He pressed a fist to his chest. “I will not fail you.”
Antoine swept into a bow and left her chambers and then the château. He was wide awake now and as furious as his queen.
He would find the villain responsible.
And he would handle the punishment himself… regardless of the queen’s assessment about the guilty party being a vampire or if she was in error.
Being a witch most certainly had its perks, including the ability to travel sight unseen. It was most vital when eavesdropping.
Antoine’s current issue was the need to overhear vampires.
And vampires hid during the sun-kissed hours.
So far, magic had failed the witches in one grievous aspect. They had yet to use it to uncover their daytime hiding places. Yes, the witches knew of The Mean Gladiator, but the pub was heavily guarded. Any assault on that location would result in bloodshed on both sides.
Perhaps he would have to disguise himself and venture there tonight. Meanwhile, he would not rest.
Unfortunately, none of the humans seemed to know about the dead bull. All they spoke of was the show they had witnessed yesterday. It took Antoine a moment to realize they meant the execution.
As for fellow witches, rumors had spread among them concerning the bull. Like the queen, they assumed it meant a vampire had gone mad. After all, no sane being would dare threaten the queen.
There was no mistaking the dead bull for anything other than a threat. Considering the queen had touched the bulls, the threat could be meant for no other person than her.
And a threat to her was a threat to all witches.
All day long, Antoine did his best to locate the guilty party. He examined the site of the dead bull. His magic failed to reveal any events that had transpired there. His mind was too full of anger and frustration for his magic to be as powerful as it should have been. Likewise, his body needed rest. He had been awake for nearly thirty-six hours straight.
But he had a duty to his queen, and he would not fail her. When the sun died, and the moon struggled to cast any illumination, he felt a surge of energy. Now, the vampires would lurk in the shadows, unless they were smart. If he could find one, he had ways of making them cooperate. Antoine would locate the bull killer so justice could be served.
Rumors abounded that vampires ventured under the ground. Instead, Antoine opted to climb the side of a moss-covered building near the crime scene. The vampire from last night had traveled via rooftop, and Hernando Lopez had mentioned traveling via that means too.
From his vantage point, the division appeared even drier and more broken than he’d first thought. Rain would certainly help, and Antoine was surprised the storms had not already started.
The incantation to conjure fire crossed his lips. Not two feet away, squatting, was the female vampire.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “Isn’t this a surprise? What brings you here, vampire executioner?”
Antoine did his best to suppress a smile. He had wanted to locate a vampire, and one had located him. How perfect.
“I am here to find the vampire responsible for slaying one of the queen’s bulls.”
He watched Seraphine’s face with interest for any flicker of confusion, fear, or even anger. Instead, her expression remained an indifferent mask, and he grew infuriated.
“Did you kill the animal?” he asked.
In his irrational mind, he wanted her to be innocent. This one had saved him. Was it possible she’d been right, that not all vampires were monsters? Was she one of the so-called good vampires?
“I—”
“Have you ever killed a witch?” he cut in. An undercurrent of sadness mixed with anger in his words.
Her mask slipped, revealing not fright but fear. She hesitated.
“You have, haven’t you?” he demanded. “You—”
“I spared you last night, and you know it,” she snapped.
“Do you deny my charge?” he asked.
The sapphire on his ring glowed. If she dared to come at him, he would not show her mercy.
“Do you know of Franz Weber?” she asked. Her jaw muscle twitched with anger or maybe hatred.
“I do,” he said, surprised she would mention him. “Franz brought forward a vampire who had killed children. There’s no way to twist that one into being a good but poor, misguided, and misunderstood vampire.”
Her green eyes flashed with disapproval and hostility.
“Being a hero in the queen’s eyes went to his head.”
Her words were so soft he almost wished to lean forward to hear her better.
“Franz Weber used and abused witches and humans alike.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said, perplexed that she would think him capable of being gullible enough to accept this outlandish claim.
“Don’t believe me? What a surprise.” She rolled her eyes and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Fine. Ask someone you might believe. Go talk to Noella Giles.”
“Noella, the witch?”
“Do you know of another Noella?” she asked. “Yes, Noella the witch. Does it upset you that you aren’t the first one I’ve spoken to?”
“No.”
“Very well.” She stood and bowed, mocking. No respect. “Once you’ve spoken with her, I do hope you will send me an apology, Antoine Chevalier.”
He stilled, hating that she knew his name while he remained ignorant of hers.
Then the vampire did the most surprising thing. She laughed, clearly amused.
A vampire. Laughing.
Who knew monsters could laugh? Or that it made them sound human?
“Noella will know my name. Go and seek her. I hope you’re not too prideful to apologize.”
The vampire swept into a bow again and disappeared in the blink of his eye.
Damn. Once again, her words kept him from his purpose. He should have questioned her about the bull, and hadn’t the time for this nonsense about Noella and Franz.
By now, the bulls were back out on patrol, so Antoine opted to remain on the rooftops. On his way toward The Mean Gladiator, he realized a short detour could take him to Noella’s house.
What harm could come from a quick chat? The witch might be asleep, and if that proved to be the case, it would only be a few minutes of delay.
Antoine altered his course and used vines to descend to the street level. Holes almost as large as the buildings devastated the road. Some were as deep as graves had once been.
He lightly rapped on the door.
A moment later, the curtain from a nearby window drew aside, and the door opened.
Noella glanced up and down the street before ushering him inside.
“Antoine Chevalier, the new vampire killer. What brings you here?” she asked.
He eyed her, confused. She was not dressed for bed. Her dark blonde hair was arranged in a messy bun at the top of her head. Darkness caused her eyes to appear sunken in. She appeared exhausted but didn’t seem ready to sleep to rectify that.
“A vampire told me to see you. She mentioned Franz—”
“Franz Weber,” Noella spat. “Yes. That despicable witch I loathe …”
The witch closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.
“She didn’t tell you her name?” Noella asked.
Antoine shook his head, self-conscious, which in turn made him furious. He had no reason to be embarrassed.
Yet he was. To say the least, that was frustrating.
“Seraphine Durand is her name,” Noella said.
Soft feet pitter-pattered on the floor. Noella turned, a bright smile gracing her face and diminishing the dark circles beneath her eyes.
“Come here, baby girl,” she said to her daughter. The witch picked up the sleepy child. “Antoine, I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter. This is Sera.”
He startled.
“Yes, named for Seraphine. If you give me a minute to tuck her back in, I’ll explain. Can you say night-night,
Sera?”
“Ni…” Sera yawned. She was a precious little girl with large eyes that blinked and then closed.
Noella left the room and returned two minutes later. “I think she’s settled now. Would you like something to drink?”
“I’m good. Thank you.”
Noella sat on the floor, gesturing for Antoine to sit on the small sofa. He obliged reluctantly. Why did he feel as if he were going to hate what he was about to hear? For some perplexing reason, apprehension and worry overwhelmed his thoughts.
“Franz believed he was powerful, that he could do no wrong. He assumed he could intimidate everyone, scare us into not alerting any of the protectors about him. He was a monster. He… No one would believe he had committed so many cruel acts, not after capturing such a vicious, terrible vampire.”
Noella sounded bitter and angry. Her face twisted with disgust until she was nearly unrecognizable.
“I had just given birth. All of my magic was used to protect my baby by the time Franz came along. He… Let’s just say he tried to take advantage of the situation.”
“And that’s where Seraphine came in,” he said slowly.
The witch nodded emphatically. “She stepped in. She saved the baby and me. I owe my life to her. I…” Noella’s face blanched. “I’m sure this is the last thing you want to hear, being the new vampire killer and all, but Seraphine is not like the other vampires. She’s not evil. She has compassion.”
Antoine was confused. How could all of this be? Seraphine was a vampire. Her existence depended on victimizing others. She was a threat, a menace, a blight on their carefully crafted society.
But in this case, it seemed Seraphine had helped the victim, and the threat had been a witch.
“Even those with compassion can be pushed to the brink,” he said, his words and posture stiff.
“But maybe we should look at who is doing the pushing,” Noella countered.
Antoine had no response to that.
6
The uprising would be slow and steady. There would be no need to rush. If they wished to succeed, the vampires would have to plan carefully.
Seraphine relaxed on the rooftop near where she had crossed paths with the vampire executioner. Bitter rain pounded her body, but she did not care. Two stories below, the bulls’ hooves marched in rhythm with the steady stream hitting the pavement. Despite the weather, despite the threat of the bulls, she felt almost peaceful. No one was nearby, and the isolation was soothing.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling this peaceful.
Baltasar Torres had promised to talk to the other Day Drinkers to see if they were willing to take up the cause. Perhaps it would be best to have them on board before attempting to recruit others. Day Drinkers would make a powerful ally. Any terrified and frightened vampire would surely grow frustrated and angry enough to join their ranks.
Many vampires were scared. Queen Pierrette Lyon lorded over her people, not caring for the humans other than to use them as devoted servants. Witches adored her because she gave them an advantage over the vampires.
And vampires, well, it disgusted and pained Seraphine that so many were cowards. Their lives should never have fallen so far as to be relegated to the shadows or gored by a magic bull and dragged unconscious to the queen. Then they would be forced to endure the axe and the blade. Humiliated. Ridiculed. These deaths were mocked and scorned by all.
After talking to Baltasar, Seraphine had asked around to learn more about the new vampire executioner. It hardly shocked her to discover he was powerful. He had to have been selected one of the queen’s protectors. She learned his name and the location of his house, not that knowing where he lived helped her. Vampires could not enter a private house without an invitation. It was part of the curse afflicted by the witches on the vampires.
Still, the moment he left the house, he could be hers to claim.
She chuckled to herself. It amused Seraphine that the protectors’ homes fared better against the harsh, terrible seasons than the Château des Flammes.
“Baltasar is right. Not Château des Flammes but Château des Maudit. The queen is accursed, or at least her castle is.”
The queen’s mother had not lived there. She and previous monarchs had resided in another castle, but it was far too small for the great Queen Pierrette Lyon.
Seraphine knew she was playing with fire. Flames had always been her biggest fear. Fire, the sun, and garlic could all kill a vampire. Witch’s blood was poisonous. Without regular blood feedings from humans, a vampire could go feral and tear off in a feeding frenzy, which always ended badly for that vampire’s victims.
And the feral vampire.
Most vampires accepted their thirst. She hated hers. When she was young, Seraphine had befriended a child. Ever since, she hated the need to take from others to survive.
“Why should you have to suffer for me?” she remembered asking her friend.
“But you’re gentle. You only drink a little. And you’re hungry. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you?”
Seraphine blinked back tears, wishing to forget the pain from the memories. “I failed you. Friends don’t allow friends to be killed.”
A witch had discovered Seraphine feeding on her friend. The witch tried to kill Seraphine right then and there. Her friend shoved Seraphine away, saying she’d explain, that she would be all right.
Seraphine had been young. Afraid. Terrified.
So she fled.
Recently, she’d learned that her friend had died. The witch hadn’t listened to anything the girl had to say.
Liliane.
That witch had been the first and only person Seraphine ever killed. Ever since the incident with Liliane, Seraphine had changed. She now drank as little blood as possible.
And she refused to feel fear. Her own logic told her if she was never afraid, no one could control her.
She could be free despite the witches, despite the queen. Despite this hell hole.
Seraphine wasn’t crying. The rain was streaming down her face. That was all.
Lifting her face to the sky, she closed her eyes and allowed the rain to wash her feelings away. It would be better to feel nothing than to regress back into sorrow, regret, shame, and self-loathing.
She needed to be strong, to push forward.
To do that, she could not forget the past but must learn its lessons.
“Antoine,” she muttered.
Something about the vampire executioner reminded her of Liliane. Which was ridiculous, of course.
The human girl had been afraid of Seraphine the first time they’d crossed paths. Seraphine hadn’t wanted to be ashamed of her nature. Without hesitating, she called out, “I didn’t know humans were so cowardly.”
Liliane had stilled and then turned around. She’d taken exception to Seraphine’s words, and they took turns trading insults. Eventually, Liliane began to ask questions about vampires, and the two talked until the sun nearly rose. It was the start of a friendship that lasted for months. Liliane probably knew more about vampires than any other human.
That was it. The conversation, the back and forth, the fighting and sharing of information. That was why Antoine reminded her of Liliane.
Liliane’s youth and growing up an orphan with no one to watch over her contributed heavily toward the child believing a vampire. To befriend one.
This Antoine, however, was a witch, not a human. On top of that, he was in the queen’s inner circle. He would never learn to trust one of her kind.
This was why she had sent him to Noella. Perhaps he would listen to a fellow witch. Seraphine hated the injustices in their division, but that did not only apply to vampires. When she had seen the witch go after Noella, preying on her when she was vulnerable, it had ignited a fierce protectiveness within Seraphine. Yes, the two of them were friends. Seraphine had even found a small heart-shaped rock and painted it to give to the baby.
Seraphine was not disillusioned. She had no
hope to change the vampire executioner’s mind. If she could get him to question the usual witch-vampire dynamics, perhaps he would not be so willing to swing his axe. If he stirred up trouble within the queen’s ranks, it would only serve to aid the rightful uprising.
Her ears prickled. A heart was beating nearby.
She closed her eyes and listened harder, smelling deep.
It was him, the one she was thinking of.
Seraphine kept her eyes closed and lifted her face skyward again.
“You will never dry,” he remarked sarcastically.
“I won’t melt.” Now she did peek at him through rain-laden lashes. “I heard that witches used to melt in the rain. It’s a shame that is only a myth.”
“It’s a good thing you lack the power to make your hopes come true.”
She narrowed her eyes. Witches and their arrogance. They always thought themselves more powerful than vampires. She had strength on him, speed too. If a witch was stripped of his magic, he was more vulnerable than a human.
If only there was a way to strip a witch of his power…
“Did you seek out Noella?” she asked.
“I did.”
“And?”
Seraphine glanced his way. His heavy cloak fluttered in the strong wind. Rain did not touch him as if an inch-thick shield protected his body.
She had to admit that was a practical and impressive use of magic.
“Noella told me a story,” he said slowly.
“You don’t believe her?” she asked as dismay and surprising sorrow filled her.
“I do.” Antoine hesitated. “Seraphine, whatever happened to Franz Weber?”
She grinned recklessly, amused and absurdly pleased. “Do you wish for him to face your axe?”
“I want to hear his side of the tale.”
Just like that, Seraphine’s brief happiness was shattered. “Because the word of a female vampire and a female witch cannot be the truth? Only the voice of a male witch would be sufficient. Is that it?”
Dark Hunt: Division 4: The Berkano Vampire Collection Page 4