Fatal Harmony (The Vein Chronicles Book 1)

by Anne Malcom

I crossed my heart. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

  She scowled at me, then took a deep breath. “I’ve been getting stronger for a few years now. I’ve been hiding it from the council because I know more power means more danger for me. There’s already the threat of binding, imprisonment, and maybe even death on my head, and they only sense a tiny amount of my power.” She held her thumb and forefinger together. “If they knew how much I actually had….” She shuddered.

  “What are we talking here?” I asked, suddenly interested. “Were you holding out on me? Could you actually make the slayer become repugnant to me?” I paused and thought on it. “And a vampire too, while we’re at it.”

  “Okay, we’re so going back to that, but it’s a little more than that,” she replied. “I kind of… time-traveled the other day.”

  I spat out the sip I’d just taken. It took a lot to shock me. I’d wager before that moment that it was actually impossible.

  “Time travel?” I yelled.

  She snatched my hand. “Shush,” she hissed, glancing around.

  No one had moved, had even noticed. “Chill, your little glamour is doing its job. The humans are too focused on forgetting their miserable lives to notice they’ve got a real life Marty McFly in their midst.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, humans,” she clarified. “But this might not hold against another witch or demon.” She glanced around again before relaxing when she was satisfied no one was spying.

  “Okay, now I need more information,” I commanded.

  “I don’t have it,” she admitted. “One second I was in my living room playing GTA, the next I was in England. In 1902,” she said. “It was only for a split second, but long enough for me to seriously shock some aristocrats with my boxers and Harry Potter tee shirt.”

  I gaped at her.

  And not just on account of the Harry Potter tee shirt.

  Time travel wasn’t something that happened, even in the supernatural world where the laws of nature were a little more flexible than humans believed.

  There were legends, of course, but everyone had legends. Vampires had the origin story that we began with Ambrogio, the first vampire, cursed by an angry Apollo to never feel the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. Then he sold his soul to Hades in order to bathe in that light once more. Then Apollo’s sister, Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, decided to grant the soulless creature the punishment of immortality, to walk the world alone without a soul. She fed him her blood, with the Ichor of the gods to sustain him. Since that first taste of Ichor, the only thing that would continue his strength and immortality was human blood.

  Before long, Ambrogio pleaded with Hades for a companion. He was bestowed with Lilith, the ancient temptress from a garden where apples were eaten. And thus began the vampire Vein Line, tracing back to the gods.

  Or so the story went.

  Werewolves also had the Greek gods to thank, or curse, for their existence, as the legend went. A human king, obsessed with the idea of immortality, was advised by a witch that eating a human heart on every full moon would ensure him eternal life. Of course, that was utter bullshit, but it did have its intended effect. Jupiter was angered by such atrocities against the people of his country, deciding that if the king were to act like an animal in order to live forever, he would undergo the painful transformation every full moon to gain that immortality. And he had to snack on human hearts.

  I had no clue what demons had. They locked their shit tight.

  Guess you could say the Bible, if you switched it all around.

  But time travel…. My mind went to sixteenth-century Paris.

  Sophie gave me a look. “I can’t control it,” she said softly. “I don’t even know if it’ll ever happen again, and if it does it’s not exactly a science. I doubt I’ll be able to pinpoint times and locations. Sorry, Isla.”

  I glowered at her, only because I couldn’t glower at myself. Weakness, even in front of friends, could mean death.

  Because friends could turn to enemies in the blink of an eye.

  “Can you read minds too?” I snapped.

  She shook her head. “No. Not vampire ones, anyway. But I can read my friend’s face, and I know that the ability to manipulate time is that much more covetable when time was the only saving grace for someone.”

  “I don’t have grace to save,” I snapped. “I’m graceless. And the only way I could make that time travel thing handy was if I could go back and not walk into the fifth precinct on the first Friday in November.”

  She gave me a long look but didn’t say anything.

  Friends still. For now at least.

  “So that, combined with what I just saw….” My skin chilled even more.

  She nodded grimly. “Yep a one-way ticket to seclusion for my prophet ass,” she finished for me.

  Witches had prophets. People with the sight were slightly different. They did spells, saw a limited future that was hardly ever reliable. The future was a fickle thing, determined by free will, which could change in a heartbeat. Even the smallest decision was a rippling effect over all the futures available.

  Prophets, people who didn’t need spells to see the future and spoke in codes and tongues like Sophie just did, were something different altogether. From what I heard, their predictions almost always came true. Granted, it was most likely because they were vague and tricky.

  But they were sparkling assets for any supernatural. Countless cases of prophets getting snatched and milked for predictions were present over the years.

  You couldn’t put a price on knowing the future. And what can’t be possessed with money is usually stolen with blood.

  Witches took steps to ‘protect’ their prophets. I say ‘protect’ because those wicked bitches were only protecting one thing, themselves. They all had prophets on some island cloaked with magic, little more than prisoners.

  I could see why Sophie wasn’t too hot on going for an indefinite holiday there.

  “Well, this conversation never happened,” I declared, standing.

  She stood too. “You’re leaving?”

  I nodded, hitching my bag up on my shoulder. “I don’t want to be treated to any more prophecies. I hate those things with a passion. I’d suggest you buy a ticket to Timbuktu until you figure this out and can control it so you don’t go blurting out predictions all over the place. That little gift is a loaded gun, pointed right at your head.” I paused. “I already have a murderous vampire faction to investigate and try not to get killed by. I don’t want to get on the witches’ interrogation and kill list too. My calendar is super full.”

  I may have sounded flippant, but distance was a luxury I was affording myself. My friend was in deep shit. My mortal friend. Which meant most likely death. I would have loved to do what I could to make sure that didn’t happen, but I didn’t have a magic wand.

  She folded her arms. “I’m not running away,” she decided.

  I quirked my eyebrow at her.

  “We’re in the midst of a revolution, right? Well, it’s time to revolt.” She grinned wickedly.

  “Oh no, you’re not going to join the cause and try to dismember me too, are you?” I moaned.

  “No, I’m going to fight it. And the witches council.”

  “Aces,” I said immediately. “On second thought, my calendar just cleared. I’m in. Once I get the info on these supernatural idiots, it’s war. I feel like I’ve been out of the game for long enough. A good battle might spice up my life, as long as it doesn’t ruin my manicure.”

  She grinned at me. “I’m happy to hear. We haven’t had fun since… forever. Plus, I can investigate the witches’ side of this faction, and get back to you.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Marty,” I agreed. Less work for me. Awesome.

  She scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Okay, Marty.”

  She shook her head. Her face turned quizzical as we weaved through the bar. Our glamour must have dissolved because all male and fema
le eyes went to us as we passed. I didn’t blame them; we were smoking.

  “Why are you suddenly yanking yourself out of your narcissistic bubble to trouble yourself with this?”

  “I’m not narcissistic,” I protested.

  She gave me a look as we stepped out onto the street.

  “Okay, I totally am,” I relented. “I’ve decided to embrace my inner philanthropist.”

  She didn’t buy it for a second.

  I huffed. “Let’s just say the newest member of the royal family has made me feel all warm and cuddly towards monarchy and doing their bidding as long as it keeps my head on my shoulders,” I relented.

  She gaped. “That’s a story for another twelve cocktails.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. But we’ve got a rebellion to quash, witches to kill and battles to fight. Let’s not get too carried away, shall we?”

  She smiled. “It’s just another normal year for us.”

  “Yeah. Let’s hope it’s not our last one on this earth.”

  “BROTHER. TO WHAT DO I owe the displeasure?” I asked, exhibiting no surprise that he was standing in the middle of my living room. I was more than a little irritated, though. I’d had enough excitement for the night, what with prophecies’, battle plans, and a certain slayer taking up prime real estate in my head. Was it so much to ask to not have my psychopathic brother drop in for tea?

  “There are no infants in here for you to drain, nor humans to terrify and defile. I’m afraid no fun at all for sadistic pleasures.” I paused. “I do have a red room of pain but I’m thinking even you wouldn’t go that far… and I’d have to fling myself out of that window rather than deal with what I’m sure is the most horrible last fifteen seconds of some poor young human’s life.” I wandered over to my bar, intending to pour myself a drink to get through extended periods of time in my brother’s presence.

  A firm grip on my wrist stopped me. The dull pop of my bones snapping echoed in my living room.

  I glanced up at him with gritted teeth. “You never did know how to play nice.”

  His glassy eyes flickered with rage as his face stayed impassive. “What have you been telling the king, Isla?” he asked, squeezing harder.

  I didn’t cry out, though the pain was most unpleasant. Most vampires didn’t have the strength to hold me in such a position, let alone shatter most of the bones in my wrist, but my brother unfortunately shared the purest vampire blood on the planet with me and was three hundred years older.

  “That you shave your chest and injected yourself with steroids before you turned,” I said sweetly. “But it was under duress, I promise. I’m meant to obey my king, right? And he asked.”

  He squeezed harder before letting me go so he could backhand me, sending me flying across the room and crashing into the wall beside my television. I struggled to get up as he leisurely walked towards me.

  “Centuries you’ve been a disgrace to this family,” he said, his voice cold. “An embarrassment, what with your feeding tendencies and proclivity for humans.” He spat the word as his boot connected with my stomach. Pain radiated through my midsection as my rib broke and punctured a lung. “You will behave until your Awakening, if I have to visit you daily to remind you.”

  “Why couldn’t Viktor be the one to deliver the beating?” I wheezed. “He wears loafers.”

  Evgeni knelt down, gripping my hair and yanking my head back so the muscles in my neck screamed in protest. “You think everything is a joke. That you’re untouchable because, although our family may despise you, you still share our blood. But we will not tolerate your disloyalty.”

  I punched his jaw, sending him flying into my glass coffee table, shards littering the room. I grabbed a steel leg that had conveniently landed beside me and limped to his body, holding my ribs. He was still recovering from the shock, which gave me the chance to embed the steel into his midsection.

  “For murderers, rapists, sadists and sociopaths, your fixation with loyalty is laughable.” I pressed the steel further.

  My upper hand didn’t last for long, but I did feel a small amount of satisfaction at the grimace of pain on my brother’s harsh features. He could never have been called handsome, what with angular cheekbones that cut too high on his face, a jaw that was too pointed, a bald head that accentuated all those features and those eyes that glittered with empty cruelty.

  He yanked the steel out without a sound and pushed himself up. In one move he had me against the wall by my neck.

  He flexed his hand, straining the bones of my windpipe. “We’re the Rominskitoffs. Our name, our family, is everything we have. And you disgrace that. Vampires should be rulers, not ruled. Certainly not the great families. Humans should bow down to us. They are our lessers,” he hissed. “Nothing more than oxen. Your love for them is sickening.”

  I glared at him. “I don’t love humans,” I snarled back. “I will never make that mistake again, brother. They are nothing to me. Just like our ridiculous family name. Though I do enjoy these little visits to let me know how valued I am in our great family, what’s your excuse this time?” I rasped as the pressure intensified.

  “Like you don’t know,” he growled.

  “I don’t do well with guessing,” I snapped. “Or mind reading. If I did I wouldn’t even want to venture into the bag of crazy that’s your consciousness.”

  He squeezed tighter, snapping a small vertebra.

  “You know why. You’ve been traipsing around town, poking your nose where you shouldn’t. You’ll stop if you want to stay on the face of this planet much longer.” He abruptly let me go and I tottered on my heels at the impact.

  “I don’t traipse. I glide gracefully,” I argued, rubbing my neck. “What do you care how long I stay on this planet? Isn’t that what this little visit is? Daddy sent you here to finally rip my head from my shoulders?” He wouldn’t, if I had anything to do about it. I wasn’t fighting now, but I would when he tried to get real. This violence was nothing. Child’s play.

  He hadn’t stepped far from me. “I’m not here to kill you, Isla, though it would bring me much pleasure to do so.”

  I put my hand over my heart. “Your love for your sister is utterly beautiful.”

  He scowled. “I’m here to tell you to stop whatever you’re doing for the king. Stop before Father decides to stop being so sentimental and insane to think that this little rebellious streak is temporary, and I rip your heart out myself.” He stepped forward, thrusting his fist into my chest, clutching my heart in a firm grip.

  I gasped and made some seriously unladylike sounds as he squeezed, pain making my vision blank. He couldn’t kill me this way, but he could make things unpleasant. I was basically paralyzed.

  “I will tear you to shreds once we get the power to do so. That’s a promise, sister.”

  I met his empty eyes with a measured gaze. “Ditto, brother,” I hissed, hatred rendering my voice unrecognizable.

  Empty air replaced his hand as the door to my apartment slammed.

  I slumped to the floor, clutching my chest. Blood poured out steadily.

  I groaned.

  “This is my favorite sweater,” I whined to my empty apartment.

  The blood would stop. It was already slowing, but my sweater was ruined, just like my coffee table.

  I sat with my head back, closing my eyes for just a second.

  Visits like that from my brothers weren’t exactly rare. Whenever I did something particularly human I was treated to more of the same. It wasn’t just to make sure I teetered on the right side of immoral that motivated such visits; my brothers enjoyed it. The violence, inflicting pain. They were sadists.

  I used to think with youthful hope that it was their way of showing they cared.

  Now I knew better.

  A banging at my door made me jerk.

  I ignored it.

  It didn’t stop.

  I sighed, pushing up. “Can’t a girl bleed out in peace?” I cried, limping to the door.

 
There was only a couple of people it could be. I was hoping for Sophie; she could heal me, repair my coffee table and maybe save my sweater. Maybe she could click her fingers and rid the earth of my family with her new powers. Such a comforting thought.

  Or it could be Scott, who was still stalking me. He’d probably faint or something equally pathetic at the sight of me. That would almost be worth the excruciating pain.

  Almost.

  I didn’t think it would be him banging so loudly, though.

  I did not expect to have a grim-faced, then horrified slayer at my doorstep.

  “No, thanks, I don’t want any Girl Scout cookies,” I said, trying to shut the door in his face.

  His motorcycle boot stopped it and he surged in, taking me in with wide and slightly panicked eyes. “What the fuck?” he growled.

  I glared at the door he just barged in. “I so need Sophie to hex this place against unwanted guests,” I muttered to myself. I could have done it ages ago to keep my brothers out, but I kind of liked their little visits. I could give only slightly less than I got, but it was still satisfying. Once I even ripped Viktor’s entire arm off. It had taken a week to grow back.

  It was brilliant.

  And my father had even called me after to say that maybe I wasn’t lost after all. Yes, that was my family. Dismemberment of my siblings was tolerated, if not encouraged, but not killing humans whenever the mood struck me was tantamount to treason.

  Though it seemed like they were already committing treason if my brother had been sent to scare me off. Interesting. I had suspected as much, but that was almost concrete proof.

  I made a mental note to call the king and hand over my family, then request a front row seat to the execution.

  “What the fuck happened here? Are you fucking dying?” Thorne demanded. Surging forward, to my horror and slight delight, he grasped my neck with one hand, pushing my hands from my midsection away with the other.

  “Holy fuck,” he seethed, eyes zeroing in on the hole in my sweater.

  “I know. It’s cashmere,” I moaned.

  “Isla, your fuckin’ chest is open.” His stoic face betrayed little, but his eyes were wild, face pale. The grip on my neck bordered on violent. But it wasn’t, which puzzled me. Violence I understood, expected. But this?