Destined (War of the Covens 2)

Caia felt a wave of panic. She’d better tread carefully here, or she could find herself locked up too.

“Well,” she began slowly, throwing the witch a trembling smile, “it can’t be impossible, right? I’m part Midnight and I don’t want to maim any Daylights. I want to end the war.”

Marita seemed to look right through her, reminding Caia that she was still the pragmatic woman she’d met upstairs. “Your Daylight blood obviously overpowers the bad blood. Not to mention you were raised Daylight.”

“I understand.” Caia gave her a tight smile, squishing the anger that exploded through her at the “bad blood” comment. “But I didn’t get a malevolent feeling from her.”

“Perhaps you were too far away.”

“Could you take me to her?”

Caia was again surprised by the smile bestowed upon her, her eyes trying for kind and concerned. “Will that help? Will it stop whatever anxious thoughts you’ve got buzzing around in your head and get you back into training? You’re missing important things. Lucien is with Rose and the others, training in the simulator.”

Caia tried not to feel as if she’d been slapped in the face by the mention of Rose and Lucien, together.

“It would help.”

Marita nodded regally and stood, walking to the telephone by Caia’s bed. “Noble, can you please alert the Containment Center that I’m on my way down with Caia?”

She’d been right. The Containment Center—the prison—was situated one level below lecture hall A. Bars rolled down from the ceiling as you passed through the “reception,” and rows of individual cells with what looked like magikal Plexiglas contained the prisoner rather than steel bars. Caia wondered at the other occupants who gave off no Midnight trace. They were obviously rogues.

She didn’t have time to wonder too long because the electrifying trace sizzled through her even more intensely as Marita drew her to a halt outside a door at the very end of the corridor. It was a huge iron monstrosity with a small rectangle at the top that slid open so you could peer inside.

“She’s in here,” Marita sneered and placed her hand against the door. She muttered an incantation under her breath, obviously forgetting that Caia had supreme hearing.

Occultus atrum unus. Caia repeated the words in her brain, and her heart suddenly slammed at the thought of why. You really do want to play with fire, don’t you?

The door swung slowly open with a forbidding creak, and Marita seemed to prepare herself before entering. Caia followed, only to feel the trace grow even stronger. The sound of the door had frightened the girl.

The door was the sole source of light, but Caia could see well with her wolf eyes the hideous conditions of this prisoner’s cell in comparison to the others. She sat huddled in the corner of a bare square stone room, thick iron bars that crackled with electricity (more magik) separated her from any visitors. Her long, bedraggled hair covered most of her face and knees as she pulled herself tighter into a ball. The sight of Marita terrified the girl.

A rush of pain hit Caia so fast, she cried out and stumbled back.

“Are you all right?” Marita was by her side in an instant.

No, she wasn’t all right. This girl was innocent. Despite her harsh treatment, she still held no ill will toward the Daylights. The only person she felt bitter toward was Marita, and yet at the same time, she understood why the witch would not believe her. Of all the traces Caia had felt over the past few months, of all the feelings of antipathy toward the war, of actual goodness she thought she was picking up from the Midnights … none could touch this young woman for her purity of soul.

There was a pearl of blissful warmth in the girl’s trace, something Caia had never encountered before. She tried to push the connection harder to discover what it meant, but all she received were the girl’s thoughts on Vilhelm, the Daylight magik, her friend. Without realizing it, she sent Caia an image of his anguished face as she was torn from him by Marita’s men.

Laila. Her name was Laila.

“Caia.” Marita shook her. “Are you all right?”

Goddess, what could she say? Marita’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

“Has it done something to you?” she spat, turning to glare daggers at Laila. “If this filth has managed to get her magik past these bars, I will have her executed.”

“No!” Caia grabbed her arm in reflex.

Uncertainty flickering across Marita’s marble face. “What is going on here?”

Lie, Cy, lie!

Marita would have her thrown in with the girl if she knew Caia sympathized with her. Marita’s prejudice was too great for her to even contemplate that the continuing war may be a consequence of a horrendous misunderstanding on the Daylights’ behalf. Caia couldn’t fight this war. Not like this. But what could she do? Her powers had her trapped in it; she was obliged to stay and fight.