The phone flips around to point at me, and I stare into Alaric’s stern face. The cuts on my wrists glow, and my veins turn to liquid fire. My breaths quicken, and sweat pours down my brow. I won’t scream. I won’t cry. I won’t make a sound. The words repeat over and over in my mind as the pain intensifies. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through the searing heat.
“Gabrielle.” His voice reaches me through the pain.
“It’s an illusion,” I say. “Don’t come. Every mage and slayer in the country is probably waiting behind the wards to attack. ”
Grandma chuckles. “An ancient as strong as you shouldn’t have any trouble with a few girls.”
Alaric tilts his head to the side. “Is that an invitation?”
Grandma’s heels click against the stone floor. “Alaric Severin, I invite you to enter Agia Convent to rescue my granddaughter.”
“It won’t work.” The mocking tone returns to his voice.
“Why not?” she snaps.
“My name isn’t Alaric Severin.”
Grandma points at the screen. “Then the invitation is for you.”
Alaric’s laugh raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “That’s the funny thing about English,” he says. “The singular and plural of you are exactly the same. We’ll be there.”
The screen turns black, just as Grandma’s face turns white.
“You told me he didn’t have a nest,” she murmurs.
“And I told you I would answer your questions.” My raised voice echoes across the ritual chamber. “I could have explained exactly the number of ancients he considers siblings, but that’s your trouble. You think you know best.”
“Then enlighten me,” Grandma says from between clenched teeth.
“I won’t spoil the surprise.” The pain in my wrist flares, but I suppress the wince. “Put it this way, you’re about to go down in history as the Arch Mother Superior who caused the biggest breach in slayer history since Saint Theodora.”
She turns to Aunt Clarissa and gives her a meaningful look that reminds me of the half-finished sentences Alaric and his family use to communicate. Aunt Clarissa sweeps her hand toward Grandma’s feet, where a plank appears to transport her across the glyphs.
I flash my eyes at her in what I hope she sees as defiance. She backhands me across the mouth, and her ring catches on the side of my lip. Blood mingles with the saliva in my mouth and I spit it onto her face.
I expect her to retaliate, but she spins around and points at Presbytera Driver, who hovers at the door. “Send all non-combat personnel to the safe house until further notice.”
Presbytera Driver gives her a sharp nod and scurries out of the chamber.
Aunt Clarissa turns to me with disappointment in her eyes and shakes her head. “What have you done?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question about you both since Grandma ordered the torture of an innocent girl.”
“Doctors Shevette, Rhys.” Grandma gestures at Madoc and Evangeline’s father. “Stay behind to activate the spell.”
“What about the slayers?” asks Doctor Shevette.
“They’ll be protecting the students from incoming vampires.”
“Protecting them from your mistake,” I mutter.
“Silence,” she roars.
I lean back against the post, grim satisfaction warming my insides. With the convent evacuated, Alaric will come in and out without difficulty.
Minutes pass with no activity. Grandma paces up and down past a tense Aunt Clarissa. I would admire her bravery and the ownership of her mistake if she didn’t just steal my blood to capture an innocent vampire.
Doctor Shevette stands on my right, looking determined to trap the vampire he believes is responsible for the death of his wife, and Madoc sways on his feet, looking like he’s going to be sick.
I purse my lips. That’s what happens when a tech mage insinuates himself in matters of combat.
“Alaric knows better than to come,” I say to grandma.
“He will come,” Grandmother replies.
I roll my eyes. “How could you know him so well after a single conversation?”
“Vampires are obsessive creatures,” she says. “Some hoard specific items. Others become fixated with the same type of person over and over through the generations. Your Alaric was enamored with your mother and likely burned down Malone Convent for some twisted tactic of control. When I capture him, he will tell me what he did with her.”
All the fight drains out from the cuts on my wrists, and I can’t help thinking about Diona Augustine, the slayer who came to the vampire general’s villa to rescue Alaric when he was alive. There’s even a painting of her outside his room. Not wanting to give Grandma the satisfaction, I drop my gaze to the glyphs and focus on the patterns.
“He wouldn’t know how to find me, anyway.” The words tumble from my lips.
“We’ve had days to set up the trap,” she replies. “He will know.”
“How long did you keep me in that crypt?”
Grandma doesn’t answer.
My nerve endings tingle with his presence. I raise my head and look at Grandma, but she doesn’t react. It’s just as the seer said about the girl in his future. I would know Alaric when I met him. I’m the only one who senses him. It invalidates Grandma’s theory about him being the vampire who had taken Mom.
“How does the trap work again?” I ask for Alaric’s benefit.
“The theory is that your blood will contain traces of the vampire’s blood,” says Madoc, the tension in his shoulders lightening. “When we activate the metaglyphs with positive ether—”
“Enough,” Grandma snaps.
“I see.” Alaric’s voice echoes across the room. He materializes behind my cross and snaps its wooden arms. “If I—”
Beams of magic shoot at us both and hit my skin. I flinch, but it just feels like coming in contact with a candle-flame. Alaric’s skin sizzles, and the scent of burned hair and flesh sears my nostrils. It’s an enchantment designed to incinerate dead cells and will remove hair, the top layer of skin cells, and even nails.
On vampires, enough of this magic can cremate their bodies.
Alaric somersaults over the glyphs, which rise off the floor in a haze of red and wrap around his arms and torso. He wrestles through the air, but they join together in tiny bands, and he drops onto the clay floor.
A cry catches in the back of my throat. They’ve caught Alaric.
Grandma strides toward him, her face twisted into a smirk of triumph. “We will enjoy studying your power, ancient.”
The Magus and Aunt Clarissa drag him out of the chamber, and my mouth falls open. He came here without backup and got himself caught in less than five minutes. What the hell is going on? This has to be some kind of trick.
Grandma points at me with an I’ll-deal-with-you-later frown. My mind goes blank, and I’m waiting for Alaric to break through his bonds and carry me out of here, but they disappear around the corner and in the direction of the crypt.
Doctor Shevette steps across the bloodless glyphs, still holding the golden sickle. “What did you mean about my wife—”
A beam of magic fills his chest, and he falls onto the floor.
Madoc rushes toward me with the golden sickle. I cringe away, but he throws it aside.
“I’m sorry Bri—Gabrielle,” he says. “It was stupid of me to blurt out that your date was a vampire.”
My mind is still numb from seeing Alaric get dragged away by the mages, but I have the wherewithal to say, “If you want to make things right, untie me and help me free Alaric.”
“No, way.” He steps back with his palms raised. “Do you know how many natives he’ll have murdered in a millennium and a half?”
“None,” I snap. “He’s only drunk animal blood from the time he was changed.”
Madoc shakes his head. “That’s impossible.”
“Are you going to help or let me get turned into a plaything for Doctor
Shevette?” I snap.
“Sorry.” Magic pulses from his foci-ring, and my arms drop to the ground.
As the magical restraints release my legs, I stumble forward, and Madoc catches me in his arms. “Easy now,” he says. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and will be unsteady on your feet.”
“Ugh,” I say.
“It might be easier if I carried you out.” He picks me up and cradles me to his chest.
Ignoring the revulsion rippling through my insides, I rest my head on his shoulder and let him carry me out of the ritual chamber. As soon as I get my bearings, I’ll knock him unconscious and ditch him to rescue Alaric.
Chapter 24
Although the hallway is empty, shouts and spell-fire and shattered rocks echo across its stone walls. The bright sconces on the wall flicker with blasts of magic. Relief floods my veins, and all the tension in my muscles relaxes. A battle means that Alaric has broken free from the blood bondage or his family has come to his rescue. I need to let them know my location so we can all escape before the Order sends reinforcements.
Madoc races in the opposite direction to the sound toward an archway. I twist around in his arms and glance into the opening of the catacombs. Light fills the darkened space, and a female shriek pierces the air.
“Where are we going?” I pat his shoulder in the universal sign of let-me-down.
He continues down the hall, his brows furrowed, and his jaw tense with determination. “There’s a stairwell this way. The sisters of servitude use it for waste disposal. No one will find you there.”
“No.” I give his shoulder a harder pat. “We have to go to the catacombs.”
Madoc’s arms tighten around my body. “Trust me. We need to stay away from whatever’s going on down there. Challenging the Arch Mother Superior in battle will get you killed in the crossfire.”
My shoulders slump. He’s partially right. It’s been ages since I last ate, I’ve lost too much blood, and in my weakened state, I’d become a liability at best and a hostage at worst.
He takes me through an archway that leads down a long corridor. At the end of it is a stone staircase.
“Are you worried about the vampire?” His voice is tight.
Resentment avalanches through my chest, picks up speed, and spreads to my clenching fists. I try to keep it out of my voice because he’s trying to make things right, but my words come out sounding like snarls. “You outed a supernatural being who doesn’t drink human blood to a bunch of slayers,”
“I said I was sorry,” he mutters. “From where I was standing, the vampire was taking advantage of you at your most vulnerable.”
My hackles rise, and I wriggle in his grip. Madoc and I have only had a few conversations, and most of them were superficial or centered around Poppy. Anything he knows about me is gleaned from my best friend. Poppy isn’t the type of girl to gossip, so I don’t know where Madoc is getting this information.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Madoc’s steps slow. He’s breathing hard, but I don’t think it’s because he’s tired. “You’re broken-hearted and on the rebound.” He shakes his head. “Girls do the stupidest things to get back at the men they love, but blood-drinker or not, dating a vampire is a step too far.”
The words hit like a slap. I rear back and shove at his chest with both hands. “What the hell do you know?”
He ducks around a corner that leads to an unlit passageway. Moss grows on the stone walls, and the damp air fills my nostrils.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“There are mages upstairs, ready to destroy the vampire if he escapes with you. You’ll be captured in an instant.”
Every instinct, including the crawling of my skin that I ignored earlier, flares into action. “I’ll take my chances.” I shove harder at Madoc’s chest, but the thin guy is stronger than he looks. “Let me go.”
Madoc turns another corner. “If I didn’t get you to safety, Poppy would never forgive me.”
“You should have thought about that before throwing me under the bus.” I raise my elbow and strike him in the Adam’s apple.
Madoc chokes. The arm supporting my hamstrings slips, releasing one leg, but I can’t reach the ground.
“And I said I was sorry,” he rasps.
Realization slices through me like the blade of a golden sickle. The constant half-assed apologies. The way he makes revulsion skitter across my skin. The clinginess. Only one person fits this description, but glamours don’t affect the voice.
I shake off that last thought. Anyone clever enough to maintain a love enchantment for three years can also sustain an enchantment to change their accent. I struggle against his grip, but he’s too strong—another sign that this isn’t Poppy’s willowy tech mage.
Magic fizzles through my skin as we step through a wall of stone. It’s some kind of ward or illusion. A moment later, I glance up to find a wall of flaming torches. This has to be some sort of dungeon.
I scream, but instinct tells me that this enchantment we’ve passed also muffles sound.
“Don’t tire yourself out,” he murmurs. “The ritual drained your power along with your blood. It will take days to return to full strength.”
My nails dig into the sensitive flesh of his neck. “Release me right now, or—”
“Fine.” He frees my legs, letting the soles of feet hit the cold ground.
I sway on my feet, his steadying arm around my back the only thing keeping me from toppling over, but I muster enough strength to give him a hard shove. He staggers back a step, his eyes widening, and his chin trembles with the kind of deluded self-pity I’ve only ever seen on Jude.
We’re in another stone room about twenty by twenty feet. The flaming torches provide light and heat and illuminate the back wall, where water streams down an outgrowth of moss and spreads halfway across the room. I gulp. From the level of decay, nobody has visited this part of the convent in ages.
“What is this?” I snarl. “My new prison?”
He raises his head. “You can come out, now.”
At the scraping of a heavy stone, I pivot left, keeping him at three o’clock. Part of the side wall opens, and out steps a familiar dark figure. It’s another monster. In the light of the flames, it looks even more horrific than the glimpses I caught in the semi-darkness. Take away the extra faces on the side of its head, and this is the mummified version of the cherub Poppy showed me in the library.
I once saw a picture of a sphinx cat with a face as wrinkled as a brain. The monster makes that cat look like it’s had a facelift. Puckered skin covers bulging, ape-like muscles. Six nipples protrude from its torso, but they’re mostly lost within folds upon tiny folds of skin.
The wings aren’t visible, but I guess they’re folded behind the monsters’ back, but what makes my blood turn to sludge are the creature’s teeth. Its mouth is just like the lamprey Sister Anning held out in the biology lecture, lined with rings of sharp canines that stretch deep into its mouth.
“You’re behind the monsters?” I whisper.
He sweeps his hand in a dismissive motion. “You say monsters. These beautiful creations are my—”
“Cherubs, yeah,” I snap. Anything to stop this jerk from a maniacal monologue.
His posture droops. He’s disappointed that I already guessed his great reveal, which I might have a chance of getting out alive. If my suspicions are correct and this is Jude, playing along and acting impressed will arouse his suspicion. Jude is amoral, obsessive, but he isn’t stupid.
If it’s really Madoc… Then I don’t know. I guess I’m screwed.
With as much venom as I can inject, I place my hands on my hips. “Let me guess, you altered werewolf venom and stole the humanity of one of the missing sisters?”
He scowls. “How did you—”
“You’re not the only one who has tried to manipulate venom. What I don’t understand is why you would do something so cruel?” I hold my breath. If I can appeal to the part of Ju
de who wants to make amends, maybe he’ll offer to change the women back in exchange for my forgiveness.
“I did it for you.” The Irish accent morphs to American. He sweeps a hand over his face, and the dark hair fades to sandy blond, his face and body broadens, and he loses an inch in height. Jude stands at my side and reaches for my hand. “It’s me.”
I snatch my arm away and step back, putting more space between me, Jude, and the monster. “Why?”
His eyes turn pleading. “I’m sorry about how things between us ended.”
Fury explodes in my chest and surges through my veins. Even the capillaries on my face turn hot. “What about how they started?”
Jude’s broad shoulders slump forward. “I tried, but you didn’t notice me the entire first term until the enchantment. Admit it.”
I shake my head, barely remembering Jude’s presence in those early weeks at the convent. Most of our classes were with the other slayers, and I was more interested in combat than in boys.
His face hardens. “You see why I performed the love enchantment?”
My gaze darts to the monster. “Why?”
“Because I always dreamed of us together.” He steps toward me, his arms wide. “My great-great-grandfather fought alongside Seneca Ariadne. You’ve seen the statue of him in our village. I want to be him, but in the Augustine-Dempsey slayer-conciliar combo.”
My feet shuffle toward the wards. “I want to know why you turned slayers into monsters. What were you thinking?”
With a few steps, Jude places himself between me and the exit. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Switching the subject,” he snarls. “Times have changed. You won’t shut down or walk away. You’re going to stay and listen to me. If necessary, my cherub will break your spine.”
A thrill of terror sprouts in my heart and embeds its tendrils around my throat. Something is desperately wrong with Jude’s sanity. Playing along with him until I can get away might backfire.
I raise both hands and use my most calming voice. “Alright, I’m listening.”
His chest heaves the way little children hyperventilate when building themselves up for a tantrum. “Brielle,” he says from between clenched teeth. “You were supposed to be my future.”
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