by E. M. Knight
The hound approaches me, and though I feel no fear, I do get a sense of great respect.
When it’s close enough for me to touch, it stops, and turns its head in the direction of the laid-out parchment. Moonlight streams through the canopy. The light has gotten stronger than before. I chance a quick look up and see that the moon is now almost completely full.
“Incredible,” I murmur.
In a sudden leap the beast jumps for the parchment. It has it between its jaws before I can react.
And then, with the runes still glowing, it dashes toward the far line of trees—and simply disappears.
I give a start and run after it. But the dog is gone. It’s like it went through an invisible portal, some hole in reality, or… something.
The feeling of pressure, of danger, of power that came with its approach evaporates, too.
I blink a few times and shake my head, rightfully dazed. I know vampires, I’ve dealt with witches… but animals with this sort of presence?
It takes me an extra moment to register the fallen darkness. Confused, I look up…
And see that the moon is no more than a sliver again.
Alarm ripples down my spine. None of this is right or natural. At the same time, a murky suspicion forms in the back of my mind, to do with the white hound…
Strong vampires influence weaker ones with their presence. The dog had undeniable strength.
Perhaps more strength than even I do.
Could it have manipulated me into bringing out the scroll?
I wish I could say that is just a fearful fantasy… but it is not. Nothing else makes sense. The way the trapdoor opened, seemingly by fluke, the way that particular parchment called out to me, even the impulse I felt to stop here and spread it flat on the rock…
And what about the jolt of power? What about the inexplicable surge I felt when holding it?
I don’t like it. The possibilities of being taken advantage of that way… the possibility of being insidiously manipulated that way… it’s nothing a vampire of my strength should ever be threatened by.
There are no coincidences in the preternatural world. The dog’s appearance must be linked to the succession mother has planned for tonight.
Like a fool, I’d left Eleira alone. Panic threatens to overwhelm me, I’m reacting—reacting too much—but the convoluted sequence of events has me frazzled.
I turn and take off toward the stronghold at a run. This whole expedition was ill-advised. But if I can make it back and join Eleira before moonlight… that’s what I have to do.
I cannot leave her alone now, at the most important time.
Chapter Fifteen
Carter
The Paths
The first few are easy. My gaze is fixed, my sights are set. My concentration is there in full. I am like an arrow shot straight from a bow, aimed directly at its target.
But then… about a dozen yards from where I started… the city behind me begins to exert its pull.
This time, there is no mistaking the effect. It is subtle and somewhat insidious, but experience being on the receiving end of the vampiric influence—and shielding myself from it—alerts me to the sensation.
I stop and, without letting my gaze waver, refocus on the spot I have to reach.
I step forward. The pull from the city becomes even stronger. It’s like an itch, perpetually out of reach, that compels me to look back. If I were to just turn my head… if I were to simply focus my attention that way…
No. I force those thoughts out of my mind. This is the spot I had failed last time. Now I know. This is where my concentration lapsed, and I closed my eyes, and I was throttled back to the start.
This time I am not making that vital mistake.
Ignoring the pull behind me, I plod onward. Each additional step I take is a magnitude harder than the last. The city beckons, it takes all the impulse control I have not to turn around.
If I do, I’ll be lost. No. I have to break out of its control. I have to break free of its influence. I have to—for if I don’t, I will be doomed down here forever.
Step, pivot, push. Step, pivot, push.
Again and again I repeat the process. My mind is wholly consumed with reaching the end point. I push aside any doubts, and those creeping uncertainties, and trek forward.
The spot on the wall comes closer. Closer, and closer and closer.
Now a sort of resistance pushes against me. I feel the force acutely in my front. It’s almost like walking into a headwind.
It’s a resistance, a thickening of the air that makes my steps so much harder. Almost as if… almost as if the city does not want me to get away.
Ridiculous, of course. Such a thought does not belong in the mind of an intellectual like me. This miniature city is an inanimate thing. It has no will of its own. It cannot be trying to control me!
Yet that is only what logic tells me. A logic that was developed up, outside, in the other world.
Not a logic that has any place here.
Who knows the sorts of powers are imbued into the foundation of the city here? If magic is in full force all around me, is it really so ridiculous to think its influence might extend that way?
No, I tell myself. It is not.
My mind has to be open to all possibilities. I cannot preclude anything for being too outrageous. There is no such thing down here.
I take another few steps toward that distant wall. Not once do I look away, although the urge is unrelenting.
And because I don’t… the wall actually comes closer.
Those misty tendrils of triumph start to form inside me again.
Now each step forward becomes an exercise in agony. The force I am fighting against intensifies. I have the distinct impression that I am doing something that is not meant to be done, through nothing more than sheer power of will.
My concentration doubles. It has to, because that invisible force grows with every step. All my instincts turn against me. All of them, for whatever reason, beg me to turn back.
But it’s more than that. They do not merely beg but cry out and plead and compel. They hammer against the inside of my skull with unrelenting intensity.
I ignore them, grit my teeth, and plod on.
Even though there is nothing physical that I can see or feel around me I still get the distinct impression that I am struggling against an enormous snowstorm. That is the best way to describe it. That force is like a wind buffeting me back, blowing at a hundred miles per hour. It is the same deterrent, the same obstacle… maybe even one worse.
All in your head, Carter, I remind myself. Dammit, it’s all in your head!
I’m less than twenty paces away, now. That unnamed force grows ever-stronger. Each step is harder than the last. I’m assaulted from all sides. Something tries to break into my mind, to make me give in to the temptation lurking behind me. Something hammers at my brain like the unrelenting pounding of a storm. Something makes my vision blur and become misty, only to have me force it back into clarity.
Something…
Something attacks me, from all angles, from all sides, and I have to beat it down into submission while remaining absolutely unwavering in my purpose, in my goal.
I am no more than ten feet away.
So close. So close, that I can almost touch it! If I were to just extend my hand…
No. Not yet. The force buckles, it gives, it relents, for a split second. In that interval I stagger forward, a new desperation taking hold, a desperation that has been growing this entire time but I’ve been determined not to accept.
And then the force snaps back into place, slamming into me with a renewed intensity, a redoubled effort. It rages against me, and I can all-but feel its fury, feel the menace in its presence, feel the threat of absolute violence if I do not give in…
With a savage snarl I toss it away, chuck it back with all my might, and take the last few steps that bring me to the wall.
My hand latches onto the coo
l, smooth crystal. The moment I make contact, the menacing force disappears. It disintegrates, it dissolves, it’s gone in a flash of an instance as if it had never been there in the first place.
And now, finally, steady against the far wall, I dare to turn my head and look back.
The city, to my extraordinary relief, is a safe distance away. It did not move with me. I’ve broken free of its grip!
Those tendrils of triumph evolve into full-on flumes.
A tiredness takes hold of my body. I ignore it. Instead, I steady myself against the wall and, not daring to let go, cast a scrutinizing look about me and around the place.
For a moment, I see a sort of… shimmer… surround the city. It’s like the faintest effervescent dome. It reaches almost to the wall, but not quite.
The end of it lies right at the spot where I felt the struggle against the force most acutely.
I allow myself the ghost of a smile. Looks like whatever magics were contained inside could not beat me, after all.
I turn my attention upward. So long as I am outside the influence of that dome, I think I can make it out.
Last time I’d tried climbing I did it on a cliff close to the city. I’d done it where I was still trapped in that other-earthly dome.
I reach for a handhold and pull myself up. I do it slowly, and when I’m there, I pause. I tense, searching for the feeling, waiting for that itch that begs me to turn around…
It doesn’t come.
Only then do I allow myself to laugh. I did it! I made it out of the forsaken hole. All it took was a little bit of concentrated effort, nothing more. And from here… why, from here, I am confident in my ability to return to the proper part of the Paths. In fact, come to think of it…
The mist that had stopped me and Deanna from falling likely was a manifestation of that orbed dome.
I will have to investigate it again… in time. That city houses secrets, and secrets, especially those laid down long centuries ago, always hold great power.
But first, I have to make my way back to The Haven… and see just how much I’ve missed.
I touch the necklace I stole from Deanna and begin to climb. No matter what I find on the outside… I’ll be ready. If Phillip and Raul and those fool Sorens want to implicate me in the crime, just let them try.
The necklace gives the perfect alibi. And the Royal Court, no matter the splintered factions, gives me a sympathetic jury.
Oh, yes. When I make it all the way out… none will dare accuse me of my crime.
Chapter Sixteen
Eleira
Cassandra gives a small gasp when she sees me and nearly drops the wrapped-up bundle of cloth in her hands.
Felix makes a noise akin to a soft chuckle. He stands, pushing himself up elegantly from the desk.
I look at Cassandra. She cannot stop staring at me.
“I heard you were strong,” she musters. “But I never thought… never imagined… that you would be this powerful.”
Felix comes by her side and puts an arm on the small of her back. He leads her into the room. She needs his guidance, for without it, I fear she would shirk away.
“It’s quite intimidating for her to come into your presence, as a fledgling,” Felix explains gently. “Remember that she is still just coming to grips with her own powers.”
I recall the conversation I once had with Patricia, when I had to goad her into taking a drink of blood from the Queen’s stores for her own sake. She seemed so utterly cowed by me then… and she had been a vampire for years!
Instinctually, I probe Cassandra’s strength. She’s only in the early stages of her transformation. So of course it isn’t much. From what I remember of Patricia, they are similar.
So Cassandra’s natural reluctance to come closer makes sense. Funny how that works: as a human, when she was more vulnerable, she could stand up to the strongest of us. Now, as a vampire, the hierarchy forces her to defer.
“Raul made you,” I say. An ugly bit of jealousy flares up on the words. I push it down and force a smile at Cassandra. “So you’ll grow strong.”
She nods, unhearing. She seems to almost be star-struck by coming into my presence. I wish there was something I could do to negate that—some sort of switch I could flip that makes my strength less potent, less domineering. I have no need for Cassandra, or other weak vampires, to be stuttering and stumbling around me thanks to the natural deference built in to our species.
Unfortunately, the closest thing that comes to that is the cloaking spell that was cast onto James. And I do not know the weaves for it—nor what other effects it might have.
“Eleira and I were just discussing plans for tonight’s ceremony,” Felix informs Cassandra. “So you’ve come at a most opportune time.” His eyes hone in on the small cloth bundle in her hands. “She’ll be very pleased by what you brought me.”
I sit up straighter, piqued by curiosity, as Cassandra deposits the bundle on the desk.
“What is it?” I ask.
Felix smiles and pushes it to me. “Open it, and you will see.”
Slowly, I peel away the layers of cloth. When the final one comes undone, the object is revealed. I give a hiss and jerk back.
“Where did you get this?” I demand.
Sitting there, on the table in front of me, is a gem encrusted goblet that is all-too-familiar to me.
It is the same one into which Victoria mixed all our blood when she preempted the transformation.
Felix’s eyebrows go up. “You are familiar with it?” he asks. There’s genuine surprise in his voice.
“Yes I’m familiar with it,” I tell him, angrily, through gritted teeth. “And don’t act like you don’t know! Why else would you say it would interest me?”
“Because it is an object of power, and you are a witch,” he murmurs. “Eleira, trust me, I meant no offense.”
Cassandra watches the exchange with a frightened expression on her face.
I look into Felix’s eyes… and truly find no ill-will.
I give a resigned sigh and relax some of my tense muscles.
“It’s probably my fault,” I mutter. “I over-reacted. It’s just—the goblet is the same as I was forced to drink from in The Crypts.” I give another sigh and a small shake of my head. “But how would you know, you weren’t there. And I never told the story to anyone.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Quickly, I relate to him the ghastly experience. I don’t do it because I fully trust him—I would be a blind fool to put my faith in any vampire after having known him for only a tiny bit of time—but because I want Cassandra to know that neither my power nor my strength was something that I actually sought.
“Fascinating,” Felix says when the story’s done. “I had no idea. I understand how it must have frightened you, then, seeing this goblet reappear. I assure you that was not my intent. The truth of the matter is that this is not the same one.”
“Of course it’s not,” I mutter. “I was being stupid thinking it so.”
“But what you so eloquently explained demonstrates exactly what the goblets are for. They are part of a batch of sixteen, molded many generations ago. Made at a time witches and vampires were in league with each other—when there was a mutual respect between our kind.” Felix’s eyes take on a saddened look. “A respect, I fear, that has been very much lost since the vampire covens rose to prominence.”
“Weren’t there always covens?” I wonder.
Felix shakes his head. “No. There were bands of vampires that traveled together and shared their lives and experiences with each other, to be sure… but there were no covens. They are a modern invention, in truth, popularized by none other than our Queen.”
My eyebrows go up. “Really?”
Felix nods. “Morgan brought the idea from her birth into one of the five great witch clans. Covens seem a matter of course to all those brought into our world after her creation. But in the time before…?” Felix shakes his hea
d.
“Vampires are nomadic creatures, and they shun the company of others. It is in our nature to want to be alone. The basis of how we feed necessitates constant travel. At least, it did before The Haven was established. And at the same time came The Crypts, and after that, a whole host of smaller covens have come and gone, each trying to mimic the fabled prosperity we enjoy here.” He coughs. “I’m sorry. That was enjoyed here.”
“That I will bring back again,” I swear. “After tonight.”
“You are nothing if not determined, Eleira,” Felix notes. “That bodes very well for your success.”
“So why the goblet?” I ask again. “What does it have to do with anything? How did Cassandra come across it?”
“The goblet is an artifact of an older time,” Felix says. “Traditionally, the making of a vampire—of a fledgling—required a great sacrifice on the part of the maker.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“A fledgling draws power from her maker,” Felix explains. “When one vampire makes another he passes a portion of his essence on. The vampiric force, that ethereal substance which animates us and gives us all our powers, does not come from an infinite pool. When one is made, that power is sapped from the creator.
“That is why, for example, only vampires of a certain strength are able to produce fledglings. Here, in The Haven, that distinction belongs solely to the Elite.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“No? Did you think the cut-off for joining our ranks was some arbitrary measure? No, no. The Incolam are labeled such because they cannot make more vampires. It is also why the Queen keeps members of the Elite so close to her: so that she can monitor our ranks, and ensure that no humans are inadvertently—” he casts his eyes to Cassandra, “—converted.”
My brain works at a frenetic pace to soak up all of this new information. Does that mean Raul gave some of his power away to Cassandra when he made her? What about James, and April?