The Silver Bird: Immortal Secrets Trilogy Book One (Immortals Secrets Trilogy 1)

by S J Williams

  “Where is she?” He resisted the urge to shake his old friend.

  “We don’t know.” Henry said, face grim and a touch of panic in his eye. “We got separated.”

  “How?” Sebastian growled.

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t quite understand. We’d found Bartholomew’s lab and she was waiting for me there while I went to find Lucien.”

  “And you just left her?”

  “Don’t blame him.” Lucien came up from behind Henry. “He could have only been gone for a minute or two. It’s my fault for having my phone off.”

  Sebastian growled but let go of Henry before he broke the man’s arms.

  “Where did you leave her?”

  “Not far from here.” Henry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The biology department is just over there.”

  Shoving his way past the other men, Sebastian strode through the corridors, all senses on high alert. Doors flung open before him, the echoes a testament for his utter disregard for secrecy at that moment. The others followed at his heels.

  Humans scattered out of his way. One man in a security guard’s uniform tried to stop them. Sebastian tore into his mind and sent him slumping against the wall in a stupor. He had no time for subtlety now.

  Catarina tried to grab hold of his arm but he sent a shockwave of kinetic energy down his sleeve, zapping her with a fierce bolt of static. With a hiss, she let go.

  Something, some inner, undefined sense, triggered in his mind and he turned his head. Effie stood in the doorway to a conference room. Her skin was sickly white and she was leaning heavily against the doorframe. But she was alive. Very much alive.

  He dived sideways, nearly tripping up Lucien who was coming up behind him.

  “Effie!” He caught her by her arms as she stumbled forward.

  “Bartholomew.” She blurted out, her voice faint. “He was here.” She shuddered. “He controlled me. My whole body.” She slapped a hand to her neck, feeling for something.

  “Did he bite you?” Catarina asked urgently. Sebastian said nothing, just gently moved her hand from her skin. Her neck was whole, unmarred. Wrapping one hand round the back of her head, the other arm going round her shoulders, he pressed her into his chest, feeling almost sick with relief.

  She mumbled something against him. He released her slightly so he could bend his head to hear what she was saying.

  “He has big teeth. Really big teeth.”

  She leaned her head back, pressing against his hand, until she could look him in the eyes.

  “I don’t like vampires.”

  “Neither do I.” He replied, a faint smile on his lips. “Come on. We’re getting you out of here.”

  She nodded as best she could while folded in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go. Nor did he want to stay here, on this vampire infested campus. The need to get away won and he released his hold just enough so that she could walk beside him, his arm around her shoulders.

  She was so much smaller than him. Her head barely reached his shoulder.

  Her footsteps were faltering. Bartholomew had not been kind. Mind control could be brutal, especially with a full immersion like this one had been. But it didn’t have to be. It didn’t have to leave the victim sick and dizzy. That had been a lingering present from the vampire.

  One more mark to add to the tally against him. Killing Bartholomew, when it came to it, would not be enough to account for all his crimes against this woman alone. He would need centuries of torture to drag out every second of pain, of fear from the vampire’s miserable hide.

  They ran into the same guard who had tried to stop them earlier. Now recovered, he was red-faced with indignation. He had also called reinforcements. Sebastian sent thoughts of an explanation being offered and received, sending them wide in a blanket to cover the minds of all five men. They stepped back, their expressions changing from open hostility to grudging acceptance. There would be other witnesses who would wonder, but he didn’t have the time, let alone the inclination, to smooth over his actions. All he cared about was getting Effie home.

  Her legs had strengthened by the time they walked out into the powerful sunlight, the last of her horror banished under the cleansing rays.

  “You’re finding your own way home.” He told Catarina who nodded as if she had expected nothing less. He took one of the helmets out from his panniers and handed it to Effie who held it with hands that still shook slightly. Seeing them sent another fresh wave of black rage through him. He paused, his hands gripping his own helmet with whitened knuckles as he struggled to control himself.

  Not now, he told himself. She doesn’t need to be scared by you as well.

  Effie’s cool fingers touched the back of his hand.

  “Sebastian?” A note of concern in her voice.

  Deliberately, he relaxed.

  “It’s nothing.” He said, and it was almost the truth. It wouldn’t turn into anything until he had Bartholomew in his hands. And Bartholomew was screaming.

  As if she sensed the tenor of his thoughts, Effie tensed beside him.

  No! He would not be the one to frighten her. Not now, not ever.

  Carefully, with iron control, he wrestled back his black feelings until they were buried deep inside his mind. Only when he was sure he was calm did he start his motorbike and, with Effie tucked close to his back, ride back to the house.

  It was a much more subdued party who returned to the old house, though Effie was sure her thoughts were miles away from what the others were thinking. They made her recount her encounter with Bartholomew in microscopic detail. Catarina even wanted to know what he’d been wearing. Effie found herself up against an embarrassing blank on that one. A suit? Or was she just projecting her memories of Roberto on today’s encounter? All she could clearly remember were his eyes, so full of madness, she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it before. And, of course, she could remember his fangs.

  When she had finished, the others began to discuss options and strategies in quiet, hurried voices. Effie sat apart in a self-imposed exile. She needed to think.

  Because it wasn’t memories of Bartholomew that haunted her. It was a different, far older memory that had come careering into her mind with crystalline clarity.

  Sebastian’s face, bloody and dirty. His eyes, shining with love and laughter, looking up at her. His neck was broken.

  “You said you needed an hour?”

  “At the most.”

  Pounding feet. The crash of the door. Cruel hands tearing her away from him. Sebastian collapsing to the floor. Panicked voices.

  “Witch!”

  Fear turns men violent. She fights. She’s wounded. She’s not enough. Sebastian bellows.

  No! They mustn’t hurt him.

  Confusion. Pain. Darkness.

  And then, that eternity of terrible burning heat.

  Eyes opened or closed, that scene played out continuously in her mind, imprinting on her vision.

  That’s how I died, she thought. Bartholomew came with men, took me away and threw me on a bonfire.

  It was all true. Everything they had said about being a reborn immortal was true. She might not have the other memories or, at least, she might not have them yet, but that memory, that last memory? It wasn’t her imagination. Not when she knew she had felt that keening, panicking loss so often, wrenching at her heart when she least expected it. It had been her last conscious thought. She was going to lose him, lose Sebastian. Not even being burned alive could surpass that pain.

  She watched Sebastian now, as she knew he watched her, from the corner of her eye, noting all the things that had seemed so strangely familiar before. They were even more familiar now.

  What had brought this memory on? What had made it come screaming to the surface? She wasn’t sure. Something about the way Sebastian had looked at her, something about the way he had wrestled to control himself. It had tipped her over from deja vu into full-blown memory. And what a memory.

  Just my
luck, she thought, to only have the very worst memories. She was sure there were others. She had seen snippets of them, she was sure. Of warm, beautiful days, of feeling that her heart was so full, it was almost painful. The most wonderful kind of pain. So little was left of those memories. She felt like she was walking through the ruins of some beautiful old temple. Only the foundations remained.

  Would it be enough? Would she be able to fall back into that old life by his side? She realised that was what she wanted. She wanted the confidence, the happiness, of that long lost woman. But… Would the memory of love be enough?

  “Effie?”

  Sebastian’s quiet voice jarred her back into the present. She jerked her head up from where she had been staring into her lap.

  “Yes?” She was blinking stupidly, like she’d been dozing off.

  “Are you alright? Would you like to go and lie down?” There was a hesitancy behind the concern, as if Sebastian really didn’t want her to take up his offer.

  “I’m fine. I was just… thinking.” She finished lamely. How to explain that she was bouncing from memories to epiphanies like a ping-pong ball?

  “There’s no shame in having some time to yourself to rest.” Sebastian said with a half smile, as if he knew how much she hated sleeping in the middle of the day.

  “No. I want to know what is going on. It concerns me rather closely, after all.” Suiting actions to words, she stood up and placed herself in a chair that was closer to the others. Next to Sebastian’s.

  What she’d said was true. She wanted to know what was going to happen next. But she also wanted to know if there was any way she could rekindle what she’d once had with Sebastian. And perhaps she dreaded being too alone with her thoughts right now. She could just see herself tied in knots, riding a merry-go-round of desire and fear, insecurity and a blinding hope so poignant it threatened to make her do stupid things. Like throw herself on the man sitting down beside her.

  Like that would end well.

  Effie listened to the others going over her encounter with Bartholomew. It must have been the third or fourth time they’d rehashed it, looking for any clues that might reveal his intentions.

  “And then he just leaves. Which I find odd. Why leave her there? It’s not like Bartholomew to be merciful and he didn’t even give her a bruise as an incentive.” Henry shook his head in frustration.

  Effie was going to point out that that wasn’t a bad thing, more to lighten the atmosphere than anything else, when she realised that she’d missed something out.

  “Before he went, he said something else.” They all looked at her, surprised. “He said it was too soon. I don’t think he was talking to me at that point.”

  “And you couldn’t have mentioned it before?” Catarina asked, a touch exasperated. Whatever else she might have said was silenced by Sebastian’s warning growl. Not even Catarina wanted to push him at the moment.

  “Sorry. I only just remembered.” Effie said apologetically. “But he was talking about being tempted by my blood, you know, saying all that stuff about potential immortal blood being a delicacy, when he said: ‘But it’s too soon.’ Those were his exact words.”

  “Too soon?” Henry rested his elbow on the arm of his arm, scratching his eyebrow with one finger as he frowned at his feet. “Too soon for what?”

  “It’s true that vampires find potential immortal blood particularly tempting. It’s been suggested that might be one of the ways they have to detect mortals they can change into vampires.” Lucien said quietly.

  “She’s lucky he didn’t start drinking from her, or he might not have stopped.” Catarina scowled darkly. “That might be what he meant about it being too soon. He needs Effie alive right now. He can’t rip into her veins yet or all his plans will be shot.”

  “Bartholomew’s control is better than that.” Sebastian said, his voice low and very, very even. “He can keep mortals alive for several days if he wants to. He’s too old to give into bloodlust that easily.”

  “Yes, but that might not be the case if the mortal in question has particularly tempting blood.” Catarina argued back.

  “Whatever the reason,” Sebastian said, the finality in his voice letting everyone know the argument was over, “Bartholomew clearly has plans to drink from Effie at some point. Under no circumstances are you to go back to the university tomorrow night.” He directed these last words at Effie.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I have absolutely no intention of going back.”

  “The medallion is obviously the most important thing for him right now.” Lucien said. “We need to concentrate our efforts on working out what it is he wants with the thing.”

  “And those strange plants in the lab.” Henry added. “Or have you forgotten the major find of the day?”

  “Thank you, Henry. No, we haven’t forgotten.” Catarina said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

  “We need to turn Effie.” Sebastian insisted. “She’s much safer from Bartholomew as an immortal.”

  “No.” Catarina’s tone rose in indignation. “Believe me when I saw it’s not worth it.”

  “Why would I be safer if I was turned, apart from the obvious?” Effie asked.

  “Well, if you mean by obvious you will be harder to hurt, that’s a good reason all in itself.” Henry answered. “But there’s the added bonus that he wouldn’t be able to turn you or feed from you. Our blood is toxic to vampires.”

  Lucien was nodding. “It might be worth it, if drinking Effie’s blood forms a substantial part of his plans, rather than just a convenient addition to whatever else he has going on.”

  “No.” Catarina almost shouted this time. “Just think about it for one second. Effie would be a rogue and whoever turned her would be dead. The council would take us off the case.” She said the last bit as if it was the most important argument. But no one, not even Sebastian, disagreed with her.

  At last, Lucien grunted and stood up. “You’re right. It isn’t worth it. Not if all it will achieve is to bring the turn forward by a few days.”

  “Did you get the flowers analysed?” Effie asked him.

  “They’re in a queue. We should get the results in a few days.”

  “Why not any sooner?” Sebastian asked with a frown.

  Lucien shrugged. “It’s not my lab. I can’t dictate what does or doesn’t get done there.”

  “What about Bartholomew’s lab? Did you get a chance to see it?”

  He shook his head. “Finding Effie was a bigger priority. We’ll have to go back tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest we go back to researching what Bartholomew is up to. That diary might yield some secrets yet.”

  Murmurs of assent rose around the table as the others started getting up. Catarina, who’d wrinkled her nose at the mention of research, muttered something about calling the council and disappeared, phone in hand.

  Effie caught Sebastian’s eyes, trying to see how he was reacting to their decision. There was a grim look on his face but that didn’t stop a shiver racing up her spine. That shiver was getting familiar, almost to the point that she was anticipating it each time she looked at him. Only, now, she recognised where it came from. It was if her conscious brain had finally acknowledged what her subconscious had known all along.

  Mine. He’s mine.

  An answering gleam entered Sebastian’s eyes and, for a moment, Effie thought he would reach out for her. But he only looked, drinking in the desire she knew he would see in her face. She was the first one to break the connection, to look away.

  Soon, she promised herself. Soon, she would initiate something. She knew he wouldn’t, not until she gave the signal she was ready and she didn’t quite feel ready, not yet. The emotions were still too new, too raw, too strange for her to move on to what she knew would come next.

  She would have to make her move soon. She knew that too. These weren’t the kind of emotions you could bottle up for long.

  In the meantime, she had work to do.

&
nbsp; Twenty-four hours later, Effie’s elbow was close to slipping off the table as her eyes glazed over, spidery writing imprinting itself onto her eyeballs. She turned the page and stared dully at yet more lines of text. If this was another long ramble about some long dead anatomist…

  Effie’s elbow slipped off the table but she barely noticed as she sat bolt upright. Her eyes skimmed over lines that listed not theoretic anatomy but…

  “Herb lore.” She breathed.

  “What’s that?” Lucien glanced up at her from where he had been studying the book on herbs she’d gifted Bartholomew. He was the only one out of all of them who had stuck it out this long with her.

  “Herb lore. Look.” She spun the book around so that he could read the page. “He’s been making all these lists of flowers. And here, he’s talking about different ways to steep or prepare them.”

  Lucien frowned as he pulled the book closer to read.

  “Roses, lavender, chamomile… an interesting selection. He seems to be only trying about six or seven different flowers in each experiment. How curious.”

  “Not curious at all.” Effie said, reaching across the table to where Sebastian had left the medallion in the hopes it might help with the research. “Not when you know about this. Bartholomew said it was some kind of code. What if it’s not just a code, but a recipe? A healing potion of some kind.”

  Lucien froze, his eyes fixed on Effie’s face.

  “A healing potion? Or something more?” Fingers moving in a blur, he flicked back to an earlier page in the diary. “Here, when our friend was talking about the humours, he talks about being consumed with murderous rages and tempering the choler in the blood with something soothing. Something to introduce more phlegm. He was going on about a radical transformation.”

  Effie nodded, remembering the passage. “Yes. We dismissed all that because it seemed impossible but, of course, he must have believed in it.”

  Lucien flicked back to the page with the recipe experiments. “What if that was what he was looking for here? Some kind of transformation?”

  “Look.” Effie said, leaning over the table to point. “Here he’s talking about the results of the experiments.”