Darkness & Discovery (The Bespelled Trilogy #2)

by A. L. Larsen

  I absorbed this for a long moment, resisting the urge to shudder as the hairs on my arms stood on end. Finally I said, “Well, you’ve succeeded in freaking me out.”

  “Not the goal, Luna. I’m just trying to explain the nature of the vampire to you. And you can choose to think I’m only talking about myself. Go ahead and think I’m an anomaly. Whatever gets you through the night, as they say.” Augustine scooped up a handful of suds and dropped them, watching them float back down to the sink. It was such an innocent, childlike thing to do that it seemed absolutely bizarre, coming from him. He changed the subject by saying, “This thing you’ve done here in the sink is festive. What are the bubbles for?”

  I cleared my throat and said, “I’m going to show you. With one of these pans. Then you’re doing the rest.”

  When Augustine had the dishes well under way, I went back upstairs to the guestroom. Alastair was the only one still awake, propped up against the headboard and resting a hand on Bryn’s arm protectively.

  “Lu, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about Elizabeth,” he whispered.

  “I just found out you had the marriage annulled long ago. You’re not still married.” I repeated what Augustine had told me.

  “I tried to kill her? God, I’m such a monster,” he whispered, pain in his voice.

  “You’re not, Allie. She tried to kill you first. What were you supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Not that.”

  I thought back over my conversation with Augustine. All vampires are dark at our core. But I just couldn’t see it, not in Alastair and not in Joey.

  Or I didn’t want to.

  Chapter Five

  Apparently morose Bryn had been transformed into drunk, belligerent Bryn while I slept.

  He was currently blasting the Ramones while sucking down enough whiskey to drown a normal person. He was drinking it through a long, purple kids’ twisty straw as he lay on his back on the big table in the center of the wine cellar, yelling obscenities at the ceiling every couple minutes.

  “Bryn, you seriously have to put the booze down,” Joey implored. “You’re actually human, you know. And this much alcohol can, in fact, kill you.”

  “I’m not human, I’m a bloody warlock. If I poison my liver I’ll just make myself a new one,” he growled.

  “Warlocks are human. And it’s gonna be kinda hard to conjure yourself a new liver once you’re unconscious,” Joey said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Oh, how I wish I could drink myself unconscious! But you know what happens when you spend over three hundred years developing a tolerance to alcohol? It doesn’t bloody work anymore! Do you know how much booze it takes now for me to even sort of feel drunk? This much,” he said, sweeping his arm around the huge wine cellar.

  “Bryn, just give me the bottle,” Joey demanded. He started to reach for it, but a little flame leapt up out of nowhere and scalded his hand, making him pull back quickly. “Awesome. Light a fire around a bunch of totally flammable alcohol. Good thinking,” he grumbled.

  “Ok, that’s it,” I said, stepping forward. We’d been watching our friend in this destruction spiral for a couple hours now, and it had gotten old. “Sit up, Bryn. Now,” I told him. If he needed tough love, he was going to get it. And after growing up with a drug addict mother, I sure as hell knew how to dish it out. He sat up cautiously, eyeing me like I might possibly be dangerous, and the music dropped to a normal level.

  “Put the bottle in my hand.” I didn’t reach for it. I just stared him down, and finally he flinched and gave me the whiskey. “Come on, you’re getting a shower.”

  “Don’t want to.”

  “Tough. You’re getting a shower, even if I have to physically drag you upstairs and chuck you under the water.”

  “You couldn’t even lift me,” he said with a drunk’s confidence.

  “I used to have to do the same thing with my stoned mother, when I was a whole lot smaller than I am now. Wanna test me?” I continued to stare him down.

  “Why do I need a shower?” he whined.

  “Because it’ll make you feel better. And because you’re starting to smell like cheese,” I told him. And he actually grinned at that, just a little.

  “Yes, mum. Wouldn’t want to start attracting vermin,” he murmured, the faintest hint of his old self sparkling in his dark eyes.

  I followed him up to his bedroom, and he stopped short when he walked into the destroyed space. “Well, hell,” he said, as if he was seeing it for the first time.

  “Nothing we can do about that now. Come on, just cut through to your bathroom,” I said.

  He did as I asked, and I turned on the shower and adjusted the water temperature, then went to a cabinet and pulled out a couple big towels and put them within reach. “Well?” I asked him, crossing my arms over my chest. “What are you waiting for?”

  “For you to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving. I’m going to stay and make sure you actually take a shower, and don’t just poof yourself down to the wine cellar again.”

  “You’re treating me like a child,” Bryn said, crossing his arms over his chest, too.

  “That’s because you’re acting like one. Now get in the shower!”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because I don’t want you to see my dangly bits.”

  I smiled at that. “I have no interest in seeing your dangly bits,” I told him as I turned my back to him.

  “Oh, believe me love, no one does.” He tossed his ripped, dirty pajamas on the floor and stepped into the shower.

  After a few minutes under the hot water, he said quietly, “Philippe left me, you know.”

  It was hard to hear him over the running water, so I stepped closer to the shower, my back to the glass as I asked, “What happened?”

  “I’m a total arse, that’s what happened.”

  He didn’t elaborate, so finally I ventured, “How long were you two together?”

  “Forever. For a moment. Not nearly long enough,” he said, waxing poetic. His speech was very slightly slurred, showing the alcohol had more of an effect on him than he’d claimed.

  “So, what happened, Bryn? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I told you. I was an arse. I did something unforgivable, and he took off.”

  “Did you go after him? Did you apologize?”

  “Of course. I followed him all the way to France. He always runs home when he’s upset. But he refused to forgive me. He said…he said he hates me.”

  “I don’t believe it. He can’t hate you,” I insisted.

  “That’s the thing about love, Luna. It absolutely can turn to hate. Just like that, one extreme to the other. All it takes is betrayal,” he said. I thought about Alastair and Elizabeth, and wondered if maybe there was some truth to that.

  “But you couldn’t have betrayed Philippe.”

  “Not intentionally. But I did betray him.” The water shut off now and I stepped to the side, holding one of the fluffy dark red towels out behind me. Bryn took the towel and secured it around his waist, then reached for the other towel and began rubbing his hair with it.

  “Not intentionally? So what happened?”

  Bryn sighed and sat on the counter, wrapping the second towel around his head like a giant turban. “I…ok, this is going to sound completely daft. But I…remembered what it was like to kiss Augustine.”

  “You kissed Augustine?”

  “Noooo. I just remembered what it felt like to kiss him. I haven’t actually kissed him in centuries.”

  “Ok, I’m confused.”

  “It all started when I saw Augustine, when we worked that locator spell at my warehouse. I hadn’t seen him in years, and I’d almost forgotten…well, this is going to make me sound like a complete cad, but I’d almost forgotten how stunningly beautiful he is.” Bryn frowned and shook his head.

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, nothing really. He was just o
n my mind for the next few days. I hardly ever let myself think about him, but there he was. Out of the blue, I started…well, I started missing him. Which was insane! Why would I miss someone I despise? Never mind the fact that I was in a loving, committed relationship, so why was I even thinking about someone else? Especially this someone else! It was all terribly confusing.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “So, all these thoughts of Augustine made me want to remember why I fell for him in the first place, all those centuries ago.” He glanced up at me from beneath his dark lashes. “And you’ve seen the way I remember things, Luna.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember that party, the first time you came to my house? That was a memory from 1986, one I fully rendered, completely brought to life. I made the memory look and feel real, I made it tangible. And that’s how I remembered what it felt like to kiss Augustine. You know what’s bloody awkward? Having your boyfriend walk in on you when you’re making out with a memory.”

  “So you…oh.”

  “Yeah. I mean, it was just a kiss. It wasn’t even that, really – it was just me remembering a kiss. But it looked and felt real, both to me and to Philippe. Never mind that I dispelled the memory immediately, so Philippe knew it was just an illusion. It was still a betrayal. It still hurt him terribly. Especially because it was Augustine of all people that I was remembering. Philippe knows my history with him, and always felt threatened by it.” Bryn sighed and said, “And he left, and I’m an arse, and that’s the end of the story. And God I want another drink.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what is your history with Augustine? What is he to you?”

  “He’s…my savior. My mentor. My first love. My worst enemy. My biggest regret. The last person I should ever be with. The one person I can never truly forget.” Bryn scrubbed his hands over his face.

  “Wow. How did you meet him?”

  “Funny story,” he said with a frown. “I was being stoned to death by my family and friends, and Augustine swooped in and rescued me.”

  “Oh God!”

  “Yeah, so, here’s a tip: if you find yourself living in rural Wales over three hundred years ago, don’t accidentally let anyone know you can do magic. Because that will not win you any popularity contests.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Well, I knew better than to show my abilities. I’d kept them hidden my whole life. I just slipped up that one day.” Bryn looked down at his slender hands. “I had to. A huge pile of timber had started to fall on one of the children from the village. So I stopped the logs in mid-air. I didn’t even think about it.”

  He took a deep breath and continued, “We were in the town square, and it was crowded. Everyone saw. And everyone started yelling, ‘Witch! Witch!’ Didn’t really have a chance to correct them, to point out that the term is warlock thank you very much, because immediately, one of my neighbors grabbed me and flung me up against a wall, and another threw a rock at me. It took just moments for a huge crowd to gather, all of them red-faced and yelling, all of them throwing stones.”

  Bryn paused to take another deep breath, his voice shaking slightly as he said, “The worst part, the absolute worst, was that I looked up at the villagers as they were trying to kill me. And I saw my father and brother in the crowd, throwing rocks with the rest of them. I saw my aunt, my cousins, friends, neighbors doing the same. Everyone turned on me. I was so gutted that I didn’t even try to defend myself. I just fell to my knees and waited to die.”

  I picked up his hand and held it between both of mine, tears running down my cheeks as I whispered, “Bryn, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s ok, love. The story has a happy ending. Kind of,” he said, patting my hand. “Suddenly, a figure in a black hooded cloak tore through the crowd, dropping bodies in its wake. It was so fast that I couldn’t even comprehend what was happening. Within thirty seconds, every single person in the village square was dead, except for this stranger and me. I was sure the devil himself had come to claim me, and still I did nothing to defend myself. He knelt beside my broken and bleeding body, and watched me for a moment from beneath his dark hood. And then he reached out for me, pale, delicate hands smoking when the sunlight hit them, and lifted me gently into his arms.”

  “Augustine,” I said quietly.

  Bryn nodded. “He carried me indoors, all the while talking to me, soothing me, reassuring me. And after he set me on a small cot, he took off his heavy cloak and covered me with it. I really thought I was looking into the face of an angel, even though his lips and the front of his shirt were covered with blood. I’d never seen anything so beautiful.” Bryn fell silent for a few moments, his thoughts a million miles away.

  And all of a sudden, we were there in that little cottage in Wales, his memory surrounding us. I saw Augustine, looking exactly as he did now, kneeling beside Bryn’s battered body, instructing him quietly but urgently, teaching him how to heal himself. I could smell food cooking in the hearth, feel the breeze coming in the open window, taste dust in my mouth. I watched in amazement as Bryn concentrated on Augustine’s words, their eyes locked, his twisted limbs gradually straightening, his wounds closing. He was still bruised and bloody at the end of it, but he was whole again. And even though he was sobbing, I could feel his gratitude as if I was there in his place.

  “Anyway,” Bryn said, and immediately the scene around us vanished, replaced with the humid bathroom. “That’s how we met. Needless to say, I had a hard time learning to trust him after seeing him slaughter my entire village, everyone I’d ever known. But I stayed with him anyway for the next three decades, and he helped me develop my powers. He took me to Russia, to Greece, later to China, seeking out the most powerful witches and warlocks he could find, and convincing each of them to teach me what they knew.”

  “When did he become more than just your mentor?”

  “We became romantically involved when I’d been with him for twenty seven years. It happened gradually. I knew it was a mistake even then, but I’d fallen in love with him. We were together three more years before I finally made myself leave him.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “I had to. Augustine was a remorseless killer while we were together. And one day I realized that all the murder, all the bloodshed, had started to seem normal to me. I was becoming as dark as he was. As soon as I realized that, I left him.”

  “And he let you go?”

  Bryn grinned at me and pulled the towel off his head, rubbing his hair into damp spikes as he said, “He didn’t have a choice. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m actually an incredibly powerful warlock.”

  I grinned too. “Yeah, I did actually notice that about you. But I’ve also noticed that Augustine is really manipulative, and probably wouldn’t let you go without a fight.”

  “He was less than thrilled, and did in fact try everything in his power to stop me. But it’s kind of hard to stop someone that can incinerate you with a thought.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Again, refer to ‘incredibly powerful warlock’ statement.” He was grinning again.

  “But that’s not the end of your and Augustine’s story,” I said.

  “It should have been. But I only said I’m powerful, not smart. Every couple decades, I’d backslide and go see him. Moth to a flame, and all that clichéd rubbish. I finally pulled the plug once and for all when I found Allie almost dead in the street outside Augustine’s home in London, and learned Augustine had tortured him. That’s what made me hate Augustine, and the more I got to know Allie, the more my hatred grew. Before, all those years we were together, I guess I convinced myself he killed out of necessity, just because he needed to feed. But this, this was something else entirely, and he was remorseless. It showed me what Augustine was truly capable of. And for the last two centuries, I’ve hated him.”

  “Mostly.”

  Bryn sighed and agreed, “Mostly.”

  “Why’d you call him when Phi
lippe left?”

  “I drunk-dialed him as soon as I got back from France, and tried to make the breakup his fault somehow. As if I could blame someone else for my own stupidity. He asked if he could come over – normally, this place is warded to keep him back a mile. And I said yes, and told him I planned to kill him as soon as he got here. But you know what I did instead?” Bryn said, cocking an eyebrow at me. “I collapsed into his arms and started sobbing like a teeny little baby. And he’s been here ever since. Being nice to me. Making me soup, for God’s sake. Soup!”

  I grinned at that. “Maybe it’s a killing you with kindness kind of thing.”

  “That or killing me with his cooking. He tried to serve me a raw pork chop. He didn’t know you were supposed to cook it, and seemed baffled when I explained that to him.” Now Bryn was grinning a little too.

  “That’s super gross.”

  “But kind of sweet that he’s trying so hard. And damn! See? It’s working. I’m warming up to that bastard!”

  “It’s probably ok to warm up to him. As long as you don’t start trusting him.”

  “Indeed.” Bryn pressed both hands to his forehead, one over the other. “Ugh. I think I’ve completely sobered up. I need another drink.”

  “No more drinking. Let’s finish cleaning you up,” I said, opening his medicine cabinet. He had an electric Iron Man toothbrush, which I handed to him. “You and Iron Man get reacquainted. Then let’s go see if Joey’s murdered Augustine yet.”

  Bryn’s foray back into the world of the speaking was short-lived. Throughout the course of the afternoon and evening he slowly withdrew again, until he was curled up in the window seat of his palatial living room, looking out of place among the powder blue and white in his head-to-toe black.

  He was staring out the window at featureless darkness. But then he did something to change the view, and from over his shoulder I glimpsed an exquisite snowy landscape with a stately home nestled among bare trees, smoke rising from the chimney. Apparently he was remembering something again, but instead of making himself a participant in this scene, he’d made himself an outsider.