Maid of Ice

by Shona Husk

  Dad was uncharacteristically silent.

  “He flinched when my silver ring touched him.” That sounded pretty lame. “I think it burned him.”

  “You have to be sure.”

  “I have a second ear-straightening appointment next week. What do I need to do to be sure?”

  “Finding out if he has a pulse would be a good start. And confirm that your ring did burn him.”

  Finley knew vampires had no pulse, but he couldn’t casually check for that. Checking for a silver burn would be easier. “If he’s a vampire I don’t think he’ll be offering that knowledge.” Walter didn’t seem stupid. “And if he is undead, should I leave him be so we can watch him?”

  “Confirm and leave it with me. I’m still tracing his family.”

  Finley glanced at Alina. Her family.

  “Who is there with you?” Dad asked.

  There was no point in lying. “Alina.” Finley turned the laptop and mouthed “Sorry” to her.

  Alina’s eyes widened, but she forced a smile. “Hi…sire?”

  “Quinn is fine.” Dad’s voice was flat. He wasn’t happy Alina was here. “Will you be voting?”

  “Um, I don’t think so. I haven’t registered.”

  Finley turned the laptop away from her. She’d suffered enough. “I’ve been bringing her up to speed. She’s been helping with the vampire issue.”

  Dad was still frowning.

  Looking into Alina’s grandfather while dating her was probably a horrible conflict of interest, but Finley didn’t care. Before Dad could start telling him how he was failing in his duty, Finley came up with the perfect exit strategy. “I already know how I’m going to vote, so I don’t need to be here for the rest of this meeting. And since I’ve caught you up on what’s happening, I might as well go.”

  Dad nodded and the creases in his forehead smoothed as though he were relieved that Finley was ending the call. “I’ll e-mail you.”

  That wouldn’t be a friendly e-mail either. He’d get told off for having an outsider there. Thing was, if they wanted to save the Albah, they were going to have to ease up. Invite people who dropped out to get back in contact. Welcome them back in. Set up social groups, maybe the occasional face to face in some of the bigger cities. While gathering was a risk, not gathering sealed their fate. They would die out; it was only a matter of time. He’d e-mail Dad too. At some point, they’d have to talk about all the things they avoided, but Finley was more than happy to put that off for as long as possible.

  “Let me know when the vote opens.”

  Dad looked at him, his eyebrows slightly lifted. Finley knew what Dad wanted to ask. Alina watched, her lips pressed into a line. She wasn’t happy with him either.

  Life was so much easier when he didn’t have to please anyone. “I’m voting to save us, Dad.”

  Ten years ago, he would’ve voted the other way.

  Chapter 16

  Alina had left his flowers on the bench. She’d read the note, but hadn’t smiled. Will didn’t understand what it was that she saw in Finley. What anyone saw in him. Finley was a freak and a fraud.

  Will needed to arrange another incident that would prove to the world that there were magic users and that Finley had lied and tricked his way to where he was. He’d make sure that no one would ever want to work with Finley again. They’d see him as reckless.

  He didn’t know how he was going to do it yet. But he’d been given useful information by one of the starlets on the show. The filming schedule in exchange for a story and some photos. She wanted some publicity as she launched a music career.

  Will had been happy to make the trade. When dealing with actors he made out that he was one of them and knew how it worked. That he could be trusted to give them a good story, which he did. Otherwise they wouldn’t come back to him next time they needed another manufactured scandal. It was a delicate line, and the moment he crossed it they would never turn to him and then he’d lose the inside information he was very used to getting.

  If he couldn’t woo Alina, maybe he’d scare her.

  The bag snatching hadn’t freaked her out and she didn’t seem at all worried about what had happened to the thief. Her shock had quickly faded. Maybe Finley told her what he was and she was hoping that he’d use his magic to reignite her flagging career.

  Perhaps he should throw down some iron and watch Finley writhe in pain, maybe even die. That would be exciting, but it wouldn’t topple him. He needed to get Finley Ryder kicked off set. He needed Finley’s star to fall instead of rise. If he died now, he’d be remembered well.

  There had to be a way to do bring him down.

  Once Finley was off the set and out of work Alina would ditch him. Then he’d be able to move in and get the girl and the job. Maybe iron was the only way.

  He hadn’t expected his grandfather to die. This time he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what might happen. He’d made Finley the star he was and he would bring him down. There were others he could build up. He smiled. They all thought they were in control. But he could ruin them with just one photo.

  * * * *

  The new race car had arrived, and it was looking good. Finley ran his hand over the smooth lines. It really wasn’t fair that he wasn’t going to be able to drive it at high speed. He could almost hear the engine roaring and feel the adrenaline coursing through him as he took each turn. His body still remembered the lurch of the accident and his stomach flipped. He straightened. So he might not be ready to drive at speed, but he could still miss it.

  “You’re so lucky,” he said to his stunt double, Mike. It was still weird to be on the other side. To have a stunt double instead of being the stunt double.

  “I saw the accident footage. I have to say, I’m glad I wasn’t driving.”

  Finley nodded. He was glad Mike hadn’t been driving too. “Worst one I’ve ever been in.” He hoped he was never in another. He gave the red painted body another caress, then forced a smile. “Now you get to drive and I get to sit back and do nothing.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got a tough life.” Mike grinned.

  “You want to do the sex scene for me?” He was supposed to be hooking up with his on-screen ex. While there wouldn’t be full nudity it was still uncomfortable to fake that kind of intimacy. It had been a year since they’d done that kind of scene together.

  Mike laughed.

  Finley joined in. He hadn’t been joking. He’d rather be driving the car.

  * * * *

  Finley was ravenous by lunchtime. The whole not eating all morning and doing endless crunches and pushups between takes to get his muscles pumped meant that he was ready to eat anything. He picked up two of the sandwiches from the lunch table and a salted caramel cupcake before they’d all go. He needed the sugar hit so he started on the cupcake first before he’d even sat down, that and he’d never been able to say no to salted caramel anything. It was a well-known weakness of his.

  Last year during the filming break Will had taken unflattering pictures of him eating a milkshake and donuts, claiming that he was letting himself go. He’d actually gotten a call from his agent about that, he’d replied with a picture of his abs on his social media and a comment about cheat days.

  The first bite was heaven, but left an aftertaste. Others were enjoying them so he shrugged it off as his mouth being weird from not eating. The second bite definitely tasted odd. Metallic.

  The laughter around him became too loud.

  His blood ran hot then cold and sweat formed in every pore as though the temperature had gone up to a hundred degrees. Hoping to find nothing, he pulled the cupcake apart. The cake crumbs caught the light. He tried to flick a few pieces with air but there were heavy, like iron. Maybe it was just glitter.

  “You all right?” Someone slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Yeah.” He put the cupcake down
. Even if it was glitter and harmless he couldn’t bring himself to eat any more. His stomach knotted and he was still too hot. He felt weird. Weird from paranoia or weird from poisoning? He needed to get to his trailer, take some silver. But he knew if he’d eaten iron that wouldn’t be enough.

  He walked away from lunch. His stomach rumbled as though cranky about being teased with food and then denied.

  What he needed to do was throw up. Get it out before it was too late. If it was nothing then no harm done. If it was iron then throwing up was the best first aid he could think of.

  Yeah. That would work. His heart still raced like he was in the middle of a fight scene that he hadn’t prepared for.

  He went into the first toilet he saw and stuck his fingers down his throat. It took two goes. Two bites of cupcake didn’t take much effort to get rid of. His almost-empty stomach cramped and his mouth still tasted metallic.

  He took a couple of deep breaths and fought for calm. That had been close. Then he opened his eyes and saw the blood in the toilet. The fragile calm exploded as fear ripped through him with its claws out. That wasn’t a good sign. He’d eaten iron and it had already done damage.

  Think. He took another couple of slow breaths. His heart hammered against his ribs and his pulse blocked out all other sound.

  Silver was still his best bet. It would help heal the damage and counter the effects of the iron, maybe. He forced himself up. Flushed and washed his hands and prayed no one was outside listening.

  “Are you okay?” One of the other actors, a rival driver, grabbed his arm.

  “I think I ate something bad,” Finley said as he pulled free.

  He made it to his trailer, jogged up the three steps and flung open the door. Something tore at his hand but he ignored it. He rummaged through his desk until he found the small vial then downed the whole lot. The silver dust clung to his mouth. He swallowed hard, then took a swig of what had been this morning’s coffee. He’d only gotten through half of it. Sitting out for five hours had done nothing for the flavor. He almost gagged, but he needed to get the silver down.

  He closed his eyes to locate the damage done to his stomach. He could heal himself and make this right. Except this time, he couldn’t. He could feel the damage, the small tear. But he could also feel the iron filings that had been in the cupcake lodged in his flesh. Microscopic bits drifted into his blood.

  He was so fucked.

  “Finley!” The man had followed him from the toilets.

  His eyes snapped open. “What?”

  “You’re acting weird.” The man glanced at the vial in Finley’s hand, then took a step back.

  “It’s not what you think.” Which is what any drug user would say when they didn’t want to be caught. People had been thrown off set for using or turning up drunk. The producer didn’t approve of mixing drugs with race cars, and with good reason. His wife had been killed by a drunk driver.

  It was too late. The man was gone. Finley had no doubt that this would be reported. Blood dripped onto his desk. He stared at his palm. What the hell had he cut himself on? He left the vial on his desk, as he had no reason to hide it. They could test it and assume he had some weird hippie habit of eating a touch of silver every day for good health or something.

  The door to his trailer had several nails sticking out. Rusted nails.

  They hadn’t been there this morning, of that he was sure. He’d been deliberately poisoned and nothing had been left to chance.

  He sat on the step to his trailer and waited for someone to come. His stomach actually hurt now, as though he’d worn a couple of really good kicks in a fight. He was going to be told to leave the set and arguing about what he’d been seen taking was futile. It was too bizarre. He was going to have to cop it on the chin and wait for the results to clear his name.

  There was a good chance he’d be dead from the iron before the results came in.

  He shivered, even though he already felt too warm. That was just fear. Or was it the first sign of iron poisoning? Those iron filings must have been rusted. Regular iron had little effect when he touched it. It dampened magic, but it didn’t burn him the way silver burned a vampire. His mouth still tasted metallic, but it was the pleasant taste of silver.

  He needed to make a plan, something that went beyond finding the person responsible and killing them. Surviving would be a better revenge.

  Trouble was he didn’t know if Albah could survive iron poisoning.

  * * * *

  The pain was like nothing Finley had ever experienced before. It burned through his body as though his blood cells were jagged. That he was furious didn’t help either. He wanted to stomp his feet and rage, but walking hard enough as it was. He’d been kicked off set and with the insinuation was that he’d been using and was therefore partly responsible for the accident. He’d handed over the vial and a pulled-out hair and told them to test them. He was clean. It was their food that was bad.

  But no one else was going to get sick from eating such a small amount of iron filings, even rusted ones. Just him. The silver he’d taken had had little effect.

  Sweat poured off him. It felt like he was dying already. The poison spread through his blood so his whole body was affected. It was everywhere and damaging every cell it touched. That was how he was picturing it. He had no idea what was actually happening only that he didn’t feel good at all. A cross between the flu and a stomach virus. He rarely got sick and resented the way illness could halt his life.

  Or possibly end it.

  There had to be a way to fight this.

  He made it to the multistory car park where he’d parked at dawn, knowing that he still had to drive home, and got into the elevator. He slumped against the wall as he went up three stories and made a list of what he needed to do. Anything to stop dwelling on iron and death. He had to make it home. He’d call Alina. She could make sure that he didn’t die there alone. He’d call his father, and Julian, and beg for help. There had to be some way to treat this.

  The lift doors opened. His shiny blue car was only a few yards away.

  Someone was leaning on his car and its expensive paint work.

  Will.

  He clenched his injured hand, letting the blood weep—if the iron in his food didn’t get him, the rust from the nails that had torn open his hand would—and gathered as much energy as he could. His blood added to the sacrifice he was willing to make for power. He was going to toss this asshole off the side of the car park and enjoy the splattering sound he made when he hit the ground. The idea gave him strength.

  Finley gritted his teeth. No, he wouldn’t. He would not be that person.

  Without a doubt, it had been Will who’d put the iron in the cupcakes and the nails on the door. To anyone else it would be an inconvenience not a death sentence. But how had Will known to use iron? Unless he was a Guardian after all and had been toying with him all this time.

  Sicko.

  “Want some pics of my latest injury?” Finley held up his bleeding hand. It hadn’t stopped bleeding, something to do with the iron.

  “I just thought we could talk.” Will gave his usual smug grin. He patted the hood, inviting Finley to have a seat on his own car.

  Annoyance flicked through him, adding fuel to the fury. Will had no right to touch anything of his. Including his goddamn food.

  “I have nothing to say to you on or off the record.” Guardians did like to play with their prey. Make them suffer a little first. And the murderous Guardians of Adam thought the Albah were the monsters for having magic.

  “But I have something to say to you.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Finley unlocked his car. “I need to go and get a tetanus shot.” A lie. Tetanus shots worked on the bacteria that caused tetanus, not rust. Though it would be just his luck for the nails to be contaminated.

  “You’ve got p
lenty of time, now you’re out of work. I hear the set is really strict about drug use. Good thing they won’t find any cocaine in your trailer.” Will’s tone and smirk suggested that was exactly what they’d find.

  Finley stopped a couple of paces from his car. “That cocaine isn’t mine.”

  The little shit had hidden some in his trailer.

  Killing him would be too quick. The asshole needed to pay for what he’d done. Finley couldn’t think about how, right now when his own life was still uncertain. But he’d make sure every Albah knew what Will had done.

  He wouldn’t throw Will off the building, but he could give him a little shove with the air so he fell off the hood. Litter danced. The breeze he’d conjured hit Will and he was knocked sideways, but not much. The bastard was wearing iron, further dampening Finley’s already weakened magic.

  “They’ll work out it wasn’t me. My hair samples will come back clean.” That was one advantage of having shoulder-length hair, each strand was years’ worth of drug-free proof.

  “Yeah, but by then you’ll be dead, won’t you? The iron will have stolen your magic and seeped into every cell. It’s a painful way to die. Lot of screaming at the end.”

  He’d been so wrong about Will. Will was a psychopath. “So what do the Guardians of Adam want this time? What treaty do they want us to sign while they willfully break it? We won’t fall for that again. There will be no treaty.”

  His father would probably make one if he thought it would save the Albah. Finley wouldn’t. The time for handshakes was over. The Guardians had shaken with one hand and killed with the other. Julian wouldn’t make deals either.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Will crossed his arms, his cocky attitude dissolving into a scowl.

  Finley laughed. “You’re acting alone? Killing Albah for kicks? Oh, that’s even better.”

  “Albah?”

  Blood oozed between the fingers of Finley’s clenched hand. The cut was throbbing. “Don’t play dumb. You know about iron. You know about us. You’ve been stalking me for the last three years.”