Blue Blood (Series of Blood Book 3)

by Emma Hamm

  She still didn’t feel anything for him. There was no stirring inside her that suggested she may be interested. Ignes had always said that would be the first sign of her fully being turned into a Phoenix.

  For that, she was pleased. Mercy wanted to remain human for just a little bit longer. The pain Nurin had caused was just a hint of what a real Phoenix’s power tasted like, and she wasn’t ready yet.

  The others were standing far in a corner now. The tall, thin man had his hands spread before him, projecting shimmering blue runes. Didn’t he know magic wouldn’t work on a Phoenix? Shields would eventually burn in Ignes’s cleansing fire.

  She wanted to tell him, but her eyes were already searching for a particular figure. Jasper was just on the inside of the shield. The others stared at the man of fire standing before Nurin, but Jasper stared at her.

  Mercy had come to recognize his expression. He was frustrated that he couldn’t get to her, but not worried. He had finally realized how strong she truly was.

  “Step away from her.” Ignes’s voice was the crumbling thrum of magma touching water.

  “I gave you power; you should be grateful.” Nurin tsked.

  “I would have healed on my own.”

  “It would have taken weeks to be returned to this. And I can give you more, my child.”

  “I do not wish for more.” Ignes then completely dismissed Nurin, turning away from the god and reaching his hand out for Mercy. “Come. We are leaving.”

  “You are not!” Nurin’s voice shook the building. “I created you!”

  The flames around Ignes’s form contracted until he was the perfect outline of a man formed entirely of white-hot fire. “You created me. But you do not own me.”

  Mercy shivered when Nurin’s power washed over her again. He was standing mere feet from her. When he snapped, she likely would suffer the brunt of his anger.

  There was a faint popping noise behind her, followed by the softest of touches against her shoulder.

  Everyone moved in slow motion. Time had not quite stopped, but it appeared to move at a much different pace. This time, Mercy was certain she wasn’t processing things faster in her mind. Time really had altered.

  “Are you all right?” The honeyed voice behind her was all too familiar.

  She turned and stared into the shadows. “How are you doing this?”

  “That’s a secret.”

  “You’re a man made of secrets and shadows, aren’t you?”

  Some of the shadows bounced as though they were laughing. “Yes.”

  Mercy looked back at the others who had only moved an inch or two. Ignes’s face was turned towards her, and somehow she thought he might see everything that was happening in real time. If any creature could, it was him. Behind him, she could see milky white eyes staring at the Shadow Man and her.

  Likely whatever was inside the purple-haired woman also knew exactly what was happening.

  She returned her attention to Pitch. “Did you get the timing right this time?”

  The shadows bunched to reveal his handsome face. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead as he leaned towards her and smiled. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then is this about me finding a master again?” She jerked her head towards Nurin. “Cause I’m telling you now, it isn’t going to be him.”

  “No, I missed that boat.” Pitch finally formed entirely before her. Dressed all in black, he was wearing what appeared to be a fine trench coat made out of crushed velvet. He slid his hands down his chest. “Now I’m here to try and smooth things over.”

  Mercy heard the pop again, and noise started clammering. She hadn’t noticed how quiet it had been while time was slowed. Her head whipped around to see everyone bursting into action around Ignes and Nurin, but they all froze when they saw Pitch.

  “Hello,” Pitch said. “I’m back.”

  No one replied.

  “Well then.” He leaned down, hooked a surprisingly strong hand under Mercy’s armpit, and helped her to her feet. “Not the welcome I was expecting. Ungrateful.”

  “Ungrateful?” A tall blonde woman stepped forward. Mercy didn’t recognize her immediately, but she bore a resemblance to Nurin. Once she was closer, Mercy felt power radiating from the woman.

  Pitch’s spine stiffened. “Gaia.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I brought you the next piece of your prophecy, safe and sound. I somehow managed to get her out of the clutches of Malachi.” Pitch held up two fingers. “Twice.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  Mercy’s arm lifted as Pitch used her body to shrug. “Just did.”

  “I don’t think you ‘just do’ anything. Why are you so invested? And how are you capable of teleporting into this building when you have not been approved to do so?”

  “Secrets,” Pitch growled. He handed Mercy over to Ignes who enveloped her in his flames.

  This power didn’t hurt at all. This power she recognized as it washed over her body. To the others, it might have appeared as though Mercy and Ignes had become one. And they had, in a way. He could surround her in this form and heal whatever wounds needed tending.

  Thankfully, there were no serious injuries to heal. His magic searched her for any issues before he stepped away from her. The shirt remained intact. Apparently, she mused, Ignes had enough control to pick and choose what his flames feasted upon.

  The woman with purple hair passed through the shield the thin man had erected. “Hello, Pitch.”

  A soft smile spread across the Shadow Man’s face. Mercy hadn’t thought that was possible. Surely, such an expression would crack his icy face in two.

  “Hello, Wren.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigar, and held it out towards her. “For E.”

  “E doesn’t smoke,” Wren said as she took the offered gift.

  “You and I both know that’s a lie.”

  Gaia snapped, “Answer me, Pitch. Questions were asked.”

  “I don’t answer to you.” He didn’t even look in her direction.

  “Everyone answers to me. I am a goddess!”

  Only then did he meet her furious gaze. “I brought you a piece of your prophecy. I believe the words you are looking for are ‘thank you’ and ‘please take your time as you catch up with your friend’.”

  “You dare to say—”

  Pitch interrupted her. “I dare much, Gaia. There is one last piece of your puzzle you need to find. Perhaps you should be expending your energy upon locating that person rather than interrogating me.”

  Mercy shuddered as she felt the anger rolling off the goddess. Phoenix were very susceptible to emotions such as this. Anger, rage, and aggression ran through her veins. They made her blood rush and her fingers curl into claws.

  She swallowed hard instead. Ignes flared a few times before he forced himself under control much the same way Mercy had done. There was something else afoot in this moment that she did not want to interrupt.

  Gaia clenched her fists. “I am tired of you, Pitch. An enigma even the Five cannot read. What magic have you used on yourself? Wolfgang is a Red Blood and therefore shielded, that I understand. But you? I can taste that you are one of ours, but I cannot tell what you are. Your secrets are to be revealed now, Pitch. Or I will force them out of you.”

  “Why do you care so much, Gaia?”

  “Because I have my suspicions about who you are.” The last three words she emphasized, letting each sound drip from her lips like venom. “And if I am correct, I will rip your head from your body and bathe in your blood.”

  Mercy was close enough to Pitch to hear the creaking of his grinding jaw.

  “You do not know who I am.”

  “That lie is almost enough to confirm what I think.”

  The shadows around him started to boil. “And to that, I say you would be wise to keep your mouth shut.”

  Mercy leaned back into Ignes as the ground benea
th them rumbled. Gaia was a force to be reckoned with. She could turn the earth into a weapon. She was the leader, Mercy realized. Mother Earth was always the leader.

  Wren clapped her hands together, the harsh crack a clear attempt to distract. “Pitch—” she began.

  “No. Wren, stay out of this.”

  “What has gotten into you?” Wren said as she backed towards Gaia’s side. “We’re all on the same side. Both of you, grow up. Tensions are high. I understand that, but—”

  Pitch lifted a hand and slashed it down. His power was not the absence of light, Mercy realized, as darkness sliced from his fingertips. His magic was the space between the silvery strands of moonlight. Not the pitch black of an abyss, but something else entirely.

  The magic darted towards Wren, and Mercy watched as her eyes rolled back in her head. The effect was jarring; the whites of Wren’s eyes stared at Pitch. Though there was no way Wren could see anything, Mercy swore something else was looking at them.

  Pitch’s smooth voice had turned gravely. “You know as well as I what is coming.”

  “We no longer provide Oracular services.” Wren’s voice had changed. Mercy could hear the screaming of thousands in that voice.

  “But you know,” Pitch ground out through his teeth.

  Before Mercy could consider what was being said, Gaia imposed herself between Wren and Pitch. Another rumble made Mercy’s knees weak.

  “You will leave. Now!” the goddess shouted.

  All the others in the room were affected. Some grabbed their heads in pain, others held onto the walls as the gravity lessened. Pitch stood in the safety of his shadows, staring at Gaia.

  “This is not over,” he promised.

  “There is always a beginning and an end.”

  “Now you are the liar. And we both know how much you hate lies, Gaia.”

  Mercy’s legs wobbled. It felt like the floor was stuck to the soles of her feet, holding her in place. But, at the same time, the rolling earth under her was cracking the hard wood. Splinters exploded from the ground, catching shards inside her thighs and underneath her arms.

  “Ignes!” she shouted.

  She plunged her hand into her stomach and tore it open. Ignes funneled his fire directly into her, disappearing from sight and healing as much as he could. The others burst into action. Jasper shouted Mercy’s name, but there was only one choice for her to make.

  Mercy reached forward at the very last second and caught a lingering tail of shadow as Pitch disappeared.

  She thought it would feel similar to teleporting. It wasn’t a good feeling, but she had prepared herself for the sick feeling and her stomach rebelling. But Pitch’s way of traveling surprised her. This was not at all like teleporting.

  Strangely, it felt as though she were running. Or perhaps flying. Wind buffeted her body as they moved at impossible speeds. Her body took the brunt of the death defying physics, but Ignes had enough power from Nurin to continue healing her.

  Mercy was certain that anyone else would have died if they tagged along in Pitch’s wild retreat. She only survived because of her Phoenix. She didn’t know how he traveled like this and remained alive.

  She counted each breath for a full three minutes before they stopped. She skidded to an abrupt halt on dark, polished marble, landing on her hip. Pitch stood with his back facing her, looking out over what must have once been a great hall.

  This was the Shadow Man’s home?

  Her eyes grew large as she took in the beauty around her. This must have once been a grand Victorian home, but now it showed signs of neglect. Moss and vines grew through windows that only had shards of broken glass left in their frames. Ivy crawled up the walls, inhabited by thousands of white luna moths. Their wings beat slowly, in a rhythm as old as time.

  She looked up as a wind chilled her flesh. The ceiling, four stories up, had a hole in it. The moonlight beamed through and washed all color away. A stairwell made of dark stone ascended the opposite wall, the bannister adorned with tormented souls screaming into the darkness.

  A few paces before them, an ancient piano rested in the center of the room. Its black top had long ago lost its gleam. A few of its strings were broken, sticking straight up in the air, and a few missing ivory keys left hollow spaces that looked like teeth.

  Pitch’s shoulders heaved with angry breaths. “Fools!” he shouted into thin air. “Idiots! They will bring the world down upon our ears.”

  He didn’t know she was there, Mercy realized. His hands were clenched, and he was clearly angry, but he did not know she had traveled with him. She resolved to stay quiet so as to not invoke his anger directly towards her.

  Sometimes, it was better to not anger a man who was looking for a battle.

  Pitch ran his fingers through his hair and muttered under his breath. He appeared to be attempting to gain control of his temper. A few of the white moths took to the air. They danced in the beams of moonlight around him.

  “Lydia,” he murmured.

  Mercy leaned forward on her hands and knees, just a bit to hear him better. She didn’t need to move forward. The next moment, he screamed the name.

  “Lydia!”

  Had he lost his mind? First he had threatened a god, and now he was shouting some woman’s name to the heavens. Mercy didn’t understand why the men she met were so fixated on random women that they couldn’t help but utter their names so frequently. Surely, it was a sign of weakness.

  And then she heard footsteps above them.

  Mercy tilted her head back as though she might be able to catch sight of the person through the floorboards. She didn’t have long to wait. On the landing of the fourth floor, where the ceiling was opened to the night sky, a ghost appeared.

  A pale dress floated around her as though it were made of a cloud. Her skin had no pigment at all. It was silvery as moonlight and white as milk. She placed a delicate hand upon the bannister made of lost souls, and her bare feet peeked from underneath the dress as she descended the stairs.

  Perhaps she wasn’t a ghost, but she was a mirage of incredible beauty.

  Her face was a picture of perfection, as smooth as marble stone. Mercy wasn’t certain the woman was made of flesh at all. Her hair was pale as snow, tumbling down her chest in large curls.

  Yet, there was one feature which made Mercy certain she was not of this world at all. From the crown of her head, two silvery antlers pointed towards the sky.

  “Pitch?” The woman’s voice sounded like tinkling bells. “What is wrong?”

  Mercy was star-struck. Literally star-struck, as she was certain the woman’s skin was glittering with bits of stars. Surely, she had fallen from the sky.

  “You know what’s wrong.” His dark voice echoed, and the shadows around him grew.

  “You cannot change the stubbornness of other people, my phantom. Dwelling upon such thoughts will only eat away at you.”

  “And yet, my mind lingers.”

  The woman reached the end of the stairwell and walked towards them, her dress making a hushed sound as it slithered over her skin. But Mercy could no longer hear the woman walking.

  Tiny strands of silver hung from the tines of her horns. Goddess, Mercy thought. This was a real goddess. More so than the Five, than the imposters who acted like spoiled children. This woman, who made her speechless, was the true goddess.

  Mercy gasped.

  Pitch didn’t move, but the strange woman met Mercy’s gaze.

  Albino. Good lord, Mercy thought, he had an albino woman who looked like a deer. The woman’s eyes were pink. They seemed to not be able to focus upon Mercy’s form very well, and she most certainly had no pigment in them at all.

  “Oh, you didn’t tell me you brought company, Pitch.”

  Then he turned. All the color had drained out of his face as he stared at Mercy in horror.

  “This was not how it was supposed to go,” he said quietly.

  “I came with you.” Mercy didn’t know what else to say.
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  “I can see that,” he responded.

  The three of them stared at each other as though they had never seen another person before. Of course, Mercy wouldn’t be surprised if Pitch had never introduced the deer woman to anyone beyond himself.

  Mercy slowly stood up. She brushed bits of moss off her knees then crossed her arms firmly over her chest. They wouldn’t be able to say she was frightened of them even though she was quaking inside.

  Lydia, for surely that was the woman’s name, stepped forward. Pitch made a sound of warning, but she did not listen. Mercy thought he would force her to stop. He seemed to be the kind of man that liked control.

  But he did not. He allowed Lydia to walk right up to Mercy, until she tilted her horned head back and looked up into Mercy’s equally strange eyes.

  Lydia squinted at her.

  “Can you not see me very well?” Mercy asked.

  “I’m very nearsighted.”

  “There are glasses for that.”

  Lydia smiled, and it was like looking into the glare of the moon. “They don’t work for me. But thank you for your concern.”

  “I don’t usually do that.”

  “Think of other people?”

  Mercy didn’t know what she was saying. Why was she making a fool of herself? She shook her head as her tongue tied itself into a knot.

  “You turned out to be very strange for a Phoenix,” Lydia said as she stepped even closer. “But I suppose that’s what happens when you take a child out of a stable situation. It’s a shame you won’t be formally trained. You have a great amount of magic inside you.”

  “That’s Ignes.”

  “What a lovely name.” Lydia’s smile grew even brighter. “I’m going to need you to stay very still now, Mercy.”

  “What? Why?”

  Pitch barked another warning. “Lydia, now is not the time.”

  Lydia did not seem to care or listen to him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She moved even closer and wrapped her arms around Mercy’s waist, pulling her into an embrace. Mercy stood awkwardly, unsure what she was supposed to do now. Pick up her arms? Touch Lydia? Would Pitch intervene if she tried?