48
I held my breath, hoping that I didn’t look manic as I watched Natalie and Victoria, both drooling slightly, as their shoes scuffed across the wooden floor, bringing them to safety one quarter or half-step at a time. Their eyes locked onto me and they both whimpered, seeming to regain some measure of coherence. Their backs slowly straightened, making it easier for Benjamin. Their eyes were severely dilated, and their pulses were slow, but nothing suspiciously so. Lucian watched their feet, not trusting himself to meet Benjamin’s eyes.
Nero held Dracula’s leash, shifting from foot-to-foot with a frantic look on his face.
Izzy stepped ahead of me, knowing that as badly as I wanted to take them, I couldn’t safely support them with my wound. Also, I couldn’t afford to be burdened. It wasn’t over yet.
Izzy dry-washed her hands impatiently, looking like she wanted to close the last few feet herself, rather than wait for Benjamin to reach her. Surprisingly, Benjamin angled his approach so that he came to a final stop beside a pew. He used his hip to wedge Natalie—his old friend, and fellow second-in-command—against it so that he could safely hand over Victoria to Izzy.
He still gripped one of his pistols close enough to kill any one of us—leverage.
Izzy gasped in relief as she ducked under Victoria’s arm, taking her weight and murmuring soothing words to the vampire hunter. Benjamin swiftly extricated himself and straightened with Natalie, drawing her away from the pew. I let out a soft breath, my fingers tingling—from blood loss or anticipation, I didn’t know.
His finger rested on the trigger and Lucian watched him closely enough to count every hair on his eyebrows. He did not blink. He did not even seem to breathe as he stared at the werewolf.
Benjamin angled himself enough to help Natalie without putting his back to us, and Izzy ducked under her arm. More soothing words. Victoria and Natalie’s legs shook ever so slightly as Benjamin swiftly backpedaled, holding his pistol down but ready to raise and fire in half-a-heartbeat if we advanced. Lucian licked his lips and then let out a sharp whine of frustration.
Benjamin smirked faintly. “Nice and easy,” he murmured, slowly backing away.
Izzy began to guide the devils past me at the same, impossibly slow pace. I licked my lips, turning to Nero. He was our way home. “Advance ten steps and drop the leash.”
Sister Hazel slowly began to approach, nodding her agreement. “Agreed. Once he is in my hands, you are free to teleport them away.”
Nero nodded stiffly, but he shot me a desperate look, double-checking that I was sure.
I nodded. “Go. This is almost finished,” I reassured him.
He nudged the naked prisoner forward, murmuring wordlessly under his breath as if saying a prayer. Dracula walked forward with his head held low, resigned to his fate.
I eyed Izzy and my devils, marking their sluggish progress. Nero would need to hurry back so we could get the hell out of here.
Right before Nero reached Hazel, he let out a forced laugh. “This is it, Dracula. Any last words before we leave you here with the witches? Maybe a fuck you, or a damn these nullification bonds?” he asked tensely.
Hazel slipped close as quickly as a striking snake and snatched the leash from Nero by the middle of the chain. She stared at him for the space of a second before she flicked her other palm up into the air just below Dracula’s face. I saw a tiny puff of powder and I instantly tensed. Dracula coughed and sneezed in surprise, and then immediately became silent, his mouth opening wordlessly.
Nero had leapt back, dropping the chain reflexively. He side-stepped so as to be certain not to come near the faint cloud. Everyone shared anxious looks back and forth, but Hazel held up her hands to show they were otherwise empty. “Just a silencing potion. You had your chance to talk with him, and the necromancer was acting suspicious.”
She risked a glance at me, and I nodded my agreement before shooting Nero a dark scowl. “That is fine. We are finished here. Agreed?”
She nodded stiffly, backing away with the silently shouting Dracula.
Nero slowly turned to stare at me, licking his lips in a stunned expression, his entire body rigid. “Can I at least get my cuffs back? I only have one pair.”
“No,” Hazel said, drawing Dracula further from the skittish necromancer.
I frowned. “Nero. It’s fine. Let’s go,” I said, through gritted teeth, pointing at Izzy meaningfully. He dry-washed his skeletal hand against his real one and stiffly made his way back, angling for me.
Lucian suddenly began to whine, but he did not paw at the ground. Was he concerned for Nero? Upset at the situation in general—giving away his favorite bone? What the hell was going on with these two?
“Easy, Lucian,” I said, maddeningly patient. “Calm down. Let’s leave.”
He did the opposite of calming down. His whine grew more persistent and longer. I frowned, scanning the witches suspiciously, wary of an attack—even though he still wasn’t pawing the damned floor. The witches were stirring anxiously, and I saw a woman in a rich silk dress with a black, gauze veil covering her entire head, approaching the altar from the wings of the church with a shuffling handmaiden at her side. She paused, seeming to stare at Hazel and her prize, Dracula, although it was impossible to tell through her veil.
I froze. The High Priestess. It was definitely time for us to leave. We had what we came for.
Hazel pursed her lips, looking angry as her grip tightened on the leash. Benjamin had a dark grimace on his face as well. I frowned suspiciously. If this was some sort of power play between the High Priestess and Hazel, we should have left an hour ago.
Hazel—almost begrudgingly—curtsied, clearing her throat. “The High Priestess and her handmaiden,” she said officiously, her voice echoing throughout the church. “Do not fret, Sisters, at your bloodied noses. The High Priestess’ handmaiden is a Cauldron witch—a sign of our superiority over our cruel, dark sisters.”
My eyes darted to the handmaiden, and I winced to see that she was attached to a dainty chain held by the High Priestess. She was also missing her eyes, and her lips had been sewn shut. I glanced at the altar to see that every Sister now sported a bloody nose, and none of them dared look in the direction of the High Priestess.
“Kneel and avert your eyes or suffer the wrath of the High Priestess!” Hazel warned.
All the Sisters obeyed without question or hesitation.
It was…exactly like the Cauldron witch, Rowan, had said. The High Priestess kept a dark witch as an attendant. Was that truly to hide her own dark magic? With a dark witch always in her presence, no one would ever know. No one but the blind attendant with the sewn-up mouth, of course—a woman who could not see or talk. The situation guaranteed a bloody nose from her audience either way.
Nero was grimacing, shuffling closer to me as discreetly as possible even though his face was pale. He’d finally realized the danger of hanging around.
Thankfully, the High Priestess approached Dracula, not even glancing in our direction. She had discarded her handmaiden’s chain without a backwards glance. The dark witch knelt submissively, not daring to move. The High Priestess snatched Dracula’s leash from Hazel.
I discreetly gestured Nero to hurry up and I began backing away, closer to Izzy—who was still supporting Natalie and Victoria. Nero’s panicked expression turned to outright frustration as I increased the distance between us—as if he had intended to get me out of here at all costs. But I wasn’t leaving without my devils. The aisle was already slick with my blood, so I had to be careful not to slip and fall. My toes were tingling now, as well. I was losing entirely too much blood to spend even one more second here.
Lucian yipped loudly, threatening to make my heart burst from my chest. He was standing between us and the witches as the first line of defense. Except…he didn’t look very defensive.
The High Priestess looked up sharply at the sound, hesitating warily as if anticipating an attack from the massive wolf. She shifted her
attention to the shuffling Nero like a hawk spotting a fleeing rabbit. She stared from him to Lucian, the rest of her body locked rigid.
“Come on!” I growled at Lucian, my shoulders suddenly tense as all hell.
The High Priestess gasped, dropping her handmaiden’s chain as she stared at me. She lifted a shaking hand to her veil, tearing it off and flinging it to the side as she took a step forward. My heart froze, and the two of us stood entirely motionless—thirty feet away and five-hundred-years apart from each other.
“Sorin,” she breathed, dropping Dracula’s leash. Her voice hit me like an arrow to the chest. She…hadn’t aged a day. Nero spun to look back at her, letting out a laugh of relief for some reason. Lucian whined, his tail wagging furiously.
“Bubbling Brook,” I whispered, staring at my wife. The mother of my child. Deganawida’s daughter lived! My knees trembled violently, both from blood loss and raw, unbidden pain.
49
Bubble stared at me, and I couldn’t help but marvel at her thick, inky black hair, remembering how she would dry it on the rocks after we went swimming in the river. I remembered our heated arguments. I remembered the infuriating debates we had—most often inflamed by a lack of a shared language, leading us both to anger.
I remembered my last sight of her…
Holding Nosh’s hand, teaching him how to walk. The night of Dracula’s attack.
“You’re alive?” she whispered in perfect English, not even a modicum of an accent after centuries of use. “You are the vampire behind all of this madness?”
I momentarily narrowed my eyes as it dawned on me. My goddamned name was too difficult for anyone to remember, and it could have prevented all this insanity? It was enough to make a man lose it. A man needed a name, or the world spiraled into chaos.
I stared at her, nodding. “How is this possible?” I asked, struggling to remain standing as I felt my blood pooling beneath my boot. Since Benjamin and Hazel were the only ones looking—or standing, for that matter—they stared at the unfolding situations with puzzled frowns.
I ignored them. Nothing else mattered but this.
Tears fell from her eyes and she was unable to speak. “Our son…” she rasped, trembling. “I never found him. I never named him,” she whispered.
“He lives,” I whispered back, nodding urgently to calm her. “His name is Nosh. I will take you to him.” Then I laughed, pointing at Izzy. “Sister Isabella is—”
I abruptly cut off, realizing that I had inadvertently wandered off the safe trail of social norms and into the unforgiving wilderness of speaking about someone else’s relationship—to that person’s own mother. I might as well have draped Izzy with a dress made of raw meat and tossed her to the wolves. I cleared my throat, smiling at the thought in spite of my mistake. That I suddenly had the ability to make such a mistake—our family was reunited!
“Sister Isabella is good friends with Nosh. A member of your own coven!” I added, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.
Dracula shifted uneasily, realizing how much worse his situation had suddenly become. He was now dealing with two vengeful parents. Bubble’s sad smile evaporated and she backhanded Dracula across the jaw. She gripped him by the chin before he could even recoil, panting lividly. “You. Took. Everything. From. Me.”
“From us,” I growled, realizing that I now had the chance to participate in his destruction. Bubble nodded with a bemused smile, staring into Dracula’s terrified face.
She snapped her fingers and he abruptly went as stiff as a board, unable to even move his head in addition to being mute. I felt terrible about it. Truly.
I took a step forward and slipped in my own blood as a wave of dizziness struck me. I caught myself, letting out a sharp breath. Nero had spun at the sound and Lucian growled nervously.
I waved off their concern. “I slipped. It’s fine,” I murmured, annoyed. Nero was shaking his head ever so slightly, his eyes darting about wildly. Izzy cleared her throat gently and I glanced back. She had an anxious look on her face as she continued to support Natalie and Victoria.
I was suddenly torn—not wanting to abandon Bubble, and not daring to abandon my devils until I knew they were healthy.
I was in a room full of witches, damn it, and we were no longer enemies. One of them had to know healing. I spun back to Bubble, opening my mouth. The words died on my tongue as I saw her staring at Victoria and Natalie suspiciously. That’s when I understood how far off the path I’d wandered.
I’d donned my own cloak of steaks and thrown a rock at the Queen wolf.
Now I knew why Nero had looked so nervous. Old meets new, and everyone lived happily ever after, was not how that particular story ended.
“Who are those women to you?” Bubble asked, her voice slicing like a razor.
Those women, was not a great start to this conversation. “Good friends,” I said. “And they are hurt. Your Sisters gave them—”
“Good friends,” Bubble interrupted, her words falling like shattered glass. “Like my son’s good friend.”
I tried to think of some way to say it without hurting her. I wasn’t embarrassed of our budding relationship in the slightest, but I had briefly entertained a more productive reunion. I glanced back at Natalie and Victoria. Izzy had managed to prop them up in one of the pews rather than continue holding them upright. They were frowning, but definitely still dazed and confused. Izzy wore an unhelpful blank mask, leaving me to my own devices after almost accidentally sacrificing her to Nosh’s mother. I turned back to Bubble. “Yes. They are very good friends,” I said gently but confidently. Not one, but two, I thought to myself. That certainly wasn’t going to make this any easier.
“You. Love. Them.” Her voice fell like an executioner’s axe.
“They are hurt, Bubble,” I said, hoping to shift the topic. “Your Sisters drugged them—”
Lightning abruptly struck the church, blasting a hole through the ceiling and making everyone jump in alarm. I almost lost my footing as debris crashed all around me, destroying the pews. I was thankful that the blast hadn’t brought the whole building down upon us or harmed any of my friends. Everyone was shaken but unharmed. I instantly assumed my father had come to either save me or team up with Bubble to teach his son a lesson on how to respect a woman.
But Bubble had not flinched, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it had been her. Her face was frozen in a rictus of inner pain. I focused on her whispered words, thankful for my enhanced senses. “Why do you punish me so?” she whispered amidst the sound of crashing timbers and shingles as the gaping hole cast the aisle in pale moonlight between me and my devils. “I have served you well, Hecate,” Bubble continued. “Why offer me a dream only to turn it into a nightmare?” she whispered in a flat, hopeless tone.
I stared at her, unable to move. Hecate?
Bubble had been the third person to acquire Hecate’s powers? Not Nosh. Not Deganawida. I had even entertained the idea that Dracula was the third recipient. I had never, in my wildest dreams, considered Bubble.
Bubble. The woman I thought dead. My wife. The mother of my son.
Like Lucian and Nero, she must have found herself on that mountain, desperate and alone. And Hecate had taken pity on her, offering her a blessing and a curse. Making her immortal. That was how she still lived and didn’t look a day older than that fateful night I last saw her.
Apparently, witchcraft was a much different magic than necromancy—the gift Hecate had given Nero. I’d considered the two in the same category, so I hadn’t anticipated a witch to be the third recipient of Hecate’s blessing.
I suddenly realized the truth to Rowan’s story about the nefarious High Priestess. It wasn’t as a scorned lover of Dracula. It was worse. The fury of a surviving mother hunting down the man who had destroyed her family. It was not a romance like Rowan had claimed, but it was an obsession resulting from a tragic love story.
Our love story.
That Dracula had destroyed
our family. Bubble had devoted her entire existence to hunting him down—and destroying every vampire she could get her hands on along the way. She had formed both the Cauldron and Sisters of Mercy, doing the good work of Hecate with her new gift—witchcraft, Hecate’s core power.
Bubble had spent her life acquiring power to ultimately defeat Dracula.
Nosh had chased rumors and legends, hunting down answers in hopes of finding the truth—learning who his parents had been and could he bring them back?
I’d been running around the last month doing everything in my power to bring down Dracula.
Vengeance and pain had consumed each member of our family, and none of us had ever needed avenging because we had each survived, unbeknownst to the others.
Bubble seemed to snap out of her daze, and the first thing she saw was Dracula.
I took a hesitant step closer, nodding. “Do it, Bubble. Avenge our family,” I whispered.
Nero spun to me, shaking his head. “No!” he shouted. “That’s not—”
Bubble flung a hand at him without looking, and a glass band suddenly slapped over his mouth, silencing him. “You always did talk too much, Nero,” she said fondly but firmly, not looking at him. “Even when I did not speak the language well, I knew this. Our family has waited five hundred years for this moment. I will not let you ruin it.”
Then she turned to Dracula, and I licked my lips in anticipation. Bubble hadn’t been wrong. Nero often went off on tangents.
The necromancer screamed through his gag, shaking his head at me, his eyes bulging. He began clawing at his cheeks, gouging his flesh in his desperation to remove the gag. I frowned uneasily, reconsidering Bubble’s decision as I saw blood spilling from his self-inflicted cuts. What had he been about to say? He flicked his eyes towards Dracula and shook his head adamantly.
I slowly turned to Dracula and frowned. What was he trying to tell me?
Bubble gripped Dracula by the hair and yanked his head back. “You destroyed everything I loved. Everything. I never knew my own son because of you. I have waited five hundred years for this single moment.”
Devil’s Blood: Shade of Devil Book 3 Page 31
