Heaviness fills my heart, and every instinct in my body wants me to rush after him. I remind myself that my feelings are the habit I’ve formed from being under his spell. Clenching my teeth, I wrap my arms around my middle and breathe hard.
“Bree,” whispers Poppy.
I turn to her and force a smile. “We knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”
The Magus places a hand on Jude’s shoulder and gestures for him to return to his seat. I purse my lips. She only knows one half of the story. To anyone looking from the outside, I broke up with a talented and devoted boyfriend with the potential to form a successful partnership, leaving him heartbroken and having lost the chance of being the conciliar to a talented slayer. The worst part is that Jude wallows in sympathy because he still can’t see that he’s done anything wrong.
He returns to the seats with his head bowed and his gaze fixed to the floor. Evangeline walks toward him, making sure to bump my shoulder as she passes, and she kneels at his side.
“What is she saying to him?” I whisper to Poppy.
She squeezes my hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
I swallow back a lump in my throat and turn to the Magus, wishing love was like a light switch you could turn on and off. It’s more like a procedure that changes a person’s neural pathways, and alters their muscles in a way that can’t be undone. It only adds fuel to my flames of resentment.
After telling us to spread out and stand facing our partners, the Magus draws a symbol in the air in metaglyphs. She creates the glyph for ear and encases it in the symbol for mouth, signifying that bonding will enable telepathic communication between the slayer and conciliar.
Surrounding these symbols are glyphs that represent magic and water flowing to and from the slayer. It’s so simple yet powerful, I can’t believe this is what she will use to join me to Poppy for the rest of our lives.
“Raise your arms and look into your partner’s eyes,” she says.
We follow her instructions, and the glowing symbols appear on our palms. My heart quickens, and my breath becomes shallow. The symbol tingles like it's made of static electricity, and all the power residing in my chest vibrates in sync.
“Join palms with your partner and repeat the incantation,” says the Magus.
It’s Latin, a language used by Saint Theodora. Every guardian of a slayer child teaches it along with reading and writing. Warmth fills my chest as I remember lessons with Uncle Fred, who always made learning fun.
I stare into Poppy’s eyes and repeat the words after the Magus. Throughout the incantation, a hum fills the air like the buzzing of a million bees. Even though I know it's the power coursing through our bodies, I have to fight the urge to break eye contact and check for hives.
Our breathing synchronizes, and the edges of my consciousness dissolve into the ether. One moment, I’m staring at my reflection through Poppy’s pupils, and the next, I’m standing in a poppy field that looks like a Claude Monet painting.
Vivid colors applied with textured brushstrokes make up my surroundings, and a delighted giggle bursts from my throat. The sun is as honey blonde as Poppy’s hair, and fluffy, white clouds drift across a sky the same cornflower blue as her eyes.
I stretch out my arms and run my fingertips along what feels like cotton candy, my heart soaring with euphoria and love. In the distance is a huge barn that resembles the Sydenham family home. People wave from the windows, beckoning me closer.
I’m in the soul of someone with multiple connections to family, friends, fiancé—a bright and cheerful individual who plays well with others.
Someone claps their hands. I blink and find myself staring into Poppy’s pale, shocked face.
Chapter 7
Dread plummets through my stomach, and my hands drop from hers. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
“Poppy?”
“I can’t…” She turns her head away.
Around us, the other mages react similarly, with the slayers as confused as I feel. I turn around to glance at the Magus, wondering if this is normal, but the woman raises her hands. “Slayers, please leave the room.”
“What’s happening?” I say at the same time as every other slayer who has just bonded with their conciliar.
We slayers aren’t moving, and every single mage in the room, including Poppy, cringes away from their slayer.
A door slams open, and the Magus bellows, “Leave, and don’t return until the end of classes.”
Maeve rises from her seat with a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. She’s the first to leave, but it’s easy for her because she hasn’t just made the most important bond of her life. I glance at Poppy, who melts into the blackboard—she’s that desperate to get away from me.
With a heart as heavy as stone, I exhale a long breath and trudge out of the room. It’s time to speak to Uncle Fred, who went through the same process with Mom.
I step into the hallway half expecting to see Madoc outside waiting for Poppy, but Maeve stands in front of a noticeboard where someone has posted a flyer for a Halloween party.
Hurrying past the other slayer, I reach into the pocket of my denim jacket and pull out my smartphone. There’s a missed call from Uncle Fred, along with a voicemail and text. Grandma, as usual, has not returned my call. I hope she and Aunt Clarissa haven’t gotten themselves into trouble.
Paintings line this part of the convent, one of Saint Theodora wearing a beaded headdress and standing in front of the setting sun, and another of Saint Augustine, who wields a flaming sword. Her vibrant red hair flows from her mask of fury like snakes. I’ve lost count of how many generations span between her and me, but she’s the second generation of slayers who was also an acolyte of our founder.
I step out through a side exit and walk down the winding, stone path and through the thick hedge of juniper shrubs that lead to the Repentance Garden. The sun hangs halfway toward the horizon, a ball of pale yellow within a cerulean sky. The menthol scent of the shrubs fades, replaced by the mingled scents of wild garlic, stagnant water, and moss.
The Repentance Garden is a rectangular, stone pool with an arched monument at one end. Flanking its sides are statutes of the six lesser Saints of the Order of Theodora — Augustine, Sophia, Marcella, Ariadne, Julia, and Euphemia. Each of them points weapons that spout a stream of water into the pond. There’s a sword, a cursed dagger, a flaming torch, a javelin, a stake, and a crossbow. Thick verbena shrubs grow between the saints, their purple flowers encroaching on the pond’s stone ledges.
I walk around three-foot-tall garlic flowers with pink and purple heads and lower myself into the stone bench. My smartphone beeps with another text from Uncle Fred that asks about my first week back. I tap on his photo, call his number, and place the receiver to my ear.
“Bree,” he says with a happy chuckle. “Congratulations on being shortlisted for Theodora’s blessing.”
“What is it?” The words spill from my lips before I can even ask how he’s doing. Uncle Fred still works for the Council of Mages, but doing magical research instead of fieldwork.
He pauses for several moments before replying. “What do you mean?”
I tell him about Doctor and Sister Shevette’s suspicious behavior about Evangeline becoming a candidate for the Blessing then mutter something about a mage who said it was more like a curse.
“Anyone I know?” he asks with a smile in his voice.
Annoyance flickers through my insides at my lack of subtlety. I couldn’t tell Uncle Fred about Jude’s enchantment, as he would have reported him to the council. Instead, Poppy and I let Uncle Fred believe it was just a regular breakup. He’s probably thinking I’ve found a new object of desire. Alaric’s more of an object of derision, and I don’t want to talk about him.
A frog jumps out from the thick growth of verbena and hops onto the pond’s stone ledge. It’s crocodile green with leopard-shaped spots. I tilt my head to the side and turn on m
y bloodsucker vision. Nothing happens.
“Umm…” My teeth worry my bottom lip. “It’s just something someone said in passing. Is the Blessing bad?”
“The competition for the Blessing is the worst part.” Uncle Fred pauses, and a scraping sound fills the receiver. I picture him standing in the kitchen, buttering a slice of toast. “Many of the other candidates played dirty and tried to discredit Raphaella. Do you think that’s what your mage friend meant?”
No, I want to say. Instead, I ask, “How did Mom react afterward?”
“She was radiant and the next time we connected, she nearly knocked me to the ground with the force of her power. It’s the reason why slayers fight so bitterly to receive the Blessing.” A crunching sound confirms my suspicions.
“Hmm…” I stare into the pool, letting the sound of running water wash away my worries. “When you bonded with Mom—”
“What did I see?” he asks.
A lump forms in my throat. “I stepped into Poppy’s soul, and it was such a happy, colorful place.” The backs of my eyes stings with oncoming tears. “When the enchantment ended, she looked at me like I was a monster.”
Uncle Fred sighs. It’s the long, weary sound he makes when I ask him too many questions about Mom. “If it’s anything like what I saw in Raphaella’s soul, it would be blood and death.”
“What?”
“It comes with the vocation. Slayers kill vampires, who kill humans. Your soul reflects that you come from a long line of killers.”
“We protect the native world from vampires,” I whisper.
“Vampires see themselves as another form of carnivore, who consume blood while others consume flesh. From their point of view, slayers prey on their kind for just trying to survive.”
A lump forms in the back of my throat, and I swallow hard. “But they’re clinging to an existence that should have ended in death.”
“I couldn’t agree more, but despite the nobility of your calling, slayers still kill.”
My posture sags, and my chest feels like lead. I heave out a long breath, thinking of the implications this might have on Poppy. “Did seeing Mom’s soul change how you felt about her?”
“It gave me a deeper appreciation of the sacrifice slayers made to protect the world,” he murmurs with a wistful tone.
Most days, Uncle Fred is cheerful and upbeat, but sometimes he looks at me with eyes full of sorrow. When he’s tired or distracted, he’ll call me ‘Raph’ because with each passing day, I look more and more like Mom. He misses her, misses being her conciliar, and part of me wonders if looking after me brings him closer to Mom. I don’t ask because I won’t be there to wrap my arms around him to soothe the ache in his heart from losing his slayer.
“Thanks, I say. “Are you working on anything interesting?”
He launches into an excited monologue about the excavation work the mages are doing on the fire that spread through Malone Convent. I can’t help thinking about Maeve and what she might have seen. If only there was a way for the slayer to speak.
For the next hour, I sit back on the stone bench with my head tilted toward the sun. I don’t feel any different from the bonding, except a yearning to know that Poppy isn’t traumatized by what she has seen. Uncle Fred seemed alright about his experience in Mom’s brain, and Aunt Clarissa loves Grandma. Maybe I’m not giving Poppy the credit she deserves.
“Brielle,” says a deep voice from behind.
It’s neither smoky nor sensual nor sinuous and grates along my nerves. Vampire or not, right now I wish Alaric was the one stalking my steps and not Jude.
Rising to my feet, I don’t turn around but keep my gaze on the statue of Saint Augustine. “What do you want? Poppy’s my conciliar.”
“She’s weak. Her lack of magic will slow you down in battle,” he replies.
Poppy’s power levels are average, while Jude one of the best in our year. None of this matters if I get the Blessing, as the power boost will also benefit Poppy.
I shake my head. “Move on.”
“How many times can a man say he’s sorry?”
A bolt of anger shoots through my insides. Remembering the triumph in his eyes the last time he broke through my ice exterior, I clench my teeth. “Enchantments like the one you performed on me leave scars that even an apprentice mage can lead back to its caster. Come near me again, and I’ll report you to the Magus.”
“But my family—”
“Will suffer for your criminal actions,” I snap.
Jude falls silent for too long. I tilt my head to the side and peer at him through the corner of my eye in case he decides to attack with another enchantment. He hangs his head and walks back through the juniper shrubs.
As soon as the clocktower chimes four forty-five, I bolt out of my seat, rush through the hedges, and back through the convent’s side entrance. The other slayers crowd outside the Magus’ classroom, and I wonder what the older woman has been telling the apprentice mages. Mom and Uncle Fred trained in the Malone Convent under a completely different Magus, so it hadn’t occurred to me to ask him what happened directly after his Bonding.
The crowd parts, and Evangeline steps out, her eyes blazing into mine. “What the hell just happened?”
Some of the girls surrounding her close ranks. They glare at me as though I’d personally instructed all the mages to get upset. Annoyance rushes through my insides, and I place both hands on my hips.
I stare up into hazel eyes that remind me of a drop of blood dissolving into a pool of gold. “You have a slayer mother in the convent and a mage father ready to provide answers. Instead of acting like I’m the only person with connections in the Order, why don’t you quit whining and help your entourage?”
Her mouth drops open, and she casts nervous glances at the called slayers who have vaunted her as their leader. These are girls who Order scouts recruited from orphanages and foster homes with loose familial connections to women who served Saint Theodora over the centuries. Some of them might have great-great-grandmother slayers who either retired from the calling or whose children married natives and then reproduced with other natives.
Sigrid, the blonde slayer from Sweden, places her hand on Evangeline’s arm and murmurs words of comfort, but Evangeline shrugs her off.
A dark figure in a long coat passes at the end of the hallway. All thoughts of mean girls evaporate, and my heart crashes against my ribs. Alaric. Before Evangeline can form an excuse for not consulting her parents for help, I rush after him.
At the end of the hallway and around the corner is an atrium that floods the convent’s interior with light. Dozens of doors that lead to classrooms, offices, and ritual chambers surround the space, and I can’t see which way Alaric has gone.
My throat tries, and I rush around the indoor fountain where Saint Theodora holds a bowl that overflows with water.
“Where is he?” I mutter under my breath.
A door straight ahead slams shut, and I sprint along the arches that surround the atrium to a hallway that leads to the fourth years’ tower. It might have been the wind, but what if Alaric decided to come and get the case for himself? Elation fills my chest, as does the thrill of the chase. Vampire or not, I want to see him and this time, I won’t let him go until I get answers.
My rapid footsteps echo through the two-story space, and I clench my teeth, cursing my lack of stealth. If Poppy were here, she would enchant my feet silent.
I shove open the door, tear through a hallway of wooden floors and matching wall panels, and step into the tower’s winding stairwell. With excitement powering my legs, I take the stairs two at a time, not stopping until I’ve reached the top. Our dorm room door stands ajar, and my heart quickens with a renewed thrill. He’s trapped.
A grin spreads across my face, and a stake drops down from the seam of my jacket into my hand. I step into my room and kick the door shut. As suspected, the Louis Vuitton case is missing from where I left it on the desk.
I lean against
the door, blocking the only exit. If Alaric is really a vampire, he can escape as mist but leave the case behind. The lack of a bulge behind the curtains says he isn’t using them to mask his presence, and no dark figure crouches beneath the desk, leaving three possible hiding places: the bathroom or under each of the beds.
“Where are you?” I murmur.
He doesn’t answer.
“I did try to return your case,” I say. “Nobody was in.”
He still doesn’t answer.
“This isn’t a game of hide-and-seek, you know.”
Outside, a bird makes a chattering cry that sounds like a laugh. I shake off any notions that he’s transformed and already escaped. To do that, he would have left behind his case. Keeping my steps stealthy, I pad across the room to Poppy’s bed and pull up the night sky coverlet to find flattened Mercury Mailboxes. I check under my bed, which is also free of hidden males.
My lips curl into a smile, and I tiptoe to the bathroom. It’s windowless, making the only escape route through the door. It creaks open under my palm. I step inside, only to find it empty, even when I fling open the shower curtain.
All traces of adventure fizzle into annoyance. “Where are you?”
The balcony door—which I closed this morning—slams shut with the wind. I tear out of the bathroom, into the balcony, and stare down into the convent’s grounds, the pier, and beyond that, the lake.
Maybe I imagined everything. Maybe it was an after-effect of the bonding. But it wasn’t. I saw that dark figure dart through the hallway, and Alaric’s case is now missing.
“How on earth did he do that?”
The clocktower chimes quarter-to the hour. It’s time to check on Poppy, so I turn back to the room. Lying on Aunt Clarissa’s white quilt is a red rose. There’s a piece of paper underneath it, which is the heavy card stock used for fancy invitations. In dark red ink, he’s written the letter A with several flourishes.
“How unoriginal,” I say out loud, even though my chest fills with giddy warmth.
Vampire Bonds (Darkbloods Book 1) Page 7
