“Honey, I think you’re on the wrong side,” Sparkling White told me. “How about you join us?”
“Well, you boys seem like a lot of fun, but I’m afraid I have to pass.” I shrugged. “I already swore my undying allegiance to the Legion.”
“Too bad. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.” The vampire chuckled. “You know, I like you…what was your name?”
“Leda,” I told him. “But my friends call me Pandora.”
“Pandora, the Legion’s infamous Mistress of Chaos?”
“That’s me.”
“Fantastic.” He grinned like he wholeheartedly approved. “You’re cool, Pandora. And so I’m going to help you out. Let’s talk about how to get you into Zarion’s temple.”
13
The Warrior's Hairbrush
The vampire with the sparkling white shirt gestured toward the bar. “Please sit down.”
The gold-and-black vampire had finally freed himself from the burning towel, and the red-shirted vampire was no longer handcuffed to the bar.
I took a seat on the barstools between them, but Colonel Fireswift remained standing. He probably thought sitting while on duty was a mortal sin.
Sparkling White looked at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. “That’s ok. Sitting isn’t necessary. Drinking is. You see, we’re going to play a little game, and if you win, you’ll gain entry into Zarion’s temple.”
Colonel Fireswift’s cool gaze panned across the shot glasses lined up on the counter. “A drinking game,” he said, turning up his nose.
The vampire flashed him teeth as white as his sparkling shirt. “Yes.”
“That won’t be a problem.” Colonel Fireswift picked up one of the shot glasses.
I was surprised he even knew about such common things. Way up high in his ivory angel tower, far away from us ruffians, he’d certainly not engage in anything as pedestrian as a drinking game. Then again, he had just engaged in a bar brawl with three vampires. So maybe there was more to Colonel Fireswift once you got past the evil overlord facade.
Sparkling White glanced down at the shot glass in Colonel Fireswift’s hand and laughed. “Oh, it’s not going to be that easy. We’re drinking straight from the source.”
Colonel Fireswift’s gaze first shifted to the wall of alcohol bottles behind the counter—before finally settling on the three humans and the bite marks in their throats.
Straight from the source? Surely, the vampire didn’t expect us to drink from these humans.
My thoughts must have shown on my face because the vampire laughed again. “No, not them. You’ll be sampling something a bit more exotic.”
A door on the back wall whispered open, and a man with long dark hair strode into the room and positioned himself behind the bar. The bartender. And yet his blue tunic, accented with gold threads, looked too fancy to be a bartender’s uniform.
“The rules are simple,” Sparkling White told me and Colonel Fireswift. “For every question that either of you asks of us, you must both drink from our friend here.”
Something inside of me warned me to tread carefully. There was more to this sparkly-shirted vampire than met the eye.
“You’re a priest of Zarion’s Temple of the Night,” I realized.
“I am,” Sparkling White confirmed, smiling. “And now you must drink, for I have answered your question.”
“That wasn’t a question. It was a statement.”
“A question inside a statement costume still remains a question,” countered the vampire priest.
“I don’t think—”
“You shouldn’t think,” Colonel Fireswift told me. “Your thinking only leads to trouble. As we’ve just seen.”
I frowned at him. No, I’d been right about him the first time. He really was only an evil overlord, through and through. That was no facade.
Colonel Fireswift grabbed the bartender by the collar and bit him. The angel pulled away immediately, his blue eyes swirling with silver.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“His blood tastes like Nectar,” Colonel Fireswift said, his voice teetering.
If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. Colonel Fireswift—leader of the Legion’s Interrogators, champion of self-discipline at the expense of all fun—was sinking under the weight of his own bloodlust, sparked by the bartender’s blood, which apparently tasted like Nectar.
Faris had warned us all that our bloodlust would be stronger than usual. That would make winning this challenge hard. Hell, it would make just getting through this drinking game hard.
Sparkling White looked at me expectantly. Ah, he was waiting for me to drink too.
I sighed. So much for treading carefully.
I allowed my fangs to descend, sinking them into the bartender’s neck. I tried to keep it short, to swallow only a single mouthful. But the taste of his blood exploded on my tongue, igniting my hunger. His blood really did taste like Nectar. It was a taste unlike anyone else’s blood.
Except for Nero. Nero’s blood tasted like Nectar too. In fact, Nero’s blood tasted even better, even more like Nectar, than the bartender’s blood. But why? Why did their blood taste so different than other people’s blood?
That burning question churning in my head anchored my mind. It kept me from drowning in my own bloodlust. Having drunk Nero’s blood helped even more. I had resisted Nero’s sweet blood before; I could resist this man’s blood too. I stepped back, releasing my grip on the bartender.
Beside me, Colonel Fireswift stared at him, mesmerized, tracking every pop of his pulsing neck.
“What are you?” Colonel Fireswift asked in awe.
I elbowed him. Now he was the one wasting questions.
Colonel Fireswift had just realized that too. An annoyed expression flashed across his face—and for once it wasn’t directed at me. It was aimed solely at himself.
“That is Kanja, a priest of Zarion,” said Sparkling White.
It was neither a complete nor a good answer, but I didn’t argue the point. That might lead to more accusations of questions masquerading as other things, which would then lead to more drinks from Kanja. Right now, we had to concentrate on getting into Zarion’s temple, not ponder curiosities like why only Kanja’s and Nero’s blood tasted like Nectar. So I filed this mystery away for the future.
The vampire was looking at us expectantly. It was time to pay up and drink. Colonel Fireswift looked like he really wanted to drink from Kanja again. And yet, at the same time, he looked like he really didn’t want to do it, like another sip might just push him over the edge, sending him spiraling into full-out bloodlust.
So I went first this time. I kept it quick, resisting the urge to lick up the tasty drop of Kanja’s blood that fell on my lips. Instead, I wiped it off with a napkin. Then I shot Colonel Fireswift a challenging look.
Bristling, he grabbed Kanja and drank. His muscles twitched, his veins pulsed, but he pulled back after a single sip—just as I’d known he would. He would never allow himself to lose a battle of willpower with a dirty street urchin. That drive to prove he was more civilized than a heathen like me was powerful enough to keep his bloodlust in check.
“What is the way into Zarion’s temple?” I asked Sparkling White.
Disappointment crinkled his brow. I could tell he’d been hoping that my mind wouldn’t remain sane enough to remember the purpose of this game.
“You aren’t like the others,” he told me.
I smiled. “That’s what all my enemies say.”
Laughing, he pulled on a series of beer taps at the bar. The mirrored wall at the back of the bar slid open to reveal a passage.
Now it was time to pay the price one final time. I drank from Kanja, then Colonel Fireswift did the same. His body was shaking so hard by now that I doubted he could hold a weapon. In fact, he appeared to be having trouble just standing there. I nudged him toward the secret door.
“It was fun, boys,” I
told the three vampires and the mysterious bartender with the Nectar blood. “We’ll have to do it again the next time I’m in your corner of the cosmos.”
Then I pulled Colonel Fireswift through the door after me. It closed right behind us. Beyond the wall, I could already hear the vampires singing drinking songs again.
Colonel Fireswift and I followed the hallway. His spasming muscles had already quieted down. He even managed to walk in a straight line now. He was fighting off the last lingering effects of Kanja’s blood. Not falling on your face was a pretty essential skill in battle. Our chances of making it through this challenge had just skyrocketed from ‘no way in hell’ to ‘maybe possible’.
The passageway was dark except for some glowing crystals on the walls, positioned like lamps. The magic light reflected off the glossy black marble floor, the surface as slick as a sheet of black ice. Ten bodies lay strewn all across the floor.
“Our competitors,” I commented.
Colonel Fireswift’s gaze slid over the soldiers. “Nyx and Arius took them down.”
I bent down beside Nero, feeling his neck for a pulse. He was still alive. In theory, we weren’t supposed to kill the other teams, but Nyx had looked oddly psychotic last night.
“What are you doing?” Colonel Fireswift demanded.
I pilfered several pieces of jewelry from unconscious Delta’s body.
Colonel Fireswift’s brows lifted. “Scavenging from the fallen?”
“Haha.” I plucked a metallic piece off her necklace, combining it with pieces I snapped off her ring and her dagger. I handed the finished item to him. “Look familiar?”
He blinked in surprise. “These are Aleris’s glasses.”
“Bingo. Delta broke them into pieces and attached them to her jewelry to hide them.”
It was a mundane solution to a magical problem, a trick most angels wouldn’t have thought to consider. It turned out Delta was pretty clever and resourceful. Too bad she was such a bitch, or she and I might have been friends.
Colonel Fireswift tucked the glasses into his jacket. “And Valora’s crown?”
“It’s not on either Nero or Delta. Maybe one of the other teams stole it,” I suggested.
We quickly checked the other soldiers, but none of them had the crown either—not even in a disassembled form as Delta had stored the glasses.
“We will continue along this passage,” Colonel Fireswift decided. “Zarion’s treasure is this way. His team might now also hold the crown.”
We ran down the hall. It dead-ended at a vault door.
“Where are Nyx and Arius?” I asked, yawning.
They weren’t anywhere in sight, but it felt like they were lurking right over my shoulder. When I looked all around, however, I didn’t see them.
“I do not know.”
I yawned again. “Do you feel tired?” My legs felt like lead.
“It’s the blood,” he said. “It’s disrupted our equilibrium.”
“No, it’s something different.”
I glanced down at my feet. The marble floor looked…almost liquid. Like it was made of a thick flowing goo. I blinked. It was flowing. It slid over our feet, swallowing our legs. And then the floor just stopped moving. It was solid again—and our legs were encased in marble.
“A shifting spell.” Colonel Fireswift slid his hand over our marble bindings. “This is Nyx’s magic. No angel can wield Shifter’s Shadow quite like her.”
I thought back to the time Nyx had masqueraded as my friend Basanti. She’d fooled everyone. None of us had even suspected her. The goddess Valora’s specialty was also shifting magic. The two of them shared magic and a father. They had a lot in common, and still they hated each other. Hatred was such a useless emotion.
Nyx and Arius emerged from the shadows, their eyes panning over all the opponents they’d defeated. Some of the unconscious soldiers stirred—and so did the marble sea. It snapped over their wrists and ankles, pinning them to the floor.
An ornate gold hairbrush sparkled in Nyx’s hand. Either the First Angel had been hit with the sudden urge to brush her hair, or that hairbrush was Zarion’s artifact. I was banking on the latter, even though it did look like a lady’s brush. After all, Zarion did have all that long blond hair to brush through. And he liked bright and shiny objects.
As Nyx closed in on us, Colonel Fireswift pulled the glasses out of his jacket. Unless he wanted to toss them at her, I wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish by that. He waved the glasses around. Magic glitter sprinkled off the lenses. It looked like crushed diamonds. The diamond glitter floated through the air, sticking to the hairbrush in Nyx’s hand. Magic flashed. An image poured out of the hairbrush, projecting over the room.
A memory. The glasses had pulled a memory out of Zarion’s hairbrush, just as they’d done to Valora’s crown.
No, not just one memory. A series of fragmented memories and Zarion’s thoughts poured out of the hairbrush, playing out so fast that without my vampiric senses, I couldn’t have processed them at all.
I saw Zarion battling the angel Sirius Demonslayer.
The angel put up a good fight, but he was no match for a god. Zarion’s magic blade tore through him. The traitor Demonslayer, who’d betrayed his calling to hide away his stolen lover, was dead. Zarion plunged his blade through the angel again, just to be sure he really was dead. Zarion took especial pleasure in ending the life of Eveline’s new lover.
Then, with her final line of defense shattered, Zarion turned his sword on Eveline. Scarred from an early age, the leader of the Chicago werewolf pack was not beautiful, but she was a fierce warrior. And Zarion loved her as he’d never loved another. That love had spurred him into temporary insanity. Zarion glanced at Eveline’s round belly. The baby inside of her—Zarion’s child—wasn’t just a problem. It was a catastrophe.
Mercer had only gotten away with fathering a demigod because he’d been king of the gods. If the other gods found out about Zarion’s child, his alliances would fall apart. He had so many sensitive things in play right now. There was too much at stake. He needed those alliances. He needed the other gods’ support. He could not allow all that he’d been working toward to crumble to pieces, not when he was so close to fulfilling his destiny.
Zarion attacked Eveline. She fought valiantly, as she always did, but it wasn’t long before she too fell to the god’s blade.
He knelt beside her dead body, his hand brushing lightly over her forehead. “I will not forget your sacrifice.”
He held her in his arms for a few final moments, stroking her hair. Then he rose and took the golden hairbrush from the dresser. It had been Zarion’s gift to her, a symbol of their love. Now he was taking it back, a memento to remind him of the woman he’d loved. She and their unborn child had died for the greater good. The world would be a better place because of their sacrifice.
As Zarion left the destroyed town behind him, the hairbrush firmly in his hand, another memory washed his body away. The color of the images pouring out of the hairbrush shifted, a blue overcast replacing the red. This time, the memory wasn’t Zarion’s. It was Nyx’s.
Nyx stood on the Black Plains beside Leda Pierce, magically cloaked in the form of Basanti Somerset. Nero and Harker watched Stash closely. Stash was a shifter who’d defied all laws of magic and suddenly become an angel. To make matters worse, he currently commanded a supernatural army that was threatening to take over the world—and when they were done with that, they’d take on the gods.
“Stash is the child of a shifter mother,” said the witch Constantine Wildman, currently under Stash’s spell. “Her name was Eveline. She was a Chicago werewolf pack leader. Leader of the strongest shifter pack in the city.”
“Twenty years ago, my mother fell in love with the god,” Stash said. “But matings between gods and mortals are frowned upon. Gods guilty of such matings lose face with the other gods. When my father found out she was pregnant, he tried to kill her.”
Stash wasn’t just a
shifter. He was a demigod. Just like Nyx. And here she’d thought she was the only one.
“My mother barely escaped with her life,” Stash said. “She made a deal with a witch coven who had recently grown very powerful. It was said they could perform miracles. They cast a spell on her. The next time my father came for her, he stabbed her in the belly, and she died. He thought he’d killed me too, but I lived, protected inside a magic shell in her womb.”
The memory flickered, jolting us into a dilapidated shack. I remembered the place. It was located on the Black Plains, where Nyx had brought us after she’d cast off her Basanti disguise.
“I will help you learn to control your power, Stash,” Nyx told him.
The memory shot us further into the future. I saw Nyx and Ronan train Stash. With each exercise, his magic grew stronger; with each battle, they molded him into a warrior of their own design.
The final frame of the final memory froze, then the projection puffed out, the remnants of the spell fluttering away on the wind like a flock of butterflies.
Sometime during the flood of memories, the marble floor had released us. Nero and I stood side-by-side, exchanging loaded looks. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.
Nyx’s teammate Arius Demonslayer paced up and down the hall. “Dark angels killed my father,” he muttered. “Everyone knows that. Its engraved on the plaque with his name on it that hangs in every Legion office.”
His mind was clearly still trying to make sense of what he’d just seen. His father had been the lover of Zarion’s mistress. And Sirius Demonslayer had died to protect her and her unborn child. Zarion had killed him.
Nyx grabbed Arius, and they disappeared through the magic mirror with Zarion’s hairbrush.
Colonel Fireswift’s eyes locked onto me and Nero. “Of course you two were in the middle of this mess.”
“I’d hardly say we were ‘in the middle of it’,” I countered. “We just happened to be there. By chance. We had nothing to do with it.”
“And yet you always happen to be there whenever something explodes. Chaos orbits around you, Leda Pierce.”
Fairy’s Touch: Legion of Angels: Book 7 Page 12
