Bloodcraft

by Amalie Howard

  “You don’t understand how she looked at me,” Victoria said. “As if I was going to murder every last one of the students in the school in cold blood.”

  “Are you?” he deadpanned.

  “No,” she blurted out and then laughed at his droll expression. “Maybe just one.”

  “Bring it, Super Witch.”

  Victoria frowned, her eyes snapping to his. “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Why?” Pan grinned. “It’s what they’re calling you, don’t you know.”

  “Who’s calling me that?”

  “The trees,” he said in a quiet voice, all trace of humor disappearing from his laughing blue eyes. “They know all your secrets. They see what you can do, and they tell me that there hasn’t been someone like you in centuries.”

  “Oh, have they?” she asked, not meeting his eyes. “What else do they tell you?”

  A glowing orb racing toward them high in the sky interrupted Pan’s answer. The odd-looking meteor collided with the magical barrier that surrounded the school in a bright shower of sparks. The shock of it threw Victoria and Pan to the ground, the earth trembling beneath them. The explosion was followed by another and then another. It couldn’t be coincidence.

  “What the hell is that?” Pan said, his neck arching upward and his palms resting in the dirt.

  “Fire spells,” Victoria said. “We’re under attack.”

  “Attack?”

  Victoria eyed him, panic registering in her center as she felt the concentration of magic outside the school walls. She pushed her consciousness forward, but slammed back into herself as another series of flares cracked into the school’s protective sphere. “Warlocks. We have to warn Starke. Quick, Pan.”

  “Warlocks?” he gasped.

  “They’ve surrounded the school.”

  “But how is that possible? We’re warded for invisibility. No one knows that we are here unless you go here.”

  She glared at him. “Well, they know and they’re here. We need to get these kids to safety. Now move.”

  The barrier chose that exact moment to disintegrate as huge firebombs pierced the interior. Flames and billowing smoke sprouted everywhere, consuming buildings and bodies in equal measure. Screams erupted, and Pan dove into motion, scooping up fallen bodies and running toward the main building. Victoria did the same as she approached a sobbing girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “My leg,” the girl whimpered. Victoria stared past the smoke and retched in horror. The entire lower half of the girl’s left leg was missing, severed by a metal piling from a nearby roof. Victoria bent and touched the bleeding stump. “CURO.”

  She couldn’t bring back the leg, but she could stop the bleeding. She saw a young man running toward them and signaled to him. “She’s lost her leg, but she’s conscious. Help her to the main building.” She didn’t ask. She commanded. The boy nodded, grasping the girl in his arms and disappearing down the path.

  Victoria flexed as four bodies appeared directly in front of her. They weren’t students or teachers—that, she was sure of. They also weren’t witches. They were warlocks. She could smell it on them.

  “Mademoiselle Warrick, stand down.”

  The voice came from behind her and she turned to see Madame Starke, along with a line of determined staff flanking her, including Monsieur George and Madame Claret.

  She met the headmistress’s eyes. “But—”

  “I said stand down,” the woman hissed as she deflected a blow meant to maim. “Get behind us.”

  “I can help.”

  But her answer was drowned out in a rattling noise that made almost every witch drop to the ground clutching their heads in agony. All except her. She strode forward, her magic protecting her with every step and pushed a hand out. The blast of power seething from her fingers incinerated the bodies of the four warlocks. But before she could blink, four more materialized to take their place. And then a dozen more teleported into the courtyard and filtered into the shadows.

  Her senses tingled as she recognized a familiar essence. Vampire. Victoria frowned, honing in on it. It was Lucian. She knew it as she knew her own body. What was he doing here in the presence of the warlocks? She shook her head—perhaps she was mistaken. She focused on the lone body standing at the periphery, hoping that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she knew better. Lucian was always out for himself, no one else. He was the one who had led them here.

  Fury surged along her veins, her hands spreading forward. “Ignis cremo.” The fire spell surged forward in violent precision, contacting two of the warlocks opposing them as the other two spun out of the way. A poison spell speared toward her and she dove to avoid the blast, a protection shield spell darting from her fingers at the last moment. She crouched behind a large shrub beside Monsieur George, the defensive magic teacher. He was covered in soot and blood, a large gash on his cheek leaking crimson onto the white collar of his shirt.

  “There are too many of them,” he shouted.

  “How did they get in?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. They attacked from the top, which is the least protected area of the dome. The barrier is meant to conceal, not to defend.”

  Victoria glanced over her shoulder, but couldn’t see the group of teachers who had been there before with the headmistress. “Where are the others?”

  “I don’t know. Our line of defense collapsed soon after we arrived, but I think they retreated to defend the main building. Madame Starke and the others are still out here.”

  “What do the warlocks want?”

  He stared at her. “What they always want. Power.”

  The bush they were hiding behind went up in a spire of dust as it disappeared, leaving them both exposed. They took off in opposite directions, Victoria flying behind a small shed. She tossed a protection spell toward the professor, deflecting an attack from a nearby warlock as he, too, dove for cover. The professor sent a grateful look in her direction and proceeded to fight off a barrage of poisoned spikes.

  Monsieur George nodded to her. “Go,” he shouted. “Get yourself to safety. Find Madame Starke. I can hold them off.”

  Victoria stared around wildly, seeing the gray-clad bodies sliding in and out of the thick fog. “I can’t leave you. You’re outnumbered.”

  “Go. Don’t stop and don’t look back.”

  Despite her reticence to leave him, Victoria took a deep breath and raced back along one of the paths toward the main building and froze as it came into vision. Warlocks surrounded the entire building. She ducked behind a large sapling and pulled herself into the lower boughs where she was out of sight. She wished she had Pan’s gift to speak with the tree. Instead she pressed her palm against its rough bark and begged for its assistance to camouflage her. To her surprise, the branches closed in, holding her in a makeshift cradle and blocking her from sight. Her fingers gripped the rough sides of the trunk, gratitude filling her. She had the perfect view of the entrance to the main building.

  A statuesque woman in a flowing red dress approached through the clearing smog. She was a warlock, Victoria knew. A powerful one. She could sense the magic rippling in the air around her as she walked. To her surprise, Lucian followed in her wake, and Victoria’s breath caught in her throat. She was right—he obviously was helping them. Her stomach dropped as she realized what that meant—he had told them about her … about who she was. Which meant that they were here for her.

  “You know why I am here. Surrender the Cruentus witch,” the warlock in red said, her voice ringing through the courtyard like the sound of bells.

  Madame Starke appeared, flanked by two of her senior teachers, Didier and Claret. Victoria wondered for a second whether Monsieur George had survived the assault. “We do not know what you are talking about, Freyja.”

  Freyja.

  The sound of the name sent thrills throu
gh her body. She did not know the warlock, but something inside of her knew what that name meant.

  The woman in red laughed. “But of course you do,” she said. “You are harboring her here.”

  “The Cruentus Curse is a myth.”

  “Then why do I smell the fear in your blood?” Freyja waved a careless hand. “If it were a myth, do you think I would risk war against the Witch Clans? If so, you misunderstand me. Now, cease your games and give me what I want or I will raze your precious school to the ground and all of the innocent lives within.” She smiled, those cold red lips stretching into a grimace across her face. “You know you cannot protect them. There are too many of us and too little of you. That blood will be on your hands.”

  Starke opted for a different tactic. “I do not know where she is.”

  “But you admit that she is here.”

  “I will tell you nothing,” Starke snarled, her hands twitching at her sides.

  Freyja looked unperturbed. She flicked an arm and one of the sheds near the end of the six-pointed star went up in flames. A bolt of energy flew from Madame Starke, but Freyja deflected it easily with a shield spell. Victoria felt her blood boil. She was about to swing herself down from the tree when someone appeared between the warlocks and the witches.

  Her heart hitched with recognition as Christian’s lithe form took shape. She almost lost her grip on the branch—her feelings were so raw and so sharp that the sight of him made her physically weak. Her eyes consumed his features—the slope of his brow, the rise of his cheekbones, the sleek curve of his lips. She remembered the touch of them on hers with visceral feeling. It made no sense that he was here right now, and yet, there he was. Standing there and looking so imposing and so strong that it was all she could do not to run to him and beg him to hold her.

  Victoria blinked as reality set in. Had he teleported? As far as she knew, vampires weren’t able to use magic. Apparently those in the courtyard felt the same and stared at him with varying measures of mistrust and surprise, emerging so coolly in their midst.

  “Enough,” he said.

  “This does not concern you, vampire,” Madame Starke snarled.

  “It does if whatever this is draws more attention from the humans than it already has.” He waved a hand. “Your cloaking glamour is gone. You risk discovery with every passing second.”

  “The vampire is right,” Freyja drawled. “Give us the witch and we will be on our way with no more bloodshed.”

  Christian’s eyes flicked to his brother, who stared back with supreme unconcern, a smirk playing about his lips. Understanding dawned as he realized the same thing that Victoria had—Lucian had led the warlocks here to her doorstep. Christian’s brow furrowed for a brief moment before blinding rage eclipsed it. His fury was only evident in the white outline of his clenched fists, but Victoria felt the push of it even from where she was hiding.

  Christian’s voice was calm when he spoke. “What have you done, brother?”

  “She does not belong to you,” Lucian tossed back.

  “Of course not. She belongs to no one.”

  “Then you should not care.”

  “I do not care,” he said mildly. His cold response was a blow to Victoria’s gut. “I am here for one purpose—to avoid a conflict with the humans. The odds are not in our favor. There are billions of them and tens of thousands of us. Everyone needs to calm down and take a step back. Think about what you are doing.”

  “You think you can take us all on, vampire?” The snarling comment was from a warlock standing to the right of Freyja. His eyes flared and a scream lodged in Victoria’s throat, but the stunning spell bounced harmlessly off Christian. Her eyes widened as the warlock fell to his knees, his eyes bulging from the rebounded hex. Victoria’s blood reared in her veins, responding to the pull of the dark magic … magic that was coming from Christian. Leto’s words came back in a rush—he was a vampire prince now, a son of one of their original vampires.

  Christian released his hold and the man rose, gasping for breath. “You do not want to test my will.”

  Freyja raised a hand, something flashing across her face. “Impressive,” she said. Her glance flicked to Lucian, who was staring at Christian with a disbelieving, incredulous look. But instead of focusing on either of the brothers, she turned her attention to Madame Starke, who had been watching the entire exchange with silent, calculating eyes. “Give us the witch and we will go.”

  “No.”

  “I can feel her presence.” She lowered her voice, but her words filtered back to Victoria, making her body go ice cold. “Odette, she is a threat to everyone.”

  “And what will she become in your hands?” Odette Starke shot back. “A weapon against the Clans? We know your endgame, Freyja. It has been the same since the dawn of time. Your hatred of the Witch Clans will outweigh any shred of decency you have. Le Sang Noir will rise to defend our bloodlines, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

  Victoria felt her blood surge as blue fire flicked between the line of witches that had now grown ten bodies deep. This was going to be a bloodbath, with Christian standing at its midpoint. She had to stop it. She took a deep breath and shimmied down to a lower branch when a hand stopped her descent.

  “You can’t,” Pan whispered as he climbed up the branches beside her. Her eyes widened at his bloodstained face and he shook his head. “It’s not my blood, don’t worry. I am fine.”

  “I have to help them.”

  “You can’t. Super Witch or not, you’ll get yourself killed.”

  Her eyes met his and she wrestled with telling him the truth. Pan wouldn’t hurt her, she knew. He was too guileless, too transparent. And he was bonded to the trees. They already guessed who she was and it would only be a matter of time before Pan found out. She inhaled sharply and made her decision.

  “You don’t understand. They’re here for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m the Cruentus witch, the one from the prophecy.”

  Pan stared at her, a shadow slinking through his clear blue eyes. His fingers fluttered against her arm and he pulled her in for a hug. His hands spread wide at the place between her shoulder blades and she was completely unprepared for the electrical shock that speared from his fingers, covering her body in a wide net. Her eyes popped as Pan leaned back, blowing something that looked like golden dust into her face.

  “I know exactly who you are, little bird,” he whispered. “Time to go home.”

  FIFTEEN

  Master of Deception

  Christian felt Victoria’s departure the minute she teleported. All he sensed was a swift spike of fear the moment before she disappeared into thin air, but he expected that was because of what was happening. He’d been aware of her presence the whole time as if she were a tangible force anchoring him to her. He was glad that she’d stayed hidden because he hadn’t known what he would have done if she’d gotten hurt. As much as he wanted to prevent war from erupting in the middle of Paris, he wanted to protect her, too.

  He stood between the immovable bodies of the warlock and the headmistress of the school, knowing they, too, would have felt the shift in the magic. “Victoria is no longer here,” he said.

  “How do you—?” the one called Odette Starke snapped.

  He let his eyes meet hers, not deigning to answer. She knew full well how he knew. She’d been the one to insist that Victoria and he separate so that she could attend the school. It hadn’t been Aliya’s idea—although she had been resistant to the two of them as a couple, she’d come to understand the bond that lay between them. No, it had been this woman. Christian wondered at her endgame. She’d manipulated Victoria like a pawn, making her want to belong so badly that she’d given up everything to do so. And now, when the warlocks had made their play, she pretended ignorance.

  He turned to his brother. “Come with me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chris
tian flexed his newfound influence and his brother’s eyes widened at the compulsion. “You will accompany me, by force or by any other means necessary.”

  “Who do you think you are?” Lucian gritted as he fought Christian’s unspoken command.

  “Your brother and your liege.”

  “I owe you no allegiance.”

  Christian assessed him with cool composure. “Then why does your blood bend to mine? You are bound to me. Now move.”

  “Freyja,” Lucian said, his eyes darting to her. “Are you going to let this happen?”

  “You have fulfilled your purpose,” she said.

  “We had an agreement.”

  “Which shall be honored, but you mistake my intentions if you believe I will enter into a blood feud with the vampires, least of all your brother. You would do well to follow his wishes.” With that, the warlocks vanished into thin air, leaving Lucian standing there alone. He turned to run, but Christian halted him in his tracks.

  “How are you doing this?”

  Christian didn’t answer. He nodded coldly to Odette Starke and grasped Lucian’s arm before taking to the skies.

  They arrived at the rooftop of the Tour Areva in seconds and Lucian pushed away from him, his face purple. “Since when can you fly?”

  “It’s a recent development.”

  “It’s because of her, isn’t it?” Lucian snarled. “Le Sang Noir? The blood you took that you claimed was so self serving?”

  “No, and her blood is self serving.”

  Lucian raked a hand through his cropped hair. “Lies. Your powers have accelerated. Powers of compulsion, flight. What else can you do, brother, because of that bitch’s blood?”

  Christian eyed Lucian, watching the unrestrained emotions play across the face that was a mirror image of his own—jealousy, rage, confusion, and frustration combining into an unrecognizable mess. There was nothing that he could say that would make his status palatable to Lucian, he knew. His jealousy would consume him as it always had.

  He cleared his throat. “My maker was Reii.”