by Amber Kallyn
Anca replied quietly, "You can learn quite a bit about interrelationships that way too."
Glancing around at the chairs, Matt conceded their points, though he'd never really thought about it before. Strategizing for battle he enjoyed and understood. Psychology, not so much.
But he didn't know what to make of the tension between the women. His Queen was usually the welcoming one, and Jordan taciturn.
Anca asked softly, "Where would you like us to sit?"
Funny. She'd just admitting the seating arrangements were some sort of mind game. Now she was clear about refusing to play.
***
Anca forced herself to stay still, keep her expression neutral.
The Queen—in a simple t-shirt and jeans and short, pink streaked blonde hair—was opposite anything Anca would've thought to picture when hearing the tall, gruff King say wife. The woman's pointed chin and large blue eyes gave her a youthful appearance. But those eyes sparked with intelligence.
Her aura was amazing. Instead of a dark gray like most vampires, this woman's was a lighter magic. Red flecks mixed with shades of purple.
The Queen suddenly looked straight at Anca, meeting her gaze.
A peacefulness eased over Anca. She brought up her shields, stopping the intrusive magic at the same instant she placed the colors of the aura.
Omega. The automatic power to calm others. And, if used improperly, to make them obey.
The many oddities in this clan were stunning.
Connor Gregory had told her to expect the unusual here, but she'd been unprepared to run into this many, or this much power.
The Queen glanced up at MacDougal, giving him a look Anca couldn't read. He pulled her close, tucking her against his side. Their aura's seemed to almost mingle, as if they drew strength from one another. He led Dalia to one of the matching antique chairs at the head of the large circle. He settled her in the seat, then hunched on the armrest beside her, his hand on her arm. "My wife will be joining us this evening."
Anca bit back an argument. Omegas didn't fight. They couldn't. It was against everything their magic stood for to harm another living being.
The silence thickened as they waited for Anca to take the seat beside the Queen. Unsure why, she glanced at Matt. He only stared at her blankly.
Slowly, she sat in the chair.
Dalia stated, "You're here to track down the Rogues."
"I am."
"I was one of Montgomery's captives."
Anca bit back any response. Her bland neutral expression, normally comfortable and easy, nearly slipped.
This woman? An Omega captured as prisoner by ones such as these Rogues?
And now the woman was the Queen of the local clan. A wise strategic move on MacDougal's part, though he obviously didn't see her as anything less than beloved.
The tenderness in his expression should have made the man appear weak. Instead, it was as if the two continued to give, and receive, strength from being near one another.
Perhaps this woman had information Anca could use. She gathered her thoughts. "Perhaps you can tell me something, anything, about the Rogues that weren't captured or killed." Anything to figure out where they might be, what countermeasures Anca should take to secure their defeat.
"My husband's clan," Dalia tilted her head back to look up at him for a moment, "hasn't been able to find the Rogues. What makes you so certain you can?"
Beside Anca's chair, Matt grunted as if he had the same question.
The challenge in the Queen's magnetic gaze struck Anca with a slam of power.
She let it wash over her automatic barriers uselessly. "I'm very good at my job, otherwise the Magic Council wouldn't have sent me in to help you and yours."
Dalia assessed her. "Do you care about the people you protect, Anca Fieraru?"
Caught off guard by the question, and somehow seemingly compelled to answer honestly, Anca replied, "I do."
Acceptance filled the Queen's eyes and she blinked, then nodded. "All right then. If Jordan and Connor both trust you, I'll do the same."
Unbidden, Anca said a quiet, "Thank you," feeling a strangely profound weight at the woman's words of trust.
Dalia laid her hands on her jean-clad knees, staring at them. "There are many things about my time with Montgomery that I don't remember. There are others I wish I could forget. And I hate talking about any of it at all." She sighed and shook her head.
A wave of magic washed over the room.
Dalia looked a bit startled, as if still unused to her power. Anca had a feeling the calming vibe was unconscious.
"Jordan told me you believe the Rogues are being led by a girl child." A hint of fear crept into Dalia's voice. Whatever she'd seen, had gone through, hadn't been easy. It radiated through the woman's aura like dark rippling waves of frightened pain.
It cracked something inside Anca, dredging up remnants of her own hurtful memories.
She ignored them. She had to do her job.
While she didn't enjoy causing anyone pain—unless they deserved it—Anca had to gather any knowledge she could. It would make her job easier, and perhaps be the difference between winning, or more people dying.
Dalia straightened with a reserve of inner strength, and perhaps some borrowed courage from her husband. "I thought she died in the fight." She laid a comforting hand over MacDougal's, on her arm, "The night we found out about Jordan's sister."
"From what I've gathered," Anca replied, "This girl is very much alive."
The shadows in Dalia's eyes darkened. "Liza Báthory. She claimed to be the secret daughter of the Hungarian Countess Báthory herself. Montgomery never said otherwise."
"Countess Elizabeta Báthory." The name left a sour taste in Anca's mouth.
"The girl was only ten or so when turned. I'm not sure exactly, and she never said. According to her story, her mother knew people were coming for her. In order to save Liza's life, and the girl claims, to give her daughter the true beauty of lasting youth that she'd been so desperate to find herself, the Countess had one of her vampire lovers turn Liza. Only days later, she was arrested and imprisoned, eventually going to her grave without ever uttering a word about her daughter."
Born half a century later than Anca, the story of Elizabeta Báthory's blood lust was one of the first cases she'd seen at the Magic Council. The countess had come from a family with distant Romani magic. Stories written in Council records said she'd been turned by a vampire a few years before her death. There was no mention of a secret child, or of making her a vampire.
A scary thought. And one that could explain why Anca's magic wasn't as effective as it should be in this place. Because the girl might have similar power to her own. "What kind of magic does she have?"
"That's one of the foggy memories. I remember her craziness well enough." Dalia shivered, leaning closer to MacDougal. "How she managed to function I never understood. She should be a raving lunatic. But somehow, she... I guess the best way to say it is she used her madness. She made it work to her advantage." Dalia shrugged again. "She had magic of some kind, but I don't know what. She had an affinity for plants, and water. Nature based I guess."
"And the others? Those still following her?"
"Not much. I saw Liza or Montgomery only, for the most part. Except one other." Dalia reached up to grasp the vampire King's hand. He clutched her fingers tight, his gaze smoldering with worry and love.
And dangerous warning for Anca.
"Her magic. She could make you do things even when you didn't want to. It was her that kept us all locked under spells. Her and her bodyguard."
"A bodyguard?"
"Extremely protective, that one. He rarely left her side. A giant of a man, vampire. I never knew anything about his magic. Bloodthirsty. And cruel. Liza always encouraged him." She trailed off, closing her eyes as if to hold back horrible memories.
A picture was forming in Anca's mind of this Liza Báthory.
This girl sounded like a large
r problem than she'd been expecting. No matter. She'd deal with it.
The Queen, however, seemed exhausted. She'd most likely shared everything that might help. There was no point in forcing her to remember such things any longer. "Thank you."
Dalia glanced at her, relief sweeping over her face at the realization they were done. The King led Dalia to the other side of the room, whispering against her ear. His soft, soothing voice would've made the hardest person calmer.
Anca ran through the few facts she'd gathered so far, letting them loop in her mind, searching for weaknesses to exploit.
Across the room, Dalia let out a short frustrated growl.
Anca jumped to her feet, instinctually, then stopped as MacDougal's voice rose to a powerful command. "You will not go. It's too dangerous."
"Try to stop me. Jordan MacDougal, you are not going up against a damn siren without me, and that's final."
MacDougal gave them a disgruntled look of helplessness.
Dalia added, "I may not be of much help fighting, but I can lend my strength to everyone. That's not something to take lightly."
"The danger—"
The Queen growled again. Her eyes flashed crimson.
To Anca's immense surprise, MacDougal threw his hands up in surrender and slumped over to one of the chairs. Dalia sat at his side, not looking pleased, only worried.
She should be. They all should be. With their small handful of people and who knew what kind of witch the clan had, facing the siren was going to be a hell of a risk.
But she had no choice, and no time to wait. Anca wouldn't allow the creature to decimate this town, or any of its peoples.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Matt couldn't help but feel the anger and worry radiating around the room. From Jordan especially. While Dalia didn't often force her way, when she did, Jordan was helpless. Everyone in the clan was.
Even so, Matt agreed with his King. Dalia should stay home where it would be safe.
He glanced at Anca, realizing he wanted to keep her here as well. Not that such a thing was possible, but it still burned in his veins, this instinctual need to protect her.
Only moments later, Shane Spencer strode into the room. And with him, the witch.
Short and thin, the old woman looked somehow diminished in her black, many pocketed cloak. White haired, her dark skin heavily wrinkled, Jezamine appeared ancient. Her black eyes seemed depthless and all knowing. All seeing.
He'd looked too long into that gaze before and been sucked into a whirlpool of haziness.
Anca jumped to her feet, and bowed her head. "Bunică."
Matt knew the word. Grandmother? But the witch couldn't possibly be Anca's grandmother.
"Hello, child. Ye be well." The old woman's statement held a strength and a well of magic that commanded attention.
"I am," Anca replied.
Squinting closer, the witch chuckled, a surprisingly soft sound. "Aye. Ye be well on yer way to a few things. 'Bout time."
Anca's eyes widened. Her lips pressed tight.
"Come." Jezamine strode to Anca's vacated chair. From a pocket, she pulled out a folded black velvet cloth. With a snap of her wrists she laid it over the seat. From another pocket, she drew out a small wooden box with something clattering inside of it.
Abruptly, she handed it to Matt.
He took it without thinking, then silently cursed himself.
Jezamine grinned slyly, grabbed the box, and dumped the contents on the velvet. Small bones scattered in the middle of the cloth, telling a story only the old witch could read.
Or so he'd always thought.
But Anca gasped, staring at the bones. Then she shot Matt a hard, angry look.
"Told ye, Anca Fieraru, daughter of György, great smithy he be." Jezamine laughed again and waved a hand above the bones. "She has seen yer will. What else need be?"
The bones shivered, shook, then redistributed themselves into a new pattern. The witch poked at them and muttered for long moments before straightening with a decisive nod. "The plan be set. It be doable, if we be hurrying."
Sweeping her things back into her many cloak pockets, Jezamine strode across the oval and sat opposite Dalia's chair. No one spoke as everyone settled in chairs surrounded by a thick relaxing quiet.
At the realization, Matt felt the lightest of magics in the air.
Between Dalia and the old witch, an almost imperceptible hum lingered at the fringes of his senses. Calmness, peace. Dalia's Omega abilities were apparently magnified with the witch here.
Anca remained stiffly unaffected, and the only one standing. At Jordan's nod, she outlined her plan. "Vampires are nocturnal. Our greatest power lies at the darkest of night. Sirens are the opposite. She'll be recovered and back on the hunt by sunrise. I hurt her earlier, so she's going to be hungry. If we don't have an enticing trap setup before then, she'll be drawn to the heaviest concentration of people."
Shane scowled. "She's not to get into town. There's no way we can protect everyone."
Sitting back, Matt asked, "Where do we set a trap to ensure the siren will be lured to it?" Again he pictured a huge, warty anglerfish squatting in the middle of Moss Creek, eating a line of people willingly walking into its cavernous toothy maw.
Anca replied, "She was in the forest between clan lands and the town earlier." She glanced at Shane. "Did your men finish searching the area?"
"For the most part. We know Montgomery used the cave systems all around town. It stands to reason his remaining Rogues are as well. Problem is, it would take years to search them all. We've kept eyes on the places we know the vampire used. His followers seem to be smart enough to stay away from them."
Not all of them. Matt replied, "But they're still using some of the buildings outfitted with their torture devices. Did we figure out who's been guarding the rail station?"
Jordan replied, "The information should be to me soon."
"Caves," Anca said loudly. "Odds are the Rogue's central hideout is somewhere in the caves. We found the wolf shifter, which I believe was one of two lieutenants to a child Master. A girl, only ten or so years old. Her magic was immense, and all I was looking at was a leftover impression of power."
"Child vampire, ye say?" Jezamine asked, tracing a finger through the air. "Must be strong if she commands a siren." The old witch stood, addressing them all in a soft but echoing voice. "I know the trap this one wants be setting. Six we be. Sixteen more we need."
Anca added, "Sharpshooters, if you have them, decent with a rifle."
Sharpshooters? She wanted to shoot the creature? Bullets tended to have little effect on the Arcaine, which she'd know as well as Matt.
Jordan only gave her an odd look and promised her the men.
Watching Anca, Matt asked, "What exactly is this spell?"
She turned to the witch. "You brought all I need?"
Jezamine nodded.
As if looking forward to the coming fight, excitement blushed Anca's cheeks. "This is going to either be great, or horrible."
Not exactly the resounding endorsement he'd expected.
***
After Anca summarized the complex magic behind the trap, and each of their jobs, the room emptied. Jordan and Dalia headed to recruit the others they'd need. Shane had things to do, but would meet them at the appointed time, an hour before dawn, in the chosen area of the forest between the caves and Moss Creek.
Which left the room empty but for Anca, Matt and Jezamine.
"Bunică." Grandmother, Anca called her again, though they weren't blood relations. She'd met Jezamine a handful of times in her life, the first as a young girl. The vrăjitoare, or white witch, had been ancient five hundred years ago.
Even now, Anca couldn't figure out what type of Arcaine she might be. Nor had she ever been able to see the witch's aura.
Jezamine took her hand. "I need be talking to ye."
Anca shot a look at Matt. With the attack plans no longer occupying her mind, all she could think abou
t was the first message in the Seer's bones.
Matt waved at the door. "I have things to do. The two of you should enjoy the gardens. They're lovely this time of night."
He strode out, leaving Anca breathing a sigh of relief. She spun on the old woman. "You told me a long time ago that Fate would not meddle in my affairs."
"Nay, child." Jezamine led her from the room, and down the hall. "I told ye the fates saw ye not yet. That was time and time ago. They see ye now. And clearly."
Frustration welled inside Anca, but she kept quiet as they crossed the elegant, if a bit grandiose, marble foyer. Down another hall, through an immense kitchen, and out a back door.
Moonlight shone bright on the gardens. The fully blooming flowers were stunning at night, as Matt had said.
Surrounding her and Jezamine, numerous earth spirits sparked, their magic the strongest Anca had seen since coming here.
They flowed around the vrăjitoare, glinting in bright colors reflecting their joy at being near the witch, energized by Jezamine's strange magic.
The old woman led Anca deeper into the maze-like rows of flowers. The petals almost glowed beneath the moon and stars.
At the moment, Anca barely saw any of the beauty. "Well then, how do I get fate to stop meddling?" she demanded. "I don't have the time, the need or the desire for some destined mate."
Jezamine just watched her inscrutably. Her dark eyes held so much emotion and knowledge, it took Anca's breath away.
"Come." Jezamine led her deeper into the gardens.
The scents of so many blooms wrapped around them. Finally, Jezamine stopped to stare at a couple rows.
The air spun around Anca, transporting her back through time, to a long ago place. She stared with wonder at the paeonia tenuifolia. Romanian peonies. Tall, leafy fern like bushes held large red flowers filled with multiple yellow centers.
The vrăjitoare's voice drew Anca like a spell. "Even far from home, many things be alive. Ye are one to always thrive through change, girl."
"How does the clan have these here?" The large fragrant flowers had been her and her sister's favorites when they were children. Anca had travelled around the world and never seen them anywhere other than the area of her birth.
