Margaret began advancing forward, and for a moment, Jack wasn’t sure what to do. He took hold of his sword in both hands and prepared for the fight to enter close quarters. Despite her accusations and the fact that he hadn’t been given an option about whether to fight, he still felt unsure. Unsure of whether he could swing his sword if it meant slashing her open or taking her head off.
Killing Monty had been easy, almost effortless. It’d been the same with the man at the storage yard. He tightened his grip on his ethereal sword. This wasn’t any different. She’d pushed him into this fight, invading his home in the process. How could it be any different?
Jack lunged at Margaret, swinging his sword in a vicious, downward arc. She reacted in time to spin to the side, blasting kinetic energy at him with her wand to counter. It slammed into Jack’s rib cage at a glancing angle, spinning him, rather than knocking him down or back.
He slashed his sword through the air as he stumbled upright. Margaret hopped back, almost losing her balance as one of her feet caught on a loose bottle of wine. Jack took the opening, charging forward and attacking her before she could react.
She managed to get her wand up in time to defend, anyway. Jack watched in amazement as his ethereal blade bounced off the thin stick of wood as though it was titanium, though it was barely as wide around as his middle finger.
He attacked again, but Margaret had found her footing. Jack felt himself drawing upon his vampiric speed and strength as he unleashed a flurry of wild swings, each one rebuffed by Margaret’s reaction time with her wand.
Her expression was one of precise calculation, as though with each of Jack’s movements, she was gaining knowledge of him. Other than a few loose strands of red hair that had fallen free from her bun, there was no sign of Margaret exerting herself to keep up with him.
“You have a sword,” said Margaret. “But no training with it. You’re telegraphing every movement you make.”
Jack forced himself to smile, even though he found himself annoyed by her assessment.
“You’re overconfident,” he said. “That’s dangerous.”
He swung his sword in a wide, horizontal arc. Margaret dodged back, but Jack hadn’t been aiming at her. Instead, he cut through the supports of one of the wine shelves over her head. It fell loose with a groan from the weight of the bottles, raining them down onto Margaret. None of them broke, but it still left Jack with an advantageous distraction. He leapt forward and swung his sword at her before she could regain her bearings.
His sword cut through the air, but never made contact with her. As it came within a few inches of her shoulder, Margaret’s entire body flashed orange and red. A shield of flames surrounded her, creating a shell of blinding armor perfectly contoured to her form. Jack’s Spectral Sword bounced off it as though he’d been trying to hack through a brick wall.
Before he could pull back, the fire shield exploded outward, slamming into him. He barely managed to get an arm up in time to keep his face from taking a direct hit. The force of the spell knocked him off his feet, and Jack became acutely aware of the fact that he was currently on fire.
He gritted his teeth, rolling onto his front in an attempt to extinguish the flames crackling across the chest of his shirt. The cellar’s stone floor hissed as Jack desperately writhed against it, and several terrifying seconds went by in slow motion until her finally managed to get the fire subdued. His shirt was ruined, and his chest felt numb from the burns, which he doubted was a very good sign.
“You can’t win,” said Margaret. “I told you. I’m a pyromancer.”
She let her fire shield fade, the flames dancing out of existence to reveal her bored expression and body language underneath. Jack slowly pulled himself to his feet, rolling out one of his shoulders in the process. He’d let his sword dematerialize during her last attack and didn’t see the point in summoning it again.
“How did you find out about me?” asked Jack.
“You weren’t exactly keeping a low profile,” she said. “When the Order of Chaldea caught wind of some of the recent happenings on this island, it wasn’t hard for us to guess that there was a supernatural presence in town.”
“And?” asked Jack. “What right do you have to come here and attack me in my own home? Why not try talking to me, first?”
Margaret let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh.
“You really don’t have an understanding about how things work, do you?” she said. “The Order has existed for centuries. We are the keepers of balance, humanity’s shield against the tide of evil. We are the shepherds, the protectors of those who cannot protect themselves.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” said Jack.
“Then you haven’t been listening,” said Margaret.
She extended both arms out to the side. Jack took a step back, preparing for another attack, but none came. Instead, several purple streamers of magical energy swirled around Margaret. Her body flashed with bright light, forcing Jack to glance away. When he turned to look back, there were three of her.
Two identical versions of Margaret stood on either side of her, perfect copies in every detail. She folded her arms and slowly shook her head, and the copies matched her movements precisely.
“This has gone on for too long,” she said. “Enough.”
Margaret and her copies raised their wands in unison. Jack wasn’t interested in finding out if her illusions were capable of packing as much of a punch as she could. He took a step back, moving into the shadowy corner of the cellar. He didn’t like the idea of running from the fight, but wasn’t sure if he had any other choice.
He took a slow breath, focusing on the rhythm of his heartbeat and letting himself become aware of his body. Then, he tried to cast Shadow Form, hoping that it would let him sneak around the edge of the room, to the stairs.
A painful, throbbing ache resonated through his skull. He didn’t have enough blood essence. The healing he’d needed to do over the previous night had burned through his reserves, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to feed on Ryoko that morning. Jack only managed to fade into the darkness for an instant before rematerializing. He stood there, like a deer in front of a car’s headlights, as Margaret and her mirror images released their spells.
The blasts struck him square in the chest, and judging from the force of the impact, none of them were illusory. Jack flew backward and felt himself slamming the basement’s stone wall and into the hidden workshop behind it. His vision flickered to black, and when he regained his senses, it felt as though reality had skipped a minute or two forward. Margaret was standing over him, clicking a pair of handcuffs into place against his wrists.
“Don’t try to struggle against these,” she said. “I enchanted them myself. They’ll heat up if you try to break them or pull your wrists free. I didn’t place an upper limit on the strength of the pyromancy they’re imbued with.”
Jack glared at her. He gave the cuffs a pull, just for the sake of trying. The metal immediately increased in temperature, and he winced as they grew hot enough to make it feel like he’d pressed his wrists against a baking sheet fresh out of the oven.
“Now…” said Margaret. “Let’s talk about this.”
She gestured to the walls of the workshop. The secret door was still closed, but it served little purpose, now that there was a massive hole revealing the existence of the hidden room contained within.
“It seems that this is the laboratory of the great Peter Masterson,” said Margaret. “He was a rogue wizard, but cooperative, when he was in the mood. How are you related to him? His grandson? Or a nephew, perhaps?”
“Why does it matter?” mumbled Jack. His head was pounding, and he was sure that he could only attribute a part of it to his bloodthirst. Margaret’s magic was scarily strong.
“It’s quite strange,” said Margaret. “The Order’s records don’t have any information on file about Peter Masterson’s family. When were you turned into a vampire, Jack? Was it before his deat
h? Did he know about it?”
Jack took a slow breath, deciding that there was no point in lying about his grandfather if it wouldn’t help him either way.
“He didn’t know,” he said slowly. “I was a child the last time I saw him in person.”
“Interesting,” said Margaret. “I was familiar with his apprentice, Katherine, you know. We were never very fond of each other, but we’ve crossed paths more than once.”
Margaret smiled, as though there was a hidden meaning to her words.
“I don’t know about any apprentice,” muttered Jack.
There was no need for him to implicate Katie, not if he could help it. The way she had spoken about the Order of Chaldea had made it sound like she was worried about this very eventuality. Jack felt a pang of guilt at what his own carelessness had led to, for both of them.
“You’re lying,” said Margaret. “I was watching the mansion this morning, Jack. I saw her leave alongside your thralls.”
“They weren’t my thralls!” snapped Jack. “Look, you might have been right about me being a vampire, but this is more complicated than it seems. I didn’t become one by choice.”
“Do you think anyone does?” asked Margaret. She smiled, and the expression seemed sincere in a pitying way.
“Fine,” said Jack. “You’ve captured me. Let’s get on with it, then. I’ll go along quietly as long as you promise to leave my friends alone. They aren’t enthralled. They aren’t my accomplices. I’ll take responsibility.”
As the words left his mouth, Jack was surprised by how tactical they felt. The last few days had changed him, almost into someone he didn’t recognize. He didn’t regret his actions, not really, even if he was prepared to claim that he did to Margaret’s face. He’d say whatever it took to get her to let her guard down and give him the chance he needed to bite her. The handcuffs wouldn’t stop his fangs.
Margaret’s smile had shifted into a curious frown, and she slowly shook her head.
“Huh,” she said. “Interesting. Jack, you might be the most reasonable vampire I’ve encountered in recent times. Maybe even one of the most reasonable opponents I’ve gone up against, period.”
“I’m flattered,” Jack said, with a nod. “Really.”
And he knew that she was right. The most practical thing he could do in the situation was to enthrall her. He’d already gotten a hint of her smell during the fight. It was an elegant scent, with a hint of spicy cinnamon that seemed appropriate for her hair color. He knew that Margaret must have been aware of the risks in facing off against a vampire, but soon, she would be made to truly understand.
CHAPTER 29
“Now then,” said Margaret. “Let’s move upstairs, shall we? Being down here in the dark leaves you with too much false hope for your circumstances.”
Jack nodded slowly, hoping that he looked convincingly reluctant. His blood essence was nearly exhausted beyond what he needed for even a basic spell. There was no major advantage to staying in the basement, and the sooner he managed to trick Margaret into relaxing, the sooner he’d have a chance to win.
She made him walk up the stairs ahead of her, keeping the point of her wand trained on his back. Jack winced slightly as they entered the brightly lit foyer. A part of him missed the rain from earlier in the week. As depressing as it had been, at least the overcast sky didn’t make his skin tingle and his eyes hurt.
“Thank you for being so cooperative,” said Margaret. “If you’d been like this from the beginning, your mansion wouldn’t be in need of repairs right now.”
“Ah, yes,” said Jack, rolling his eyes. “If only I’d surrendered at the first sign of trouble.”
Margaret smiled. She was rather pretty. If they’d met under different circumstances, Jack would have certainly appreciated the borderline voluptuous nature of her breasts and body and the coy smile she seemed to wear by default.
“I parked my car just off the road at the bottom of the hill,” said Margaret. “Now, we’re going to walk down there together. If you try anything, I promise you that… Wait, what’s that noise?”
Outside the mansion, the faint sound of a vehicle revving its engine could be heard. Jack frowned. As much as he would have loved for Katie or even Ryoko to arrive back and serve as his distraction, he knew that they their cars didn’t sound like that.
A loud bang came from outside, and one of the mansion’s front windows exploded in a shower of glass. Jack threw himself to the floor on instinct as the bangs formed chaotic, overlapping rhythms. It was gunfire, and it sounded distant and unreal, despite the damage it was doing to the interior. Bullets tore through the mansion’s walls, sending showers of drywall dust and plaster into the air.
Emanuel had apparently not taken Jack’s attack on his warehouse in stride. He should have known that the gang would retaliate. Emanuel knew who he was, and he’d seen what Jack had done to Monty. Attacking Jack at home was a bold move, but it was also smart. It ensured that Jack and anyone else working with him was no longer a threat.
The gunfire went on for several minutes, or at least, it felt like it did. Jack didn’t trust the silence that followed, and he stayed pressed against the floor until he heard that engine rev again and start to fade into the distance. He swore under his breath and glanced over at Margaret.
She’d taken refuge around the corner toward the hallway, and as she came back around into the foyer, she frowned and shook her head. Slowly, Margaret pulled her hands away from her sternum, revealing the bullet wound as though she’d been on the receiving end of an old western shootout. The blood was already staining her white blouse and dripping over her fingers. She fell forward onto her knees and let out a cough, spraying blood onto the floor.
Jack watched as Margaret fell onto her side, clearly struggling to breathe, and then closed her eyes. He hesitated for only a moment before hurrying over to her and digging his hand into her small purse. He found the keys fairly quickly and took the handcuffs off as quickly as he could, tossing them down the basement stairs as soon as they were loose.
The vehicle responsible for the drive-by had already vanished down the slope. Even if Jack had wanted to give chase, he wouldn’t have been able to. Ryoko had taken the mansion’s car into town to drop the girls off at the airport, and the sun would prevent him from drawing on his vampiric speed.
And of course, he still had one problem left to deal with. Margaret was lying in a surprisingly large pool of her own blood. The smell of it still had that beautiful, cinnamon fragrance, but it was almost overly sweet now, like the smell of a candy store.
She was unconscious. Jack knew that he could bite and enthrall her, without her being able to do anything about it. But there was so much blood on the floor already. How much could he even take from her without risking her life?
Was it appropriate for him to take her life into consideration when she had arrived at the mansion with the intent of ending, or at least ruining, his? Margaret still wasn’t moving, and Jack got the distinct sense that she might die anyway, regardless of what he did.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. A sinister voice in the back of his head suggested that he wait, ten, twenty minutes, and then call. It would still seem like he had been trying to help her, but when the EMTs arrived, it would already be too late. His problem would be no more, and his secret would be safe.
“911,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “What’s your emergency?”
“There’s… been a shooting,” said Jack.
He gave the emergency operator his address, and then set the phone on speaker so that he could have his hands free to put pressure on Margaret’s wound. Her blood smelled so good. Good enough to tempt him. More than good enough to make him consider whether he’d made the wrong choice.
“Ugh…” groaned Margaret. She blinked her eyes open, and then widened them when she saw what Jack was doing. He grimaced and gave her a small nod. The smell of her blood was almost overwhelming, and he was at
the very edge of the limits of his self-control.
Trying not to feed, under the circumstances, was a battle that Jack could already tell that he was losing. The urge was more powerful than normal hunger or thirst. It was more akin to trying to keep from blinking or trying to hold his breath with burning lungs. There was a point where he would eventually snap if he went too long without blood. A point where the physical impulse would overwhelm his resistance and willpower.
The EMTs arrived, and not a moment too soon. Jack all but threw himself back from Margaret as one of them tapped him on the shoulder to take his place. Someone was asking him questions. He had to force himself to focus so that he could answer.
“She was here to do an appraisal of the house,” he muttered. “I don’t know how or why this happened.”
The door to the mansion slammed open, and Jack heard heavy footsteps stomping in his direction. He turned around in time to see Bruce drawing and aiming his pistol.
“Don’t move!” shouted Bruce. “Don’t you fucking move!”
“Bruce,” said Jack. “Hold on. This is all-”
Bruce closed the remaining distance between them with a surprising burst of agility. Jack saw him pull his gun back and made the mistake of assuming that Bruce was holstering it. Instead, he flung his hand forward, pistol-whipping Jack across the face and splitting his lip.
The force of the blow made Jack’s teeth hurt, and he fell down onto all fours, dazed and confused. Bruce kicked him hard in the ribs, the pain reawakening Jack’s injuries from the previous night. He groaned as he collapsed onto the ground, annoyed at how often Bruce seemed to have gotten the better of him over the past few days.
Was killing him still out of the question? Jack resisted the urge to start mentally plotting out the how and where, and instead took a deep breath. Bruce roughly flipped him over onto his stomach, and for the second time in a half hour, Jack felt handcuffs chafing his wrists.
“You might have gotten away with it before, but this is different!” Bruce was snarling as he spoke, his knee still pressed into the small of Jack’s back. “I caught you red-handed. In the act.”
Shadow Form (Dark Impulse Book 2) Page 17