MATIC


    The night pressed around us, thick and silent. Viola collapsed to her knees, body trembling with the aftershocks of teleportation. It rippled through her like an unwelcome current as she clawed at the grass, dry heaving as her breaths were shallow and uneven.


    "I hate this," she complained, her heartbeat a rapid, erratic staccato against my heightened senses.


    Viola was weak, untrained and raw—a pale shadow of the Saldana’s I had known. They had practiced their craft until magik molded their very bones, moving through space without so much as a tremor. By her age, Katherine could split the world apart and stitch it back together without breaking a sweat.


    Tomás words lingered in my mind, twisting like smoke, elusive and insubstantial. His insinuations had been sharp—that Katherine''s soul would keep returning, life after life, until I was freed from my prison.


    That notion was absurd because Tomás wasn''t there the night Katherine attacked me. He didn''t hear all that she accused me of.


    Now as I watched Viola retch on the ground, her flesh carried Katherine''s scent and taste, yet lacked the crushing power that had defined my wife. Raw. Untamed. Different. Perhaps that was what unsettled me most—this echo of Katherine wrapped in a shell of pure, untested potential.


    I tilted my head back, seeking solace in the stars, but they were gone—obliterated by the modern world’s artificial glow. Once, their light had offered solitude in my darkest hours; now, even that comfort was devoured by progress.


    Everything was different now—the air thick with metallic traces and stale concrete, synthetic perfumes tainting what should have been clean night air.


    Viola gagged and convulsed, bile splattering onto the earth in sharp bursts. The acrid stench of vomit sliced through the still night air, her frailty unsettling the silence that surrounded us.


    I wrinkled my nose, recalling that moment at the castle with Tomás, when Viola had seen the ley lines. The memory flickered like a dark flame, stirring something disquieted within me. She’d seen those ribbons of ancient energy—forces even I couldn’t perceive—and had called them lovely.


    Not the calculated appreciation of a trained Aetherborn, but the pure awe of someone seeing magik in its purest form for the first time.


    Tomás had been just as surprised. A flicker of uncertainty twisted in his dark eyes when he glanced back at me. I knew that Aetherborn, were born into their powers, their abilities, an extension of their blood, their ancestry. The fact that Viola—a witch with no remarkable heritage, a mere shadow of Katherine—could see the ley lines unsettled him, as it did me.


    Perhaps she saw them because she carried Katherine''s soul. I knew little of reincarnation—such mysteries belonged to the Aetherborne and Necromancers like Emery.


    Walking toward Viola, she continued retching on the grass as I crouched beside her.  She flinched and I ignored her reaction. Reaching over her shoulder, I brushed her thick, low ponytail back from her face. She tensed near me but didn’t protest, her breaths rasping in her throat as the last wave seemed to pass through her.


    "You don''t have to do that," Her voice, weak and hoarse, barely broke the stillness as she wiped her mouth with the back of her trembling hand.


    The fire in her—both a whisper of the familiar and something entirely her own—stirred a sensation I refused to name. My fingers lingered in her hair, drawn to the fleeting warmth of her skin beneath the soft tumble of curls.


    “Little witch,” I murmured, my fingers lingering in her hair for a beat too long before retreating, “my choices are not born of obligation.” The warmth of her pulse teased against my fingertips as I straightened, forcing my hands to my sides. “They’re governed by what I deem… fitting.”


    Viola sat back on her heels, inhaling deeply, her gaze fixed at the sky as if bracing herself. "Like trying to drown Jamal in a chocolate fountain," she said, her voice steady, though thick with reproach. Her tone held a weight that was impossible to ignore—a plain, unforgiving criticism.


    Judgment, resentment, disgust—emotions I was all too familiar with. Those feelings had followed me like a curse across the centuries.


    I stood up slowly, brushing dirt from my borrowed three-piece suit. "He betrayed you, publicly flaunted his dishonor, yet you find fault in my response rather than his actions."


    "Dishonor…" Viola whispered an echo into the night and her fingers curled into the grass. "I wouldn’t say he publicly flaunted the other woman, I wasn’t supposed to be there." She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head and she dropped her gaze to mine.


    Something flickered in her eyes—a deep, raw ache that stirred an unfamiliar discomfort in my chest. She continued, “I found fault with your actions, considering that you dragged him across the hall and everyone was watching.


    A dark laugh escaped me, the sound rough with centuries of bitterness. "And what of it?” My voice dropped lower, darker. “In my time, such betrayal would have warranted far worse than chocolate.”


    "Thank you."


    Viola’s voice halted me. She had risen to her feet, the moonlight catching a faint shine in her eyes. For a moment, she seemed to wrestle with herself, her gaze shifting briefly before returning to mine. The gentleness struck like a blow, leaving a heat lingering in my chest.


    "Despite your... unconventional methods," she continued, a faint smile pulling at her lips, "that''s actually one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me."


    I studied her, silent, my mind reeling. Sweetest?


    In my time, gentle words, flowers pressed between notes and stolen glances across ballrooms were considered sweet. It was restraint, the careful dance of society. Not violence. Not drowning a man in chocolate simply for dishonoring what was mine.


    Yet, the weight of her words lingered, gnawing at me in a way I didn’t care to examine.


    Clearing my throat, I murmured. “You''ll get used to teleporting.”


    “I know,” Viola smoothed down her dress, pausing when she noticed a dark stain near her knees from kneeling in the grass. She muttered a curse, brushing at the stain before glancing back at me. “I actually went to a magik academy up North.”


    My eyebrow lifted, curiosity piqued. “You went to an academy,” I said, amusement lacing my reply. “Yet you cannot wield even the simplest of spells?”


    She scoffed at me, folding her arms. “That was all thanks to Emery’s grandmother, who was the headmaster at that academy.”


    Viola’s gaze shifted to the distant estate, a look of irritation crossing her face. “It’s so far. How did I teleport us this far back?”


    She had landed us on the outskirts of Fradan''s estate—a considerable distance from the main house but still within the estate walls. An admirable effort, if I were feeling generous, though something had clearly clouded her focus during the teleportation.


    "Climb on my back," I suggested, my voice casual as I lowered myself to one knee. "As much as I am the son of Asmodeus, my mother was a pure-bred Vampyr. I can get us to the house within seconds."


    “No," Viola shook her head, her hand pressing against her lower belly as a grimace crossed her lips. "I''m still feeling woozy, and I don’t want to puke on you."


    I let out a low, amused chuckle, straightening to my full height. “Suit yourself, then. But I hope you’re ready for a long walk.”


    An autumn breeze swept over us, and Viola hugged herself, her bare shoulders and arms exposed to the chill. “I’m ready to crawl into bed and pass out until next spring,” she murmured.


    “In other words, you want to hibernate.”


    Viola nodded her head, "Winter is coming." Her words were spoken in a very ominous but playful tone, and her smile widened. "Oh right, you wouldn''t get the reference."


    "That winter is the season right after fall?"


    Walking on, Viola shook her head, "No, well yes, but what i’m talking about is a completely made up story. Eventually, it was turned into a major TV show. Winter lasts for like seven years and these ice zombies come down from the North to kill everyone." Her enthusiasm faltered at my clear confusion.


    “Before I was banished, winter had never lasted for seven years. And what of these Zombies you speak of?" The distant lights of Fradan’s estate casted faint glimmers through the dark. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    "Nevermind, I''ll add explaining modern entertainment to the growing list of things we need to catch you up on. Zombies aren''t real by the way, they are human corpses and are totally fictional creatures but I assume, a necromancer could raise an army of the dead…”


    “It has happened before,” I told Viola.


    Her eyes widened, “You’re lying.”


    “No. You should have learned this at the academy. I know these stories because Tomás and his siblings learned it from their tutors.”


    Viola didn’t immediately reply but we kept our steady pace, now walking in awkward silence as the quiet settled around us. I found myself glancing her way, noting the steadiness that returned to her form.


    Her sudden silence was telling. For all her claims of attending the academy, her ignorance of fundamental magikal history suggested otherwise. I don’t think she was lying or what seems more plausible, that they had ceased teaching certain events.


    “You didn’t finish your story,” I told her after a beat too long. “You told me that the reason why you were able to stay at the academy was because of Emery’s grandmother. Did she see potential within you, or was she just feeling charitable?”


    Viola shot me a look, half annoyed, half something else as she smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No one saw potential in me. Emery and Kaylee are three years older than me and they were friends with one of the foster kids in my home.”


    “What does a foster kid mean?”


    She paused as we walked, the night air thickening between us. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her dress before she finally spoke. "Kids without homes or parents who can care for them." A bitter smile crossed her lips. "Instead of keeping us all in one big institution, like they used to back in the day, they scatter us among different families. The government pays them to house us, feed us... pretend we belong." Viola’s voice caught slightly on the last word, though she tried to mask it with a shrug.


    "You have no bloodline? No kin?" The question emerged unbidden, though I expected her usual guarded response.


    Viola shook her head slowly, her gaze dropping to the ground, still walking. “Not anymore. I remember my parents—vaguely. My mom always smelled like lavender, and my dad... he''d come home from work and spin me around like a helicopter.” She let out a faint laugh, her voice thick with nostalgia. “But most of my memories are of my grandmother. My earliest memories with her start when I was six years old but then she died when I was nine.”


    I said nothing, letting her words settle. Another breeze swept between us, and I caught myself, almost instinctively, thinking of offering her my doublet. “It must have been… difficult, growing up alone.”


    "It''s life. What can we do…" She let out a small sigh, her shoulders sagged slightly, then continued with that practiced indifference I was beginning to recognize as her shield.


    My hand shot out, catching her arm and pulling her to a stop. Viola stumbled back against my chest, and I said. "You could have done plenty. Conforming to their weakness was a choice. Breaking them for daring to make you feel small - that''s a privilege."


    "You should have let their rejection fuel you until you were powerful enough to make them crawl. Until they choke on their own arrogance." My fingers released her arm and seized her chin, tilting her face up to mine. "I was feared and scorned…yet I made them all bow. Made them beg. That''s what you do with life, little witch - you rise until they can''t help but look up at you."


    Viola swallowed hard, and then licked her lips, she replied. "Can I ask you something?"


    I released her chin with a grunt, the sound low and rough in my throat.


    "From listening to what Fraden said about Katherine and them wanting to protect you, it sounds like you had people surrounding you, who loved you. Regardless of how things turned out. Am I wrong?"


    The memory of my father stirred something within me. "No, you aren’t wrong.” I murmured, studying her with narrowed eyes, trying to decipher her intent. "I grew up with my father and sister, Danika. Tomás and a few others who saw past what I was. My father was the one who told me to prove my enemies wrong. Told me time and time again to take their hate and use it to fuel my power, to forge their fear into strength." A smile curved my lips. "He understood what it meant to be feared—to be seen as a monster. He taught me to become one worth fearing."


    “Then, you wouldn’t understand.”


    “Understand what?”


    "Emery and Kaylee were graduating from the academy and had their own lives. I had no one. Not a single soul or enemy." She sighed, and stepped back, her gaze drifting to the distant manor lights. "No one to teach me how to harness my fear or pain and use it to forge any sort of strength." Her voice turned bitter, barely above a whisper. "Not that I could do it. The most exciting part of my life was being forced to trail after the older girls like some unwanted shadow. The foster mother thought maybe I''d pick up a thing or two from them.”


    "And now you freed a five hundred year old Vampyr." My voice dropped lower, darker. "A monster who knows precisely how to forge weakness into power."


    "Well," Viola''s breath hitched. "Even if I was able to conjure that much power, we only have a few days until Halloween and after that you''ll be free to go where you want. And my life, we will go back to..." She paused, her fingers twisting in the fabric, seeming lost in thought or maybe she didn''t want to finish that sentence.


    Watching her, the puzzle of the little witch nagged at me. “Why did you stay at the academy? I can’t imagine a place like that was kind to you.”


    From what I recall from my childhood, my brief attendance at a similar institution, they weren’t kind to me. Being a vampyr and a half blood demon, that only stirred their cruelties from both children and the professors.


    Viola glared at me, rubbing her arms against the chill of the night. "It doesn''t matter..." Her voice trailed off, weary, as if drained by the weight of our conversation or maybe her memories.


    She then stared beyond me, as if something had caught her attention. It was almost as if Viola had heard something, but with my own heightened senses, I detected nothing unusual in the night air—just the stillness of the grounds stretching back toward the estate.


    Nevertheless, Viola moved toward the mansion, now quickening her pace as if trying to escape more than just our conversation. "Emery''s going to worry about where I disappeared to," she muttered, tension evident in every line of her body. Her fingers reached for her ponytail, tugging at the elastic like she needed something to do with her hands. The thick mass of dark curls tumbled free, falling around her shoulders in a wild cascade that caught the moonlight.


    I fell in line behind her, remembering how those same curls had felt beneath my fingers in the forest. How they smelled—so utterly intoxicating, a subtle warmth laced with a sweetness that lingered in my senses, drawing me closer despite myself.


    Maintaining my distance, I watched her stride ahead. Whether it was my scrutiny or the biting cold that spurred her on, I couldn''t be certain—perhaps both. Samhain was fast approaching, and though Tomás''s protection spells kept hunters at bay for now, time was not on our side.


    Last night, Emery confirmed that we had six days. Which meant now, we were down to five. Yet, watching Viola stride ahead, shoulders tight with tension, it amazed me how she denied her own abilities with the same practiced ease others might draw breath. Even during Samhain, when magik practically begged to be wielded, she shrank from her potential.


    The irony was maddening—this woman who had shattered a five-century seal and seen ley lines without training still insisted on making herself small. She needed to recognize her powers, whether they stemmed from Samhain''s influence or Katherine''s essence.


    But her wounds ran deeper than any spell could reach. A child cast aside, parents vanished into memory, a grandmother''s death stealing what little stability remained. She had learned early that expectations bred only disappointment.


    Following behind Viola, my long strides closed the distance with ease. Another wind swept across us, and she cursed, rubbing her arms and trying to provide warmth.


    “Viola.” Her name left my lips like a command, but she kept walking, her heels sinking slightly into the damp grass with each determined step.


    In a heartbeat, I appeared before her, savoring her startled gasp as she nearly collided with my chest.


    "Jesus Christ, Matic!" Her pulse spiked—that familiar flutter of prey sensing danger. Before she could step back, I prowled behind her, movements liquid and predatory.


    With deliberate grace, I let the doublet slip from my shoulders. I swept her thick hair aside, letting my fingers linger a beat too long against her bare skin before draping the fabric over her shoulders. She wore it now—my presence, my scent—a subtle claim against the chill of the night, whether she knew it or not.


    "You''re cold," I murmured near her ear, a statement that left no room for dispute. The shiver that ran through her wasn''t from the chill in the air—it was something else entirely.


    After a moment''s deliberation, she accepted it with a soft, "Thank you," the words barely a whisper as I rounded to her side with a flicker of satisfaction curled in my chest.


    "Shall we?" I gestured toward the main house looming ahead, its windows glowing like watchful eyes in the darkness.


    We continued side by side, though I drifted closer with every step. Her scent—earthy, sweet, untamed—was a lure I couldn’t resist, a tether pulling me deeper into her orbit. Each accidental brush of our arms only magnified the pull, embedding her essence deeper into my senses.


    "Will Tomás be okay?" Viola’s question cut through my thoughts, concern threading through her voice.


    I studied the distant manor, and we were halfway there. "I don''t know," The admission tasted bitter. “In my time, I had known every nuance of Tomás''s power. I had watched him grow into his magik alongside mine but not his abilities to manipulate the ley lines. This version of him—Tomás—was different. Changed. Those black veins spreading across his skin had spoken of magik far beyond what I remembered.”


    "He was straining to maintain that time freeze," she pressed.


    "So it seemed."


    "You know," She hesitated, then turned to face me, slowing her pace. "In the forest, when you were fighting those witches. Your physical characteristics changed as well. There was a mark—a black dot in the center of your forehead. Not quite the size of a dime but it disappeared by the time we got back to my apartment.”


    I stilled, my gaze sharpening on her because moments before Katherine sealed me away, she had mentioned something similar as well. "What did it look like?" I asked her.


    Viola stopped walking now, and traced back towards me. She stopped in front of me. "Around it, sharp lines branched outward, like cracks... in the center of the black circle, it seemed like there was a sigil, flames simmering just beneath your skin. In the forest, the cracks were longer—they stretched below your eyes and onto your cheeks. As if your skin was fracturing."


    She touched her forehead, tracing lines on her skin as she stepped even closer, her voice dropping softer. "There was also the snake tattoo from when I had first released you... but it shifts—it''s not in the same place." She traced a finger down her own body where it had last appeared, the gesture unconsciously intimate. "And your skin—was different..."


    Her words felt distant, like they were coming through a fog, yet her proximity was all too immediate. The urge to grab her exploring fingers, to press her palm against my skin until she felt every fractured part of me, was nearly overwhelming.


    “Before I teleported us back, your skin was darker—charred…” Viola continued. “Like ash beneath the surface.” Her gaze drifted back to my face, lingering on my forehead.


    Viola licked her lips, her eyes locking onto mine, studying me with an intensity that stirred memories best left buried.


    "I am the son of Asmodeus for a reason," I murmured, though the mark''s true meaning eluded even me.


    She swallowed down her unease and stepped back, inhaling deeply. Viola’s eyes darted around us, searching shadows I knew weren''t there. One hand lifted to her right ear, head tilting slightly.


    "Do you hear that ringing?"


    "No."


    Her expression turned distant, head tilted as if listening to something beyond my reach. After a moment, her lips curved into a faint smile.


    "Fraden just asked us why we''re taking so long."