Bloodrage (Blood Destiny 3)

by Helen Harper

  The level of noise and chatter from the dorm rooms as I passed shrieked its way through my eardrums with a level of intensity I’d barely ever felt before. It was even worse inside the cafeteria itself, the collection of voices less a hum and more a bellowing throb. The feeling of sickness inside my stomach showed no signs of easing up, so I grabbed a dry bagel and began stuffing it into my mouth, hoping the heavy carbohydrates would improve the situation, then helped myself to a cup of coffee. Deborah and Mary were already sitting down in their usual places, and called over to me with annoyingly chirrupy voices. I downed the coffee, gulping it down and burning my tongue and raised my hand to them in a weak greeting, but didn’t join them by sitting down. I wasn’t sure I’d manage their easy-going banter at this particular point.

  However, seeing Deborah at least, had nudged my memory about the skirt of hers that I’d shoved into the washing machine the night before so I returned my now empty cups and wandered back out of the dining room. The escape from the hurtful sun that had been flooding its way through the large windows was particularly welcome to my sore eyes. I walked slowly down the narrow corridor, concentrating very hard on keeping the bagel inside my digestive system rather than out, as it was threatening to do. Passing a couple of people, and keeping Thomas’ words about being friendly in my mind, I grunted a couple of hellos out. The recipients looked somewhat startled and nervous, scuttling away from me. I was too tired and feeling too rough to worry about whether it was because they were still scared of me or whether it was because I looked like the walking dead, and gave up trying to acknowledge anyone else, instead putting my head down and letting my eyes focus on the cracks and grooves in the stone floor.

  The clean scent of the laundry room again announced itself grandly as I entered. Stumbling over to the washing machine I’d used the previous evening, I spent several moments attempting to open the round misted door, before working out that I had to turn the stupid thing off at the switch before it would let me click it open. Grumbling at the fact that the bloody mages hadn’t worked some easier magical way to wash and dry their clothes, I pulled out the ball of tiny yellow fabric and shook it out, then hung it up on a nearby clothes horse to dry. I was hoping that Deborah wouldn’t wander in at any point during the day and discover it hanging forlornly there and take it back before I’d had the chance to do so myself. I’d just have to count on the fact that she was as yet a teenager for whom the act of washing clothes was as mystifying as Evocation was to me.

  I still had an hour or so before my Protection lesson with Thomas was due to start, so I padded my way back through the main building to the library, this time scowling at the little wooden dragon on the door rather than greeting it happily. Once inside, blinking away from the sunshine that yet again was making its unabashed way inside, I cast a dirty look over at the forbidden filing cabinet before heading to the shelves instead, pulling out a random book and then making my way over to a table and chair to collapse down. There was no sign of Slim anywhere, which was probably a good thing, as I doubted I’d be able to wisely keep my tongue inside my mouth feeling the way that I currently did. I wondered how culpable the little gargoyle was, and whether he was even now hovering around somewhere and keeping a beady eye on me in case I made a move to find the spell release book that would save Mrs. Alcoon. Despite Thomas’ revelations of the night before, I liked the grumpy little purple librarian and I hoped that it was purely the Dean’s nefarious and cunning plan to catch me out, and not Slim’s also. However, my head was throbbing painfully and the bagel seemed to have done little for the state of my stomach so instead I curled my ankles round the legs of my chair and let my head droop down till I was slumped over the table with my eyes closed. The book, whatever it was, remained unopen next to me.

  After thirty long minutes of lying prone over my arms, and still not feeling any better, I lifted my heavy head up and reached out over for the book.

  A voice filtered in through my consciousness from behind me. “You know that this place isn’t for fecking sleeping, don’t you? You’ve got a fecking bed.”

  Yeah, a fecking lumpy bed that Rip Van Winkle would struggle to sleep in, I thought irritably. “Good morning to you as well, Slim,” I muttered, flicking open the book to a random page.

  “Why the feck are you reading about vampires anyway?”

  I looked down and realised that the book I’d plucked off the shelves was indeed a tome on the undead bloodsuckers. I shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Only one fecking thing you need to know about them,” the librarian spat, now hovering beside my shoulder. “The only thing they fecking care about is themselves. Remember that and you’re fecking sorted.”

  I started to nod, but that just made my head start to hurt even more, so I abruptly stopped and instead focused on trying to read instead, hoping that Slim would take the hint and just piss off. He didn’t.

  “Nasty things. All fecking worried about immortality and eternal life. They know they’re fecking damned for being what they are.”

  I wondered if that was completely true. Feeling rather damned to eternity myself with the hangover I was currently experiencing, I decided I didn’t really care. I craned my neck up at Slim, eyeing him and trying to work out what I could do to make him just go away.

  “You’re looking a bit like a fecking vampire yourself right now,” he commented.

  I scowled up at him. “What do you mean?”

  He cackled to himself. “Red eyes and pale skin. At the Ball and Chain last night, were you?”

  It pretty much stood to reason that, given his appearance, the little pub was somewhere the gargoyle tended to avoid. “Yeah,” I grunted, “And?”

  “And serves you fecking right, then.”

  I rolled my eyes. That was easy for him to say right now. Giving up on any pretense of reading or studying, I pushed my chair back and stood up, book in hand. “I have to go,” I muttered. “Protection.”

  He cackled again, then reached out a clawed hand and took the book from me, turning to the page I’d been on. “There is no known cure for vampirism,” he read slowly. “Once turned, these creatures of the dead remain frozen in time, until such point as they are destroyed through either a weapon of pure silver or a piercing of the heart.” He snapped the book shut. “Sawing off their heads or setting them alight works pretty fecking effectively too.”

  I stared at him. “Is that the voice of experience?”

  “I’m a fecking librarian, what do you think?”

  Giving up, I shuffled out towards the great library doors. “See you, Slim,” I said tiredly.

  “Have a good fecking day!” trilled out the gargoyle, crowing in the knowledge that my day would be anything from fucking good. Unfortunately at that point I hadn’t fully appreciated just how bad things would turn out to be.

  *

  I arrived at the Protection building rather early, so sank myself down against the outside wall and closed my eyes, letting the now warm sun heat my bones. I still felt ridiculously sick and the thumping in my head showed no signs of dissipating. I felt rather than saw, someone slide down next to me. Opening up one eye, I squinted over.

  “Hey, Mack,” said Thomas weakly.

  The mage didn’t look well. The pallor of his skin was deathly pale, no doubt much the same as mine. Strangely, I felt oddly comforted that we were both suffering together. It kind of made me feel that the bond between us was even stronger. If he’d been bouncy and happy, I would probably have punched him, which might not have gone down well in terms of our slowly blossoming friendship.

  I leaned my head against his shoulder. “You know I’m absolutely blaming you for this,” I muttered.

  He let out a weak snort. “You were the one who decided that shots of tequila were in order, not me.”

  A sudden of flashback of me pressing a small glass of colourless liquid accompanied by salt and a chunk of roughly hewn lemon on him filtered its way into my brain. My stomach rolled again in nausea. “O
h God,” I moaned.

  “By the Founder,” agreed Thomas. He reached into a bag beside him and pulled out two cans. “Here,” he said, handing one over to me. “I thought this might help.”

  It was a luridly bright and familiar orange and blue, and happily cold to the touch. I pulled the tab and took a gulp, then wiped the condensation from my fingers onto my robes, leaving a smear. Thomas opened his and sipped at it delicately.

  “Dudes! Irn Bru? The Scottish nectar of the hungover? You must be feeling bad.”

  I wasn’t sure I could cope with Alex’s chirpy bounce. “Fuck off.”

  “Yeah, Florides,” mumbled Thomas. “Fuck off.”

  Alex stood in front of us, hands on hips, blocking the light, and shaking his head in mock derision. “Oh, when will you crazy kids learn?”

  Hah. Alex Florides, the sudden voice of sensible adult reason. Yeah, right. I grunted at him and took another swig of the sweet indefinable fizzy orange drink. “Where were you last night, then?”

  He cocked his head down at me. “Off trying to trace the resting place of the bones of a certain wraith,” he commented drily.

  I sat up a bit. “Tryyl? Did you find him?”

  According to what little I now knew about wraiths, from scanning through a book the other day, if you had their original remains then you could easily rid yourself of them by burying them in consecrated grounds. And, hey presto, no more annoying hissing shadow.

  Unfortunately, Alex looked grim and shook his head. “Sadly no, Mack Attack. My inveniora was picking up zilch. Wherever they are they are well hidden. Some magic spell of concealment no doubt.”

  Thomas looked confused. “What are you two on about?”

  I shook my head dismissively. “Nothing. Just some wraith that has a hard-on for a chunk of wood that the vamps have. It’s not really anything to do with us anymore.”

  Alex nodded seriously. “Yeah, it’s not really our problem. But as I found the thing for the undead dudes, they’re claiming that I need to sort out their wraith problem for them.”

  “And you can’t,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Nope.”

  “Stupid bloodsuckers,” commented Thomas. “They always think that they’re better than everyone else just because they live a little bit longer.”

  “Well, not really live,” drawled Alex.

  We all grinned at each other. Thomas clambered to his feet then stuck a hand out down to me. I looked at it for a moment then took it, and he helped me to my feet. “Let’s cancel our lesson for today, shall we, Mack?”

  Thank the skies. “Yes,” I said gratefully, “let’s.”

  I finished the can and then crumpled the aluminium in my hand. It would be nice to cancel my counselling session with Bryant as well, but I didn’t think somehow that the Arch-Mage would consider having drunk too many tequilas the night before as a good enough excuse. I sighed heavily, then made my excuses and left both Thomas and Alex to it.

  Back in my room, feeling slightly invigorated thanks to the healing powers of Thomas’ gift, I picked up the two books that remained hidden in plain sight at the foot of my bed and looked down at them, frowning. I’d promised Solus that I would give him the Fae book, but I had to get it out of the academy without anyone noticing first. Of course I’d managed before when I’d sneaked both of them out of the library, but that had been a relatively short distance to have to cope with and, even then, my theft had almost been discovered. I really couldn’t think of any other option, however. I’d just have to stuff it under my robes again, and underneath my armpit, and try not avoid waving my hands around or anything daft like that. At least I’d only have to contend with one book this time, not two. Solus wouldn’t require the dictionary to understand what the book said. Flutterings of deep insatiable curiosity were squirming around inside me. The weight of expectation about what information the book would provide about my heritage was not inconsiderable. I hoped fervently that my plan was going to work and that I’d be able to weasel the details out of the Fae himself.

  I pulled up my robes, and wedged in the hardback under my right arm, then tried moving around a bit, to make sure that it was secure. After a few adjustments, and finally feeling satisfied, I glanced down at the dictionary. I’d have to find some way of returning it back to the library. Figuring that was a problem for another day, I left it where it was and headed downstairs and back to the outside for the portal. I’d managed up till now to avoid throwing up as a result of my previous night’s proclivities. All that was now going to be undone, I thought ruefully, by forcing myself back through the portal.

  It just so happened that as I emerged back outside, concentrating on keeping the book firmly in its place so that it didn’t start to slip down again, the Dean himself was appearing through the gateway. I noted sourly that he didn’t look any worse for wear thanks to the travel through, and swallowed down my sudden nervousness that he’d somehow discover or see the Fae book that I was, instead heeding Thomas’ advice by walking up to him and inclining my head.

  “Good morning, Dean Martin,” I intoned formally.

  The Dean looked surprised for a moment, and a flicker of suspicion crossed his lined features. However he nodded back to me and then passed me by, walking up the few steps into the main building and vanishing through the door. Relief flooded through me that I’d managed that small feat of getting past him with the stolen book, as well as actually being able to be relatively pleasant without wanting to kill the academy principal at the same time.

  The same mage from my previous visit last week tilted his head briefly, acknowledging my presence, then he waved his hands. There was a virtually imperceptible shift in the ripples of green and purple light that hung in the air advertising the portal’s presence. I watched them briefly in fascination, marvelling at the ability the mage had to change the position of the exit from, what I presumed to be, hundreds of miles away. Then he gestured me towards the gateway itself. I thought I saw a trace of a smirk on his face, no doubt because the effect that such journeys had on my physical system had been broadcast across the magic community. My head hurt too much to feel annoyed about it, however, so I just smiled sweetly at him, carefully raising my unfettered arm to him in thanks, and then walked through as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

  As with all my previous ventures to anger management, I apparated onto the roof of the counselling offices. And, as expected, I vomited violently upon arrival. The hangover, unfortunately, seemed to make the entire business of portal travel even worse than it normally was, and it took me several moments to regain my equilibrium. It occurred to me that every time I arrived, the traces of my previous week’s regurgitations were always conspicuously absent. Whether that was down to the weather, or to some poor minion of the counsellor who was forced to clean up after weak stomached visitors like me, I had no idea. The thought crossed my mind that maybe there were birds scavenging around who pecked away and ate the contents of my stomach, glad for a meal during the slim pickings of the last weeks of winter. That made my stomach roll even more in revulsion so I forced myself to stop worrying about it.

  I moved away from the unpleasant puddle, and relaxed my arm, letting the book slide down through my robes and out onto the ground. It would probably be safe to have it in plain sight now; I had no doubt that letting it suddenly appear from under my Initiate’s garb whilst I was in front of the receptionist would cause a raised eyebrow. Better to make it look as if I was supposed to be carrying it with me, I reasoned.

  Keeping my fingers crossed tightly that Solus would be there to take possession of the book – and that Corrigan would stay well away – I opened the rooftop door and began my descent. As I passed the photos of previous well to do and happily recovered clients, I realised suddenly that the framed picture that had puzzled me before was of a considerably younger Thomas, staring out from behind the glass with a slightly befuddled expression, as if he was equally surprised and confused to find himself there. He look
ed very different to the Thomas that I now knew; he had much more hair for a start, and his face held the promise and hope of youth. Well, well, well. Wonders would never cease. So Jeremy Thomas had been to anger management then? He’d obviously refrained from telling me about it for a reason, and I wouldn’t be so crass as to raise it with him. However, some of the things that he’d said to me before were starting to make quite a bit more sense, along with the way that he recognised when the rage was taking me over and making me abandon all reason, and how he could talk me down from it too.

  As soon as I entered the counselling offices, it was clear that Solus was thankfully present. He was leaning over the receptionist’s desk, holding her hands in his and smiling at her with the glint of a predator. He kissed the back of her hand with a flourish.

  “Sweetheart, I need to talk in private to this young lady here. I don’t suppose you could…?” His voice trailed off as his eyes widened fractionally, beseeching her to leave us in private for a few moments.

  “Of course, of course!” The girl almost tripped over herself in her haste to please the Fae.

  I watched, eyes narrowed, as she disappeared down the carpeted corridor and into one of the closed rooms. Turning to Solus, I raised my eyebrows at him.

  He tsked. “Really, dragonlette. I don’t have to resort to glamouring people to make them want to please me. Most people are happy to do me favours.” He reached over and rubbed my head. I recoiled away at the intimate touch, but he merely smiled. “Your hair is growing back.”

  “Hair does that,” I said drily. “And how are you, Solus?”

  “Oh just wonderful, dragonlette.”

  I scowled at him. “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Oh, but it suits you so.” Solus’ face took on a serious expression. “Now tell me, my little fiery one, does this suit me?” He spun around on one foot then faced me again, arms outstretched.