Her breath caught as excitement welled up in her throat. Finally, after years of planning, she was closer to realizing her goal. Maeve flipped to the correct page and eagerly scanned the neat, narrow script.
The method of killing an elder will depend greatly upon the powers the vampire possesses. Should the vampire possess telepathy, abandon the methods listed below and proceed to page 370.
Maeve frowned. Was Mikhail telepathic? She had no clue. She bit her lip and continued reading.
The first step is to incapacitate the vampire. Beware - this is the most dangerous and deadliest step. This can be done using several methods:
1. Stake through the heart - this is not guaranteed to kill an elder but it can be used to incapacitate and render them immobile. When dealing with an elder, this is not the best method. A stake through the heart can be used to kill a younger, less experienced vampire. Be careful, it is very messy.
2. A silver cross - a silver cross pressed between the eyes of a vampire will incapacitate until a more permanent method can be used. However, the danger in this method is in having to be physically close to the vampire to be effective. This method should never be used on an elder.
3. Magic - a spell known as a binding spell can immobilize a vampire. Be warned, while there are several types of binding spells, only the A' bhais Cadail spell will work on an elder. The A' bhais Cadail spell is handed down generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch of-
Clink.
Maeve tensed, her head snapping upward. Warily, she scanned the room. Was Sinjin back already? Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the bank of French doors and tall, narrow windows that comprised the far wall. All were shut and locked tight against the fathomless darkness outside. Nothing appeared to be amiss.
She returned her attention to the book.
The A' bhais Cadail spell is handed down generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch of pure intention should train the caster. This spell has never been documented and only a few traditions even possess the ability to cast -
Plink.
Maeve abandoned the book, this time rising to her feet. An icy calm descended as she sharpened her preternatural senses. Keeping the shelves at her back, she scanned the room.
The library was a long, narrow room filled with bookshelves on three walls. The fourth wall contained numerous glass doors leading out onto a broad stone terrace. As she moved swiftly, the darkened panes of glass reflected her image and the darkness outside.
She moved about the room, checking behind each piece of furniture.
Nothing.
She exhaled as a movement caught her eye through one of the French doors. A thick fog was rolling in, rapidly enshrouding the grounds, obliterating anything recognizable.
Was someone watching her?
She brushed her fingertips down the inside of her left forearm. Under her turtleneck, she wore a custom-made leather sheath that held a thin silver blade strapped to her arm. A simple ebony handle gave it good balance and made it an excellent throwing knife.
Reassured, she reached for the top of her left boot and slipped her fingers inside. Warmed by the heat of her skin, she welcomed the solid feel of an ivory handled dagger. In her right boot was its mate.
Calmer, Maeve straightened. She was armed and in top physical condition. She'd spent much of the last ten years, in particular the last year, working on her hand-to-hand combat skills. No opponent, dead or alive would ever take her unawares ever again.
Images of Mikhail and her slain sister, Rebecca, flashed through her mind. Ignoring the familiar jolt of pain, she ruthlessly pushed the images away. Now wasn't the time. She had work to do.
She glanced around the room once more and saw nothing out of place. Satisfied all was well, she headed for the desk. As she reached the middle window, a shadow caught the corner of her eye. Before she could turn, the window exploded in with a terrific crash, raining shards of glass and chunks of wooden molding across the floor.
With a cry, Maeve's fingers curled around the hilt of her forearm knife as something small and solid slammed into her right shoulder, knocking her off balance. Tilting wildly, she wrenched the blade free as a heavy cloth was flung over her head, blinding her. Fingers dug into her shoulders, tightening the cloth over her head.
Her knee hit the edge of the coffee table, the pain stealing her breath as she slashed at the hands tormenting her. Her attacker emitted a squeal as the blade hit flesh. Abruptly, she was released.
As she clawed at the blinding cloth, she fell to her knees. Before she could remove it, something slammed into her left side making her lose her balance completely. She hit the floor with a solid thud as something landed hard on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
She tore the cloth from her face as a shriek of fury broke from her lips. She bucked and rolled to her right side, her attacker clinging to her throat. Agog, Maeve stared at the creature who held her in place. Small, the size of a six-year- old, but much heavier, the brown-robed figure's head was hidden beneath a concealing hood. Shiny red eyes glittered in the depths of the hood while scaly, sticklike fingers dug into her throat, threatening to shut off her airway.
Gasping, her energy fading fast, she grabbed the chain of a black pendant around its neck and yanked, trying to draw the creature down and away. A snarl came from the recesses of the hood and, with a mighty heave, it grabbed her by the hair, raised her head and slammed it into the floor.
Starlight burst before her eyes and she knew no more.
* * *
Chapter 2
Quinn tossed his bag into the back seat of the rented Land Rover and slammed the door. Pausing, he closed his eyes and let the night surround him. The darkness was all encompassing. He loved the quiet afforded by the English countryside at night. Broken only by an occasional bark or rustle in the underbrush, the silence was complete, an oasis of peace.
Until one stumbled across this little piece of land. He opened his eyes to survey the rambling structure Mortianna called home. An oversized English- style Tudor, the gardens were rigid in their layout and the house boasted at least twenty bedrooms. Dozens of empty windows stared at him. All were dark except for the light glowing from the bank of windows where Bliss lay in the solarium.
The minions were back.
Through the glass, he watched the circle of robed figures part to allow their companions to enter. Bearing a wrapped bundle on their shoulders, the late arrivals dumped their burden on the floor a few feet from the coffin. It looked as if they'd succeeded in finding Sinjin and delivering him to Mortianna.
Did he go in to rescue the vampire? In general, he had nothing for or against the undead. He left them alone and they, in turn, did the same. While he didn't know the story behind his sister's transformation into a revenant, he'd tried to keep an open mind about the situation. Some were taken by force while others chose the eternal life. Judging from his sister's protective streak, she'd chosen willingly. He firmly believed in the laws of karma and letting the universe take care of problems in its own time. He doubted the universe would think too highly of Mortianna for this stunt.
Sinjin will die if you don't go back.
Quinn snorted. Sinjin was already dead, long dead as a matter of fact.
Your sister loved him at one time.
Bliss.
Over the hoods of the minions, he glimpsed his sister's body in her gilded bed. From the stories he'd heard from friends, Bliss had loved Sinjin at one time. Maybe she had until the moment she'd died. He didn't know for sure as they'd never been close, more like passing acquaintances than half-brother and sister. He closed his eyes as a shaft of regret pierced his heart. He regretted his haphazard relationship with his sister most of all. He would've liked to know her.
He opened his eyes to see the minions proddin
g at the bundle on the floor. Now her lover's life hung in the balance. For his sister, should he go in and rescue the vampire?
Who are you to decide who lives or dies?
"Damn, damn, damn." With a growl, he turned and stalked toward the house.
"You fools!"
Consciousness slammed into Maeve's skull as the woman's voice rang over her abused head. The distinct sound of human flesh making contact resounded, followed by the ominous sound of something sliding across a slick surface.
She blinked several times before her vision began to clear. A few feet away, she caught sight of a brown cloth like the one that had been thrown over her head when she'd been abducted.
"Imbeciles!" The woman shrieked.
Where the devil was she?
Guess we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
"Does this look like a male vampire to you?" The woman's shrill voice echoed around the room. "This is not Sinjin."
They want Sinjin, not me!
"Maybe they aren't intelligent enough to realize what a 'Sinjin' is?" A newcomer's voice spoke.
Maeve tensed. The voice was low, resonant, conjuring images of tangled sheets and damp flesh. An illicit shiver of pleasure whispered down her spine. She froze as footsteps advanced across the cold marble.
"Rubbish!" The woman sounded annoyed. "Who would have known that the vampire would have a woman in the house? What am I going to do with her?"
A foot slammed into her back, rocking her forward. Maeve sucked in her breath as pain shot across her ribcage. Her eyes watered.
"Let her go." The man's voice was nearer.
Black boots moved into her misty line of vision, stopping mere inches from her face. Her breath caught as he crouched and warm fingers brushed aside her turtleneck and sought the vulnerable flesh of her neck. She flinched as chills of awareness raced through her and she prayed the newcomer hadn't felt her reaction.
"Kill her."
The woman's softly spoken words brought tension to the man. He pulled away and rose from his crouched position. "No."
Maeve dared a glance at him through the fringe of her lashes. From her disadvantaged perspective, he towered over her and she could only see as high as his waist. To see any higher, she'd have to move her head and she couldn't risk that just yet. At this point, her only advantage, if it could be called that, was subterfuge. She had to take them unawares.
"What did you say?" The woman ground out.
"I said no." His voice was steady. "You will not kill her because your hounds of hell made a mistake."
The woman laughed and it was an ugly sound. Maeve could swear the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees. "Just who do you think you're talking to?"
"My mother."
His mother? He was one of them? Whatever they were? Enough of this, it was time to go. Did she still have her knives or did they take them away? She couldn't tell for sure.
She took a quick mental accounting of her physical state. Her jaw ached and her head throbbed, but, for the most part, she seemed to be okay. Her vision danced a bit around the edges and that could be tricky. She blinked, trying to will the blurring away and force the pain into the background as she schooled her muscles to move.
She shifted her head and caught a glimpse of the woman's face as she spoke to the man who'd proclaimed himself her son. "You have no mother," she spat.
Hmm, definitely not up for "Mother of the Year".
Maeve rolled to her back, away from her tormentors, then onto her side before pulling her legs up toward her chest. In one swift movement, she rolled to her knees, then sprang to her feet, abused muscles screaming in protest.
Head swimming, she fought to keep her balance as she scanned the room, searching for a way out. There was only one doorway leading into what she presumed was the rest of the house. The other side of the room was a wall of windows.
She blinked as she caught sight of the coffin and its midget attendants.
"It appears our sleeping beauty is awake after all." Amusement laced the woman's words.
Maeve turned to face her kidnapper. Soft brown hair generously threaded with silver was pulled back into a bun while pale, blue eyes assessed her. Judging from the fine lines bracketing her mouth and eyes, she appeared to be somewhere in her late forties. Slender and clad in a black, floor-to-shoulder cloak, she looked strangely fragile in the heavy garment.
"Why have you brought me here?" Maeve demanded.
"You, my dear, were a mistake." The woman shrugged. "One I'll soon rectify."
"By killing me?" Maeve started to shake her head then stopped, deciding it would aggravate her headache. "I'm afraid I'll have to raise an objection to your plan."
The woman's brow rose, her expression superior. "Indeed, this should be interesting." She raised her hand and beckoned one of the little brown beasts to her side.
Maeve's eyes narrowed. She didn't know what these midgets were, but they were vicious little buggers. Certainly tough enough to take her down. Granted, it had taken several of them to finally immobilize her. They were so damned short and difficult to fight. What sort of sorcery were they?
"No."
The man spoke again and Maeve glanced in his direction as he stepped toward his mother. He was half-hidden by a towering arrangement of flowers but she caught a glimpse of golden hair as her vision fractured. She blinked several times, relieved when her sight cleared.
"And who are you to stop me?" The woman demanded.
Maeve glanced to the door and noted at least five of the little demons between her and freedom. No help there. The windows were the only way out. She eyed one of the massive bronze urns positioned at the head of the casket. Filled with spiky flowers and a profusion of roses and lilies, the pot had to weigh at least forty pounds. Surely it was big enough to break the glass.
She inched to the pot, catching a glimpse of her captor, who stood glaring at the man. Rage fairly emanated from her small frame.
Whoops, guess Mom isn't too happy with him. Maybe she'll send him to bed without his dinner tonight.
Stretching out her arm, her fingertips brushed the cool bronze. Then she caught sight of the occupant of the casket.
Bliss.
Her breath caught in her throat as shock curled her toes. What the devil was Bliss doing here? She hadn't known the woman well, but she'd seen her on numerous occasions at Sinjin's house. She'd always been friendly and quick to smile. Maeve was truly sorry to hear Sinjin's one-time love had been killed. Her friend Erihn had been there when Bliss had died and she'd said the minions had carried her home to her mother's house in England.
That was well over two months ago. Why didn't someone bury her? She frowned. If Bliss were here, that would make this woman...
She looked at her captor as realization dawned, all thoughts of escape fled.
"Mortianna."
Her captor's head snapped toward her, a frown etched on her face. "What?" she snapped.
Maeve gestured toward the casket. "You're her mother?"
The woman moved to lay a possessive hand on the lid of the casket. Her gaze was direct, cold. "Yes, Bliss was my daughter."
"I knew her," Maeve blurted. "Not well, mind you, but she was well- liked."
Mortianna's expression softened. She raised a hand and curled her fingers around a pendant that hung from a chain around her neck. "From where did you know my daughter?"
"Through Sinjin. I was staying with him, and your daughter would come to visit-"
"Bliss visited St. James in Scotland?" Her fingers tightened around the pendant, her knuckles turning white.
Maeve backed up a step. Maybe that hadn't been the best thing to say? "On several occasions in the past year, Bliss visited the house. They were good friends- "
"Friends?" Her expression turned malevolent. "My daughter remained friends with that creature?"
Maeve nodded and stepped to the urn. The bronze was chilly beneath her fingertips as she skimmed her hand up the side to curl over the
lip.
"I will destroy him. I'll tear him limb from limb and he'll rue the day he ever met my child," Mortianna hissed. Turning, she headed for the doorway, anger spurring her exit. As she left, she spoke over her shoulder. "Kill her and make it quick. We have work to do."
Four of the little beasts broke from the circle and advanced on Maeve as the man made a noise of dissent.
It was now or never.
She heaved the urn from the pillar, stunned when the weight almost knocked her to the floor. Filled with water and flowers, the urn was too much for her to lift. Straining, she dropped it to the floor and tipped it, spilling out a river of brilliant blooms and gallons of icy water.
The militant formation broke as the creatures stepped back to avoid the water, an odd hissing sound escaping from where their mouths would have been.
She grappled with the now-empty urn, her arms trembling with exertion. It was much heavier than she'd anticipated. The sheer weight precluded her from lifting it over her head, so she settled for an awkward, two-handed bowling-style toss at the nearest window.
All hell broke loose.
The urn hit the window with a crash as one of the beasts tackled her behind the knees while another struck her in the middle of her back, tangling its fingers in her hair. She fell to the floor, her breath slammed from her lungs with a whoosh.
Icy water soaked her clothes as the scent of crushed roses and lilies invaded her nose. The solid weight of the creatures repulsed her and she kicked, ridding herself of the one clinging to her legs. Bracing her hands against the slick floor, she flipped to her back, pinning the other beneath her.
The creature gave a shriek and released its death-grip on her hair as two more levitated into the air and rushed her. She rolled to the side, then to her feet, stumbling as one crashed into her shoulder, causing her to slide on the slick floor.
Strong hands grabbed her around the waist and pulled her upright. Her breath caught as she glimpsed another creature headed in her direction. This one held a lethal-looking knife in its clawlike hand. Damn, the blade was one of hers!
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 4 Page 2
