Blood King (Spirit Seeker Book 1)

by Amber K. Bryant

  “You’ll always have it.” He reached over, sliding his hand over hers. She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed.

  “I hate to break up your little we’ll always have Paris moment, but our several hundred demon lawn ornaments are starting to stir.” Devin kicked at the one nearest him and was rewarded with a hiss.

  Taking a step away from Elis, Sybille surveyed the property. The ground resembled a Whack-A-Mole game, thirster heads popping up here and there. It wouldn’t be long before they were active again. With horror, she realized that the events of the last few hours had made her forget about the Low’s relentless attack. Now that she was consciously aware of it again, it was back in full force. And now too, the thirsters’ desire for her was awakening from its hibernation. Her skin crawled as though a jar full of centipedes had been released onto the base of her spine.

  “All right, everyone. Let’s get out of here.”

  A few minutes later, she was speeding as fast as the Low’s bumpy roads would allow, Elis beside her with Zareen, still not completely back to herself, asleep behind her. The day lamps from Devin’s truck flashed in her rearview mirror. They had agreed to stop once they’d crossed the Low’s border, but until then, they kept moving forward, down the mist-covered roads, their frazzled minds attempting to shake the Low’s hold. Sybille remained grounded by counting her wounds, both seen and unseen: burns running along her back, a long, shallow gash on her left temple, a mind haunted. Injured or not, they were all leaving the Low alive. All of them. This fact should have been enough to settle her nerves, but instead, she was consumed with a sense of foreboding. Her imaginary centipedes continued to do their dance.

  Miles sped by; the Low’s border inched closer. The oppressive weight on her chest lifted but her sense of dread refused to abate. She steadied her hands on the wheel and stole a glance at Elis, only to discover him staring at her.

  He nodded slightly and then spoke in a whisper. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

  Without replying, she turned her attention back to the road. They were nearly there. Everything would be okay once they crossed out of the Low. In the distance, a moss-covered wooden sign reading “Thank you for visiting Low Hollow” grew larger. They passed it and Elis let out a sigh of relief.

  “I don’t know why I did that. I don’t actually feel relieved at all.”

  “Me neither.” Sybille bit her lip. “What’s that?”

  They leaned forward and squinted at something in the middle of the road one hundred yards ahead. As they approached, Sybille realized it wasn’t a something but rather a someone.

  Elis squirmed next to her. “Who the hell…?”

  Sybille drew to a stop. A moment later Devin pulled his truck up behind her.

  A young woman stood calmly before Sybille’s car, short lavender hair tucked behind her ears.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Sybille put the car in park, cut the engine and opened the door.

  “What are you doing?” Elis pulled on her sleeve. “Do not engage! Didn’t you see her eyes?”

  Sybille had—brilliant purple orbs, an exact match to her hair. “I have to speak to her, Elis. She wouldn’t be here without a reason. And she won’t let us pass until she’s had her say.”

  Elis let go of her arm. “But who the fuck is she?”

  “I don’t know who she is exactly, but I know what she is.”

  “Which is?”

  Ignoring him, Sybille got out of the car. By now, Zareen had stirred enough to take note of the woman in front of them. Her words were slurred yet still weighted enough to convey her shock. “Holy shit, Sybille!”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  Soon, all three of them were out of the car.

  Sybille took a deep breath and stepped towards the woman. “My name is Sybille. If you need any assistance, I can--”

  “I need nothing from you, hierophant.” Her voice was raspy, her words spoken with a strange lilt Sybille couldn’t quite place. She stuck her palm out at Sybille, who froze where she stood. An unsettling image of a rabbit caught in a snare popped into her head.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Sybille, what’s going on?” Devin came up beside her, pausing when he saw the lavender woman. “Is she a spirit? Oh wow, can I see spirits now? Do they all have purple hair?”

  Sybille tried to push him back, but her arms, her legs, her body all refused to follow her instructions. It was like being possessed, only the possession was coming from without rather than from within. “No Devin, she’s—”

  The woman cut her off again. “Here he is now.” She sang her words as though she was cooing to a baby. “Did you think you could hide from me?”

  Devin looked around in confusion. “Who’re you talking to?”

  She glided towards him. It took all of Sybille’s will to force a protective arm in front of Devin, who continued to glance around like a confused dog unable to determine which owner would give him the most treats. Elis moved to charge, but Sybille caught his eye and motioned him to stand down. She turned her attention back towards the strange woman. “What do you want with him?”

  The woman laughed. “What does it matter? You have no claim to him, do you?” She took Sybille’s arm and gently pushed her away.

  A mew escaped her mouth as her brain caught up with the reality of what was happening. Everything made sense now. Most people had a touch of psychic power, however small, but Devin was a complete void. Yet somehow, his blood was able to make bloodthirsters immortal. Why?

  “It can’t be.”

  Devin shifted on his feet. “What can’t be? Sybille, I’m not liking this.”

  The woman took hold of his hands, then pressed herself against him, her lips inches from his own. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Well…I mean, you might persuade me to change my mind, but…”

  She let go of one of his hands and put a finger to his lips. “I’m going to have fun with you.”

  Sybille’s breath came in short, uneven gulps. Dammit! She was as helpless as when she’d been discussing the liberal use of butter in her fake mother’s dream kitchen.

  Devin glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the woman currently nibbling on his earlobe. “Is this really happening? I can’t decide now if I like it or not.”

  She pulled away from his face. “You like it. I can tell. But I’ll warn you now: it won’t be all fun and games. We have work to do.”

  “Work? No. Maybe another time. Right now, I’ve had a shit couple of days. I have to get home, and—”

  “Yes!” The woman’s eyes sparkled. “You have to get home. You do understand.”

  “I kind of think I don’t.”

  Sybille attempted to move towards the purple woman again. Maybe if she distracted her long enough, Devin could make a run for it.

  A second after having this thought, she was on the ground, pinned down by an invisible train the woman had chugged her way. Elis rushed over to her, but even his strength did nothing to help Sybille pry herself away from the asphalt.

  The woman kept one palm extended towards Sybille and slipped the other hand easily around Devin’s waist. Devin cocked his head from side to side. “I should be more upset about what you just did to Sybille. But I think you’re right. I do like this.”

  He spoke slowly, as though he’d just dosed himself with Crave. Sybille closed her eyes, attempting to stop the tears from flowing.

  Elis stroked her forehead. “I’ll take care of this.” He began to stand.

  “No!” Sybille grabbed his elbow. “She’ll hurt you if you show your fangs. Besides, you can’t stop what’s about to happen.”

  “What’s about to happen?” Devin’s surprised expression hovered in Sybille’s view just over the woman’s head. Her heart clenched.

  “Uncle Devin?” Charlie stepped out of the truck and made her way forward. The lavender woman twirled her eyes, curled her lips away from her teeth and growled. Charlie shied a
way.

  “The cursed one stays.” She pulled Devin to her. “But you…you’re coming with me. Say bye-bye to your nice friends, Damhán.”

  “Who?”

  She kissed Devin’s cheek, flicked her palm away from Sybille and snapped her fingers. There was no smoke. No sparks flew. No magic words spoken. She was simply gone and Devin was gone with her.

  Released from the woman’s hold, Sybille shrugged off Elis’ grasp and stood up on her own to stare at the empty road where Devin had just been. Zareen held Charlie, who cried into her chest.

  Elis looked around, confused. “What just happened?”

  Sybille took a moment to respond, hoping to keep herself composed enough to at least make it through one complete sentence. “What happened is that we just found out Devin is not who we thought he was.”

  She turned away from the Devin-less road, the pain of his absence much starker than she was prepared to handle. Zareen spoke quietly to Elis; their conversation may as well have taken place a million miles away. She caught enough though to know that Zareen had spared her from having to explain to him what was going on. One word stood out from their conversation, spoken from Zareen’s lips and repeated like a never-ending echo in Sybille’s head. One word that summed up everything that had happened over the last twenty minutes and would continue to define, quite possibly, the rest of her life. One word to explain why one of the most important people in her life was now gone from it entirely. The word reverberated, vibrated, shuddered, dropped her to her knees and let the tears, finally, run free.

  Elis turned from Zareen to Sybille and mouthed that word as if it were a question, asking her to confirm unbelievable things. Sybille nodded and mouthed it back to him, one final echo in her bruised and battered mind:

  Fae.

  THE END

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  Sneak Peek of Blood Fae

  Sweat dripped from the girl’s tiny body. Writhing, she spoke in tongues like an ancient profit, or so it sounded to Sybille Esmond. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressing down on her young charge’s shoulders.

  “Keep hold of her,” Sybille’s uncle, Peter, instructed. He lit a match and brought the flame under a bundle of dried juniper until it caught on fire. Blowing out the match, he waved the smudge stick until the flame faded to glowing embers. A steady plume of smoke wafted up, coiling into thick circles as it fought with a draft from a crack in the bedroom window. “Margot,” he called to Sybille’s mother, “bring me my book please.”

  The three adults worked in tandem as though their actions were commonplace—heat the kettle for tea, vacuum the carpets, keep the demonic tendencies of a nine year old at bay. The mechanics of what they were doing wasn’t unprecedented for them. They made their trade as psychics specializing in releasing the spirits of undead monsters. Harboring a child possessed by an ancient evil, however, was new territory for them. They were working, blind and desperate, to save this girl. Sybille knew going in that they were gearing up for a fight.

  The girl gave a sharp cry, her eyes opening wide and her nostrils flaring.

  Sybille increased the pressure on her shoulders. Firm but gentle. “It’s going to be all right, Charlie.” She forced melody into her words, a lullaby meant to soothe both the child and her monster. “I’m here.”

  “I hate you!” Charlie focused on Sybille’s face as she yelled, then closed her eyes again.

  “That’s good. I don’t mind if you do. Just stay with me.” The tension in Sybille’s jaw eased. A decipherable human language instead of the gibberish she had been spewing meant this little girl still had fight left in her. “Don’t let it win.”

  Charlie struggled beneath Sybille. Her thin arms went rigid as she grasped the sheets between her fingers and pulled.

  “Try not to ruin my bedding while your demon is surfacing, dear heart,” Margot cooed.

  Sybille’s throat tightened. “Who cares about your damn sheets, Mother? She’s suffering.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? I’m just trying to speak to her as I normally would. She needs to know there are repercussions for becoming a hellion.” She handed Peter his book, placed a palm against Charlie’s forehead, then turned to Sybille. “Her fever is worse. I’m going to make her some elderflower tea.”

  “I don’t think we’ll convince her to drink anything.”

  “I’ll add lots of honey. Charlie, you like sweet things, remember?”

  The girl hissed.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes.” Her voice echoed from the hallway as she hurried away. “Call me if you need me.”

  Peter waved his smudge stick over Charlie’s body while thumbing through the book on his lap. The crisp, woody odor of juniper battled against a meaty smell whose source Sybille couldn’t place.

  “Ah, here it is. It’s a Tibetan chant, used for purification. Since the exorcism prayer had little effect, it can’t hurt. Here goes.” He cleared his throat and studied the page of his book. “Ki ki so so ashe lha ghe lo tak seng khung druk di yar kye.”

  Charlie kicked and screamed as Sybille did her best to keep the girl under control. If only Elis were here to help. He had yet to answer her frantic text about Charlie having another of what Margot had coined a “Low fit.” Sybille shouldn’t have been annoyed. Just because they were dating now didn’t mean he had to be at her beck and call. He had his undead life to lead, which mainly consisted of overcharging hypnotherapy clients too naïve to realize they were being mesmerized by a bloodthirster rather than a certified mental health professional.

  Sybille refused to be a controlling girlfriend—poor Elis had had enough of that, given his ex-wife’s desire to own his every move, even one hundred years after she’d shed her mortal coil. She couldn’t think about that wretched spirit now, though. Juliana had been dealt with. Charlie, on the other hand, needed saving in a major way, and damned if the person most capable of helping her couldn’t be bothered to check his fucking messages.

  Peter continued chanting and smudging. Sybille studied Charlie’s face. Delicate indigo lines began to spread from her lips outward as though her veins were filling with ink.

  Sybille scrunched her forehead. “That’s new.”

  Her uncle continued his chant, the slightest of nods the only indication he’d noticed her transformation. Minutes ticked by and Charlie’s ink veins spread and deepened over her face, her neck, her shoulders. As they grew, so did her strength. Sybille’s arms shook from the exertion.

  With a loud grunt, Charlie freed one of her hands and used it to smack Peter in the face. His glasses flew across the room, hitting the wall before crashing to the floor.

  “Stop it!” She grabbed hold of Charlie again, only to be pushed away like she was no heavier than Peter’s glasses and just as easy to toss. The force lifted Sybille off the bed and slammed her against a dresser. Charlie stood on top of crumpled sheets in her torn unicorn pajamas and snarled. Sybille flashbacked to Charlie’s mother, Raelyn. The resemblance, aside from the dark veins spiraling through Charlie’s skin, made her want to vomit.

  As she fought off dizziness, the door opened. Margot stepped inside carrying a wooden tray with a china teapot and a matching floral cup. “Look who I brought with me!”

  Elis trailed in behind her, carrying an easy smile and a picture book with the image of a girl in a blue and white gingham dress on it. “Sorry I’ve been out of reach. My phone died, but Margot told me Charlie has another fever. I brought our favorite book to read with her and… Holy Hell!”

  His smile disappeared.

  The relief she felt at his arrival didn’t quite make it to her lips. “Gosh, Elis, I’m sure story time will make her all better. Or, hey, why don’t we take her to the ER? A round of antibiotics is sure to do the trick.”

  “I was just trying to help.” Elis ducked as Charlie ran to the base of her b
ed and attempted to kick him in the head. “You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”

  “If you want to help, bloodthirster, work your magic. Because Peter’s isn’t doing jack shit. No offence.”

  Peter, who had stopped chanting long enough to examine his glasses for signs of damage, hunched his shoulders. “I tried; I failed. Elis, you’re up next. And be quick about it, before she hurts herself or kills us all.”

  “Right.” Elis dove to the left again as Charlie attempted another kick. “Stop trying to bash my head in for a minute, okay? Uncle Elis is here to help.”

  Charlie bounced over to the wall and pounded a fist into it. “You aren’t my uncle. My uncle isn’t here!”

  Sybille winced. No, he wasn’t. How different things might be if he were. “Get on with it, thirster.”

  Elis walked toward where Charlie stood, examining the fist-sized hole she’d put in the wall above her headboard.

  “Charlie, you are the strongest girl in the world. You are stronger than the terrible thing you’re fighting.”

  The girl turned to him and raised her knee, but Elis didn’t back away. Her breath came in ragged, wet gulps, like she was struggling to keep water out of her lungs.

  “If you fight it, you will win, and the monster will go back to sleep.”

  She sneered again, but lowered her knee.

  “You’ve fought this monster before. You’ve made it go back to sleep. And you’ve won.” The sheets twisted against the girl as she began to move away from Elis’s touch, but his tone was soothing and she took his hand, going still when he grasped her fingers. The blue of her veins faded from deep ocean to Easter egg pastel.