Knowledge Quickening

by D. S. Williams

  “Look, Nick, things are pretty chaotic right now. Give me an hour or so to try and figure some stuff out. I'll ring you back. In the meantime, keep Katie safe.”

  “What's going on?”

  “Too much to explain right now.” I took a deep breath and glanced at Conal, catching the wild look in his eyes. “The Tremaine pack has been attacked. By vampires.”

  Nick cussed fiercely. “This is linked to Lucas being taken, isn't it? The two attacks can't be isolated events,” he announced.

  “I think so.”

  “And you're right in the middle of it.” The disgust in his voice was enough to shake me, even with the distance between us.

  “I'm sorry, Nick. I have to go now, but I promise I'll ring you back as soon as I can.”

  “Don't bother; we'll work out how to rescue them ourselves.”

  He hung up before I could say anything else and I was left staring at the cell phone in dismay.

  Chapter 32: Come Unto Me

  It looked like hell. The neat houses, the manicured yards – all had been damaged or destroyed. Houses burned, some of the pack valiantly spraying them with garden hoses, a useless gesture against the ferocity of the flames. Bodies lay at odd angles everywhere, loved ones looking on in silent desperation. Others were being tended to by members of the pack and as Conal screeched to a halt outside his parents' home, all I could see was the dead and dying, the wounded and bereaved. It was horrifying and I jumped from the cab, watching Conal as he sprinted towards his parents' house. Amoux and Nonny knelt by the porch, staring at a body laid in front of them. Conal dropped to his knees, pulling his mother close and clutching Nonny's hand. I turned away, sick to the pit of my stomach.

  I bent over with my hands on my knees, gasping breath into my lungs to try and still the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me. The smells were horrifying, a combination of blood and smoke and burning flesh – I closed my eyes, willing myself to find the strength to deal with this. And absolutely, incontrovertibly convinced this attack was my fault.

  “Charlotte.” Kenyon laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

  I forced myself to straighten up, ignoring the nausea churning in my stomach. “Kenyon. I'm so sorry.” What else was there to say, what else could I do? There was death and destruction everywhere I looked.

  “We've lost nearly half the pack,” he stated, his voice as desolate as his eyes. “Many others are injured.” His eyes flickered to where Conal knelt beside his mother and grandmother. “Lyell Tremaine is dead.”

  “I know,” I whispered. I'd known before we arrived that Lyell was dead. I'd heard his spirit in the car and it had chilled me to the bone. It hadn't seemed right to tell Conal during the drive here and I'd kept the knowledge to myself, silently agonizing over what Conal would discover when we got here. Had I done the right thing? I didn't know – I just didn't know. It was a question I would deal with later – not now, when there was so much agony and terror all around us.

  I reached for the belt that hung low on my hips, grasping the Hjördis in my fingers. With sudden clarity I knew what I needed to do, the only thing I could do right now. “Kenyon, I can help the injured. Show me where they are.”

  He considered my words for a long moment, thoughts swirling in his eyes, including a healthy dose of indecision and worry. He glanced at the Hjördis in my hand, the weapons strapped to my hip. Then he nodded his silent assent. He led me to another house, which had sustained less damage than most. People were carrying the wounded to this house and the yard was littered with frantic people and their injured loved ones.

  There was a tall man moving amongst them and Kenyon introduced him as Quinn Saunders, a paramedic. The man regarded me grimly as Kenyon explained who I was, his blue eyes impassive. Kenyon asked Quinn to help by selecting the wounded in order of urgency and left us, patting me on the shoulder. Quinn immediately led me to a couple, their small son held in his mother's arms. He had sustained a brutal slash to his chest and blood soaked into his Barney pajamas, staining the material with a dark blemish. He was whimpering softly, tears trickling silently from his dark eyes.

  Quinn shook the father's arm gently. “Rafe, Ayame – this is Charlotte. She says she can help Caleb.”

  Rafe glanced from Quinn to me, uncertainty in his expression. “This is the Angel?” he asked hoarsely, his voice rough with grief.

  “Yes. She reckons she can help your son, if you'll let her.”

  Husband and wife exchanged glances and I could almost hear the unvoiced discussion between them. The chest injury their son had sustained would kill him, of that I had no doubt, but superstition and doubt made them fear what I would do to him.

  “I promise, I will do no harm,” I said softly.

  The husband hesitated uncertainly, but his wife nodded. “Please,” she begged. “He is all we have.”

  I knelt beside them and reached for the young boy, unbuttoning his pajama top to expose the full extent of the injury. It was deep; maybe an inch or two wide and about seven inches long, running from the top of his ribs to his belly button. Things I didn't want to make sense of bulged from his stomach. He looked about eight years old and he watched me warily as I eyed the wound, swallowing back bile and sternly ordering myself not to throw up. I forced a smile. “Hey, Caleb. I'm Charlotte.” I held my palm open and let him see the Hjördis. “See this? It's a magic pen and I'm going to draw a special picture on your stomach, right next to that nasty cut. It's going to make it better.”

  He nodded imperceptibly, his black eyes saucer-like as he watched. My hand shook as I approached him – I knew how much the sigils hurt Conal. I couldn't recall him complaining when I'd healed him though, so I took a deep breath and began to draw a blood sigil on Caleb's flat stomach. When I'd finished I sat back on my heels, watching anxiously to see if it would be enough to help him. The injury he'd sustained was far more serious than what Conal and I had dealt with earlier.

  Caleb's parents gasped when the wound began to glow and bind, the skin knitting itself together over the bulging organs. The bloodstain and the bright red scar were the only sign of the injury he'd received. The sigil faded slowly and I turned to his parents with a relieved smile. “He's going to be fine.”

  Quinn led me to the next victim, then another. We worked as a team, Quinn picking through the injured like a one-man triage unit, making split-second decisions as to whom we could help and ensuring the worst injuries were seen first.

  Word of what we were doing spread swiftly, and more and more people stood around watching us work. I was oblivious to them all, focused only on healing as many as I could.

  “You!” I lifted my head to see Phelan Walker storming towards us, anger in his eyes and rage mottling his skin. “This… all of this… is your fault!” he shouted. “I warned them about you, I told Lyell you couldn't be trusted! Now you've caused the deaths of dozens of our people!”

  Kenyon ran up, holding his hands out in warning towards Phelan. “Phelan! That's enough!”

  “She's a demon witch! She's no fucking Angel!” Phelan shouted. Kenyon motioned to two men who captured Phelan's arms, dragging him away as he continued to rant. Shaken and upset by his outburst, tears streamed down my cheeks.

  Kenyon knelt beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Please forgive Phelan. He lost both a son and daughter tonight,” he stated quietly.

  I gripped the Hjördis fiercely, my fingers trembling as I tried to control my tears. “What about you, Kenyon? Your family, are they safe?” There were so many new voices swirling in my head, I couldn't work out who was who yet.

  Kenyon glanced away and when he turned back; his eyes glistened with tears. “Javier is dead. My son.” He shook his head as if to shake the memory away and patted my shoulder. “I believe in you, Nememiah's Child.” He motioned towards the elderly woman lying beside me. “Continue your work, Charlotte.”

  Hours later, I sat beside the river, watching the sunrise over the tree line. Exhaustio
n was swamping me and I rubbed my fists against my eyes, yawning as the sky lightened through a maelstrom of blues before the sun crept over the horizon. My mind was still a swirling pool of nightmarish images and sounds, and I wanted to scream out the frustration, kick something, or punch someone – anything to reduce the rage in my soul. This was all so unfair, innocent people targeted through no fault of their own.

  My cell phone lay discarded on the grass and when it rang, I picked it up with a sigh, wishing I could avoid this conversation. “Hello.”

  “It's Nick.”

  “I know.”

  “Consiliului Suprem de Drâghici Vampiri.”

  His attempt at the foreign words was terrible but I recognized what he was trying to say. I dropped my head against my knees, curled around the phone as I struggled to think.

  “Charlotte?”

  “I'm here.”

  “Say something,” he growled.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell me we're going after them.”

  “I don't know, Nick. I don't know anything right now.”

  He swore. “You're the cause of this.”

  “I know.”

  “But you're not going to do anything? You're not going to try and rescue them?” He sounded incredulous.

  “I didn't say that,” I muttered, my fragile temper rising another notch as he continued to harass me. I was tired and emotionally overwhelmed – having an angry shape shifter in my face was not helping.

  “What are you saying?” he growled.

  “I'm going after them, Nick. Not you, not Conal's wolves. Just me.”

  It was his turn to lapse into silence and I let the stunned silence stretch and lengthen, too tired to do anything else. “What aren't you telling me, Charlotte? What's been going on, since you dumped Lucas?”

  I breathed deeply, expanding my lungs and then letting the air release through my mouth slowly. “A lot has gone on, Nick. More than I can explain right now. Do you know the origin of those words?”

  “It's Romanian. Means the 'Supreme Council of Drâghici Vampires'.”

  “They've got them?” I didn't really doubt it; I was only seeking confirmation of what the spirits had said.

  “Seems so. I need to make some more inquiries before I can guarantee it, but my gut tells me it's them.”

  I scratched my fingers absently through my hair. “I guess Romanian words means that's where they're taking them? To Romania?”

  “I think so. I can't confirm anything yet.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I have my sources.”

  It was obvious he wasn't going to share any more information and I lapsed into silence again, thinking furiously.

  “Charlotte,” he snarled angrily. “What the hell's going on?”

  “I'll explain it all, but not now right now. Give me until tonight and I'll call you, give you the whole story.”

  “You're pissing me off.”

  “I don't mean to, Nick. Just give me a little more time.”

  “I want in on rescuing them, Charlotte. They're my friends.”

  The words were stated benignly enough, but the underlying message was clear. He thought they meant more to him than they did to me and he had a right to that opinion. It didn't matter what he thought of me. What mattered was rescuing Lucas and my friends. They were being held because of me and I would rescue them. I refused to consider any alternative outcomes to this mess. “Okay,” I finally said.

  “Tell me what's going on, Charlotte.”

  I couldn't blame him for the suspicion in his voice. As far as Nick was concerned, I'd let Lucas and the others down, I'd put them in danger without warning them. I regretted my decision not to tell them what was happening, but tamped the regret down to be dealt with later.

  “Nick, I'm exhausted. Conal's pack was slaughtered last night, more than half of them died. Please, believe me when I tell you I will explain it all, just— just not right now.”

  He sighed heavily. “Alright. But I want to hear everything when you call tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I'll be meeting you to make a plan. I don't trust you to do this on your own.”

  “Alright.”

  “And I'll be bringing backup.”

  “I wouldn't expect anything else.”

  Chapter 33: Pain, Hurt & Agony

  I was unaware of the passing of time, what was happening around me until the scent of burning reached my nose. The Tremaine Pack had begun cremating their dead. I'd realized as the long night continued that the pack kept everything in-house; the fires, the deaths, the destruction - despite everything that happened, it was kept within the pack. They were far enough away from civilization that nosy neighbors hadn't called the police. They didn't want outsiders involved in their business. It was a subject I wanted to discuss with Conal; but not now – not yet.

  I hadn't seen Conal since we'd arrived and I didn't want to see anyone right now. My clothes and arms were covered in dried blood from the people I'd tried to save. There was no satisfaction in knowing I'd saved some people last night – there had been so many more I hadn't.

  I needed to talk to Conal, wanted so badly to hold him and feel safe, but for now, he needed time to grieve. After speaking to Nick, I'd called Epi about the horrific events of this long night. Epi had been unruffled, as if he expected some event to mark the beginning of the conflict.

  Logic dictated I needed to sleep. Should eat something. Both necessities of life that I couldn't face right now. I closed my eyes, pressing my fists against them as I pondered the plan formulating in my mind. I had no abilities to help develop a strategy; this situation was new and strange enough that I honestly didn't have a clue. But I had an objective; some rough ideas of how to reach the goal and hoped Epi, Nick and Conal had experience enough to help.

  I sensed, rather than heard movement nearby and looked up, apprehension rippling through my spine when I saw Phelan Walker striding towards me. His expression was grim and he looked wound up for another round of verbal abuse— or worse.

  When he was within a foot or two of my position, I held a hand out. “Phelan, please. I don't want to fight any more,” I begged quietly. “You need to be with your family, not fighting with me.”

  He stopped walking, his shoulders stiff and his hands gripped into fists. I wasn't certain whether he intended to punch me or yell at me, so I was stunned when he spoke, his voice calm. “May I sit down?”

  I nodded and he sat cross-legged on the grass beside me. His actions were graceful and fluid, a sign I now recognized as natural werewolf aptitude. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a grey t-shirt, his clothes were torn and streaked with blood, his face grimy from fighting the fires.

  We sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, while the sun slowly rose further over the horizon, dappled light playing on the water as it swirled past.

  “I owe you an apology,” Phelan announced abruptly.

  I wasn't sure how to respond. Fatigued from everything I'd seen and heard in the long hours I'd been here, my initial reaction was to tell him he did owe me an apology. But the man had lost two of his children – maybe I needed to cut him some slack. “Phelan, I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry that you lost your children last night.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands fisted as he attempted to control his fragile emotions. It was clear he didn't want to show his grief in front of me, but it was so new, so deeply painful, he was struggling to be in control. My heart grieved with him – the memory of losing Mom and my family gave me an insight into his sorrow. We had more in common than I could ever have imagined – both Phelan and I had lost loved ones in a murderous act. I reached out hesitantly, touching his shoulder. Instantly a trickle of voices entered my mind and I realized what I'd suspected was true – Phelan no longer intended me any harm.

  I took a deep breath, uncertain how he would react to what I was about to admit. “Phelan, I can hear your son and daughter.”


  His eyes widened. “You can hear them?”

  I bit my lip, nodding hesitantly.

  The struggle was apparent in his black eyes – his overwhelming grief for his two children warring with his superstitions regarding me. “What— what are they saying to you?”

  “Dolph wants you to know he died quickly, there was very little… pain and he's immensely proud that he managed to kill one of the vampires before he died. He wants you to tell his Mom that he loves her. He thanks you for being such a great father and he says to tell you he loves you.” I lowered my gaze, hardly able to bear the pain reflected in his black eyes. The grief was immeasurable, his entire face sharpened and gaunt with it. An image of his son and daughter appeared in my mind, standing with an older woman. Phelan's teenage son was tall and slender, his hair dark and his eyes solemn. He held hands with his sister, a pretty girl with dark curls and chocolate brown eyes, probably about fourteen years old. “Lupita says she doesn't want you to cry for her. She is with Aunt Rica and says their Aunt is looking after them. Lupita is very happy to see Aunt Rica again, because she'd missed her. Lupita wants you to hug her Mom and look after her and Dacia. She wants you to give… Herbert, to Dacia and tell her she has to look after him now.”

  Phelan was staring at me wordlessly when I opened my eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wrapped both his hands around mine and it took a little while for him to speak. “I've misjudged you, Charlotte, I was wrong. When I'm wrong, I admit I'm wrong.” He managed the faintest trace of a smile. “Herbert was Lupita's favorite teddy bear; she got him when she was just a baby. She would never give him up, even though she was nearly fourteen.” He swallowed heavily, struggling with his pain. “Our daughter Dacia has— had been nagging Lupita to give Herbert to her. Will you… could you share this with my wife? Faolán will find it a great comfort.”