The Collecter idly chatted as he escorted me through the extravagant maze of his home, glancing over his shoulder in warning to the anxious onlookers when he opened the doors of the ballroom, exposing me once again to the sea of feasting vampires.

I kept my head down low, hair brought forward to cover my neck, eyes fixed on The Collector's walking legs so not to get lost, already fighting to hold back a gag at the rusty stench. Even if there were bouncers enforcing the feeding, I would not take any chances.

I refrained from sighing with relief as dim light from a hidden door met us at the back of the room. The Collector let me step inside first. My shoes clung to the floor, and I did not dare look at what stuck to them.

"Do the vampires frighten you?" he asked as he shut the door behind him.

"I've seen worse on hunts," I replied. He raised his brows as if asking me to continue. "The victims of the creatures I hunt aren't willing like the ones back there."

"It's sickening, isn't it?" he said with a smile. "That there's people willing to put themselves in danger just for a rush of adrenaline?"

"You're hardly different," I replied. "Throwing a party with hundreds of supernaturals far more powerful than yourself? Any one of them could harm you at any second if they really wanted to."

His smile turned crooked as he leaned in close. "It's for the thrill, Miss Lupine."

He gestured to the narrow set of stairs, taking a moment to let me ponder on his words. "If you will."

Our footsteps echoed as the heels of our shoes tapped on the stone steps blanketed in shadow. The lack of light showing us the way told me this place was seldom visited, yet the columned walls had been dusted recently. Perhaps The Collector viewed his possessions often, but alone.

The entire floor had been dedicated to his collection, the layout resembling that of a museum, every room a shrine to each supernatural: the vampires, werewolves, witches, hunters and one for the most mysterious beings such as ghosts and angels, which were myths in themselves, even among this hidden world. I marvelled at them, barely resisting temptation to not touch the polished, scarlet, flower-shaped stained glass of a window The Collector claimed was extracted from Valour: the vampire's safe haven, and their equivalent to Oblivion's Watch. Allegedly, none other than the vampires themselves knew of what sat at the top of that mountain. All outsiders were offered in hint was the manor-like structure at the base of Valour itself.

"It's rumoured the trek to the mountain is so deadly only vampires can make it," The Collector explained. "I also have a painting of an artist's depiction of what it looks like, but we cannot be sure, can we?"

The scarlet glass was not a flower, I realised, but a sun. A blood red sun. Perhaps the only one they had, and The Collector had it for himself. "It's beautiful," I said. Beautiful that a creature of destruction could create something so... fragile. Delicate. Even meaningful.

"I wish I had something more interesting than glass to show you. There's another I once collected but it was... stolen." He sighed, and a muscle flickered in his pointed jaw. "But we should move on."

"Wait." I held up a hand to stop him. "What was stolen?"

"Another window. It depicted an ancient legend of the werewolves. A prophecy, of some kind."

It was pure curiosity of me to ask. No games, no ulterior motive. "What kind of prophecy?"

"Some saviour nonsense about a hybrid beast." My stomach flipped on itself. "All bullshit though. It's impossible. You must know of vampire biology right?"

Vampires were dead. Their transformation eradicated any other abilities. A witch, for instance, would lose their magic upon turning. A werewolf would only die. Even if they were only given the blood of a vampire, the interaction with their immune system would create a toxin that would slowly kill them. Likewise, if a vampire was to drink the blood of a werewolf, they would die a painful death. Lifelong enemies with a balance of strengths and weaknesses. Entirely equal. It was no wonder they kept as far away apart as possible.

"You're right," I admitted. "It's impossible."

He smiled. "Security's tightened since then. I don't know who stole that artefact but if I ever find them..."

He trailed off. And the dark look in his eyes made me shiver. It served as a reminder of the stakes of our carelessness. Leopold was frightened of this man, and the look he gave just then offered reasoning as to why.

He led me through a candlelit archway to a room almost empty compared to the rest, saved for the witches. Little was known about them. For a species so proud of their power, they were silent regarding their safe haven. When I asked about them years ago, dad told me their base was cloaked by magic, making it the most guarded of all the supernaturals, even more protected than the hunters' veil, and the vampires' gruelling journey to their own.

Most of the artefacts there were tapestries, some old and frayed, others looking as if they were made only a few decades ago. The Collector said the witches, like werewolves, valued tradition and would still make tapestries of their greatest achievements, events and individuals, despite the difficulty of making them. Magic would have helped, I supposed.

One clad in a multitude of colour caught my eye. It stretched the length of the wall, and every colour sewn in represented a different style of magic. At the top, witches danced in the air. They couldn't possibly do that, of course, but it was the simplest and most effective way to symbolise air magic. Witches healed and grew vegetation on the ground, while others conjured fires and made rolling waves. In the darkest corner, a witch held a knife over their hand and, within the smoke behind him, gnarled husks clawed their way into the light. That was necromancy.

The Collector's eyes shone. "Amazing, isn't it? The work it must have took..."

It was seven feet tall and the stitches were tiny. I knew nothing about creating tapestries but the intricate details they possessed must have taken hours of long, tedious work. "Yes, the stitching is—"

"Not the stitching." The Collector's hand hovered over the shadows of the tapestry. "The magic. Bringing someone back to life."

"It's illegal," I reminded him. His lip quirked.

"You think everything at my party tonight is legal, Miss Lupine? Even these tapestries being here is a crime."

"You stole them?"

He swaggered backwards, smile widening. If it wasn't for his personality, I would have maybe enjoyed his company, basked in the knowledge surrounding us, but beauty and charm on the outside was not matched by his slimy soul. "Another drink?" That wasn't an answer.

I had to keep up appearances, even if I was uncomfortable with it. "Please."

The Collector smiled and drifted out the room, leaving me alone.

I took the chance and explored The Collector's museum further in search of Horizon's Edge, holding back my urgency in case he returned sooner than I thought, hoping to appear as an eager, intellectual hunter rather than a lying thief.

I scoured the artefacts and found myself scowling. Whether I liked them or not, these objects were part of the witch's history and, with greasy, greedy hands, he robbed them only to hide them in darkness and never see the light of day again.

As I turned a corner, I met the face of a woman.

She wasn't even real, only a centrepiece for the largest painting in the room. With pale eyes, she looked down at me with an upturned pointed nose as silver hair cascaded in ringlets behind her, a crimson gown falling down into the foot of the artwork. Warmth radiated from the material as I reached out a hand.

At a spark, I drew it back.

"What are you doing?"

Startled, I almost gasped. The Collector had returned. "You were fast."

"I have a bar upstairs." He handed me another flute of champagne. "Does she intrigue you?"

I had taken a step towards The Collector but her eyes were following me. "Who is she?"

He gazed at the woman. "A very important individual to the witches."

"But who?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. A noble, perhaps? I'm not familiar with their history."

I looked to the floor, disappointed. The witches were secretive but I hoped for a better answer than that.

The Collector cleared his throat. "Your cousin wants something from me," he said. Horizon's Edge.

Play dumb. Men like him basked in being the smartest person in the room. "I don't know what it is. It's some sword, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "Not a sword. A blade."

With an uncomfortable hand on my back, he led me down the hall. This was the opportunity I needed. I had to know what it looked like.

"What's so special about this blade?" I asked on the way there.

"This is one of my most precious artefacts, Erika. It was forged in ancient times by magic, and is said to hold immense power."

"What kind of power?"

He smiled. "You know of necromancy? I spoke of it before."

Patronising fool. I was a hunter – not some ignorant child. "It brings people back from the dead."

"Ah, ah! More specifically."

Oh, to have shown him the journals I had studied as a child. I sighed. "It raises corpses."

He bopped my nose and I reached for my purse. My heart sank when I remembered the crossbow was in the poker room. Anyone else wouldn't have gotten away with that. "Correct!" he said. "Necromancy can bring a corpse to life but souls? No. The souls stay in... wherever they go, if anywhere. But Horizon's Edge pulls them back. It acts as a beacon, drawing the soul back to the body to bring it to life once more."

Air left my lungs. Necromancy was illegal because it disrespected the dead -- it was viewed as borderline slavery in the witch world. Horizon's Edge literally lured souls away from oblivion and back to the land of the living. This wasn't just necromancy and blood magic. This was altering life's natural order. I stopped to take another nervous gulp of my drink under the watchful eyes of The Collector.

"Here it is."

Kept in a glowing glass case, Horizon's Edge was something to behold. Despite its rumoured age, the blade was kept in immaculate condition as if holding immortality in its jewelled hilt. The silver glinted a heavenly white and the jewel a hellish red. A perfect balance for something so unnatural.

"Its—" Beautiful was the wrong word. It was trashy, ugly and represented evil in the world. Majestic would have fit, but I was more frightened than amazed. No word could match the dread, and sickness I felt looking down at Horizon's Edge. 

My mouth turned dry and I forced out a rumbling cough.

"Now."

A hand wrapped around my throat from behind. I gasped, reaching for the solid grip but my fingers turned numb around them. My reaction time had slowed.

The Collector's lips brushed against my ear as he leaned in close. I shuddered under his breath.

"Let me go," I warned.

A chuckle. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice what you're trying to do? You would steal from me?"

A chill ran through my body. I needed a plan. I had no weapons and no knowledge of where to run or hide in his home. This was his territory. If I had to, I could sprint back the way we came and burst through the door to the ballroom. I could get lost in the feeding and find Alex and the twins.

"You want Horizon's Edge." He bared his teeth. "Why?"

"I—" I choked on my words. His grip was tightening and I was running out of air. I clawed at his fingers and angled to bite him but I couldn't move my neck whatsoever.

With a hiss, he let go. I coughed and drew raspy breaths. The room was spinning, and it was getting worse rather than better with my inhales. What's wrong with me?

"Nothing gets past me, my darling. But things get past you."

I glared at him. Even with my doubling vision, I could see him smirking.

"That champagne's strong, right? It's a brand made for vampires. You know, for their higher tolerance? Lethal for us humans, though. Just one glass is enough the knock even the most seasoned drinker off his feet."

He cocked his head at me as I stumbled backwards. I fell over something hard and landed flat on my back. I tried to move, but my muscles grew heavier.... and heavier.

A shadow cast over me and his hands dug into my neck. I couldn't even feel it. It was like a lucid dream — a living nightmare.

"Bastard," I choked.

He chuckled. "You have no idea."

Thank you for reading this chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment your thoughts down below.
— Caitlin x