Into the Fire

by Jeaniene Frost

  It sounded like Gretchen was trying to say something, too, but her words were muffled by the brawny arm clamped across her mouth. I yanked at it, and it didn’t move. All Maximus did was shove me back with his other hand.

  “What was that?” Gretchen sputtered when he finally let her go. Then she touched her red-smeared mouth. “Did you just make me drink your blood?”

  “Yes,” Maximus said, meeting my gaze over Gretchen’s head. “Now she can go inside with you.”

  “Why would you do that?” Gretchen demanded, punching the thick arm that had been pressed to her face. “Did you forget that I’m the only one here who doesn’t like blood?”

  “I didn’t forget.” Maximus bent down until they were eye level. His gaze wasn’t lit up with vampire green, but Gretchen stared at him as if he’d mesmerized her. “But you’re wrong. Leila’s safety isn’t my only priority. I also care about you.”

  The confusion in her expression said she didn’t understand. I did, and I wished I’d thought of it myself. With vampire blood in her system, Gretchen would be stronger, faster, and heal more easily. She also now had a “Get Out of Dead Free” card. If a human died right after drinking vampire blood, they could be raised as a ghoul. That would be our very last resort, but I was relieved to have the option, if the worst happened.

  “Thank you,” I said to Maximus. When Gretchen swung an amazed look my way, I said, “I’ll tell you later.”

  I waited until the guys backed away enough to merge with the woods. Then Gretchen and I followed Leotie inside the house. When the door closed behind us, it seemed to shut with a finality that silenced everything beyond it.

  Chapter 22

  The inside was much nicer than the outside, as if I’d needed more confirmation that things weren’t what they seemed with Leotie Shayne. The interior might be small but it was very clean, and the furniture had the faded look of age, yet it was also homey and welcoming.

  “Tea?” Leotie asked, as if this was a social call.

  I remembered Ian’s warning about side effects of magical drinks. “No thank you.”

  “Love some,” Gretchen said, her glare daring me to argue.

  My lips compressed, stopping the words that tried to fly out. Why couldn’t she follow my lead for once? Now, if I didn’t let her drink it, I’d be causing a scene that would escalate the already strangling tension. Worse, Leotie smiled as if amused by this battle of sisterly wills.

  “Which were you first, a witch or a vampire?” Gretchen went on, startling me with her blunt question.

  “A witch,” Leotie replied, thankfully unruffled. “From a long line of them, in fact.”

  “Which line?” I asked, making the question sound casual.

  She gave me a look as she set a kettle on an old-fashioned stove. “Don’t be coy. You know which or you wouldn’t be here.”

  I wasn’t about to give her information if she were just fishing. “I want to hear you say it,” I replied, my glare telling Gretchen, Don’t you dare fill it in for her!

  Leotie lit the gas under the kettle and turned the flame up. Then she gestured to a faded blue couch adorned with brightly colored crocheted pillows. “Won’t you sit?”

  Gretchen did. I continued to stand. I’d have better range of motion that way if I had to manifest my whip, and if that happened, I didn’t want Gretchen in my immediate vicinity.

  “Well?” I asked, masking my impatience. “Which line?”

  “You look more like your father than your mother” was what Leotie replied, casting an almost disparaging glance at Gretchen next. “You too. Blue-eyed pale faces, the both of you.”

  “It’s what’s inside that counts,” I said at once. “And I’ve got more than a few interesting things from my Cherokee blood.”

  Leotie grunted. “Very true. Without it, there would be nothing exceptional about you, Leila Dalton.”

  If she thought to insult me, she failed. I used my powers because I had to, not because I wanted to get into what Vlad had once called a supernatural dick-measuring contest.

  “Another one,” Gretchen muttered.

  Leotie’s black gaze gleamed. “One what?”

  “‘Normal’ basher,” Gretchen stated. “Dealt with it my whole life. News flash: being normal isn’t a cakewalk. You try slogging through this life with nothing special about you when you’re surrounded by people who are exceptional.”

  Her words sidetracked me. “But you are special,” I began.

  She gave me a look. “Don’t patronize me. I’m fine with what I am. I’m just sick of hearing other people say that ‘normal’ isn’t good enough for them.”

  Yes, I had gotten a lot of attention as a kid because of my gymnastic abilities, and yes, the horrible power line accident and its aftermath had only increased the focus on me, but I hadn’t wanted it to. I’d ached for the normal she described.

  Until now, I hadn’t looked past my own pain enough to realize that perhaps Gretchen had ached, too. The squeaky wheel got the grease; everyone knew that. Well, I hadn’t just squeaked—I’d been laden with trophies and accolades until the power line accident had left me literally sparking. Where had that left Gretchen? Perhaps feeling as if she didn’t matter as much, which wasn’t true at all.

  We needed to have a long, long talk, but now wasn’t the time. The irony that her needs once again had to wait because mine took priority wasn’t lost on me. Soon, I promised silently. We’d talk right after everyone’s lives weren’t in danger.

  The kettle began to make a hissing sound. Leotie shut off the flame and poured the hot water into one of those teapot-leaf-strainer combo things. “The leaves need to steep,” she told Gretchen, as if that was the most important topic of the day.

  “What Cherokee clan are you from?” I said, not giving up. “And did Ashael warn you that we’d be coming? No more small talk, Leotie. You promised us answers if we met your terms.”

  She turned those sharp black eyes on me. “Answers. Is that what you’re really here for?”

  “Yes,” I repeated, impatience making my voice hard.

  “For what purpose?” she asked in an equally hard tone. Her gaze raked over me, as if measuring my worth and finding it lacking. “This is your first visit to your mother’s people, yet you didn’t truly come to learn. You only came to take. As I said, you are much more your father’s child than your mother’s.”

  Anger almost blinded me to it, but even as I bristled, I recognized the other flash of emotion in her eyes. Why would she look at me as if I’d somehow personally let her down . . . ?

  The truth hit me. “What should I call you, Leotie? My ten-times great grandmother? Or my ten-times great-aunt?”

  Gretchen gasped, but a small smile touched Leotie’s mouth. “How did you figure it out?”

  “Easy,” I said with a short laugh. “Only family can be that disappointed in someone, let alone someone they’ve just met.”

  She let out a gravelly chuckle. “I suppose that’s true.”

  Despite her being centuries up the line in my family tree, I found myself searching Leotie’s face for traces of my mother’s features. No surprise, I didn’t find any. She didn’t look like my aunt Brenda, either. Still, she was family. I could feel the truth of that in my bones.

  Gretchen didn’t settle for merely looking at Leotie. She got off the couch and went over to her, touching Leotie’s face as if trying to see her with her hands. Leotie stood immobile, letting Gretchen pet her. Only her dark eyes moved as she stared at me.

  I stared back and found that another of Vlad’s traits had rubbed off on me: a near-paranoid suspicion of everyone. Leotie might say she was family and I might have an inner conviction that agreed with her, but none of those things was proof.

  “You must have pictures,” I said, smiling as if driven by curiosity rather than suspicion. “I’d love to see them. We have so few of Mom and Aunt Brenda when they were little.”

  Leotie snorted. “You’re a terrible liar. I hope it means
that you don’t do it often. Yes, I have proof that we’re family. Here.”

  She pulled out an old-looking box from beneath the room’s only display case and flipped back the lid. At once, my school picture from the eighth grade stared back at me.

  Gretchen grabbed the box and began digging through the photos. Her school pictures were there, too. All of ours were, going all the way back to kindergarten. Then Gretchen pulled out more photos that couldn’t have been copied from yearbooks or school records. There were endless pictures of the two of us at birthdays, holidays, or family events, and ones of my mother beaming as she held her hands over her very pregnant belly.

  Then there were photos of my mom’s wedding to my dad, of my aunt Brenda at various stages of her life, and even photos of my mom and Aunt Brenda as teenagers and also as little girls playing in front of a newer version of this house.

  There were other photos, too, including a duplicate of the only picture I’d seen of my grandparents along with other photos of them that I hadn’t seen. Then there were older ones of people who might have been farther up in my family’s line, but I didn’t recognize them. The pictures continued, until looking at the backgrounds and clothing styles was like traveling back in time. Finally, at the very bottom of the box, Gretchen pulled out a faded daguerreotype photo of Leotie as she appeared now, standing with several Native American men and women. They were dressed in full tribal clothing, and their expressions were very grim.

  Leotie glanced at it and a shadow crossed her face. “That was taken after most of my people were forced to go to the reservation out West. I was among those who stayed and hid. Many who stayed died, but so did many on the Trail.”

  I shuddered. The infamous Trail of Tears was where thousands of my Cherokee ancestors had died from starvation, exposure, and disease when they were forcibly removed from their lands. The history behind that photograph staggered me. I was torn between wanting to cry for those long-dead people and wanting to ask Leotie a thousand questions about them. Yet now wasn’t the time. I had to stay focused. Those people were gone, but there were still other living people I could possibly save.

  “All of our pictures stopped around the same time that Mom died,” I noted instead. “Why didn’t Aunt Brenda send more?”

  “Because she didn’t know I was still alive. Your mother didn’t tell her what I was, or the truth about your real heritage.” Leotie cast a meaningful glance between me and Gretchen. “Your mother believed that the less Brenda knew, the more she could protect her.”

  I looked away. Mom had been the oldest, too. Were my many omissions of truth with Gretchen just another case of history repeating itself?

  “In any case, I’m the one who sent them away,” Leotie went on. “It was too dangerous for them to stay, but your mother promised to send any children she would have back to me to learn about their true heritage, once they came of age.”

  My voice thickened from emotion. “She died before she had the chance to keep her promise.”

  “Why was it too dangerous?” Gretchen asked.

  Leotie gestured toward her walker. “With props, assuming new identities, and altering my appearance, I’ve managed to hide my vampire nature for the past eight centuries. Very few among our tribe know what I am. Still, every so often, I run into another vampire from the outside world.” She shrugged. “It usually amounts to nothing, but someone must have recognized me from the ancient days and talked. Thirty years ago, the female Law Guardian came to investigate these claims. I sent her away with lies, but afterward, I knew I had to get your mother and Brenda out of here. These lands are small, but the white world is so large, they could disappear into it. And they did. I didn’t even know how to find you after your mother died and your father moved you away.”

  She had dropped big hints, but Leotie still hadn’t confirmed what clan she was from, and I wasn’t about to spill my secrets until she did. Leotie might be family, but that didn’t make her trustworthy. Mircea was proof of that.

  “Why would a visit from a Law Guardian frighten you enough to send Mom and Aunt Brenda away?” I asked her point-blank. “Being an old vampire is nothing interesting to them.”

  She gave me one of those half-approving, half-annoyed looks again. “No, but being a true-blood Ani-kutani witch would interest them, as the murder of my entire clan attests.”

  “And boom goes the dynamite,” Gretchen said sardonically.

  Chapter 23

  I closed my eyes. The demon had been right; I was an Ani-kutani descendant and also a trueborn witch. What if he was also right and the possible key to breaking Mircea’s spell lay in the legacy magic that had been passed along to me?

  “What about the teenager who lives here, Lisa?” I asked abruptly. “She called you Grandma. If she’s your family, too—”

  “She isn’t,” Leotie said. “She calls me Grandma out of respect because I took her and her mother in when their house burned down a few years ago. But you and Gretchen are my only true descendants.”

  Then we didn’t have any other living relatives. I’d thought not, but part of me had hoped. That brought up another question.

  “You’re our ancient ancestor and a trueborn Ani-kutani witch. But the legacy magic ended up being passed down to me. That means you would’ve had to give it up a long time ago. Why did you, if the power it contains is supposed to be legendary?”

  She smiled a bit grimly. “For the same reason your mother did. Back when I was human, my child was dying from fear-of-water sickness, which you now call rabies. The only way I could save her was to transfer my legacy magic to her. That same night, my vampire lover changed me into a blood drinker.”

  “Why then?” Gretchen asked with her usual bluntness.

  Leotie blinked. “To bring me back from death, of course.”

  The demon hadn’t mentioned this part. “What do you mean?”

  “You two truly know nothing,” Leotie muttered. “When you receive legacy magic, it merges into every part of you and instantly transforms into whatever you need most. When I received it as a young human, I most needed the ability to hide from those slaughtering my entire clan. Therefore, the legacy magic gave me the ability to transform into whatever I wanted to look like. Magic that knows what you need and instantly adapts to be that very thing is the most potent magic there is.”

  Leotie paused as if letting that sink in. When her dark eyes seemed to become a richer shade of black, I knew we were getting to the catch. With great power, there was always a catch.

  I wasn’t wrong.

  “Yet pulling that magic out to transfer it to someone else rips you apart in the same all-encompassing way that it first binds with you,” she said. “It takes everything with it, even magic that you were born with. No one who has transferred it to another person has survived. That’s the main reason it is called legacy magic. When you pass it on, you die.”

  I didn’t say anything for several moments. My mind was too busy running through different scenarios. Gretchen was silent, too. Then she said, “But you’re still here.”

  Leotie lifted a shoulder. “My lover cheated the death price by bringing me back as a vampire after I died.”

  Just like I had cheated death by drinking vampire blood all those times before I became a vampire myself. Then, I’d nearly hacked my own head off in response to Mircea’s spell. Wait . . .

  “You said legacy magic instantly transforms into whatever you need the most. Yes, it saved me by transforming the power line voltage into a part of me back when I was thirteen, but I’ve almost been killed dozens of times since then and it didn’t do shit to help.”

  Leotie’s brow arched. “Power that always transforms into whatever you need isn’t magic; that’s mythology. Legacy magic morphs into what you most need at the time of your infusion. That’s all you get, but that initial transformation contains more power than can be learned by centuries of studying spells.”

  Of course there had to be another catch. It would be too easy if
legacy magic protected its host against every threat, every time. Then Mircea’s suicide-inducing spell would’ve bounced right off me instead of merging and growing until he and I were bound together tighter than twins . . .

  “Holy shit!” I burst out. Then I began to pace, feverishly trying to work out the details in my mind.

  “Transferring legacy magic to another person strips all the magic out of you, even right down to any magic you were born with. So wouldn’t transferring it to another person also strip any spell currently cast on you, too?”

  “Yes,” Leotie said, her puzzled voice drowned out from my instant whoop.

  “Screw Ashael, we’ve got our solution right here!”

  “Who is this Ashael you keep mentioning?” Leotie asked, then both of us ducked as her front door was suddenly kicked in with such force, it flew across the room.

  Maximus stormed inside, shoving Gretchen and me behind him. At the same instant, Marty and Ian smashed through the windows. All three vampires were about to attack Leotie when my frantic cries of “Stand down!” finally registered to them.

  “What are you doing?” I said, aghast.

  “You screamed,” Maximus replied, accompanied by a grunt of agreement from Marty.

  “I made a happy noise,” I said, embarrassed and yet also touched. “Leotie’s information is a dream come true.”

  Leotie looked at the broken glass everywhere and her front door now lying next to her coffee table. “You owe me two new windows and a door,” she said to the guys. Then she glanced at a crushed metal pile near Maximus’s feet. “And a new walker.”

  “Wait, you shape-shifted into an old woman,” Gretchen said, gesturing at the ruined walker. “How could you do that if giving away your legacy magic took all your other magic out of you?”

  Leotie’s mouth curled downward. “That wasn’t my former shape-shifting ability; it was glamour. Such a painstaking process by comparison, but learning a spell doesn’t take inborn magic. It only takes basic intelligence.”