Cantrips: Volume #2: Minor Magics Crafted to Amuse and Entertain

by Joey W. Hill

  They teased Farida about her father, but the truth of the matter was no joke. Lord Mason was the second oldest vampire in the world, a member of the Vampire Council and about as civilized as a bear coming out of hibernation on an empty stomach. And that was a normal day. When someone was threatening his daughter? The bear would seem like a fluffy bunny in comparison.

  While Kane was staying at Farida’s home, he’d heard a tale whispered among the staff. The infamous “Djinn” or “Demon of the Sahara”, was the legend of a monster who’d cut a bloody swathe through the desert tribes several hundred years ago. Yet somehow that legend was connected to Farida’s father. Looking at him now, Kane well believed it.

  It wasn’t the way he was dressed that gave it away. His copper-colored hair was pulled back from his sculpted aristocratic features, a sleek look for his formal dress for the symphony, black slacks and jacket, white shirt open at the throat. But the formal dress only framed what lay in his eyes, the set of the mouth. The amber eyes narrowed on the Trad were as primal as the Trad considered himself, though in truth, the Trad didn’t know what savage was. The surge of petty satisfaction almost pushed Kane over that edge, but John’s continued steady presence in his mind and through his touch helped. That, and the deflating relief, knowing he was no longer the only thing standing between Farida and this bastard.

  “Die here,” Mason said. “Or leave and I hunt you another day. Your choice.”

  The Trad was in profile to Kane, and he saw the smooth veneer disrupted by a frisson of uncertainty. Mason, on the other hand, didn’t move. Not even a twitch of muscles in his face. Older vampires could do that, the “statue thing” John called it. It was almost like they were dead, but in a come-back-to-eat-your-heart-out way that scared anything with half a grain of sense boneless. If anything, it was as if where Mason stood was becoming a black hole, capable of sucking everything else in around it.

  “I am not alone,” the Trad repeated. “In case you didn’t hear.”

  “My hearing is acute.” Mason’s gaze glittered. “Your two companions are dead.”

  The Trad stared at Mason. “You bluff.”

  Farida drew in a breath. Kane remained still. Mason wouldn’t bluff. No matter that not a copper strand of hair was out of place or a smudge of blood marred his shirt, he’d dispatched the Trad’s backup, and was fully prepared to do the same to the Trad. Likely the only thing holding him back was distaste about killing him in front of his daughter and the headache of concealing the body from their human surroundings. But it wouldn’t stop him.

  “I’m done speaking. Decide.” Mason’s gaze locked with the Trad’s. Pending violence vibrated through the hallway like a tuning fork struck against a steel beam. For an instant, it was as if Kane’s hearing was filled with that humming heat, a promise of blood and death.

  Then, with a hiss, the Trad was gone, using vampire speed to vacate the hallway.

  Mason turned back toward the main corridor, stayed that way. No one spoke, knowing he was tracking, making sure the Trad was not doubling back. When he at last glanced over his shoulder, Kane felt all three of them let out a sigh of relief, though he tried to mask his as much as he could. It didn’t matter, though. Mason’s attention wasn’t on him, a cut as sharp as a knife. He extended his hand. “Farida.”

  Her fingers tightened on Kane, a brief reassurance, and then she obeyed, leaving Kane’s side to place her hand in her father’s. Her expression was neutral, but when he briefly touched her face, giving her a stern look, she offered an uncertain smile and put her hand on him, as if reassuring herself he was who she thought he was. When her fingers gripped his shirt, she briefly betrayed the fear Kane had sensed below the surface, but she straightened her shoulders and lifted the red bag in her other hand. “I have the Christmas gift I picked up for you and Mama.”

  Her eyes remained serious. She wasn’t patronizing him, but Kane wondered what thoughts were passing between father and daughter. Mason cupped her face a little more firmly, then he shook his head and turned his attention back to Kane.

  It took a huge effort, but Kane wouldn’t look away from those cold eyes. He could still see the death that awaited the Trad there. If it had come to it, Lord Mason would have killed everything within the mall walls, including him and John, to keep his daughter safe. Kane couldn’t argue with that. He felt the same about Farida. But he couldn’t do the same for her. He wasn’t old or strong enough.

  “I have a car waiting,” Mason said at last. “I am taking Farida home. You two may accompany us if you wish.”

  Kane cleared his throat. “We brought my car. We’ll head that way.”

  Thank God. I’d rather ride home in a car full of angry snakes. That from John, and he couldn’t argue that, either.

  “As you like.” Mason tucked Farida’s hand in the crook of his elbow and turned to leave the hallway. He tossed one last terse comment over his shoulder. “Your mother wants you home now.”

  Great. Just cut off my balls and stuff them in your pocket, why don’t you?

  “Jesus, Kane,” John muttered. “Don’t tempt him.”

  * * *

  When they arrived back at the Atlanta estate, Kane knew without being told his mother would wish to see him right away. Before John could ask the inevitable, Kane shook his head. “I’ll take this one alone.”

  He spoke more brusquely than intended, but he’d had time to think. They hadn’t spoken much in the car. John had driven because Kane was still wrestling with those unsettled emotions, sparks of bloodlust that might transform a simple traffic snarl into an incident of vampire road rage if Kane was at the wheel of the BMW. Even now, because he had no outlet, no way to calm it, too many things unresolved, he couldn’t seem to settle. He picked up some second mark banked blood from the refrigerator and downed it like medicine. Unbidden, he thought of what the Trad had said about hot blood pumping from a heart. He forced that out of his mind, made himself finish the blood, did a few more centering exercises.

  It didn’t help. He should go to the workout room, try to burn it all off before he did something unforgivable. He wished the bloodlust had blocked his mind enough that he hadn’t realized a couple things that just pissed him off worse. Which was why he’d been too short with John and John had left him in the foyer, his expression impassive. Things were just as fucked up between them as they’d been since John had come home. Damn it, fuck it all.

  Kane, I am in my study. I am waiting.

  With a sigh, he headed that way, though he wondered if they might all be better off if she let him blow off steam first.

  It was no surprise to find his father there, sitting on the step ladder used to draw books from the higher shelves. What his mother called her study was a library with walls and walls of books, well over ten thousand volumes. When Kane was a child, Jacob had held him on his hip and they’d pulled slim graphic novels out from between classic volumes and historical tomes. They’d stretched out on the rug together, reading about superheroes. Wrestling, talking about whatever came into Kane’s head, all the questions he had about everything. It had been so easy to ask then, because he hadn’t feared any of the answers.

  His father was in his habitual jeans and a Henley pullover in a dark blue color that reflected his midnight blue eyes. Glancing up, he met Kane’s gaze as he entered. Kane couldn’t tell anything from his father’s expression, but that wasn’t unusual. The only one more circumspect about revealing emotions than a thousand-year-old vampire was her servant.

  Lady Lyssa hadn’t changed since she arrived home, still wearing a black velvet gown with a jade clasp at the one shoulder, the other shoulder bare, the whole thing following the lines of her slim figure as lovingly as his father’s hands would, and did, quite often. She’d piled her hair up in some elaborate style before she left, but now it was loose, the shining straight wall of it down to her hips, strands caressing her arms. All vampires were beautiful, handsome, off the charts. But Lady Lyssa was something beyond that, too beautifu
l to ever be mistaken for human, her Fae and vampire blood mixing to scramble the brain of any male alive. Add the queen element to it, her natural air of authority and dangerous power and, if her beauty didn’t scramble a man’s brain, her ability to make his testicles shrivel up into his body, a pure survival instinct, would. But he was her son. It was different for him.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  She cocked her head. “I’m glad to see you are safe and home.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Mother, how was it Mason was already so close?”

  “I could not stop him from coming to you, once he knew you were at the mall.”

  It was odd, to feel that residual tingle of bloodlust spurt at her words, like a lie detector. “When did you second mark John?” he asked.

  At the flicker of her gaze, his mouth tightened, his fingers curling. “You promised you would never lie to me.” He took a step forward. “I don’t believe you’d break that promise, unless you perceived you were protecting my wellbeing, preserving my friendship with John. Do you think I value that friendship so cheaply I would turn on him for alerting my mother to a threat?”

  “I don’t know, Kane.” Her expression cooled. “You are ignoring his heart of late. It would not be a far leap to think you might accuse him of betrayal. Even though he knew he was risking his friendship with you, the thing he values most in the world, to protect you and Farida.”

  Did everything come back to that? John’s feelings, John’s struggle. He remembered John’s gaze when he kissed him, the surprise, the desire, the helpless pain as if he were being torn in two…

  “Kane,” Jacob began quietly. “You need to listen to your mother.”

  Kane turned away with a head shake, a sharp movement of his hand. A surge of anger, surprising in its force, made him want to snap at Jacob, tell him this was between vampires. It doesn’t concern a servant, damn it.

  The thought startled him as badly as an attack of bloodlust might have done, to the point it took him a heart-stopping moment to assure himself he hadn’t said such a horrible thing aloud. He wondered if it was as good as said, though, because his mother had gone very still. He had a bellyful of resentment about a lot of things tonight, violence and anger roiling through him at what he'd fallen short of achieving, but nothing made him feel as much shame or piercing regret as those words did.

  He expected he’d turned paler and so he set his jaw, trying to re-marshal his defenses. Lyssa spoke, her jade eyes on his face. “Jacob, I’d like a moment with Kane.”

  Jacob nodded, sending Kane a look that contained compassion as well as wisdom, the things he’d come to expect from his father. Everyone knew more than him about everything, it seemed.

  When the door closed behind Jacob, Lyssa moved back to her desk. “So let us talk, ‘vampire to vampire.’”

  “My lady, I apologize. I—” He spread his hands out and shook his head. “Damn it all.”

  “It is not to me you owe an apology. But we’ll deal with that later. I think you now understand why vampire parents are more protective of female children. That was my oversight. I thought only of you and your protection when teaching you. But Farida herself was well aware and took the risk.”

  “Didn’t matter. I should have known.” He wouldn’t put that on Farida. He thought again of how the Trad’s gaze had clung to her. What would he have done to her in the shadows to force her to embrace their ways? He thought of Jackie, the things she’d done simply to survive. Beautiful, strong, amazing, delicate, fragile Farida. He loved her, he knew he did, but their feelings for one another were so new in a sense. Whereas her father or mother’s love had been a bond they’d shared with her since her birth. Very little was more precious in the vampire world than a born vampire’s birth.

  He was so tired of the guilt he felt for every action and misstep he took, but he knew no one was to blame for any of that but himself.

  “It’s simply growing up, son,” his mother said, uncharacteristically gentle.

  “You’re not supposed to listen to my mind.”

  “Mother’s prerogative.” She came around the desk and put her hand on his shoulder as he stared out the window. The estate staff had put a long line of spiral Christmas trees along the drive, their light reflecting against the lawn.

  “I’m proud of you for calling for my help,” she said firmly. “It was the act of a man, not a child. Even Mason knows this. Bloodlust at your age is nothing you can help, Kane. Even for all that, you controlled it far better than most your age would have.”

  “I think Mason wanted to stake me, then and there. Still does, probably.”

  “No. Your godfather loves you, Kane. Almost as much as he loves Farida.” She touched his face, drew his gaze. When they stood together like this, it still sometimes surprised him, how petite she actually was. He was an inch taller than Jacob now, so his mother’s head barely reached the top of his shoulder. And her face was as deceptively fragile as Farida’s.

  She sighed. “But Mason has known terrible loss in his life. I do not think he could bear losing his daughter or Jessica. Most times he’s able to keep those feelings in perspective, but when either of them is threatened, he becomes a little less rational.”

  Which told Kane the Trad’s days were numbered. He wouldn’t mourn him.

  Putting a hand on his shoulder, Lyssa eased Kane into the window seat and tucked herself into the space across from him. She left her high heels on the floor and propped stockinged feet on his thigh as he covered one with a hand. There was always a casual affection between them, another touchstone. She was helping to ground him. “It’s more than the usual frustration tonight,” she said. “Did something happen to make it worse?”

  “No. It’s not that. Yes and no. Do you remember years ago, me giving a bear to a homeless girl, at the mall?”

  “Yes. I’m surprised you do.”

  “I didn’t really. Until I met her tonight.” He told her briefly of his interaction with Jackie. As he spoke, her jade gaze never left him. His mother never failed to listen. She listened so well it tended to be unsettling, because she heard things beyond the words that were said. At a time like this, though, it eased the turmoil in him to tell her about it, to see her faint smile of surprise at how they had connected, and the approval at how he’d given Jackie the opportunity to reach out to one of Mason’s safe houses.

  “It doesn’t feel like enough, though.” He spread his hands out. “I wanted to help her so much more.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have let your father read all those superhero comics to you.”

  And the surge of resentment was back. Rising, he moved away from her to stare out another window. Several of the Irish wolfhounds, descendants of Bran, Maggie and Fionn, the original pack members he remembered from childhood, were sniffing around the lit trees, deciding if they needed to be marked.

  He remembered when Bran had died of a grand old age, at their Savannah estate. Kane had rarely seen his mother cry, but that had been one of those times. The landscapers had found the dog in the garden mid-afternoon. At Jacob’s direction, Bran had been left “sleeping” there. John’s grandfather had sat with the dog to be sure no scavengers or anyone else molested him until Lyssa woke. When she did, she immediately came out to the garden, taking only the necessary time to wrap a robe around herself. She’d knelt over the giant hound’s body, laid her cheek on his great head and wept while Jacob knelt over her, held her.

  Kane remembered it because it was the one time she hadn’t seemed conscious of anything else. She didn’t care that the other servants in the house or visitors there on Council business saw her grief. When he’d come and put his hand on the dog’s side, unsure if he was welcome, worried by her tears, his mother had put her hand on him, drew him close to her side and let him help hold her while she cried, connecting the three of them, their family.

  Loss bound as well as divided people, didn’t it?

  “Do you really think this is about some ch
ildish desire to change the world, Mother?” he asked quietly. “Do you view me as a child still? I don’t think I could bear it if you did.”

  Lyssa’s voice was neutral. “Perhaps I’m reminding you that selflessness starts with self. It’s not what you can convince or coerce others to give up that matters, but what you yourself are willing to do to make the world a better place.”

  “Is this what you expect of me?” He waved to her desk where stacks of paperwork spoke of the Council matters pending. “To lead vampires as you have done, for whatever ultimate goal they have?”

  “Our goal is no different from the human one, my son. To exist. And do more than exist. To live without fear, without threat of extinction, fully embracing who and what we are. And like the human species, our threat of extinction most often comes from our own actions. But to answer your question, no.”

  Humor flirted over her lips. That was the other thing about thousand year old vampires. Things amused them that didn’t always make sense to those with far less years. He tried not to let himself be annoyed by it. “I have many expectations of you,” she continued, “but serving on the Council is not one of them.”

  “You want me to be happy.”

  “If your actions deserve that, yes.” Now she gave him an even look, a cool one. “Unhappiness often guides us to better decisions for ourselves than unearned bliss. I expect you to live up to your potential. To be a credit to your raising, to the things we have taught you, as a springboard to learn more, and take our knowledge to a higher level for yourself and others. But I have hopes for you. Hopes for love, for happiness. For joy in the simple things that we so often overlook.”