A Shade of Vampire 90: A Ruler of Clones - Bella Forrest Page 0,63

Something I wasn’t sure was real or okay. But the heart was a fickle thing, and I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t strong or experienced enough to know how to handle it.

We had one hell of a problem waiting for us at the end of this journey, so I chose to focus on that instead. The Valkyries might need me more than ever before. Thayen, my mom, my family and friends… their safety and wellbeing came first.

Leaving Mom with our “sleepers,” plus Richard and Soph, Brandon took us down the south side of the Black Heights, through the deep woods where only the occasional deer dared to graze. Neither the Berserker nor the Valkyries believed they were able to teleport us like my mother could—they assumed it had something to do with them being from Purgatory and not of the living realm, but that hadn’t stopped the Reapers from zapping us around. No, there was another issue at play here. While I was curious to figure out what that was, we didn’t have time to debate or study the phenomenon.

We trekked down the rocky and wooded mountain side until we reached the grassy hills leading to the Vale. From there, hidden from sight with invisibility magic, and careful not to get too close to any of the populated areas while Jericho covered our tracks, we made our way across the fake Shade and into the witches’ Sanctuary, which… wasn’t like our Sanctuary at all.

The whole place had been terraformed, for lack of a better word, and it was nothing like the rest of The Shade. The greens were greener here. The reds redder. This part of the charade was remarkably beautiful and realistic—a lush clearing with patches of tall grass and citron-yellow flowers blooming everywhere.

“This is not the Sanctuary,” Thayen whispered as we took a minute or two to understand what we were looking at. Brandon nodded his agreement.

“Witches don’t live here, for starters. This was made to suit Hrista’s desires,” he said. “It’s her residence.”

Regine grumbled. “This is wrong.”

No one said a word. We knew she’d have to accept the truth in her own time. Cautiously, we walked across the clearing, the occasional dry leaf crunching beneath the soles of our boots. Not far from us, a deer raised its head from a thick underbrush, casually chewing on roots and blades of grass. Its big eyes were strange, black, and devoid of any emotion. This creature only lived to serve as food, I realized. It had no other role in this false world. HQ must’ve taken DNA samples of animals and plants, too, in order to build this world.

Ahead, an elegant villa rose up, its white walls covered in lilac wisteria, fully bloomed and sprawling everywhere. It looked as though it was pouring down from the flat stone roof. Tall oak trees cast their cooling shadows against the house. Shadows born from the faint celestial glow and the orange-fire torches mounted around the property on a thirty-yard radius, while a carefully manicured garden surrounded the ground floor. The wisteria blossoms had vines intertwining with the wrought iron railing of the double semi-spiral steps leading up to the front entrance—a pair of white lacquer French doors with frosted glass panels that almost beckoned me to open them.

“It feels like an invitation to go in,” Myst murmured, deeply concerned by the sight before us.

“Do you sense her?” Brandon asked.

She nodded once. “Closer than ever.”

“Damn her,” Regine hissed. Finally, she was ready to accept reality. I imagined she would be angry once the initial shock wore off. I hoped it would come sooner rather than later, in case Hrista tried something against us. Brandon’s concerns from earlier came back to haunt me—what powers and tricks did she have to make him so worried? And what were our odds of defeating her, even with two Valkyries and a Berserker on our side?

I’d have my answer soon enough.

There wasn’t any movement around the house. There were no guards, and I didn’t see any movement through the windows of the two-story villa. At first glance, it looked gorgeously abandoned. With our hearts in our throats, we took the first steps toward the front stairs, ready to follow Brandon inside.

“Where is she?” Regine whispered.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Probably inside, plotting who knows what. It’s all she’s been doing lately, according to what I’ve overheard from those who unwittingly pointed me in this direction. Well, either holed up in here, or out beyond