Night Blade: Blade Hunt Chronicles Book Two

by Juliana Spink Mills

  “Okay.” She settled back to watch the miles flash by, excitement warring with anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

  ***

  The tiny studio apartment faced the dirty façade of a Manhattan hotel with mismatched strands of green and red Christmas lights. The pale light of morning was mirrored in its dusty windows. They’d arrived in New York the previous night, and Alex had dropped her off at a subway station with a bundle of cash, a couple of burner phones, and two addresses: for the apartment and for the Saint.

  She dressed quickly, anxious to get the meeting over. A gray hoodie, her old black jeans, combat boots. On top, a faded green army jacket that Alex had found somewhere completed the look. She pulled on her black knitted hat and left, the wrapped bundle Alex had given her safely in her pocket.

  The streets were bustling, and she slipped easily into the morning rush, disappearing among the New Yorkers and tourists. She bought coffee and a donut and took the subway to the Lower East Side. It took a while to find the Saint’s address, but eventually she reached the repair shop he used as a front. She pushed her way in between rows of ancient appliances sitting forlornly on shelves with dusty price tags. The guy at the counter looked up from his newspaper.

  “Yeah? Need something?”

  Raze cleared her throat. “I’m, uh, looking for the Saint?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “We have a mutual friend,” she answered carefully. “I’ve brought a delivery.”

  “Huh.” The counter guy eyed her suspiciously for a moment, and then called out over his shoulder, “Boss! Girl here to see you.”

  Raze heard heavy footsteps and then a short, round man walked through from the backroom. He had an aura Raze had never seen before, a deep burgundy, almost black in tone. “You Raze?” he asked, his bald head gleaming under the strip lighting. She nodded. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come on back,” he said curtly, turning and walking off. The counter guy nodded at her and she hurried to follow the Saint.

  He led her through the storage room and a workshop to a small kitchen at the rear of the building. “Sit.” He pointed at a chair and sank into the other one. “So you’re Alex’s girl. He told me you’re eighteen. You look younger. Do I need to worry?”

  “I’m eighteen,” she lied, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t hammering in her chest. “I’m not your responsibility.”

  “Damn right you’re not. You have the package?”

  She drew out the bundle and handed it to him. He unwrapped it, revealing a small book. Ancient, by the look of the crumbling leather binding. The Saint smiled, revealing teeth that were altogether too pointed to pass as human.

  “You beauty.” He tenderly wrapped the book up again and set it aside. “Right, payment accepted. So. Raze. I’ll need a contact number. You have something disposable?”

  “Alex gave me a phone.” She wrote down the number.

  “Good. Now, the person I’m putting you in touch with goes by Lix. Her full name is Angelica Reis. She’s a witch.”

  Reis? Seriously? “Any relation to Baroness Reis?”

  “Wow, nothing gets past you,” the Saint said sarcastically. “Lix is her niece. Daddy was one of the Baroness’ brothers. It’s a big family, and Lix is the black sheep. She’s been working the wrong side of human law since her early teens. Steers clear of breaking the Covenant, though. She’s clever. Watch your step around her.” The Saint got up and held out a large hand. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  They shook hands and Raze left the store. There. It was done. Now all she could do was wait for a phone call. Until then, her time was her own.

  She picked a direction at random and began to walk.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Del

  Del hovered by the circular stairwell, looking down, Alex a reassuring presence at her back.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know. He may not even be able to help you.”

  Del shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “He’s the only witch we have access to right now. If he knows something — anything — about this…” Del touched her arm, fingertips ghosting over the scars. “This is what I have to work out. This is the key to everything. I need to find out why Shade was targeting me, and why I left myself this message.”

  She shivered at the memory — the only one left of her human life before Shade Raven’s full demon blood began to course through her veins, washing away all that came before. Nighttime, and a city alleyway. Shade, with a predator’s smile, stepping out from the shadows.A terse conversation.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she’d asked.

  “Not this time,” the demon had answered. And then Del had dug the knife into her own skin and begun to write.

  Alex interrupted her thoughts. “I still don’t see why you think this may help.”

  Del shrugged. “It probably won’t. But he’s a witch. He’ll understand bloodline curses. And I can’t shake the feeling that this” —she pressed the scar— “and Rowan are linked. Whoever Rowan is. Or was, I should say. By the vision I saw, she lived a long time ago. And it all ties in to the Blade Hunt prophecies. To the Heart Blade, at least. And no, before you ask, I can’t tell you why, or how I know that. I just know, okay?”

  “I’m not going to argue with that sort of conviction.” He smiled softly. “Sometimes you remind me of Jeanne. I fought alongside her, you know? Joan of Arc. You carry the same blazing light. Very well, let’s go and see a witch. Are you sure you don’t want to wait until Ash gets back?”

  “No.” Del bit off the longer explanation that she was tempted to share. She didn’t want to talk about how Ash was barely hanging on these days, or how he didn’t get her preoccupation with Rowan, or her belief that it was all connected: her past, her present, and her future. Alex had once called Ash her rock, and he was right. She needed him, craved his grounding presence when her past and future seemed to spin away from her control. But right now, her “rock” was breaking apart into a million pieces of gravel, and the less he got involved with this personal quest of hers, the better.

  Alex gave her a shrewd look and led the way down the spiral stairs. He didn’t stop until they were two levels underground, and then he pushed open the fire door to reveal a long, well-lit hallway. It was painted a soothing shade of cream, and framed landscape sketches lined the walls. There were hardwood floorboards underfoot. It looked… pleasant.

  “This is a nice dungeon,” Del said, breaking the silence. “I thought it would be more… I don’t know. Dungeonish.”

  “It’s not a dungeon,” Alex answered, lip twitching, amused. “There are storage rooms here, for school supplies, and spare furniture. We do have a few secure guest rooms, of course.”

  “Dungeon,” Del declared triumphantly, grinning.

  Alex laughed. “Fine, call it a dungeon if you like. Here we are.” He stopped outside a wooden door. “The room is sealed against magic. You don’t have to worry, he can’t do anything.”

  “I’m not worried,” she lied. Who was she kidding? The man inside had been arrested for a long list of crimes against the Covenant.

  Alex unlocked the door and led her inside. Despite being underground, the room didn’t look like a prison cell. Instead, it was more like a nice hotel room, complete with flat-screen TV, desk, and bookshelf. The occupant looked up from where he was lying on the bed with a paperback novel.

  “Del, this is John Shepherd, former member of Baroness Reis’ coven, and now esteemed guest of the Guild until he leaves for his Court trial. John, be nice. This young lady would like to ask you a few questions about bloodline curses.”

  “And why wouldn’t I be nice?” John raised his eyebrows. “It’s boring as all hell in here. I’m happy to have someone to talk to.” He stared at Del. “I don’t recognize the aura, though. What are you, some sort of tree sprite?”

  Del met his eyes, trying not to look uncomfortable. “Something like that. I was hoping you could help me. I was told recently t
hat I’m under a witch curse. An old one. I’m trying to find out more about it.”

  She held out her arm. John got up and walked over to take it. He brushed his fingers over the scars, looking thoughtful. “You definitely have an old curse on you. And I mean old.” He smirked at Alex. “Older than Vampire Boy Scout, here. Who told you about it?”

  “A witch. Um. She may have been from your coven.” Del didn’t want to say any more; didn’t want to talk about last summer, about watching Ash be tortured by the witches while she watched, handcuffed to the wall and unable to help. But she realized a second too late that she’d already said too much. John’s eyes had widened in surprise at her words.

  “You’re her,” he said. “The little demon girl who claimed the Heart Blade. That’s why I don’t recognize your aura.”

  Del snatched her arm away and backed off a step. “Can you help me or not? Do you know anything about this curse?”

  “I’m sorry, I wish I could help.” He sounded genuinely regretful. “All I can tell you is that it was put in place over a thousand years ago. And it’s a strong one, still active. It’s bound to your blood, but more than that, it’s bound to your essence, somehow. Except you’re not that old a demon, are you?”

  “No,” she answered quietly. “I’m not.”

  ***

  Meals at the Chapterhouse always made Del feel like an extra in a movie. Although a large part of the campus had been built over the last fifty years, the vast, wood-paneled dining hall dated back to the early 1800s. It had a vaulted ceiling and rows of diamond-paned windows that looked out onto the grounds. Long wooden tables and benches filled the space, though there was no assigned seating and students, staff, and residents sat wherever they pleased.

  Service was cafeteria-style, with serving hatches along one side. There was a residents’ kitchen, too, where anyone who missed the set meal times could cook their own, or reheat leftovers.

  Del set her tray down next to Dan. The old priest looked tired, face creased with worry. But he smiled at Del as she sat. “Where’s that boyfriend of yours?” he asked. “He’s going to miss dinner. Meatloaf, potatoes, and gravy; just the ticket for a big lad like him.”

  She smiled back. “He should be back later tonight. He and a couple of others went to watch some basketball game in the city.”

  “Is that so? In my teen years, I used to be a pretty decent basketball player myself.”

  “You were into basketball?”

  “Oh yes, in a big way. Alex used to organize a weekly pick-up game for whoever was around, right here at the Chapterhouse.”

  Del tried to imagine Dan as a teenager. Tall and skinny, she decided. It was weird to think of him growing up here in this place that had become her home.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

  “I’m trying to picture you when you were young.”

  “I was all arms and legs. And muscle, of course. Alex used to be a lot more intense about training back then. Things were rough for a while among preternaturals. We had to be ready. Then things calmed down somewhat, after the current High Baron took office. Cornell Winslow. He’s a politician through and through. Of course now the Heart Blade is back in play…”

  Del knew what he was talking about. Or rather, what he wasn’t saying, that the Blade signaled a possible war between preternaturals. She stabbed her fork into a potato and sighed. “Why does everything have to be so complicated? No, don’t answer that.”

  “Are you all right?” Dan asked.

  “Are you asking as a priest?”

  “As a friend.”

  She hesitated. But she always found it easy to talk to Dan. Maybe because of all those years he’d spent in the confessional, as Father Graham. He was… soothing. “This whole Blade thing, it’s intense,” she told him. “I don’t have the Immortal Hunger I had when I was still a demon, that’s gone at least. But the Heart Blade is even more demanding. It’s like an itch; it makes me want to fix everything around me. It wants to heal.” It had been this way since she’d first summoned the Blade: an urge to help all those around her, and the Heart a constant murmur at the edge of her consciousness. But she’d learned the hard way that some things couldn’t be healed, not by her.

  There was more. Alex had warned her not to overdo her new healing abilities. He said there were consequences to using a Blade’s powers, though he wouldn’t tell her what those consequences were, or how he knew that. She assumed he’d read it in some dusty old lore book. But he wasn’t the one wielding one of the four Blades of myth; he wasn’t the one trying to resist the siren call, the push to make all things right in the world.

  Dan was studying her, looking intrigued. “You can’t fix everyone, though. Is that the problem? Is this about Ash? He told me about the nightmares.”

  “That’s part of it. But there’s so much more, all the time. For example, I can feel how tired you are. I can sense you’re afraid, not for yourself, for someone.” She could feel the nagging sense of wrong inside the old priest, of bone-deep exhaustion and unease. “You’re worrying about Rose, aren’t you? Where did she go, Dan? I know Alex said she went to visit a werewolf historian, but where is she really? Is she in danger?” For a brief instant, Dan’s eyes were suspiciously bright. Then the moment passed, and he smiled.

  “Eat your food,” he said. “It’ll get cold.” The sense of Dan’s pain lessened a little, and Del decided to drop it. Clearly he wasn’t going to tell her anything, not now, anyway. It could wait. But sooner or later, she was going to get the truth out of him, and find out where Rose had gone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ben

  Ben punched the bag over and over, the dull thudding loud in the empty gym. The floorboards creaked and he whirled around to find Gabriel in the half-shadows, watching him.

  He turned away, hoping Gabi hadn’t heard the hitch in his breath, or seen the sudden heat he could feel staining his cheeks. Stalling, he picked up his shirt from the floor and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. He put his glasses back on, adjusting them with a nudge from his finger before speaking. “How long have you been here?”

  “Couple of minutes. You’re always so damn hard to sneak up on.” Gabi moved closer, too close, his green witch’s aura blending with Ben’s own. He was so near now that Ben could see the pulse beating in his throat, and smell that stupid aftershave Gabi insisted on wearing. He picked Ben’s hand up gently, examining the bloodstains seeping through the wrapping. “Dumb Irishman. When are you going to put some gloves on, box like a real man?”

  “This is real boxing. And I’m as American as you are, idiot.” But he could hear the smile in his own words, and it matched the soft smile on Gabi’s face. He licked his dry lips, suddenly nervous, and pulled his hand away.

  Gabi’s smile faded. “What’s the matter? You never come in this early. And you never come here on a Saturday. What’s wrong?”

  Ben hesitated. But he knew Gabi would have it out of him eventually. “It’s your cousin. She wants me in on some job she’s put together.”

  “Angelica? Merda! You told me you were done with all that crap.”

  “I was. I am. But someone should tell your cousin that.”

  They were still standing too close to each other, and Ben felt suddenly disoriented. He was about to step back when Gabi reached out to trace the neat line of tattooed wards running up Ben’s left arm from wrist to shoulder. Ben stood perfectly still, his breath short and shallow. Gabi’s roving fingers brushed across his collarbone, and paused at the hollow of his throat, grazing the runestone Ben wore around his neck. Gabi looked up, a question in his gaze. Now Ben really did step back, away from Gabriel and his dark, dark eyes.

  “Stop it,” Ben whispered. “You know you’re not supposed to be here. We’re supposed to be staying away from each other, remember? You know what’ll happen if your mother finds out. She’s made it pretty clear she wants me nowhere near you.”

  “Screw my mom. We’re both eighteen now, there’s
not much she can do.” But it was a lie, and they both knew it. There was plenty a powerful witch like the Baroness could do if she chose.

  Gabi moved closer again. “Anyway, she’s not here now, is she?” he murmured. “So we’re safe.” He reached for Ben, grabbing the ends of the t-shirt that hung around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Ben closed his eyes and gave in. He would worry about the Baroness later. Right now, this was all that mattered. Him, Gabriel, and these stolen moments in the dim light of this shabby excuse for a gym.

  ***

  Ben finished his shift as day darkened into night, the bleak December cold spilling in through the doors of the minimart along with the dull roar of traffic. He ducked under a gaudy tinsel wreath to stuff his apron in his locker, and headed upstairs to the one-room apartment he rented next to the storeroom.

  The Guatemalan grad student who lived across the cramped and smelly hallway must have picked up the mail again, for a neat pile of junk letters lay on Ben’s doormat along with a plain manila envelope. He scooped his mail up with one hand, unlocking the door with the other. Inside, he switched on the light and sank onto the sagging sofa bed, stretching his long legs out with a sigh of relief. He took off his glasses for a moment, grinding the heel of his hand against one eye. The headache was back.

  The minimart job sucked, but at least it was legal, and he got a discount on the apartment. Didn’t mean he had to like it, though. “What are you going to do with your life?” Gabi had asked, the only time Ben had brought him here. “This is a dump, B. You can’t just stay here forever.” Ben hadn’t answered, and the truth was that he still didn’t know. A witch without a coven, without a family, was nothing. Nobody. That was him: a nobody.

  He tossed the junk mail aside and eyed the big envelope suspiciously. He turned it over to find his name printed in plain lettering. No stamp. It had been hand-delivered. A faint foreboding sent prickles of alarm up his arms. He closed his eyes and extended his witch’s senses. But there was nothing. No danger, no spell-work, just the feeling of unease.