Night Blade: Blade Hunt Chronicles Book Two

by Juliana Spink Mills

  Ben didn’t answer. The small space between them felt like an abyss now. Gabi stretched out his hand, the one with the ring. It was shaking. He stopped just short of brushing Ben’s cheek, fingers hovering a whisper-touch away from the crusted-up cut the Guardian’s blade had left. Ben couldn’t help it. He leaned into the touch, the warmth of fingertips against his skin. Their heads bowed together, planets pulled into orbit.

  Gabi drew back at the last moment, wrenching himself away. His face crumpled. “Damn it, Ben,” he said. “I can’t— I can’t do this. I don’t want to. It hurts too much. But I don’t have a choice.”

  There’s always a choice, Ben wanted to say. But he couldn’t make the words come out, wouldn’t beg. Anger bubbled up, warring with the pain. Before he could give in to it, or say anything he would regret, Gabi’s hand dropped. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, and then he was gone, door closing behind him with a quiet click.

  Ben looked down to find Raze awake. He turned away, stumbling off into the tiny kitchen area to fetch her tea, his breathing ragged as he tried to escape the awful, awful pity in her amber eyes. It wasn’t until much later that he realized Gabi had healed his cheek before leaving.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Camille

  It was pitch black out when Camille trudged into the Chapterhouse dining hall on Thursday morning. She yawned, dropping onto a bench in front of Alex. He slid a mug of coffee across the table.

  “No milk, one sugar, right?”

  “Alex, you’re a lifesaver.” She grabbed the mug and took a sip. “This is perfect.” She yawned again. “Remind me why on earth I said yes to leaving at stupid o’clock?”

  “You could always go with us this afternoon, instead. We still have room in the van.”

  Camille took another sip of her coffee, feeling more awake. “No, this is fine. I want to be in the Adirondacks before nightfall. I’m hoping to get hold of Jude Raven before the whole circus starts gathering tomorrow. Anyway, I’ll be company for Deacon. And speaking of Deacon, where is he?”

  “Dragging Ash out of bed. It’s his birthday.”

  “Oh. Of course. The big eighteen.” She fiddled with the mug’s handle before looking up into Alex’s clear blue gaze. “You were eighteen when you were turned, right? So was I. Do you ever feel eighteen?”

  “Hmm, in my day, eighteen meant you had long since grown up. You were a child, and then you were an adult. There was no in-between.”

  “Well, when you put it like that… I suppose eighteen was all grown up in my day, too. The whole ‘teenager’ concept was still pretty new back then. But you didn’t answer my question, Alex. Do you ever feel as young as Ash, or Del?”

  “Sometimes. Under the right circumstances. Or with the right person.” When she raised an eyebrow, he smiled. “You of all people should know that, Camille. Being with the right person, well, it can make me feel… human, I suppose. Vulnerable, real, alive.”

  “And yet you took a vow of celibacy.

  Alex shook his head. “You don’t need sex to connect with someone, Camille.”

  “Speak for yourself.” She held up a hand. “And before you go all preachy and lecture me about not letting my demon nature define me, or something of the sort — ha, called it, didn’t I? — let me just say that I’ve never felt tied down by my Immortal Hunger. I happen to enjoy that side of myself.”

  “Fair enough. No preaching, then. Are you ready to go?”

  Camille drank the last of her coffee. “Now I am.”

  ***

  They found Deacon and Ash in the grand entrance hall, saying their goodbyes. Deacon pulled his son into a tight hug. “See you tomorrow. Don’t go giving Alex any trouble.”

  Ash shook off his father’s embrace, but he was grinning. “As if. Drive safe, see you soon.”

  Outside, a sleek black SUV waited, engine on and the exhaust a white cloud in the frosty air. The witch, John, was already in the back seat, warded cuffs around his wrists, and a resigned look on his face. Camille set her bag in the back of the SUV, slammed the rear shut, and turned to see Deacon watching his son through the Chapterhouse window.

  “Did you tell him?” she murmured. “About your suspicions?”

  “I talked to Alex last night.”

  “You know I don’t mean Alex. Did you tell Ash?”

  “No. I wanted him to make his choice without thinking I’m pressuring him. If I tell him what I suspect… I don’t know, it might have swayed him. It had to be his choice.”

  “Deacon, if you think the sentinels have a traitor among them, don’t you think he has the right to know? He was supposed to take over after you. It’s still his responsibility.”

  “Not anymore. He chose Del, and I can’t blame him. To stand by the Heart Blade? It’s the closest thing to a divine mission any sentinel has had in centuries.”

  She touched his arm gently. “Deacon…”

  He gave her a tight smile. “We should go.”

  Camille nodded. She got in the front of the SUV with Deacon, and gave a murmur of approval as they pulled out of the covered carriage porch.

  “Nice car. What happened to the truck?”

  “Truck’s fine. Good as new. But I didn’t think it was fair to the prisoner. It’s an almost seven-hour drive, and the back of the truck gets pretty uncomfortable after a while. I thought he’d appreciate it.”

  They both looked back at the witch, Deacon through the rearview mirror, Camille over her shoulder. John rolled his eyes.

  “While he appreciates the thought, you know what he’d also appreciate? Having these cuffs removed. Come on! Haven’t I been a perfectly civilized prisoner?”

  Camille smiled sweetly. “John, dear. Do shut up.”

  The witch slumped back in his seat, muttering darkly as he glared at Camille. She blew him a kiss. Deacon’s mouth tightened a fraction, though she couldn’t tell if it was in annoyance or amusement. Possibly both.

  “Camille, don’t taunt the man. John, you know I can’t release you. You’re still a wanted criminal, even if our deal does stand. You’ll get a lighter sentence, just as I promised. But until I hand you over, you’ll have to remain in restraints.”

  The SUV hit the highway, picking up speed. Camille flipped through radio channels until she found a jazz station. The mournful wail of a saxophone filled the car as she settled back to watch the landscape rushing by in the gray light of dawn.

  ***

  They pulled over for a bite to eat at nine. Deacon went first, leaving Camille to watch over John. He returned with coffee and donuts for himself and the witch, and Camille shrugged on her coat to fetch her own.

  The roadside stop was busy. Camille used the restroom and then joined the line. It took her a while to get a coffee and whole-wheat bagel, and she hurried out the door, barely looking as she headed back to the SUV. She almost ran straight into a van idling past as she crossed the parking lot.

  The window opened. She looked up, expecting an irate driver to tell her off for not watching where she went. Instead, she found herself staring straight into the handsome face of Clement Kirkland, troll and muscle for hire.

  Before she could react, a heavy arm clamped around her chest, and a hand across her mouth. She was dragged backward and unceremoniously dumped in the back of the van by another troll, even bigger than the first. The brother, she thought. The troll that had grabbed her climbed in, pulling out a gun and setting it against her head.

  “Hush,” he said. “Be a good little demon for me, okay?”

  Clement appeared at the back of the van. He picked up a roll of duct tape and ripped out a strip, which he put over her mouth. Then he taped her wrists and ankles tight.

  “Clem, is all that really necessary?” his brother asked. “She’s such an itty-bitty thing.”

  “An itty-bitty thing with a big sharp soul blade and the attitude to match,” Clem replied. “And I still owe the little fucker for all the trouble she gave me last time. Beck, come on. They can’t be far. Remembe
r: all we want is the witch. Don’t go and kill the angel, it’ll just end up biting us in the ass.”

  Beck pointed at Camille. “What about Blondie here?”

  “Oh, she’s coming with us. She has a lesson to learn. And no one will miss a piece of demon spawn like her.”

  The trolls left, and the van doors banged shut. Camille was alone, furious, heart pounding madly. She forced herself to calm down, and to take a deep breath as she considered her options. She couldn’t draw her soul blade with her hands behind her back. The van’s engine was still running, muffling any noise she might make. Her eyes darted around, looking for something — anything — she could use to set herself free, but there was nothing in the van but old fast food wrappers and other bits of useless trash.

  The van door opened and she caught a brief glimpse of the trolls as they tossed John’s limp body in beside her and slammed the door shut again. Then the van was moving, gathering speed. The back of the van was separate from the front, with a solid partition. The only light came from the small windows on the back doors, but it was enough for her to see that John was pale, slack-jawed, a trickle of blood running from his lip.

  She drew up her legs and kicked out gently. The witch didn’t move. Camille kicked him again. Nothing. So Camille did something she rarely allowed herself to do. She reached inside, letting her Immortal Hunger bubble up. But instead of casting it out as she usually did, searching for a feed, she drew on her own well of desire and fed it into the witch. She’d be hungry now, but it was worth it.is skin warmed up, cheeks growing rosy. He shuddered and gave a great gasp, eyes flying open.

  “Wow! Holy cr— Wow,” he said. He blinked and looked around, gaze falling on Camille. “That was you? That felt amazing. What did you do?”

  Camille gave him a pointed look, and he scooted over and carefully peeled the binding from her mouth. She licked her lips, tacky from the tape.

  “Thanks. And I just gave you a little boost, that’s all. What happened?”

  “They came out of nowhere. The Kirklands. Knocked Deacon out, right off the bat. I got out of the car, and made a run for it. I didn’t get far. Stupid warded cuffs.” He shook the handcuffs, frustration all over his face. “I could have done something if you’d just trusted me.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m trusting you now. How do I get them off?” She stared at the cuffs, looking for some sort of relief mechanism.

  “There’s a command word. It’s unique, and resets each time the cuffs are used. It’s activated by the person who locks them in place.”

  “Well, did you hear Deacon say it?” she asked.

  His mouth twisted up in a wry smile. “It’s non-verbal. Did you think it would be that easy? Only Deacon knows what he said.”

  “So it’s Deacon’s own passcode? He invented it?”

  “Yeah. So we’re basically in trouble. Because it could be anything that was going through his mind this morning.”

  This morning. “One word, right? You’re sure it was a word he thought of this morning?”

  John shrugged. “Probably. When he snapped those cuffs around my wrists today, he chose a word and said it to himself with intent. It could be some random thought, or something special. Who knows?”

  Camille smiled. There was only one thing Deacon cared about above all else. One thing that would have been on his mind this morning more than anything. John eyed her warily. “You look like a cat who found the door to the canary cage wide open and all the little canaries lined up and waiting with bows around their necks. Do you know something?”

  “Possibly.” She looked at him, her smile fading. “Maybe. I hope so, otherwise we’re screwed. How does it work? Do I need to touch any particular part of them?”

  “No, anywhere will do. Just place your hand on them. Wait. You think you know the word, don’t you?”

  She didn’t answer. She wriggled around so her back was close to John. His hands bumped against her own as he slid the cuffs into her awkward grasp. She closed her fingers around them as best as she could, the witch’s skin warm against hers. Camille took a deep breath, knowing Deacon completely at that moment — every stubborn, loyal, clever, committed inch of the man who’d once been an enemy and had somehow become her good friend and ally. Ash, she thought firmly.

  There was a click. The cuffs opened.

  She looked over her shoulder, catching a shimmer of magic as John flexed his fingers and laughed incredulously. “All right. Now we’re talking. What’s the plan?”

  “Get this stuff off me, for a start.”

  He gave an amused snort as he began working the tape off her wrists. “Looks like our positions have been reversed, huh? Look on the bright side, at least you got tape, not zip ties.”

  The last of the tape came off. Camille rubbed her wrists and shook her arms out, rolling her cramped shoulders as John began working on her ankles. She frowned. “I think we’re slowing down.” They both froze, listening and feeling for the van’s movements. It turned off the highway, definitely slower, but still moving too fast for them to escape out of the back. John ripped the last of the tape off, and got up into a crouch to peer out the windows.

  “We’re on what looks like some sort of access road, moving between farmland. I can see outbuildings, fields,” he said.

  After a while, the van slowed even more, and turned onto a rougher, bumpier surface. “Dirt road,” said John. “Wherever they’re heading, I think we’re almost there.”

  “Are we slow enough to jump?” she asked.

  “I think so,” he answered. But the van’s door was locked from the outside, and the release lever inside had been disabled. “Shit.”

  “You’re a witch. Open them!”

  He glared at her. “That’s not the way magic works. I can’t just do anything I want. It has to be within my skill set.”

  “Well, what is your skill set?”

  He didn’t have time to answer. The van pulled into some sort of building, already almost at a standstill. Through the windows, Camille could see wooden walls, a high ceiling, farm implements. “New plan,” she hissed urgently. “When they open the doors, we jump them. You take one, I’ll take the other. And then we steal the van and get the hell out of here.”

  She set her hand to her chest, ready to draw her soul blade as soon as they were out. John’s hands shimmered green as he gathered his magic. The engine cut off, the sudden silence jarring. Doors slammed, and two sets of footsteps rang out on a wooden floor. The door to the van clicked and swung open, and John and Camille went for the trolls.

  In her mind, she had imagined the whole thing going a lot smoother. Reality was a desperate, fumbling rush from the back of the van to the ground outside, barreling into the nearest troll with an utter lack of grace, while trying not to get tangled in the witch’s flailing limbs as he tried to regain his balance quickly. But surprise, at least, was on their side.

  She pounced upon the nearest troll, the brother, Beck. But Clem hadn’t been kidding about troll skin. Her soul blade barely nicked his arm when she went for him. She whirled out of the way just in time to avoid his meaty fists, dodging his blows as she looked for a weak spot. There had to be one!

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John flinging mean-looking, razor-sharp discs of green light. He was having about as much success as she was, and only seemed to be annoying Clem Kirkland. It slowed the troll down, as he had to keep stopping to bat the hex blades out of the way with his arms. But it wasn’t enough, and when John turned in a panic and fled, Clem hard on his heels, she knew it was over.

  She’d noticed one important detail, though. Clem had used his arms, not his hands. She turned and went for Beck’s fingers. He howled in pain and drew back, shaking off blood drops that spattered in an arc and painted her coat with dull red splotches. A troll’s fists might be lethal, but it appeared that their hands had soft spots once you got around the bruising knuckles.

  He hung back, wary now. She danced in closer, trying to catch his other hand
, but he swiveled out of her way and bent to grab a wooden stake from a stack of fencing material. He ducked his head slightly as he did, and she plunged in, aiming for his eye. If a demon’s eye was vulnerable, perhaps a troll’s eye was, too.

  Beck moved just in time to save his face, but not his ear. There was a shout from the troll as she sliced it clean off. He backed up, blood pouring down his cheek, and bounced the stake in one hand.

  She took a step to one side. He was between her and the exit, but if she could get him to circle around, out of the way, she could make a run for it. Demons were fast. He’d never catch her. “That all you got?” she taunted, her voice raspy from the dust they’d stirred up. She took another step to the side, keeping her eyes on him and away from the exit, hoping he wouldn’t realize what she was trying to do. “You going to beat me up with a stick?”

  Beck grinned nastily, and then threw the wooden pole at her as hard as he could. She wasn’t expecting it, and it connected solidly, catching her in the chest. She flew backward, slamming to the ground hard, all the wind knocked from her lungs. Her blade shimmered out, and before she could summon it again, a heavy foot came down on her neck.

  “You’re dead, Blondie,” Beck said viciously. The last thing she saw before he punched her was Clem, pacing back into view as he dragged a limp John by one leg.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Alex

  “What do you mean, gone?” Alex’s fingers gripped his cell phone, white-knuckled.

  On the other end of the line, Deacon’s voice was frantic. “By the time I came to, there was no sign of them. It was the Kirklands, Alex. Both of them this time: Clement and Becket.”

  “Okay, breathe. What have you done so far?” He heard Deacon take a deep, shuddering breath.

  “I’ve tried all my contacts,” said Deacon, “but no one knows where the trolls could have taken them. They don’t usually operate in New England. That means either they just kept on driving, or they’re using a temporary base to hole up somewhere.”