She’s changed me. And I’ll change everything for her. But first, she’ll need time. She’s the one who cheated on a vampire—she’s probably all kinds of anxious.
I carry a warmth hidden in my heart, reserved for her alone. I free it now, Carden be damned. I free it into the light of day, letting it fill my eyes as I return her gaze full on. I’m here, it says silently. I wait. Forever if need be. The sentiment I give voice to, though, is significantly more banal. “What, precisely, do you characterize as the good stuff? Would that be tinned oats or expired yogurt?”
She understands. Knows I won’t pressure her. I imagine I’m the only one able to see her relief; it relaxes the set of her shoulders, eases something that had become pinched around her eyes. “Blood pudding,” she answers with a shudder.
“A delicacy,” Carden says, yet again inserting himself. He’ll always be there, inserting himself. He’s undead.
I can’t have her yet, but I can protect her. I’ll do this thing. In the end, I forgo the dining hall. Today, I decide. Not tonight but today I assassinate Dagursson. Perhaps Carden is right—perhaps it will kill me. I have no choice. All I know is I must keep Annelise safe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I burst into the Arts Pavilion and head straight for Dagursson’s office. At first I wanted to do this for Annelise, but now? Now I’m doing it for us.
I’ll appease Freya by killing the vampire, and then, if Ann wishes it, she and I can run away. We could go wherever she desires. I’ll find us a new place. I could find my family—Dagursson knows where they are. We could stay with them. It’d be on a faraway island where the sun shines. I only need to get the information from the vampire before I kill him.
I reach his door and pull back my shoulders. I wondered how to kill him, which ruse I could use to get inside, but in the end, my only plan is that there is no plan—there’s no cover story clever enough to prevent the old Viking from suspecting me. And so I’ve got my urumi around my waist, stakes up my sleeves, and an old metal lighter in my pocket. My only hope is to take him by surprise.
I flex one hand as the other finds the lighter, my thumb poising on its small steel spinner. I’ll threaten his scrolls. He’ll tell me of my family. I’ll find them, and they’ll give us shelter.
Briefly, I seek inside myself, reaching for my power. I don’t summon it, not yet, in case the vampire is able to sense it, too. Maybe it won’t be enough. Maybe it’ll kill me.
Annelise. Her name is mantra in my head. For us.
I shove the door, and it opens with a slam. I’m powerful, driven. I’m a knight of old, storming the castle.
“Tracer,” the vampire shouts, scolding. “Does Alcántara not teach manners to his errand boys?” He thinks I’ve been sent by another vampire. Of course he would. He’s too arrogant to believe a mere mortal would think to take him on. It’s a perfect ruse—it’ll buy me time.
“Insolence, all around,” he mutters. “The moment we let go of the ancient ways, we open the door to corruption and dishonor.”
I scan the room, assessing his position without even thinking. He’s seated at an old rolltop writing desk—legs tucked under, shoulders hunched over. The old Viking is impossibly fast but would need to move around furniture to get to me. Maybe it’ll be enough to slow him. Maybe it won’t.
“Well?” He puts down his pen and stares. “Tell me what the Spaniard wants so I can get back to my translations.”
I walk straight to the far corner of the room. He tracks my gaze, sees what I see. The thing he values above all other things. What he’d do anything to protect. His scrolls, several of them, stacked on a nearby table. Threatening them is my only shot at answers. Will it be enough to make him speak?
Dagursson gapes in disbelief when I reach his worktable. “Whatever Alcántara wants, I assure you, it’s not there. Does he have a message for me or not?” He heaves a put-out sigh and scoots back his chair.
“Alcántara,” I say quickly, “says no need to get up for the fool boy.”
He leans back, bemused by this unexpected reply. “Would the ‘fool boy’ care to explain?”
I’m at the table. It’s time. I graze my power with an invisible touch.
His eyes shrink to slits in his desiccated face. I sent a pulse of my power, and he felt it. I have to bite back an astonished grin. This changes everything.
“What game are you playing?” Dagursson’s gaze flicks to his scrolls, suspicious now. “Don’t tell me Hugo has developed a sudden taste for reading.”
I grab one at random. “He wanted me to get this.”
Dagursson shoots to his feet. “What does he want with the Normandy scroll? Does he…” But my lighter is in place, dancing beneath the ancient parchment. The instant he spots it, he bares his fangs in a hiss. He seems to grow, to rise, his energy looming over me, making it hard to breathe.
My heart slams in my chest. Annelise, Annelise, Annelise, it repeats with every beat. Whatever happens, this is for you. “Move and it burns,” I tell him. The steadiness in my voice amazes me.
“What dirty, petty, childish trickery is the Spaniard up to now?” His eyes are brighter than any flame, riveted to my hand. “I tire of his political games.”
He’s stuck on this idea that I’m only here at Alcántara’s behest. Though it’s the thing keeping me alive at the moment, the assumption that I’m incapable of my own motivations rankles. He’ll see.
He shifts, and I shout, “Stop,” the word a harsh scrape in my throat. I ease the lighter closer to the scroll, close enough to make the tan parchment glow golden. “Sit down. I have questions.”
“You have questions? You don’t ask questions. And you don’t…order…me.” There’s a ripple in the air—the mere sense of motion before it’s even visible. He’s leaping toward me.
I don’t hesitate. I kiss flame to scroll. The thin, ancient parchment lights instantly. A warm, sweet smell, like incense, fills the room. I toss it in the bin and snatch up another scroll at once, daring him to move. “Sit or I light this one, too.”
Dagursson roars. But he’s stopped, just on the other side of the table.
“Sit,” I repeat, shouting to be heard. The scroll is crumpled in my fist. It’s close enough to the flame that I smell it. “I could burn these all day. So back up and sit down.”
Already I’ve made it further than I thought I would. I could survive this—survive to be with Annelise. I think of her, summon my strength. I’ve never stretched like this before. I reach deep for my power, repeating her name in my mind like a mantra. Annelise.
I think of her as I draw my power, and an internal dam breaks. Sensations swamp me. The taste of metal floods my mouth. A chill ripples the back of my neck. And, above all, a darkness beckons, just out of reach—my power, not truly touched before this moment. But I feel the vastness of it yawning within me at my core. It’s immeasurable. Terrifying. Seductive.
Dagursson grows silent. “Ah, you use your powers.” He purses his lips and shuts his eyes, inhaling dramatically. “How thrilling.”
The parchment smolders in the small trash can, and I wave the other scroll over it. “Now sit back down or I toss this one in the bin, too.”
He gives me an ominously blank stare. “Don’t think just because you’re Alcántara’s pet I’ll show you mercy.”
I shrug. “I imagine you wouldn’t.”
He glares down at his feet, as if he might find an answer there. “You’re using your tricks. On me.”
“Looks that way. Now sit.” I impart the command with every ounce of force at my disposal.
He pauses, seeming to fight it for a moment, but then, with a courtly nod of concession, he returns to his desk. He begins to shuffle his papers into neat stacks, as though I’ve merely interrupted his work rather than breaking protocol in the most radical of ways. “Did Hugo help you refine that little trick?” he asks finally. “You still haven’t told me what he thinks to accomplish here.” He adds under his breath, “Only a coward sends
a child to do his business.”
“I’m the one asking questions here.” It’s not an answer, but I need to continue to play along with his suspicions. I’ll eventually run out of scrolls to burn, but if Dagursson thinks I have knowledge of treachery within the Vampire Directorate, maybe that’ll be enough to get him talking. “I’d like some information.”
“What information could you need or understand?” His voice reeks of condescension. “You’re a child.”
“Yeah, a child with a lighter.” I flick it again and enjoy seeing him flinch. He didn’t expect this. He thinks I fear him. He’s wrong. “Now are you ready?”
“You think fire will make me speak?”
“No.” I walk toward him. I dig deep now, deeper even than before. I touch his shoulder and feel a burst of power, like a magnet jumping to meet its opposite pole. “I think I’ll make you speak.”
He hisses in a breath, and it feels like triumph.
I put the lighter down. “Put your hands behind your back.” I slide the urumi from around my waist, and his eyes light with recognition.
“Charlotte’s weapon.” His smile is overly familiar.
“Don’t say her name,” I snap.
He watches, utterly still, as I wrap the coiled blade around his chest. It doesn’t exactly tie him to the chair, but if he tried to move, he’d certainly sever something vital. “Are you going to torture me, boy?” His voice is bland, matter-of-fact.
“Nah.” I stroll around him. “You’d probably enjoy that, you old freak.”
“It stands to reason, I suppose.” He shrugs, as if we’re debating music theory instead of sadism. “Hugo would be here himself if that were the intention. He’s not one to miss such spectacle.”
“I could make this painless, Alrik. You just need to answer one question.” When I reach the front of the chair again, I lean down, staring him in the face. This close, his skin is an intricate map of creases and hollows. He is ancient…and soon he’ll be dead. “Who is this family of mine, and where do they live?”
“Ahhhh.” He emits a slow sigh, his face parting into a lizard’s smile. “I see what this is all about.”
“No tricks. No chatting. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?” I extend my arms, revealing the homemade stakes concealed under the sleeves of my sweater. I remove one and touch it just over his heart. “I brought more than just a lighter.”
“An old-fashioned stake. How quaint. You made that?” He peers up and meets my blank expression. “Clever boy. I warn you, though. You must be exact. Even with your powers, such a stake will do no good unless it’s placed with absolute precision. Can you do that? Can you find my heart with absolute precision?”
“We could find out right now,” I say, pressing harder. “Or you can play nice and tell me where my family is.”
“You modern children, you think you can have what you want the moment you want it.”
I press the stake deeper, until I feel the bone beneath his skin. “So you do know how to find them.”
“I know where one family member is.” The sly, leering quirk to his mouth tells me he speaks the truth. “You can read it on your family’s scroll.” He purses his lips as if he’s trying to hide a smirk. “Didn’t you know? You have a family scroll. I hope you didn’t burn it. What delicious irony that would be.”
“Shut up.” I glance back and scan the table, but the rolls and rolls of paper all look the same. “Which one is it?”
“Aren’t they lovely?” he says in a marveling sort of voice. “The oldest ones are papyrus. Made from reeds grown in the Nile Delta. Now that was a fascinating era—would that I could’ve seen it firsthand.”
I go to the table and run my hand along them. “Which one?” I repeat in a snarl. I’m running out of time.
“Remove your hand, if you please,” he snaps. “The oils of human skin are very damaging.”
My fist curls around the nearest scroll. It bears drawings of fruits and birds that don’t seem relevant to me, and so I squeeze and toss the crumpled ball into the trash bin. “That’s what I think of your papers. Now tell me where you keep the information about my family.”
“Savage,” he mutters. With a nod to his bookshelf, he says, “As you wish. My most prized scrolls are in the safe.”
I’m a prized scroll? The secret of my lineage just got bigger. I go to the bookshelf and run my hands along the sides of the wood, seeking a hidden button or lever. I’d watched him open the secret panel from afar, when I staked out his office. “How does this work?”
“Shall I show you?” The words hiss in my ear. Dagursson. Somehow he’s gotten free, though it wasn’t without cost—the metallic scent of his own blood clings to him.
“Cut yourself, did you?” I try to spin, but he’s at my back, his talon fingers curling into my shoulder.
I hear the shick of metal—my urumi unfurling. He flicks his arm out, cracking it like a whip. The steel makes a dreadful singing hum that reverberates through his office. “What a treat,” he says with delight. “They say the urumi is difficult to use, but I’m not finding this so hard at all.” He shakes the blade out at his side and steel nicks the tops of my shoes, slicing the leather where it touches. I must’ve stiffened under his grip because he says, “Shall we play together, you and I?”
“Back off,” I say, reaching once more for my power. And for a moment, I do feel it, in my blood, buzzing where his hand touches my body.
“Oh,” he chirps. The bastard is toying with me. “Your talents are impressive indeed, Ronan. But I fear you’ve miscalculated. Sadly, you’re just not powerful enough.” A burst of cold emanates from his grip as he slams my chest into the shelf. Books topple around us, and the smell of mildew fills my sinuses. “Or maybe it’s just your intellect that’s lacking. It was very stupid, your coming in here. I believe I’ve been right all along to think that Charlotte got all the brains in your family.”
“I told you not to say her name.” I summon another burst of power. Enough to twist my body and propel myself away from the bookshelf, slamming a heel into his knee.
He loses his grip on me for a satisfying instant but is back on me immediately, angrier than ever. He spins me around, slamming my face into his books. “Temper,” he growls. His hand is bitter cold on my neck. I feel the bones of his thin fingers, his razor-sharp nails, seeking, probing. He slides his thumb down along my shoulder, finds a spot, and presses hard. So hard it feels his nail might cut through my clothes, through my skin.
I try to flinch away. I want to open my mouth, but I can’t make a sound. I’m paralyzed.
“That’s right,” he says, oozing a satisfied sigh. “They call this the baroreceptor reflex. Fascinating thing.” He presses harder, and my vision dims. “If I were to hold this pose longer, you would eventually black out and die. But that’s no fun.”
I find myself swept into the chair where I’d just had him minutes before. He sat me down with my chest facing the chair back. He sweeps the urumi around my waist, binding me to the wood. “This is such an elegant little weapon,” he says. And then he tears off my sweater, my shirt.
Blood is slowly pumping back into my brain. The chair back is padded, and its red velvet plushness against my chest is so out of place, it jars my senses fully alert. My eyes skitter across the room, looking for ideas, for a way out. Damn me for getting caught like this.
“You acted averse to torture,” he says, “but perhaps you simply haven’t experienced the finest hand.” He rakes his fingers through my hair and wrenches my head up to face him. “You see, I can’t let you die before I get some of my own questions answered.”
He slaps me then, hard. Hard enough to make my eyes water.
I suck the blood from my teeth and spit onto his rug. “You going to slap me to death? Because if that’s the case, I’ll make myself more comfortable.”
“Mind the carpet.” He slams my face into the chair. “Now tell me who sent you.”
“I’m here of my own choice. I’v
e longed to take you down.” It’s a stupid thing to say, but if I’m going to die, I’ll die speaking my mind. For once, I’ll show them who I really am. I’ve suppressed the fight inside me. Relied on Annelise’s grit to satisfy my longing to strike. But now it’s my turn.
“I don’t believe you’re that complicated, Ronan. Who is behind this? If not Hugo, who?”
I can’t let him discover Freya’s part. My personal feelings for the female vampire aside, she’s fighting for something I believe in. I won’t betray the cause. “Trust me when I say I walk alone.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said all night.
“Then you’re a fool.” He shakes his head, marveling. “Why would you dare such a transgression?”
If he thinks I’m just a fool, all the better to act the part. Anything to keep Ann out of this. I take a deep breath and flex—this is going to hurt. “I guess I’ve just never quite liked you, Alrik. I can call you Alrik, right? I mean, you’re beating the shite out of me. Why rest on formality when you’re beating the shite out of me?”
He slams the back of my head. “I do not”—slams again—“appreciate”—slam—“foul mouths.”
It takes a moment to shake the clarity back into my head. “I can’t help but notice you keep attacking from behind, Alrik. I thought you Vikings had more moves than that.” I run my tongue along the inside of my mouth and spit out a piece of broken tooth. “Or are you just afraid to face me?”
“You’ll see my moves,” he says with a depraved little laugh.
I crane my neck, but he’s disappeared behind me, and so I can only listen as he walks to his desk and rifles through drawers. At the sound of metal clanging, I bristle.
“I can smell your anxiety, young Tracer. Do you regret your actions? Perhaps if you’d known how to keep your attitude in check, this wouldn’t have to be so very arduous for the both of us.”
“Don’t let me be a trouble to you,” I say, dreading what’s in store.
“Trouble indeed.” He’s back. When I try to see what he’s brought from his desk that’s making such an awful clatter, he merely shoves my face into the chair again. “I’m afraid we’re in for a long afternoon. Unless you wish to inform?” There’s more unnerving clattering behind me. “No? No matter. I have ways of changing your mind.”
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