Page 50 of Poison Ivy
I lift my head to meet his intense gaze.
“This is real,” he says firmly. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. I know it seems fast, but sometimes when you know, you just know.”
I search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception. But all I see is sincerity. So, I take the leap of faith and hope that it doesn’t blow back on me and crush me.
“Okay. I believe you.”
26
BRAM
I pacethe grounds of Thornfield, growing more agitated by the minute. Where the fuck are Torin and Tate? We were supposed to be searching for Poison, not gallivanting off on our own.
A twig snaps behind me, and I whirl around, magick crackling at my fingertips. The floating figure from before emerges from the shadows, his silver eyes gleaming in the darkness.
“Bram Sinclair,” he intones, his voice like silk over gravel. “We meet again.”
I lower my hands but don’t relax my stance. “What do you want?”
The creature glides closer, his feet never touching the ground. “My employer was most impressed with your handling of the Winslow situation. But we believe the situation at Nox was out of your hands. He has another task for you.”
My eyes narrow. “I’m listening.”
A wicked smile spreads across his face, revealing unnaturally sharp teeth. “There’s a warlock causing trouble for some of our associates. We need him removed.”
“And who exactly are your ‘associates’?” I press, growing tired of the cryptic bullshit.
The creature’s smile only widens. “All in good time, Mr Sinclair. For now, let’s focus on the task at hand.”
He produces a small, ornate box from thin air and holds it out to me. I take it cautiously, feeling the thrum of dark magick all around it.
“Inside, you’ll find everything you need to complete your assignment,” he explains. “The target’s name is Ezra Hornbeam. He’s been meddling in affairs that don’t concern him.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Hornbeam? As in the Hornbeam Coven?”
The creature nods. “The very same. We have faith in your unique abilities.”
I turn the box over in my hands, considering. Taking out a member of the Hornbeam Coven is no small feat. They’re one of the most powerful magical families in Britain. But the challenge intrigues me, and I need a distraction from the Poison situation. It is driving me mad, and at this point, I want to tear the earth up looking for her. But something that Tate said resonates in my mind. He said she was a shifter. That much was evident from her little stunt earlier. So, I’m guessing that searching for Poison is a waste of time. Ineed to search for therealher. Whoever that is. But it will take time.
“What’s the timeline?” I ask.
“You have forty-eight hours,” the creature replies. “And Bram? We expect discretion. No one can know about our arrangement.”
I nod curtly. “Understood.”
The creature begins to fade into the shadows. “Oh, and one more thing,” he adds, his voice growing distant. “Be careful of the little assassin you’ve been chasing. She’s more dangerous than you realise.”
Before I can demand more information, he’s gone, leaving me alone with the box and a head full of questions.
I retreat to my room in the townhouse, locking the door behind me. Sitting on my bed, I carefully open the ornate box. Inside, I find a vial of shimmering black liquid, a small dagger with runes etched into the blade, and a folded piece of paper.
Unfolding the paper, I read the instructions written in an elegant, spidery script: “To locate Ezra Hornbeam, mix three drops of your blood with the contents of the vial. The resulting mist will guide you to his location. The dagger is infused with a poison that will negate a warlock’s healing abilities. One cut is all it takes. Good hunting.”
I set the paper aside and pick up the vial, swirling the black liquid inside. It seems to move with a life of its own, coiling and uncoiling like a living shadow.The power radiating from it is intoxicating, calling to the darkest parts of my fae nature.
For a moment, I hesitate. Getting in deeper with this mysterious organisation could have serious consequences. But then I think of Poison, of how she humiliated me in the forest. The rage that’s been simmering inside me since then boils over. She has touched a part of me that no one else has even dared to try and find. She is everything, and I need to figure out who she really is, but all in good time. I started with this as a means to an end, to get in the same circles as Poison, but that has become blindingly clear: it’s not going to happen. This organisation, whatever their end game is, is about destroying The Syndicate, which means they are working towards a different goal, and Poison is not part of that goal.
Pulling out the stopper, I use the dagger and prick my finger. Letting three drops of blood fall into the vial, I replace the stopped and give it a little shake. The liquid inside hisses and writhes, turning a deep, swirling purple. I remove the stopper, and immediately, a thick mist pours out, forming into a vaguely humanoid shape.
