Carnal Magic: The Wraith Accords, Book 1

by Lila Dubois

  Isabel had not done this—surely everyone here could see that Fionnin was up to something. Aed reminded himself that Prince Cairbe was a clever and fair man. He would get to the truth.

  Fionnin smiled at Aed’s words. “It is as I suspected. The vampire has wronged my house. I demand the right to punish her.”

  Isabel looked around the room, examining each of the men there. Aed was painfully aware of how small she was in comparison. Her spirit and intellect were so great that it was easy to forget how slight her body was. He tensed, ready to jump forward and protect her if Fionnin’s guards tried to touch her.

  She looked at Cairbe, pinning him down with a hard stare.

  The prince licked his lower lip, choosing his words with care. “The Wraith Accords forbid a vampire from drinking from one of the Tuatha de Danaan—it does not mention the aos sí. Therefor the Accords are unbroken.” Cairbe’s gaze shifted to the floor and Aed was struck by a horrible foreboding. “But the House of Munster has suffered a loss, and that debt must be repaid. Fionnin has demanded payment in the form of public punishment for the transgressor. It is fair.”

  Aed stared at Cairbe in shock. Isabel hadn’t done this. Yes, technically she’d had the knowledge and the opportunity, but that was not equal to guilt. She wouldn’t have risked the Accords by drinking blood, and if she were going to drink from anyone it would have been him. He had not forgotten how it felt to have the curved edges of her fangs pressed against him.

  If she had killed this creature, for whatever reason, the fairies wouldn’t have helped her—they would have smelled the death of the fellow aos sí on her.

  Aed believed in justice—and that belief had just been betrayed. Prince Cairbe, who seemed to care nothing for what others thought of him, had bowed to Fionnin’s machinations. Aed opened his mouth to protest, to explain all the reasons that Isabel could not have done this, but before he could she laughed.

  Isabel pressed her hands to her belly and threw her head back. Her lips gleamed red in the dim light, the backdrop of baskets of fruit and vegetables a strange juxtaposition to her dark mirth.

  She tossed her hair and smiled at each of them in turn, her fangs gleaming. “I came here expecting the famed Tuatha de Danaan to be elegant and clever. Instead I find clumsy fools.”

  Cairbe straightened. “Watch your words, vampire.”

  “Or what, Your Highness? You know I didn’t do this, and if you were smart you would fear angering the Vampire more than making an enemy of a proud and stupid old man.” Her gaze slid to Fionnin. “Your whore of a daughter will cost you. Or perhaps you didn’t think I’d remember that Deocha was your child? I bested her at her own game, and so she ran to her daddy. For the sake of her pride, you killed one of your own servants to frame me.”

  Each word fell like the strike of a hammer, and the air shimmered with her anger.

  “If you truly wanted to frame me, you would have drained one of your human servants.”

  Fionnin stared at Isabel with hard eyes. “There are no humans in Tara.”

  She smiled. “Aren’t there?” Her gaze slid to Oisin, whose eyes were wide. “I can smell human blood. Your secrets are not as safe as you think.”

  Cairbe was shaking his head. “What are you talking about, Lady Isabel?”

  She sneered at the prince. “I’m done with you—you who play at being prince but are really no more than a cruel little boy.”

  “Watch your words.” Hot wind whipped through the small room, carrying with it the smells of grass and dew. The Lord of Spring was angry.

  Isabel ignored him, instead reaching out to touch Aed’s cheek. He was shocked that she touched him so intimately in front of witnesses.

  “Aed, warrior of the Fianna. You are loyal and good. They don’t deserve you.”

  Before she could pull back, Aed pressed her hand to his cheek, and through the skin-to-skin contact he willed a bit of his magic into her.

  She frowned, jerking her hand away and rubbing it on her hip.

  “Lady Isabel, we meant no insult. Let us take our conversation somewhere else.” Prince Oisin had a restraining hand on his brother’s arm. Cairbe looked torn, but between what Aed didn’t know.

  Isabel glanced around the room one more time, but did not speak.

  Her skin and hair began to shimmer. One moment she was there and the next she was gone. Her dress lay in a pool on the floor. And where Isabel’s head had been there was a small black bird.

  Before anyone could react, the bird darted out of the room and down the corridor.

  “Vampires can change shape?” Oisin shook his head, then pressed his hand to the wall, which started to glow. “I’ll alert all soldiers in the castle. She will not get away.”

  Aed stooped and picked up Isabel’s dress. He stared at the fabric, barely able to breathe through the tightness in his chest.

  Cairbe shoved one hand through his hair. “Find her. I have questions.” He looked around. “Where is Fionnin?”

  The Lord of Munster and his guards were gone, leaving Aed with the princes and the dead servant.

  Cairbe looked at his brother. “I am a fool. We should have bound her.”

  Aed was shocked at the prince’s words. “Prince Cairbe.” When Cairbe turned to him, Aed dropped to one knee. “Lady Isabel did not do this. I answered your questions honestly—she knew about the servants’ corridors and was not always with me, but I know she did not do this.”

  “I don’t care if she did it. I care about keeping the Tuatha de Danaan safe.”

  Aed flinched at Cairbe’s snarled words even as his gut turned to ice. Cairbe would let Fionnin punish Isabel for a crime she didn’t commit? Why?

  “Aed, you will not repeat the vampire’s accusations to anyone or give any details about what happened here. If you’re asked, you tell them that she killed this servant.”

  Aed remained on his knee, head bowed.

  The princes rushed away, speaking quietly to each other. Aed rose and went to the servant. He closed her eyes and said a small prayer to Danu, hoping the creature’s spirit was at peace.

  In the course of an hour everything had changed. Rising to his feet, Aed left the servant. His loyalty was to the Tuatha de Danaan, the Fianna and the royal family, in that order. He’d never thought he’d see the day when those three loyalties would be in conflict, but now they were, and he had a decision to make.

  Chapter Ten

  Isabel landed on the branch of a scraggly tree ten miles from the front gate of Tara. Fluttering down to the duffle bag hidden among the roots, she changed forms, body shaking with fatigue.

  She’d escaped—against all odds she’d made it out of Tara.

  If not for the fairies, she wouldn’t have found her way. As she’d flown through the corridors, hoping desperately to find one she recognized, a fairy shot out of one of the courtyards and motioned for her to follow. She couldn’t tell if it was Jeimtin—as a bird, the fairy seemed huge and imposing—but Isabel had followed it. When she arrived at the entrance chamber at the top of the stairs, the fairy had stopped, shaking its head and shrugging before zooming away. Isabel had looked in desperation for the long staircase they’d climbed but hadn’t been able to find it. Finally, she perched on a sill. Her cheek tingled, filling with heat, and in the next moment the staircase had been there.

  Once she’d reached the bottom, it had been easy to fly through the midnight garden. This time she was able to see the castle wall, which was an imposing thirty feet high and topped by great curled spikes. Though the gate in the wall was open, she didn’t want to risk the brambles closing in on her, the long spikes piercing her tiny body.

  Instead she’d gone up over the wall. There was something there—a kind of magical skin that she’d had to push through, but again her cheek had tingled and she’d made it, flying above the wall, the outer garden and finally the gilded gate, with
greater ease than she’d expected.

  Now was not the time to question how she’d escaped—she was far from safe.

  Standing on legs that trembled, Isabel pulled clothes from the duffle bag—exercise leggings, a sports bra, T-shirt and zip-up hoodie were all neatly tucked inside the bag. Standing on one foot, she put on socks and black running shoes.

  It felt good to be in clothes she could move in.

  Looping the strap of the empty bag across her chest, Isabel started running. It was a hundred miles to the Plain of Moytura and the safety of the vampire city.

  Two hours later, Isabel came to a halt. Her legs trembled, but she was not tired. Anger and worried had spurred her on, pushed her to run faster than she had in a hundred years.

  She was on the ridge of one of the hills that surrounded the plain. The landscape below was bleak—the ground covered with short, scrubby grass, unlike the lush green fields and forests of the rest of Fae. According to the human legends, the plain was cursed by the blood of those who had died here in a fierce battle between the Tuatha de Danaan and the Fir Bolgs—a race whose existence Isabel hadn’t been able to confirm.

  In the center of the plain lay the vampire city. Compared to the beauty of Tara, it was a pathetic thing—a village more than a city. Shaped like a wheel with three spokes, there was a large circular gathering place in the center. A massive domed roof covered the area, supported by twelve heavy columns.

  The three main roads that sectioned the city into equal pieces all led there, and the resulting wedge-shaped areas each belonged to one of the original main cabals—Mexico City, Bucharest and Paris. New York shared with Paris, since at the time of the Accords the part of North America that was now the United States hadn’t had an important cabal. The buildings were two or three stories, made of stone and metal—light tight and with almost no windows. Gleaming black solar panels covered the roofs of each building.

  The Wraith Accords demanded that one of the cabals be in residence at all times. They took a rather loose interpretation of that rule, but it was the Mexico City Cabal’s turn, and Isabel knew there would be someone in their section of the city.

  She jogged down the hill, waving for the cameras that she knew covered every inch of the roads, until she reached the handleless door at the entrance of the Bucharest Cabal’s complex. It was brushed iron overlaid with bronze filigree. Her throat tightened when she reached it. She was almost home, almost safe.

  Isabel laid her hand on the pad beside the door. Blue light flared as her handprint was scanned. It beeped once and then the door lock clicked, the heavy portal opening just enough that Isabel was able to catch hold of it.

  She breathed a sigh of relief once she was inside the small foyer. Her shoulders sagged with weariness. A second door was locked with a voice print scanner, each security measure run by the electricity from the solar panels mounted on the roofs.

  “Isabel Santiago.” The voice scanner lights blinked as they analyzed her words.

  The interior door swung open, lights clicking on as she stepped in. Isabel dropped her bag and looked around. The large main room was furnished with lush fabrics in jewel tones—deep, comfortable couches, stately antique chairs and inlaid tables covered in books. In addition to the main space, there was a massive wine room, ten bedrooms and a Turkish-style bath in the main building of Bucharest’s headquarters in Fae.

  But the most important room was hidden behind a carved wood panel on the wall across from where she now stood. Isabel swung the panel to the side and bent to the security pad, placing her hand on the scanner and resting her chin on the small ledge. After a palm and retina scan, the hidden door opened.

  The circular portal room was lit by the glowing circle of quartz set into a platform in the center of the floor. A table to her right held ten round stones, each inlaid with a symbol worked in gold. The Tuatha de Danaan had created a total of twenty portals as part of the Wraith Accords, ten of which were housed here. The portals were doorways between Fae and the human world, and their existence meant that if a vampire in Bucharest wanted to go to Tokyo, they had only to use the portal to Fae, then turn around and take the portal from Fae to Tokyo. They no longer had to risk traveling by human methods, which were too unpredictable. In times of crisis in the human world, the Vampire could use the portals to retreat to Fae, living in the Vampire city while making short forays into the human realm to feed.

  Isabel took the stone for Bucharest and set it in a depression in the platform. A column of light rose from the quartz to meet a matching circle of stone on the ceiling.

  Through the light she could see the portal room in Bucharest—silk-papered walls, heavy wood door and an antique desk and chair. The colors were muted by the white glow of the portal.

  She waited no more than five minutes before someone stuck their head in the door, eyes going wide when they saw her. Isabel raised both hands, then closed her right into a fist, giving the sign that she was not crossing over, but that she needed to speak with someone. The young woman, whom Isabel didn’t recognize, nodded frantically and disappeared. Another five minutes passed before a figure appeared in the door.

  Isabel’s shoulders sagged in relief. Duke Drakul exuded power and confidence—just seeing him again made Isabel feel better.

  He wore a trim black suit that hid the true breadth of his shoulders. Drakul was now an elegant, refined man, but when he’d been made vampire he’d been a savage warlord, and his body showed that—shoulders and arms thick with muscle, chest marked by scars.

  He was not as muscled as Aed, nor as broad.

  Thinking of Aed made Isabel’s lips twist in distaste. Drakul frowned and took something off the desk. He held up the thing in his right hand and, when Isabel nodded, tossed.

  The phone receiver passed through the portal. Isabel caught it, raising the old-fashioned metal device to her ear. Drakul held up the matching one. The thick phone cable stretched between them, twitching occasionally as the magic of the portal shifted and wavered.

  “Daughter.” Drakul’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  Isabel’s eyes prickled. It was good to hear his voice. “Father.”

  “You were due back yesterday.”

  “There is trouble, Father.”

  His smile faded. “How bad?”

  “They tried to assassinate me and then to frame me for murdering a servant. Both were clumsy attempts.”

  “Do they want war?”

  Isabel was suddenly weary, and sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor while Drakul pulled out the desk chair on his side.

  “I don’t think so. They are consumed with their own drama and foolishness.”

  “Cormac allows this?”

  Isabel sighed. “I think the High King is dying—and I think even his own children don’t know.”

  Drakul cursed quietly in a variety of languages.

  When he was done, Isabel smiled. “It’s nice to hear that.”

  “Normally you scold me for my language.”

  “After days of watching everything I said, it’s nice to hear someone talk normally.”

  “Then I’ll be blunt. How much danger do you think we’re in?”

  Isabel sighed. “I’m not sure, but I’m worried. The head of one of their most powerful families accused me of murder. Two of the princes were there when it happened, as was Ae…the warrior they assigned to guard me. I could see that none of them believed I’d done it, yet Cairbe, the crown prince, was willing to give in to this man’s demand that I be publicly punished for the murder.”

  “It was an attempt to break the Accords and blame you?”

  “No, that’s the most confusing part. The servant was not Tuath. The prince made a point of saying that my supposed draining of the servant did not break the Accords. I think he hoped that I would simply give in and let myself be abused.”

  Drakul snorte
d. “He does not know you.”

  “The accuser is Fionnin, head of the House of Munster.”

  Drakul nodded, clearly filing the information away.

  “I may have humiliated his daughter. She thought she could best me at a game of torture.”

  “A game of torture?” Drakul snorted. “If I’d known it was going to be that interesting, I would have gone myself. I thought there was going to be dancing. You know how I feel about dancing.”

  “No dancing. Though they had very nice wine.”

  Drakul smiled, but it faded to a look of concern. “You think they framed you because you bested the daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the prince was willing to risk the Accords to appease this man and his child?”

  “He was.”

  “This concerns me. If power is shifting inside Tara, then nothing we can do will save the Accords.”

  “We will survive, even if we lose Fae.” Isabel tried to sound convincing.

  “Survive? Yes. But we will not thrive. We will not be able to keep up with the humans.” Drakul sighed. “You’re coming through now?”

  “No, I will wait and see if they come after me. I had to change to a bird and flee the castle.” Isabel lowered her eyes when she said it. She’d revealed a secret of the Vampire, and she was ashamed for having done so.

  Drakul was silent long enough that Isabel knew he wasn’t happy. “Seeing that power will not convince them of your innocence.”

  “I would not have done it if I thought there was a chance they could be convinced—there isn’t. They know I’m innocent but don’t care. I could have done what they wanted to appease them. Perhaps I should have.”

  “You were right not to. We do not play their games, and they will not lay a hand on one of mine.” Power flowed from the Duke, like fog rolling in from the ice sea.