by E. G. Foley
As he walked down the wide, shallow stairs outside the palace, he found them lined with grinning jack-o’-lanterns, scarecrows, hay bales, and a scattering of autumn leaves. Torchlight flickered over the dramatic entrance to Merlin Hall from burning coals in the pair of tall braziers that flanked the foot of the stairs.
No doubt it all was the handiwork of Jillian Quince and her decorating crew. Including one disappointed little redhead.
Jake scowled, angry at himself for ruining the party for Dani—not to mention the disgrace of losing control of his wonky telekinesis.
When he stepped down onto the graveled drive in front of the palace, his nerves chafed raw from that debacle, he ignored the tiered fountain lilting in the stillness, and disregarded the opening to the giant boxwood maze.
He could hear the rowdy giants singing somewhere out behind the palace, but he ignored them, too, walking off by himself across the vast, dark lawns that surrounded Merlin Hall.
He welcomed the cloak of the darkness, the solitude. He was glad to leave the party behind. This whole night had been a waste. He’d learned nothing of Red’s whereabouts; he’d let Dani down yet again; he’d spent zero time with his friends; he’d made an enemy of an Elder, and a fool of himself.
Perfect. Just perfect. He could feel his bad mood returning like a dark cloud settling once more over his shoulders.
It was the waiting that was killing him, he supposed.
Why was it taking so long? Trust the adults, they said. But no one even seemed to have a plan!
The truth was, Jake was beginning to lose hope.
With the lights of the palace gleaming in the distance behind him, he walked up onto the stone bridge that arched over the babbling stream where the naiads frolicked—freshwater mermaids, the guardians of all inland waterways.
Drifting over to one side of the bridge, Jake leaned his elbows on the rough stone wall and gazed down into the current.
Moonlight played on the surface of the swirling water. He did not know if the little river had a name, but it wrapped around the grounds of Merlin Hall and watered the fields.
A small distance upstream from the bridge, there was a half-submerged stone gazebo covered in moss where the water nymphs liked to sit. There were none there now, but underwater, the naiads were having their own autumn celebration to parallel the one going on inside.
If he listened hard enough, Jake could hear the soft, ethereal strains of their songs.
Those haunting lullabies were woven into his earliest memories, for it was to the water nymphs that his mother, Elizabeth Everton, the Countess of Griffon, had entrusted Jake as a wee baby in a basket on the terrible day Uncle Waldrick and Fionnula had attacked.
While Father fought to fend off the sneak attack, Mother had put Jake in the picnic basket and run to the edge of the stream that wrapped around Griffon Castle. There, she had begged the mysterious river maidens to take him away and keep him safe.
And they had.
Tricksy as the waterfolk were known to be, the naiads had taken pity on the newly orphaned infant, floating him down the brook until it joined the mighty Thames.
It wasn’t really their fault they had lost him after that.
And now here he was, listening to the same songs that had calmed him when he was a terrified baby in a basket.
The water nymphs’ wistful melodies comforted him now, just as they had then. But they also made his heart ache all the more, reminding him afresh of all the loss he’d already endured.
Maybe that was what made this situation with Red so difficult to bear.
Jake had survived by being tough both inside and out. But he’d let himself love Red and trust the loyal beast completely. The Gryphon had seemed so powerful that Jake hadn’t thought that Red could ever be taken away from him.
The way his parents had.
I can’t go through this again. Tears flicked into his eyes as he stared down into the swirling black water.
He saw his face in the reflection, silver-speckled with tiny pinprick stars.
While the watery strains of the naiads shimmered on the air, his chest welled up with sadness verging on despair. He’d never felt more alone. It was as if a piece of his soul had been torn away, and he needed it back in order to function.
On the verge of giving up hope, he lifted a teary-eyed gaze to the black, sparkling sky.
Please, God. Isn’t there someone—anyone—out there you could send to go and save Red?
CHAPTER 12
Achilles’ Heel
Janos stared at Wyvern in shock, feeling like he had just been punched in the gut. “What did you say?” he demanded.
His voice came out as little more than a whisper.
“You heard me,” the Nephilim answered, his eyes gleaming in the candlelit drawing room. “Your weakness is no secret from Shemrazul. It’s her. Your little friend, the Keeper of the Unicorns.”
“That’s absurd!” Janos stepped back sharply and turned away to hide his eyes from Wyvern, but his undead heart had started pounding. “I barely know the chit.”
“It’s no use lying, Janos. I already know the truth. My father told me, you see. Shemrazul has read your heart.”
“Sorry, ol’ boy. You’ve been deceived,” Janos said in a taut voice. “Demons lie. They’re rather famous for it, actually.”
“So are vampires,” Wyvern whispered. “This girl touches your heart in ways you thought you’d never feel again—”
“Don’t be disgusting, man!” He turned back to Wyvern. “She’s little more than a child. Or have you not seen my wives, one more luscious than the next? I may be many things, but I am no corrupter of innocents.”
“I can see why she captivates you,” the warlock mused aloud. “She is a lovely creature.”
“Is she?” Janos drawled, then gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Wyvern laughed. “Don’t look so panicked, Your Highness. I know you don’t mean anything improper by it—which, in itself, is worrisome.” He flicked a wary glance over him. “Perhaps I could understand a bit better if you merely wanted to drink the girl’s blood and be done with it. But this is something…different. Something very strange. Isn’t it?”
Janos shook his head, lying for all he was worth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You care for this girl. Not romantically, perhaps. Not yet. But you look at sweet, little Isabelle Bradford and see the embodiment of everything you threw away. Don’t you?” Wyvern taunted, impaling him with words crueler than any blade. “The light. The morning. The spring. She gives you hope.” He fairly sneered at the word. “A faint stirring that perhaps there might still be some hint of goodness left in this world. Maybe even left…in yourself.”
“I fear you’ve gone mad, my lord,” Janos said crisply, folding his arms across his chest. “Shall I send for the doctor?”
“Oh, deny it all you please, my poor, ruined Guardian. But I understand you better than you think. You see, I already know that, deep down, some small part of you still harbors those pathetic ideals from your days with the Order. I witnessed it outside this very night with my own two eyes, when you let those peasants go.
“I admit, I was surprised when my father told me of your fondness for that simpering little empath,” he continued. “But I suppose it makes sense. You’ve always had a weakness for the ladies, and Miss Bradford is a beautiful girl.”
She is a beautiful soul, Janos thought, glaring at Wyvern. Anyone with eyes could see that Izzy had a pretty face. So what?
So did countless other females—he could charm them all, and it meant absolutely nothing.
But this one artless girl’s gift at sensing others’ feelings, combined with his own telepathic powers, had given Janos a glimpse of who Isabelle Bradford was on the inside.
And that was when he had been slain. Aye, as easily as one of her stupid unicorns—fierce creatures, easily slaughtered once they’d been entranced by the virtue of a pure-h
earted girl.
It was her inner beauty that had dazzled, inspired him. Janos had not known, or perhaps had long since forgotten, that such simple goodness could exist.
But it still did, somehow, in her. One bright, pure flame in the ever-growing darkness of the world.
That was obviously why they had chosen her as a unicorn Keeper.
Even more remarkably, Isabelle had used her empath talent once to peer inside Janos, and he shuddered to think what she might’ve seen in him. To his surprise, though, that mere slip of a girl had not run away screaming.
Which told him that for all her quiet grace, the outwardly demure aristocratic maiden was as steely-spined as she was fair. She had searched the depths of the monster he’d become and hadn’t flinched.
He later heard she’d even clobbered Garnock once, and that had made him smile.
Ah, Isabelle Bradford would probably be the death of him, he thought.
“You’re more transparent than you realize,” Wyvern said with silken cruelty. “Every chivalrous knight needs a lady to place up on some shining pedestal, after all. Even those who have thrown away their honor.”
Janos looked at him in pain.
“I’ve no desire to hurt Jake Everton,” the Nephilim continued. “But if you refuse to cooperate, I will throw your sweet little unicorn girl down to Shemrazul.”
Something inside of Janos snapped.
Without warning, he grabbed Wyvern by the lapels and drove him backward with explosive force, slamming the warlock against the harpsichord.
It jangled out an ominous note.
“Touch her and I’ll kill you,” he snarled in the earl’s face, baring his fangs. “So help me, I will tear you limb from limb. I don’t care what sort of army you bring. I give you this one warning—”
Wyvern began laughing in his face, flashing his double rows of teeth. “Ah, I knew it. The truth comes out, even from a consummate liar! Well, it appears I’ve found the immortal one’s Achilles’ heel, haven’t I? Who would’ve dreamt it? Six beautiful huntresses for wives, but it’s the witless little empath who’s stolen your poor, undead heart.”
The drawing room seemed to darken as Janos’s eyes turned black. He jammed his forearm across Wyvern’s throat, bending him back across the top of the harpsichord.
Wyvern wrapped a six-fingered hand around Janos’s forearm, trying to pry it free, to no avail. As the earl began struggling for air, not even the viselike hold that Janos kept on him was enough to shut Wyvern up.
“Come, do you not know how easy it would be for me to lure the chit away from her protectors and seize her?” Wyvern forced out. “All I’d have to do is torture some helpless little animal within range of her gift, and she’d come running to help the stupid thing.”
Janos was horrified by the threat, for he knew in an instant it would work.
Of course it would.
Isabelle’s empathic powers made her unable to ignore the suffering of any creature—even him.
But how could Wyvern even utter such things about her? Who could ever think of hurting Isabelle?
Human beings as kind and true and tenderhearted as Izzy Bradford only came along once in a hundred years in a world as dark as this, Janos thought. If there was one thing he knew, such creatures had to be protected at all costs. Like the very unicorns with whose care she had been entrusted.
Janos saw then that he had no choice. “Once a Guardian,” as they used to say back in the barracks.
And with that, his choice was made—as much as he hated being put in this position.
Sorry, Jake, he mentally told his favorite ex-pickpocket. You’re a tough kid. You’re going to have to fend for yourself this time. I can’t let them hurt her.
“Fine.” Forcing his anger at least somewhat aside, Janos roughly released the earl and backed away. “I’ll tell you what you want to know about the boy. But no one touches the empath.”
“Excellent.” Wyvern rubbed his throat, straightened his cravat, and stepped away from the instrument. “I knew you’d see reason. Very well, come along, then. There’s no point in delay. My chariot is on the roof. And Janos,” he added with a baleful stare. “Never try that again.”
It wasn’t lost on Janos that Wyvern had made no real attempt to fight back. He wasn’t sure what might have happened if the Nephilim had.
“Now, let’s go,” Wyvern ordered in a low tone.
His chest heaving with bottled-up wrath, Janos glared after the hulking Nephilim as Wyvern marched out of the drawing room.
He wasn’t proud of the deal he had just made with that devil.
But, a moment later, when he followed the earl, Janos took care to hide the cunning half-smile that played at his lips.
For, really, Wyvern ought to know better than to trust a vampire.
* * *
Unfortunately, it was Wyvern who got the last laugh a little later that night.
Janos grabbed his coat, told his wives he was needed at the Black Fortress, and ordered them not to let the little ones eat anyone in his absence. The ladies had questions, but he had no answers, merely told them he’d be back when he could.
Then he went up to the castle roof where Wyvern waited for him. As Janos walked out onto the curtain wall, the breeze ruffled his hair, and a million stars blazed across the dark dome of the sky.
Ahead, he saw the earl’s impressive vehicle waiting.
Wyvern was already standing in his chariot, the reins in his hands. The sinuous dragon hitched to the light vehicle was one of the small, fast variety—not much larger than a draft horse.
Derek would know what breed it was. He’d always been a fan of dragons.
This one didn’t look friendly.
Wings draped at its sides, it pawed the ground restlessly, bobbing and swiveling its long neck. It hissed at Janos as he approached.
“Does that thing breathe fire?”
“No, but he bites. Best to stay out of range.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Janos muttered.
“Come, the night’s wasting.”
The dragon’s golden eyes gleamed and it hissed at Janos again, flicking its forked tongue out as he walked warily past it to get in the chariot.
“Perhaps I should just fly myself,” he said. “I could change into my bat form and—”
“No, the Darter would definitely eat you then. Besides, the defenses around the Black Fortress are considerable. Just come and stand in the chariot. There’s plenty of room.” Wyvern nodded to the empty space behind him.
Janos still didn’t like it. But he went along with it, just like he’d gone along with too many foolish ideas in the past—both his own and others’.
“I’d hold on if I were you,” Wyvern said. Then he stretched out his arm and snapped the whip over the Darter’s scaly back.
Its leathery wings snapped out to its sides, and it began galloping forward.
Janos gripped the brass railing around the edge of the sleek mahogany chariot. The two-wheeled vehicle began rolling faster and faster down the road-like passage on top of the wall.
The brownish-orange dragon galloped on, pumping its twenty-foot wingspan; it extended its neck like a racehorse and the chariot barreled straight toward the old, broken battlements at the end of the wall. They had been destroyed in a siege centuries ago and no one had ever bothered fixing them.
The broken end of the wall rushed toward them.
Accustomed as he was to flying, Janos gripped the railing with momentary anxiety as the dragon raced toward the ledge.
He planted his legs in a wide stance as the beast leaped into the air, hurtling right off the side of the wall.
The chariot bumped over the remains of the battlements, then plummeted ten feet down when the wheels rolled off the edge; Janos felt his stomach drop. But Wyvern snapped the whip over the beast again, and the cart leveled out.
Janos let out a whoop. He could not deny it was exhilarating.
As the chariot lifted toward the moon
, he saw various wives poking their pretty heads out of their tower windows. He blew the ladies a big kiss as they watched him fly away.
Wyvern just looked at him.
“What can I say, they adore me,” Janos drawled.
“Didn’t look that way in the courtyard,” the earl said under his breath.
Janos ignored the remark and admired his lands from the air. The view was magnificent.
The forests and cataracts, high pastures and rockfalls of the mountainous countryside unfurled below in all of their raw, lonely beauty. He could see his wolves moving through the moon-silvered pines.
Then they passed over the pale ribbon of the North Road as it wound up the mountain, and Janos smiled when he spotted the wagonload of peasants he had directed that way.
At least I was able to save them, he thought.
But, alas, he was wrong.
For, at that moment, Wyvern pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a strange metal cuff on his forearm.
It was covered with subtle engravings like hieroglyphs of some sort, with what looked like advanced mechanical controls.
What the blazes is that thing? Janos furrowed his brow as Wyvern punched a couple of buttons on the cuff, then flicked a little metal lever sideways—at which point the bracelet lit up, came to life, activating somehow.
The engravings began to glow—and he suddenly realized.
“That’s an Atlantean artifact!” he said. The words tumbled out, as much a question as a statement.
Wyvern didn’t answer, peering down at the North Road. “Oh, look. It’s your new friends.” Staring down at the peasants, the earl lifted his forearm.
“What are you doing?” Janos asked in alarm.
With an evil little smile, Wyvern pressed a button on the cuff.
Instantly, a thin beam of brilliant orange light shot out of the bracelet and angled down through the darkness, racing toward the peasants.
When it reached them, the wagon ignited. Janos jolted with horror.
Screams erupted, but already the sound was receding behind them as the dragon flew onward.
Janos stared out the back of the chariot with his mouth hanging open, too shocked to react for a second.