“Slayers, you’ve had three years to hone your senses. Sister Taylor has taught you how to feel the presence of vampires, how to spot one in a crowd of natives, no matter its age or size or coloring.”
Poppy shoots me an amused glare, and a hot rush of embarrassment makes me slide further into my seat. I don’t need to mind-meld with her to know she’s thinking about Alaric, who still feels like a vampire, no matter how much evidence I saw to the contrary.
The Magus walks to the front of the room and picks up a small box. “Mages, today you will perform the most delicate of glyphic magics, the enchantment for blood-seeker vision. Form a pair with a slayer.”
As mages rush across the circle to choose a partner, Poppy snatches my hand. We exchange amused smirks as our break from the seating protocol has worked in our favor.
A large figure blocks the light. “Brielle.”
We glare up at Jude, who offers me his hand. I twist around in my seat and smile at Poppy. “How good is your glyph-craft?”
“Fabulous,” she replies with a smirk.
“And you wonder why nobody likes you,” he mutters and walks to the other side of the circle of chairs.
“Ignore him,” Poppy says.
“Who are you talking about?” I reply with a smile. Yesterday’s encounter with Alaric was aggravating, as is Evangeline’s one-sided feud, but they’re one more thing to distract me from last year’s heart-shattering revelation.
The Magus draws symbols on the wall, which consists of a pentagram encased within an eye. Surrounding it are metaglyphs, a pictorial script used by the first slayers to communicate instructions as most of the women Saint Theodora recruited were illiterate. Their patterns represents truth and blood and evil.
“Using your inking pens, each mage will etch those onto your slayer,” she says.
A black-haired girl raises her hand. “What if we make a mistake?”
For the next few moments, the Magus glares at the girl, who quakes under the scrutiny. I dip my head, feeling more than a pang of sympathy for attracting the Magus’ ire.
Usually, such a glare prompts its recipient to babble the answer or at least babble something to distract the Magus, but this girl acts like an injured bird caught in the gaze of an alley cat. I want to speak up, but I’m still sore from Evangeline’s reaction from earlier, and I can’t handle the Magus when she’s in a foul mood.
“Can anybody explain how to Apprentice Paso an effective way to avoid errors?” the Magus growls.
I give Poppy a nudge to speak up, but Jude shoots to his feet.
“Ma’am, drawing out the runes in pen beforehand and powering them with a pulse of magic will test its effectiveness on the slayer.”
“Precisely.” The Magus turns around, and the girl deflates with relief.
Poppy reaches into her bag and pulls out a biro. She draws the glyphs on a piece of paper, whispers an incantation, and makes them glow. “After this, you’ll just need to squint and then you’ll see all drinkers of human blood.”
I close my eyes and straighten. “Bloodsucker vision, here I come!”
With the most delicate of strokes, Poppy draws the symbols around my eye sockets. When she’s finished, she whispers the incantation, and the skin around my eyes becomes hot.
“All done,” she says. “Try it out.”
I turn around to the three cages, squint, and the sleeping bat on the right glows red.
“Did it work?” she asks.
“Perfectly.”
“The permanent marking won’t glow on the field.” Poppy picks up the box and pulls out a marker pen with a needle tip. “Now, hold still, while I extract your blood.”
I grit my teeth as Poppy slides the needle into a vein. The empty cartridge fills, and I glance around the room where many of the other pairs still struggle with the incantation. Jude, who partners with Maeve from Dublin, is already inking out the incantation around her eyes.
As if we’re still connected, he raises his head and offers me what he probably thinks is a smile.
I turn toward Evangeline. She’s working with Kofi, a tall, dark-skinned mage from Ghana, who keeps his head closely shaved. Evangeline is too busy laughing with the other slayers to notice me, and I glance at the full cartridge, which Poppy pulls out of my arm.
Next, Poppy charges my blood with her magic, turning it gold. She instructs me to close my eyes, and tattoos the magically-infused blood over the glyphs she drew on my sockets. The process takes up the best part of an hour, and I clench my teeth, my hands, and my toes to stop myself from flinching at each prick of the needle.
When she’s finished, I look at the cages, the vampire bat glows red again. Triumph fills my chest, and my lips curve into a wide smile.
As soon as I get the chance, I’ll cross the lake and visit Farrier’s Weaponry. I can’t wait to test this out on Alaric.
Chapter 6
The Magus dismisses the class, and we step out to find Madoc leaning against the wall, his lips curled in a lazy grin. He’ll probably want to spend time alone with Poppy while he has the chance, and I make my excuses and head back to my room.
Alaric’s Louis Vuitton case sits on my desk in all its antique glory. The brass locks and catches look over a century old, and its exterior feels like real leather and not the unyielding canvas they use now.
Outside, I stand at the pier, waiting for Sister Kerala to arrive with a boat. An albatross calls as it flies over the lake, which reflects the noon sun shining from a cloudless, azure sky. The song of bluebirds mingles with the rustle of leaves as a cool breeze sweeps across the island.
I focus my new visual power, and tiny, red dots swirl close to the water’s edge. Mosquitos. I snort at the little bloodsuckers, and excitement hums through my insides. Wait until I try this out on Alaric.
Twenty minutes later, I step out of the speedboat and hurry past the hotel and through the square to Farrier’s Weaponry, but the oak door is locked, and there’s no helpful sign in the window to indicate when Galla will return.
“Damnit,” I mutter under my breath.
A tall man strides past in my periphery of my vision, and I spin around to see if it’s Alaric. The hair is too long, his shoulders too narrow, and he’s not wearing the alligator skin coat.
My shoulders droop, and I stop at Mage and Shake. It’s a fifties’ style restaurant complete with jukeboxes in each leather booth. A few younger slayers sit at the bar wearing leather jackets and capri pants, and I order a grilled cheese to go.
As I munch on my sandwich, I pass the Romeo Apothecary, where the leeches in the display window glow red, as do a bunch of specs jumping on a customer’s jacket, which I guess are fleas. I make a slow promenade around the stores, hoping Alaric will appear from behind me with a quip, but after another half and no sign of him, I head toward the hotel and return to the convent.
While Poppy goes to Runecraft, my next class is Advanced Combat, taught by Sister Bando, an eighty-year-old slayer from Burma. She’s petite with white hair, bright eyes, unwrinkled skin, and has a mean right hook. Like Grandma, Sister Bando received Theodora’s Blessing but retired from the field to teach.
I spar with Lucretia Beckett, a seventh-generation slayer from Jamaica whose complexion is dark olive with freckles. Her hair is styled in cornrows that sweep across her scalp, ending with long braids at the crown. Today, she’s wrapped them into a tight bun. Luci is one of the stronger fighters in our year and one of the few who doesn’t enjoy the company of Evangeline Shevette.
She lunges at me with a palm strike aimed at my nose. I block with my forearm, pivot to the side, aim my fist at her midsection, and meet her hard abs. With a laugh, Luci jumps back and raises both arms. Her eyes sparkle with challenge, and she bounces from side to side, looking like she wants to say something. Mirroring her action, I raise my brows and wait.
“Have you thought of who you’ll pick for your special team?” she wiggles her brows.
“Apart from you?” My gaze wanders
around the room at the sparring slayers.
Evangeline throws a flying kick at Sigrid, a girl from Sweden whose ash-blonde ponytail spins around as she twists and kicks back. She’s fast and accurate but was one of the girls who offered Evangeline comfort at the welcome assembly.
I skip over the next few pairs of girls. They’re first-generation slayers who got their calling around the age of thirteen. Because of their lower combat skills, they’re more suited for graveyard patrols than the kind of special missions that will determine who gets the blessing.
Next are the Phaedra twins from Ontario, who are fiercely competitive. They’re five-eleven, both ridiculously pretty with mahogany hair and gray eyes that remind me of smoke. Sophie wears her hair cropped, while Melanie’s is chin-length. They’re a possibility, but their one-upmanship can be disruptive, and I can’t choose one without offending the other.
“What about Dublin?” Luci says in her melodic Jamaican accent. She swings at me with a right hook.
I incline my head, letting it pass, then jab at her nose. “Where?”
She leaps back, her long braids flying through the air, and nods at the far corner, where the chestnut-haired girl whose entire convent got burned down jumps with a spin and a roundhouse kick at Sister Bando.
My mouth drops open. For a girl who usually sits around broken and downcast, she fights like a demon.
“Her name is Maeve, right?” I ask.
Luci nods. “She dorms in the room opposite mine.”
“Has she said anything about what happened to Malone Convent?”
“Dawn thinks she might be cursed.” Luci raises a knee and aims a push kick at my gut.
Both hands grab at her foot, and I yank hard. “I think she might be a great addition to my team.”
As I hold onto her ankle and ponder who else I will ask to join me, Luci twists to the floor. She breaks the fall with her palms and kicks out with her free foot. The blow lands on my temple, and pain explodes across my skull, forcing me to stagger back. With a grin, she executes a floor spin and sweeps her legs under mine.
I fall onto the mats with a snort. “Watch your opponent.”
“A moment of distraction can end your life.” She offers me her hand and pulls me to my feet.
Sister Bando blows her whistle, indicating for us to swap partners. A few of the other girls complete their moves, but Sophie and Melanie continue their fight, and it no longer looks like a friendly spar. Melanie’s face twists in a rictus of rage, and she slams her fist into Sophie’s midsection. Sophie strikes with an elbow to the shoulder, bringing her sister to her knees.
Shaking my head, I blow out a long breath. They’re great slayers, but whatever’s going on between them gets in the way of teamwork.
I cross the room and stand in front of Maeve, who watches Sister Bando separate the brawling twins. Her face is slack and rapid, shallow breaths heave from her lungs. She acts as though she’s never seen sisters fight.
Raising my palm, I say, “May I have this dance?”
She turns toward me, her lips parting to reveal prominent front teeth, and widens pale, green eyes with flecks of brown. I raise my brows, wondering if I need to rephrase the question when she inclines her head and adopts the standard fighting stance—legs parted, arms up, and chin down.
“Thanks.” I mirror her position and bounce on my feet.
Maeve opens with a right hook. I jerk to the side, right into a left jab to the ribs that has me countering with a high kick that lands on the side of her head. She jumps back, her eyes assessing, and a tiny smile on her lips.
In Advanced Combat, we don’t use gum shields, head guards, or any other type of padding. Nothing apart from a conciliar will protect us in the field from the supernatural strength of a vampire. Our instructors encourage us to hit hard and fast, recover from blows, and strike back. There’s no room for mercy in practice because vampires won’t stand aside like good sports if a slayer gets winded.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, and my heart pounds with the excitement of a new fighting partner whose weaknesses I haven’t yet uncovered and whose moves I haven’t yet memorized. Maeve is fast, strong, deadly, and by the time Sister Bando blows her whistle, I want to fall on my knees and beg her to join my team.
Instead, I tilt my head to the side and grin. “Nice moves. I’m putting together three slayers to help me compete for the Blessing. Do you want in?”
Maeve doesn’t smile, but there’s an intensity in her eyes that I recognize. It’s something I feel whenever someone says I have it easy because I’m an Augustine—a thirst to prove myself. When she nods, triumph roars in my chest. With strong fighters like Luci and Maeve on my team, Theodora’s Blessing will be mine.
For the next few days, classes and indecision distract me from leaving the convent to search for Alaric. I need one more slayer to form a quartet, and I can’t decide if inviting one of the twins will cause more trouble than it’s worth.
On Thursday afternoon, we have Sensory Magic again with the Magus. She has arranged the chairs in a semi-circle that opens up to the blackboard wall. The mages, who had a free period, sit on the left side of the room with Poppy occupying the one at the end where the slayers will sit.
As I lower myself into the seat next to Poppy, she whirls around, her blue eyes sparkling. “Who’s going to be your number four?”
I glance around the class at the slayers, who take their seats at the other end of the semicircle. Evangeline looks like she has already chosen Sigrid, Taylor, and Natalia who are strong fighters and sympathetic to her cause. My first choice would be one of the Phaedra twins, but they come with a load of baggage, and I can’t even unpack my own.
“What about Ayesha Chaudhury?” Poppy whispers.
“Huh?” I glance at the Indian girl with the smiling eyes and wavy, black hair that falls to her waist. Ayesha is more book-smart than combat-ready. There’s nothing wrong with her technique, but she lacks the physical power needed to land a hard blow. “I don’t think—”
“Which mage is she most likely to choose for her conciliar?” Poppy raises a brow.
My gaze turns to the huge Dutch guy she has dated since our second year. Finn Thomas is even more powerful than Poppy or Jude, and his family is famous for its capacity for holding large wells of magic. I inhale a deep breath, trying to calm the excited flip of my belly.
“Do you think Finn will make a difference?” I ask.
“Power exchange works both ways.” Poppy leans into me and bumps my shoulder. “Ayesha will level up with his magic. Trust me.”
Laughter erupts from Evangeline’s side of the room, and I glance up to find her pointing in our direction. The four girls’ eyes dance with mirth, and I wonder if they think I’m going to lose because I haven’t yet formed a team.
Snatching my gaze away from the quartet, I lick my lips and contemplate the truth in Poppy’s words. Poppy is a very talented mage but her power levels are average, but when drawing on my reserves, she could calm a hurricane enough to reduce turbulence on a plane. I guess the same would apply when the slayer pairs with a powerful mage.
The Magus steps into the room. I straighten in my seat and await her announcement.
“What do you think?” Poppy whispers.
“I’ll ask her at the end of class.”
I chew on my bottom lip. So far I have the following slayers on my team: Luci from Jamaica, Maeve from Ireland, and possibly Ayesha from India… if she says yes.
Everyone’s chatter dims as the Magus steps into the middle of the semi-circle. She wears an ankle-length black cape over her pantsuit, something she only wears during important rituals. “Next month, your guardians will gather in the assembly hall for the formal joining of slayer and mage, but the Unification Ceremony is symbolic.”
I turn to Poppy and shoot her a quizzical glance. She shrugs. The Unification Ceremony is a mass marriage of mage and slayer, where they formalize a life-long bond. Some pairs choose that to be their romanti
c union, but most are platonic and strictly business. I used to dream that Uncle Fred was my real dad because he had been Mom’s conciliar, but their relationship never went beyond friends.
A pang of sadness strikes my heart, and I’m suddenly aware of Jude’s face turned toward me. Maybe that’s what he wanted all along—the opportunity to bond with this generation’s Augustine slayer. He used to bring up the possibility of him becoming my conciliar, but I was so infatuated and desperate to keep him away from combat that I chose Poppy.
Anger burns through my chest and rises to the back of my throat, where it mingles with disgust. I tamp down those feelings and keep my attention on the Magus and her words.
She clasps her hands together. “To avoid mishaps, we’re going to perform the joining today—”
Whoops and excited chatter fill the room, and my heart flip-flops, sending fireworks of joy through my chest. I twist around in my seat and grasp Poppy’s hands. She stares back, her blue eyes glittering with happiness. No more foci-ring for me, and she can draw on my power and bolster mine without making me feel queasy.
“Silence!” The Magus’ words cut through our conversations like a scythe. She takes a deep breath and continues. “Those of you who have decided to pair, move to the other side of the room with your partner.”
Poppy and I shoot out of our seats and scamper hand-in-hand to the blackboard. Finn Thomas walks across the semicircle and offers Ayesha his hand. She beams and lets him help her up. Evangeline and her conciliar, Kofi Okoyo stroll toward us, sharing smiles. Behind her is Luci, who is going to partner with Bailey Demera, a male mage from Jamaica.
Nearly everyone has partnered up as each slayer acolyte has had three years to work out who they want as conciliar. Maeve sits alone on her wooden seat with her shoulders hunched. Three other mages remain: the girl who asked the Magus about failing, a bored-looking red-haired guy who never pays attention in class, and Jude, who rises to his feet.
My stomach tightens in readiness for a confrontation, but instead of walking toward me, he heads for the door with his shoulders slumped.
Vampire Bonds (Darkbloods Book 1) Page 6