Heart Blade: Blade Hunt Chronicles Book One

by Juliana Spink Mills

  Del chose the most forlorn of them all. It had dirt-smudged windows, and crabgrass poked through the paving stones in its small parking lot. There was no rental sign on this one, and when she ducked down the side of the property she found all the doors securely locked. Right at the back, however, were the metal steps of the fire escape. She set her tote and backpack down and climbed up, trying not to make too much noise, the blank walls of surrounding properties a welcome shield. At the top, the exit door was firmly shut, but a window beside it bulged slightly at the bottom. She leaned out over the railing and worked her fingers in until the window gave way, swinging outward and upward so suddenly she almost toppled over the side.

  Heart thudding, she examined the window. Could she fit? She climbed over the railing, one hand on the cold metal and the other gripping the windowsill. She carefully eased her body through the gap, wriggling in eel-like as her legs hung out over empty space. Her demon grace deserted her for once and she landed in an undignified heap on the floor. Her light blue t-shirt had a long rust-colored streak down the middle, and her jeans stuck uncomfortably to her sweaty legs.

  She was in a sort of mezzanine area that might have been an office at some point. An empty desk still stood forlornly in the middle of the floor, a single chair upside down on top. The rest of the space was bare, paler patches on the walls where pictures and shelving had hung. A spiral staircase led down to the main floor. She checked the exit door to the fire escape. It looked like it had once been wired for an alarm, but now the electrical wiring hung in ragged fronds. She tugged off the heavy bar that sealed it shut, hoping it wasn’t locked as well. She got lucky: it swung open at first push, a little stiff but working fine.

  Del fetched the chair and propped the door open. Then she went back down for her stuff. She didn’t relax until she was back inside, the door firmly barred and the window once again shut. She dumped her bags on the desk and went exploring. Downstairs she found dark stains and a lingering smell of oil and guessed this was a former auto repair shop, or a workshop of some sort. A small kitchen at the back had running water, to her surprise, and there was a working bathroom. It would do just fine. She dunked her head under the tap and returned to the mezzanine, water dripping down her neck.

  Even in the silent shop she still felt unsettled. The door and window were her only exits. If they were compromised, the next best thing was to hide. There was a big air conditioning vent in the wall, and she prized the cover off to look inside. It was horribly dusty, but wide enough to fit both her and her backpack. In a pinch, it would do. She set the cover back against it, leaving it loose.

  With safety sorted out, Del unpacked her stuff. Hidden at the bottom was a thick wad of cash — all ones and fives and a few tens. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. She’d brought a sleeping bag, and some food she’d swiped from Diana’s kitchen. There were a couple of cans of corn, and one of beans. A handful of protein bars. A packet of cereal. Three apples. That wasn’t going to last her long. Tomorrow, before she found a library, she was going to have to buy some groceries.

  Evening darkened to night. From the street out front, a failing streetlight flickered on and off, casting dark and warmth alternately across the ceiling. A car drove by, the heavy bass thump of dubstep seeping through the walls and windows. Suddenly she was homesick for Philadelphia and Diana, however stupid it might be. She scrubbed her eyes angrily with her hand.

  “Don’t cry,” she told herself through gritted teeth. “Don’t cry. Diana doesn’t care about you, you’re just a chore for her to manage.” But the taste of Diana’s sorrow was still on her tongue, and she knew that wasn’t quite true. Whatever the truth was, it was something more complicated than love, hate, or even indifference.

  She set out her sleeping bag, lying back to watch the streetlight flicker through the dust- and grime-caked windows. She softly traced the scars on her arm with one finger. Uneven letters, carved into her skin before she was gifted the blood of a full demon: Never.

  Del knew the official story, the one Diana had told her. “The Lady found you in an alley. You were being attacked, and you were dying. There was blood everywhere, most of it yours, but some belonged to the guy who mugged you. She thought you had fire. So she killed the mugger and gave you the Demon’s Gift.”

  Diana’s story was a pretty tale, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Del pressed the scars hard, willing herself to remember. She closed her eyes, and the memory surged and pulled her under.

  She ran along the dark alley, heart thumping and feet scuffing the ground. The knife in her hand gleamed. Behind her, the demon advanced, never hurrying, steady, sure of its prey. She came to a dead end and the demon laughed.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

  “Not this time,” the demon answered from the shadows that pooled between one streetlight and another. “This time you’ll join me.”

  Working frantically, she dug the knife into her arm. It hurt every bit as much as she thought it would, but she gritted her teeth and kept carving. The demon stepped out into the light, and it was Shade, feral smile of victory on her too-still face.

  Del opened her eyes with a gasp, feeling as she always did the awful rent in her chest, where her life had bled out until she was so close to death there had been no resistance left when the Demon’s Gift entered her bloodstream. The images were imperfect, broken puzzle pieces. Never quite enough. Never a full picture. Her human life and memories had drained away along with her blood in the alley. But one thing she knew: the story Diana had told her again and again was a fiction.

  Shade was lying.

  Chapter Two

  Ash

  The vampire hunched low over his motorbike, weaving in and out of the late-night highway traffic. The SUV followed close behind in pursuit. In the backseat, Ash tightened his fingers around the modified GPS tracker he held.

  From the front passenger seat, his dad snapped out terse directions at the driver. “Watch it, Becca! He squeezed past the minivan. He’s just ahead of the truck now.” Becca followed, overtaking deftly.

  Jordan, sitting next to Ash, peered down at the tracker and elbowed him in the ribs. “If you’re going to do it, then do it right. Look!” A second marker had appeared on the screen, ahead of their own and moving in fast from an access lane.

  “I’ve got it.” Ash pushed his cousin away and leaned forward. “Dad? Andrew’s on-screen. He’ll be on I-84 any minute now.”

  “Right on time.” His dad held a hand out for the tracker, his pale gold aura all but invisible in the dark. Ash saw him grab his cell phone from the dash.

  “Andrew? Deacon here. You’re in perfect position. He’ll show up in your rearview in a moment. Keep ahead of him, and force him off at the nearest exit.” Andrew must have said something, because there was a pause. “Yeah, the Sturbridge one will do. I need him away from the highway. We’ll follow. You keep going and circle back as soon as you can.”

  The turnoff to Sturbridge approached, and Jordan whooped. All Ash had seen was a swirl of headlights. “What happened? I missed it!”

  Jordan turned to him, a savage grin on his face, all teeth and victory. “Andrew closed in and pushed him off. The vampire almost lost control, but skidded onto the ramp at the last minute.”

  Ash tensed as the exit drew nearer, one hand balled in his lap. The excitement in the car was a living, breathing thing, and he was swept up in the glory of the chase despite himself.

  Becca took the ramp too fast and the SUV’s tires squealed as she took a sharp left at the top. Deacon was on the phone again. “Nice work, Andrew. He took a right toward Old Sturbridge Village.” He hung up and turned his head briefly to face the backseat. “When possible, always force your target into a battlefield of your choosing.”

  “And now?” Ash asked, heart beating fast.

  “Now we finish this before he gets back into populated areas.” Deacon gave a wry smile. “Don’t need the humans telling tales to the police.”

&nbs
p; Becca caught up to the vampire. The motorbike was spewing smoke, visible in dark wisps in the glare of their high beams. It had slowed down. Something must have been damaged when Andrew forced the bike off the highway. Deacon strapped on his ops helmet, a custom-made job that looked like a cross between military ballistic headgear and a standard motorcycle helmet.

  “Ash, pass me my sword,” he said, checking the gun on the holster strapped to his Kevlar-suited body.

  Ash passed the sword forward carefully. It was the same weight as the training swords they used in class, but within the leather scabbard this one was solid metal and not acrylic.

  Becca was trying to pull alongside the bike so she could sideswipe it. The vampire accelerated, managing to keep just ahead of them. “Helmets, boys,” Deacon said. “You are not to engage, though. You’re here strictly to observe.”

  Ash picked up the helmet lying on the floor and strapped it on. It was a little snug, but it was the best fit he’d found in the apprentices’ armory. Jordan did the same.

  “Finally we get to see some action,” Jordan murmured to Ash alone, eyes glittering. “I can’t wait to watch Deacon take down the rogue.”

  Becca tried again to slam the SUV against the bike, but once more the vampire managed to pull away. Deacon opened the window, gun in hand, and the thick smell of smoke poured in as he sighted and took a shot. He missed, and the bike veered across in front of them and took off down a one-lane dirt track to the left. Becca followed without hesitation, and Ash’s seatbelt jerked tight as he was flung to one side. “Boss?” Becca asked. “Where does this go?”

  Deacon consulted the tracker. “Straight into the museum. Sturbridge Village will be completely abandoned at this time of night. And there are fields and woodlands all around. It’s perfect.”

  The SUV rocketed along the dirt track, right on the motorbike’s tail. The surrounding trees were a dark blur in the night, lit only by their headlights. Ash realized he was holding his breath, and let it out in one big exhale. Becca heard and chuckled.

  “Apprentices,” she said, shaking her head. “So darn cute. Hey, don’t worry, kid. We’re in good hands. Your old man’s the best in the business. You don’t get to be Scion of the New England Chapter of sentinels for nothing.”

  Ash would have protested, said he wasn’t worried, but it would have been a lie. Becca would have known; they all would. You couldn’t lie to a sentinel. Instead he gritted his teeth and tugged at his bulletproof vest. The borrowed body armor he wore was too tight across his shoulders. His whole chest felt too tight.

  Becca drew closer to the stuttering motorbike, still trailing acrid clouds of smoke. The trees opened suddenly into a vista of dark fields, and Becca accelerated, throwing the car off the road. They ripped through the tall grass, stems slashing viciously at the sides of the SUV.

  There was a sudden impression of approaching buildings, and then the side of the SUV hit the bike hard. The bike went down in a tumbling crash, the engine’s growl cutting out abruptly as the vampire fell head over heels to land on his back. The SUV skidded to a stop, high beams raking the black. The vampire scrambled to his feet and took off, Deacon in pursuit with his sword over his shoulder as Ash leaned over his cousin to watch.

  Becca snagged her hunting rifle from the back of the car and turned to Ash and Jordan, still inside. “Well? You here to learn, or what?”

  Jordan shoved Ash off him and got out. “Heck, yeah. What do we do?” he said. Becca didn’t answer. She was already chasing after Deacon.

  Ash followed Jordan out of the SUV. “Come on,” he told Jordan, setting off at a run with his cousin at his heels. At night, under the harsh glare of the headlights, the old clapboards of the living history museum looked truly like something from a past era. He tried to remember where they were — after all, he’d been here with his school only last year. But he was disoriented, and it wasn’t until they ran past the first buildings and an old-fashioned iron plow that he remembered this was the re-created farm exhibit.

  They both slowed as they caught up with Becca. She pointed at a farm cart on one side, and an artistically stacked pile of hay bales on the other. “One of you on each side. Signal if he tries to double back.”

  Jordan disappeared behind the hay, while Ash headed for the cart. He fingered the whistle in his vest pocket, making sure it was ready. His dad was out in the middle of the farmyard clearing. Becca joined him, and after a brief exchange, too quiet to hear, they split up to search the area.

  Ash lay down and rolled under the cart so he could see out the other side. Dust tickled his nose, and the Kevlar strained uncomfortably across his torso. He forced himself to slow his breathing and relax, lessening the constriction in his chest. There was a rattle of gunfire from the open door of the barn. His dad’s gun, not Becca’s. Next came silence, absolute in its suddenness, and then footsteps. Running fast, too fast for a sentinel.

  The vampire erupted from the barn door and dashed across the yard. For an instant he was fully in the car’s headlights, and Ash realized the vampire was heading straight at him. Before Ash had time to react, the vampire vaulted the cart and landed by his feet. A hand clamped around his ankle and hauled him out roughly.

  Ash knew that vampires were strong. He’d never imagined just how strong. He scrabbled for a handhold on the cart, but just wound up with his skin full of splinters. The vampire’s hand shifted to Ash’s neck, hoisting him to his feet. He held Ash out in front as a shield, one arm wrapped around his throat, the other hand gripping Ash’s chin.

  “Let g—” he began to yell, but the words choked out as the vampire squeezed, ever so slightly. Ash tugged uselessly at the vampire’s arm, black spots dancing at the edge of his vision.

  “No more guns,” the vampire shouted. “No more games, Deacon. You back off or the boy is dead. I’ll snap his neck.”

  “Sentinels don’t negotiate,” Deacon boomed out. “They stand their ground and wait.” It was a message for Ash. To wait on the signal. But Ash wasn’t sure he had that long. The arm around his neck tightened, the fingers on his chin biting into his skin. Ash struggled to draw breath, panic now warring with anger. Was his dad ever going to trust him to make his own decisions? He drew his combat knife, readying himself, forcing himself to stop squirming and go limp in the vampire’s arms.

  “You really want to push this, Deacon?” the vampire called out. “Shall we see how fast I can kill him?”

  Ash’s knife hovered. He could do it, right that instant. He didn’t have to wait. But he did anyway.

  “Henry Weber,” his dad said, his voice loud and steady. “Your life is forfeit. You know the laws and you have deliberately turned against them. Your own High Blood Council has declared you outcast, and the Court of the Covenant has sentenced you to death. Do what you must.”

  It was the command phrase. Ash plunged his knife into the vampire’s side, and the vampire gave a startled cry and lost his grip. Ash wriggled free and dropped like a stone just as Becca’s shot took the vampire in the shoulder, spinning him backward. Ash crawled out of the way as fast as he could, keeping low so as not to impede Becca’s line of sight. There was another shot, and one more, and the vampire crashed to the dirt.

  A stab wound and a couple of shots wouldn’t keep a vampire down for long. Before he could recover, Deacon was on top of him, lashing out with his sword. The vampire kicked out hard, pushing Deacon back a good couple of feet. While Deacon was still recovering his balance, the vampire went for his throat.

  There was a shimmer as Deacon called upon Michael’s Blessing and his aura deepened from pale gold to almost bronze in tone. With augmented strength, Deacon threw the vampire off easily. He closed the space between them in one stride and punched hard. This time the vampire staggered, finally dazed. Without hesitating, Deacon swung his sword and sliced through the vampire’s neck. It wasn’t a clean cut. The vampire fell to his knees, blood gurgling from the wound. Ash tried to turn away, his stomach churning.

  “As
h. Watch,” said his dad sternly. It took two more cuts before the head parted from the body and the whole thing toppled over with a thud. Ash took a quick look at Jordan and saw his cousin taking quick, shallow breaths, shoulders tense. He looked like he was a moment away from throwing up, and Ash felt childishly better for it.

  Deacon stood over the dead vampire, the Blessing still shimmering faintly around his shoulders like a cloak. “This,” he said, gesturing at his handiwork, “is who we are. It’s not glamorous. It’s not pretty.” His voice was hard. It had a growl to it, the fierce and primal echo of warrior angels in battle. But it held pride, too. “We are sentinels,” said Deacon, eyeing both boys in turn. “We protect the Covenant. This is our blood-sworn duty.”

  Ash looked down at the body, seeping all over the gravel. The vampire’s blood looked black in the shadowed farmyard. His stomach heaved again, protesting. Deacon grimaced. “I know. But you needed to see it. In a few months, the two of you will swear your own oaths. And next time, your hands might hold the sword.”

  As Andrew’s truck drove up, adding its headlights to the scene, Deacon walked over to Ash and took his chin in one hand, tilting his head to examine him. “You might have some bruising tomorrow, but not much. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” croaked Ash. He wanted to say more, to say he could have taken the vampire. But he didn’t. Wouldn’t, not in front of Jordan and the others. Deacon was his dad, but he was also the Scion. Deacon must have picked up something in his look, because his eyes narrowed.

  “I was out of ammo, and Becca needed time to get into position,” Deacon said. “You stalled the vampire. You followed orders. Good job, son.” It was praise, but also a warning. Ash nodded, and remained silent.