Breed: Slayer

by Sandra Seymour

  I look from my paltry collection of chemicals to his vest, and realise he’s better equipped than me to set the final explosion, so I do as he tells me, making my way into the passage then waiting for him. As the seconds tick by and my anxiety mounts, two things dawn on me.

  First, Father Patrick clearly has more than a working knowledge of explosives, Second, he’s been wearing a vest loaded with C4 throughout the battle. Quidel and Faruk were right; Patrick can take care of himself.

  As I’m thinking this, he appears around the corner at a slow trot, waving me on. I turn slowly, wanting to put myself between him and the explosion all the same, but as he draws level with me, he grabs my arm and pulls me alongside him.

  “Not far enough.”

  A few steps later, the ground starts to rumble and the passage walls shake. There’s a moment’s dead silence, followed by a series of ear-splitting crashes, followed by numb, dead air. The ground falls away behind us and we stop running.

  When the dust settles, we make our way back down the passage to make sure the job is done. It is blocked with rubble.

  “That’s not going to keep them out long,” I complain to Patrick as we make our way out into the sanctuary.

  “Ah, don’t worry about that,” he waves a hand in a dismissive gesture, “Tatal will take care of it. They won’t be finding the entrance for a fair while.”

  AS WE EMERGE from the mountain into the sanctuary, my eyes are drawn to a group of vampires. At the centre are Jax and Nell, being led by the arms.

  “What will they do with them?”

  “What you do with prisoners. Lock ‘em up, I suppose, till they decide what to do with ‘em.”

  “But the cells are ...” I point over my shoulder, back to where I was held when we first arrived. It seems forever ago, but it was really only a week.

  “Oh, there are others. Of course, the ones this side of the mountain are more secure.”

  Seeing the look of horror on my face, his own expression softens into a grin.

  “Don’t worry, lass, they’re also a little more spacious. Come on, let’s go see what the damage is.”

  I follow Patrick down into the valley, too tired and numb to digest any more information, or ask any more questions.

  WELL BEFORE SUNSET, the place is buzzing with activity. I’ve finally been able to take a bath in a bathroom the size of a house that I can only describe as sumptuous, and that’s not doing it justice. The taps are gold, the raised bath in the centre of the room could pass for a small swimming pool, and the towels are so soft and thick I want to stay cocooned in them forever.

  I can’t, of course, and so eventually I change into my last set of clean jeans and t-shirt, rubbing my wet hair between my hands before dragging a brush through the tangle of knots in it. There are no mirrors here, and the band I tied it back with is beyond redemption, so I simply run my fingers through it and shake my head, allowing my auburn locks to fall where they will and hoping for the best.

  When I emerge, I am filled with relief to see Tilda looking completely revived. Her hair is insanely well behaved, her trademark powder-blue dress fitting and flowing in all the right places. I feel decidedly shabby and insignificant in comparison. She’s looking me up and down and tutting, my self-assessment reflected in her expression.

  “That will never do,” she holds out her arms to me. A simple, low-cut ivory gown is draped across them. Not the sort of thing I had ever imagined wearing. I open my mouth to tell her that, then remember I told myself I would have to do something to make up for my ill-treatment of her. Suppressing a shudder, I go back into the bathroom and change again.

  “Much better,” She smiles her approval and holds out her arm out to me.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Council.”

  I guess I have to plead for Jax and Nell’s lives or something.

  WHEN WE ENTER the chamber, it’s huge and dimly lit. As the massive doors clang closed behind us, I take in the scene.

  At the opposite end of the room are three, well, thrones, I guess, on a raised platform with three steps leading up to them. They’re not fancy or ornate, but they are massive. Quidel sits in the middle one, Falk to his left and Alaric to his right.

  Along either side of the room are rows of long benches. The Moroi vampires sit nearest the thrones, with the Strigoi nearer to the door, and the humans nearer still. The Dowager I l, her stern gaze levelled on me, sits beside Falk’s wife and sons to the left. As much as I want to look away, I feel as if my eyes are glued to hers.

  Howard steps towards us and holds out his arm. I hook my free arm through it. He and Tilda escort me the length of the room, which seems to be getting longer by the second. I think we’re never going to get there.

  Eventually, we are standing at the bottom of the steps. Tilda releases my arm, and climbs the steps, bending to her knee at Falk’s feet.

  She bows her head. “Tatal.”

  Falk nods and she moves aside.

  “The word you need is ‘domnul,’ Maxi,” Howard whispers before letting go of my other arm and following Tilda.

  He kneels before Falk. “Bunicul.”

  Falk nods again.

  Tentatively, and just hoping I don’t trip over this damned dress, I climb the steps when Howard moves to join Tilda. I kneel.

  “Domnul,” I say, and look up at Falk.

  He still has that quizzical look on his face, and it seems like forever before he responds. I hold my breath, waiting.

  Instead of nodding, Falk stands. He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. Then he raises my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips against it. He steps down onto the same level as me, still holding my hand high between us.

  “Welcome, Moroaica fiica.”

  He declares it to the room in general rather than to me, and a murmur of surprise spreads around the room. He proceeds to lead me on a circuit of the room. I’m not sure whether the proclamation that I am Moroi with no reference to Sange or Cursa is what has caused the reaction, or whether it’s that he announced me as his daughter, rather than granddaughter or the more general copil, “child,” but the faces of the assembled Moroi, Strigoi and humans make it clear this was not expected. For the most part, it’s not a welcome development.

  As we reach the platform on the other side of the room, we pass Dillon and Faruk. Standing beside them is Father Patrick.

  “Thought you weren’t joining The Coven?” Dillon whispers the jibe as we approach.

  Faruk elbows him in the ribs. I raise my shoulders and shake my head. I have no idea what is going on.

  When we complete the circuit, Falk turns me and we climb the stairs again. Tilda is standing on the bottom one, Howard on the second. As we reach the third, Falk releases my hand, with a push towards them. I stand beside Howard on the third step, hoping I’m not doing anything wrong.

  When Falk settles back into his seat, Faruk walks away from Dillon and Father Patrick and approaches Quidel. He kneels before him.

  “Tatal.”

  “Fiul,” Quidel nods, and Falk steps aside.

  Next, I expect it to be Dillon’s turn. Instead, Father Patrick climbs the steps, kneels and greets Quidel.

  “Tatal.”

  “Welcome back, Fiul,” Quidel nods again.

  Father Patrick moves to Faruk’s side, and he steps down to make way for him.

  “How come he doesn’t get a tour of the room?” I whisper out of the side of my mouth to Howard.

  “He has already been recognised.”

  “So is that what that was? Does that mean I’ve been,” the word catches in my throat, “recognised? By the coven?”

  Howard nods, and Tilda shushes us.

  “How come Patrick goes before Dillon?” I ask as Dillon climbs the steps and kneels. “Shouldn’t he have gone first, oldest to youngest?”

  “Shush,” Tilda frowns, and I shut up. Howard and Tilda exchange sly smiles.

  “Tatal.” Dillon says.

  “Fiul,” Qu
idel stands, and extends his arm to Dillon. They each grip the other’s forearm by the elbow before turning and setting off round the room.

  I bite my tongue, not wanting to draw attention to myself and project into Howard’s mind. ‘So how come he doesn’t get a welcome back, but he does get to walk round?’

  ‘He chose to leave, he was never expelled, so he does not need the welcome, he always was.’

  ‘It didn’t look like that to me,’ I shoot a look at Alaric, who is watching the proceedings with a stony face. ‘So how come he needs to be recognised? Surely they all know who he is?’

  ‘Will you two be quiet,’ Faruk’s voice interrupts, ‘before you get us all into trouble.’

  ‘Well, I would, if someone would tell me what’s going on,’ I think sulkily, and they both chuckle.

  Quidel has returned to his throne, and Dillon is standing opposite me on the top step, beside Father Patrick and Faruk. Nobody is moving.

  ‘Well?’ I aim the thought at Howard, but it’s Dillon’s voice I hear in my head now.

  ‘Now we wait.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For the blessings of the ascended.’

  I look around the room, my eyes drawn involuntarily to the Dowager. Her eyes are closed, her jowls drooping and her mouth down turned. I can’t see anything other than the assembled vampires, though. I try sensing instead, but there is still nothing.

  ‘How do we know if we have it?’

  ‘Let’s just say we’d know soon enough if we hadn’t,’ Dillon is amused, but serious.

  After what feels like hours, but is probably only a minute or two, both Falk and Quidel stand. As Falk turns to walk towards me, and Quidel towards Dillon, Howard takes my hand gently.

  ‘Remember, the next part is entirely voluntary. No one will think any less of you if you are not ready.’

  Ready for what?

  ‘Just follow my lead,’ Dillon thinks, ‘and everything will be fine.’

  ‘Or tell him where to shove it, and marry me?’ Faruk quips, adding quickly. ‘Only joking, bro, you’re going to have your hands full with that one.’

  ‘Do any of you ...’ Tilda asks exasperated, ‘know the meaning of the word silence?’

  Now I understand, or at least I think I do. Tilda and Howard are my witnesses. They approached Falk in order of rank, first Tilda then Howard, and addressed him for what? Permission? Falk gave his blessing with a nod only, because they are Strigoi, I guess. Or maybe becasue he’s not fully behind the idea. Faruk and Patrick are Dillon’s witnesses, deserving of a verbal response according to some ancient vampire lore because of their blood birth. Quidel’s welcome to Patrick must have been a message to the other Moroi that a repeat of his earlier treatment would be unacceptable. The trip around the room must have been a parading of the intended, and the pause the equivalent of the “speak now or forever hold thy peace” part.

  My heart starts racing. Howard may have said no one would think any less of me if I wasn’t ready for this, but would they? If not, it’s only because they think so little of me now; nothing I could do would make it any worse.

  As the four of us come together in the middle of the platform, we stand. Dillon is opposite me, and Quidel and Falk stand to either side.

  “Tatal,” Dillon turns and bows his head to Quidel, who bows to meet him. Their foreheads touch, then they stand again.

  “Fiul,” Quidel acknowledges the greeting.

  Dillon turns to Falk and offers the same salute.

  “Fiul,” Falk replies after the bow.

  Dillon looks expectantly at me, and when I fail to comprehend he nods towards Falk.

  “Tatal?” I bow, just hoping I wasn’t supposed to say “Domnul,” instead. After all, he called me daughter, so shouldn’t that mean the right word is father rather than lord? Falk’s forehead touches mine, and I feel a rush of energy, the skin tingling where his touches mine.

  ‘You are, now and always, my daughter, in blood. Before these witnesses, I give you freely, if it is your wish.’

  Falk’s thoughts are clear. I get the feeling he is projecting them, not just to me, but to the whole room. For the first time I become aware of all the other minds in the room, and wonder if they have been listening to our whole conversation, or even worse, to my thoughts. I hope not. Then he stands away from me, and I raise my head.

  “Fiica.”

  I don’t need any prompting to turn to Quidel and say, “Tatal.”

  As our foreheads touch, I feel the same force, but amplified. My face tingles and the spot where his skin rests against mine feel like it is on fire. Quidel’s voice is clear in my head.

  ‘You are, now and always, my daughter, in blood. I welcome you warmly, if it is your wish.’

  “Fiica,” Quidel’s delight is obvious, pride beaming from his face.

  I turn to face Dillon.

  “Sotia,” he says, extending his hands.

  I take his hands, and we touch foreheads. Power flows between us, but I am surprised to find it is more like the dull tingling sensation I got from Falk, and not the burning of Quidel’s touch.

  ‘You are, now and always, my equal, in blood,’ I feel him willing me not to contradict him. He squeezes my hands, ‘I join with you eternally, if it is your wish.’

  I’m expecting him to break the connection and stand, but he doesn’t. He’s waiting for something, and squeezes my hands again, relaxing his grip when the pain registers. I guess this is the “I do” part, but somehow that’s just not going to work.

  I’m aware of the multitude of other minds listening in, and they’re all waiting for a response. I try to separate a tiny part of my mind, to keep my thoughts private from all but Howard.

  ‘Is this really what I think it is? Are you sure its voluntary? I mean, this bunch are not my biggest fans as it is.’ My panic is clear.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Howard’s voice is a reassurance. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have replied if my thoughts had projected to the whole room. ‘It’s just the first step. A betrothal. If you agree, your allegiance will be transferred officially from the Tornicasa to the Elizondo clan, and you will be under Quidel’s protection. Before you can marry, you must live as a member of his household for one year, at least.’

  The pressure of Dillon’s hands on mine against reminds me that he and the rest of the room are still waiting for my answer. I hope it’s what they’re expecting, because I can’t think of anything better.

  ‘It is my wish.’

  I must have got it right, because Dillon breaks the connection and straightens, and I follow suit. Vampires don’t cheer, but I can feel the collective relief in the room.

  “Sortul?” I say as Dillon pulls me in and places a kiss on my forehead. I rest my head against his chest for a moment, and feel at peace. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.

  As the formality of the ceremony gives way to a more informal gathering, Dillon lifts my chin and plants a warm gentle kiss on my mouth.

  “Don’t worry,” he pulls away, and wraps his arm around my waist, “we’ll do the whole human thing for Libby. She’s recovering quite well, according to Patrick, but she’s not ready for this yet.”

  He sweeps his head in a circle to encompass the whole room. He’s probably right. I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

  “So if you’re a Sange Moroi, what was all that about watching those you love die and finding a new family?”

  I’m prepared to overlook a lot, but I’m not letting him off that easily.

  “Ah. Those were memories borrowed from my brother. Finding him and bringing him to the sanctuary of The Coven was one of the first things I did when I left. It really is a beautiful country. You must see it someday.”

  “I thought Patrick was Irish? Doesn’t sound much like a Native American name to me.”

  “Ah, well, he didn’t think “Plays With Snakes” would help him fit in, you see.”

  “And what about all the vampires you’ve killed? How can you justify that?�
��

  Dillon’s face crumples into a deep frown, and now the resemblance to Quidel is so obvious, I can’t believe I missed it.

  “Think about it. Did you ever see me kill anyone?”

  Of course I haven’t, but I can’t believe he’s fooled Sam for two centuries without spilling a drop of blood.

  “I didn’t say I’d never hurt anyone,” Dillon’s eavesdropping on my thoughts makes me wish I had Faruk’s skill at blocking him out, but I push the thought aside as he continues, “Maxi, I’ve had to watch countless numbers die at The Breed’s hands, and save a few here and there as I could, but it was worth it to keep some kind of lid on their vendetta. And I’ve managed to spring quite a few slayers over the years, too.”

  “That’s what you were trying to do? Spring me? Then why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Sorry. I had to be sure of you. You are, after all, quite a hot-head, and not very good at guarding your thoughts.”

  As if to prove him right, my eyes narrow and I feel a brief surge of anger, but I’m too happy to let it spoil the moment.

  “Well, if you think I’m popping out half a dozen little bloodsuckers in some altruistic attempt to populate the new vampire nation, you’re in for a shock.”

  He just laughs and pulls me in tighter. “I don’t think we need to worry about any of that just yet.”

  “SO, WHAT HAPPENS now?” I ask as Faruk claps a hand on Dillon’s shoulder and congratulates him.

  “Well done, brother Apron.” he laughs, wiping the tears from his eyes.

  “Apron?”

  “Sortul? You called him sortul, not sotul, “apron,” instead of “husband.” Maybe there’s hope for me yet. Aah,” he says, blinking the last of the water from his eyes as I land a punch on his arm, “you have no idea how happy I am to see you, brother. Just in time for father’s ascension, too.”

  “I’m afraid that may have to wait a while longer,” Dillon’s face turns serious. “There’s still a lot of work to be done if we’re going to turn the tide and prevent The Breed from overrunning us completely. Yesterday was just the beginning, I fear.”