by Sarah Piper
“Immortal, as in, all of this is no more than a myth?” Aiden asked. “A story told to naughty children at night to frighten them into behaving?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Immortal because he lived forever. At least, his persona did. Upon his death, his greatest apprentice would take up the blade and the identity, continuing the legacy. At any given time, no one knew the true identity of the Immortal Soldier, or for how long each assassin carried the name. The soldier—and this dagger—killed hundreds. Thousands. It vanished from the records soon after the Battle of Borodino, but there were rumors it was smuggled into England, hidden in a piece of art created for just that purpose. No one ever knew which piece.”
“The Mother of Lost Souls.” Dorian shook his head, glancing at the broken shards still scattered on the ground. “All this time, I thought it was just another esoteric piece of art. Yet it was hiding something far more valuable.”
“Obviously, Rogozin and Chernikov knew better.” Charlotte set the blade back on the slab and paced the small chamber. “A few months ago, I would’ve told you this piece was the Bratva’s holy grail. But Rogozin and Chernikov’s organizations make the Bratva look like schoolyard bullies. And with so many supernaturals bidding on other pieces from your father’s collection… No. This isn’t just a Russian cultural artifact. There’s something more to all of this.”
“She’s right,” Colin said suddenly, emerging from the shadows with one of their father’s anatomy books in hand. “There is more to it. A lot more. In fact, it’s not a Russian artifact at all.”
“What is it, then?” Dorian asked.
He glanced at Charlotte, then cut his eyes back to Dorian, as if he wasn’t sure how much to reveal.
“Speak candidly, brother,” Dorian said.
Colin let out a long, slow breath, then said, “This blade was forged in hell by an ancient demon called Azerius.”
Cole barked out a laugh. “Just when I thought there might be a dull moment around here, you Redthornes gotta kick it up another notch.”
“Colin, how did you come to know this?” Dorian asked.
“It’s only a hypothesis, but…” He set the book on the slab, then rummaged excitedly through one of the stacks of journals until he found what he was looking for. “Father’s journals spoke of a cure for demons—a weapon that would essentially strip a demon’s essence from his vessel and trap it for eternity. The journals are cryptic at best—the fanatical rantings of a madman at worst—and I’d assumed the weapon he referred to was an actual formula, not unlike the one he synthesized to cure vampirism.”
“Isn’t it?” Aiden asked.
“I think the weapon, in this case, may be literal.” Colin flipped open the journal and pointed to a passage in the center. “Many of his entries have odd references to ravens, like this one: ‘The wing of the raven shall cure the darkness as surely as the sunrise cures the night.’” He flipped past a few pages, then read, “‘Black as a demon’s heart, forged in the very same darkness, the raven’s gift is the key to its demise.’ There are literally hundreds of notations like this.” Colin set the journal back onto the stack, then grabbed the anatomy book he’d left behind. “At first, I couldn’t decipher whether raven wings were part of the formulary, or a metaphor, or some other clue. I set aside that mystery in order to work on re-creating the vampire cure, but when Charlotte mentioned the raven’s wing, I recalled this book.”
He held it up so they could see the cover.
“Corvidae: Anatomy and Physiology,” Dorian read. “What does that have to do with father’s rantings?”
“Corvidae is the family of birds that includes the raven.” Colin gestured around the lab. “In all of the anatomy and medical books father brought back here, this is the only one that doesn’t deal specifically with humans.”
“So?”
“Father didn’t study birds, Dorian, or any animals for that matter. He was obsessed with humans. Always.” Colin’s eyes had taken on the crazed appearance of the very madman they were discussing, sweeping the rest of them up in the majestic wonder of it all. “Yet consider the name he bestowed upon the manor.”
“Ravenswood,” Dorian whispered.
“You yourself thought Father had intended for us to find the blade and the book. Perhaps you were right, and all of this—the journals, the name of our very home—is all part of the trail he left for us to follow. I didn’t want to see it at first, but it’s all here, Dorian. Written on every page, inked over the original text.” He handed the Corvidae book to Dorian. “The first entry was written from the ship, right after we set sail for America.”
Heart pounding in his chest, Dorian opened to the first page, focusing on the black hand-written letters floating above the text.
“At long last the Blade of the Raven King is in my possession,” he read. “Kendrick was a fool to confide in me its purpose and location, but I shan’t make the same mistake. I confide in no one but this very parchment—not even my own sons—not until such time as I deem it necessary for them to know. This alone shall ensure the longevity of our great house.”
“Keep going,” Colin said, his dimples flashing in the dim light of the cavern.
Dorian cleared his throat and continued. “In the darkness that followed the turning of the Redthorne line, for many years did I pray for guidance, yet none heeded my call. Not until the demon Azerius came to me in my dreams did I see the faintest glimmer of hope. The white raven spoke to me thusly: ‘So shall a demon cross your path who shall rid you of your tormentors and allow you to ascend to your rightful position as king in the name of your forebears. In return, he will ask you to retrieve for him a gift befitting the lord of demons. You will retrieve this gift from the manor of your oppressors, but you must never reveal it. For if the Blade of Azerius and the Book of Lost Souls were to fall into the hands of a lesser immortal, chaos shall reign eternal…”
Dorian glanced up from the book, his memory echoing with the words his father spoke the night he’d buried the Mother of Lost Souls and the book in the coffins behind Ravenswood.
A gift befitting the lord of demons—may his eternal reign darken our doorstep only until we’re ready to see the light…
Colin took the book from Dorian’s hands and continued where he’d left off. “The very next evening, the demon Nikolai approached me in the tavern, and after introducing himself as a messenger of Azerius, there we discussed my plight, though he was already well aware of my desperate need.”
“Chernikov,” Dorian said, and Colin nodded.
“Only such a demon,” Colin read, “with the help of his coven of dark witches, could have assisted me in destroying the ruling vampire family that enslaved my line. Yet this help did not come without cost; in return, he demanded the very gift Azerius had spoken of: a blade with the power to cure this world of demons as surely as I might one day cure it of vampires, for a single drop of demonic blood spilled by the raven’s wing shall imprison his essence within it for eternity, never to return to conscious awakening, not even in a human vessel. Used against humans, it shall expel the human soul to hell, creating a demonic vessel requiring neither consent nor contract.”
Colin gasped, his fingers skimming over the words as if he needed to absorb them by touch in order to believe them.
“So lemme get this straight,” Cole said. “Your old man made a deal with Chernikov—via this Azerius dude—to wipe out the ruling vampire family and ascend to the throne?”
“It makes sense,” Dorian said. “I’ve always wondered how father managed it. House Kendrick was well-guarded, and the entire family was home at the time of the murders. Father’s version of events never made sense, yet he always refused to answer our questions.”
“He said it on the first page,” Colin said. “‘I confide in no one but this very parchment—not even my own sons—not until such time as I deem it necessary for them to know. This alone shall ensure the longevity of our great house…’ Though, I can’t see how his secrec
y ensured anything but resentment and confusion.”
“So this is what bound him to Chernikov,” Dorian said, lost in his own churning thoughts as he recalled the Russian demon’s warnings. His secrets are your secrets now, Dorian Redthorne… “The two of them conspired to murder the royal family, and then escaped to America, where my father ascended as king and put in place the Accords that allowed Chernikov to expand his own criminal empire.”
“And Rogozin,” Cole said, “and every other demon shitbag to follow in their footsteps.”
“What else is in the book?” Dorian asked Colin.
Colin skimmed through the rest, shaking his head. “Just more of the same—Kendrick confiding in him about the statue and the book, telling him about the blade, how it would make vampires the most powerful supernaturals on earth. Father doesn’t mention the specifics of the Book of Lost Souls, or the details of the murder, or how he managed to convince Chernikov he didn’t have the blade. After the initial entries, the rest are little more than praise for Azerius. It’s as though Father thought he was some sort of demigod, or...” He flipped through the pages, quickly skimming. “The last entry is… Wow. He wrote this just days before his death.”
“What does it say?” Dorian asked.
“Azerius, the Great White Raven, King of Kings, I remain, as ever, your faithful servant, yet I can no longer decipher what it is you’re asking of me. I have followed your commands as best as I could interpret them. I have guarded your secrets. I have sacrificed so much in your name—spilled the blood of innocents, destroyed families, started wars—and yet a dark curse remains within my blood, a blight upon my house, my sons, our sires. It is, I fear, Nikolai’s final revenge. And so I ask of you—I beg of you, Azerius—grant me guidance in my final hours, so that I may know your will. So that I may end this and free my sons of this once and for all.” Colin sighed. “That’s it. The very last entry.”
Again, Augustus Redthorne’s final words haunted Dorian’s memory.
Your brothers… you must find… genetic…
Was this what he’d meant? Some sort of dark curse on their bloodline? Nikolai’s revenge? Dorian rubbed his hands over his arms where the tattoos beneath his shirt were already fading, despite his recent feeding on demons and cold blood bags, despite Isabelle’s temporary spell.
Had Chernikov somehow caused this?
“In every answer lies a thousand more riddles,” Dorian muttered.
Colin closed the book, and for a long moment, no one spoke. Deep within the twisted caverns beyond the makeshift laboratory, Dorian could hear the crumbling of rock, the faint dripping of water seeping into the cracks of the stone, the slow yet endless passage of time as it consumed the very walls around him.
In that moment, a profound sadness flooded his heart, threatening to carry him away.
Blinking back the sting of unshed tears, he took a deep breath and focused on the sound of Charlotte’s heartbeat, a steady rhythm that instantly calmed him, reminding him of her life and vigor, her warmth.
He glanced up and found her already watching him, a soft smile curving her lips, her eyes full of something so rare and intense and beautiful, it made him believe—for just a moment—in divinity.
She held his gaze for another heartbeat, and something deep and profound passed between them.
Dorian hadn’t the words for it, but eventually he turned away, as if looking into her eyes for too long would break him.
Colin put the Corvidae book back on the shelf, and Charlotte finally spoke.
“If the blade of the Bessmertnym Soldat was truly forged by the demon Azerius, and it has the power to not only eradicate demons on contact, but turn humans into vessels, it’s no wonder Rogozin and Chernikov are so eager to acquire it.”
“You know what’s even more fucked up?” Cole said. “If this is true, all those high-ranking generals and police you mentioned weren’t actually killed. They were turned into demons. For all we know, they’re still around.”
“The blade might have other powers as well,” Colin said. “Perhaps Father left additional clues, but we just don’t know at this point. I think we should err on the side of caution and assume we’ve only just scratched the surface of its abilities.”
“It slices, it dices, it juliennes!” Aiden said exuberantly. Then, dropping into a deadpan that sent a chill down Dorian’s spine, “And look, ladies and gentlemen. It opens the bloody hell-book too.”
Dorian had been on the other side of the chamber, and now he turned to look at Aiden, standing behind the stone slab in the center of the room, the previously impenetrable Book of Lost Souls inexplicably opened before him.
His face was bathed in its magical silver light—a light that emanated from the very pages themselves, pulsing like a living thing.
Dorian could feel its eerie heartbeat in his own veins.
“Aiden,” Dorian whispered. “How did you…?”
“I picked up the blade for a closer look,” he said, “then set down on top of the book, not giving it a second thought. The moment it touched the cover, the book opened of its own accord.”
“Can you read it?” Dorian asked.
“I don’t speak demon, mate. But I’m getting a definite One Ring to Rule Them All vibe here, so I think I’ll just…” He glanced once more at the book, then took a few steps backward, shaking his head. “Right then. Who’s ready for breakfast? Better yet—drinks? Shall we head back upstairs? Far away from the portal to Mordor and into the nice, cozy study instead? Excellent! I’ll run ahead and start the fire.”
He headed off in the direction of the elevator, but no one else made a move to follow.
Colin leaned in to inspect the demonic tome, his skin nearly blue in the strange silvery light. “I can’t make it out either. It’s… quite complex.” He traced his fingers over a page, but drew back as if the words themselves burned to the touch. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t want to be read. Not by me, at least.”
“Perhaps Isabelle might have some insight,” Dorian said, heading toward the elevator with the others. “She’ll be along later with an update on Armitage Holdings—I can ask her then. In the meantime, I think we should all… We should… I…”
Dorian’s thoughts slid away, and a deep chill slithered through his blood, casting his skin in gooseflesh.
He felt a whisper against he back of his neck, then spun on his heel, only to be met with empty space.
“Someone walkin' on your grave?” Cole clapped him on the shoulder. “You look a little freaked, Red.”
“No, I… I thought I sensed something. Someone. I...” He glanced around the area again, but there were no others. “I could’ve sworn someone else was down here.”
Just the ghosts of the past, he thought, hoping like hell Augustus’ spirit wasn’t lingering. His father had offered little to them in life; Dorian had nothing left for the man in death.
Besides, Augustus’ soul—what was left of it, anyway—was in hell. It was likely the only thing about their father that wasn’t a mystery.
Shaking off the odd chill, Dorian pressed his finger to the blood scanner and opened the elevator, ushering Charlotte, Cole, and Aiden inside.
He turned back once more to look for Colin, hoping he’d join them for a meal, but his brother was already immersed in the next great puzzle, his eyes shining like twin lamps over the demon book, his mind percolating with possibilities Dorian could only imagine.
“Don’t forget to eat, brother,” he said softly, but he knew the words had fallen on deaf ears.
Chapter Fifteen
“Is that scotch?” Gabriel asked. “Thank you, brother. Just what the doctor ordered.”
Dressed in dark jeans and a black leather jacket that still held the late morning chill, Gabriel marched into the study and reached for the glass Dorian had just poured.
Despite the smirk and the healthy pink glow in his cheeks, Gabriel’s mouth was drawn tight, his eyes red with exhaustion.
“Impeccable timin
g, brother.” Dorian relinquished the glass, then poured himself another. “Have you found something on Rudy?”
The group had just finished brunch, and now they gathered before the fire to review the last of the Estas files and day-drink themselves into a mild oblivion. At Dorian’s question, all eyes were on the youngest Redthorne.
Gabriel took the chair next to Charlotte, downing a few healthy gulps of liquor. The booze and the fire seemed to relax him, and after a long moment, he finally said, “He opened a bank account in Brazil recently. Bought some property there as well—all in cash.”
Dorian nodded. “That corresponds with what we’ve found in the Estas files.”
“Beyond that, nothing more than what we already know. I’ve been trailing him the better part of four days, but he’s been extremely careful. Aside from his residence on the West side and a few restaurants in the area, he hasn’t ventured far. He seems a bit paranoid too. Constantly looking over his shoulder, jumping at every backfiring car. Something definitely has him on edge.”
“Did you check the restaurants?” Dorian asked. “The staff? Other patrons?”
“Clean. And human—all of them. If he’s conferring with demons, he’s not doing it in person. While he was out, I search his penthouse—nothing professional inside, and no signs of Sasha.”
Charlotte sighed beside him, but still managed a faint smile. “Thank you, Gabriel. I appreciate your… All of this. I’m not…” She trailed off, her eyes misting with tears.
Gabriel softened at the sight. “We will find your sister, Charlotte. And wherever she is, I’m certain she’s already got those motherfuckers taking her out to breakfast, listening to her endless stories, and catering to her every whim.” He let out a light chuckle, then reached over and touched her hand, his eyes filling with a compassion Dorian hadn’t thought possible of the man. “Please don’t lose hope. You’re carrying it for all of us—Sasha too.”
Charlotte seemed just as surprised by the turn in Gabriel’s normally brusque demeanor, and his words buoyed her, bringing a new smile to her lips.
