Tendrils of mist coiled around the colossal trees that seemed to reach out for them. Castor locked his jeep’s doors behind them in the nearly vacant lot. The building itself resembled a skyscraper, damn near reaching up into the clouds. Whispers from the wind swept down the cobblestone path as Castor stuffed both his hands in his robe pockets, knuckles brushing over his wand and knives.
A fountain of an angel towered over them, with gorgeous scripture hand carved into the marble. Silver coins floated at the bottom, where folks donated change to help fund them. Castor wouldn’t dare waste his own spare change for those uppity pricks.
Castor dragged his feet behind Lucien as they made their way toward the Supernatural Council’s office. Magic energy pulsed all around him from the barriers that wrapped around the perimeter like invisible chains. He came to a halt at the courtyard as Lucien froze in front of him, adjusting his glasses before checking his pocket watch.
“You okay?” Castor asked, gently touching his shoulder.
“Never better.” Lucien clenched his fists at his sides, trembling where he stood. Despite how he put on a brave facade, it started to crack in front of the council’s building.
“I’ll stay by your side,” Castor assured him. “I won’t mind intervening if they give you too much hell.”
“Thanks.” Relief fluttered in his frightened eyes.
The silence suffocated Castor as they crossed the lawn, drawing their wands at the concrete stairs. Lucien’s soft-spoken words granted them entrance; the mahogany door creaked open, revealing cerulean walls and two guards, clad in police officer uniforms with their guns and wands holstered to their belts.
Castor followed Lucien’s lead, keeping his head low as they passed by the guards. However, one of the olive-skinned men stuck his beefy arm out, preventing Castor from stepping further inside. His dark glare sent chills down his spine.
“Remove your weapons, sir.”
Castor gulped. “Weapons?”
Lucien gazed back, giving a small nod. “Just give them anything you have.”
How did they even detect those on him? Castor retrieved all the knives from his pockets, dropping them into a small container the guard provided. When he thought he was good to go, that same guard raised his hand up again. His emotionless expression didn’t change, only demanding the same request.
With a sigh, Castor reached down into his sock and handed over his final switchblade. “Happy now?”
Both guards exchanged a brief look, stepping aside for him. After his little stop at the security check, Castor admired the fancy decor of the lobby. A chandelier with crystals twinkled above them, brimming with colorful powders. When he realized what they were, Castor tensed. Those crystals contained wizard magic, meaning they’d been stripped of their abilities. A wizard rarely survived it when the council removed their magic. It was comparable to removing their vital organs.
To showcase them at the entrance felt morbid to Castor, but he bit his tongue. Those wizards probably weren’t even alive anymore. The Supernatural Council took great pleasure in striking fear into people.
“I don’t know how you work here,” Castor muttered.
“I should’ve told you about the weapon policy,” Lucien said. “It just slipped my mind.”
“No, it’s fine. I should’ve expected it.” Castor brushed up against him. “So, where are we going?”
“Orick Mandrake’s office.”
Castor made a face of disgust. “That prick who dropped by the emporium?”
Lucien sighed. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Wonderful.”
Castor couldn’t comprehend how Lucien navigated the maze of stairs and elevators amid the council building. He would’ve easily gotten lost. However, when they reached his boss’s office, Lucien wavered on knocking. Lucien fixed his shirt’s collar, ruffling out any little wrinkles in his robe, then pounded his fist on the door.
Within seconds, the lock clicked and it opened. Orick was perched behind his desk, munching on a donut as he reviewed some files on his desk.
“Been expecting you, Lucien.”
“Sorry for the wait, sir.” Lucien bowed in respect. “Things have been hectic, considering Charlotte’s recent death and the discovery of those vampire killings.”
Orick scrutinized them both, thin lips pursed in a frown as he glared at Lucien. “How distasteful. But what should I expect from a man who screws around with vampires?”
“Excuse me?” Lucien bristled.
“Your robes.” Orick gestured toward his chest.
Castor tilted his head, heat blooming in his face as he realized that Lucien chose one of his old robes that had his family crest emblem. Not the Cromwell’s. While it was a major sign of disrespect toward one’s family, the only other reason a wizard changed their robes’ crest was if they married.
“My apologies, Castor lent me these last minute. I should have checked them better, but I wanted to hurry here to explain my stance.”
“Are you in an official relationship with that vampire? I believe his name’s Sebastian.”
Lucien bit his lip. “It was just a fling. We broke up last night, which is why I stayed over at Castor’s.”
Orick pinched the bridge of his nose. “We can’t explicitly tell you who you can’t date, but you must be aware of how this tarnishes your family’s image. Lucien, you’re a Cromwell, for crying out loud! Hanging around the Vale family was one thing, but vampires? What’s next? A whore-house of werewolves?”
Castor cleared his voice, narrowing his eyes at the little bastard behind the desk. “If I may, why would my family tarnish his image? Both my parents are respectable wizards in our community.”
Orick folded his hands on his desk. “I meant nothing insulting, but people do talk. And you know your family’s history. You young men don’t need such scandalous gossip to circulate about your respective families. Especially not with vampires. You understand, right?”
Castor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Always the same excuses with their family’s gristly history, and now he needed to rub it in his face even more. Most of them weren’t even alive when their ancestors reigned terror over their town, slaughtering innocent wizards for their own enjoyment.
“My personal life shouldn’t make you perceive my family in a lesser light,” Lucien stated. “However, I’ll play nice with you. I won’t get into any more relationships with vampires. If I’m being honest, I mostly got close to Sebastian to learn more about what Charlotte was digging into. I’m sure my mother already brought you her journal.”
“She did. And Lucien, I say this in the kindest way possible,” Orick said. “You need to quit playing detective. Let the real authorities handle her case before you mess things up or find yourself in trouble.”
Was that supposed to be a warning to back off? Castor fought back the urge to smirk at the beady little man. Pigs would fly before Lucien gave up on finding his sister’s killer.
“Is there anything you needed to discuss?” Lucien asked.
“Consider yourself lucky I haven’t fired you yet, as a courtesy from your mother and father. But before you leave, I’ll need you to strip your robes.”
Lucien frowned. “Fine.”
“Why the hell does he need to do that?” Castor asked sharply.
“To provide evidence that he hasn’t let that filthy vampire mark him,” Orick replied. “If he has been, then I’ll have no choice but to remove him from the council. He could be under that bloodsucker’s influence.”
“It’s fine.” Lucien slipped his robe off, working diligently to unbutton his shirt. “I just want to get this over with so we can leave. Castor, if you wouldn’t mind, please step outside while I get this over with.”
Rage swarmed Castor. How dare that smug bastard treat him like that and not to mention, how inappropriate it was. It had to be an abuse of his power. Surely, they didn’t check all of their members for vampire bites. He only wanted to humiliate Lucien. Despite how Castor wanted to stay, he obeyed Lucien’s request and stepped out into the hallway.
With the door closed, Lucien draped the robe on one of the leather chairs in front of Orick’s desk. His shirt came off next, then his jeans. Shame scorched his bare skin as he revealed a patchwork of bruises to the man. Slashes marred his chest, but they weren’t fresh. The other man’s gaze softened as he looked at Lucien, pity reflected in his eyes.
“This is why you shouldn’t mess with those kinds of crowds, Lucien.” Orick went back around to his desk, taking another bite of his donut. “Look at yourself.”
Lucien shrugged as he slipped his shirt back on, hiding the damage inflicted to his body. Not even his healing magic helped, but it soothed some of his aches. He spared a glance at the door, relieved that his friend listened to him.
“Before you leave, your mother wanted me to pass along a message.” Crumbs dropped all over Orick’s desk as he polished off his donut. “She’s chosen a branch within the council that she feels best suits your skills.”
Lucien raised a brow. “Pray tell, what has she signed me up for?”
“You’ll work closely with the Wardens of the courts. Handle misuse of magic cases, custody battles among the supernatural, and other things like that,” Orick explained.
“I guess it could be worse.” Lucien folded his arms across his chest. “When will I start this?”
“Soon. As of right now, I’ve put you on bereavement leave. Your parents denied it when I offered, so I’m giving it to you. In two weeks, I expect you here so we can prepare and you can be shown the ropes.”
“Sure, okay.” Lucien shrugged, uninterested to hear more. It wasn’t like he cared. His mother just cherry picked something random for him since he took too long to decide. As if his career on the council mattered right now.
When they left his office, Castor vented his frustrations, but Lucien didn’t pay him much attention. His mind wandered about his new career as a Warden, and he hated that his mother couldn’t even let him decide what he wanted.
Castor just couldn’t believe the nerve of that Orick guy. If it wouldn’t land him in a heap of hell and probably jail time, he’d have reached over Orick Mandrake’s desk to punch that asshole square in the face.
“Just drop it,” Lucien muttered. “What’s done is done.”
“It’s not fair. He belittled you back there, and you don’t fucking deserve that for the shit you put up with,” Castor snapped. “They give you the jobs they don’t want to deal with, yet you never complain. But that asshat needs to be brought down a level.”
“You’ll only stir up more trouble for us. I’m surprised he didn’t fire me on the spot.” Lucien shook his head. “I didn’t pay attention to the robes either. I’ll be sure to give them back to you. I appreciate you coming here with me to deal with him, but I need to speak with my folks alone.”
“Are you sure?” Castor asked. “Let me explain to them how it was my fault. I don’t want you dealing with this alone, not when I’m responsible for roping you into this mess.”
“I don’t know.” Lucien hesitated as they stepped into the elevator.
“I know your dad’s not too fond of me, but surely your mother will listen to reason,” Castor replied.
“Alright, fine. But please, don’t upset them. I just want to get this over with and put it behind me.”
As they made their way back outside, Castor savored the blissful breeze that kissed his skin. Much better than the suffocating power-restraints that wafted in the atmosphere in that god-forsaken building.
Lucien’s downtrodden demeanor rubbed off on Castor, who sulked behind him. It wasn’t fair how they treated him. Despite how Castor wanted to raise hell with the Supernatural Council and talk sense into his folks, he bit back his pride, following him like a mere shadow.
All he could do was remain by his side and pray to the Gods above that the Cromwell’s didn’t murder his best friend for kissing a vampire.
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