Bloodcraft

by Amalie Howard

“What would you have me do?” Christian asked. He knew exactly what was happening with the Council and their decision to victimize his brother, and while there was no way he would let that happen, he wanted to see where Lena was coming from.

  “You were there. He didn’t kill Enhard.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t save him either, which the Council would argue is the same thing. He could have easily, you know,” Christian said. “Saved Enhard. But he chose not to, an act that led to Enhard’s death. Does that not make him responsible in some way?” His voice remained flat, although it had caught slightly when he’d said Enhard’s name. The pain of his death hadn’t quite lost its sting.

  “Yes, perhaps, but it doesn’t warrant his execution,” Lena replied in a heated voice. Watching the emotions play across her face, Christian was shocked at her vehemence. He hadn’t realized that Lena cared so much for Lucian’s welfare. They were the perfect pair, with the same values and the same ambitions, but he never understood outside of that connection what had held them together. Maybe, somewhere deep inside, she did care for his brother.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Because we both know you’re not here with Lucian’s good wishes. So why do you care?” He was unprepared for the tormented expression that flashed across her face before she tried to conceal it.

  “Because I do,” she said, a defiant edge in her tone.

  “I didn’t think you cared that much,” he said. “If you need my help, you need to be honest with me for once. Why do you care, Lena?”

  She bit her lip and turned away. Christian sipped his coffee and narrowed his eyes at the crowd slowing to gape. He was used to attention, but this felt different. Everyone was looking at them. His eyes slid to his companion and he understood why. Of course people would stare—both blond and tall, the two of them made a striking couple with their flawless, predacious beauty. Like unsuspecting prey, people were drawn to them, oblivious to the danger they posed.

  Lena glanced at him, and he shifted his stare toward her. He arched an eyebrow and repeated his last question. “Why?”

  “Because …” Her voice faltered, her ice-blue eyes glittering with something akin to misery. “If I lose him too, then I have nothing.” She pushed a wry smile to her lips. “You left me with nothing, but at least Lucian was there to pick up the pieces. Over the years, Lucian and I, well, it was more than I could hope for,” she said. “And now, I won’t give up on him. He didn’t give up on me when …” She trailed off, but Christian knew what she meant. She meant when he did.

  “Does Lucian know?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “And does he feel the same?”

  “In his own way, he does,” she said. “You know your brother.”

  Christian leaned forward in his seat. Strangely, her honesty moved him. The vulnerability was so unlike her that it made him pause for a second. “I never gave up on you, Lena, you must know that,” he admitted after a while. “You and I were cut from different cloths. You couldn’t understand me then, and even now, I see that you still struggle to. I would have made you hate what you are, just as I do.”

  “But you made me into this,” she said, her brows pulling together into a slight frown. “How could I not love it? Or you. Surely, you must know that.”

  “It was a mistake, for both of us.” His voice was flat.

  Lena’s head drooped, and when he saw her shoulders shaking, for a moment he thought she was in tears. And then a chilling sound split the silence between them and he realized that she was laughing. The sound was brittle and empty. She raised glacial blue eyes to his and glared at him with veiled contempt.

  “A little too late for a mistake, isn’t it,” she said. “For either of us.”

  “I guess I deserve that,” he said. “But I can’t change the past.”

  “No, Christian, you can’t.”

  The moment between them passed as if it had never happened, and the vulnerability he’d seen faded, her features hardening into their usual icy and indifferent mask. Christian leaned back his seat and mimicked her blank expression. He had nothing to apologize for—Lena reveled in what she was. She’d wanted to become a vampire the minute she’d laid eyes on him and Lucian.

  Lena’s voice cut through the silence between them. “Don’t get me wrong. You shouldn’t be sorry. I love what I am.” She waved a careless hand. “You’re right, I can’t understand how you don’t love what we are. Immortal, unassailable, powerful, deadly.” She grinned, her teeth white and perfect. The smile did not reach her eyes. “Help Lucian, Christian,” she said forcefully, leaning forward and invoking the full force of her vampire compulsion.

  In spite of himself, Christian felt its unmistakable magnetism. Damn, but she had become powerful. He raised an eyebrow at her boldness in trying to influence him and received one in return.

  “Help him,” she repeated, still persuasive, urgent. There was no request in her voice.

  “You cannot compel me,” he said. “If Lucian needs my help, he can ask for it and it will be given.”

  “You know he won’t,” she said, falling back into her seat.

  “Then it looks like we are done here. The last I heard, my brother said that my biggest problem is saving people who don’t need saving. I won’t make that mistake with him again. He knows where to find me.”

  He stood, signaling the waiter for the check, which he paid, and walked away. Christian didn’t look back even though he could feel the full weight of Lena’s stare boring into his back.

  THREE

  Dangerous Liaisons

  Dinner thus far had been a success. The staff had just removed the last of the dessert dishes, and Victoria and Aliya were retiring to the sitting room for coffee. Christian had thoughtfully decided to excuse himself, leaving the two of them alone. Victoria smiled at him as he pressed a kiss on her head, feeling the brush of Aliya’s stare from across the room where she was admiring a Poussin landscape painting.

  Their conversation over dinner had been light, more or less in the vein of what their summer plans were while in Paris, and although Aliya had been more than polite, Victoria could sense that she had many other questions, ones that remained unanswered from their last meeting. She and Christian had discussed whether she should share her secret with Aliya, and Christian had said that it was up to her. Victoria opted to wait and decide, depending on how things were going.

  “These paintings are beautiful,” Aliya said as she sat down in the armchair opposite Victoria.

  “Christian’s family owns many rare pieces,” Victoria replied. “He’s had a long time to collect them, I guess.” She made a wry expression, and Aliya laughed. Her face seemed so ageless that it was difficult to tell how old she was, but Victoria knew that the high priestess had to be at least in her forties.

  Aliya studied her, stirring her coffee. “Thank you again for the invitation to dinner. I was surprised to hear you were in Paris and delighted to accept.”

  “You’re welcome. It was long overdue.” Victoria took a deep breath, knowing that she would have to be the one to lead the direction of the conversation because of the way she had left it the last time. “I want to apologize for when we last met. I was upset at another situation.”

  “No need, my dear.”

  “I feel I must—my behavior was inexcusable, and for that, I’m sorry.”

  Aliya nodded her head with a gracious smile. “It is forgotten.”

  “Thank you,” Victoria said, swallowing hard. She took a deep breath and made her decision. “Last time you asked me what my family name was,” she said slowly. Aliya leaned forward in her seat, her eyes sparking with interest. “Well, it’s Warrick.”

  Victoria didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the blank look that flitted across Aliya’s face. If anything, Aliya looked confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize the name.”

  Victoria tried another approach. “Ho
w about the Duchess of Lancaster?” she asked softly, and was rewarded as Aliya’s eyes popped and she flew out of her seat, hands clasped to her mouth. The Duchess of Lancaster was Victoria’s ancestor and the legend of the Cruentus Curse was based on her, the last living record of the blood curse. “She was a Warrick, too,” Victoria said.

  Aliya sat back down in a daze, shaking her head. “It’s impossible.”

  Her voice was raspy with shock, but as the minutes passed, Victoria could see the understanding dawning in her eyes as Aliya considered what had happened in La Défense. Victoria had blocked a Seer from seeing her unconscious mind and magically coerced a warded room full of vampires with her words alone.

  “Is it true what you are saying?” Aliya asked when she finally found her voice. “Were you blood relatives?”

  Her emphasis on blood was not lost on Victoria. “The Duchess was my great, great, great, great grandmother.”

  “And the curse?”

  “Still alive and kicking, unfortunately,” Victoria said with a dry look. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. I didn’t know who to trust and, well, there were a lot of things going on then that made it difficult for me to talk to anyone.”

  “Do you have any idea what this means, Tori?” Aliya said. “It’s what everyone has been waiting for.”

  “Believe me, I know,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  As Victoria launched the story of what had happened over the last few months with Gabriel and Lucian both trying to take control of her power, Aliya’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. The mere mention of Lucian had hardened her expression. She obviously didn’t trust him either. Victoria talked for almost an hour, and Aliya listened in amazed silence as the story of Brigid’s amulet and the journal unfolded, and how Victoria had had to fight to gain control of the blood magic at the cost of her life as well as Christian’s.

  After she finished, Aliya stared at her in stupefied silence and cleared her throat. “You have no idea of the magnitude of what you are in the supernatural world. Everyone has been looking for you.”

  “I know,” Victoria said quietly.

  “And His Grace? What is your relationship with him?”

  Victoria knew that Aliya was only trying to make the connections in her head—including the fact that she was here living with Christian. Clearly, she’d just announced that she was the wielder of the fabled and feared Cruentus Curse, and here she was, sitting in a vampire’s home, of all places. She shrugged and exhaled. She didn’t want to lie. “He’s a friend.”

  Aliya’s response was soft. “He is more than that, isn’t he?”

  As much as relations between their worlds were forbidden, this was her life and she loved Christian. She would never apologize for that, not even to secure the approval of a high priestess. She met Aliya’s stare head on. “Yes.”

  Aliya exhaled slowly, nodding. “From what I know of His Grace, he does not appear to be like the rest of his kind. He has always treated the Witch Clans with respect and courtesy. Perhaps this will help to bring our people together.”

  Or tear it apart, a ghostly voice intoned, just as Victoria sensed the arrival of a new non-human presence. Another familiar. Victoria’s eyes snapped to the large black spider dropping down from a silver strand of webbing to land on Aliya’s shoulder. Of course it had to be a spider. She suppressed the sudden inclination to search for a very large boot.

  “Tear what apart?” she asked, Aliya’s familiar now staring at her with its eight gleaming eyes.

  “You can hear him?” Aliya asked in surprise.

  Victoria had forgotten that most familiars were only audible to their masters. “Yes.”

  She is powerful, the familiar commented.

  Quiet, Dante, Aliya said. The spider bristled but remained silent, his eyes bright and intent. Aliya turned back to Victoria. “This is Dante. He is old and tends to speak his mind.”

  Victoria frowned, staring at the spider. She, too, was as surprised as Aliya that she could hear the thoughts of the familiar, but she was learning more and more how much her power surpassed those of ordinary witches. “Nice to meet you, Dante.”

  And you. With that, he disappeared into the curtain of Aliya’s hair, but Victoria could still sense his presence. She wondered if Leto could, too, wherever he was.

  “So please continue with your story,” Aliya said, leaning forward. “Did the blood’s magic tell you how to perform the offensive spells when you were under attack?”

  “Yes and no. I don’t need spells to perform magic, although the knowledge of the words made everything so much more powerful. Leto, my familiar, explained it to me. There’s so much I don’t understand about magic. I learned the hard way about energy and how it comes from life around us when the exiled witch on the mountain tried to capture me. Christian said you knew who she was?”

  Aliya nodded. “Yes, she came from a very talented family, but when the mental illness manifested, she refused to have her magic removed and killed two high priestesses in the process. Mental weakness makes witches too unstable. Her magic was taken by force and she was exiled for her crimes. But from your story, it appears that she managed to keep some of it with her.” Aliya’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “I can’t imagine how you were able to fight and survive. She was a powerful witch. But then, I guess so are you.”

  Victoria lowered her eyes, staring at the floor. She didn’t want Aliya to see what was hidden there. The truth was, when she’d absorbed that witch’s magic, it’d been revolting but thrilling. The blood had trilled in delight as the witch’s life drained from her body, and she had reveled in it.

  “Aliya,” she asked, hesitant. “What happens with magic … say if someone takes it forcibly from you?”

  “Like another witch, you mean?” Aliya said, and Victoria nodded. “One, it’s almost impossible to do. But even if it were not, it is forbidden according to our laws. Magic is a part of us, and stealing it from another witch would be like taking a life.”

  “You take it away from insane people, right?”

  “Yes, but not into ourselves. The magic is dissipated into the universe, the earth, and the air around us.” Aliya smiled thinly. “Not to make a comparison but it would be like a vampire pilfering life from others.”

  Victoria bit her lip, knowing she was pushing the limits. Aliya was far too clever to not get suspicious about the pointed nature of her questions, but she had to know. “I get that. But theoretically speaking, what would happen if someone were to do it?” Aliya’s eyes snapped to hers, and she felt her cheeks getting hot and stomach souring—she’d gone too far.

  The priestess leaned forward, a frown marring her face. “Is that what the witch tried to do to you up on that mountain?” she asked. Victoria swallowed her relief and nodded once, sickened by the lie. Aliya’s sympathetic glance was almost her undoing. “The short answer is that they would die. We simply couldn’t absorb someone else’s magic. Magic is a complex structure, like our human DNA, and unique to each witch. There are no known records of anyone taking in another’s magic for any extended period. How did it feel? Perhaps you mistook it for another spell?”

  Victoria pursed her lips, trying to calm her racing heart. She hadn’t died—she had taken the magic and wielded it against its master. “Maybe. But the only thing I can compare it to is power being drained from one source to another,” she said, then sighed. She didn’t even want to think about what she had been able to do with the witch’s magic—it’d been an intrusion of the worst kind. She pushed it out of her head and forced a smile to her face. “I guess I have a lot to learn, don’t I?”

  “Would you like to learn more?”

  Her spirits brightened. “Where?”

  “We have a school here in Paris.”

  “A school for witchcraft?” Victoria said and then grinned. “Like a Hogwarts or something?”

  A smile. “Not exactly, but similar.”

 
; Victoria ignored the slight skip of her heart. Learning more about her magic was an exciting thought—she’d meet other witches. She’d finally have a place to belong, somewhere to fit in. She didn’t know how Christian would react to the news, considering how protective he was of her, but it was her life, after all. She took a breath and nodded to Aliya. “I would.”

  “Excellent. You should come tomorrow to my house. I’ll arrange a meeting with some of the teachers and we will discuss who can start your formal education at the school. Perhaps something accelerated,” Aliya said, as if recalling everything Victoria had told her.

  A soft twitter inside her sleeve distracted them both as Dante crawled into sight. Perhaps Pan? He is a new mentor, but has not been assigned.

  “Yes, I was thinking the same. Good suggestion.”

  Victoria cleared her throat, a wave of dread overcoming her. “Aliya, I don’t want anyone to know … about me …” She trailed off in uncomfortable silence.

  Aliya smiled kindly, though something like unease shifted in her eyes. “It will be your secret to tell.”

  Just then Leto sauntered into the room and jumped up onto Victoria’s lap. She stroked him beneath his jaw and down his silver-furred back. “This is Leto. My familiar,” she explained. “He’s the one who got me through most of the earlier stuff, so I owe a lot to him.”

  The black spider peeked out from the folds of Aliya’s shirt collar and met Leto’s unwavering stare. Victoria almost grinned at the sight of the two familiars sizing each other up. Leto’s head inclined in gracious deference and the spider acknowledged his greeting. From what Leto had told her, Victoria knew that the familiar of a high priestess often carried the same rank as she did, and etiquette followed the same lines among the familiars. Dante would certainly outrank Leto, at least within the Paris coven.

  Suddenly, Dante went rigid as if something had taken control of his entire body. He slipped from Aliya’s shoulder and fell in slow motion to the floor, reviving at the last minute to save himself with a swiftly released web.