Witchful Thinking (Jolie Wilkins #3) Page 11

  When I told Mercedes as much, she wouldn’t even listen to me. She said it was out of the question for a Queen to be living in a servant’s quarters. So then I sort of freaked out and said I didn’t want to be Queen and she went on and on about how it was my destiny and how it was an honor I should stop resisting. Then she proceeded to tell me that if I didn’t rise up and accept my role as Queen and unite our species, wars will continue to be fought and creatures will continue to die.

  Talk about a guilt trip.

  The more I think about it now, the more I’m starting to realize this might actually be my destiny and something I can’t run away from. And really, if I run away from my so-called responsibility and our society falls victim to our enemies, I would never forgive myself, even if it costs me the love of the one man I adore with all my heart.

  I wasn’t sure why but I woke up.

  I glanced at the green glow of the clock just beside my bed and noticed it was three a.m. Groaning to myself, I rolled onto my other side and closed my eyes, willing myself to go to sleep. But there was something keeping me from losing myself to unconsciousness. A worry that had started in my gut and was quickly building momentum, boarding my bloodstream and traveling throughout my body.

  I sat up and glanced around, taking in nothing more than the moon as it reflected through my windows, battling to breach the wall of my curtains. The night air was chilly and calm, quiet and relaxed. So why wasn’t I?

  I took a deep breath and that was when I felt it—like the worst headache you can ever imagine—the uglier sister to a migraine. I grabbed my head and reeled back, dropping myself against my pillows as I cradled my forehead in my hands, willing the pain to go away. As a witch, I can cure myself of most maladies, but even though I was sending reinforcing white light to the center of my forehead, the apex of the pain, nothing was happening. Instead the pain was beginning to throb, reaching out its tendrils of agony until I felt like my eyes might explode.

  Panic began welling up within me but I held it at bay and focused my energies even more resolutely, imagining the white light of my power battling whatever this pain was.

  Still nothing.

  As fear began wending its way through me, the pain behind my eyes started to dissipate into a gentle drumming before it vanished completely. I felt my heart rate decrease as relief flooded me. But the relief was short-lived once I tried to open my eyes and found they were locked down … tight. It was as if I had no control over my own body.

  Suddenly there were images floating before me, the black of my eyelids acting as a canvas. I didn’t fight the images; instead I focused on them, allowed them to cluster into a movie, a story unfolding. And what I witnessed frightened me.

  It was open land, as far as my eyes could see—devastated and barren. The brown of the hills was the same color as the sky and it looked as if a bomb had gone off and decimated what I had to imagine was once verdant farmland. I could only concentrate on the dinginess of the sky and hills for so long, though, because my vision slowly began to take in the rows and rows of lumps, mounds of more lackluster color. The more I focused, the more the shapes delineated themselves, revealing them to be people. People facedown in muck, others on their sides, and some facing the malodorous sky. All were dead.

  That image was suddenly yanked from my mind’s eye and another dropped in its place. It was a throne, empty. A scepter and a crown stood unattended at either side of the golden chair. It was as if they were both awaiting the return of their monarch, of their King or Queen. And before I could take another breath, that image was plucked away and I was again gazing at the barren landscape. Only this time, the people weren’t dead yet. No, they were fighting. And the enemies they were fighting were like nothing I’d ever seen before. Even though they appeared to be humans, they were fast, lightning fast and just as strong, hurtling their foes left and right, the glow of their mini fangs glinting in the moonlight.

  The more I watched the two sides battle against each other, the more I realized the losing side were Underworld creatures—weres, vamps, and witches. But they were outnumbered and outskilled. Not only were the creatures attacking them stronger and faster, but there was something about them … something magical. Light radiated off them, wove in and around them as they delivered their death blows.

  Lurkers.

  The word suddenly infiltrated my head and it wasn’t like I’d thought it myself. It was as if someone had fed me a clue, someone had placed the word inside my head. And with the dawning realization that the creatures before me were the biggest threat to the existence of the Underworld, I was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that not only were they vampire-like with their strength, speed, and fangs, but they were also magic.

  The Lurkers possessed magic.

  Reeling with that observation, I again attempted to fight against the images, to gain control over myself. I’d seen enough. But the vision wouldn’t release me. Instead pictures of the empty throne returned, and as I watched, the crown and the scepter began melting into the base of the golden chair. Something inside me again started panicking as I watched the scepter and the crown meld into the throne and it, too, began dripping into a puddle of gold.

  Fear shot through me and I pushed against the images with my mind, fought them with the glow of my own power, and little by little they began to fade into the darkness of my closed eyelids. I took a deep breath and blinked, found myself surrounded by the blackness of night. My heart raced within my chest and when I attempted to stand up, I had to lean against the post of my bed. I was exhausted, weak.

  Even though I was at a complete loss as to what I’d just experienced, the thing I was sure of was that I’d just had a premonition of the future. I had just seen a brief window into the destruction of the Underworld at Lurker hands. Whether it had been a mere vision concocted of my own power or whether someone had sent it to me, I had no idea. But I absolutely knew that the only way to stop this vision from becoming reality was for me to take the throne. I mean, what else could the empty throne mean?

  I took another deep breath and steadied myself against my bed.

  I was going to accept my role as Queen because if I didn’t, the destruction that I’d just witnessed would become real. If I didn’t become Queen, the Underworld would perish.

  “Jolie!” I heard Rand’s voice outside accompanied by the sounds of his fists banging against the door.

  I took a step forward and, finding my strength returning, forced myself into the living room. Before I could reach the door, Rand opened it with a burst of magic and faced me, his expression betraying his worry.

  “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know but I … I …”

  He closed the door behind him and, seeing me leaning against the couch back, strode up to me. “I could feel your distress and when I tried to contact you, I didn’t get any response.”

  I was surprised that he could feel me, considering I’d convinced myself that we weren’t bonded. But that was a subject for another day. At the moment I was more curious to find out what the hell had just happened to me.

  “It was like someone took control of my body,” I started. I tried to take another step forward but I was too weak and gripped the back of the couch again. Rand caught me in his arms.

  “Why can’t you stand?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered weakly.

  Rand shook his head and I could tell he had a million questions floating through his mind as he set me on the couch and sat beside me. “You’re safe now, Jolie,” he said in a soft voice, pulling me into his broad chest. “But I need you to tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.”

  So I did. I told him everything I could remember.

  “I think it was a vision,” I finished. “A sign that I’m meant to be Queen in order to stop the Lurkers from destroying us.”

  Rand shook his head like he wasn’t convinced. “We don’t know that for certain.”

  �
��What else could the images mean, then?” I demanded, feeling suddenly exhausted again.

  Rand sighed deep and long and his gaze settled on my window as he absently stroked my upper arm. “I don’t know.”

  It was the evening after I’d witnessed the horrible images of the Lurkers destroying the creatures of the Underworld. Rand had scheduled a meeting at Pelham Manor to discuss the future of our legion and, more important, the future of the Underworld in general. Like last time, there were representatives of each race. In attendance were Rand, me, Odran, Sinjin and Varick, Mercedes, Mathilda, and Trent.

  With the help of Rand, I’d just explained the experience of the night before, describing in vivid detail everything I could recall about the vision. Everyone seemed dumbstruck, their expressions revealing shock and concern.

  “The Lurkers have magic,” I finished.

  “Perhaps they do,” Mercedes said and offered me an unenthusiastic frown.

  “I saw and felt it,” I argued.

  She shook her head. “We do not know anything for certain. Yes, you had a vision, but as you well know, Jolie, visions can be flawed. They can reveal part of the picture, but not necessarily the whole thing.”

  “We must consider them possessing magic as a possibility,” Mathilda offered.

  I glanced at her and smiled. She lowered her head and faced Mercedes again.

  “Of one thing I am certain … the Queen will require protectors,” Mercedes announced, addressing the entire room. She was sitting next to the fireplace, and the fire burning in the hearth highlighted the strong planes of her face, making her look like an omniscient deity.

  At the mention of “the Queen,” I glanced at Rand. His attention was riveted on Mercedes’ face, but he wasn’t allowing any reaction to show. It was like he was trying to imitate a statue and doing a damn good job.

  “Protectors?” Trent repeated and raised his eyebrows in an expression I didn’t know how to read. As I mentioned earlier, Trent and I had a history, although not exactly a deep one. We dated until he told me he was too dangerous and basically dumped me. Then a week later, I saw him sporting some werewolf girl on his arm. Later I had the displeasure of meeting up with him at an Underworld function chaired by Rand, where Trent tried to get back together with me. Of course I told him where he could shove that idea and then, to make a long story short, he got pissed off, accused Rand of trying to be with me, and then sucker-punched him right across the face.

  I guess it was kudos to Rand that Trent was even sitting at the table this evening—Rand could be forgiving when it suited him. Although I imagine he’ll never forgive Sinjin for … being Sinjin.

  Mercedes faced Trent and nodded, her lips drawn in a tight, stern line, her expression one of Don’t question me, you peon, I’m the prophetess.

  “Yes, we will need to assemble a band of soldiers dedicated solely to the Queen’s protection,” she said with finality.

  “I offer my protection,” Sinjin said. When I glanced at him, wondering if he was joking, he wouldn’t look at me. Instead he faced Mercedes resolutely, looking every bit sincere.

  “No,” Rand answered at the same time Odran began chuckling.

  “Perhaps I could have protected her from the vision,” Sinjin started.

  “No one could have protected me from it,” I intercepted. “I believe it was just a vision, an unbelievably lucent one but a vision all the same.”

  Sinjin nodded but by the twinkle in his eyes, it didn’t seem he’d given in. “Regardless, I will protect our Queen.”

  “Aye, boot who will protect ’er against your advances?” Odran then erupted into another hearty laugh, which Trent echoed. In fact, it had come to my attention that Trent had recently taken up the position of Odran’s shadow. They reminded me of a poorly cast Batman and Robin—just missing the tights.

  “Odran is right,” Rand offered. “Sinjin would be the worst person to protect Jolie.”

  “The child would be vulnerable in the day,” Mathilda added in a soft voice.

  “Would you prefer to take the task upon yourself?” Mercedes demanded of Rand, seemingly ignoring Mathilda’s comment for the moment.

  Rand narrowed his eyes but said nothing more, merely leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms against his chest, looking pissed off. Instantly my stomach seemed to drop to the ground as I wondered why Rand didn’t champion my cause—why didn’t he stand up and announce that, yes, he would defend me, that he would continue protecting me as he always had?

  “I offer my complete and total loyalty to our Queen,” Sinjin continued, now looking at me. “It is true that I cannot protect her while the sun commands the sky, but I will arrange for others who can.”

  Mercedes nodded. “I believe that solves the issue.” She glanced at Mathilda. “Mathilda?”

  Mathilda merely nodded as Sinjin cleared his throat, returning our attention to him.

  “And as long as my employer does not find fault with the arrangement, I dedicate myself entirely to the Queen’s preservation.”

  Varick seemed to weigh the subject for a few seconds before he nodded. “I find this arrangement to be quite satisfactory.”

  “Very good.” Mercedes slapped her hands together. “Sinjin, I will leave it to you to assemble a force strong enough to protect your Queen.”

  Sinjin bowed his head in what appeared to be humble acceptance and then glanced at me, the beginnings of a smile working on his lips. It was an expression of triumph and I had to wonder why being named my protector would cause him to feel victorious.

  Rand exhaled deeply and then pushed himself away from the table to walk to the opposite side of the room. He was dressed casually in loose, dark jeans that hinted at the athletic lines of his butt and legs. He wore a chocolate-brown polo-necked, short-sleeved T-shirt, and I tried to pull my attention away from his incredibly shapely arms, ignoring how his biceps seemed to pop whenever he shifted.

  “I believe we should release the legion from Pelham Manor,” he said. I wondered if I was just imagining it or if he was making eye contact with everyone but me.

  “Your ledger is finalized, then?” Varick asked.

  Rand nodded and crossed his arms against his chest, leaning against the wall. He still refused to look at me.

  “Yes, and our soldiers are eager to return to their families. If all of you agree, I will dispatch them and tell them to await further instruction.” He paused for a second or two and then faced Sinjin with razor-sharp eyes. “In fact, I will require everyone to vacate Pelham Manor by tomorrow evening.”

  Sinjin arched a brow and relaxed into his seat, as if to say he wasn’t going anywhere. “Agreed, Randall, though any soldiers deployed in the safety of the Queen must remain … with the Queen.”

  “No,” Rand said quickly, almost cutting Sinjin off. Rand’s voice was rough, like a raspy file grating on cement. “You are most certainly no longer welcome here.”

  Sinjin dropped his smile but didn’t lose the intensity of his glare, which was aimed at Rand. If looks could kill …

  “I am the Queen’s sworn protector—I go wherever she goes.”

  “Which brings up another issue, Rand,” Mercedes interrupted. “I informed Jolie yesterday that she will need to make her home elsewhere—somewhere more suitable for a Queen.”

  Rand didn’t say anything but shook his head and started pacing from one side of the room to the other in usual perturbed-Rand form. I personally hated the fact that I had to move, and seeing the anger chip away at Rand’s face made the subject even harder to swallow.

  Finally Rand stopped pacing and faced Mercedes. “I do not support a monarchy,” he said simply.

  The silence in the room seemed to pound against my mind with fists of mute frustration. I tore my gaze from Rand’s face and looked around the table, noting the surprise in everyone’s eyes.

  Odran cleared his throat. “Ye have noo choice,” he said.

  “This is preordained, Rand.” Mathilda glanced up at him with ey
es of understanding. Aside from me, Mathilda really was the only other person in the room who cared about Rand. I thought of her as his surrogate mother in some ways.

  “I don’t care,” Rand answered, shaking his head. “I couldn’t tolerate the idea of Bella being Queen, and although I care deeply for Jolie, I can’t support monarchy in any form.”

  I suddenly felt sick to my stomach, like I might vomit right then and there. This was what I’d been afraid of all along, though I’d known it was coming all the same. Really, I should never have expected otherwise—Rand was too stubborn, too dedicated to his ideals of democracy to ever sway from them. And for that, I actually admired him.

  “Rand,” I started but was drowned out by the voices of everyone else around the table. It was suddenly a cacophony of dissidence—questions tumbling over comments of surprise and anger.

  “This is Jolie’s destiny.” Mercedes quieted everyone in an instant. It was as if she could control sound, so that only her voice could be heard. It sort of freaked me out.

  “I believe in freedom of choice, not destiny,” Rand responded, his voice constricted and tight.

  “Jolie’s fate is to become Queen and unite the creatures of the Underworld. Without her, our society’s existence is perilous,” Mercedes said.

  Mathilda nodded and I glanced at Rand as the sick feeling returned. He was still avoiding my eyes. I felt like I was a ghost, just observing a conversation in which I had no part. I was losing him—I could almost feel him ripping away from me and I wanted to cry. Scratch that, I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t argue with Mercedes because I knew that this was my destiny. And in accepting that there was a greater purpose for my life, I had to sacrifice Rand’s love.

  “Then if he isn’t with us, he’s against us?” Trent continued, his voice laced with anger.

  “Rand is not against us,” I said in a vacant voice.

  Rand was silent for a few seconds, staring at me as if he’d only just remembered I was in the room. I said nothing in return and met his stare, our eyes having a conversation of their own.