Mosh Zu’s face remained perfectly placid. Nonetheless, when he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice. “What, I wonder, is Olivier doing here?”
Grace thought of the book. Should she tell Mosh Zu about her suspicions? Her glimpse into Olivier’s troubled psyche? She probably should, and yet something warned her to keep this information to herself.
She met Mosh Zu’s gaze. “He says he was sired by Sidorio. That when war came, he joined the Alliance and was the Nocturnal on board one of the ships attacked by Lola and her crew. He claims her squad left him in this state.”
Mosh Zu remained still and quiet. Grace knew that he was caught up in his own thoughts. “A lie,” he said, at length. “Perhaps more than one lie.”
Grace’s heart was hammering now. Was Mosh Zu referring to Olivier still or to her as well? Was he accusing her of being a liar? Once more, her eyes darted to the base of the counter, though she swiftly pulled them away.
“I should like to see him,” Mosh Zu said. “Which ward is he on?”
“Is that wise?” Grace asked.
Mosh Zu had stepped away from the bench. Now he looked at her questioningly. She wondered if he felt his authority was being challenged. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t the best idea to rile him. But when he spoke, his tone was amicable.
“Whatever we think of Olivier, he deserves the opportunity to be healed, just like our other patients.” He nodded. “Complete his healing process, Grace. Then we will get to the bottom of why he is here.”
Grace took another sip of tea. “Considering how badly wounded he was, he has already made a surprisingly strong recovery.”
Mosh Zu nodded once more. “I think when it comes to Olivier, it is always safe to expect the unexpected.” He gave a fleeting smile and took the pot of salve in his hands. “And now, I will leave you to your tea,” he said.
Mosh Zu padded toward the door and, within moments, was gone. At last, Grace was alone in the lab. She wasted no time. Setting her mug back on the counter and slipping off the stool, she fell to her knees to begin her investigation.
The lab was not well-lit in general and the floor surrounding the counter was shrouded with shadows. Grace pressed her fingers along the wooden panel. Each piece of wood remained frustratingly firm. Grace moved around the base of the counter, praying that none of the other healers would come in and interrupt her before she had completed her mission.
Just then there were fresh footsteps outside in the corridor. No! She sat still for a moment, refusing to stand up, though she knew it would look suspicious if one of her colleagues entered the room. She didn’t care. She was so intent on completing the search for the hidden panel and the book that—hopefully—lay beyond.
As the footsteps faded away, she let out a sigh and renewed her exploration. She had now assessed three of the four sides of the counter. It occurred to her that perhaps it had changed since Olivier had hidden the book there. Or maybe Mosh Zu had known about the book all along and had already removed it and sealed up the panel.
But now, just as that thought floated through her brain, her fingers found a pliable panel, and, as she pressed it, obligingly it opened. Barely breathing in her excitement, Grace inserted her hand and wrist through the opening and began searching for the book.
She could only feel dust as her hand ventured into the dark interior. She adjusted her position and dipped her arm deeper inside. Her fingers brushed something. Not a book but a piece of cloth. Her fingers pinched the cloth and drew it forward. It had a little weight to it. Feeling she must be on to something, she drew the cloth onward, then eased her arm out of the aperture.
Glancing down, she could see a cloth bundle on the other side of the opening. It was a bag, covered in dust. Could this be it? She brought the drawstring bag out into the light. It was the right shape and size. This must be it!
Heart racing faster than ever, Grace wiped her hands clean on the back of her uniform, then undid the drawstring and reached inside the bag. She took out a small book, bound in blue cloth.
She took the book in her hands. Its cover was blank. But then, right in front of her eyes, gold lettering began to appear. It was not a trick of the light. One moment, the cover was blank; the next there was gold lettering, reading: The Way of the Dhampir.
Grace couldn’t believe it. She turned to the first page. It was blank. As was the next. Flipping on through the book, she found that each and every page was blank. She couldn’t stem her feelings of dismay.
Then, having a fresh thought, she went back and looked at the first page. It was still blank. She held it open and waited.
Words suddenly began to appear on the page. She waited for the characters to stop swirling and the page to steady, then began to read. She could barely contain her excitement, but, as she absorbed the words, that emotion mutated into cold, dark fear.
The time of the prophecy has come.
The Warmonger has made his move.
And now one of the Warmonger’s twin children must die.
Just as Mosh Zu prophesied all those years ago.
One twin must die.
15
SHOWDOWN
Grace sat on her bed, transfixed by the open book on her lap. Once more she read the chilling words:
One twin must die.
There could be no doubt that this prophecy referred to her and Connor. Sidorio was “the Warmonger” and they were his children. Some time ago, Mosh Zu had made a prophecy. Now one of them was going to die! But how? And why had no one told her—or Connor—about the prophecy before? It was not the first time they had had information withheld from them. Everyone seemed to have known that she and Connor were Sidorio’s stolen children, but still they had bided their time to reveal that bombshell. And Grace reflected, her heart thudding, if Sally hadn’t come back, the truth might never have come out at all.
Now, it seemed there was a bigger secret even than that. Grace couldn’t help but feel angry—not with Olivier, who, like Sally, was purely a catalyst to the truth emerging. No, she felt anger toward Obsidian and Mosh Zu, for doubtless they both knew of this prophecy. And what about Lorcan? Was he in on the secret, too? He had known about Sally and Dexter and Sidorio, so there was a very strong chance that he knew about this, too. How could the people you loved—the person you loved above all others—persist in hiding things from you?
With this maelstrom of thoughts in her head, Grace turned the page. She needed to be free from the words that predicted her, or her brother’s, death. She sat there, the book open on the next blank page, trying to get her breathing back to some semblance of normal.
Glancing down, she realized that words were now forming on the new page. Was there no escape from this prophecy? Were its words somehow imprinted on every page of this book like a stick of seaside rock? But, as the words settled, she saw that it was not a repeat of the first message but new information.
Lorcan doesn’t know.
Grace was shell-shocked. It was as if the book was talking to her directly. Scratch that! The book was talking to her. It had somehow read her thoughts and given her its answer. She had suspected from the first it was powerful, but this was way beyond her expectations. Breathlessly, she turned the page once more, her eyes resting before new characters began to make their mark. In a moment, the book’s latest message became clear.
The patient is up and about, searching for me.
You are my custodian now.
Hide me where he cannot find me, then deal with him.
Grace shook her head in wonder. “He’s in the lab,” she said out loud. “He is, isn’t he?” She turned the page, hoping for confirmation, but the page remained resolutely blank. She decided to try another question, but this time only thought it rather than saying it aloud. Is Olivier a dhampir?
She glanced down at the blank page, expecting an answer. Sure enough, after a brief pause, text began to appear. But, as it settled, she was disappointed to read…
Find him and deal with h
im.
Time is of the essence.
Hide me and go.
“All right,” she said with a nod. With some reluctance, she closed the book and slipped it inside her pillowcase. It wasn’t the safest of hiding places, but, given the book’s own pleas for urgency, it would have to suffice for now. She had to find Olivier, and she had a strong intuition as to where he would be.
As she pushed open the door to the lab, her suspicions were confirmed. Olivier was down on his knees, scrabbling around the counter, looking demented. As he took note of Grace’s arrival, he glared up at her like an angry snake, cornered and ready to unleash its venom.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Grace said, more calmly than she felt. “Your healing is not yet complete and you need your rest.”
“Cut the act, Grace,” Olivier snapped. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” she asked, closing the door behind her and stepping closer to the counter.
“You know very well what I’m referring to. I know you do.” Olivier rose to his full height. “You have something of mine and I want it back.”
Grace folded her arms. “It isn’t yours anymore,” she said. “When you betrayed Mosh Zu and fled Sanctuary, you lost all rights to it and any other property you left behind. Besides,” she said with a smile, “the book has left me in no doubt that your period of custody of it is over.”
His eyes seared into hers with pure hatred. “So you do have it. I knew it!” Now he moved closer toward her. “Run along and fetch it,” he told her, as if he were talking to the lowest minion. “The book is much more powerful than you realize.”
Grace smiled again, pleasantly. “I am completely alert to the book’s powers, Olivier. But, like I said before, even if I wanted to return it to you, the book does not wish to be returned.”
They had reached some kind of standoff, one on either side of the counter. Whichever healer had been here last had left some glass jars of herbs and roots on the countertop. Now, seized by anger, Olivier swept his arm across the table and sent the jars and their contents flying. Grace remained calm and still as the breaking glass chimed around her.
She observed Olivier, seeing that his recovery was continuing apace. It really was remarkable. Either he had not been nearly as badly injured as she had thought or he had simply miraculous powers of recovery. “I think it’s time you left Sanctuary,” she told him. “You obviously don’t need, or welcome, any help with your healing. If you came for the book, you are out of luck, so all in all I’d say it’s time to depart.”
Olivier could not contain his rage. “I came for many reasons,” he spat, then seemed to regret letting that information out. Regaining his composure, he smiled. “I don’t know why you’re looking so pleased with yourself. If the book has started talking to you, doubtless it has also shared Mosh Zu’s prophecy with you.”
Grace attempted to remain stoic but it was a step too far.
Olivier grinned. “So it has! It’s a loose-lipped book and no mistake.” He stepped around the side of the counter. “Well, now you’re in on the secret, first revealed five hundred years ago.
“Yes, that’s right, Grace—five hundred years ago. I was here then, along with Mosh Zu and the Four Cardinals. I heard the prophecy with my own ears, in Mosh Zu’s meditation chamber.”
This information at least gave the lie to one of Olivier’s earlier claims. “So it wasn’t Sidorio who sired you,” Grace said. “You were a Nocturnal from long ago.”
“Not a Nocturnal,” Olivier snapped. “A Vampirate. I was—and remain—a Vampirate. A very powerful one. More powerful than Mosh Zu or Obsidian Darke or even you, Grace Tempest.”
“Show me,” Grace said. “If you’re so powerful, prove it.”
“What?” Olivier clearly hadn’t expected to be challenged in this way.
“You want the book. I don’t want you to have it. You want to stay here at Sanctuary. I think it’s time for you to leave.” Grace smiled. “Let’s see who gets their way.”
He looked at her venomously once more. “All right,” he said.
As he spoke, the glass jars on the wall behind Grace began to vibrate. She could hear them chinking against one another. She could not allow him to wreck this room or its contents. The herbs and other plant matter within the jars were the basis of all Mosh Zu’s healing remedies. They could be replaced, but not easily or swiftly, and not without the risk of death or oblivion to their mortal and Nocturnal patients in the interim.
Grace focused her powers on the jars. She found Olivier’s current and directed her own against it. At first, his was stronger, but then—to his surprise and not a little to her own—she began to overcome him. She knew she had succeeded when the clinking suddenly subsided and the room fell silent once more.
Olivier was down but not out. Reaching to the counter itself, he peeled off the strips of metal around it, wielding the spikes in his hands like deadly katanas.
Grace drew on her inner strength once again. She knew she had options. One was to fashion herself one or more weapons with which to combat him. She was pretty confident that her skill at swordplay would surprise and outflank him. But this, she decided, was too obvious. Instead, she sent all her energy onto the metal spikes that he gripped in his hands. Very slowly but surely she attacked the molecular structure of the metal until it began to heat up from within. The ends of the spikes began to glow red-hot.
The fire was reflected in Olivier’s eyes. He was little more than a savage now. And she realized that he thought he had set the metal alight, turning the spikes from swords into red-hot pokers. How little he knew.
As he gripped the improvised spears tightly, Grace continued to work her superior magic on them. Before Olivier realized what was happening, the heat from the metal became unbearable, searing into the palms of his hands. And now, as Grace concentrated further, the two bands of metal began to coil around his wrists and arms like snakes. The metal hissed as it scalded him, but the sound was soon overpowered by Olivier’s cries.
Try as he might, he could not loosen his grip. Ironic, Grace thought. All that time and energy I spent healing this schmuck. And now I go and do this to him.
“All right,” he rasped. “You win.” He could barely speak. “Stop it!” he pleaded. “Stop the pain!”
“I’ll stop it,” she said, “if you go quietly. And you never come back. Do we have a deal?”
Olivier had no choice. His eyes were full of pain and fury. But he managed to nod.
Grace waited a moment, just to drive home her superior power. Then, she reached forward and took the burning spikes of metal from his hands. He watched her with undisguised awe as she carried the pieces of hot metal back to the counter and laid them down, good as new.
Olivier’s hands were another matter. They were burnt to a crisp, worse now than when he had arrived at Sanctuary. He looked at them in horror.
“I’d offer you some salve,” Grace said. “But you don’t seem to value my healing efforts. So I think it’s best if you take your leave now.”
He nodded.
Suddenly the door opened and Mosh Zu appeared on the threshold.
Olivier shook his head. “Come to gloat?”
Mosh Zu looked sadly at his former deputy. “No,” he said. “Not to gloat. Just to remind myself why I must quell any feelings of pity I have for you, Olivier. You have lost your way and there is nothing I can do to change that.” As he spoke, two guards moved into the room and approached Olivier. One brought Olivier’s arms around his back. The other snapped handcuffs around his wrists. They wasted no time in leading Olivier toward the door.
“I’ll go now,” he said, his voice brighter again, despite the intense pain he must be experiencing. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the book and the prophecy.” He smiled now. “I’m sure Grace is keen to know why you have been keeping secrets from her… again.” With a glint in his eye, Olivier allowed himself to be led away.
Mosh Zu shut the door.
“I h
ave some questions for you,” Grace said.
Mosh Zu nodded. “I’m sure you do.” His voice was as composed as usual. Somehow this irritated her.
“The first concerns Olivier,” Grace said. “Is he a dhampir, like me?”
Mosh Zu’s limpid eyes met hers. “He is a dhampir, Grace. But not like you or your brother. A dhampir has the power to be an unparalleled force for good or for evil. You and your brother have chosen to use your powers for good. I think it’s clear now that Olivier has chosen otherwise.”
“So,” Grace said, “his power is for evil. But when we dueled, my powers outstripped his.”
“Your powers are very sharp,” Mosh Zu said. “Once, Olivier’s were almost as sharp. But he is dissolute. You must see that. He spends too much time thinking of allegiances and hurts and vengeance. All these impulses weaken him. True, he still has certain exceptional powers, but he is no rival to you—or to me, for that matter.”
Grace nodded. “My other question concerns the prophecy.”
Once more, Mosh Zu nodded. “You want to know what it means and why we kept it from you.”
Grace shrugged. “Those are valid questions, but let’s cut to the chase. All I want to know is whether it’s me or Connor who will die. I want to prepare myself, or help him to prevent it.”
Mosh Zu was silent for a time as he weighed her words. “Perhaps neither of you need die,” he said.
“But the book was very clear on the matter,” Grace persisted. “It said that the time of the prophecy had arrived and one of the warmonger’s twin children must die. Connor and I are the warmonger’s children, are we not?”
It was Mosh Zu’s turn to nod. “Yes, you are. And it may be that to achieve lasting peace one of you must enter the realm of the dead. We are in a state of bitter war now and sacrifices must be made.” There was a callousness to his words. It was not the first time she had observed this quality in the Nocturnal guru. When he spoke next, his tone was somewhat softer. “I think your own future is assured now, Grace.”
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