Blood Sacrifice

by Maria Lima

  With a cry, I came again, as Adam did, his body shuddering. He threw his head back and together, we threw the Call out into the air. I collapsed against him and we both fell to the bed, sated, sore, and depleted as the magick flew out from our bodies, resonating in the air.

  A few moments later, I started to giggle, tried to suppress it, and failed. It became full-out laughter.

  Adam stroked my hair, most of which had escaped the braid. “You all right?”

  “I think you broke me,” I said through the laughter. “I can’t bloody move.”

  He chuckled. “If it’s any consolation, neither can I.”

  “That was…” I sighed in contentment, the laughter subsiding. “Yeah.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Um. Adam? Keira?” Liz’s voice floated down the stairwell. “We’ve got company.”

  “They sent you?” I chuckled as I imagined my six brothers arguing who’d get to come interrupt us. “They figure we wouldn’t attack you?”

  She laughed. “Something like that. You’d best get dressed and come up. Gigi’s here.”

  “It worked, huh?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “Drystan and Angharad are here along with her. Boy, is that one a bloody piece of work.”

  I sank back onto the pillow. All of them. Shitebloodytastic. I burst out into laughter again. We’d managed to Summon the three most powerful leaders of the supernatural community… by fucking.

  “There’s a faction of the fey who wish to be a legitimate part of the world of man,” Drystan was explaining when Adam and I entered the dining room. Someone had cleaned the place up, removing all the detritus from hours of meetings, and had pulled together more tables and chairs. At one end of the room, our thrones stood on their dais. Adam raised a brow and looked at Rhys, who was grinning. Great, my brother, the next Martha Stewart.

  Drystan nodded at the both of us and continued. “They are full of ennui and wanting more challenges than they get Underhill. These are not high fey. The lower ones, mostly—sprites, dryads, nymphs, satyrs, pucks. They enjoy causing a bit of trouble as sport. Gideon has bestirred the Dark Fae, as well.”

  “I’d say this was more than a bit of trouble, wouldn’t you, Father?” Adam and I walked over to the main table and sat in the two chairs Rhys indicated. Not thrones, but he’d pulled Adam’s comfy office chair out and a second one from Niko’s office. The large table was round, like the one we’d sat at in Faery, but as with that one, this table had a distinct head. Screw Arthur and his knights, round tables didn’t automatically mean equality for all. This show? We were running it. They were on our turf now.

  Angharad sat in one of the regular dining chairs, looking as if something—or everything—smelled putrid. Her body was stiff, unmoving, her back not even touching the back of the chair. As a contrast, Gigi, still dressed as we’d last seen her, lounged next to her, clearly in her element. One of her Protectors stood behind her, his face relaxed and cheerful. His liege was back and as far as he was concerned, all was right with the world. Her other Protector stood at the main entrance to the room, staring forward in silence, but also radiating glee.

  “Welcome,” I said with a happy grin. “I bid you welcome.” I tried to hide my glee at the fact that the Summoning had bloody well worked. Adam’s Sidhe Talent was still there. Branwen had been right. The lady in question sat in a chair to the left of her queen. I nodded to her. Later, when this was over, we were going to make amends.

  “These fey, Father, are they behind the problems we’ve had?”

  “I believe so,” he said. “Gideon doesn’t seem to be the sort to stick his own neck out if he can have someone else do it for him.”

  “Hear, hear.” Rhys clapped. I shot him a dirty look and he subsided. He was standing behind us, along with the other four, Ianto, Liz, Tucker, and Niko. Let’s see, five Protectors. Gigi had one of hers. Drystan—none, though it could be said that ours extended to him by courtesy. Angharad. None. I didn’t begrudge Rhys his joy one bit. Finally, we were the ones in charge.

  “My grandson is no risk taker,” Gigi agreed.

  Drystan nodded. “He’s enlisted several factions of Dark Fae, some others from even your side of the fence, Angharad.” Angharad continued her impression of a statue. “He means to raise a bloody army.”

  “Take over the world, yes, we figured that out,” I said. “Thing is, what do we do about it? The land is still tainted with the Darkness he Called, and we have been unable to lay claim even using all the rituals we knew of and some we tried for the hell of it.”

  “There are fewer of us daily,” Drystan admitted. “Your mother told me she’d revealed the same about the Seelie Court to you earlier.”

  “Yes, go on.”

  He made an uncertain motion. “That’s just it. You Summoned us. At this point, you—and Aeddan, I presume—hold the power. We must do your bidding.”

  Another whispered “hear, hear” from Rhys made me duck my head to hide my shit-eating grin.

  “You will fight with us?” Adam asked.

  “If need be,” Drystan replied. “We will do everything in our power to avoid a fight, however.”

  “The High King of the Unseelie Court afraid of a fight?” Angharad’s languid drawl cut in. “Surprise, surprise.”

  Drystan bristled. “I have never been afraid of fighting, Lady. Sometimes avoidance is the simplest and best answer. What would fighting my son do? Cause more bloodshed, more death? Is this why we came Above? To doom our people to one last battle before they fade completely? Those so-called glory days are long since gone from this world and from ours. We are not those people anymore.”

  Bully for Drystan.

  “You avoid the true matter, as always,” Angharad spat back. “You talk around and around, but never speak of the one thing that would solve this unequivocally.”

  Drystan shot her a murderous look. Gigi straightened from her relaxed pose and took hold of his shoulder before he could rise from his chair. “Settle down,” Gigi commanded. “This petty bickering continues to get us nowhere.”

  “Nor will it change,” Angharad said, addressing Gigi. “You and the king wish to remain in the dark, hiding from the truth.” She laughed a bitter, broken sound. “Such an irony, this. The Unseelie speaking nothing, the Kelly hiding, and the Seelie Queen willing to speak plain and without guile.” She turned her attention to me. “Do you wish to know the truth, child? It is far from pretty or even difficult. It is unrelenting and formidable in its brutality.”

  I gripped the arm of my chair. This was the Sidhe High Queen. A woman for whom a walk in the park could mean walking across the bodies of her enemies. Seelie were cold, calculating, and known to have little emotion in judgment, but brilliant in battle and politics. They were the Vulcans of the Sidhe world, all logic and practicality with a veneer of sugar and spice to make the bitter medicine taste nicer as they slipped the poison in. For her to refer to something as “brutal” turned my blood to ice.

  “Explain.” Adam’s voice sounded harsh in my ear. I snuck a peek at his face. It was set, his brows lowered, his eyes shuttered. I took his hand. His own hand quivered underneath mine. He was holding something back, some strong emotion.

  “I helped Gideon write this.” Angharad flicked the corner of the parchment, which was still spread out on the tabletop. “He adjusted the wording before he delivered it you. Originally, this called for a fairly standard proving—which you have already attempted. Your attempts failed not because the land rejects you, but because the under layer of spells used now requires more.”

  “And what is more?” I asked, dreading her answer.

  She looked at me, her eyes the dark gray of battleship hulls. “It is no longer a blood gift, but a full sacrifice, Keira Kelly. Someone who is blood-tied, bonded to you, part of your life must give freely of his or her life, out of love.”

  Shouts of “no” rang throughout the room as the heretofore silent bystanders reacted to the news. I blanched, the blood leavi
ng my face. My head swam, dizzy with the knowledge, with her confirmation, that what we’d feared was true. No more playing around with what-ifs or possibilities—the only answer was one I was unwilling to accept.

  “We ask no one to die for us,” Adam said, biting the words out. “What are the consequences if we do not fulfill the Geas?”

  Angharad fell back, her posture now relaxed. “The land will die. The drought will continue, other plagues of weather, insects, illness. The livestock will continue to fail as will the crops. People will fall ill. One by one, the families will leave and the land becomes barren—cursed for eternity. By avoiding the death of one, you bring the death of many.” She studied her hand, as if not affected by this news.

  “It truly is a curse.” Adam’s grim voice echoed in the stillness following this pronouncement. “We are cursed.” He stood, whirled in place, strode over to the door, then back to me, face full of anger and resentment. “Blast this land, these people. We can sacrifice no one.”

  I closed my eyes against the whirlwind of emotions, tears streaming down my cheeks. How could I ignore this? These people were ours, as much as the fey, the others of my kind were. They might be humans, but this community, this town was more my home than any other physical place. I grew to adulthood here, was part of the community. This was not just a random location, with people I didn’t know. At the same time, could I allow a sacrifice? Could I be cold enough to stand by and watch as someone I loved died on my behalf? I couldn’t think. Couldn’t make the impossible choice. “I’ve… I need some air.”

  Without looking anyone in the eye, I pushed my chair back and left the room.

  Tucker made as if to follow me, but a murmur from Adam stopped him.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “Tout le sang qui coule rouge.” (All blood is red.)

  —Eugene Bullard

  I stormed out of the Inn, practically running as I reached the main courtyard in front of it. I sank onto a bench near the night-blooming garden. Night. It was still night. We’d spent how long inside having sex? Then how long arguing? It had seemed like days but was probably only an hour total. I shook my head, dashing tears out of my eyes with my fist. It didn’t matter. Nothing bloody mattered except Gideon and his stupid, stupid Challenge. There was no way we could ask anyone to do this for us. To die on our behalf? Was I willing to do it myself? Could I bring myself to do it? Maybe. If Adam were right there, nearby. He could turn me, make me vampire. I never thought that was possible before. I’d thought all vampires came from humans, but that turned out to be a wrong assumption. He’d kept his powers, too, or at least recovered them. Could I still be the Kelly heir if I were the walking dead?

  Who the hell cared, anyway? I didn’t. If being the Kelly heir meant I had to deal with these sorts of decisions, then I was abdicating the position right now. Gigi could go play genetics with someone else and get herself a new guinea pig/beck and call girl, because I’d had enough. I stood. It was time to run.

  I changed the moment I exited the ranch gates. Wolf would be a preferred shape. I could run as wolf and not tire. Not think so much. I didn’t even think about disrobing before I shifted. My clothes tore as the wolf took over. I ran.

  Faster and faster, I ran away from the Inn, from the ranch, from the knowledge that the only answer was no answer but one I was not prepared to give.

  As I reached the cemetery gate, I saw a small fire and a tent pitched near La Angel. Cautious, I crept closer, wondering who on Earth had come out here.

  The tent flap opened, and Antonio appeared. “Welcome, Keira,” he said, a smile crossing his face as he exited. “Come, join me.”

  I changed back to human. “How did you…?”

  He handed me a pair of stretchy yoga type pants and a T-shirt. “Yours?” I asked as I put them on.

  “Yes.”

  The shirt was a bit tight, but would work. The pants were too loose and reached only to mid-calf on me, like a pair of capris. No matter, I was clothed and felt more myself.

  “After I spoke with you earlier, I decided to come camp here,” he said. “To guard the place.”

  “Guarding? From whom?”

  “Whomever means harm.” He motioned to his campsite. A couple of folding camp chairs sat outside. “Come.”

  I accepted his invitation, my weariness finally washing over me. I lowered myself into the chair.

  “But how can you be here?” I asked. “On holy ground? You re-consecrated the cemetery earlier, didn’t you?”

  “I had, but the ground has reverted, the cemetery is desecrate again. I was hoping I could figure out how to re-consecrate it,” Antonio said. “Reading, researching. Praying.” His eyes were steady on mine. “Would you pray with me, Keira Kelly? I can offer you little but what I have is valuable.”

  “And that is?”

  “I can hear your confession.”

  The bitter laugh was mine. “Confession is good for no soul, priest. It’s only for laying your own guilt and shame on others. A false hope.”

  The old man laid his lined hand on top of mine. “It is sharing a burden, Keira. A sharing of misery. Sharing sorrow halves it. Sharing joy, multiplies.”

  “There is no joy in my choices, priest,” I said, words like bullets of pain. “Nothing I can share.”

  “Try me.” The old priest swept some branches and dirt aside and seated himself at the base of what was left of the Angel. His dark eyes shone in the darkness, catching the dim light of his lantern.

  I looked into those eyes, old, knowing. A human who had lived longer and with more sorrow and pain than any of his brethren. He’d seen countless die. Seen countless suffer through lives of poverty in his small parish. Now here he was among those that cannot die, yet he could never be one of us. He could come to wherever we ended up, away from this bitter, dying land, live among others of long life. But he’d always be different, always an outsider, mortal, dying in millimeters, his body eventually fading into nothing but knots of pain and suffering. His hand twitched, knuckles swollen with arthritis. He spread his fingers as best he could, regarding them.

  “You see more than others,” he said. “My hands began hurting some months ago.” He rubbed them together, wincing. “Even modern medicines don’t help. I believe that was part of the curse.”

  Curse. Why curses? I sank down beside him and took his hands in my own and concentrated. A small warming charm enveloped our hands. Too hot for me to bear normally, but it seemed to soothe him.

  “Thank you.”

  I nodded and let him go. “You’re welcome.”

  “Do you know what you are going to do?”

  I shook my head and buried my face in my hands. “No,” I whispered.

  “You are a good person, Keira Kelly,” he said. “Sit here for a few moments, let the power of the Lord help you decide. I will continue my rounds.”

  He took his time standing. I could almost feel the aches in his joints, his muscles. I looked up at him through my tears. “You think that there is an answer then?”

  “There is always an answer, child. Just not necessarily the one we want.” He nodded and walked away, lantern swinging shadows and light around him.

  I sat another few minutes, wishing he were right. There’s a certain comfort in his kind of faith, in letting a higher power take your worries, your woes and letting go. But he couldn’t understand. In this situation, I was the higher power. For all intents and purposes, I was the one making the final decision. I stood and patted the Angel’s wings, glad we’d restored her to her former glory. “Watch over him,” I whispered. “He is a good man.”

  I let him go, on his quest to wander the night. I needed some answers.

  I removed my clothes and shifted again, this time, carrying the clothing in my mouth. The night remained silent as I loped back to the ranch.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “… Tho’ Nature, red in tooth and claw; With ravine, shriek’d against his creed…”

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson />
  The sound of a footstep made me look up. “Hey,” I said. Instead of entering the Inn, I’d chosen to sit outside, on the same bench as before.

  Adam motioned to the bench. “May I join you?”

  “Always.”

  He sat, close, but not touching, as if he were afraid to set me off again. I inched closer so our thighs were touching. He put an arm around my waist and I laid my head on his shoulder.

  “You were gone a while,” he said. “I’ve been waiting.”

  “I went to the cemetery.”

  “You have different clothing on.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I changed, forgetting to strip first. When I got to the cemetery, I found Antonio. He had some clothes. Did you know that crazy priest took a tent out there and is camping on-site? He wants to guard the place.” I told Adam what we’d discussed. “I can’t let it happen, Adam.”

  “I know.” He kissed the side of my head. “I’ve no intention of asking this of anyone, either.”

  “They’re all waiting for us?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose we should go back inside.”

  “In a bit.”

  We sat there quiet in the dark, undisturbed for at least twenty minutes. I allowed myself to soak in the nearness of the one person who truly understood me. He had no choice, really. We were bonded, by blood, by breath, by love. I hadn’t planned this, not so early in my life. I’d be thirty-eight in a few weeks. In my clan’s reckoning, I was still a child. Normally, Change didn’t happen until your fifties. But I had to be the special case, because I was the heir, winner of the random gene pool drawing. Only in my case, the randomness had been cut by the sharp knife of Minerva Kelly’s manipulations.