Copyright © 2023 Olivia Oakley, Tamsin Moore
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
For permissions contact: [email protected]
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
For permissions contact: [email protected]
Chapter One
She would reach the Highwood Estate by twilight as long as the roads remained clear. The sun touched the mountain ridge to the west, a blush of pink painting the horizon as she watched.
It was Netta’s first time leaving the Malik Coven since they’d taken her in as an orphan at the age of eight. Netta hadn’t wanted to leave, as the outside world held nothing for her, but she couldn’t refuse the honor of having been chosen to represent the Malik witches. They’d given her so much, and in return, she’d eagerly chosen to dedicate herself to them. Now was her chance to repay them.
The Malik witches were known for their special connection to the spirit world, which gave them intimate knowledge of the world around them. They could feel a person’s intentions. Something Netta struggled with but she was sure during this assignment everything would fall into place.
She grinned with impatience, making it difficult to sit still in her carriage seat. With the completion of this mission she would finally show her sisters that she was one of them.
She shook her head. What an odd thought. Of course she was one of them. Netta touched the half-mask covering her eyes and nose. A year ago, she had taken her vows and officially became an initiate in an elaborate ritual that had involved burning the hair from her body and bathing in a mountain waterfall by moonlight. It had been the first step in giving her access to the knowledge of the spirit world, binding her to an intermediary, an animal spirit.
Hers had come in the form of a crow.
The black lacquered mask covering the upper half of her face shifted as the carriage rolled over a bump. Netta pushed it back in place, a finger trailing over the whirling ribbons that formed the crow visage. Over time, a Malik witch’s bond with her animal spirit strengthened, allowing an endless stream of communication. Yet, even after all this time, hers was often elusive. Its name was Cai, but little else it said made sense. She’d been assured this was normal, but as time dragged on and she barely made any progress, worry had begun to enter her teacher’s eyes. At least no one could deny her dedication.
She just needed more time. Maybe a push. That was why she was being sent away. Hopefully, this would be all she needed to solidify her bond with Cai and finally become a Malik witch. Without it, she could never gain insight into a person’s innermost thoughts and intentions. It was precisely this bond that gave Malik witches their edge, especially in political negotiations and defense.
Turning her thoughts to lighter things, Netta took stock of her belongings, reassuring herself that she had everything she needed. There were few things she owned herself. Her personal grimoire lay on top of her two plain dresses, beside a bristle brush. The brush was a new addition. Until recently, her strawberry-blond hair had been too short to warrant one. Now it fell in soft waves down to her chin.
The coven had leant her an apothecary box of herbs, oils and a couple of sage and garlic bushels. One did not go into a Vampire House without at least the basic protections in place, even if one was invited.
The carriage took a hard left and then traveled down the escarpment overlooking a valley surrounded by rolling grasslands that were quickly being taken over by thick forest. A river wound down from the distant mountain peak into a lake off to the right of the main building, and a gazebo sat not far from a footpath. What caught her eye was what she thought was a garden maze, somewhat overgrown.
Her heart sped up as she considered how to use the land to educate and entertain the children she was here to tend. The youngest was eight, while the eldest, at seventeen, was only five years younger than Netta. There were three more between them, though she hadn’t been given their ages. Nor their names. That had been perplexing.
She pulled out the letter that had been sent to their coven Crone, opening it to read once more.
Dear Crone Gerene,
I write to you as a last resort. For what vampire no matter their station would wish to expose weakness?
My children require a governess, one learned in all that is expected of those in high society, and who on top of that has a quick wit and cunning, which my previous hires have lacked. I have five children between the ages of eight and seventeen, all in need of discipline and a firm, no-nonsense hand. My eldest will soon enter into society, and though I have kept her from trivial affairs until now, I no longer have an excuse.
Please send whomever you believe to be best suited for the job, and I will provide them with a weekly wage, one day off per week, and food and room. My protection will also be extended to whomever you send, so you and they will have no need to worry about them being used as sustenance themselves.
Yours sincerely,
General Constantine Shaw
Netta wondered what the general was like. Of course, she had heard of his great military exploits when he’d commanded the Tenth Vampire Division during the Third Border War. He had successfully routed the enemy, breaking the siege on the great werewolf city of Hazenbroch. Credited with turning the tide of war, General Constantine had returned home to great acclaim and been given a seat on the Vampiric Council that ruled over their entire nation. Nothing had been out of his reach.
His astounding career had come to an end when his wife, who it was said he’d loved dearly, had been assassinated by one of his rivals. After taking his revenge, he had removed himself and his children from society, becoming an exile in his own country.
Even among the witches the story of his exploits and his tragic personal life were retold often. In her school days, Netta had been among the many who idolized him. They’d sighed over the romance of it all.
And now she was going to meet him. It at once amused and disquieted her. Children she could handle—she had no worries about being able to meet that task. Men were a mystery to her, though. Her father was the last man she’d ever known. He had been a quiet, kind man, but after he’d left her with the Malik Coven to begin her training, she’d never seen him again and had only received a few letters.
The Malik encouraged those young witches who came to live with them to cut ties with the outside world. So despite the exchanging of letters, Netta and her father had grown more formal and distant over the years of separation.
The carriage slowed as they entered the crush of the forest outside the estate. The gravel road crunched under the wheels, and one of the horses whinnied as the carriage driver forced them to slow. Trees framed both sides of the road, the scent of pine heavy now. It had gotten dark enough that the lanterns to either side of the carriage were lit. A tingle of apprehension covered Netta’s arms in goose bumps.
Then a wolf howled, followed by another. The whole forest was singing a song, enrapturing and terrifying, as they drew closer. She watched out her window, at war with herself in the hope of both seeing the beasts and not.
At last the trees gave way and the song of welcome, Netta decided, faded behind them. They passed through the ornate gates, signifying the border of estate lands. A manicured landscape that had been reclaimed by the wild now surrounded them, and up ahead, at the end of a long drive, was the manor and stable.
“Whoa!” the carriage driver called to the horses as they came to a stop. There was some shuffling and muttering as the driver and the footman disembarked.
Again, Netta checked that her mask was secure, shifting the veil that hung down over her hair to make sure it was in place. Malik witches did not show skin; when she was fully initiated she would be given a full face mask to wear.
The carriage door opened and the footman offered her his hand with an expectant look. Blushing, she instead handed him her travel bag and stepped down on her own, brushing out her dress and trying to ignore the look of confusion the footman gave the driver.
Netta pointedly looked at her bag while plastering on a giant smile. “Thank you for all your assistance,” she said, holding out her hand.
The footman hesitated until the driver jabbed him in the side and muttered, “Her luggage, idiot. Forgot you ain’t allowed to touch a Malik witch?”
Netta fought back a chuckle as the footman blushed and hurriedly handed off her bag to her once more.
“Good luck, Maiden,” said the driver formally.
The two returned to the waiting carriage, and soon Netta was left on her own. In the center of all the overgrowth sat the house, the building made of black stone, spires topped in copper that had weathered to almost black. She stared up the imposing stone stairs that led to the huge double-door entrance. This was a place meant to entertain nobility and royalty. It was meant for balls and parties of all kinds. It should be bustling with activity, yet it was silent. The windows were dark, some shuttered, some with blinds drawn. She wondered how many rooms contained ornate furniture swathed in cloth ghosts. Such a shame.
Netta shook her head, trying to shake off her unease. Instinctively she reached for Cai, searching for some sense of reassurance that all was well. A ticklish-cool touch came, like feathers on her skin.
Struggling with her excitement and anxiety, Netta took in one huge breath and let it out before heading up the steps. She lifted the knocker and rapped out a quick rhythm. When the door opened, she wore the broad smile she’d worn since she received the assignment.
A man answered, his sharp gaze peering down at her from angular features framed by mahogany brown hair tied back from his face in a neat ponytail. She called on her magic, an attempt to glean who he was, but all that her spirit could tell her was that he was important. She’d guessed that herself. It was off-putting that her magic continually failed to give her the insights it was meant to.
“Good evening,” he said.
The gravity of the deep tenor of his voice left her wanting to hear it again, which only unnerved her more. First her magic was proving useless, and now this.
“Evening,” she said, inwardly cringing at how distracted she sounded. She was grateful her mask hid her expression and decided to figure out who this man was by deduction. Her focus shifted from his slate-blue eyes to the simple white cravat at his neck. She glanced at his suit of heavy black brocade. It was as austere as his expression as he continued to study her. He had to be the butler.
He didn’t appear at all put off by her apparent distraction as he took a step back. With that movement, a weight lift from her.
A vampire? He must be. It made sense that the help would need to be non-edible. It would also possibly explain why her magic couldn’t perceive any further details. Vampires were usually in tight control of themselves, and the older they were, the more unreadable they could be.
“Maiden Netta, I presume,” he said.
At her nod, he invited her inside.
“Yes, I hope I haven’t arrived too early for the family,” she said as she stepped in, setting her travel bag aside and taking a quick scan of the grand entrance.
A marble floor was covered in a red and gold area rug, the walls white with dark wood trim. Above hung a massive chandelier lit with magic flame. Sconces and tapestries lined the hall leading beneath the second-floor balcony. A banister of wrought iron and wood gave a hint of the wealth that lay beyond.”
“No, you’ve arrived just on time.” The door closed with a click.
Recovered from the vampire butler’s scan, Netta discovered she couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer. “Am I to get settled first and then meet the family? Or will you be taking me straight to them? I’ve heard so much about the General. Is he anything like what they say?” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “And the children, there wasn’t much about them in the letter. I get the impression the General doesn’t know why he keeps losing governess’s. Any insight you can give me before I walk into the wolves’ den?”
A dark eyebrow rose, and she thought she saw the corner of his lip twitch up, but then that austere expression fell back into place. She imagined he might be quite attractive if he relaxed a bit. Those slate blue eyes would warm with amusement, and then the strong, angular jaw would unclench in a smile, the mahogany brown hair set loose to frame his face.
“He has his suspicions,” the butler conceded, “but he hopes by hiring you, those problems will be remedied.”
“I’m happy to give it a try,” Netta said and then held out her hand. “I look forward to working with you, Mister…”
“Constantine.”
Netta stared incredulously at him. Had she managed to make a fool of herself, yet again? This had to be a new record for her. Probably. Her cheeks were warm with embarrassment and anger creating a flush that the half-mask wouldn’t hide. Here she was, hoping to become a full-fledged member of the Malik Coven, and she’d just committed a rookie mistake.
“Is something wrong?” Constantine asked.
“No,” she said, “General. Sir.” In her rush, her tongue fumbled over the correct way to address him.
His head tilted as though considering her once more. Then, with the silence and speed of his kind, moved in close. So close she could feel his breath on her face. That feeling of heaviness returned as he looked for something he’d missed before. Or hadn’t thought to notice. Netta held still. It was never a good idea to startle a vampire. Definitely not a good idea when he was obviously uncertain about her.
“There’s been a mistake.”
It was Netta’s first time leaving the Malik Coven since they’d taken her in as an orphan at the age of eight. Netta hadn’t wanted to leave, as the outside world held nothing for her, but she couldn’t refuse the honor of having been chosen to represent the Malik witches. They’d given her so much, and in return, she’d eagerly chosen to dedicate herself to them. Now was her chance to repay them.
The Malik witches were known for their special connection to the spirit world, which gave them intimate knowledge of the world around them. They could feel a person’s intentions. Something Netta struggled with but she was sure during this assignment everything would fall into place.
She grinned with impatience, making it difficult to sit still in her carriage seat. With the completion of this mission she would finally show her sisters that she was one of them.
She shook her head. What an odd thought. Of course she was one of them. Netta touched the half-mask covering her eyes and nose. A year ago, she had taken her vows and officially became an initiate in an elaborate ritual that had involved burning the hair from her body and bathing in a mountain waterfall by moonlight. It had been the first step in giving her access to the knowledge of the spirit world, binding her to an intermediary, an animal spirit.
Hers had come in the form of a crow.
The black lacquered mask covering the upper half of her face shifted as the carriage rolled over a bump. Netta pushed it back in place, a finger trailing over the whirling ribbons that formed the crow visage. Over time, a Malik witch’s bond with her animal spirit strengthened, allowing an endless stream of communication. Yet, even after all this time, hers was often elusive. Its name was Cai, but little else it said made sense. She’d been assured this was normal, but as time dragged on and she barely made any progress, worry had begun to enter her teacher’s eyes. At least no one could deny her dedication.
She just needed more time. Maybe a push. That was why she was being sent away. Hopefully, this would be all she needed to solidify her bond with Cai and finally become a Malik witch. Without it, she could never gain insight into a person’s innermost thoughts and intentions. It was precisely this bond that gave Malik witches their edge, especially in political negotiations and defense.
Turning her thoughts to lighter things, Netta took stock of her belongings, reassuring herself that she had everything she needed. There were few things she owned herself. Her personal grimoire lay on top of her two plain dresses, beside a bristle brush. The brush was a new addition. Until recently, her strawberry-blond hair had been too short to warrant one. Now it fell in soft waves down to her chin.
The coven had leant her an apothecary box of herbs, oils and a couple of sage and garlic bushels. One did not go into a Vampire House without at least the basic protections in place, even if one was invited.
The carriage took a hard left and then traveled down the escarpment overlooking a valley surrounded by rolling grasslands that were quickly being taken over by thick forest. A river wound down from the distant mountain peak into a lake off to the right of the main building, and a gazebo sat not far from a footpath. What caught her eye was what she thought was a garden maze, somewhat overgrown.
Her heart sped up as she considered how to use the land to educate and entertain the children she was here to tend. The youngest was eight, while the eldest, at seventeen, was only five years younger than Netta. There were three more between them, though she hadn’t been given their ages. Nor their names. That had been perplexing.
She pulled out the letter that had been sent to their coven Crone, opening it to read once more.
Dear Crone Gerene,
I write to you as a last resort. For what vampire no matter their station would wish to expose weakness?
My children require a governess, one learned in all that is expected of those in high society, and who on top of that has a quick wit and cunning, which my previous hires have lacked. I have five children between the ages of eight and seventeen, all in need of discipline and a firm, no-nonsense hand. My eldest will soon enter into society, and though I have kept her from trivial affairs until now, I no longer have an excuse.
Please send whomever you believe to be best suited for the job, and I will provide them with a weekly wage, one day off per week, and food and room. My protection will also be extended to whomever you send, so you and they will have no need to worry about them being used as sustenance themselves.
Yours sincerely,
General Constantine Shaw
Netta wondered what the general was like. Of course, she had heard of his great military exploits when he’d commanded the Tenth Vampire Division during the Third Border War. He had successfully routed the enemy, breaking the siege on the great werewolf city of Hazenbroch. Credited with turning the tide of war, General Constantine had returned home to great acclaim and been given a seat on the Vampiric Council that ruled over their entire nation. Nothing had been out of his reach.
His astounding career had come to an end when his wife, who it was said he’d loved dearly, had been assassinated by one of his rivals. After taking his revenge, he had removed himself and his children from society, becoming an exile in his own country.
Even among the witches the story of his exploits and his tragic personal life were retold often. In her school days, Netta had been among the many who idolized him. They’d sighed over the romance of it all.
And now she was going to meet him. It at once amused and disquieted her. Children she could handle—she had no worries about being able to meet that task. Men were a mystery to her, though. Her father was the last man she’d ever known. He had been a quiet, kind man, but after he’d left her with the Malik Coven to begin her training, she’d never seen him again and had only received a few letters.
The Malik encouraged those young witches who came to live with them to cut ties with the outside world. So despite the exchanging of letters, Netta and her father had grown more formal and distant over the years of separation.
The carriage slowed as they entered the crush of the forest outside the estate. The gravel road crunched under the wheels, and one of the horses whinnied as the carriage driver forced them to slow. Trees framed both sides of the road, the scent of pine heavy now. It had gotten dark enough that the lanterns to either side of the carriage were lit. A tingle of apprehension covered Netta’s arms in goose bumps.
Then a wolf howled, followed by another. The whole forest was singing a song, enrapturing and terrifying, as they drew closer. She watched out her window, at war with herself in the hope of both seeing the beasts and not.
At last the trees gave way and the song of welcome, Netta decided, faded behind them. They passed through the ornate gates, signifying the border of estate lands. A manicured landscape that had been reclaimed by the wild now surrounded them, and up ahead, at the end of a long drive, was the manor and stable.
“Whoa!” the carriage driver called to the horses as they came to a stop. There was some shuffling and muttering as the driver and the footman disembarked.
Again, Netta checked that her mask was secure, shifting the veil that hung down over her hair to make sure it was in place. Malik witches did not show skin; when she was fully initiated she would be given a full face mask to wear.
The carriage door opened and the footman offered her his hand with an expectant look. Blushing, she instead handed him her travel bag and stepped down on her own, brushing out her dress and trying to ignore the look of confusion the footman gave the driver.
Netta pointedly looked at her bag while plastering on a giant smile. “Thank you for all your assistance,” she said, holding out her hand.
The footman hesitated until the driver jabbed him in the side and muttered, “Her luggage, idiot. Forgot you ain’t allowed to touch a Malik witch?”
Netta fought back a chuckle as the footman blushed and hurriedly handed off her bag to her once more.
“Good luck, Maiden,” said the driver formally.
The two returned to the waiting carriage, and soon Netta was left on her own. In the center of all the overgrowth sat the house, the building made of black stone, spires topped in copper that had weathered to almost black. She stared up the imposing stone stairs that led to the huge double-door entrance. This was a place meant to entertain nobility and royalty. It was meant for balls and parties of all kinds. It should be bustling with activity, yet it was silent. The windows were dark, some shuttered, some with blinds drawn. She wondered how many rooms contained ornate furniture swathed in cloth ghosts. Such a shame.
Netta shook her head, trying to shake off her unease. Instinctively she reached for Cai, searching for some sense of reassurance that all was well. A ticklish-cool touch came, like feathers on her skin.
Struggling with her excitement and anxiety, Netta took in one huge breath and let it out before heading up the steps. She lifted the knocker and rapped out a quick rhythm. When the door opened, she wore the broad smile she’d worn since she received the assignment.
A man answered, his sharp gaze peering down at her from angular features framed by mahogany brown hair tied back from his face in a neat ponytail. She called on her magic, an attempt to glean who he was, but all that her spirit could tell her was that he was important. She’d guessed that herself. It was off-putting that her magic continually failed to give her the insights it was meant to.
“Good evening,” he said.
The gravity of the deep tenor of his voice left her wanting to hear it again, which only unnerved her more. First her magic was proving useless, and now this.
“Evening,” she said, inwardly cringing at how distracted she sounded. She was grateful her mask hid her expression and decided to figure out who this man was by deduction. Her focus shifted from his slate-blue eyes to the simple white cravat at his neck. She glanced at his suit of heavy black brocade. It was as austere as his expression as he continued to study her. He had to be the butler.
He didn’t appear at all put off by her apparent distraction as he took a step back. With that movement, a weight lift from her.
A vampire? He must be. It made sense that the help would need to be non-edible. It would also possibly explain why her magic couldn’t perceive any further details. Vampires were usually in tight control of themselves, and the older they were, the more unreadable they could be.
“Maiden Netta, I presume,” he said.
At her nod, he invited her inside.
“Yes, I hope I haven’t arrived too early for the family,” she said as she stepped in, setting her travel bag aside and taking a quick scan of the grand entrance.
A marble floor was covered in a red and gold area rug, the walls white with dark wood trim. Above hung a massive chandelier lit with magic flame. Sconces and tapestries lined the hall leading beneath the second-floor balcony. A banister of wrought iron and wood gave a hint of the wealth that lay beyond.”
“No, you’ve arrived just on time.” The door closed with a click.
Recovered from the vampire butler’s scan, Netta discovered she couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer. “Am I to get settled first and then meet the family? Or will you be taking me straight to them? I’ve heard so much about the General. Is he anything like what they say?” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “And the children, there wasn’t much about them in the letter. I get the impression the General doesn’t know why he keeps losing governess’s. Any insight you can give me before I walk into the wolves’ den?”
A dark eyebrow rose, and she thought she saw the corner of his lip twitch up, but then that austere expression fell back into place. She imagined he might be quite attractive if he relaxed a bit. Those slate blue eyes would warm with amusement, and then the strong, angular jaw would unclench in a smile, the mahogany brown hair set loose to frame his face.
“He has his suspicions,” the butler conceded, “but he hopes by hiring you, those problems will be remedied.”
“I’m happy to give it a try,” Netta said and then held out her hand. “I look forward to working with you, Mister…”
“Constantine.”
Netta stared incredulously at him. Had she managed to make a fool of herself, yet again? This had to be a new record for her. Probably. Her cheeks were warm with embarrassment and anger creating a flush that the half-mask wouldn’t hide. Here she was, hoping to become a full-fledged member of the Malik Coven, and she’d just committed a rookie mistake.
“Is something wrong?” Constantine asked.
“No,” she said, “General. Sir.” In her rush, her tongue fumbled over the correct way to address him.
His head tilted as though considering her once more. Then, with the silence and speed of his kind, moved in close. So close she could feel his breath on her face. That feeling of heaviness returned as he looked for something he’d missed before. Or hadn’t thought to notice. Netta held still. It was never a good idea to startle a vampire. Definitely not a good idea when he was obviously uncertain about her.
“There’s been a mistake.”
Copyright © 2023 Olivia Oakley, Tamsin Moore