Heart Blade: Blade Hunt Chronicles Book One

by Juliana Spink Mills

  “Hang on,” he said. He stretched his legs out from under his body so he was sitting properly, his back against the wall. Then he shuffled along on his backside until the handcuffs snapped tight, at the end of their range. He reached out with his free hand and found Del’s. She gripped his hand hard.

  “Don’t let go,” she said.

  “Never,” he answered. He laced his fingers with hers and smiled. Despite the fear he could see stamped all over her face, she gave him a fierce smile in return.

  “Have you seen anyone yet?” he asked. She shook her head. He didn’t ask her the other question on his mind, the one he already knew the answer to. The question, of course, was who had captured them? The answer could only be Shade. If his dad and the demon scout had found them first, they wouldn’t have bothered with the whole kidnapping charade. There would have been no need.

  They sat there, unable to do anything but wait, her hand in his the only real and solid thing. After a while, they heard voices approaching from the top of the stairs.

  “—should have left the angel. He’ll be nothing but trouble. All we needed was the demon.” Voice number one, female, smooth and cultured.

  “He was already out. Just as easy to take ’em both.” Voice number two, male. Rough.

  Del tilted her head toward him, her voice the barest trace of a whisper. “I heard him. At the gas station.”

  The voices grew louder as they started down the stairs. “It was ill-advised,” said the woman. “You are always too hasty. Don’t think I won’t take this up with the—” Her voice cut off as she saw them upright and facing her. “Well, well. Our guests are awake.”

  Ash stared. He’d expected demons, but what he found were two witches. One tall and willowy, wavy brown hair spilling down her shoulders, the other short and wiry, pale hair in a buzz cut. Why in Heaven’s name had Shade hired witches to track them down? It didn’t make sense.

  The willowy brunette spoke first. “I apologize for the unnecessary violence. I’d welcome you, but… well. You are Shade’s youngest, right?” She was looking at Del, and Ash squeezed her hand, willing her not to answer.

  But Del just smiled. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, witch.”

  The woman smiled too, but hers was a chilling thing. “Oh, but it is. You see, I’m in the market for a demon child. A secret child so precious to her maker that her Gifting wasn’t listed at Court. A child who hasn’t yet been declared a rogue even though she fled the nest. A child whose disappearance apparently requires discreet handling instead of full pack resources. Are you this child?”

  “No,” Del answered, her voice cool although her fingers were stiff with tension in Ash’s grip. “I’m not that child. I’m not even Shade’s.”

  “She’s lying,” said the man. Magic shivered at his fingertips, ready to be cast. “She has to be the one. Let me get to work on her. She’ll soon find her tongue loosens.”

  “Not yet. Soon.” The woman drifted forward, incongruously dressed in pale linen slacks and high-heeled sandals, as though she were off to a tea party instead of an interrogation. When she reached Del she squatted down and grabbed her chin, forcing her face up.

  “You’re very pretty,” she said conversationally. “We don’t really want to screw that up, do we?”

  Del laughed. “Go for it. I’ll heal. I have nothing to tell you, witch.” She made it sound like a completely different word and Ash smirked. The witch noticed and turned to him.

  “Yes, you’ll heal, girl. But will he?”

  The woman was about to stand up when she caught sight of the scars on Del’s arm. “What’s this?” She twisted Del’s arm to read the letters, placing her finger on the scars. Then she let go and backed away.

  “She’s witch-cursed,” she told the man who stood waiting, playing with the green light at his fingertips. “A bloodline curse. It’s old, ancient in fact. But still active.”

  “But she’s the one we want, right?” he asked.

  “Has to be. A lone demon, travelling with a sentinel? That’s what we heard. How often do you see that? Demons and angels, together?”

  Ash rattled his handcuffs. “Hey. We’re right here, you know? Just ask us. We’d be happy to help. But you have the wrong girl. You may as well let us go.”

  “Thinks he’s clever, doesn’t he?” the man said. “Thinks he’s a proper genius. I can fix that.” He turned to his partner, a gleam in his eyes. “Go on, let me fix that.”

  The woman placed a restraining hand on the man’s arm. “Tell me, angel boy,” she said. “Who is she, then?”

  Ash shrugged. “It’s no secret. She’s a Darkwing. She’s visiting from Canada.”

  The man frowned. “He’s an angel-blood. They can’t lie, can they?” Ash hoped they’d buy it. Of course he could lie. Everyone could. He just couldn’t lie to his own kind. He wasn’t about to tell the guy that, though. But the woman was smarter.

  “Oh, he can lie. Trust me.” She sighed, feigning sadness. “So you really won’t help me, little ones? Very well, then.” She removed her hand from the man’s arm. “Go to work. But not on the girl. On the boy.”

  Del opened her mouth to say something, but Ash shook his head. “I can take it. Don’t tell them anything!”

  The man approached, bouncing a ball of green fire in one hand. “Sure about that, sport?” He bent down, holding the fire close. Ash pulled his hand free from Del’s, raising it to protect his face, but the witch grabbed it and held it back, out of the way. Ash struggled in the witch’s grip, trying to wrench his arm loose. He kicked out and the witch toppled backward, swearing.

  “Really, sport? That’s the way you want to play things?” The man got up, dusting himself off. His fireball had shimmered out. “Because I can do the girl instead, if you want.”

  Ash froze. “No. Don’t touch her!”

  “Such a hero,” the witch sneered. He pounced on Ash’s free arm and twisted it away and above his head. Then he sat on Ash’s legs, immobilizing him. “Right, sonny boy, let’s see if we can make your little girl squeal.” The witch lit his spell fire again, the green light painting his face eerily. Ash could feel the heat dancing across his skin, and he pressed his back flat against the wall, fear catching at his throat and making it hard to breathe. You’re blood of the angels, he told himself. You can do this. But inside he was already screaming. And then the witch shoved the ball of fire at his cheek, and he screamed for real.

  Pain made him spasm, back arched, head slamming against the basement wall as the fire still burned. Through the wild sound of his own voice he dimly heard Del shouting, “I’m a Darkwing. A Darkwing! I’m not Shade’s.”

  For one brief moment he felt oddly detached, like the pain belonged to someone else. He heard Del’s shouts and tried to smile. Good girl. But then agony smashed into him once again and he fell face forward into a blessed pit of black relief.

  He awoke to the taste of blood. He’d bitten his tongue again. He was lying on the floor, but this time there was a blanket underneath him. His wrist hurt. But from his face he felt nothing but a gentle throbbing.

  “Del?” he croaked, his throat sore. He vaguely remembered screaming. A lot of screaming. A hand moved up his leg, settling on his thigh.

  “I’m here.” She’d been crying, he could tell.

  “How bad is it?”

  There was a sniff. “Not bad. The lady witch, she’s a healer. Once you fainted, she told him to stop and then she fixed you up. You look like you have a touch of sunburn, that’s all.”

  “Huh.” He made himself sit up. He felt as if he’d been beaten. His whole body ached. He was horribly thirsty. He bent down to look at his hand and realized he’d cut himself on the handcuffs. His whole wrist was a ruin of blood and raw skin. “Did you figure out what they want?”

  Del’s fingers found his. He could still hear the catch in her voice. “Someone wants Shade to do something. Or not to do something. Who knows? I think they want her child for leverage.”


  He noticed how careful she was in her choice of words. And she was right. The witches might be listening.

  The narrow windows were darker. Night was approaching. A single bulb illuminated the tracks on Del’s face where tears had washed away the dust. She had tears in her eyes, even now.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, stupidly. It hurt to talk.

  “I can’t bear to see them do it again,” she whispered. “I can’t stand seeing you hurt.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “I can take it if you can.” He licked his dry lips. “Keep stalling them. We’ll figure something out.” Inside, he was cold. He already knew that the witches would have to kill him eventually. The Court wouldn’t forgive this. Whether they killed Del or not, that depended. But his gut said that the longer she could hold out, the better.

  By the time the witches returned, Ash was lying down again, cold sweat drenching his t-shirt. He heard Del say, “I think he has a fever.” A cool hand touched his brow and he felt a shimmer of magic.

  “He’ll do. He won’t break just yet.” It was the woman. “Are you ready to talk, girl? I know you’re not a Darkwing. I checked. Étienne Darkwing is very good at registering his progeny with the Court. But you, my witch-touched one, are a puzzle. There are no records in the Court files of a half-demon with your looks and markings. You can only be Shade’s secret child.”

  “Maybe I’m a rogue,” Del said, defiance in her voice. “Maybe I was struck from the records. Maybe I’ve been surviving on my own for decades.” She had a hand on Ash’s ankle, and he felt it tighten.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” the witch answered. “Better for you to be Shade’s. A rogue is useless to me. Shade’s child, now. Shade’s child I have a use for.”

  The witch’s voice was calm, cold as her hands. Ash shivered when she touched him again. “He’s ready,” she said to him, over her shoulder. “Are you?”

  “Always.” It was the man’s voice. There was a scuff of footsteps, and rough hands dragged Ash upright and forced him to his knees. Ash blinked up at the male witch through his sweaty hair, and the man grinned.

  “Not the face,” the woman said. “We lost him too quickly last time. And it’s a pain in the neck to fix.”

  “Fine.” The man pulled out a knife and cut Ash’s damp t-shirt open. His eyes lingered on Ash’s stomach. “I think we’ll begin a lot lower this time.

  He clamped a hand to Ash’s neck, forcing him back against the wall. Ash tried to resist, but his weakened body was no match for the witch. The man’s hand lit up. Not with the glowing ball of fire this time, just an intense heat radiating from his fingertips.

  “Right, boy,” he said. “Shall we get started?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Camille

  Camille checked the GPS as Deacon drove. “Not much further.” She enlarged the map. “The signal seems to have come from a gas station.”

  “Are you sure your guy gave us the right coordinates?” he asked.

  “Positive. Jude’s a genius. The call your apprentice got? Definitely from this spot.”

  “Has to be a pay phone.”

  She shook her head. “No. Jude said it was a cell phone.” They reached the address and pulled in to the gas station.

  Deacon pointed. “See? Pay phone.”

  But when they got out to check, the pay phone was broken. Had been, for a long time.

  “Come on.” Camille led the way into the convenience store. A skinny young guy was manning the till, looking bored. He cheered up when she walked in, though, and she let out some of her hunger, searching. Ah, there he was. She gave his feelings a slight tug, and he smiled.

  “Can I help you?” His nametag read Dave.

  Camille smiled back. “I hope so, Dave. My dad and I are looking for my brother. He took off with his girlfriend. There was a fight, you know. All that family drama.” She rolled her eyes. “Brothers, huh? He’s an idiot, but he’s been gone a couple of days and we’re getting worried.”

  “My brother’s a jackass, too.” Dave grinned and took the pictures she handed him. “Oh, hey! I know them. They came in earlier. Around three, or four. Asked to borrow my phone. Gave me ten bucks for it. Hey, I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

  Camille leaned on the counter, tugging harder at his desire. Deacon hovered in the background, keeping away. “Oh, no, of course not. Did they say where they were heading?”

  “Nah, they said nothing. And I didn’t ask.”

  She pointed up at the camera blinking above them. “Do you have any external cameras? Maybe they caught the direction they headed in?”

  “Ah.” He looked uncertain. “Well, yes. We have cameras. But they’re not, you know, for the public.”

  Camille let her hunger loose. It hooked, caught, and held. Dave was breathing fast, his eyes slightly unfocused. “I’m not the public,” she said, her voice soft. “Why doesn’t my dad check out the camera feed while you and I get to know each other?”

  Dave nodded, barely paying Deacon any attention. He waved a hand at the room behind the counter. “In there. Password’s pretty kitty.”

  Camille leaned further forward, right over the counter. She slid a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in to her. He tasted sweet, like tinned peaches, and he was a good kisser too. As Deacon ghosted past into the staff room, she bit Dave’s lip and heard him moan. Everything faded away to white noise as her hunger dragged her deeper into the kiss. Now there was nothing left but Dave’s skittering pulse as she inched her way to the depths of his soul, reality condensed to the press of his lips.

  A hand touched her shoulder. A voice in her ear, low, whispered, “I have it. Release him.” She sank a hand into Dave’s hair and laughed against the skin of his throat, rough with bristles. She couldn’t stop now. She didn’t want to. There was still so much to take.

  The fingers on her shoulder tightened, forcing her to pull away. “I said, release him!” It was Deacon, his voice no longer quiet. She gasped and reeled in her hunger. Dave just stood there where she’d left him, eyes closed and a smile on his face.

  Camille shuddered. She’d allowed herself to get drawn in too far. She let Deacon haul her away, and the heat outside hit her hard, washing away the last of the hunger-induced frenzy that had shrunk her awareness down to one man’s mouth against hers.

  “Thanks,” she said, still shivering despite the warmth of the early evening. “I lost myself.”

  “I noticed.” Deacon’s face was grim. He led her around to the passenger side of the truck and pushed her in. She sagged back against the seat. Everything felt too harsh, too bright, her senses on overload.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she said as Deacon climbed into the truck. “I didn’t mean things to go so far. He’ll be all right. He’ll have a headache, perhaps. Like a hangover.” Her own headache was starting up: the dull ache between her eyes that told her she’d fed too hard and too fast.

  Deacon was still silent. He started the truck and pulled out into the traffic.

  “I said I’m sorry,” Camille snapped. “And it’s not like I killed him. He’ll have some very nice memories to play with in the shower later.”

  “I’m not angry.” Deacon gave her a sideways glance. “It’s like you said: he’s not dead. You did what you had to. It worked. I don’t have to like it, though.”

  “Huh. I guess you’re more ruthless than I thought.”

  “When it comes to my son, I’d do anything,” he answered tersely.

  Deacon pulled over in the parking lot of a small plaza with a florist and a drycleaners. At this time of night the stores were dark and the plaza empty. He parked, and turned to face Camille. “Okay. I got something. The security feed caught their truck, the one my son took from the sentinels. The image was bad, in black and white, and the truck was at the back of the shot, but it was definitely them. 4:15 PM, this afternoon.”

  “And?” Camille prompted.

  “They walk out of the store and get in the truck. They sit there a
while. So then, something hits the driver’s side. An energy blast of some sort. Maybe fire. I thought I saw flames. I see my son slump forward against the steering wheel.”

  He drummed his fingers on his own steering wheel, the muscles in his jaw twitching, anger and worry warring for space. “Two figures walk into the frame. One disappears around Adeline’s side. The other just watches. There’s another energy blast and the truck rocks again. Adeline slumps down. The two attackers, a man and a woman, drag Ash into another car and stick him in the backseat. The woman drives him away. The man follows, driving the sentinel truck with Adeline in it, still unconscious.”

  “Any auras?” Camille was fully alert now and doing her best to ignore her headache.

  “None visible, not in the camera feed. But I think it’s clear what they were.”

  “Witches,” she said. “The ones Jude warned us about.”

  He nodded. “Witches.”

  “Okay,” she said, digging around in her backpack for some aspirin. “Imagine you’re a witch. You have two unconscious kids and a stolen truck. Whatever spell you used isn’t going to last that long. Not if it’s a concussion spell of some kind. The sort of thing that acts fast and, with that much power, isn’t going to hold.” She caught his look as she swallowed the aspirin, washing it down with tepid water from her sports bottle. “What? I dated a witch for a while. It was interesting. Anyway, my point is, they’re not going far. Not until they dump the truck and secure Ash and Adeline with something a little more lasting.”

  “Makes sense.” He picked up his phone and opened the map. “I did a lot of work around here last summer. Not sentinel work. I’m in real estate. We did some surveying for a client, looking at possible industrial sites.” He zoomed in on a patch of woodland, not far from their location. “I think we should start here. It’s a big business park, completely shut down. It’s surrounded by woods. It’s the perfect place.”