Heart Blade: Blade Hunt Chronicles Book One

by Juliana Spink Mills

“Yes. Sister Agatha always told me it’s an orphan’s name. That it meant I had no identity.” She was trying to be calm, but the catch in her voice betrayed her.

  Dan snorted. “I haven’t met Sister Agatha, but clearly she’s a blithering idiot. Of course you have an identity, one that’s simply being you. Being Rose. But you have another one, the one your parents left you. Your real name is Rosa Maria Pietrowicz. You are the only child of my good friends Jonathan Pietrowicz and Ana Garcia. They died just after you were born, and I took you away to keep you from harm.”

  She met her own amber eyes in the mirror. “Rosa Pietrowicz,” she said, trying it out. “Rosa.” She gave a firm nod to her image in the small sliver of glass. It was a start. It would do for now.

  Chapter Nine

  Ash

  Deacon was fast asleep when Ash woke up. It was early for a Saturday; class didn’t start until nine. He left a note propped up against the sugar bowl where his father was sure to see it. Meeting Jordan. See you later.

  He got all the way to Lea Street and then his steps slowed. Why was he doing this, anyway? She had said she was leaving today. He could just turn around and head for class, and when he got back in the afternoon she would be gone and he could forget Del had ever existed. It was the easy option, the sane option.

  And his father would never have to know.

  But he kept thinking of the letters carved into Del’s arm, and her determination not to give in to Shade. Never. “I think she killed me,” Del had said. Well, he was done with Shade. She was powerful and she thought she ruled the Court, but she couldn’t be allowed to win. Del shouldn’t have to do this alone.

  When had the sentinels become quivering lapdogs who took orders from the Court and never questioned anything? They were blood of the angels, the sword-sworn, Michael’s shield. If his dad wouldn’t stand up to Shade and the Covenant, then Ash would. He squared his shoulders and hurried over to the repair shop, hoping he wasn’t too late.

  He let himself in and found Del in the kitchen. He’d left the stove set up for her, and she’d dug into his stash of supplies. He smelled toast and chamomile tea.

  She eyed him over the rim of her mug, wary. “What are you doing here, Ash? I’ll be gone in a while. You don’t have to see me out.”

  “I promised to help.” He rubbed his cheek, self-conscious. She didn’t look happy to see him. Her eyes had dark shadows under them, like she hadn’t slept much, and her face was pinched with worry. “Del, I want to help.”

  She sighed and put her mug down in the sink. “No you don’t. You just want this over. I don’t blame you.” She rinsed the mug and set it carefully on the draining board. “I’m going to get my stuff.”

  He was still by the doorway when she passed, and her arm brushed his lightly in the cramped space. He felt that tingle again like an electric jolt that ran all the way down to his toes. She flinched, and he was sure she’d felt it too. He put a hand out and caught hers. She stopped where she was, waiting. He was waiting, too, but he didn’t know what for. The doorway they stood in was a frame for a captured moment, a stolen image frozen in time. The scent of chamomile clung heavily to her skin.

  He turned her wrist to expose her forearm and the letters carved into it. “Never. Do you mean it? You’ll never give in to her?”

  “Never.” Her voice was soft but firm, and she looked so serious and so fierce.

  “Then let me help. Stay. Just until this afternoon. I’ll see what I can dig up in class today, and then I’ll lend you bus money. You don’t have to hitchhike to Canada.”

  She searched his eyes, and whatever she found must have satisfied her, because she nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

  “I’ll be back by two. I’ll pick up lunch. Do you like tacos?”

  A hint of a smile warmed her face. “I like tacos.”

  “Good. See you later.”

  He caught Jordan a block from his house, heading for the church where sentinel training was held. His cousin gave him a frosty look. “Demon-lover.”

  “Yeah, good morning to you, too. You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know?”

  “Better than being a traitor. Sanctuary! Really? You’re such a sucker, Ash. What do you think Deacon will say when he finds out his Golden Boy is fraternizing with the enemy?” Jordan grinned nastily. “Our future Scion-in-waiting, the honors student, the football star. Oh, how have the mighty fallen.”

  Ash stepped in front of Jordan, blocking his way. “Traitor? I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m doing my job. We’re supposed to be a shield, to protect those who need it. Well, Del needs help.”

  “So go to your dad!” Jordan snapped, his voice rising almost to a shout.

  “Keep it down! You know I can’t. He would never understand. Just give me one more day, okay? She’ll be out of Hartford by then. She’s heading to Toronto. She won’t even be in the same country as us. And I promise you that once she’s gone I’ll come clean to my dad.”

  He watched Jordan anxiously. The seconds stretched out and turned into a long, long minute. The longest minute in the world. Finally, Jordan nodded.

  “Fine. I won’t tell him. Not yet, anyway. I’ll cover for you. However, you owe me one. A big one. And don’t think I won’t call that favor in, because I will. It might not be now; it might be in a month, or a year. But you’ll owe me.”

  By noon, Ash was free. He hovered at the door to the room where his Aunt Sarah was teaching the youngest sentinel kids. Jordan’s mom was an expert at preternatural lore, and if anyone knew anything about the Guild, it would be her. She waved him in.

  “Don’t loom like that, Ash. Come in and sit.”

  Sarah turned back to the handful of under-tens gathered around her on the floor while Ash settled in a chair at the back. Sarah’s lilting voice was soothing, and he relaxed into the rhythm of her words.

  “Once upon a time there was a terrible battle in the Heavenly Kingdom. Close your eyes and try to picture the angels in their battle armor, beautiful and dreadful at the same time. With their eyes flashing and swords raised, they fought each other as thunder and lightning crashed all around them. Can you see them?”

  There was a frenzy of nodding as the kids squirmed in place, eyes squeezed shut. Sarah winked at Ash and continued her story.

  “The Archangel Michael’s warriors won the war, and the Dragon’s followers were cast out of Heaven. Are your eyes still shut? Good. Now picture these broken angels falling to Earth. Can you imagine how lost they must have been, having to live among the humans? Some of the Fallen were angry with their punishment. They took on the form of demons and decided to make their own kingdom on Earth. But others regretted their part in the war. They begged to be allowed to make up for their mistakes.

  “To these, Michael gave the task of protecting humankind. They would be his shield and sword against the demons. To carry out this work, he made them mortal and gave them his blessing to marry with humans and spread his mission across the world. This was the dawn of our people, the sentinels.”

  One small girl, who Ash was pretty certain was his second cousin Judith’s daughter, raised her hand. “Do we get to be proper angels again when we’re done with protecting the Earth? With wings? I’d like wings.”

  “Perhaps,” answered Sarah. “Our stories aren’t really clear on that, Maggie. But the job itself is the important thing, not the reward.”

  She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’d like wings, too. Right, enough big words for today. We’ll go over this again next weekend. Why don’t you all head out to the playground?” She let the mad rush of small legs run ahead before she switched off the classroom light and beckoned for Ash to join her.

  He smiled. “I haven’t heard it told like that for a while. It made me feel seven years old again. Sarah, are full demons really the Fallen?”

  “Sentinel lore says so. Who knows?” She smiled back at him. “Only the full demons do, and they certainly aren’t sharing. But come on, did you really hang around to ask me
about the Fallen?”

  “No.” He followed her outside, met by bright sunshine and the sound of kids’ voices. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about the Guild of Saint Peter. Do you know how to find them?”

  “The Guild?” Sarah looked surprised. “I know their main headquarters are in Canada. Toronto, actually. They call it the Chapterhouse. But I’ve never been there. Why?”

  “I’m asking for a friend,” he answered carefully, knowing full well she’d sense a lie in a minute.

  “Hmm. A friend, you say? Ash, are you in some sort of trouble? Don’t think I didn’t see my son glowering at you across the hall this morning.”

  “I’m not in trouble,” he said firmly. “That’s the honest truth. Nor is Jordan. It really is for someone else.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I can’t be any more precise than that. You should really talk to your dad. Deacon knows people in the Guild.”

  “He does?” It was Ash’s turn to be surprised. His strait-laced, by-the-books father knew members of the rebellious Guild?

  “Don’t give me that look. Of course he does. He’s the Scion. It’s his job to know people. Are you keeping secrets from him?”

  He didn’t answer, knowing full well she’d see the lie. She frowned. “Ash, don’t do anything stupid. You only have a few more months before you graduate and are confirmed as Scion-in-waiting. Someday, God help us, you’ll lead us all.”

  Sarah set a hand on his shoulder briefly before she moved away to check on her class. “Talk to Deacon,” she called out, leaving him alone on the withered, sun-beaten grass.

  Ash left the church after that, head down and in a hurry to avoid another confrontation with Jordan. He bought lunch and then cut across the parking lot near the bus station. A small and curvy blonde who looked around his age was walking into the station, and he did a double take, almost tripping on the paving stones. Was that a demon? He stopped to stare, but the blonde in the bright pink miniskirt was already gone. He slipped in after her, pausing at the entrance. She was leaning over the counter of the bagel shop, talking to the salesgirl. Away from the sun’s glare, her lilac aura was easier to spot. He whirled around and left, hoping she hadn’t seen him. And then he ran all the way to his grandfather’s shop.

  “What happened?” asked Del, peering over the mezzanine at him. He bent over to catch his breath, heart still pounding in his chest. He heard Del’s light footsteps on the spiral staircase and then she was there, right in front of him, gently removing the take-out bag from his trembling fingers and setting it down.

  He straightened, still breathless. “A demon. In Hartford. Del, they’ve tracked you down.”

  “Then I have to go. Right now!” She took a couple of steps, heading back for the mezzanine.

  “Wait! There’s no way your pack will know you’re here, in the shop. How could they? Look, my aunt didn’t know much about the Guild except that you’re right. They are in Toronto. But I’ve found out someone who knows people in the Guild. Like, actual contacts. I can get that for you, if you just give me a little more time.”

  “No, I can’t wait.” Her eyes were wide with fear. She took another step backward, toward the stairs.

  “She was at the bus station, Del. The demon I saw. They must have it under surveillance. We’ll get you out of Hartford, but there might be another way. What if we can find someone to come and fetch you? Someone from the Guild?”

  She hesitated. “Perhaps. This person, the one you’re going to ask. Can we trust them?”

  He grimaced. He’d planned to send Del on her way without anyone else finding out she was here until the whole thing was over. This? This was the last thing he wanted to do. He was going to be in so much trouble. But the East Coast Pack was in Hartford, despite the ban, and he couldn’t protect Del by himself.

  “We can trust him,” he answered. “He’s my father.”

  Chapter Ten

  Camille

  Camille was tired. It had been a long night, and a long day. She fidgeted on the hard plastic seat, her bare thighs in the pink designer skirt sticking uncomfortably to the surface. The girl at the bagel counter was eyeing her longingly. Her name was Denise, or Danielle. Something with a “D”. She could still taste the girl’s watermelon lip balm.

  The bus station clock ticked on, painfully slow. Camille met the bagel girl’s eyes and smiled. Debby — that was her name. Shy and sweet, and so willing to help. Camille stood up, smoothing her skirt and tugging down the tight black t-shirt with “no pain, no gain” across the front in rhinestones. She walked over to the bagel counter and let her hunger spill out, just a little. Not enough to call attention to herself, just enough to tug on Debby’s feelings.

  Most demons fed on darker emotions. Fear and anger. Hate or greed. So chaotic, and often so uncooperative. She knew that the other demons looked down on her for feeding off what many considered a lesser emotion, but she had no quarrel with her immortal hunger. Desire was wonderfully easy to manipulate.

  At the counter, she caught Debby’s fluttering hand and stroked her fingers. “You did say three PM, right?”

  Debby nodded. “He should be leaving any minute. Like I told you, he takes a ten-minute break. Clockwork.” She blushed, and then blurted out, “If you aren’t doing anything later, I get out at five. I thought maybe…”

  She left her maybe unsaid, but there was a world of timid hope in the bitten-off words. Camille reached over and set a gentle hand to the girl’s cheek.

  “You’re lovely. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  To the side, the security booth opened and the guard stepped out.

  “There.” Debby nodded. “Three PM, like I said.”

  The security guard disappeared through a door marked “staff”, and Camille strolled over to the booth, feigning nonchalance. It was a matter of seconds to break in, and it took only a minute to locate the camera feed she wanted. The digital era had its advantages. It wasn’t long before she found what she was looking for: Adeline, striding off with a large, blue backpack.

  Shit. It just had to be Hartford, didn’t it? Hartford would be nothing but trouble. There was no time to check the next few days to make sure the young Raven hadn’t left by bus or train, but Diana had been sure that Adeline hadn’t the funds for it. Camille set the video feed back to real time and slipped out of the booth moments before the security guard returned, mug in hand.

  On her way out, she stopped by the bagel counter.

  “Thanks.” She hesitated, and then did something she almost never did. She leaned right over the counter, pulled Debby in and kissed her hard. As she did, she released some of her own emotions into the girl instead of feeding upon hers. Passion and self-love: they were more entwined than people knew. When she left the station, Debby was standing a little straighter, a little more assured, and she had that unmistakable glow of someone who actually likes themselves for once. A little thank-you to a quiet and lonely girl.

  It wasn’t as though Camille had been hungry, anyway. The young night guard on the graveyard shift at the New York bus terminal had been willing enough to help, and she’d allowed herself to feed too long and too hard on his barely contained lust. She’d spent the rest of the night with a headache. A useless headache, too — the security recordings were a grainy mess, and she hadn’t been able to rule out the city as she’d hoped.

  Afterward, she’d wasted precious hours in an all-night café scanning street-cam feeds around Port Authority on a hacked connection provided by Jude, Diana’s brilliant techie. Now, there was a useful demon to have around. Jude got her the links in twenty minutes flat, and she’d spent the most boring five hours of her life going through them one by one.

  Del had not left the bus in New York.

  Camille drove from the Hartford bus station to a dull corporate hotel just over the river in the next town. She kicked off her heels, took a couple of painkillers, and lay down to think. Hartford was a huge problem. The city was sentinel territory, and she wouldn’t be allowed to
search unhindered. The East Coast pack had been banned from the area after the Emily Deacon fiasco.

  Anyway, was it even possible for a woefully undertrained demon to hide out here without detection? She didn’t think so. So that meant there were two possibilities: Adeline was a captive, or dead. She guessed it was probably the first option. The sentinels might bend the rules a little, but were unlikely to break them outright. All that angel blood came with a price. A sentinel could not kill unless permitted by Covenant law. Something to do with a blood oath, apparently. She’d heard it physically hurt to do so, an awful, crippling pain.

  “So let’s go with captured,” she murmured to herself. It seemed the logical answer. That meant a parley. With the Scion, no less.

  She winced. This was going to be tricky. She’d transferred to Diana’s pack just after the incident, missing the Hunt but arriving in time for the fallout. James Deacon was not going to be an easy man to talk to. What she needed was a mediator, someone to stand between them and make things all nice and official. Now, who was nearby? She rummaged in her black backpack and pulled out an expensive leather organizer. She thumbed through the pages, names written in her delicate, old-fashioned hand, and paused, her finger marking one of the lines. Of course. Dominique Girard. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed the vampire’s number.

  “Dominique? Camille here, Camille Darkwing.”

  “Camille.” There was a small pause. When the vampire spoke again, Camille could almost hear the smile in her voice. “It’s been a while.” They exchanged small talk for a bit before Dominique cut to the chase. “Surely you didn’t call me just to chat?”

  Camille gave an amused huff. “You know me so well. Actually, I’m looking for an mediator, for a parley. With the Scion of the New England Chapter of sentinels.”

  There was an amused snicker from the vampire. “James Aaron Deacon, son of the infamous Jim ‘Galahad’ Deacon? Well, well, what have you gotten yourself into, Camille?”