The Impaled Bride (Vampire Bride 3)

The other witches arrive behind us through the portal and I scrutinize each one as they appear. I like the looks of a rotund lady with masses of red hair and rosy cheeks. A warm smile touches her lips and she does not regard us with contempt. Much to my surprise, a dour man with lank silver hair and a scruffy face unexpectedly winks at me. A younger man with brown hair, pale brown eyes, and a handsome face downright scowls when he spots me scrutinizing him, so sides are obviously being taken.

“This is your new home,” Balázs says, gesturing to our grand surroundings. “I will arrange for a room to be prepared. I assume you will want to bed together.”

“Yes,” Ágota says rapidly. “At least for now.”

“Balázs, you cannot!” Soffia protests.

“I rule here, Soffia. I am the leader of this land and this coven. I am choosing to offer a home to my daughter and her sister. This is my right. No one is to come against either one of these young ladies. If you do, I will unleash my wrath. I may not be an Archwitch, but I am a Grandwitch.”

“Should they not be tested?” the scowling handsome man asks.

“A test, Fülöp?” Balázs smirks. “She resembles me in face and manner, knows the name I gave her and her mother’s name, and carries the Archwitch’s magus bag. I suspect her mother’s book is inside. Yes?”

Ágota dramatically pulls out the book and the witches gasp.

“See! What other test should I give her?”

Soffia approaches us warily, her eyes flicking between Ágota and me. “The Mirror of Verity. Let it reveal if there is any duplicity. A hidden glamour.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Balázs motions to one of the younger male witches closest to him. “Petri, bring forth the mirror.”

The blonde-haired witch dashes off into the depths of the castle, his long tunic flapping around skinny legs.

“What does the mirror do?” I boldly ask.

“It reveals the truth of who you are even through spells and glamours of all kinds,” Balázs replies. “Nothing can hide from it.”

“That belonged to my mother,” Ágota says, her mouth close to a snarl. “When she had to flee with me, she left it behind.”

“We will speak of all that later, Ágota.” Balázs’s visage and tone demonstrate the need for Ágota to set the matter aside for a more appropriate time.

With a huff, Ágota crosses her arms and glowers at anyone who dares catch her eye.

“Afraid?” Soffia asks, her gaze cruel and her tone taunting.

“Of you? No. I am not a mere babe in my crib anymore. I am the Archwitch.”

“We shall see if your claim is true.”

My sister and the woman who attempted to murder her regard each other with contempt. My fingers fall to the sheath at my side as the desire to sink my little blade into Soffia’s heart surges to life. I would not dare do such a thing in front of so many formidable witches, but the thought appeals to me.

Petri returns with a handheld mirror draped in a black cloth. The handle is bronze and green with age. With great care, he offers it to Balázs. I discern he’s a little afraid of the magical mirror, which I find very intriguing since it was once one of my mother’s possessions. She must have been very frightened indeed to leave such a powerful object behind. I finger the hilt of my dagger while casting a malevolent look at Soffia.

Ágota taps my arm, captures my attention, and signals with her eyes that I should be attentive to the ritual at hand

.

Feeling rather obstinate and bold, I ask, “How does it work?”

Balázs bends toward me while pulling the cloth from the reflective surface. The handle and back of the mirror are most certainly bronze and very old. The reflective surface shimmers without a scratch despite the passage of time. On the reverse side there are sculpted figures of women dancing, but the finer details have eroded.

“You peer into it, Erzsébet.” He holds the mirror in front of me and I am surprised to see my face in vivid detail. I stare at the much younger version of my mother’s face tucked between matching black braids. This is the first time I have ever seen myself with such clarity. Our old mirrors in the cottage had been warped and cloudy.

“I am pretty!” I exclaim.

This elicits a laugh from several of the witches, but Soffia fumes.

Balázs leans his face next to mine and I am shocked to see a very handsome young man. The scars, the wrinkles, and the silver in his hair have vanished. I gasp and turn my head to stare at his much older face.