometime? We can have a chat.”

  “Tea.” My mental gears try to process this. Doesn’t happen. He’s not scared or running away and now, he’s talking about beverages. That doesn’t mean what I think it means, does it? “I’m not sure.”

  “Perhaps you fancy a pint, then?”

  “Of ice cream?” Finally, my mental gears start clicking again. “Oh, as in you and me? On a date somewhere?” My eyes almost bug out of my head. “That’s not a good idea.”

  His brows lift ever so slightly, like this conversation is our little secret. “And why’s that?”

  I know nothing about people in general, let alone men?

  “I have a very busy life.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You know. Books. Stuff. Things. It’s cooler than it sounds.”

  Do I seem like a loser or what?

  “Quite busy, indeed. Though perhaps you could squeeze in a cuppa.” He leans in closer. “In between Stuff and Things.”

  His attention makes me woozy. The feeling’s so lovely that it takes me a while to process what’s happening. I gasp when I realize it. “You’re looking at my marks.”

  “I know. I like them.” And the way he says the words, there’s no question this time. He means it.

  The moment freezes for me. This is a man. A very attractive man. He really likes my marks. I’m not sure whether to cheer or cry. In the end, I shake my head in disbelief. “You like them?”

  “Ah, you’ve no idea how much.”

  With those words, I go from confusion to all-out panic. This has turned too real, too fast. “I have to go now,” I say quickly. “I have, you know, stuff to do.” And I’m terrified out of my skull.

  He nods slowly, and the look in his eyes says ‘this isn’t over.’

  As I rush through Grandpa Xav’s office, I hear the Mystery Man call after me. “See you soon, Princess.”

  Every word sends a happy jolt of anticipation through me.

  Oh, I hope so.

  Chapter Three

  I pace through my penthouse in downtown Purgatory. It’s a swanky place with a retro flapper vibe. I’ve been holed up here for the day or so after my lecture. At least, I think it’s been a day. Hard to tell since I’ve skipped meals, sleep, and personal hygiene. It’s all for a good cause, though. I’m about to pinpoint when the Firmament might collapse. Who needs food?

  On the tiled floor of my living room, I’ve drawn a pentagram in yellow chalk and placed enchanted canopic jars inside. I nod once to myself.

  Here it comes. I am so nailing the incantation this time.

  My mouth starts forming words for the spell, but another kind of magical energy wells up inside me. It’s a liquid power that slides along my tongue, contorting it into odd shapes. My words come out strangely.

  “Abella sinotro.”

  Wrong.

  “Abella sinatra.”

  Even more wrong.

  “Abella synapse.”

  What?

  I ball my hands into my hair with irritation. That damned force always trips up my tongue. I’ve only had it checked it out a million times. No one knows what it is, only that it clogs my mouth. Why can’t I chant like a normal witch?

  “I hate you!”

  Yes, I’m yelling at an invisible magical force.

  Yes, that’s kind of crazy.

  No, I don’t care anymore.

  I kick the couch, completely miss the cushioned parts, and end up stubbing my toe, hard. Okay, that hurt.

  A small bolt of lightning hovers by the archway to the kitchen, grabbing my attention. The brightness is no larger than my palm and whips about like a fish. I smile. My visitor is one of the igni, a tiny supernatural bolt of power that helps move mortal souls to Heaven or Hell. There’s only one being in the after-realms who wields these. Most people call her the Great Scala.

  I call her Mom.

  More igni appear. Soon hundreds swirl in a column. As the tiny bodies float and dive around each other, a wave of sadness binds my heart. Although I should have inherited Mom’s power over igni, I didn’t.

  The column disappears. In its place stands a woman with wavy auburn hair, bright blue eyes, and a long, black tail. She wears the fitted white robes of the Great Scala.

  Mom fixes me with a big smile. “Good morning, baby.”

  My chest warms with affection. “Morning to you, too.”

  She scans the floor. “Cool new spell. Will it mess things up if I sit down? I don’t want to throw off your mojo.”

  “It’s okay. My mojo needs a breather.” I scooch over and Mom slides in beside me. Her spine is ramrod straight as she fixes me with what I call her ‘goddess gaze.’ This isn’t a casual visit. My mother is here for a reason. A tingle of worry crawls up my neck.

  “What’s up, Mom?”

  “I heard about your speech yesterday.”

  “Oh, that.” I slump deeper into the couch. “I didn’t see the tabs this morning.”

  “Some of the photos were pretty good. That kid with the lizard tail was adorable.” Mom drums her fingers on the arm of the couch. She didn’t come here to talk about the lizard kid.

  “But?”

  Mom’s eyes narrow. “I heard you lost your temper.”

  I wince with embarrassment. “Yeah, I suppose I did. That Roy guy was so nas
ty, I couldn’t help it. I just got all…” I wave my hands around and try to find the words. Nothing comes to mind.

  “Did you get all angry inside?” asks Mom.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Was your blood boiling until you couldn’t stand it anymore?” Mom leans forward. “Well?”

  Roy’s face comes back to me in a flash of memory. My neck tightens into cords of held-in rage. “Sure, I was angry.” My voice comes out low and deadly.

  “Yes!” Mom’s features brighten. “And so you just went with the rage. You told Mister Creeper how you were Marked for the Void, and in that moment, you didn’t care about the crowd or the consequences. Am I right?”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Not sure I want to answer that. You know I never lose my temper.”

  “Just tell me the truth, honey.”

  “Okay, you’re totally right.” I picture the reporter’s greasy face again and my fists tighten with fury. “I may even have wanted to hurt him a little.”

  “Oh, baby!” Mom wraps me in a huge embrace. Even her tail gets into the act.

  “Wait, what?” I’m so stunned, I don’t return the hug.

  “I’m so excited for you. Your first uncontrollable rage. I mean, we always knew you were part Furor. Lust and wrath are in your blood. But even as a child, you never got angry about anything. Remember when Maxon’s odd friend Uther dropped you on your head by mistake? You didn’t even cry, let alone kick him in the kneecaps.”

  My eyes turn wistful at the memory. Poor Uther. “He was trying some human dance at Maxon’s wedding.” I raise my hand. “In his defense, I was young and bounced easily.”

  “See?” Mom points straight at my nose. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re always so calm and persistent, no matter what happens.” She looks at the floor. “I bet you’ve been working on this spell for hours.”

  I glare angrily at the canopic jars, like it’s their fault I can’t say a basic spell on command. “Try all night long.”

  “And you never lost patience once, I bet.”

  “Actually, I did get a little frustrated just now. I even kicked the couch. Stubbed my toe and everything.”