Famine's Feast (The Templar Book 4)

by Debra Dunbar

  I cried it out for as long as I needed to, huddled on the floor between the tub and the toilet. I let the shame and humiliation wash over me. Then I put on my big girl panties, and shoved it all into a dark place so I could do what I needed to do. I’m sure it would break free eventually, but right now this hour of sobbing on the bathroom floor was all I’d allow myself.

  The mirror showed my pale skin and nearly colorless lips. It all made the dark circles under my eyes more prominent. My hair was a snarled mess, half torn free from the ponytail during the fight with Simon. I took it all in, then steeling myself for the worst, I pushed aside my hair to look at my neck.

  Donors were left with nearly invisible marks, tiny dots to show where the vampire’s fangs had broken the skin. Blood-slaves sported a more dramatic look, the mark of ownership an obvious bite. I looked like I’d been attacked by a rabid dog. The puncture wounds were jagged and raw, with thick scabs, but around them was a series of other bites, some bruised, others breaking the skin. The whole thing was on a background of crimson that was already beginning to turn purple. Lovely. There was no way I could hide this with makeup. I’d need to be in turtlenecks up to my ears at the coffee shop or have to make up a story of fighting off a pack of Rottweilers. It would be scarves and high-neck shirts for the next few weeks. But I knew that no scarf or turtleneck would hide this from a vampire.

  I’d absolutely planned to tell Dario, but I’d had the faint hope I could keep it from the others. It was bad enough that I’d been bitten, but this was clearly a brutal attack. I was a Templar. I was supposed to be a bad-ass. Yes, vampires were fast and strong, but I was supposed to be more than the average human. I was supposed to be someone they should see as an equal, even fear. And here I’d been fed from like a common donor. I’d been overpowered, bitten like Simon had wanted to chew through my neck.

  It was bad enough that I had to deal with my emotional state about what Simon had done. Now I had to deal with being dropped back into the ranks of just another human. Humans—weak, slow, easily killed, easily manipulated. They were just food. Yes, vampires might sort of love their blood-slaves, but deep down they didn’t respect them. They were fragile creatures to cherish, to provide vampires with both emotional and physical sustenance, but they weren’t worthy of respect.

  I wanted to be respected. As horrible as it sounded, I’d leveraged being a Templar to differentiate myself from the other humans, but behind the sword, I still was a human. And if vampires couldn’t respect humans, then they’d never really respect me. Simon wasn’t an anomaly, he was the norm—just a bit more open about it. They all saw us, and saw me, that way.

  I showered then cleaned the wound, slathering it with antibacterial cream. Since I wasn’t going anywhere today, I piled my hair up on top of my head and just let the wound air. When I came out of the bathroom, I noticed Raven’s whiteboard had been slid over into my path, right where I’d see it.

  Sux.

  I picked up the board to take it into the kitchen. “Understatement of the year. It more than sucks, Raven. Did you see my neck?” Not to mention the wounds that weren’t visible. I wouldn’t tell her about those. I wouldn’t tell anyone about those, although I’m sure Dario as well as any other vampire could guess. It’s what their venom did. One more thing that made humans helpless and weak in their eyes.

  I saw. I know you’re feeling humiliated. That’s what he wants you to feel.

  Well, he succeeded. Yes, he wanted to hurt me, he wanted to humiliate me, he wanted to stamp a visible mark on me and leave me with sensations and memories that probably would never fade.

  “It’s always humiliating to have someone best you and rub your nose in it. I’m sure I’m not the first to feel this way, and I’m sure I’m not the last.”

  Maybe Wolfram was right. What was I doing taking vampires under my wing as my pilgrims? They were soulless predators. There was no salvation for them, for any of them. Did I think I was some pied piper to lead them into the light? I’m sure even the ones in Dario’s Balaj were laughing at me. She’s just like the others. Without her sword, she’s just like all the other humans.

  I reached in the fridge to pull out a soda and some leftover pizza, moving the whiteboard aside to grab a plate.

  He won this round, but one battle isn’t the war. Next time you’ll kill him.

  I threw the pizza in the microwave, thinking about the likelihood that Raven’s statement would come true. With my sword, with the vampires at my back, I might be able to get the upper hand—especially once I got rid of the plague demon and Cerveza abandoned Simon to head home. I glanced up at the cabinet where the soul trap sat behind the box of Ramen and scowled. That was one more thing I needed to do today.

  Could I kill Simon? He was just a vampire, after all. My keychain had caused some pretty gruesome damage to him last night—damage that might not ever heal. I thought of Dario’s scars from when I’d mistakenly attacked him with a cobbled together wooden crucifix and the power of my blessing. My doubt faded away. I could kill him. I was a force to be reckoned with. I was a Templar. I was a human. And I wouldn’t let this arrogant vampire take my city.

  “Yep.” I told Raven. “Next time I’ll kill him.”

  Chapter 32

  Eyeing the setting sun, I sent a quick text to Dario then I called my great-grandmother.

  “What? I’m not using that color. I don’t care. They’re my feet, damn it. Hello? Hello?”

  “Gran? It’s Aria. Are you getting a pedicure or something?” I don’t think I’d ever seen my great-grandmother’s bare feet. Even in the summer, she’d always worn closed-toe shoes.

  “Yes. Your dratted mother insisted, but I’m not having them put some subdued, old-lady polish on my toes. If they’re going to paint me up like a prostitute, then they’re gonna use red. Real red too. None of this coral crap.”

  Oh, Lord. Those poor estheticians. “Can you talk, Gran? Should I call back later?”

  “Sure I can talk. They’re doing my feet right now. When they get to the lipstick I’ll need to hang up. I want red there too.”

  I’m sure she did. “Hey Gran, what do you know about soul traps?”

  “I told you. They’re not soul traps, they’re lelek rakban. They house spirits, not souls. And they don’t trap them.”

  “No, not the figurines, I mean a soul trap like the kind used in death magic when the mage is powering a spell using a human sacrifice that includes the soul.”

  I heard her inhale sharply. “Aria, what are you into? Don’t you go getting involved with people who do death magic. It was bad enough you hanging out with those demon-summoners a few years back. Stick to illusions, child. Can’t go wrong with illusions.”

  “The death mages are all in jail, Gran, and I wasn’t involved with them, I helped put them away. They were doing soul magic, though, and they had a soul trap. Do you know anything about them? I’m trying to figure out how to disable it.”

  “Smash it. Burn it. Drive over it with your car a few times, that’ll do it.”

  “No, Gran. I can’t destroy it. I need to disable it in a way where the box looks untouched and even seems to have the same magic abilities, but when the mage goes to use it, it doesn’t work.”

  She laughed. It was one of those belly-laughs that made me smile and wish I was a little girl again, sitting on her lap and listening to stories of the Turul bird who lived at the top of the Tree of Life, of dragons, clever thieves, and hens that instead of golden eggs laid diamonds.

  “You naughty thing. You’re quite the Till Eulenspiegel. I met him, you know. He proposed to me, but I turned him down. I turned all the men down until I met your great-grandfather.” She sighed. “He was the sort of man who only comes along once in a thousand years.”

  The real Till Eulenspiegel, not the trickster of German folklore, died in 1350. Essie was old, but she wasn’t that old.

  “I miss him, you know. It’s hard, this waiting and searching. I don’t know if I’ll ever find him agai
n.”

  I got misty-eyed at Gran’s words. How difficult to have lived so much longer than her beloved husband. I thought of me and Dario, realizing that he’d go through the same thing when I died, only he’d need to wait a whole lot more than fifty years or so until we met again.

  What was I thinking of? We wouldn’t meet in the afterlife. This time was all we’d have together. He’d given his soul in exchange for immortality, where if the Halloween ceremony went as planned, I’d keep my soul and ascend to a heavenly paradise once I died.

  “I know you miss him Gran.”

  She sighed again. “But you’re not calling me to hear a story of star-crossed lovers. Yes, you can disable the soul trap.”

  My breath caught, hope soared through me. This was going to work. I was going to pull off the con of the century, and it would actually work.

  “Give me that polish. No, not that one I need darker. That purple over there.”

  I wondered what Gran was doing now. Had she gone off on another tangent of nail polish and makeovers? At this rate I’d never get her to focus enough to tell me the ritual.

  “Hold on. No, not you. You keep painting my toes. I’m talking to my great-granddaughter.” I heard a click, then some typing. A few seconds later I saw the notification across the top of my phone screen telling me I had a picture text message.

  “You write that on the box somewhere it won’t be noticed. Don’t use a colored Sharpie, use clear nail polish so this mage can’t see it easily.”

  “Got it. So, what kind of ritual do I use?”

  She snorted. “You mage-types. Everything has got to be complicated. If it doesn’t involve a five pound bag of salt and chalk doodles, you think it won’t work. All it takes is the symbol and intent. That’s it, but if you want to light some candles and dance around, knock yourself out.”

  God, I loved this woman. I hoped she outlived me, because I really couldn’t imagine life without Gran. She was far more of the trickster than Till Eulenspiegel. If they’d gotten married, it probably would have brought about the apocalypse.

  “Thanks Gran. You’re the best.”

  “Don’t you forget it. Love you, girl. See you soon.”

  I hoped so. I hung up with a smile and pulled up the picture text she’d sent. It was a simple symbol written on a napkin in dark purple nail polish. That was it? The symbol Gran sent was one of five used to mark holy places, to basically consecrate and make something holy ground. I’d never known the exact process. That was something only the Elders knew how to do. I’d always assumed that just like in ceremonial magic, there were supplies, a set ritual format, and an incantation that needed to be worded precisely. It seems I was wrong.

  Did I have the power to create a holy place, a spot where no evil could occur, just with my intent, with the strength of my will? With my faith? Gran seemed to think so. Of course, Gran also believed she had received a proposal nearly seven hundred years ago.

  I hoped she was right, because not only were the souls of death magic victims hinging on this, but my own was too.

  “Gran, you’re a genius,” I said to myself. She was. And I was surely crazy, because I was about to do something no sane person would ever consider. I could do this. If I could pull this off, then everything would fall into place. Finally, things were looking up.

  Chapter 33

  I sat on my couch and waited. The sun had slipped behind the buildings, the sky slowly darkening. It was officially night. I knew Dario had things he must do immediately upon waking—check the sick vampires, set up a defensive perimeter, organize the night’s preparations to safeguard the city from the attacks that surely would come. And he’d need to feed.

  I reached up a hand to touch my neck, thinking of how furious Simon was right now. If Jack had any sense, he’d be halfway across the continent. Cerveza would be able to defend himself if the vampire’s wrath turned on him. Although it would be kind of nice if Simon killed the mage. The contract binding the plague demon here would be broken and he’d return to hell. I wouldn’t have to give up the soul trap.

  Simon probably wouldn’t kill the mage. If he tried, he’d most likely get a nasty surprise. That was Simon’s weakness—he underestimated humans. He didn’t think me any different, either. Such hubris would be his downfall. Satan’s sin was pride, and I intended to see that Simon suffered a similar descent into hell.

  Yes, the vampire was probably furious, smashing up the abandoned house and foaming at the mouth as he ranted and screamed. I felt a moment of panic wondering if he’d come for me. It wouldn’t be too hard to find out where I lived. Was this bite like a homing beacon? Would he show up, burst through my doorway, and drag me back? I shoved down my fear. If he did, then he’d die at the point of my sword. I wasn’t weak, and I wasn’t about to let him bite me again.

  I felt like something scraped off the bottom of a dumpster. In spite of the aspirin, adequate hydration, a nap and food, I was exhausted and shaky. The hangover feeling I’d had all day now was accompanied by something else—something that pissed me off. I was hungry, a gnawing need at the edge of my awareness. The aching at the wound site, the hangover feeling, the anemic exhaustion were all bearable, the hunger wasn’t. I hated craving something that had been a horrible, painful experience. I hated the constant reminder of being vulnerable, being powerless to defend myself. And I hated that my body wanted more.

  My door swung open. I spun around, knowing it was Dario but unable to keep back a quick moment of fear. I’d texted him that I needed to see him, that Lawrence was confirmed to be a traitor. I told him I’d met with the mage and had a deal that would put us one step closer to healing the infected vampires.

  I didn’t tell him what Simon had done. He froze, one foot over the threshold. His eyes darkened with a cold fury. It seemed I wouldn’t have to tell him after all. He hadn’t even seen my neck and he knew.

  “Ran into a bit of trouble last night.” I tried to make light of it, play it off casually. That look on his face was scaring me. “Things got dicey there for a while, but I escaped. I’m fine.”

  “Let me see.” He was across the room and in front of me before I could take a breath. I flinched, his speed bringing forth a memory I didn’t want to have. I pulled my hair up in a tie and turned so he could view the full palette of colors on my neck.

  “You think this is bad, you should see the other guy,” I joked. It was all I knew how to do at this point. Maybe if I made light of it, it wouldn’t haunt me. Maybe joking would take away the humiliation I’d suffered.

  Dario hissed. I felt a gentle finger trace the jagged skin that fangs had torn.

  “Seriously. I couldn’t get to my sword, but I punched a ton of holes in his face and neck with my keychain. It’s blessed. Honestly I think his neck probably looks worse than mine right now.”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Yes, well you’ll have to get in line because I have first dibs.”

  “Poaching is a crime. He knew you were mine, and he took you.”

  Okay, this wasn’t the Dario I needed tonight. In fact, he was starting to piss me off. “First off he bit me, he didn’t rape me.”

  “He did rape you. Blood rape is still rape. It’s worse in my eyes. And the only reason he did that to you is because you’re mine.”

  Yep. I was officially pissed off. “He hurt me, I hurt him. There was no “taking.” Secondly, this talk of poaching and who owns what human has to stop. Simon might think I’m your property to break and throw back in your face, but I expect better from you. There is no poaching here. I’m not a special deer in a giant hunting preserve that you’ve been saving for Thanksgiving dinner. Simon and I are enemies. He won this battle, and we both walked away with wounds. Next time I’ll win, and he won’t be walking away at all.”

  “I’ll kill him. Personally. I’ll make it agonizingly slow. I’ll make him beg for death.”

  Was he not hearing a word I said? I pulled the hair band out and let the dark brown locks
fall, partially hiding my neck.

  “I can fight my own battles. I’ll take care of my own revenge. You make sure any infected vampires are locked up and that Simon’s family doesn’t take the city. Okay? Yes, fight Simon if you come across him in battle, but don’t go racing off with some harebrained idea of defending your damaged property. Got it?”

  He stepped back giving me some space to turn and look at him. His eyes were still fierce, but not lost. I think my words were beginning to reach him.

  “He marked you, do you understand that? He claimed you. Bites broadcast a scent specific to the vampire. It’s how we know which humans have been fed from in the last six to eight weeks. It’s also how we know which humans are marked, claimed as belonging to one of us.”

  I’d had enough of this. The guy bit me. He’d assaulted me, and made me feel some things I really didn’t want to feel at the time, but that’s all it was. This ownership, claiming, property crap had to end, now.

  “He bit me, he doesn’t own me. It’s no different than if he shot me, or stabbed me. It’s an assault.”

  “It’s more than that. I’m trying to explain it to you. He’s claimed you as his. It’s not just a common blood-donor bite. That’s the type of scent we stamp on our blood-slaves. That kind of bite signals a blood-slave. It’s like…a wedding ring.”

  My mouth dropped open. I’d shut my eyes tight to the whole blood-slave relationship, buried my ethical issues about the practice, but this was going too far. This was so far from marriage, it was laughable. And for him to actually compare the two made me see red.

  “A wedding ring only one of the parties wears,” I shot back. “There’s no corresponding mark on the vampire, so don’t try to dress this up as a partnership between equals. It’s a brand you use to mark your cattle, your exclusive dinner for however long they last. And just to make sure they stick around, you turn them into addicts, with your venom as the drug.”