Bloodbound

by F. Wesley Schneider

  “Oh? You’re going to lecture me about clinging to life now? How many years have you spent playing your perverted game of kiss-chase?” The younger vampire gave a nasty laugh. “I hear she’s not the beauty she once was. What were you—”

  Considine wasn’t fast enough the second time. Rivascis’s claws tore into his throat, the lines of claws bulging beneath the younger vampire’s pallid skin. I choked back a gasp, doing my best to stay forgotten. Considine just gave a schoolboy smile.

  “I haven’t decided what to do with you yet. Unless you want to hasten my decision, control your tongue.” Rivascis’s voice was a harsh whisper. He looked around the island of lantern light, from dirt floor to the sagging crossbeam ceiling. “I can’t hold you, so you’re free to go about whatever business your master sent you on. But Ardis is mine now. If you leave, I’ll have to assume you’re working against me. That will make our next meeting far less … civil.”

  Upon speaking that last word, he drummed his claws beneath the flesh of Considine’s neck.

  “Should you stay, though, perhaps there’s a place for you besides at the end of Luvick’s leash.”

  Claws slipped cleanly from Considine’s flesh. The ragged wounds flapped as Considine bent his neck, as if stretching away a morning’s stiffness. The gaps had mostly sewn closed by the time he finished.

  Considine gave a noncommittal nod. “Well, I do prefer to keep my options open.”

  “I remember,” Rivascis said, taking a step into the shadows.

  At the edge of the lantern’s ring, the woman in black was visible only as faint golden glimmers. She stepped to follow her master.

  “Stay and consider your failings,” Rivascis said without turning. “I’ll call when you’re necessary.”

  She halted, hundreds of bangles clattering disappointment.

  “Don’t kill the priestess. I will find use for her.” Rivascis’s voice drifted back from the darkness.

  I released the breath I felt like I’d been holding since the vampire had grabbed me. This might have been a nightmare, but at least it sounded like it wouldn’t be my last.

  His casually courteous voice snaked back again. “Otherwise, feel free to drink your fill.”

  I wondered if I’d be able to tell the difference between one nightmare’s end and the next’s beginning.

  33

  REMINISCENCE

  LARSA

  I knew what she’d forgotten.

  “Me.” It was harder to say than I’d expected.

  Kindler looked guilty but defiant, like a criminal with convictions. She didn’t try to defend herself.

  “How?” I paged through the battered journal. It was old, but its wear didn’t appear to be from regular use. Rather, its back cover was ripped and one corner was badly damaged. It looked like it had been thrown more than once.

  Kindler produced a handful of what looked like sticks from the box and scattered them across the tea table. Some were stripped wooden lengths with scattered scars, like the trunks of miniature birch trees. A few were more unusual: a cylinder of rose-colored crystal, a rod of intertwined silver and bronze, an overlong finger bone etched with eel-like symbols. None were more than a foot long.

  Wands. Though there was no way to know at a glance what sorts of magic such a collection contained.

  “They’re expended.” Kindler picked the remaining few from the box and placed them with the others. “Every one used up.”

  “What did they do?” I idly picked up one of the white wooden ones.

  “Made you forget.”

  I nodded. “How much?”

  “This many? Drained in their entirety? Could have been years.”

  “Do you not remember years of your life?”

  “I don’t know.” She gave a little shrug. “Do you remember the things you’ve forgotten?”

  “I might realize a year had gone missing.”

  “Maybe. Years don’t seem that long when you get to be my age.” She ran a finger through the heap. There must have been at least thirty of the mismatched lengths. “But no, nothing stands as an obvious gap. There are certainly things I don’t recall well, but I believe that’s normal. Any obvious incongruity would probably make the magic fail.”

  “What do you mean, fail?”

  “This magic doesn’t erase your memories, it just prevents you from remembering them. The records are still there, they’re just locked away.”

  Kindler took the journal back from me. “I woke up one morning in this chair with this journal open in front of me. The message on the page was clearly from me—it was in my hand, even used ink from my desk—but I didn’t recall writing it. My first instinct was to examine myself, to see if I was being affected by any sort of enchantment. I have enough experience with that sort of magic that it wasn’t difficult. Sure enough, I was under the effects of dozens of spells, all manipulating my mind. You can imagine my distress. Fortunately, I have tools packed away to deal with just that sort of thing. But then I read the rest.”

  She paged through delicately. “Every page is a warning, written by me, to me. On every page a me from a different day tells the me of today that there’s something I can’t stand to remember. There are eighteen different messages—eighteen, because seventeen times I unlocked the block on my memory. There are years between some of these. The ink changes, so does my hand. But in every case, I chose not to live with whatever it was. Each time, I replaced the block.”

  Her finger traced a line of smeared ink on one page, the words spattered by water droplets. “I remember terrible things—friends dying, terrors proving the gods aren’t kind. But there’s something worse.” A bony finger tapped her temple. “Something that a whole younger, stronger court of myself judged they were better off without.”

  She began replacing the wands in the disguised box. “So I didn’t peel back the magic. I don’t travel anymore, I don’t cause much trouble. I write my stories and pen letters to friends who won’t threaten to visit. I keep to myself and am finally reading the library I’ve spent a lifetime assembling and neglecting. I am retired. And I’ve decided that I deserve a little happiness.”

  The Havenguard file was next. She gently closed the journal, winding the cord back around it. “So I packed it all up, stowed it on a high shelf, and made myself a cup of tea. And when that wasn’t enough, I fixed myself something stronger.”

  The lid sealed with a click. “There have been days I wondered—days I thought of nothing else. I’ve spent weeks cleaning records and sorting old correspondence, hoping to find even some hint of what it might be. Something that might make not knowing easier. But either there’s nothing, or I’ve been terribly thorough.”

  She crossed to the desk, one hand sliding along its edge as careful steps carried her behind it. “I purchased a few new wands from a band of Varisian tinkers, not too long ago. Most of the time such wanderers are frauds, but their leader had a few years on me. She seemed like the sort who knew what she was doing. I think she recognized me, or at least, something about me. We compared stories for a bit. Eventually, she offered to sell me several sticks she’d found in the west, touting them as magic to counter magic. They were expensive, but I have money. I bought them. I told myself I did it to fund the band’s travels, and just in case I run afoul of some wizardly sort down the road.”

  She rolled back her wheeled chair and took a seat behind the piles of old books. “I never used them, though.”

  I crossed to the opposite side of the desk. She looked small and tired behind it. “How does this help us find Jadain?”

  Kindler gave a resigned nod. “Maybe it doesn’t. But the fact of the matter is that everyone else seems to have some hint of what’s happening, and I haven’t a clue. One of my most reliable colleagues thinks you’re my daughter. You say there’s a vampire lurking in the city who’s fixated on me. Even I can’t deny the resemblance you and I share. I’d happily dismiss this all as some terrible trick if there weren’t a heap of dead stranger
s in my yard.”

  “It’s not a trick,” I said flatly.

  She nodded. “It’s a mystery, then. And we’re likely the ones with something to lose if it isn’t solved.”

  “Where do you suggest starting?”

  She leaned low and opened one of the desk’s bottom drawers.

  “Not far from here.” She dropped another wand on the table. Rather than a length of birch, it seemed to be a slender shard of old, gray stone—like some piece of a larger sculpture. A frayed silk ribbon wrapped it, its length a rainbow of gaudy colors.

  “When I bought this, the Varisian woman said it would keep my family from harm. When I told her I didn’t have a family anymore, she just smiled.”

  Kindler peeled back the ribbon. The tip of the wand gripped a clear glass shard.

  “I should have suspected then what trouble I’d be in for.” A faint smirk bent her lips.

  I felt out of place and stepped for the door. “How long will you need?”

  “I’m not sure.” She picked up the wand, rolling it between her fingers. “It depends on whether you know how to use this or not.”

  34

  DEATH MASK

  JADAIN

  And what’s this?” The woman in black’s breathy voice climbed as though she’d made some risqué discovery. Fingers in silk slid beneath my shirt.

  Every beat of my pulse felt like a punch to my skull, the result of hanging upside down for who could say how long. Through it, I could still feel a familiar weight against my neck, caught in a pocket created by my collar.

  The stranger’s gloved fingers felt filthy, like the touch of something covered in dust. They lifted away the goddess’s symbol.

  “This looks familiar.” A rapid, throaty chuckle shook her veil. Her yank caused baubles to clatter across her gown, but failed to break my amulet’s cord. The second attempt failed as well.

  Somewhere at the light’s edge Considine gave a short, nasty sigh. He’d been pacing endlessly. Twice I’d tried to speak to him, but he’d ignored me both times.

  The woman jerked the cord down over my head. It tugged my nose roughly, but slipped off.

  She lifted it, spinning, close to my face

  “But this isn’t right …” She pinched the emblem close to my face, comparing the goddess’s spiral to my brand. “Your mark goes the other way.”

  The symbol, close enough to be little more than a brown blur, filled my vision. Hanging had been uncomfortable, but the darkness beyond my tormentor began to crawl. It felt as though I spun, bodily following every twist of the goddess’s spiral. The air thinned, hardly filling my chest. Something in my guts began to fail and a burning sensation ran up my throat. I squeezed my eyes closed, shutting out the sight of the goddess’s symbol. It hardly helped.

  “Fascinating.” She pressed the warm wood against my cheek. It barely added to my discomfort.

  She made a lilting noise. “Does this offend you?” Her gloved hand pressed against my cheek and brow. Even through the grimy silk, her fingernails dug into my skin, peeling the lid of my cursed eye open.

  She displayed my amulet plainly, and the weakened dam in my stomach shattered.

  Being upside down made vomiting even worse. I arched my neck and heaved as forcefully as I could, my thoughts being only to keep it out of my nose. I succeeded to some degree, but wasn’t spared some hot, bitter splash.

  A thousand metal ornaments clattered like a collection box. The noise emphasized my tormentor’s sucking gasp and sudden withdrawal, suggesting I hadn’t suffered my sickness alone. The shouting that followed was clearly cursing, but I didn’t understand a word. Every noise she made was a shocked pop or throaty gurgle, like what I’d just heaved up had been given voice.

  Considine’s impish laugh sounded from behind me.

  The veiled figure’s head shot up at the noise, her arms lifted in disgust. Some of her ornaments jangled with distinctly soggier notes. I couldn’t see her eyes, but the blank fabric fixed on me, as though I were the one mocking her. Avoiding the puddle seeping into the dirt floor, she slid back toward me, one sooty glove extended.

  “Careful,” Considine said. “Remember what your master ordered.”

  The stained wraith halted, her eyeless gaze looking beyond me. “Your master, too.”

  Considine gave a short, indecisive hum.

  “He only said not to kill her.” Damp fingers settled around my neck.

  The vampire scoffed. “Your master’s come a long way if he’s taken to seeing the charm in pedantry.”

  She considered. Gradually, slimy fingers slipped away.

  “This unsettles you?” She knelt close, her veil opaque even from inches away. She lifted the spiral back into my sight. I pushed as far away from it as my bindings would allow. “Pitiful thing. Maybe you won’t be as useful as he imagines.”

  She pressed closer, the goddess’s symbol backed by her shroud.

  Again my stomach rolled, but it didn’t have enough energy for another full-on revolt. I pushed away farther, but still she pursued. There wasn’t much I could do, but there wasn’t nothing.

  I threw myself forward, swinging in my bindings. Craning my neck as far as I could, I snapped my jaw.

  My teeth caught something more than I’d expected. I twisted. Fabric tore. Something beneath, something loose, tore as well. She screamed, flinging herself back, clutching my amulet.

  I held her veil in my mouth. It was wet and … full. Something was inside. I gagged and spat my mouthful into the dirt.

  On the floor, the veil unfolded like butcher’s wrapping. Something glistened there, square and slimy, a moist scrap.

  Not thinking better of it, I twisted to take in my tormentor hissing on the floor.

  By the goddess, what had I done? My jaw trembled. A sudden oily taste coated my tongue. I spat again and again.

  I could see her eyes, red as embers, burning into me, gazing from bony sockets. Every vein, every muscle strand, every pale bone of her face was entirely visible. How? What had I done?

  “Disgusting,” Considine said, as though he’d noticed a dung pile.

  “Filthy beast!” Gloved fingers knotted over her mouth, barely muffling her scream. Something like half-dried ink oozed between her fingers. Pulling back soaked hands, she looked into dripping palms. Doing so revealed her leaking mouth. Her chin, somehow, was even more grotesquely bare, even more exposed than the rest of her skinless features.

  No, not skinless. Something, some curse or cruel disease, had afflicted her skin, making it transparent. It was little more than a thin, wet film, veins and oily masses pulsing beneath a sheath like frog eggs.

  Pulsing. Whatever passed for blood in her corpselike body still flowed. Flowed enough that it was almost imperceptibly darkening the front of her gown and the cracked earthen floor.

  She was on her feet, gore-soaked hands reaching. I twisted violently, trying hopelessly to wriggle loose.

  “Careful, now.” Considine rounded to just the corner of my sight. “Wouldn’t want to lose a finger next.”

  She spared him nothing more than a short hiss and wrapped a damp hand around my neck. Any hesitance had left her grip. She squeezed.

  Silk hissed and she dropped a glove away, revealing a hand just as transparent as her face. One of its half-visible fingers traced a cold line across my skin. It started at the corner of my vision and circled, following the spiral marring my eye. It felt like a slug’s trail. I flinched, but the sheathed hand at my throat held me still.

  She brought her face close to my ear. “You’re going to regret that, you little scag.” Her voice sounded wet, and she swallowed down whatever leaked into her mouth. Her gasping accent made sense now. Her mouth, too wide and full of thin sharp points, had no lips.

  I didn’t have any other choice. My eyes strained, my sight reaching out as nothing else could. “Considine!”

  The vampire didn’t seem to move, yet his outline became even more indistinct. He faded into the shadow.


  I shouted again, trying not to choke, but he was gone. My eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold back desperation and something more.

  “Does this mark offend you? Disgrace you?” She rolled a fingertip and a needlelike nail pierced my cheek.

  I focused on trying to keep my breathing even.

  She pushed deeper, her claw a scalpel scoring my cheekbone. “Does it?”

  “Yes!” I screamed, my eyes bursting open at the same time.

  She gave a soft, satisfied murmur. “Good.”

  With her thin, sharp nail she elaborated on the goddess’s perverted symbol, gouging it into my flesh.

  35

  FINAL MOMENTS

  LARSA

  I mouthed the awkward word again, the noise that was supposed to call out the magic. “Cevash,” or something like it.

  “Don’t hold it in your mouth,” Kindler instructed. “Draw the noise in, shape it, then release.”

  Not that I had any idea what she was talking about. I knew a bit about magic, but actually casting spells, that wasn’t for me.

  I tried, and nothing—then again. Even the third time, I wasn’t sure it had worked. I hadn’t done anything different, just gestured and spat some nonsense. I was shaking the thing when Kindler eased back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  “It began with my sister then as well.”

  Kindler’s voice surprised me, as much the words as their dreamy distance.

  “We lived just outside Caliphas. Our parents had never been rich, but we had grounds and name enough that people still thought of us as nobles. That reputation was enough to get Ellishan enrolled in classes at the Quarterfaux Archives, back before it was just a museum.”

  She smiled at whatever played out behind her closed lids. “I was so jealous of her, getting to live in the city, explore, meet so many new people.”

  “Father worried about her going off and insisted she come home twice a month. He even paid for a coach in advance to ensure it happened. Ellishan complained, but there was never any chance she’d win.”