Evernight (The Night Watchmen Series Book 2) (23 page)

“Weldon,” Jaxen says through a slight grimace, “it’s not that easy.”

“Nothing is. That’s the beauty of life,” he retorts with an intense, fevered stare.

He looks ready for a fight. A fight we all know will be here sooner rather than later. Death is imminent. We all know it, and we all hope it’s for the opposing side.

I jump when a lady with long, black hair and dark blue eyes says, “Excuse me, but your table is ready.”

“Thank you,” Jaxen says with a small nod.

The lady turns and heads back into the restaurant, leaving us all staring at one another.

“Shall we?” Jaxen says, putting his arm around my shoulder, and then we all head in.

“
T
HIS WAY,” THE HOSTESS SAY
S
as we enter the crowded restaurant.

It seems like everyone within the city has decided to come here to eat. There isn’t an empty table. I’m shell-shocked by the shapes and sounds around me. By the fashion. There’s lavishly decorated robes, high-end dresses, bright colors, and futuristic prints. Faces covered in colorful make-up and bodies shimmering with magic that falls around them like stars.

But what’s worse is that they’re all looking our way, whispering to one another. And I can feel each and every one of their energies. They are bright, warm, and somewhere deep inside of me, I want them.

All of them.

I’m tempted to drain this room until there’s nothing left to feed the monster inside of me.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jaxen says in my ear, startling me back to the present as we reach a table on an upper level overlooking the restaurant. Glass walls separate certain areas with water pouring in between the panes. A woman with a black mask lining her eyes plays the harp in the corner of the room.

Jaxen pulls my chair out for me, and then takes his seat by my side. Jezi sits on the other side of me, and the rest fill in around the circular table, leaving three empty chairs. A waitress greets us, hands us each a menu, and then takes turns asking what we want to drink.

“Do you have soda here?” I ask. My cheeks betray me as a wave of heat strikes them.

The waitress dips her eyebrow. “Soda?” Her accent is strange and unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.

Jezi leans into me. “You should order the Witch’s Brew. It helps open your mind. Makes you more receptive to what’s around you.”

I turn to the waitress. “I’ll have the Witches Brew, please.” Glancing over at Jezi, I offer a small smile. She smiles back, and I can’t help but think she’s trying.

“I am,”
she says in my mind.
“Fighting with you is pointless, especially when we have larger problems to worry about.”

Jaxen tenses a little next to me. None of us were prepared to share thoughts.

“Thank you,”
I say to Jezi. She nods and looks down at her menu.

The waitress takes her time manifesting each of our drinks. I can’t help but stare. Even though we have the ability to conjure most anything, it was never practiced in my home. My mother loved sticking to the human tradition of cooking and tending to ourselves. My stomach tightens at the thought, and it takes most of my strength to keep from dwelling on how homesick I am. How much I miss her.

When the waitress finishes with our beverages, she manifests a basket with steaming rolls. I almost don’t want to take one, but Jaxen hands me one. I don’t bother with butter. I tear into the bread, unable to control myself.

Cassie snorts. “Geez, did Clara not feed you?” she asks, almost sounding appalled.

“I haven’t had an appetite in days,” I say with a mouthful. “Too much blood and death to even think about eating.” My cheeks are on fire. I’ve forgotten my manners.

“That’s awful,” she says, looking to Gavin.

“Clara’s one cold-hearted bitch,” Gavin says, fists balled against the table. “Mack’s going to freak when he hears about this.”

“There’s nothing he can do about it now,” Jaxen says, picking at his roll. There’s so much sadness in his voice. “We have no way of contacting him, and I’m sure they aren’t going to let us leave just so we can talk to him.”

Gavin shakes his head. Exhales loudly. “This is such a cluster. He urged us to come here. He signed us up for this bogus mission, and not a single freaking thing has happened except Faye getting tortured and us showing how awesome we are in front of all the other Elite wannabes.”

I finish swallowing, and then take a long sip of my drink. It warms as it spreads through my body, and a sense of relaxation passes over me. The corners of my mouth settle into an easy smile as the little things that bother me wash away.

“Please stand for High Priest Seamus Sullivan,” the waitress announces a moment later.

It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening. Everyone stands, and then Jaxen grabs me by the arm to help pull me up. Everyone in the entire restaurant is standing as the High Priest makes his way toward our table. They all slightly bow their heads as he passes them, whispering things under their breath.

Even though my stomach is a little full, it suddenly feels like an empty pit as every eye in the restaurant slowly turns and finds the table we sit at. As they settle on me. My feet turn inward, but I keep my hands firmly at my sides and my chin held high. I won’t cower to their curious gazes. Not anymore.

When he approaches the table, Gavin pulls out his chair, and we all wait until he sits to take our seats. He pushes the hood of his crimson robe back, and his gray eyes settle on me. There’s a gentle quality in the way he holds himself, but the power in his gaze alone demands respect.

“I trust you’re feeling better?” he asks me, his eyes only set on me. He’s oblivious to all the stares in the restaurant… or maybe he just doesn’t care.

I smile tightly. “Yes, thank you.”

“Good.” When he smiles, it deepens the creases around his thin lips. He lifts the menu.

“Who are the empty chairs for?” Gavin asks, pointing to the open seating next to Seamus.

“Oh, I just invited a couple of friends of mine. They should be here any moment,” Seamus replies, never once looking up from his menu.

Jaxen’s hand brushes my thigh under the table. Sparks ignite under his touch, and I almost gasp because of it. I catch him smirking to himself out of the corner of my eye. Grabbing the menu, I peruse it, overwhelmed by the choices.

Roasted duck. Steamed lobster. Broiled Chicken, and a plethora of other options that all make my stomach growl and my mouth water.

The waitress appears a moment later and takes our orders. I settle on braised pork and herb-roasted mashed potatoes. After the orders have been taken, an awkward silence settles over the table. I don’t think any of us know just what to say in front of the Priest. Though he seems to be on our side, there’s no telling. Not anymore.

Trust is a fragile thing. It’s easily broken and even more difficult to mend. The Priesthood lost our trust the moment Clara tricked us. Earning that trust back will take more than a fancy meal and meaningless conversation.

Seamus clears his throat and sets his eyes on each and every one of us. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I summoned you to dinner. In a public place, no less.”

“To showboat, I’m sure,” Weldon says snidely under his breath.

My eyes grow wide.

I’m not sure if Seamus heard him because he doesn’t acknowledge the remark. “I’m sure we’ve all encountered the ghastly creatures named rumors. They spread like wildfire whenever a new subject has entered the City, and they are highly contagious. I’ve called you here to help me squash these pestering things, bringing you out into the public eye to show them that you are indeed just like us and not some otherworldly creature to be feared.”

My hand clenches around the napkin I’m holding as the heater inside of me flips on. I hate that I suddenly feel the weight of every single eye in the room, all centered on me.

“And how is bringing her out into the open going to help?” Weldon asks for all of us.

Seamus finally acknowledges Weldon’s presence. He tilts his head in his direction and paints on a civil smile. “It’s Weldon Jacobsen, correct? Twin to Elder Maddock Jacobsen, and son to Elites Joseph and Harriett Jacobsen?”

Weldon’s jaw goes tight. “What is this? An attempt at flexing your knowledge so you can impress us? Anyone in the Coven has access to that information. So what?”

“Yes, but does everyone have the access to know that both your parents
and
your brother have committed enough Coven crimes to guarantee banishment? I’m the only thing between their names being defamed and remaining respected members of this Coven.”

Weldon’s fists ball against the table and his face darkens. The golden hue of his eyes deepens and swirls with a fury I have yet to see in him before. “My parents are six feet under,” he says through his teeth, cold eyes set on Seamus. “How dare you threaten me!”

Seamus blinks once, his face taut with polished placidity. The eyes of everyone around the table find each other, each silently asking the other what to do. I remain focused on Seamus. “This is not a threat, Weldon. I’m simply stating that I’m a friend, not an enemy.”

Weldon grunts. “Cheap way of demonstrating that,” he shoots off, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. “You know, you people sit here in your fancy city with your fancy robes, and you look down on those who are out there in the real world, toughing it out. You look down on those who keep you in your nice office and comfortable beds.” He looks around, his voice growing louder and louder, ensuring that everyone in the restaurant hears him. “I think it’s about time that you all show us some respect. I think it’s about time that you admit just how corrupt things are in your
Priesthood
,” he spits out. “Give us the choice to decide if we want to continue fighting for you or not, because frankly, I could give two shits what happens to this city.”

“Weldon!” Jaxen says sharply.

“What?” Weldon says, throwing his napkin on the table. “I’m sorry, but I can’t sit through another minute of this.” He flicks a bitter glance in Seamus’ direction. “The Priesthood always has a way of leaving a bad taste in my mouth.” He stands and walks away from us, ignoring the protests from Jaxen and Gavin.

I’m left staring at Seamus, blinking rapidly, trying to process everything that has just happened. A thought pushes forward, and I do nothing to stop myself from saying it. “What was the point of that?” I ask, feeling deeply for Weldon. Jaxen protests, but I don’t listen. He doesn’t understand what it feels like to be prodded. To be an experimenter’s fantasy. “You want me to trust you, yet you condemn my friends. How is that any better than Clara? You should know what he went through better than anyone at this table. Putting others down just to build yourself up only reflects on you. Only shows how poor your character really is.”

Seamus jerks his eyes toward me. With lips pressed thin, he says, “Careful with your accusations, young lady. You may be a unique asset to this Coven, but that doesn’t warrant disrespect. Your friend Weldon hasn’t been the most supportive member of this Coven since his return. I’m well aware of what he went through, but that is not an excuse to rebel against our ways.” His voice is far too calm to match the riled look in his eyes.

Jaxen shifts in his seats. Lays his napkin down way too carefully. “Excuse me for speaking out,” he says evenly, like he’s trying to maintain control over his tone, “but can you blame him? He wasn’t exactly welcomed by the Coven after his return.”

“Nonetheless,” Seamus says, dipping his head, “I, and a few other trusted members of the Priesthood, reached out to him shortly after. After he rejected our invitation, he closed himself off. He chose segregation as the answer. I will not sit back and allow him to openly disrespect me in our Coven’s capital. He will learn one way or another that he must respect his Elders. One of these days—”

The woman’s voice that always alerts us blurts out through the speakers around the restaurant, cutting Seamus off. “Please welcome High Priest Edgar Robinson and High Priestess Clara Ravensmoore.”

Everyone in the restaurant stands. An energy I’ve tasted before surrounds me. Darkness. Hatred. Pure evil. A riptide of tension threatens to swallow each and every one of us around the table. All except Seamus. I have to force my knees to bend—my muscles to tighten and push me upward. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, feeling each pinprick in my arm, every mark left by Clara’s cruelty burning beneath the leather of my jacket.