Vampire Mage

by Rosemary A Johns

  It wasn’t real.

  The whining broke into a desperate keen.

  Can’t think… Can’t think… Can’t…

  I stared down at my fingers that were sticky with starch, then in shock at the word, which I’d spelled out across the floor in rice:

  SERAPHIM.

  The silver inside me coiled in rapturous delight at the word, whilst my vampiric and angelic sides recoiled in terror. I scrabbled back until I hit the wall; my heartbeat thrashed in my ears.

  Facing myself hadn’t unleashed me, it’d freed something dangerous.

  This time, I risked closing my eyes because continuing to look at that word was worse. When soft hands caressed my cheek, however, I screamed, lashing out with my steel nails.

  “I had imagined a thank you, Mischief would be beyond my beastly queen, but I’d hoped you wouldn’t pull the Wolverine claws,” Mischief’s murmured snark broke into the silence, making me wince.

  I opened my eyes.

  Mischief’s sparkling hair hung over his cheeks, as he crouched close to me; his tunic had been slashed.

  Hell, I’d done that.

  I retracted my claws, staring at him: silver was my new favourite colour.

  Please, let him be real.

  I tentatively reached out, tracing down his nose, then his chin, throat, chest…

  He was real.

  I threw myself forward, clutching onto Mischief. Unexpectedly, another set of wings wrapped around me, followed by a fluffy tail…

  Tiger purred, rubbing his head against mine.

  Mischief sniggered. “The adamantly not adorable one was most insistent he helped in your rescue, since you’re his saviour.”

  I flinched at the title, but Tiger only hugged me harder: I wasn’t complaining.

  I fought to keep my voice from wavering but lost the battle, “You have to leave me here. If Rahab—”

  “We spoke together in the Ghost Caves, do you remember?” Mischief asked, picking his words with deliberate emphasis.

  I nodded.

  “You’re now in the position we sought. But we cannot wait any longer. You should know Fychan’s Ritual of the Wings occurs tomorrow.”

  I drew back, grimacing at the memory of the child sized guillotine and thud of wings as they fell into the basket.

  I couldn’t stop the tears spilling down my cheeks. “My wings…”

  “I know,” Mischief murmured; wiping my tears with his thumbs. “I once questioned your dedication to our cause. I should rather have questioned my own fear of Glories, amplified by my time spent in this hateful room.” He waved his hand at the walls. “It projects your personal nightmare, just like the Lower Vault traps you with…” He shuddered. “Each angels’ time spent here is uniquely horrifying. We can only be plucked apart by our own fears, doubts, and truths.” He glanced around, before startling at the word marked out in rice: SERAPHIM.

  “You know,” I whispered, as the silver inside me surged to meet his own, “what it means.”

  Mischief glanced down, whilst sparks skittered along his skin. “Something more dangerous, deadly, and ancient than even Rahab.”

  Mischief clasped my hands. I shook at the shock, as our magic met in crashing waves. Tiger clasped around my neck; his ears tickled my throat.

  Then everything broke from white to silver, and the Reformation Room vanished.

  26

  I stared at the deep well that led down to Harahel’s Oubliette, which heaved with eel-like coral reef snakes. My guts squirmed, as much as the mass of writhing snakes. I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Mischief: he’d paled, leaning back as far as he could against the corridor’s dank wall. Here was Mischief’s personal nightmare, and after his punishment trapped in the Lower Vault, I didn’t blame his hesitation.

  To break this fear would be to break Rahab’s hold.

  “Why can’t you simply do your teleport thing to Harahel?” I asked.

  Mischief rolled his eyes. “I may not appear to wear a Compulsion Collar, but Mage Drake controls me just the same. He’d sense the use of my power, which would rather derail my plan to rescue Harahel now that I have you. Although the Mage imagines he watches every movement within his castle, however, he misses a magician’s sleight of hand; Rebel is providing that distraction.”

  Still Mischief didn’t edge any closer to the well.

  Tiger glanced between us, before waggling his eyebrows. “Fun.”

  Then he lifted his tail and dived into the water.

  Mischief gasped, rushing to the crumbling brick. He leaned over, shooting wisps of light down into the well, as if Tiger had only been pranking and would still be clinging by his claws to the sides.

  Mischief snarled, banging the well in a shower of sparks.

  Outraged hissing.

  “Silence foul reptiles!” Mischief howled, stumbling back.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Is this Harahel-sized tantrum because of the word I scrawled in rice?”

  Mischief became motionless, trembling. “As if a thoughtless self-centred Glory—”

  “Hold the flaying, I’m skinned already. Since when was I a Glory to you? You’re my fam: mine.”

  Mischief crowded me against the wall, pressing his hands either side of my head, whilst his wings caught us in a violet cocoon. “I am not yours: we belong to each other.” The breath caught in my chest at his sudden closeness; his lips ghosted against mine. “You raised my brother, but you brought me to life.” His hair swept soft against my cheeks, as I lost myself in the magic explosion of his kiss: despair and passion, crackling with popcorn sweetness. My silver rose, spiralling with his in sparking crescendo. Until he drew back, just enough to whisper, “I’m the reason Nathanael died to be resurrected a slave, and Och was forced to become a Discipliner.”

  When I shook my head, Mischief hushed me gently.

  “I’m their half-brother only and for my differences, my mother despised me. Her cruelty was such…” Mischief swallowed, looking down; I stroked his wing. “…She never touched my brothers, only me because my magic was wrong. My father attempted to shield me, but what could a Marked Wing do? You know the control a Glory holds, after all, you’ve Marked a Wing yourself.” I flinched, but Mischief met my gaze challengingly.

  “I didn’t know…”

  “I rather think you did. It’s enjoyable to be the one with the power. Don’t you relish your dominance over Rebel?”

  “Only when he’s willing.”

  Mischief stared at me searchingly, before nodding. “Perhaps, now.” He shrugged, although his muscles were so stiff, he vibrated. “Do you know what happens when no one teaches you to control your magic? You see, I do. I teleported my father to London by mistake, where he was captured by the Pure.” He leaned closer; his lips touched mine. “Did I ever thank you for the opportunity to assassinate their leader?” I shrank back, remembering Mischief’s wild transformation into killer unicorn mode and his decapitation of the Pure’s leader, Stephanie. “Here comes the reason I don’t trust Glories, please do tell me that I’m overreacting: my mother petitioned for my execution. Pray, have a guess who the Matriarch decided would be added to her harem of Marked Poly-Wings as punishment?”

  I grasped Mischief’s neck, as if I could erase even the thought of him bearing my mum’s Mark there, like Drake did. Hell, no wonder my Fae Angel freaked out about Glories…and me. And I’d asked him to trust me…?

  Mischief’s expression gentled, as he licked along the seam of my lips. “Mage Drake truly did save me. The price, however, was my two brothers. Please don’t waste your rage on either one of them: they lost both parents, home, and freedom because of me. Yet they’ve always shown me love, despite what I am.”

  I frowned. “An Undeserving?”

  Mischief stretched out his silvery-violet wings, just as his eyes gleamed to silver. “A Child of the Seraphim.”

  I gasped, reaching out to touch Mischief’s cheek, but he backed away. Twisting to the well, he winked at me over his
shoulder. “Why let the adorable fleabag have all the fun?”

  Then he jumped headfirst down the well and into the snakes.

  Bastard dramatics…

  I edged closer to the well.

  My turn…

  I took a deep breath, before swinging myself over and into the black.

  Splash.

  The water hit me like a slap. I cringed at the brush of snakes against my face; coils wrapped around my legs, as I booted out, kicking further into the dark. I clenched my jaw against the pinprick smart of snake bites along my back and hands, feeling for the brick sides of the tunnel.

  My lungs ached, struggling for air. My legs flailed. Then one final kick and I was out of the water, taking desperate gasps.

  I hauled myself, shivering and dripping, onto the tiny grated ledge. Then I opened my eyes, only for them to widen at the Drama of the Week scene in the murk.

  Tiger had Harahel pinned against the wall; Tiger’s fangs were out, as he sniffed up and down Harahel’s neck. Harahel’s head was turned away; his arms were crossed against the attack, even if his gauntness made clear he couldn’t defend it. Mischief lounged next to them, examining his nails, although his coiled litheness growled that he was ready to leap between them the moment Tiger moved to sink in his fangs.

  Mischief might’ve let me take the lead in Castle Drake but in the Under World, he’d helped and plotted with Harahel, whilst I’d still been ripping out fangs for my leather necklace in the Cage. No way he’d let Harahel be hurt.

  I trusted Mischief to protect my fam like his own.

  Mischief raised an eyebrow. “It appears whilst we were chatting, our friends discovered that they were both Misrule’s Blood Lovers.” His lips pursed, before he singsonged, “Kitties don’t like to share.”

  Tiger hissed, jamming his tail like a finger against Harahel’s chest. “You’re not wanted. Why would my Misrule…?” Tiger sniffed Harahel’s sweet apple aroma again; tears trembled on his cheeks. “How did you trick him, angel?”

  “Misrule never forgot you.” Harahel curled his hand around Tiger’s waist.

  “He replaced me with an angel,” Tiger spat, scratching his claws down Harahel’s wings. I leapt up from my crouch, but Mischief held out his hand, holding me back. I gritted my teeth. “By the blood, trapped in that hell, I knew Misrule was looking for me because he was my bonded. He’d never just leave me there. He’d rescue me like your saviour liberated all of us.” He stole a look at me. “And now she liberates you…” He shook Harahel. “Isn’t that love?”

  “Hey, Misrule loves you,” Harahel murmured. “But you were missing, and he was alone.”

  Tiger deflated, slumping against Harahel; his forehead rested against Harahel’s shoulder, as he now petted the wings that he’d gashed. “Selfish of me,” he muttered, “to wish to be loved, as I love.”

  When I sidled closer, rubbing Harahel’s shoulder, he smiled. “Rahab’s big mistake: to think my legendary fam could ever be forgotten.”

  Harahel’s smile widened. “At first, I reckoned I’d be buried under here forever, like the Bones.”

  “Your grin is creepily inappropriate, bro.”

  Harahel shrugged, transferring a now snuggling Tiger to one arm. “Then I remembered that almost my entire rebel gang was up there…” He smirked at Mischief. “…and I could be your pretty Trojan Horse with added BOOM!”

  Mischief straightened. “Oh, I know now why Rebel wets his little panties whenever you enter the room.”

  Harahel flushed. “So, wiping that image from my mind…wiping images is where we start with your Legion. Your Phoenix Mage has built his power on a myth. Himself. The Gateways in my library groaned with his Legion’s propaganda.”

  The Mage’s Challenge, Champion of Light, and Lazarus Rising… I nodded: Rahab had been hyping me in order to blast my brother into the storybooks, except he hadn’t bet on the power of sibling love.

  And wasn’t that the true story?

  “Angel World both loathes and fears the Brotherhood.” Mischief cocked his head. “But Mage Drake has always held too much power to be brought down, with his public decisions over the Broken and his Phoenix army.”

  “Then we kick his reputation’s arse in a public duel.” I glanced between them, as silver twined with shadows in a silky thrill at the thought of finally fighting Rahab. “I’m a part of his puppet play now: his queen and champion. He’s set himself up for his own bastard fall. He turns his boys against each other in confessions, gauntlets, and duels… Let’s see how he enjoys the disgrace.”

  Harahel’s eyes gleamed. “So, he’s into the divide and conquer game? Then we take out his points of power. See how loyal his followers are then.”

  I grinned, gripping Harahel’s brunet curls, whilst I kissed him. “Hell, I missed you.”

  He sniggered. “I am awesome.”

  “Do you still have that freaky Breathing Underwater power that you stole from the witches?”

  Harahel nodded. “We didn’t make the return trip, so let’s just say I managed to put it on ice.”

  Mischief tutted. “My, and you once threatened to spank me for attempting to steal your books…”

  Harahel slipped into stern face, and Mischief paled. “Attempting?”

  Mischief shuffled his feet. “What a shame we’re in a life or death situation, else I’d love to explore my indiscretions. As it is… Why hasn’t your beloved Misrule been hammering down these walls to rescue you?”

  Harahel’s gaze hardened. “I broke his rules to save the queen.” He hunched his shoulders like a kid caught after curfew. “OK, so remember the Fallen who had a thing for me and followed me into battle? Colour me cynical, but they’d have betrayed me to save their own skins as soon as they swam back to the Under World. Misrule’s not getting his crusade on because he knows better than to rush in without a signal from me, which I can give…” He patted Mischief’s shoulder. “…as soon as I reach the ocean.”

  I grinned. “Then let’s throw this catch back in.”

  I snatched Harahel’s knee, attempting to overbalance him into the water; he laughed as he hopped.

  “By the light, you’ve broken the Code and proven yourself unworthy of our sacred Brotherhood.”

  I backed away, gripping at my head, as Kunel’s voice thundered. “Was it just me that tuned into Brainwash FM?”

  Mischief’s lips pinched into a thin line. “Mage Drake?”

  “The First Reformer, and it sounds like I’ve been found guilty, before the trial.”

  “Swim: use the spell and take the secret tunnels that I taught you.” Mischief thrust Tiger and Harahel into the water. “Find Ceri, you understand, cat?”

  “I’m not the one incapable of remembering another’s true species, angel.” Tiger snatched Harahel by the hand and yanked him, protesting under the water.

  “What the hell…?”

  Mischief gripped my shoulder. “You’ll not be alone in this, sailor doll. If you wish it, you shall never be alone again.”

  My breath hitched.

  Why was Mischief offering all I’d ever wanted, just when my heart was pounding with enough fear to tell me I was screwed?

  “Phoenix knows, you’ve refused to confess or reform. You bring our whole order into disrespute by your degenerate actions. You won’t cause us to rise but Fall,” Kunel’s voice continued to recite my crimes.

  I grimaced. “But I have crazy mojo when I play “Overwatch”.”

  Kunel faltered, before ending with a flourish, “You are the False Pretender. And we will carry out our duty to wipe your stain from the Legion.”

  Stain wiping not sounding good…

  “Shall I assume sunshine and rainbows by your snort of derision or…?” Mischief rested his head on mine.

  “Shadows,” I whispered, as a black wave crept up from the waters. “Shadows and nightmares.”

  Mischief and I recoiled as far as we could on the grilled ledge, but Kunel’s power — living fear — slithered in a h
orrifying mass towards us.

  My pulse pounded; my palms sweated. My breath rasped too loudly in the Oubliette. I couldn’t tell if the tremoring was Mischief or me. When the first nightmare shadows touched my feet, before creeping up my leg, I cringed, squeezing shut my eyes. Dizzy, I clutched at Mischief, before I sank into the terror.

  27

  My head bobbed above the seagrass and algae skin of the pool in the cavern underneath the Invisible Bridge. Beneath the briny seawater that stung my nostrils and lips, jewelled fish brushed against my hands. I shivered, drawing my legs closer, as I doggy paddled. When sea snakes slithered across the unnatural emerald glow of the pool’s surface, Mischief shuddered, swimming closer to wrap his wings around me.

  Like two sinners at a freaky baptism waiting to be reborn into the light, Mischief and I floated in the centre of the pool, whilst black shadowed nightmares crouched on the filthy walls of the cave and a small congregation of adult mages watched us from the edge.

  I narrowed my eyes at Kunel, who headed the smug Avengers: a zealous Captain America. “Get with the smiting; we’re freezing our balls off.”

  Horrified gasps.

  Mischief sniggered; his sparkling seaweed hair trailed around him. “And the famous last words of the Phoenix Queen were truly unexpected…”

  I grinned, despite the twist of fear, which was still twining in my guts from Kunel’s shadows and the knowledge that this False Pretender Faction didn’t intend my baptism but my funeral. “Never be predictable.”

  “Also excellent last words.” Mischief kissed the tip of my nose. “As are… I love you, my maddening beast.”

  I blinked. “Could you try it again without the maddening beast part?”

  “In the name of the Brotherhood,” Kunel pointed at me with his brawny hand, “even now you mock our Code. I’ve tried to reform and purge you through both love and fear. But a Glory should never have been allowed into the ranks of our Legion. You, False Pretender, contaminate us with your—”