The Priest's Assassin

by V. C. Willis

  “Stop it.” She kicked my boot, and I at last surrendered my hand to her and rose to my feet. “Let’s start with … how are you feeling?”

  Blinking, I rolled my injured arm and was met with no pain or resistance. “Healed there.” Reaching behind and in front, I marveled, “My injuries… They’re…”

  “Right. So, remember, the more repairs needed, the hungrier you will get for him,” she warned. “Now, go wash your face and take care of your stubborn priest. It’s like watching a lamb raise a lion with you two. Fools.”

  “Is he…” I grabbed my canteen, rinsing John’s blood from my face and arm. “Did I…”

  We walked into the dry room, a fire burning as everyone turned to face me. Scowls painted their faces, and as I met their eyes, they averted their gazes. The weight of my guilt came crushing down as I looked to John. He was completely passed out. His heart pounded, shallow and slow. Dammit. Even his breathing seemed ragged and his complexion pale. His neck had been bandaged, red seeping through it, and the sweet aroma made my stomach turn. How could I not stop? Was this really the injuries or some deeper desire I can’t fight back anymore?

  Marching over to John, I sat and stared over him. “I’m so sorry.”

  I watched as his chest rose and fell slowly in his current state. Lying beside him, I rolled away, his body against my back as I stared at the stone wall. Sonja, Valiente, and Bourbon all had racing heartbeats. I frighten them.

  “Why didn’t you feed on Elaine?” Valiente’s voice cut through my bitter thoughts.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I mumbled in my despair.

  “You’re a bloodeater. You just need any blood to heal,” he concluded.

  “Not him,” interjected Red Wine. “You see, there’s two kinds.”

  “Two?” Sonja had abandoned her Mother Superior disguise, wearing clothes fitting of an archer. “So, he’s the other kind?”

  “Y-yes,” Red Wine seemed hesitant. “His kind can only feed on one donor.”

  “That’s dumb,” flustered Valiente. “What if they kill them or the donor dies?”

  Rolling over, I watched as Red Wine removed her mask and replied, “Precisely why he’s more dangerous. Even after his kind loses their source, the power they unlock is damn near godly.”

  They all glanced back to me, and I rolled away again to avoid the weight of their expressions. “It’s a curse. I’m not like the others who lost some of the thirst when the Fanged Lady lost her hold. John and I, we made this choice together.”

  “You’ve got to control it, Dante,” Valiente demanded.

  Sitting up, I let my anger pour forth. “Don’t you think I’m trying?” I gritted my fangs and snarled. “I’ve been to the depths of the Madness and back again! Worse, do you know what it’s like being in love when your inner most thoughts are—”

  John’s hand reached up, gripping the back of my coat, and flung me down. “Enough.”

  “J-John,” I marveled as he wrapped an arm around me, pressing himself into my back.

  “I’m cold and tired,” he mumbled, his voice weak and broken. “Keep me warm and stop bickering.”

  My chest swelled, cupping my hand over his, he clasped his fingers with my own. “John, I—”

  “Enough.” His head pressed hard between my shoulders, and he whispered so I could only hear, “I thought I lost you. You were so thirsty this time that it startled me, my prince. Don’t make me bury my shield before I see you the King. Promise me.”

  With a deep breath, I whispered, “Promise.”

  I can’t ever decide if I love or loathe the idea that with only a few words he can change how I feel about even myself in a blink of an eye. And since when was he so concerned with me reclaiming the throne? What do you know that you haven’t told me about again, John?

  Chapter 27

  The Informant

  Waking from my fitful dreams, sweat trickling down my temple, the last images of my sins faded from my eyes. The battle pounded through my entire body, and the itch of my fangs digging into John still haunted my soul. Reaching over, my hand gripped John’s arm, and I exhaled. He’s still here … and warm. He rolled and furrowed his brow at me, but I didn’t meet his gaze. I could smell the sweet aroma of the blood on his bandage, and the craving rolled up at my core. Anger and fear mangled in my heart, my body tensing against the sensation.

  I’m in hell.

  “Are you still hun—” he started, and I rushed to cover his mouth.

  Searching his eyes, I scowled. “Don’t ever utter those words to me ever again.”

  John pulled my hand off, snorting. “Look, I didn’t sleep a wink the night before. It wasn’t that you startled me. I was exhausted and passed out in relief. Everyone overreacted,” he reassured.

  Guffawing, I hissed, “Are you kidding me? I didn’t hear you calling my name until I pulled off.”

  John gripped my coat and pulled me down into him, his lips tickling against my ear. “Tell me why I was still gripping you close to me before I passed out? I told you—I’m plenty strong to shove you off if it came down to that.”

  “John.” I tried to sit up, but he yanked me down into him. “I took too much. We both know it.”

  “And what did I tell you that night? I’m a greedy bastard.” His arms wrapped around me, and he kissed my neck tenderly before whispering, “I’m not afraid of what you are. Don’t forget that. I did this to you, I made you into something you dreaded, and I will pay the price to keep you at my side.”

  He let go, and I pulled away to take in the stern expression with his longing eyes. “You keep reminding me.” I paused as my heart raced against my will. “But some part of me fears that one day, I might end up being the reason you breathe your last breath.”

  John gave a crooked grin, cooing, “I promise when that day comes, my love, it will not be because you sent me to the grave.” I grimaced and he tilted his head. “We both know we’d die for each other if it meant saving the other. So, let’s just face the fact we’re playing a dangerous roulette with both our lives. We’re as guilty as the Devoted Sister and Sacrificial Daughter when it comes to the Fates.”

  Swallowing back the sorrow, the truth of his words stung. “I hate that you have a tongue more silver than my own.”

  Frustrated, I pulled to my feet, becoming very aware of the eyes and ears watching us. Casting my gaze across theirs, the only one who didn’t avert her stare was Red Wine. She tilted her head, and I held my breath. This situation is proving more dangerous than I anticipated. There was a level of fear in her voice when she pressed the dagger into me but… I followed her out and down a long stretch of the sewers until the morning light peeked in through small gutters at our feet. I feel like a dog with my tail between my legs, but rightfully so.

  “He seems in high spirits,” she said, her voice deep and disconcerting. “So, tell me, Dante. Was that the first time?”

  I leaned against the far wall; arms crossed, I stared down at my boots as light streamed across them. “It was.”

  “And he’s willing to pull you in that close?” She seemed unsure, her prodding growing aggressive. “Does he remember?”

  “Better than I do,” I confessed, inhaling deeply and holding it a moment. “He didn’t even try to shove me away. I pulled away first.”

  “He was passing out while calling your name, and you didn’t stop,” she argued.

  “Then patronize the stubborn priest on why he didn’t stop me,” I barked in reply, my eyes striking hers. “We’re not children. When he slid that blade across his tongue and offered his blood to me, we were both very aware of the danger.” We both chose this path.

  Pulling her mask off, she tossed back her hood and closed the gap. “I’m responsible for you!” she roared, a finger poking into my chest, and I tensed in silent rebellion. “Your father personally asked this favor of me
! Do you have any idea how ashamed I am to even allow you to convince me to let you play pretend and now this?”

  “Why did you agree to it?” I spat back. “Clearly no one thinks I can fucking do this!”

  “Not at the rate you’re throwing yourself in harm’s way!” She smacked the heel of her hand into me, and I grunted. “Taking hits willingly isn’t going to make you feel normal, Dante!”

  “I KNOW THAT!” I reeled, throwing my arms out. “I’M NOT EVEN A BLOODEATER, NOW AM I?”

  Her bottom lip protruded, and she sneered, “You don’t even know your heritage, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. Everyone I cross paths with seems to know more about my family than I do.” My arms were back to being crossed and I stood taller. Chin up. “But we both know that’s not my fault, now, is it?”

  Her gaze shot away, a hand half covering her face. “Dammit Germaine. Why must you strive to push them to live their own lives… First Ashton, then me, and now…”

  “And who are you to let my father’s first name fly from your lips so freely?” I spoke in a steady tone, straddling the line of command and reprimand.

  Scoffing, she shoved me again. “You’re an idiot. Don’t make me say it.”

  “Say what?” John’s voice jolted us. “Go on. I’ve been enjoying this bickering to be honest. I don’t even poke and shove him that much.”

  “Children,” she scoffed and stomped off.

  “Dammit, John.” My arms unfolded, and I leaned back against the wall. “I just want to hear her say it.”

  “Oh?” He arched a brow, leaning into me. “Now this sounds strangely familiar and stubborn.” I rolled my eyes, and he chuckled, adding, “We better get going. Bourbon has left with Sonja and Valiente. They said to tell you they wish you well and thank you for helping get them this far.”

  “I imagine I startled them last night.” I covered my face with a hand, but he slapped it away. “We’re in the sewers, so try not to touch your face.”

  Gaping at him, I watched him march away, waving a hand for me to follow. The fire had been snuffed out besides a single torch. Red Wine’s mask was back in place, and she simply started down a dark corridor I hadn’t noticed from where we had entered. John snatched up the torch and we followed, silent and obedient. Not once did she bother to look at us. Soon the sewer and filth faded into a dry labyrinth of hallways. The torchlight cast deep shadows across the walls of the arched corridor, revealing bones laid into the masonry like mosaic tiles. We’ve entered the ossuary.

  Passing through the many twists and turns, the smell of incense and marrow tickled at my nose. On occasion we’d pass inlays of full skeletons or even bones designed in elaborate wall-to-floor arrangements as if offering a place to pray for the dead. We are so deep into this place. Who could ever find their way here to pray? I slowed, curious to see an ossuary’s catacombs in person after reading about them with so much wonder. Stumbling to a stop, I took in the most elaborate of all the prayer totems. There among old incense pans and dried flowers was the skull of a daemonis. Saddlewood, meadow sweet, and rosemary? Leaning in, something sparkled in the eye socket. A jewel, or is that a pommel? But why is a daemon here among the bones of all these humans?

  Sticking a finger into the eye socket, I touched the cold object. Stone, gem, or metal? I turned to ask John to bring the torch and found myself alone in the darkness. Shit. Turning back to the daemon skull, I pained over it. There has to be a reason something is hiding here. I pushed two fingers through the socket, and my heart skipped a beat. My fingertips grazed past the round pommel to rub against the starting of a leather-bound handle.

  This is a pommel on a weapon of some kind, but why place it here in the catacomb walls under the church?

  “You shouldn’t poke at the dead,” a deep voice mused.

  Jerking back, I squinted my eyes down the corridor one way then the other. I could see clear and far, the faint glow of the torch still visible down a turn. John’s voice isn’t that deep. Inhaling, I couldn’t smell anything but the lingering scent of John, Red Wine, and burning pitch of the torch. After a moment, I was back to glaring at the daemonis skull, wondering if I had imagined the voice.

  “You’re starting to lose it, Dante,” I muttered.

  There was silence. Looking to the shiny object in the skull’s eye socket, a chill rattled me.

  Could it be? I crouched to be eyelevel with the strange arrangement. There was something here, my instincts tight in my joints egging me to reach for the object hidden within the head of this misplaced ancestor. Goosebumps rolled over me, and I shuddered again. Glaring at the skull only gave it personality, the fanged grin growing high despite the lack of a bottom jaw.

  What if I reach under? Again, I probed my fingers into the skull, four fingers cupping under the front teeth to reach up and… Gems, metal, and leather … it’s a handle of a weapon for sure!

  “You know I was sleeping here until you started touching shit that’s not yours. Someone needs to teach you a lesson,” growled the voice, making me retreat and bash into the far wall.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” marveled Red Wine, pinching my arm.

  “Did you hear that?” I looked all around until my eyes fell back to the daemonis skull. “I think it’s talking to me.”

  Red Wine followed my gaze and snorted. “It’s not the only daemon skull here,” she announced. “Are you unwell?”

  “No,” I snarled. “There’s someone else here. And there’s something in that skull.”

  She leaned down, removing her mask for a better look. “Huh. So, there is. Good eye, little Traibon. What would your father think to know the crowned blood prince has turned to grave robbing?” she jeered, pushing at my arm. “We’re halfway there. Stay close, or you’ll get lost. There’re more tunnels leading to dead ends and endless twists in these parts.”

  As she walked away, I glared menacingly at her. “I hate this.”

  “Hey. Blood Prince,” the voice whispered back to life, the skull seeming to cackle at me. “You can hear me, can’t you? Does that mean you’ve taken the path of a true guardian?”

  “Guardian?” The information wasn’t something anyone had said before. “What if I say yes?”

  “I pity you,” the voice twisted and spoke with resentment. “You’re a fool as I was when I was alive. But I can’t lie—I am happy to see she’s still among the living.”

  My heart skipped a beat, a revelation surfacing. “Wait, who are you? How do you know her?”

  Silence.

  “Dante! Move it.” Red Wine’s voice echoed, and the smile faded from the skull.

  Reluctantly, I abandoned the curious object. I will find it again. The daemon prayer totem with the pommel. There’s got to be a soul weapon hidden there, but who or what was he?

  I caught up to John who pushed me in front, the two sandwiching me between them like a willful child who aimed to wander off. Every time I began to whisper about the skull, I was shushed until finally I gave up. Hours of twists and turns made me think we had zig-zagged in a large circle. Everywhere I looked, not once did I see another daemon skull or an arrangement as large as the one that had whispered to me.

  Light glowed up ahead, and John placed the torch in an empty holder on the wall. “Bishop Montgomery tends to these. We aren’t far from the library.”

  “Isn’t he the one that you worked with in the last few years here?” Some part of me was excited to see where he had spent his last years at the Church.

  He nodded, but Red Wine’s glare made it clear to keep our tongues still.

  Following the line of torches, we found a stairwell leading to a large room. The wrought iron gate was left open, though the oak door had been shut. Red Wine knocked twice. After a long pause, she knocked five more times and walked away. John and she sat in chairs, making themselves at home. Flipping back my hood, I began d
usting off the cobwebs I had collected in my moment of alarm, flicking a piece of bone from my shoulder.

  The oak door swung open, and an old monk froze, locking eyes with me. “By the Fates, it’s Ashton.”

  Blinking, I shot a gaze at John and Red Wine before I confirmed, “I am.”

  Tears built in his eyes, and he sank to his knees. “Please forgive me. I was only a child then.”

  Red Wine rose to her feet, cutting in between us. “He has lost his memories, my precious informant, and you sound as if you may know why?”

  “Forgive me, Master Assassin.” He groveled at her feet.

  “What is the meaning of this, Bishop Montgomery?” John paled.

  “Father John, I confess before you and the Fates and pray to free myself of this lifelong guilt.” The monk sobbed, his elderly voice breaking and struggling to pour forth the words. “Prince Ashton had me sneak him into the library. He was looking for something—or someone.” He gasped, trying to catch his breath, and wailed, “But I didn’t know who they were! They said he had come to harm The Church! Fallen Arbor had been a rumor! I did what you asked,” he pleaded, hands shaking as he reached for me. “The books, I hid them just as you hid me in the crate that fateful day. They needed virgin blood, had arranged for me to be the sacrifice, and instead the young woman… My god, you foamed at the mouth over it like a caged animal.” His words picked up speed in the rushed panic of recalling his childhood trauma. “How could you be angry at that? They were aiming to kill you, had pierced you with cursed iron until they pinned you on the holy sarcophagus of Saint Raphael! Blasphemous! You cried the Saint’s name, cursing your life, his life, and…”

  He shook, folding to the ground and praying in hushed murmurs as if preparing for the next portion. Red Wine held her hand to me, palm on my chest to stay quiet, to stay back. She trembled, hearing the story that would change all that she had sought and fought for. John leaned on his thighs, brow low as he glared at his mentor with concern.

  “I was only a child,” he muttered, gasping to take a deep breath. “You never once looked my way. I lived but what unfolded was … Dark magic. Twisted and harrowing. The dark ones certainly had their time with trying to rip your soul from your body. You raged for hours until at last, you fell silent. I peeked … watching in that moment of eerie calm on your face. That resolve that I’ve never seen on the face of any clergyman in this lifetime. Flesh crumbled to ash until all that remain was a weapon. The dark priests reached for it, but the white-haired bloodeater came down on them with vengeance. But you’re here!” He wobbled to his feet and motioned with hopeful eyes. “You have been returned to flesh! She found a way!” Red Wine’s palm fisted and gripped the chest guard of my manica. “You must go after them, my prince.” The old monk was back to the ground, kneeling in allegiance. “They have covered Grandmere in darkness in your absence. It cannot go on much further,” he begged, muttering more prayers to the Saints and the Fates.