Night Blade: Blade Hunt Chronicles Book Two

by Juliana Spink Mills

  “Go on,” she told him, “you go next. It’s my climb; I’ll go last.”

  She was halfway down the ladder when the griffin broke free. She had a brief glimpse of golden wings against the dark sky, and then it was gone. “Where is it?” she called to Ben, beneath her.

  “I think it went for Lix. She’s the one with the sword.”

  Raze descended faster. When she was almost at the ground, she shifted and jumped, racing to the entry in wolf form with Ben at her heels. The front door was wide open, the woodwork clawed and damaged. All along the hallway, there were signs of the griffin’s furious passage. Raze bounded into the living room to find Lix, May, and Gareth gathered around the sofa with the sleeping vampires, a faulty, flickering shield all around them like a giant bubble. Gareth’s work, she guessed, his magic weakened by his injury.

  The griffin paced around, shrieking and clawing at the shield, which shuddered alarmingly. Raze snarled at the beast. It was easily four or five times her size, perhaps larger, and she felt like a tiny lap dog next to a mastiff. Still, it turned and eyed her warily. It cocked its feathered head, bird’s eyes appraising. Raze could almost hear it thinking, “Is this thing a threat? Should I be worried?”

  She lunged, snapping and growling, going for its throat. The griffin didn’t seem to want to engage; it gave her an incredulous look, as if to say, “Seriously?” and beat its wings once, twice. It leaped right over her head, body scraping the ceiling, to land on the other side of the sofa, closer to Lix and the Night Blade.

  All at once, Gareth’s damaged shield stuttered out. Before the griffin could attack, Lix slammed her hand into its beak. There was a faint clink as the glass vial she held broke open, and Raze’s stomach twisted as she saw fire bloom from between Lix’s fingers. It had to be Lix’s Hail Mary game play, her last-resort, get-out-of-jail-free card. The liquid fire potion.

  The griffin went up in flames, this time screaming in pain and fear. Its suffering seemed so real that Raze had to remind herself that it wasn’t actually a living creature. The fire moved fast — Lix hadn’t been kidding when she said the spell was potent. The griffin spread flame-coated wings, and the fire spread with them, embers scattering and catching everywhere the beast touched. Soon the entire place was ablaze. The griffin backed out of the room, and they heard its screech as more and more of the mansion caught fire.

  “Lix, you idiot!” Ben shouted. “Winslow is going to end us. If we don’t kill ourselves first. Come on, we need to get out of here before that thing gets back.”

  Raze shifted, coughing as she inhaled a mouthful of smoke. She gestured at the window, wreathed in tendrils of yellow and red. “And how the hell are we getting out of here?”

  The window she was pointing at cracked, and crumpled, folding in on itself and giving way completely. In its place, thick vines and creepers poured into the room, breaking down more of the wall to create a large opening. A stranger peered in, the man’s irritation stamped plainly across his face.

  “Well?” the stranger said. “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”

  “Works for me.” Gareth shrugged, scooping up one of the vampires with his uninjured arm and heading for the gap. May followed, Ben right behind with the other vampire.

  Lix pushed Raze ahead of her. Raze stumbled through the broken wall and into the back yard, gasping at the clean, fresh air. It was so cold it hurt her lungs, but it felt wonderful. Lix was just climbing through herself, when there was a furious screech from inside. The witch had a split second to cover her head, and then the griffin was on her. It lunged at the sword, still tied to Lix’s backpack. One of its talons tangled in a strap, and then it was dragging Lix backward into the mansion.

  The last thing Raze saw before the flames engulfed Lix was her terrified face as she struggled to get free.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Ben

  Ben pushed the vampire into the stranger’s arms. He made a wild lunge at Lix, and missed. “Go,” he told Gareth. “Get to safety, all of you. I’ll get her.”

  Raze grabbed his sleeve. “Are you crazy? You won’t make it!”

  He shrugged her off and took a deep breath. This was going to suck really badly. He reached for his tattoos, trying to remember which ones still held power. The health ward had some juice, but he’d leave that one for later. His third ward, at the crook of his elbow, was a shield charm. Maybe it would work against fire. He pressed hard on the rune, pouring what little energy he had left into activating it.

  The shield flared up as he plunged into the room. The sofa was now on fire, the carpet a mass of glowing embers. He drew a tentative breath; the shield held, though it sparked around the edges, and the temporary bubble gave him space and air to breathe. He crouched down in the middle of the blaze, trying to see beneath the clouds of thick, acrid smoke.

  He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this. He couldn’t care less about the sword, and he really didn’t want to hand it to Livia Reis. And he hated Lix. At leastthat was what he’d told himself, over and over. But the truth was less black and white. It always was. The last couple of years before he’d left had been bad between them, and then she’d gone and used Gabriel to get to him. Still. Still. “It’s the right thing to do,” he told himself firmly as he scanned the room for signs of Lix.

  He heard the griffin scream again, and then caught sight of it dancing in place. It was trying to trample Lix even as it burned, the spelled fire doing its best to consume everything it touched. The smoke swallowed the scene for a brief instant, but he had a direction now, so he pressed forward on all fours.

  When the black clouds next rolled away, he was right beside Lix. She was kneeling on the carpet, hand held high, her skull ring shielding her with its stored magic. By the fading shimmer of the shield, it wasn’t going to last much longer. The griffin slashed down at Lix viciously with its beak, and then kicked out. Apparently, griffins held grudges. This one didn’t seem to appreciate being set on fire. Ben couldn’t blame it.

  “Lix!” Ben dived toward her, hoping his own protection would hold. Just then, her shield gave way, and the fire-crazed griffin landed hard on the floor in front of her. Lix scooted backward as Ben covered her, already knowing it was too little, too late. His shield ward was for personal protection. It wouldn’t cover the two of them, not for long.

  She looked up at him, her upper torso a mass of burns and slash marks. She looked terrible, blood dripping from multiple gashes from the griffin’s beak and talons, and her skin smelled horribly charred. “Shu’velef me,” she slurred, voice thick and rough from smoke and injury. Tear-tracks trailed down her soot-streaked cheeks. “I wuh—would. F’ws me…”

  Ben could feel his shield weakening. Ahead, the contents of Lix’s ruined backpack were scattered across the floor: potion bottles shattered, food rations crushed, the alexandrite glowing golden in the firelight. The Night Blade was right in front of him. He could grab it and leave. Lix had just said she’d do the same: leave him behind and make a run for it. He could sell the sword to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Livia Reis. Now that Gabi was out of the picture for good, he could move far away, leave this life forever.

  His shield sparked again as he looked around for a way out. He thought of the words he hadn’t been able to say to Gabi. There’s always a choice. And suddenly, his choice was clear. “Yeah, well,” he told Lix, “I’m not you.”

  Ben shuffled forward awkwardly, keeping the shield raised between them and the griffin. His fingers closed around the sword, and shook it from the scabbard. He rose to his knees, dropping the shield just as the griffin came smashing down upon it once again, talons out, its face almost skeletal behind burned flesh.

  The sword went in under the creature’s chin, sliding smoothly. The griffin stopped mid-squawk, light dying from its eyes as it crumpled. The manic expression faded, replaced by something that was almost… peaceful. Then it was gone, smoke rolling across its body and wrapping it in a thick, gray shroud. When the sm
oke rolled back, all that was left was a small golden charm in the shape of a griffin.

  Ben stuck the charm in his pocket, along with the alexandrite. He shoved the sword back in its scabbard. Then he hoisted Lix over his shoulder despite her low cry of pain. “We have to keep down. We can see better that way.” He began to crawl, hoping he was heading in the right direction. He kept one hand tight around the hilt of the Night Blade.

  A shape materialized in the gloom, and sharp teeth caught his sleeve gently. It was Raze. He followed the wolf, concentrating on keeping Lix draped over his shoulders as he crawled. He was pretty sure she was unconscious now. At least she was light, a feather of a thing. He always forgot how little she weighed. Lix was such a solid person, larger than life. It was hard to remember that she was just a teenager under all the layers of clothing and attitude.

  Finally, they made it outside. Raze shifted back, taking the sword to free Ben’s hands so he could lower Lix carefully to the ground. She was out cold, and he was coughing so hard he was bent almost double. Firm hands took Lix from him. He opened his eyes to see May and Gareth.

  Ben staggered after them as they all moved away from the roaring inferno that had once been the Winslow estate. In the distance, sirens wailed. When they reached the safety of the tree line, they stopped. May handed Ben a water bottle, and he downed it all gratefully.

  When he could talk again, he asked, “What about that guy who showed up? Where are the vampires?” His voice was a raw croak, his throat smoke-sore. His mouth tasted of soot.

  “Crazy bastard.” Gareth shook his head. “That was the groundskeeper. Wood nymph. He took one look at the vampires, asked, ‘Dead?’ When we told him it was a spell, that it would wear off on its own, he just grunted and grabbed them, one under each arm. What a fucking trip.”

  May chimed in. “He stared at the house, muttered ‘Winslow doesn’t pay me enough for this shit,’ and took off. We haven’t seen him since.”

  Gareth looked down at Lix, cradled in May’s arms. “We need to get back to the cars. Lix left a whole stash of healing potions back there. We can fix her up, no problem. At least, enough to get her to a proper healer.”

  “Yeah, you guys can do all that.” Ben shook his head. “I’m out. I don’t even want the money. I never did, you know that.”

  “Where’s the sword?” Gareth asked.

  “Raze has it.” Ben turned around, but Raze wasn’t there. “Raze?” he called out. “Raze! Where the heck— She was here a second ago.”

  May was shivering, teeth chattering hard. “It’s co–cold.”

  “I’m not the one who burned all our coats,” Ben replied bitterly. “Look, you two go ahead. Get moving, find the cars, getLix warm. Break out the first aid kit. Raze must have spooked. I’ll find her, and meet you back at the clearing. If I take too long, get moving. Leave me one of the cars, and we’ll catch up.”

  May and Gareth staggered off into the shadows, Lix a limp weight between them. Ben looked around, frowning. Raze had to be here somewhere. She’d been right behind him when they reached the trees. He swept his flashlight over the ground as he traced his own footsteps back to the edge of the woods. The beam caught on a wolf print in a patch of snow.

  So, Raze had shifted. Had she gone to scout out the perimeter? But why would she do that without telling them? And Raze had the…

  Ben froze, staring unseeingly into the black trees. Raze had the Night Blade. And now she was gone. Finn had turned out to be Guild, but what if he wasn’t the only one? “Shit,” he said out loud. “Raze, you numbskull!” If she tried to steal the sword for the Guild, the contract spell would tear her apart. He couldn’t care less what happened to the sword — in fact, it was probably better off in Guild hands. But he liked Raze. She was… she was a friend. He didn’t want to see her die.

  He slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out the contents. The griffin charm, and the alexandrite. The gem could see though illusion spells. Hopefully, it could also see through shifter magic, and help him find a wolf. He slipped the chain over his head, fingers brushing briefly against his mother’s runestone as a blessing of sorts. Then he shined his flashlight on the griffin charm.

  One side was a beautifully intricate carving of the griffin he’d fought and killed. Well, not really killed; how could you kill something that wasn’t alive? Defeated, then. He flipped the charm over. The other side was flat, smooth, uncarved. The only thing there was an unfamiliar rune and a word: serven. Ben was pretty sure it was Middle English — many of the oldest spell books around had been written in the language, and he’d studied it a little. Serven: to serve.

  He didn’t really know much about charms. Was this one single-use? Probably not, not if it was as old as it looked. The ancients had known their stuff. He pressed the rune lightly, feeling power coiling against his touch. He trickled some of his own depleted magic into the rune and spoke the word. “Serven.”

  He almost dropped the charm as it instantly began to grow at speed, unfurling in all directions, gaining muscle mass, skin, fur, and feathers. But some instinct screamed at him not to let go. So he held on, gripping what turned out to be the edge of its wing. Finally, when it was roughly the size of a pony, it stopped growing. It let out a soft, keening sound, almost questioning in nature. Ben channeled a little more of his magic through his fingers, where they held on to the griffin. He could feel the bond between them flaring, lighting up a path from his heart to the beating magical center of the charmed creature.

  “Do you submit?” he asked out loud, fixing his mind on the word of power he’d used to activate the charm. The griffin bowed, beaked head dipping low. Ben took that for the invitation it clearly was, and climbed on, settling in the ridge between the griffin’s neck and its wings. “Fly,” he whispered. The griffin backed out of the woods, and took a running leap, rising in the night sky with a broad sweep of its wings. Ben had a sudden, dizzying view of the burning mansion. His stomach lurched, but in fierce, absolute joy, not fear and terror. He felt free, for the first time in years. He was tempted to just keep on flying, to leave it all behind. And maybe he would do just that. But first…

  “We need to find Raze,” he told the griffin, though he had no idea how much the thing understood. Maybe it read the intention behind his words, through their temporary bond. In any case, it wheeled around and flew close to the treetops, wings a steady beat like a pulse in the dark.

  Ben held up the alexandrite as he searched. He wasn’t too hopeful. But then, just as he had decided the stone was useless, something flashed at the edge of his vision. A bright amber blur, golden as the color of Raze’s eyes. The color of her shifter energy, seen through the gemstone. Raze was still alive.

  “Let’s go and save a wolf,” he told the griffin, and it began a long glide to the ground.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Del

  Del tried not to fidget in her seat, uncomfortably aware of the multitude of gazes upon her. She knew a certain amount of attention was inevitable, after the hearing earlier that evening when she’d presented the Heart Blade to the Court. But this was ridiculous.

  She wondered if news had got around about the attack on her and Elana. Not that there was any evidence of a struggle, besides a mysteriously broken window in an empty alcove. By the time Alex had gone to look, the witch’s body had been moved. Officially, nothing had happened. Someone had worked hard and fast to cover things up. Unofficially, well, there was no knowing who had heard the whispers by now.

  Deacon seemed to have convened all the sentinels he could to surround her. Their table of eight held their party and two sentinels from Ash’s former Chapter: Andrew, and Ash’s cousin Jordan, who kept giving her covert looks and smirked when she caught him staring.

  The two nearest tables were also crowded with sentinels, their golden aura a soft glow in the light that spilled from the crystal chandeliers overhead. Del should have felt safer with so many white-clad, sword-bearing men and women around her. Instead, she felt eve
n more exposed, her safety an obvious issue. She imagined all the gossip that must be spreading around the room. “Why does the Blade Bearer have so much security?” “What happened?” She was thankful she couldn’t hear the commentary.

  But there were other stares, less curious, more knowing. These were the ones that sent prickles up her spine, and had her anxiously twitching her hand under the table until Ash stilled her fingers with his own.

  Some of these came from the half-demons at Shade’s table, who alternated between glaring at Camille and throwing measured looks at Del. This would have been Del’s pack, if things had turned out differently over the summer. If she hadn’t run away, hadn’t met Ash, hadn’t claimed the Heart Blade. She would be a pledged member of the East Coast Hunt by now, forced into her first kill and irrevocably bonded with her demon blood.

  Would the Heart Blade even have chosen her, if she’d let Shade drag her down that path? Del touched her free hand to her chest, relaxing slightly at the reassuring pulse of the Heart Blade inside her chest. She — Del, not Rowan — had been born for this. To claim the Blade, and to fulfill whatever destiny it had in store for her.

  And that was a problem. Because Rowan, apparently, was destined to kill Shade.

  “Hey, relax,” Ash murmured into her ear.

  “Shade’s demons are watching me,” Del said. Reis’ witches were, too, their darting glances hidden behind wineglasses and fake conversation.

  “Everyone is watching you. You’re the celebrity of the hour.”

  “Not helping,” she hissed.

  His thumb was rubbing circles on the back of her hand. “Look at me, Del. Just ignore them, and look at me instead.” His honey-brown eyes were gentle. He smiled softly and she reached up to brush her own thumb across his cheekbone and the faint scattering of freckles that lined it.