“Because they’re fictional. The events in those movies never happened. And almost all of them have some aspect of the lore so comically wrong that it’s laughable.”
“So what’s the difference here? This is fake too.”
Priscilla shook her head. “No. Werewolves and vampires did fight. The loup-garou were nearly wiped out by Parliament in the 16th and 17th centuries. I’m not sure how many are still left, if any. It was a genocide.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
Priscilla nodded. “I became a vampire at the tail end of it, so I didn’t experience the worst, but I’m told it was bloody.”
“Why would they do that?” she asked. “That’s awful.”
Priscilla shook her head. “I’m not sure what the rationale was. It was a different time. Not that that excuses wanton bloodshed.”
Priscilla was lost for words. How did she explain what it had been like living during those times? The world had been so much more brutal. The clean, sanitized people of the twenty-first century had no qualms looking back on their ancestors and judging them by the mores of their own time. Priscilla supposed that they were just as much a product of their own time as she was of hers. When most people grew up without fear of violence, without the fear of starvation, and a government that had learned from the folly of its wars, it must be hard to imagine a history so covered in blood.
“I know it was brutal because it had to be,” Priscilla said. “The loup-garou hated us even before the exterminations began. The competitive drive was too strong for us to coexist peacefully. A lot of vampires in rural Europe died as a result. When the death toll rose too high to be ignored, Parliament had to take action. We were well matched as adversaries. Werewolves are faster than us. Faster than normal wolves. In their beast form they can run over forty miles an hour. The fastest vampires in the world can only run thirty-five. But vampires are much stronger than werewolves. The literature would have you believe the opposite these days, but it’s true. Werewolves who ran, lived. Werewolves who fought …” Priscilla trailed off, unwilling to continue.
Anna averted her eyes finally and looked back at the group of goofy-looking vampires. “So I guess this seems in really poor taste to you, huh? I don’t understand. I’ve told Maddison about it before, and she didn’t seem offended.”
“Maddison is young, and she was isolated for most of her young vampirehood. She wouldn’t be as sensitive to this. I was barely old enough to get a taste of it. I doubt most modern vampires would take offense. I’m not even really offended I just … I believe the past should remain in the past. Wars and prejudices from ages past should stay there. But when the victims of such events live long lives, some of us will never forget.”
Anna nodded solemnly. Priscilla acted on impulse and swept her assistant up in a hug. “Don’t look so somber. We’re here to solve a mystery.”
“Well, I don’t think the game can start until the vampires have a leader,” Anna said. She gave Priscilla a pointed look.
Priscilla actually laughed. “Oh no, don’t drag me into this. Besides, I don’t think it’s fair for me to be competing against humans.”
“Daddy?” Anna called, glancing behind them. Arthur had been leaning against the car for the last ten minutes, scanning the area for Garrett McKnight.
“Uh-uh. If I run on this knee, there’s going to be hell to pay for it in the morning.”
Arthur’s knee had been broken in September the year before. He’d been off of active duty when the first murder had occurred in Bellmare and being unable to go out into the field had not helped his mood. The knee replacement had gone without a hitch, and Arthur could now pass the physical exams required for field work. But stiffness and soreness persisted even now, and it made things difficult for him when they were forced to chase criminals. Priscilla could understand his reluctance to hobble himself during an active investigation.
Anna rolled her eyes. “All right, you pansies. I’ll go.”
“What?” Arthur asked. “You’re going to be the leader? You haven’t even joined up yet.”
“Why not?” Anna quipped, flipping the long sheet of blonde hair over one shoulder disdainfully. “I know the rules, and I’ve been in more contact-heavy sports than this one. I did lacrosse for a semester during college.”
Anna had come back from college to take care of her dad after his knee had been taken out and had never gone back. The reminder didn’t seem to please Arthur, who’d been pressing for her to return and finish her education for a while now. Priscilla, meanwhile, was wondering if there was a sport invented that Anna hadn’t at least tried once.
Before either she or Arthur could protest further, Anna had jogged over to the group of milling people and struck up a conversation.
“That girl will never stop, will she?” Arthur muttered. “Just like her mother.”
“And her father,” Priscilla said with a smile. “You’re more stubborn than you like to think, Arthur.”
“Oh, like you can throw stones, Pratt. I think you might be the most stubborn person in this field.”
“I resent that remark,” she sniffed.
“Can you tell me what they’re saying?” Arthur said. “It’s too far. I can’t make it out.”
Priscilla leaned forward, straining her hearing. The vampire brain was remarkably talented at filtering out unnecessary information. It had to be, so the vampire in question didn’t go insane from sensory overload. Her hearing was only slightly better than average during a normal day, unless she focused on it. She had to be careful about doing it. If she experienced a high-pitched sound while straining her hearing, it could render her temporarily deaf. Thankfully, no one was blowing an airhorn at the moment.
“You’re a novice,” one of them scoffed. “How can you lead us? The position should go to the next in line.”
A pale, spotty boy shook his head hard. “I don’t want to be Baron, Drew. Raoul will kill me and put my head on a pike.”
Priscilla grimaced. Colorful imagery. And all too common in real werewolf hunts. She tried not to think about that.
“That’s Heathcliff to you,” the man snapped. “What about you, Estelle? You’re next after Gawain.”
What unfortunate names, Priscilla thought wryly. “They’re arguing over whether or not to accept Anna into the coven,” she told him. “And even if they do, I don’t think they’re going to make her leader.”
“Fine by me,” Arthur muttered. “We just need an in.”
The woman that Drew, or rather Heathcliff, had indicated took a few steps back. “I don’t want him gunning for me either, Heath. He’s so big. You know only Aaron could take him on.”
“I can do it,” Anna said.
“You’re not even properly initiated,” Heath sneered. “Where are your marks?” He pulled at his own collar to reveal a piercing that Anna had called the vampire bite. Two silver studs were set about an inch apart from each other. When Priscilla glanced around, they all seemed to share some form of mark or another. Most chose piercings, and amusingly, one had drawn his on with a red Sharpie marker.
“How about these?” Anna said blithely, pulling her own collar down to reveal a set of pink marks. Priscilla knew on sight that they were real and recent if they were still inflamed. Anna must have fed Maddison when she was over at the Baker house.
Heathcliff’s eyes bugged. “Are those real?”
“Yep,” Anna said. “And I’m your best bet to beat this Raoul guy. Trust me. I’m good at this kind of thing.”
An approving murmur ran through the assembled crowd, but Heathcliff was doing his best not to look impressed. It was hard to take his dour expression seriously when he was wearing a long, obviously fake wig. His skin was uneven and blotchy and would not have fooled anyone.
“Do you even have a name?”
“Ellanora,” Anna supplied at once.
“Well you can’t go into battle looking like that, Ellanora,” Heathcliff nearly sneered the name. “Got a c
ape?”
“Sorry, I left mine at home. Someone willing to lend me one?”
“What’s going on?” Arthur asked, nudging Priscilla in the ribs. “What are they saying?”
“She’s in. She needs a cape, apparently. I don’t see why. They’re hard to fight in.”
“Is that experience talking?” Arthur asked.
“Might be,” Priscilla said with an enigmatic smile.
In the end, Anna was outfitted with one of the other women’s flowing black capes, and given a crown to wear, signifying her role as the new baroness. It wasn’t much—shiny plastic with fake rhinestones, the sort of thing you’d buy for a little girl’s birthday party.
That was when the wolves arrived.
They weren’t exactly subtle. They ran out of the tree line whooping, howling, and generally making a ruckus. Priscilla felt like informing them that a wolf’s howl was actually meant to harmonize with the others, giving the impression there were more wolves than actually existed, thus protecting the pack. Numbers were apparently not a problem for the Witch’s Bane pack. There were twice as many playing for the wolf pack than there were for the vampires. Even Anna looked a bit taken aback.
“What’s going on?” Priscilla hissed. “Why are there so many of them?”
“Anna tried to explain it to me. Apparently, if you’re taken down by a bite and not retrieved and cured by the end of the game, you join the pack.”
“That’s not how it works,” Priscilla muttered. “Vampires are dead. We can’t catch diseases. We can carry them, but I wouldn’t turn into a werewolf if I was bitten by one.”
“You’re not a carrier for anything, are you?” Arthur said, rubbing the faded puncture marks in his own neck. He’d fed her once so she’d avoid hurting others during a near-fatal poisoning.
“Don’t drink from the dead or diseased. It was a rule put in place before I was turned. Don’t worry, I’m safe.”
Out on the field, the two groups stopped about a hundred yards from each other. While most of the vampires looked hokey, Priscilla could almost believe Garrett was a real werewolf. There was a feral glint in his dark eyes as he raised his sword and pointed it at Anna. Somehow he managed to make the foam weapon look intimidating.
“You have crowned a weak little girl?” the big man boomed. “We will crush your puny coven once and for all, Blood Legion. We will feast on your bones before dawn.”
This was all getting a bit too melodramatic for Priscilla. Anna just smiled.
“You’re wrong, Raoul the Kinslayer. Tonight my children will wear your pelt around their throat and leave your carcass for the vultures.”
Anna said it with such conviction, Priscilla was tempted to believe her.
Raoul/Garrett, bared his teeth in a smile that could only be described as wolfish. His eyeteeth were worryingly long for a human. Priscilla couldn’t scent him properly with so many people around. Just what had she sent Anna up against?
“We’ll see, little vampire. We’ll see.”
And then the wolves charged.
Chapter Twelve
Priscilla had gotten somewhat caught up in the melodrama, and almost forgot that everyone involved in the battle was human. Yes, even Raoul.
None of them were fast enough to compare to real vampires or werewolves. Priscilla had only seen a fight like that once, but it was something she’d never forget. Humans were clumsy and slow in comparison. The growls were fake, not the sounds of desperately struggling animals and wounded vampires. The foam swords made barely any noise when they impacted, and there was no feverish squirming as a human body tried to push itself out of a wolf’s skin.
Priscilla forced her expression to stay neutral. She’d mastered the skill over the years. The best way to bluff her way out of any situation was to start with a good poker face. She wouldn’t go to pieces in front of Arthur. Not when she’d managed to find her way back into his good graces.
Instead, she watched Anna. Despite the cloak, Anna was fast. Her strategy seemed to be largely defensive, at first. Instead of charging headlong into the army of wolves she dove to one side, leading three others with her. Raoul’s attention was focused solely on Anna, so he didn’t see the group of three rounding his pack in the other direction.
Priscilla had to smile a little in spite of herself. Flanking the enemy. It was a risky move, especially since they didn’t have enough people to face down the whole pack at once. Thankfully, Raoul followed Anna, and the rest of his wolves seemed unsure of what to do without their leader. Priscilla tried to see it for what it was, instead of what her mind wanted to make it. It was a strategy game, no different than playing Capture the Flag. The objective was to knock your opponents out of the game.
“How does she strike them out of the game?” Priscilla asked Arthur, nearly having to shout over the din of the game.
“From what I understand, each player has hidden patches on their clothing. It can be anywhere, but nowhere inappropriate. No one wants a lawsuit, after all. You pull off all the patches, it’s considered a fatality. The player has to leave the game until they’re resurrected by a player with appropriate skill or until the game is over.”
So it really was like Capture the Flag. Priscilla’s keen eyes swept the battlefield, quickly picking out the red and blue Velcro-d patches, stuck in odd places. On elbows, hidden beneath ponytails or buns, and more. Most of the vampires had taken to hiding them under their cloaks. Anna, however, had placed the red patches strategically on her body so anyone trying to snatch them would be within reach of her foam sword.
The lines met, and there were howls and shrieks all around. Priscilla squeezed her eyes shut as memory assaulted her.
“Jacques!” Priscilla screamed.
Her maker stumbled away from the wolf, clutching his injured arm to his chest. He eyed the beast warily as it continued to circle them. The sound of twigs snapping beneath its paws made her flinch every few seconds or so. She wasn’t sure what they’d done to antagonize the monster, but it had been hunting them for days. Now it had caught up.
“Stay behind me, Priscilla,” he said in an undertone. “And if it gets me beneath it, you run.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” she protested. Despite all the fights she’d had with her maker of late, she couldn’t just leave him to be a glorified dog toy.
The wolf lunged for them again, fangs bared and Priscilla screamed—
“Priscilla?” Arthur shook her arm. Her eyes flew open and she flinched away from him on reflex. Arthur let his hand drop and gave her a quizzical look.
“Are you all right, Pratt? You look pale. Well … paler than usual I should say.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered, rubbing at the goose bumps that had risen on her arms. They had absolutely nothing to do with the cold.
In the few short minutes she’d been absorbed in the past, a lot had changed on the field. Players on both sides were out and had taken to milling about the sides of the battlefield to watch. A few of them sat on makeshift benches made of hay bales, digging in a cooler for something to drink.
“They’d better not be drinking anything alcoholic,” Arthur muttered, following her gaze. “I know there’s a few underage people here. I’d hate to bring anyone in for supplying alcohol to a minor.”
Most of the people who were out of the game were vampires, Priscilla realized. Someone had to teach them not to put their patches in easy-to-reach places. And if it had become habit, she was sure the Witch’s Bane pack knew exactly where to reach when they went into battle.
A cheer rose up from the “fallen” vampires and Priscilla finally returned her gaze to see what the commotion was about. Anna held a handful of blue patches aloft, grinning triumphantly while three of the wolves skulked off the field. The victory was short-lived however, because as she tossed them away, Garrett—pardon, Raoul—charged after her.
It was only Anna’s quick reflexes that allowed her to dodge his first strike. If he’d been successful, his foam weapon wou
ld have knocked the patch right off of her elbow. Instead, she pivoted and brought the foam sword down on the back of her opponent’s knee, knocking a blue patch from where it had been strapped.
“She got Raoul!” a young man said from a few yards away. He’d stopped chugging his energy drink for long enough to gape at Anna. The adoration in his gaze was frankly unwarranted, and Priscilla really hoped that Anna wouldn’t come away from this game with a group of unwanted admirers.
“Just one of his patches,” a fellow vampire said. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled in Anna’s direction. “He’s still got two more left.”
“Don’t get so huffy, Jo—I mean, Amaris. It’s further than we’ve gotten since Aaron bit the big one.”
“We’ll see,” the girl sniffed.
Raoul was fast. Fast enough that Priscilla could almost believe that he was a real werewolf—albeit one who was handling his opponent with kids’ gloves. He had a surprising amount of dexterity for someone with muscle. A lot of the time when men bulked up the way that Raoul the Kinslayer had, the muscle made it hard to move. It was useless, and just there to look pretty. But apparently, Raoul hadn’t forgotten to improve his flexibility as well as his bulk.
He brought his foam sword down so hard that it raised up rock and dirt where Anna’s leg had just been. She was incredibly lucky that she’d moved when she had, or he’d have sent the patch strapped to her thigh skittering across the field.
Raoul’s hand shot out and for a moment, Priscilla thought he was going to wrap his big, beefy fingers around Anna’s throat. Instead, he snatched the red patch and tossed it across the field so hard it bounced to a stop only a few feet away from Arthur’s foot.
“An eye for an eye, Baroness!” he bellowed. “You may be fast, but you are no match for the Witch’s Bane pack! Raoul the Kinslayer will suck the marrow from your bones this night!”
“A bit of a ham, isn’t he?” Arthur muttered.
Priscilla’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch as she watched the fight play out, and her mind once more flashed back to a very real battle.
Blood in the Batter Page 12
