by Debra Dunbar
“Shay?” His voice trembled, his eyes desperate as they looked down at the girl.
The young vampire continued to draw on the floor as if she didn’t even hear him.
“Bella,” Suzette said softly. “Bella, someone is here to see you. Someone from long ago.”
The girl looked up at the vampire, then her gaze slid around the room, halting on Russell. She tilted her head, wrinkling her brow in confusion.
“Shay,” the necromancer choked out. “What have they done to you? You look the same as you did forty years ago. And your hair…”
I guess Shay hadn’t worn her hair in long tangled ringlets. The girl reached up a hand to pat her hair and smiled.
Smiled. With vampire fangs fully exposed.
I didn’t wait for Russell to react. “Argelap’akel Satani dzerrk’y.” At my words a shimmering wall rose between him and the vampires, just in time to deflect a surge of flame and heat. Broken bits of cabinets caught fire, raining sparks onto the dry floor as they burned.
Bella screamed, scooting backward away from the fire, her eyes wild. Suzette knelt to comfort her, Dario snarled and stepped forward. Russell shot again. Fire bounced off my barrier, lighting up exposed bits of flooring. I gritted my teeth trying to hold my protective wall. Of course the wall wouldn’t do us any good if the house burned down on top of us.
“Shay,” Russell thundered. “You bastards turned her. You made her a monster.”
I’ll give Dario credit, he didn’t even give me a side-eye I-told-you-so look. The vampire moved quickly to Bella’s side. The girl rose, side-stepping Dario and flinging out a hand at her brother.
“No, Daddy. I love him.”
We all froze. A chill ran up my arms. Her voice was husky and rough from disuse, but there was no mistaking her words.
“It’s okay, Bella.” Dario’s voice was full of affection, love even. “No one is going to hurt you. And no one will take you away.”
“Where is Jean Marc?” The young vampire swung her head from side to side, looking for the long dead vampire. “He loves me. Where is he?”
Did she not remember that he’d murdered her in front of her father? He hadn’t loved her at all.
Dario shot me a look full of warning and shook his head. “He’ll be here soon, Bella. I’ll take care of you until he comes.”
Shay turned to Dario, wrapping her arms around his waist before facing Russell once more. Tears filled her eyes, and began to spill down her cheeks. “I love him, Daddy. I’m waiting for him. He’s going to come for me.”
A forty-eight-year-old Russell probably did look a lot like his father had back when Bella had been Shay, a young girl sneaking out at night to meet a much older vampire lover.
She had loved Jean Marc. It was the foolish love of a fourteen-year-old girl for a man who would eventually kill her and toss her aside. The real tragedy wasn’t Russell, it was Shay who had paid dearly for a mistake so many teenage girls make.
The fire died and I saw Russell staring, not at the girl, but at the picture she’d drawn in the dust. A family of six, all holding hands. On the outskirts stood a teenager with braids, removed from the rest of her family. The crudely drawn girl had a pair of fangs.
“Shay, it’s me, Russell. I’ve grown up, but it’s me.”
She smiled, mouth full of sharp teeth, and pointed a foot at two identical little boys in her drawing. “Russy and Hector. Linc and Kendy. Mommy and Daddy.” She pointed to the girl outside the group and added sadly, “And Shay.”
She knew. Bella might not remember everything, might have a terribly reduced mental capacity, but she knew she was different from the human she’d been. And that difference made her no longer part of her family—a family she thought lived on without her.
All those years, had she waited for them to come see her, to find her? Had she assumed they hated her? That they considered her a monster just as Russell had called her?
“Shay,” she said again, letting go of Dario’s waist to rub the image of the vampire girl out with her shoe.
“No,” Russell’s voice was choked. “You’re not gone. I thought you were dead. I didn’t know, or I would have looked for you. I didn’t know.”
The girl looked sadly at him then placed her head on Suzette’s shoulder. “Home. I want to go home.”
The other woman stroked her hair. “Of course, dear.”
I dismissed the protective wall and stared at Russell as he watched the vampires leave the house one at a time, Suzette and Bella with Dario guarding the rear. We stood in silence until I heard the cars start and was certain they’d left.
“That last vampire? The one she had her arms around? He’s the one who turned her. He went back after Shay’s lover had killed her. Dario is the one who tried to save her. She’d been dead so long that she’s had brain damage, which evidently vampirism doesn’t cure. The man who did this to your family, Jean Marc, is dead. There is no need for revenge.”
“So for forty years they took care of her,” Russell said, his voice shaky. “She was a stranger to them, a lowly blood slave, but they tried to save her and have spent decades making sure she’s safe and healthy.”
“More than that,” I added. “She’s happy. The woman with her, Suzette, is her caregiver. She makes sure Shay, now Bella, has regular meals and doesn’t harm her human donors. They watch movies, color, make brownies, paint each other’s nails. That vampire has dedicated her life to taking care of Shay. Do you see how not all of them are monsters? By killing them, you’d be killing Shay once again, and killing the woman who has become like a mother to her as well as the man who defied his Master to save her.”
His shoulders slumped. I know this was all so much for him to process, but finally Russell Robertson was a Pilgrim on the Path.
“The vampires have agreed not to retaliate, even though you have killed dozens of their family. In return, I need to collect all of their focus items. And the scepter.”
Especially the scepter. It was more than a pretty ball on a stick, and it shouldn’t be in the hands of a necromancer, even a reformed one.
“Okay. I’ll take you to where I have them stored.” Russell looked once again at the picture drawn in the dust. “Do you think she…?”
“I think she would love pictures and letters from you, even supervised visits.”
He nodded and I saw the tears gather in his eyes. “Maybe I will. Do you think they would allow visits? She’s all I have left, my only sister, even if she is different, she’s still my sister.”
I wasn’t sure after tonight what I’d be able to talk Dario into, but I’d try. “I’ll ask.” I looked at Russell, a grown man crying as he stared at a picture in the dust No matter what, I’d make it happen for him, and for Bella, who needed to keep a piece of her lost humanity in memory if she was ever going to remain sane as a vampire.
Chapter 31
I BARELY MADE it down to Middleburg without slipping into unconsciousness. Yeah, I could have slept through the night and made this trip the next day fully rested, but I hadn’t wanted to spend any more time with the scepter in my presence than necessary.
There had been negotiations, all conducted at the neutral territory of a multi-story parking garage. Lenora had been unwilling to budge both on the scepter and lack of punishment for Russell. I’d needed to wave my sword around a bit to convince her to play ball. Actually I think it was less my sword waving and more the fact that the game was up. Once Templars are aware of an artifact, they are relentless in their efforts to retrieve it and secure it in the Temple. Even if she had walked away with it tonight, she wouldn’t have held it for long.
Not that any of them had a chance. I’d already made a phone call. If I didn’t seize the artifact, a whole group of Templars would mount up and trample all over Baltimore to retrieve it. The Order might not give two cents about vampires, necromancers, or foolish non-Knights flirting with the idea of becoming a blood slave, but they took the artifact-in-The-Temple part of their oath very
seriously.
And both Leonora and Russell knew it. Now that the scepter was out of the closet, so to speak, the Knights wouldn’t rest until it was secured with all the other magical booty.
The scepter itself wasn’t quite what I’d expected. It was long, with an S-shaped handle and a head that looked like a fist. A Ruyi, a ceremonial object in Chinese folklore that symbolized power and luck. I’d not asked Leonora for a description of the scepter, and had just assumed it was of Egyptian origin.
It was hard to give up. I’d taken it from the bamboo storage box and held it for a moment. With this scepter I’d be protected from Leonora or the fallout from whatever was going on in their Balaj. They wouldn’t attack me. And with proper study, I might eventually be able to command the entire Balaj. Or not. In the end I’d put the scepter back in the box with all my crazy fantasies. I’d need to protect myself from Leonora some other way. Even if I could overcome my discomfort with using the artifact to control others, I’d made that phone call. Either I turned the scepter in, or some Knight would show up at my apartment and force me to do so.
Would the Balaj fall apart without the unifying effect of the scepter? Time would tell.
I pulled down the tree-lined driveway to our family home, unsurprised to see the lights still on. Even at two in the morning, Mom was awake and doing crossword puzzles in the kitchen. I lurched in and smacked the boxed scepter down on the island’s marble counter. My mother didn’t even flinch at the loud crack noise.
“Here it is,” I slurred, trying to form the words through my exhaustion. “Please secure this and ensure it arrives safely at the Temple.”
I expected a snarky comment about how if I was a Knight, I could take it to the Temple myself, instead Mom tapped the pencil against her lip. “What’s a four letter word with the clue ‘Celeste Aida’?”
I smiled. In spite of her mighty sword arm, Mom was a bit of a puzzle addict. I think it’s one of the things that initially drew her and Dad together.
“Aria.” Celeste Aida was a romanza from the first act of the opera Aida.
She nodded, her pencil scraped against the paper. “Are you planning on finally taking your Oath, Solaria Angelique Ainsworth?”
She knew the answer to that one. “No.”
Again, she tapped the pencil against her lip, not quite hiding their upward curve. “Then you’d best be going. I believe your shift at the coffee shop starts in six hours.”
Yes, it did. I turned to leave and halted as Mom called my name.
“Good job, my daughter.” That was all she said. It was all she needed to say. I left the house, got into my car and drove north, smiling the whole way.
Next in the series:
Chapter 1
THE SKY WAS that ominous yellow that heralds a downpour. Thunder rolled in the distance, but I knew this storm was right over head. A burst of wind whipped the bush I was crouched behind into a frenzy, stinging me with the slap of branches. I should have headed for shelter, but there was no way I was leaving until I’d found the bastard that had killed two of my friends. He was out here somewhere, and I wouldn’t rest until he was dead.
There. My muscles tensed, sword at the ready as I saw a flash of blue behind a tree. I’d lose the element of surprise by running across a twenty-foot stretch of open ground, but I didn’t need surprise to take this guy down. Eighteen years of lessons gave me a distinct advantage when it came to hand-to-hand combat.
The light dimmed with the fast-moving storm. Lightning streaked to the ground, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder. I darted from behind the bush, hunching low. Something hit my arm, and I swung from reflex.
“Ow. Damn it. Too hard. You’re hitting too hard.”
Oops. Barely two hours into our LARP and I already had a reputation for knocking grown men on their ass with my PVC and duct-taped foam sword. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
A woman stood to her feet, her cape brown with dust and her beaded headdress askew. “I think my teeth flew into the next county. What’s with the head-shot?”
I was used to taller opponents and had aimed blind. “Sorry,” I repeated.
Now came the weird part – the part where I didn’t finish her off, even though if I’d been using a real sword a mercy killing would have been in order. “On the authority of the King of Glenelg, I, Solaria Angelique Ainsworth of Middleburg, take you captive.”
She glared at me, righting the beaded cap and picking a stray twig out of her long dark blond hair. “Think again, girlfriend. I hit you with a freeze spell. I, Melisandra the Magnificent, am the one taking you prisoner.”
One thing I’d learned about LARPing in two short hours was that I hated mages, especially ones that added the title ‘magnificent’ to their name. The normal rules that applied to magic didn’t seem to exist in this fantasy war-game and egos trumped any hint of talent. “Freeze spell, my ass. I didn’t hear any incantation, didn’t trip a magical barrier. How the heck did you put a freeze spell on me?”
She pointed downward and I looked at what had smacked me in the shoulder. No way. Just.... no way. “That’s a beanbag. I know the rules here are kind of whacky, but in what universe does throwing a bean bag at someone constitute a magical spell?”
“I say freeze then throw the bean bag. If I hit you, you’re bespelled. If I don’t then you get to knock me into the ground with your sword. I hit you.”
This was ridiculous. If I could run around Baltimore throwing bean bags at people and causing them to be deprived of motion, I’d be set for life. “Do you know how involved a spell that is? Eight different types of herbs, six of them not even found in this country, a lead weight, and unbleached silk string. The astrological alignment means you can only cast it once every three months, and the chances of holding the spell static in an amulet or object until you want to release it are less than fifteen percent. For a generalized freeze spell you’ve got a five percent chance of success as long as you meet all the other criteria. Specialized you’d need a poppet and a drop of blood – even then your success rate only rises to ten percent.”
Her mouth made a tight, thin line. “I’m the mage. You’re the paladin. You’re also frozen and my prisoner.”
Paladin. I winced. I was a Templar, not some do-gooder holier-than-thou kamikaze-with-a-sword. Although in this game, it seemed I’d been assigned that detested role. I was wanting to whack her again with my foam sword, just out of principal. “Fine. Lead the way, oh mighty wizardess.”
Lightning flared. We both jumped and I felt a sizzle of static electricity across my skin and smelled the sharp bite of ozone. Thunder shook the ground, nearly deafening us. I dropped, pulling the other down woman with me and holding her until I was sure there wasn’t another strike, or a burning tree about to come down on our heads.
“Screw the prisoner thing,” the woman said, her voice shaky. “Run for that pavilion over there.”
That pavilion ‘over there’ was right where the lightning strike had come down, but it was the only shelter nearby and big, fat, cold drops of rain were beginning to splat against my plastic armor. I ran, slowing my stride to let the mage, hindered by twenty yards of fake-velvet fabric, keep up. We crested a knoll and I saw smoke rising in the air.
“Fire,” Melisandra the Magnificent gasped.
But in this case, where there was smoke, there wasn’t necessarily fire, at least not the normal incendiary kind. My skin crawled as I saw the smoke twisting like blue tentacles, as it rose then looped to curl along the ground. I grabbed my companion’s voluminous cloak.
“Stop. Stay here.” I had a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling.
The skies opened up, and the woman wrenched her garment from my grasp, shrieking as she ran for the pavilion. About twenty feet out, she stopped, her shrieks turning into one long scream.
I tried to keep the panicked look from my face as I jogged toward her. Storms were the perfect time for casting, when personal energy could be supplemented with environmental for
extra oomph. I’d never seen blue smoke like this before, but no doubt it was accompanied by chicken entrails or something equally gruesome.
It wasn’t chicken guts. It was a dead body, and the blue smoke was coming from a crater where his chest should have been. My breath stopped somewhere in my own chest and I fought to keep from screaming myself. It was one thing to see dead bodies on my favorite crime show, another to come across one in a park – one that smelled of burned flesh and coppery blood.
Don’t puke. Don’t puke. I forced my breakfast to stay put, but couldn’t tear my eyes away from the corpse.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Melisandra fumbled to dial her cell phone, nearly dropping it in the process.
She was going to call 911. It was too late for this guy, although I guess someone had to remove the body.
Snap out of it. Templar training included an anatomy intensive on a cadavers, and we’d all studied drawings and photos of various supernatural methods of death. Still, this was my first up-close and personal view. Time to stop freaking out, and start doing my job.
My job as the only Templar in Baltimore, that is. Not a paladin. Not a knight. But still a Templar with the responsibilities that my birthright entailed.
I took a steading breath and bent down to examine the man, careful not to touch anything. He had on the same dark-green cloak as my companion, his eyes fixed wide in surprise, a beanbag clutched in his left hand.
“My name is Melissa Davies and his is...was Ronald Stull. We were in a role playing game, and there was a lightning strike. No, there’s no way he’s still alive.”
She knew him. I felt a pang of sorrow. It was bad enough for me to find a stranger dead in a park, but a friend. . .. Melissa was wrong, though. Ronald wasn’t killed by a lightning strike. The blue smoke began to dissipate, and I saw what I’d suspected – a sigil burned into the grass beneath the body. I’d need to wait until the police, or whoever, moved him to get a look at the entire symbol, but its presence meant this wasn’t a random magic act gone wrong. It was a hit.
