Smoke, Vampires, and Mirrors (Sasha Urban Series Book 7)

by Dima Zales

  Given that this battle is not physical, I pretend I’m in Headspace and will the ethereal wisps to sprout out of me, so I can wrap them around the strand like an angry octopus.

  I’m not sure if it’s this last bit of visualization, or the probability manipulation experience I gained in my visions, but the strand creaks like a cut tree as it snaps.

  The probability manipulation part of me now feels sucked dry, like one of the corpses Tartarus leaves behind. No more probability manipulation today. Just to test if I’m right, I attempt to control fate again—and fail miserably.

  Everything now depends on that strand doing what I hoped.

  And a second later, it happens.

  Eric, Vlad, and Rasputin materialize between me and Lilith, with Vlad clutching his katana and Rasputin looking around in shock.

  Yes! This is what I was shooting for. I saw them teleport to some parking lot and wondered if I could make Eric come here instead.

  “What the hell?” Eric says, looking around. “This isn’t where I meant to teleport to.”

  “A teleporter.” Tartarus stops draining energy from me and Lilith, kills the last vampire he was fighting, and advances on Eric. “You will take me out of here.”

  Crap. This is a flaw in my plan. Nostradamus insisted there be no teleporters at the scene so as not to give Tartarus a chance to escape.

  But it’s a risk I had to take. Nero has to be saved, even if that leads to Tartarus’s freedom.

  Eric looks at the oncoming Tartarus like a rabbit would at a snake.

  If I could speak, I’d shout for Eric to teleport me away from Nero.

  “No one is teleporting anywhere,” Lilith snarls, locking her mirror-turning eyes on Eric’s face. “Don’t move. Got that?”

  “Yes,” Eric says in a glamoured voice.

  Before Tartarus can return to draining her, Lilith swiftly dispatches the Lance Burton lookalike and two of the last spawn she’s been fighting.

  Tartarus is almost on Eric by the time she whooshes in that direction.

  “Hold this.” Vlad thrusts his katana into Rasputin’s hand and bends to pick up the gate sword near my feet.

  This is a risk.

  If Lilith commands me, I will attack Vlad. The good news is Lilith is too busy going for Eric.

  “What’s Sasha doing?” Rasputin asks of no one in particular. “Why is she killing Nero?”

  “The sire bond,” Vlad growls, activating the sword. “She wouldn’t be doing this of her own volition. Trust me.”

  A stone mask seems to drop over Rasputin’s face.

  Lilith reaches Eric a split second before Tartarus does—and rips into the poor teleporter’s throat with her fangs.

  Seeing the teleportation opportunity slip through his fingers, Tartarus stops, gives Lilith a deadly stare, and points both of his energy-sucking hands at her.

  She convulses in pain but keeps sucking Eric’s blood—likely in the hopes it will counteract some of the energy drain.

  Rasputin looks at me, then at Lilith, then back at me.

  Vlad leaps for Tartarus, gate sword raised.

  “Yes, get him,” Lilith hisses, lifting her head. “I’ll join you in—”

  His hands shaking, Rasputin swings the katana.

  The sharp blade bites into Lilith’s neck, then comes out on the other side, separating her head from her shoulders.

  What. Just. Happened?

  A fountain of blood gushes from Lilith’s neck, covering Rasputin from head to toe. Her headless body turns on its heel and slaps him across the face—so hard that he crashes into the nearby Donkey Kong machine.

  Seriously, is this a nightmare?

  I half-expect Lilith’s body to snatch her head from the air and put it back on, but she’s not really a goddess. The last movement complete, her headless body collapses.

  The head itself rolls across the floor, coming to rest face up, with Lilith’s blue eyes staring at unconscious Rasputin accusingly until the last spark of life in them fades.

  I wonder if she saw the irony in her last moments. She met Rasputin to birth me in order to avoid dying by Tartarus’s hand—and it worked. Thanks to my probability manipulation and Rasputin’s resolve, she doesn’t need to worry about Tartarus ever again.

  I blink of my own volition—and realize the sire bond is gone.

  I jerk away from Nero.

  Now that my heart is back under my control, it starts beating against my chest as if possessed by an army of hyperactive squirrels.

  Underneath me, Nero looks paler than a vampire.

  Is it too late?

  Oh, please, don’t let it be too late.

  Hands shaking, I search for the pulse on the unbitten side of his neck.

  It’s so faint I can barely feel it.

  Slicing my thumb with one of my fangs, I squeeze out a droplet of blood and shove the finger into Nero’s mouth.

  His tongue touches the droplet, and he turns the tiniest shade less pale. Without my improved vision, I doubt I would’ve even noticed the change.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper to him. “Please be okay.”

  Nero doesn’t reply, so I pull out my thumb and see the problem. The wound is already healed. I pierce the finger again, squeeze more blood out, and put it in his mouth.

  Nero’s pulse strengthens a little.

  Yes. I’m on the right track.

  “You have to be okay,” I tell him. “Because I love you too.”

  I’d like to think this last bit is what really helps.

  It certainly would be romantic if that were so.

  No matter the reason, Nero manages to open one eye and even minutely lifts an eyebrow.

  I suspect that if he was in any condition to talk, he’d say, “This is what I had to suffer through for you to finally admit how you feel?”

  Fighting the urge to melt into a relieved puddle, I feed him another droplet of my blood.

  “Tartarus,” he whispers in a hoarse voice. “Go. I’ll survive.”

  This is when I become aware of what else is happening in the room.

  Vlad is slicing at Tartarus’s throat with the gate sword, his movements blurringly fast.

  Yes! Behead the bastard!

  But instead of Tartarus’s flesh, the blade bites into the stone that’s powering the force field protecting him.

  Roaring in anger, Tartarus catches Vlad’s wrist and rips the gate sword out of his grasp.

  Not good.

  I leap for the katana next to Lilith’s beheaded body and toss it to Vlad. Then I run toward them.

  Tartarus’s force field flickers and dies.

  Vlad catches the katana and slices for Tartarus’s now-exposed stomach.

  Tartarus parries with the gate sword—which cuts through the metal of the katana as if it were made of fog. Vlad continues the swing with the remaining shard of the sword, but only scratches Tartarus’s skin.

  Tartarus’s blade doesn’t slow.

  “No!” I scream, speeding up until I’m almost blurring. But I’m too late.

  The gate sword enters Vlad’s body, cleaving him from shoulder to groin.

  With a grunt, Vlad falls to his knees at Tartarus’s feet.

  Reaching them, I slam a fist into Tartarus’s face.

  He flies through the room, destroying two arcade games before he slams into the wall, sheetrock raining down all around him.

  Wow. Nero’s blood really does make me powerful.

  Though I know I should attack Tartarus before he recovers, I kneel next to Vlad instead.

  He doesn’t look good. The gaping gash doesn’t look healable.

  “Nothing you can do for me. Just go,” he rasps, coughing up blood. A beatific smile lights his pale face as his gaze lifts to the ceiling. “Rose, darling, I’m coming. I’m finally coming to you.” And with one last breath, his eyes close, his body slumping to the floor.

  I feel numb.

  Nero is half-dead.

  My biological mother, with all he
r faults, is gone, killed by my biological father.

  Rasputin, Chester, and Kit are all knocked out, or worse.

  And now Vlad.

  I promised Rose to look after him—and failed in the worst possible way.

  My hands turn into fists.

  If I couldn’t protect Vlad, I will at least avenge him.

  I zoom up to the ceiling, then dive to where Tartarus lies in the debris.

  It’s time for me to fulfill Nostradamus’s prophecy once and for all.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Teeth clenched, I fly in a pose Superman would be proud of, my fists outstretched.

  Before I get to the debris, Tartarus leaps to his feet and swipes at me with the gate sword.

  Moving fast, I dodge the attack and uppercut him in the jaw.

  He flies up seven feet, then crash-lands into an Evel Knievel pinball machine, glass shards exploding everywhere.

  I rush to snatch his sword as he jumps back to his feet.

  Seeing my intent, he swings the weapon in a wide arc, and the plasma blade whooshes an inch away from my neck.

  I swipe at his legs.

  He jumps and thrusts at me with the sword.

  I side-step it, then clutch the wrist of his sword-wielding arm in an iron grip.

  He hits me in the face with his other fist.

  I see stars but manage to stay on my feet, my split lip healing instantly.

  He hits me again, in the stomach this time. Something inside me tears, then heals almost as fast as the lip.

  I catch his other wrist.

  He headbutts me, crashing his forehead into mine.

  Ouch.

  My skull cracks, and the skin on my forehead tears from the impact. But these wounds are also as short-lived as the others—thank you, TV performance and Nero’s blood.

  Tartarus’s forehead, on the other hand, is still bleeding. Looks like his attack hurt him more than it did me.

  He tries to twist out of my hold, but I’m stronger.

  Straining, I push his sword-holding hand toward him.

  Panic appears in his eyes, and he deactivates the gate sword.

  Jerking hard, I twist his wrist, and the weapon clanks to the floor.

  Snarling, Tartarus twists his other hand to point his fingers at me, and I feel the powerful energy drain begin.

  His full power is directed solely at me now, and the agony is so dizzying I fight not to pass out from it.

  But two can play this game. My fangs punching out, I yank him toward me and rip into his neck.

  The taste of his blood should be vile, but instead, it’s heaven. Greedily, I start gulping it and feel my energy levels replenish.

  He starts writhing like a fish on a hook, but I just suck harder.

  The pain of the energy drain dulls to the levels I experienced at the Rite.

  Tartarus’s struggles intensify. “I’ll get your life force out before you can drink me dry,” he hisses. “Then I’ll kill everyone you—”

  Before he can finish the threat, I squeeze his wrists so hard they break, and whoosh upward like a rocket.

  We slam into the ceiling, ripping through it, then burst through the roof as we torpedo into the sky.

  Through all this, I keep drinking the bastard’s blood, and he’s draining my energy.

  When we’re a few hundred feet up, I plummet like a hawk diving after prey, with Tartarus positioned underneath me.

  He flails harder as we rocket toward the ground, but I barely feel his struggles.

  We slam into the roof of the arcade at supersonic speed, the crash jarring every bone in my body. Tartarus’s back takes the brunt of it as we smash through the roof, then the ceiling, then the floor.

  Panting, I crawl off him—and realize we’ve made a crater in the arcade floor.

  It’s official. Me plus Nero’s blood equals craters everywhere.

  In the crater, Tartarus’s body looks broken beyond repair, but I’m not taking any chances.

  Limping to the gate sword, I pick it up, activate the blade, and return to the crater.

  Tartarus begins to stir.

  So he wasn’t dead.

  “This is for Vlad,” I say grimly as I slice him in half the long way. “And this is for Chester.” I slice him across the torso. “And this is for all the billions of people you killed.”

  I slice again.

  And again.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The thought of Nero pulls me out of my bloodlust. Stopping my grisly work, I rush over to him and see that he still looks like a wraith.

  “Here.” Kneeling, I cut my finger and extend it to him.

  He shakes his head. “Vampire blood won’t heal me further. Go help the others instead.”

  I’m reluctant to leave him, but he’s right. The others do need help.

  Jumping to my feet, I quickly scan the room and sprint over to Chester—who may or may not be alive.

  When I press my fingers to his pulse, it’s there.

  Lucky trickster. He’s just passed out, after all.

  I give him some of my blood, and he opens his eyes right away.

  “Did we win?” he asks in a hoarse voice, sitting up.

  “Tartarus is no more,” I say somberly, glancing over at Vlad’s body.

  “Oh,” Chester mutters when he spots Lilith’s headless corpse.

  I follow his gaze, my chest tightening.

  Despite what she was and what she nearly made me do, this loss still hurts. Does that mean something’s wrong with me? Or something’s right?

  Monster or not, she was my biological mother.

  Speaking of biological parents, I blur toward still-passed-out Rasputin and give him a droplet of my blood.

  He comes to his senses a moment later, then looks at Lilith’s corpse. His face twists with pain before smoothing out into an unreadable mask. “Is it finished?” he asks unsteadily. “Did you get him?”

  I point at Tartarus tartare in the middle of the room, and Rasputin solemnly nods.

  Next, I run over to Kit and give her a drop of blood.

  “That’s nice,” she croons, opening her eyes. “Can I have some more?”

  “No,” I say sternly. “You don’t need yet another addiction.”

  “Spoilsport,” she mumbles, sitting up.

  I heal Eric next, then walk over to Nostradamus and hesitantly heal him as well. Coughing, he sits up, rubbing the scars that remain in place of his eyes. “So.” His voice is raspy. “You did it.”

  He says it as a statement, not a question, as if there was no doubt all along.

  I want to interrogate him about the whole thing, but now is not the time.

  Leaving him, I walk over to Vlad.

  His body lies unmoving, his open eyes dull and unseeing.

  My chest squeezes painfully as my eyes begin to water.

  Vlad is gone.

  Really gone.

  The last thread connecting me to Rose is broken.

  “You can mourn him later.” Nostradamus puts a hand on my shoulder. He must’ve followed me here. “I’ve seen the futures. Nero needs you. His condition is still—”

  He doesn’t need to say more.

  “Eric, take us to the hub,” I say urgently, grabbing the teleporter and whooshing toward still-prone Nero—who’s looking rather pale again.

  Blinking groggily, Eric nevertheless poofs us next to the exact gate I need to leave this world.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “Now go help with the upcoming fight.”

  Because the visions I had while searching for a way to break the sire bond were of a future that was still to come. All the battles I saw are just about to unfold, if not already in progress.

  Eric poofs away, and I pick up Nero in that bridal carry he likes to use on me so much. Though his eyes are closed, a faint smile curves his lips, and he loops a heavy arm over my neck as I fly us both into the gate.

  As soon as we come out on the other side, I head straight into the next g
ate. Then another and another.

  It’s a good thing I memorized the route Lilith took when she kidnapped me.

  I fly from gate to gate in rapid succession until we get to Earth. Here, I have two options: go to our work building, where his local hoard of treasure is, or take him to the dragon world, where the imperial stash resides.

  I can’t fly openly on Earth, so that means cabs and traffic. And if the traffic is bad enough, it may actually be faster to fly Nero through all those gates and straight to the dragon castle on his world—where the hoard of imperial treasure is much greater.

  Decided, I whoosh into another gate and start following the path to Nero’s homeland.

  When I get to Jaylen’s world—the one Tartarus and his kin already sucked dry—I exit the airport and take to the skies, reaching the other hub in record time. The other gates blur until I reach the dragon world; then I fly again, whooshing toward Godiva like a jet.

  I wonder if I’ll always be able to fly this fast, or if it’s just a temporary side effect of gorging on Nero’s blood.

  Once inside the castle, I rush to the back, whoosh down the staircase that leads into the treasure room, and lay Nero down on a bed of gold coins.

  Instantly, his pulse returns to normal, and color comes back to his cheeks. Opening his eyes, he meets my gaze. “Thank you,” he says in his growly voice as I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. Then he pulls me to him, presses a hard kiss to my lips, and sits up.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, blinking.

  “We need to go back to help Claudia and the others.”

  I frown. “Don’t you need healing sleep in dragon form to fully recover?”

  “It’s fine,” he growls, standing up. “I’ll be able to fly now. What about you? Are you too tired to fight?”

  “Nope. I’m still running on your blood,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  He nods, and we blur out of the castle side by side. Then he turns into a dragon, and I float up to perch on his back.

  This time around, the ride is almost fun. It really helps to know that if I fall, I’ll just fly on my own.

  By the time we get back to the eighties world, the fight in the train station is over, but the temporary gate leading to Tartarus’s world is still there.