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Blood.
And the very same door Theseus had left through opened. Pelopia—her face as stark and grave as last I saw her—came through, her attention on Rhea. “My lady, it is the Wiccan Thimble. He is gravely injured and demands an audience immediately.”
Rhea looked at Atarah. “Call everyone so they can hear. I have a feeling this will need the whole family’s attention.”
Atarah was already pulling out her phone, while Rhea moved to the door.
“Why must there be so much chaos this week?” She sighed to herself.
“Come.” Melora nodded for me to follow them.
Rhea stood in front of all of us as we stepped out into the receiving hall. Once again it left me awed—the perfectly polished mosaic tiles on the left and on the right rows of larger than life statues, underneath the skylight directly above us. The sunlight cast a rectangle of light directly on top of an older man with grey-brown hair and olive skin. His suit was ripped, torn, and blood-stained. The wound on his forehead bled over his eye, and the worst of his injuries was his left arm which hung uselessly. It was clearly broken, and the discoloration of his skin was almost purple. It had to be infected with something.
“I do hope you have good reason to be here, Thimble, and you are not just bleeding on our grounds for nothing.” Rhea’s voice was cold and aloof as she stepped down the stairs and into the sunlight. Focusing, I made sure to watch Melora and Atarah. The last thing I wanted to do was break the rules any more than I already had.
“We were attacked.” He groaned, holding his arm.
“So, we’ve been told. But what business is that of ours?” Rhea asked as she circled the man, her grey eyes looking over every inch and cut on him. “Your wounds are very grave, Thimble. Should you not seek a healing witch or a human’s care? Perhaps you have decided to evolve into a greater being?”
“I’d rather die,” he hissed so harshly that he nearly spat at her.
“You are on the right path then,” she stated, coming to a stop right in front of him. “You do not have time to wait for Lord Thorbørn to take the information from your mind, so you must explain to us.”
“We were attacked because of you all.” He gritted his teeth, his bloody body shaking.
“The wounds on you were not caused by our kind,” Rhea stated, once again beginning to circle him.
“Where is the witch?” he demanded, his bloody eyes looking to all of us who had not moved from the steps.
“There is no witch here but you, Thimble.”
His head whipped back to her. “Then you have killed them?”
“Careful, mortal. You accuse us unjustly.”
“Then where is the witch?” he snapped, limping as he turned to face her, but she moved behind him again. “I do not have time for your games or lies! Two days ago, all of us felt the magic of a witch powerful enough to open the door to the dead on your lands. Someone is using magic here. We all sense it. It is impossible to ignore.”
Please do not let this be about me. Please do not let this be about me.
From behind him, Rhea’s eyes glanced at me for only a second as if she could read my mind and was telling me not to get my hopes up. “Once again, I must correct you. Until today, only vampires have dwelled in this home. Pelopia take him to rest—”
“Rest?” he shouted as Rhea walked back to us. “There shall be no rest! The witch you have stolen and kept belongs to the Omeron coven!”
Damn it! This was about me.
“Since when was an American coven given seat among the Wiccans of the Vyara?” Rhea demanded calmly.
He didn’t answer her question, taking a bloody step forward. When he did, more than a dozen vampires stepped forward, standing in the shadows between the columns. Where they came from, I had no idea. And just how many vampires where here? I hadn’t noticed any before. Thimble did not seem to care or notice them.
“The Omeron believe you have kidnapped one of their own and came to retrieve them. The Vyara did not want conflict between our kinds. We sought to come and ask you directly today when we felt the magic again. If a witch has committed any offense to you, they should be judged by their kind, or be given the right—”
“It seems your ears were also damaged, Thimble,” Rhea voiced ever so gently. “For I have said more than once now that we have no witches here, only vampires. Nor have we kidnapped any. Nor do we want any. This coven is mistaken, and you have wasted your time coming so far. This is the twenty-first century. We do have phones. You could have called, and we would have told you the same.”
“Do not ignore our goodwill and warning, Thorbørn! The Omeron have none, and they will destroy anyone or anything that get in their way, mortal or immortal. You do not know this coven, what they are, or what they can do. They hold us all by the throat.”
“Maybe your throat but not ours! We do not cower to witches. We do not cower to any mortal or immortal. We are Thorbørn, and should they question or doubt what that name means, they are free to come as many have come before them. We will lay waste to them as we have done all others.” She shot a single look at Pelopia before turning back. Melora and I parted, allowing her to walk through.
“You do not know the importance of the witch you have!” He hollered as Pelopia grabbed on to his arm. “I say this to prevent war! The Omeron witch you have is said to be the one true daughter of Circe!” Rhea paused pause and turn back to him.
