by Debra Dunbar
His eyes narrowed. “Make it fast. And I’m going to be really pissed if you kill me.”
Yeah, that would upset me, too. “I’m not going to hit you with it full force. I just want to see if you’re excluded from the area of effect or not. Worst case scenario is you have some minor pain.”
I hated to do this, but needed to know if this spell was going to work or not. And if it was going to wind up putting vampires in their graves as well as the spirits.
Dario folded his arms across his chest, still looking unconvinced. “Okay. But if I say ‘stop’, you need to end the spell. Got it?”
“Got it.”
I left my sword on the table, and motioned Dario to follow me over next to the window. Mindful of his impatience to get out of here, I gathered my supplies and set them up around the room.
“Stand as close to the bookcases as you can,” I instructed, lighting the candles and tracing a symbol in salt around each one. “The incense is going to burn out fast. Let me know if you feel any discomfort or…anything.”
Dario raised an eyebrow, watching as I lit the tiny button of incense.
“Durmir unha vez.” To my eye, nothing happened. But since there wasn’t a ghost or spectral being within the confines of the candlelit circle, that wasn’t surprising. “Can you feel it?”
“Yes,” Dario squinted. “It hurts my chest. It’s a sort of pressure, and sharp prickling feeling combined.”
That wasn’t good. If he felt the pull of the spell from the outside, then vampires would most definitely be affected by it. Somehow I’d need to keep the vampires on the outside and the spirits on the inside as I lit the incense. Not easy given that the spirits would be attacking the vampires, and thus right on top of them.
“Can you enter the circle? Cross the line of salt?”
Dario raised a hand to shield his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? I can feel it from here. There’s no way I’m going to come any closer.”
He had a point. I sighed. “This will banish the spirits. Bam. Gone for the night. The only hitch is that you all can’t be in the house when I’m doing it.”
The incense fizzled into ash, and I began to extinguish the candle flames.
Dario frowned. “Just give it up, Aria. We’ll take care of this.”
I wasn’t about to give this up. “No. I’ll spend the night researching this. Is there someone from your Balaj that you can send over to help? I promise nothing will happen to him. I just need someone to tell me how the spells are working from a vampire perspective.”
“Fine. Just make sure he can get home before sunup.”
I watched Dario leave. He was angry and rightly so. There was a chance that even if I made this work he’d never trust me again.
But that was something I could cry over another day. I had to hurry. If Leonora refused to abandon her house and more vampires died tonight, there was a good chance tomorrow evening would start with Russell’s murder. Vampires had humans who assisted them—and not just gangs they partnered with. Blood slaves could assist the Balaj until the point in their service where they got too weak. And there were Renfields.
Far from the bug-eyed sycophants of films, Renfields were vampire wannabes who acted in the interests of the Balaj during daylight hours. No exchange of blood took place until they received their ultimate reward—being turned and taking their place in the hierarchy of the vampire family. While vampires slept, Renfields guarded, did research, and broke whatever legs needed breaking. I had no doubt that if Dario didn’t convince Leonora to give me this twenty-four hours, she’d know Russell’s name by sundown, and he’d be dead shortly after.
Yanking books back off the shelves I sorted through them. Three grimoires in Greek, Latin, and Armenian. Mercer’s All Things Undead. Van Petersen’s Grave Tidings. Lawrence and Singtha’s Beyond the Veil. It was a good start in my search for a spell that would send the dead to their graves without killing the very beings I wanted to protect.
This was going to require more than research, though. I was going to need to make a phone call. And scrounge up some food, I thought as my stomach grumbled. Those French fries and the pickle seemed days ago, and I’d left my dollar and spare change as a tip for Russell. Which left me facing a night of research with a cup of Ramen noodles.
If only I still had my Emergency Beer.
Chapter 21
HOW ABOUT THIS one?”
“Nah. Thanks, though.” I didn’t have to look at the book the vampire was holding out. In the last hour she’d suggested a Woodsman spell, a Siren protection amulet, and a scroll of blue fire, no doubt because she couldn’t read the Latin and was mainly going off the engraved, woodcut illustrations.
Dario had sent me a female vampire named Opal. Her ebony skin gleamed in the light of my apartment, her natural hair a poof of wooly black. I’ll admit I’d had some envy of her long legs and thin figure. As pretty as she was, I was sure she had no problem at all finding blood donors.
“Are you sure? This one says care-ooolea-um Ignatius.”
“Caeruleum ignis.” I glanced over at the book to confirm. “Blue fire. It has to do with dragons.”
“Dragons? No shit, there are really dragons?”
So asks a vampire. I glanced up at Opal before turning back to my own text, one that actually dealt with undead instead of giant reptilian beings. “Yes, there are dragons. And put your fangs away.”
“Sorry.” The fangs disappeared with a snick. “I’ve got a thing for dragons. Say, you don’t know any, do you? Would they be interested in a kinky vampire girl?”
“No, they’d steal all of your stuff then eat you.” I glanced at her again. Opal was a bit of a pain, but she’d proven herself to be very eager to help in all my various magical experiments tonight. I looked over at my clock, wondering how much longer I had until Opal had to return.
“I’m good for another hour,” she announced, carefully placing the book back on the shelf. “Do you wanna try that smoke thing again?”
The one that nearly combusted my vampire helper? I don’t think so.
“The protective radius one showed promise. Let’s try it with a modification of the End Times spell.”
She grimaced. “If you weren’t the boss’s blood slave, I’d never have signed up for this.”
That very liquid in my veins ran cold. Blood slave? Not in this lifetime. “Leonora hired me to do some research for her. I’m not her blood slave.”
Opal laughed. “I know. You’re hardly her type. She likes the soft, cuddly blond ones. I mean Dario. He asked for volunteers and we all practically staked each other for the privilege.”
I sat the Undead in the New World aside, and turned my attention to the leggy vampire, not sure what shocked me most—that the vampires wanted to work with me, or that she’d assumed I was already Dario’s blood slave. I went with the latter revelation first.
“What makes you think I’d ever allow Dario to feed from me, let alone start a short and deadly relationship with him?”
The vampire folded her arms across her chest, fangs peeking out once more as her eyes roamed down my form. “Are you kidding me? He’s smokin’ hot. Everyone says that you can’t keep your eyes off him, and he practically beat Federico to death last night when he smelled your blood on his breath.”
Somehow it was very gratifying that Dario had whupped my assailant. But it wasn’t so gratifying that because of it, everyone assumed I belonged to him.
“Dario told everyone hands-off you last week. Federico is lucky he isn’t dead. Poaching blood slaves, even ones who haven’t been marked yet, is a cardinal sin.”
Nice to know, although I was hoping to make it through this life without ever becoming anyone’s blood slave.
“And you called him boss?”
Her gaze jerked to the window, muscles tightening. “I didn’t…Leonora’s our Mistress. Dario is kind of a second-in-command. I shouldn’t have called him that. Some of the blood slaves do because he interacts more with them and
the newer vampires than the Mistress does. And he helped me after my maker was killed.”
I took a more careful look at Opal, her dress, easy use of modern slang, and ever-appearing fangs. “When were you turned?”
“Seventy-two. Nineteen seventy-two, that is. I was Chantal’s blood slave for two months. We got a little carried away one night and she honored me with immortality.”
From what I’d read it was a rarity. Turning a human required approval, and it took a terrible toll on the maker. “When did Chantal die?”
Opal’s youthful exuberance faded, her smile sad. “Three decades ago, when Leonora became Mistress. Chantal had been Master Aubin’s blood sister, and she stood with him in the battle.”
“And you didn’t?” I should have been working on spells, not wasting precious night hours digging up this vampire’s past, but I was curious.
“I was too young and weak to fight. Normally I would have been culled. No vampire wants to take on the burden of a newly turned child, especially one that was the offspring of an opponent. I’m grateful to Dario for letting me live.”
Okay, the guy was beginning to sound like a saint, at least in the eyes of these vampires. Which made me wonder why he hadn’t taken over the Balaj after the coup. I was no judge of vampire power, but I got the feeling he wasn’t far behind Leonora when it came to mojo.
“Why didn’t Leonora shelter you? I’d assume that would have been one of her first deeds as Mistress.” I know it would have been mine. Conquering a group of people didn’t end well unless you could get them to see you less as a violent ruler, and more as a benevolent one. And yeah, we Templars had learned that one the hard way.
Opal laughed, reaching out a finger to caress the spine of an ancient grimoire. “Leonora is old world, she’s…French old world. I don’t think it ever crossed her mind to consider what might happen to the young or the weak. The Balaj was in a bad state back then, too. There were external threats to our territory as well as divisions within the family. Her first priority was to show herself as a strong leader—one who could fight off rogue bands from outside the city and force our human partners into compliance.”
“How do you pick your leader? Leonora didn’t sire most of you. What makes her Mistress as opposed to someone else?”
“Age, power, leadership ability, charisma.” Opal shrugged. “I don’t really know much more than that, just that after the coup Leonora came out on top and she’s stayed that way without any internal challenges since.”
Which spurred my next question. “What would happen if there was an internal challenge?”
The vampire’s hand stilled, her voice tight as she replied. “Someone would die. No one gives up leadership. None of us would respect a fallen leader. It’s kill or be killed.”
“Or exile?” It seemed like a viable alternative.
Her head lifted, brown eyes serious as they met mine. “That’s death. The rogue bands outside the territory would be merciless. An exiled vampire lives in constant readiness for attack.”
Well hopefully Dario wouldn’t get any ideas. And I needed to get back to work and stop pumping this young vampire for information. Time was ticking away. That sort of research could wait until later.
“Protective Radius with modified End Times.”
Opal sighed and got to her feet. “I heal fast, but my hair doesn’t. Just be careful because bald isn’t a good look for me and I’m young enough that I need every feminine wile I’ve got to attract prey.”
This time Opal felt no adverse effects. Finally I’d found a spell that worked…sort of. End Times wasn’t a simple or quick spell, I’d altered an old Templar blessing that sent restless spirits back to the grave to await the day of reckoning. The only problem was each restless spirit had to be banished by name. This fact meant none of the vampires would be harmed, but it also meant I needed to know the name of every specter or they’d remain.
I knew three. Maybe four if Shay had finally shown up. Which left six or more spirits remaining.
“I’ve got to get going.” I looked over to see Opal sling her huge bag over one shoulder. “It was fun, girlfriend. Give me a shout if you need any more help.” She winked, her hand on the doorknob. “Or if you’ve got any friends looking for a fun night with a vampire. Male, female, I’m not picky.”
That was so not going to happen, but Opal had been a big help and an entertaining, if rather exhausting, companion tonight. I waved her out and turned back to my spell. I had something to use. And I had enough time to grab a two hour catnap.
Tonight, once the vampires arose, I was going to fight this thing head on. Although this time I was going to need human assistance. Namely Janice and Rob.
Chapter 22
I’D SENT A quick e-mail to Janice before going to sleep, figuring her job at the paper would afford her greater research avenues than my generic internet searches. Since I didn’t have Rob’s number, I’d need to hope he was working tomorrow and swing by the records office after work.
It was a lot to squeeze into one day. Work, Rob, Janice, and then preparation for tonight’s spell. I also needed to try to meet Russell and make every effort to convince him that justice had been served. The fact that I was doing all this research and spell prep was a big clue as to how I thought the meeting with the necromancer was going to go.
If all that wasn’t enough to make me toss and turn for my two precious hours of sleep, I was worried about the vampires—well, one vampire in particular. I hadn’t heard from Dario, and Opal had refused to contact him saying they’d been told to only call in case of emergency. I assumed someone would have clued her in if a massacre had occurred and she had no safe home to return to. Or maybe not. Who would call if they’d all been killed or severely injured? Had they stayed away from Leonora’s house or stubbornly decided to make a stand? Had the vengeful spirits attacked again? How much damage had they caused? How many vampires had been killed this time? Was Dario okay?
And how was I going to fare tonight when I didn’t get any sleep at all and had a day, and night, full of activities? I was going to find out.
I grabbed a quick shower, breakfasted on a stale piece of bread with the scrapings of margarine that remained in the tub, then loaded my sword in the car. One of my tasks after Opal left had been to put enough enchantments on my weapon that I could feel safe leaving it in my car without worrying that someone would break in and steal it. Let’s just say anyone trying it would get a severe burn, and nightmares about hydras for weeks.
Trusty also had a modified version of my “yucky face” spell. I needed to be able to carry the big-ass sword around in public without getting arrested, but didn’t want people feeling like they were going to throw up every time they saw it. I had no luck in getting dates now, I’d have even less of a chance with the equivalent of a dead groundhog covered in barf strapped to my back.
I wasn’t about to try out the sword’s spell at work where failure would cost me my job, so Trusty stayed in the car while I brewed coffee and stirred up fancy lattes for the good citizens on their way to work. Wednesday. Payday was Friday, and I had nothing but a dozen packs of Ramen in my house. My situation had become so dire that I was eyeing the pastries in the cabinet, wondering if any of them were destined for the garbage can today.
I had no hope of getting payment from the vampires, although if I managed to take care of their necromancer problem, I was going to have a serious talk with Dario about collecting what I’d been promised. Seriously. As I frothed milk, I was busy thinking of what hexes I might threaten the vampires with if they didn’t pay up. It’s not like I could garnish their wages, or attach a lien to their assets or anything. No, my debt collection efforts would need to be of the magical kind.
I raced out of the coffee shop at eleven-thirty and headed toward the Inner Harbor, where I was pleased to see that no one batted an eye at the sword on my back. The day was heating up to be a scorcher. Hot waves shimmered off the blacktop. Tourists down midweek for a summer day
off were glowing with sweat. Children danced about in lawn sprinklers, sheltering under store awnings and canopies to avoid the sun.
The sword on my back, even in its leather sheath, felt like it had just been brought out of the forge. Once again I lamented that Templars hadn’t updated to the use of handguns. Sure, we trained in all modern weaponry, but our lives were linked to the sword. Of course, I’m not sure how I could use a pistol to aid in a blessing or in establishing a protective area. The thought of me in chain mail, kneeling to place a gun muzzle downward before making the sign of the cross was amusing.
And it was all about the cross. Our swords mirrored that shape, complementing the theme of our holy mission. That fateful Christmas Day so long ago the pope had granted us our charter, but a higher authority had been the one who bestowed us with our skills. In return, we pledged our lives in service.
Nearly a thousand years later, what had that vow become? We kept the Temple safe, kept dangerous magical objects from use. I’m sure that wasn’t what God intended when His messenger gave us our holy mission. Security guards. Research that no one ever came to us for. No more pilgrims. Why were we still here? Why hadn’t we all been killed that Friday the thirteenth when pope and king turned on us? What use were Templars in a modern world?
There was a line to get into the aquarium, people milling about aboard the Constellation, admiring the rigging and weaponry of the old sailing ship. I walked past to the water’s edge and sat down, sliding the sword from my back and pulling it from the sheath.
So far so good. No one was screaming and running. I hadn’t been arrested as a suspected terrorist. People went about their business as if I wasn’t sitting on the dock of the bay holding a thirty inch blade in my hands.
The sun reached its zenith and I began, scribing the runes on the blade as I chanted. When they covered both sides, I raised the sword to the noonday sun.
