by Tessa Dawn
“Thank you,” she said kindly, forcing the warble of fear out of her voice.
“You’re welcome,” Adam said brightly. He leaned in conspiratorially, and she almost turned tail and ran. “Who do you think they’re from?” He winked as if he knew anything whatsoever about Kristina’s private life.
“Don’t know,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as she reached for the vase to take it from Adam.
“It’s heavy as hell,” he warned her.
Kristina smiled wanly. “That’s okay.” She placed both hands beneath the heavy vase, and sure as heck, she had to use her vampiric strength to heft it. “I’ve got it.” She backed into her apartment and nodded at the door, signaling for Adam to close it. “Thanks again,” she called.
His eyebrows furrowed. She was usually more friendly, but being a good concierge, he nodded professionally, reached for the handle, and shut the door, disappearing behind the frosted panels. Thankfully, he never expected a tip—all the casino’s employees were paid handsomely, and Marquis had made it crystal clear that Kristina was casino royalty. Whatever she wanted, she got. No hesitation, no expectation, and no gratuities.
She lumbered across the floor and set the arrangement down on the glass and bronzed-metal coffee table, stepping back to take a closer look at it. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stepped forward to trace the vase with the tip of her forefinger. The heavy crystal amphora vessel was crafted to look as if it had been transported from another period in time, with its flaring lip, cylindrical handles, and curved body, just above the base, but that wasn’t what commanded Kristina’s attention: The entire vessel shimmered, reflecting light like a prism. And why wouldn’t it? The crystal glass was inset with black diamonds, along with onyx, agate, jasper, and bright red rubies…garnets and coral…red and black…red and black.
The house of Jaegar.
This gift was not from Braden.
She tentatively reached for the neatly folded card tucked behind a bundle of baby’s breath, and she winced when her vampiric senses confirmed what her eyes were also telling her: The deep red, velvety petals had somehow been brushed with—or dipped in—blood, which was why they possessed such a rich, supernatural color. Instinctively, Kristina’s stomach clenched, and pangs of hunger stirred. She couldn’t help it, she couldn’t control it, she couldn’t stop it if she tried. And for the first time since she had finally, fully embraced becoming a vampire, she wished she were something else, anything…else.
She lifted the card gingerly, careful to avoid touching any of the flora, and brought it closer to her eyes: “All five senses should be awakened, nurtured, imbibed,” it read. “Touch, taste, smell, sight, and especially hunger. Sound is overrated unless it’s the sound of your laughter, your sighs—you, speaking the simple word, ‘Yes.’ Think it over, Kristina. AZ”
Kristina tossed the card on the coffee table, backed away, and choked back a sob.
Absently, without even thinking, she rounded the glass-and-bronzed corner of the tabletop, darted to the fireplace mantel, and opened the lid of an antique velvet-lined box. Attached to the lid, against the velvet liner, was another note, a glossy five-by-seven card, but she didn’t pick it up and read it—she didn’t have to—she knew exactly what it said: Thank you for always having my back, the words embossed on the front, and passion, death and foreboding are not quite as frightening with you here to help me breathe, the words engraved in the interior.
It was the note Braden had given her when he had been suffering from headaches…having recurring visions…channeling the mystery and the omens surrounding Saxson Olaru’s Blood Moon. And the card had come with a special gift: a sleek platinum band attached to a thin platinum chain, peppered with flawless, brilliant onyx and rubies, gemstones that were also black and red. Only, there was nothing dark or tainted about them—Braden had made the bracelet with his own two hands at the Dark Moon Mineral Plant, with the help of a few Ancient Master Warriors.
He had made it…for Kristina.
At the age of fifteen…
A friendship bracelet.
Without true awareness or deliberate intent, Kristina reached into the box, retrieved the bracelet, and slipped it around her slender left wrist. Then she thumbed it absently…reverently, while wandering back to the sofa.
She crawled onto the oversized cushions, leaned back against the overstuffed pillows, and drew her knees to her chin. Then she wrapped her arms around two trembling shins, burrowed her head in her knees, and wept.
Oh, dear gods…
This wasn’t happening…
None of it…
Any of it!
The Millenia Harvest Moon had barely begun, and the entire world was already topsy-turvy.
And as for Achilles Zahora…
Oh gods…
Just, no.
Chapter Five
10:00 a.m.
“You feel that?” Niko Durciak asked Jankiel Luzanski, as he arched his back to stretch and glanced furtively at the clear blue sky from the back patio behind the secluded manor house.
Jankiel nodded. “Yeah, the coming moon’s gravitational pull is already electric.”
“What time is it anyway?”
“Nineteen minutes ’til moonset.”
“Then the harvest moon takes over,” Niko said.
“Takes over and rises at 8:59.”
“Yep.”
The two Master Wizards stood in companionable silence, surveying the elaborate gardens, exquisite fountains, and the portion of the lap pool that wound around the back of their property, as they collected their thoughts and took a moment to enjoy the cool, crisp morning air on the eastern-most edge of Dark Moon Vale.
“You ready for the ceremonies?” Jankiel finally asked.
“Yeah, you?”
“As ready as I’m going to be,” Jankiel said.
As far as Niko understood it, in the broader context of the earth’s history, the Vampyr were still a relatively new species, emerging in 800 BC, and the first Millenia Harvest Moon had been an elaborate veneration of the Autumn Equinox, already celebrated by the original half-human, half-celestial ancestors: Where the half-human ancestors had primarily focused upon their crops, the harvests winding down, and the fact that the fields would soon be empty—bountiful yields had been plucked and stored for the coming winter, and autumn was a time to stop, take a few moments and honor the changing seasons, give thanks for the quarter’s blessings and abundance—the ensuing Vampyr had adapted the early festivals to focus far more on celestial rites, rituals, and ceremonies.
Where the ancient half-celestial kings and queens focused on the balance between light and shadow, a time when the hours counted in a day would soon equal night, the house of Jadon now focused upon the gifts and powers born from the original Curse and the ensuing four mercies: the benevolence bestowed upon the Vampyr as a result of Prince Jadon’s pleading, the understanding that the universe demands balance in all things, and the realization that both cold and warmth inevitably lie ahead, as life unfolds in metaphorical seasons. And in light of this, it was Napolean’s privilege and place to lead the Homage Ceremony—to pay respect to the six directions and the natural elements, to guide the Vampyr in rites of balance and reflection, and to humble himself in acts of thanksgiving and worship: expressing gratitude for community, family, and friendship.
Strength, loyalty, and honor…
Only this year, Ciopori Demir Silivasi and Vanya Demir Alexiares would lead the hallowed ceremony.
Where the ancient half-celestial mages and high priests once focused on mystery and divinity, the enchantment that caused a seed to unfurrow in the ground and yield such bountiful harvests, it was the wizards, the mages—and it should have been the High Mage, Fabian—who would now lead the Rites of Magick: a public display of the power in the heavens by arousing solar winds, conjuring the illusion of exploding geysers, and manifesting winter snows, all carefully controlled in a mystic funnel, through the use of focused intent
and harnessed emotion.
This year, it would be Niko taking on that role.
And where the ancient half-celestial, half-human inhabitants would equally be led by a practitioner of magick in the ceremony of Renaissance & Renewal—the circle of drumming—Jankiel would lead the vampires this equinox in the communal ritual of weaving light, focusing inward to sharpen one’s senses, and aligning each heartbeat in one harmonious symphony of rhythms: hearts, not drums; blood, not drumsticks; inhaling and exhaling in place of tapping.
And of course, all the people—all the Vampyr in the house of Jadon—would singularly and collectively take place in the Rite of Peace, Prosperity, & Protection by creating an ethereal, harmonious perimeter around their homes or properties, using elemental and cosmic forces in place of corn stalks, apples, grapevines, or acorns. At least for this rite, each individual or family was on their own.
Niko shook his head: Crazy.
It all seemed so crazy to him, to be going forward as if nothing were different, other than the names and titles of those leading the ceremonies, when in truth, the entire world as they knew it—life in the house of Jadon—was hanging in the balance.
Just then, Jankiel took two steps forward and squinted, and Niko followed his gaze. “What are you looking at, my friend?” Niko asked.
“Not looking,” Jankiel said, “thinking...feeling.”
“Feeling toward the southwest?” Niko inquired, his voice tinged with skepticism.
Jankiel smiled. “Yeah, guess so. More like toward the Dark Moon Casino. It’s like there’s some sort of dense solar shadow shrouding the area, faint but enormous at the very same time.”
Niko sidled up beside his housemate and stared more intently in the same direction, tuning in all six senses more acutely, one sense at a time. “Yeah, I think I get what you’re saying. Like the whole galaxy, the entire Milky Way is involved—which is why it feels enormous—yet the influence is so negligible that it also feels faint: like a single drop of a foreign liquid added to the ocean. On one hand, the ocean is an enormous body of water, so you feel the energy of the shift as one vast whole, but on the other hand, a single drop of liquid is so infinitesimal, it doesn’t even make a ripple.”
Jankiel planted his hands on his hips and furrowed his brows in confusion. “So in this case, the shadow represents—”
“The entire galaxy,” Niko cut in.
“Right. All the celestial gods and goddesses. And the drop of water represents?”
“An errant energy,” Niko supplied.
“Exactly,” Jankiel said. “But I don’t get it. What’s big enough to represent the entire galaxy, all the celestial gods and goddesses, yet small enough—singular enough—to almost remain commonplace…undetected? What…who is big enough to invoke them all?”
Niko shrugged. “Well, the most obvious answer is the harvest moon. On one hand, the moon rises and sets every day, quite common, but on the other hand, this particular Harvest Moon is once in a millennium. However, if you’re speaking of living souls, individual beings, or vampires, then I’d have to say Napolean or the High Mage.”
Jankiel nodded slowly. “That’s what I was thinking too, but close your eyes: Do you feel the goddess Andromeda or Corona Borealis any stronger than the rest?”
Niko closed his eyes. Hmm; Jankiel was right. The presence, the weight, the feel of the gods throughout the galaxy was even, all of them as a cohesive unit, at least within the shadow they were sensing—the shadow they were sensing. “Shadow, not light,” he whispered to Jankiel, reopening his eyes.
“Bingo,” Jankiel replied. “Shadow.”
“Not all the celestial gods and goddesses but all the dark lords.”
“Yep,” Jankiel said, “at least that’s what I’m thinking.”
Niko worked the puzzle in his mind, trying to fit the odd pieces together. “Okay, well, then doesn’t the same thing apply? It’s tied to the oncoming harvest moon, because Dark Ones don’t have individual dark lords or ruling constellations—they might pray and tender offerings to different idols, depending upon what they want or the individual spell they’re casting—but I don’t think a soul, even one as particularly dark and evil as Salvatore Nistor or Oskar Vadovsky, by example, could conjure or evoke that strong of an influence on the entire galaxy.”
“I agree, my brother,” Jankiel offered, even though the two were not related by blood. “The only vampires known who could create a rift in the entire solar system—evoke every single god and goddess, or dark lord, male or female—are Prince Jadon and Prince Jaegar themselves, and last I checked, they weren’t gambling at the Dark Moon Casino.”
At this, Niko chuckled, which at least released some tension. “Shit. I have no idea…” He ran his hand through his dark ebony hair, and the loose, layered waves fell back into place. “So, what then?”
Jankiel shrugged. “I dunno. I-don’t-know.” He emphasized each word, individually.
Niko sighed, flashing back to everything he knew about the Millenia Harvest Moon and this imminent holiday, in particular. Obviously, things were very different. Fabian Antonescu, the legendary High Mage from the original time of the Curse, was with them, and he had revealed to Napolean, Braden, and Nachari, during an exorcism spell designed to extract inner demons and reveal inner secrets by blending the High Mage’s mind with Napolean’s, the fact that he had indeed kept an unconscious secret: Two years back, while sleeping beneath an aged stone well, his spirit had flown in the body of a hawk and then a raven, each time carrying a sacred vial of blood. The first, the elixir of Prince Jadon’s very essence, had been placed into the sleeping body of Braden Bratianu. The second, the extract of Prince Jaegar’s very soul, had been placed in the body of Achilles Zahora…
Subsequently, and over the past two months, Napolean had selectively shared the information with those whom he felt might be directly affected or add insight into the tenuous situation, such as immediate family members and mates of key players, the Council of Wizards and the valley’s sentinels, the original princesses with their celestial magic, and any other crucial individuals who might prove instrumental in untangling the mystery…deciphering the unknown implications.
The blood…
What would happen when the blood of the Ancients quickened?
Jankiel turned his head sharply to the left as if hearing Niko’s thoughts. “Light cleaves to light, and darkness cleaves to darkness.”
“Braden and Achilles?” Niko asked.
“Maybe,” Jankiel said.
They both looked toward the southwest again—the shadow was still there, and it was still just as faint. Niko threw both hands up in frustration. “Achilles would be northwest of here, not southwest, somewhere ’round about the Red Canyons, the Valley of Shadows, on the other side of the vale. He sure as hell wouldn’t be hanging out at the Dark Moon Casino.”
Jankiel rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Yeah, you’re right, and I feel like we’re chasing rabbits down random holes. So there’s a very faint shadow over the Dark Moon Casino, one that implies the deities in reverse, a gathering of all the dark lords at once, but it’s so negligible, so infinitesimal as not to even account for a singular body, an identifiable soul. I think we just have to chalk this one up to Millenia Harvest Moon jitters. Are we sensing something real? Yeah, you bet we are. But is it anything we can discern, follow up with, using magick—is it anything worth sending out an SOS? No, I don’t think so. Let’s just remain aware.”
Niko considered Jankiel’s words carefully—very carefully—before chiming in with an additional suggestion. “Agreed,” he said evenly, “only, let’s also err on the side of caution with this one. An SOS? No. Not that serious…at least not yet. No need to put out an urgent telepathic call, disrupt anyone’s train of thought, or intrude on their inner sanctum. But a heads-up? Yeah…definitely. Better safe than sorry.”
Napolean had already ceded the Homage Ceremony to Ciopori and Vanya—the king had more than enough on his plate. Fabian,
the High Mage and Niko’s personal idol, had relinquished the Rites of Magick to Niko and the circle of drumming to Jankiel—the ancient wizard was clearly laser-focused on Braden and the moonrise as well. And as for the remainder of the house of Jadon, most of the Vampyr were none the wiser. The king had not shared what had happened regarding Fabian and the ancient vials of blood with anyone outside the tight, need-to-know circle, the vampires Niko had already pondered. Napolean was waiting to see what happened first, waiting to make sure it was necessary.
So yeah, to Niko’s way of thinking, that left Nachari Silivasi.
He reached into his back pocket, retrieved his cell phone, and dialed the green-eyed wizard’s number.
Braden and his little brother, Conrad, now twelve years old and on the verge of adolescence, leaned back against the side of Braden’s sleek, pristine Mustang as they crossed their arms, tapped their toes in unison, and stared out beyond the parking lot, toward the lodge’s deep blue lake.
Nachari had won the race to the lodge but only by a hair, and he had spent the past half hour talking on the phone. From what Braden could gather, the Master Wizard had spoken to Niko Durciak first, then appeared to try another number several times without getting an answer, at which point he had hastily called his mate, Deanna.
Whatever that was all about…
Now, as Nachari sat on the hood of his own vintage Calypso Coral Mustang, about twenty feet away, still speaking on the phone with his destiny, Braden struggled to find the right words to connect with his younger sibling. Braden had asked both Dario, his stepdad and Conrad’s father, as well as their mother, Lily, to remain inside the lodge while he and Conrad stepped outside—yet his mind was drawing a blank, and his mouth was curiously dry.
