Dorian would either understand the subtle message—that only Callie would have known how important that painting actually was to Dorian—or would fear that Meridiana knew. Either way, he would be doubly sure to get as many people as possible to the church.
I felt Dorian following us from the room at the same time I spotted Paradise and Lost saunter down the stairs, staring straight at me. They were in human form—two exotic, dark-haired beauties with crimson irises.
Henri Bellerose lurched behind them like an old puppet with broken strings, his eyes hollow and empty. His face was a melted scar and he walked with a slight limp. He looked at me absently and then took a nervous step closer to the wolves, seeking their protection.
Jesus. He wasn’t even a shell of his former self. And he definitely wasn’t a criminal mastermind duping Roland into his ploy to take over the Sanguine Council. It looked like Alucard had been generous with his explanation of Henri’s current mental state. He truly was Roland’s Renfield.
“Well, hello there…” Paradise said, the two wolves spreading out slightly to divide my attention. Henri chose his guard and drew closer to Lost, quivering behind her. Cain curled his lip up at them, but it didn’t look heartfelt. More like he was simply going through the motions of protecting his new boss.
I smiled at the wolves. “Oh, goodie. Party favors.”
Dorian stepped in abruptly, holding up his hands. “Not inside! I welcomed you here as guests. No fighting inside my home or there will be repercussions even you three couldn’t fathom,” he said, suddenly rippling with shadows that limned his body like a cloak whipping in the wind.
Paradise and Lost curled their lips up, practically quivering with violence.
“Obedient little bitches, aren’t you?” I said, smirking at their suddenly tense shoulders. “Now, we can take care of this here or you can return to your boss and give him my message. Then again, your headless corpses might serve as a flashier invitation to my party.”
The werewolves glared, shoulders flexing. Henri’s scarred, melted-candle face, paled.
“Last warning,” Dorian said in a threatening tone.
They finally backed down. “We will see you soon, demon. Get your affairs in order.”
“Until tomorrow night, mortal worms,” I said in a lilting tone. “And be good little bitches for your boss,” I said, jerking my chin towards Henri. “He looks like he could use some tender loving care until Roland has time for you again.”
They stiffened at the jab, but quickly regained their composure. “I fear you’ve got it backwards, demon. Henri is currently experiencing the displeasure of our Master, Roland Haviar. Isn’t that right, Henri?” they asked, too sweetly.
The broken, melted vampire nodded stiffly, looking utterly ashamed that the rest of the party was watching in stunned disbelief, witnessing his impotence.
The werewolves began laughing darkly. Then they left. Henri followed, practically clutching at their jackets.
I kept my face neutral, but I really wanted to curse. I’d hoped Bellerose was really behind it all, either influencing Roland to some extent, or the one who had tricked me into spelling myself. Really, any backbone at all would have made me feel better.
I carefully spun in a circle, pointing my boots towards Dorian just to be sure a real demon wasn’t lurking amidst the party guests, but I sensed nothing. I slowly spun in all directions, pretending to study my audience. No tingling sensation at all.
We left the mansion and were about to hop into our limo when a comet struck a nearby Rolls Royce, shattering glass, bending metal, and injuring the driver still inside.
I stared at the angel, smiling giddily.
“Meridiana,” Eae snarled. “You dare show your face after what you did in Paris?”
I scoffed. “That was three hundred years ago, Eae, my dear. I don’t even remember who I ate for breakfast this morning.”
“I swore to you that I would make you pay for that. I’m here to collect, with interest.”
Dorian jumped in hurriedly. “Hold! No fighting here!”
I let out an annoyed breath. “Fine. I won’t fight him…as long as the Shepherds give me back my teddy bear.” I pointed at Cain. “My dog misses his old friend,” I explained, meeting Eae’s eyes with a savage grin—trying to duplicate the look I’d seen on Nate’s face in Fae. “Or I will burn their church to the ground next.”
Eae growled, his wings abruptly flaring out.
I grinned. “No one likes premature ewingulation.”
Eae snarled. “I will make sure the bear is there tomorrow night…if you promise to face me in battle.”
I thought about it, smirking. I finally nodded. “But let the mortals have a go at me, first. You and I can fight once they are all rotting in the streets. Like old times, eh? Like Paris…” I cooed.
He snarled furiously. “Deal! We fight last. I look forward to it.” Then he took off for the skies, and I heard Dorian let out a relieved breath.
I turned to him, still smiling. “Brothers,” I said. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, am I right?”
He nodded back with a faint smile, but his eyes let me know he was eager to get me the hell off of his property.
We finally hopped into our limo—still idling and waiting a few cars down from the door like we had requested—and left Dorian’s mansion in our rear windshield. Before the doors had even closed, Cain had snatched up a clean towel intended for the small bar we had ignored in the backseat of the limo, and shoved it over his wounded ribs, shooting me a silent, furious glare. I leaned my head on his shoulder, holding it in place for him. The gesture seemed to calm him significantly. I must have put on a very good act to get him this worked up.
“That window…” Cain murmured, shaking his head. “Poor bastard.”
I grunted, laughter unexpectedly bubbling up from deep in my belly. It helped ease the tension between us, which had probably been his intent.
We had the driver make about four wrong turns, taking side streets and back alleys, before pulling up to a fancy hotel downtown that we had arbitrarily picked earlier. We didn’t wait for him to open our doors this time—simply climbing out and striding into the lobby like we owned the place.
Cain’s leash got very significant looks from the wealthy guests, as well as my white head-to-toe outfit, but we paid them no mind, striding through the lobby and making our way onto the elevator to the parking garage on the lower level. He had kept the towel balled up in a fist, covering the bloody wound as best he could as we walked past those in the lobby. In the elevator, he peeled it off and checked the wound with a grunt. His healing ability had kicked in enough to close the wound, so he tossed the bloody scarf into the corner of the elevator. He strode out of the confined space the moment we heard ding.
We climbed into the battered Geo Metro in silence. Part one of my plan was done.
Now it was time for Cain to do his.
“Tell Alucard to be ready and to keep his head on his shoulders.”
He shot me a wary look, silently telling me to watch my ass. I nodded and held up a fist.
Now…
I faced what seemed the hardest challenge imaginable, on multiple levels. And I had to do it alone. It was the only path—to take not the path less travelled, but the path never travelled.
The path that was no path.
The path that was all paths.
Tomorrow, I would have to be a demon. An Angel of Death.
Tonight, I had to become nothing.
Chapter 48
I stood at the base of the steps leading up to Xuanwu’s home. The same guards from last time studied me in silence. I didn’t move. Didn’t look up.
“Sanctuary,” I breathed, soft enough to almost be unspoken.
I was claiming sanctuary from my biggest enemy. Myself.
They studied me for what might have seemed an uncomfortable length of time to most people. Not me. I’d been forced to sit in silence in pitch darkness in the
middle of the woods—the kind of woods with active predators—for an entire night in my education as a SHIT. Roland had taken a very old school mentality when it came to teaching his only ever student.
So I stood on the porch, head bowed, and waited, willing to accept refusal if that was what they chose. Yín approached on silent feet, holding out his forearm. I gently rested my hand over his and followed him into the house. I let my eyes trail over the door when he paused before it. I didn’t actively assess it, second guess myself, or look over at Yín. I acknowledged its natural state—taking a moment longer to scan Qinglong’s depiction in more detail.
After an indeterminable length of time, the doors opened of their own accord and Yín led me inside. He paused at the threshold and I took off my boots. I slipped into a pair of wooden-soled clog sandals but kept myself firmly rooted when he took a step to lead me away. I felt him glance at me, but I kept my eyes downcast. I touched my clothes with two fingers and shook my head slightly.
Then I rested my hand back on his forearm and allowed him to take me in a new direction. We walked through several of the traditional, rice-papered sliding doors—I had finally remembered their name, shōji—until I found myself in a room full of armored mannequins. A tall, wooden, tri-fold privacy divider stood in the corner of the room—illuminated from behind with a candle—intended to use in changing clothes.
I slowly walked behind it and undressed—even my undergarments—carefully folding my clothes as if it was the most important thing I had ever done. I set my jacket on top, hesitating only a moment as I considered the dangerous items within the pockets. Then I slipped into a spare silk robe with long, wide openings at the sleeves. I folded one side of the robe over my bare body, tying a thin silk ribbon to another that was set just inside the interior corner of the robe, binding it closed. Then I folded the second half of the robe over the first, tying those silk ribbons together as well. I pulled on a pair of silk pants, and lifted a wide, silk sash, studying it thoughtfully.
I let out a light breath and stepped out from behind the partition to stand beside Yín. I handed him the sash and then turned around, lifting my arms. He didn’t even murmur as he began wrapping it around me in a practiced gesture, finally folding the end in on itself.
I dipped my head in thanks and let him lead me to the first pedestal. He then lowered his arm before stepping back to let me move about freely. I took a measured breath, keeping my eyes downcast as I tried to get a feel for the set of armor before me on the pedestal—through smell, hearing, and touch—before I finally lifted my eyes to actually see it for the briefest of moments. It was exquisite red-lacquered battle armor.
I moved on to the next pedestal, performing the same process. Then again. And again, turning down more battle armor sets of various colors, styles, designs, and time periods, until I stood before the last pedestal. I breathed in deeply. A crisp, simple, almost cold warmth. I listened to the faint breeze slipping through a gap in the shōji ahead of us, and the almost playful kiss as that breeze touched the outfit before me. I tasted the air and imagined strawberries and sunshine.
I smiled faintly, my memory trying to bring up a pleasant past, but I forced it back down.
I looked up to see a white set of ninja garb. I nodded one time, allowing myself a genuine smile of approval, silently announcing it as my favorite. Instead of reaching for it, I turned away, spotting a canvas robe and pants on a hook in a forgotten corner. I approached and slipped them on over the silk under-robe and pants I already wore, wrapping a cloth belt around it all, tying it close to my body so I could move freely.
The sharp silence was akin to the sound of a blade slipping between two ribs. That I had chosen this rough canvas over the others—especially after smiling in approval at the last set.
I stepped up to the shōji and waited. After a few moments, Yín approached to slide it open and step through before me, the familiar garden behind him bathed in moonlight at this late hour. The moon hung full, large and bright enough to appear close enough to touch with my fingertips.
Despite the time of night, two rows of dark, living shadows sat facing each other with bared, black blades resting across their laps. I could sense a cold, detached readiness radiating outwards from them—a calm betrothal with death. A romantic passion with the taste of a foe’s last dying breath.
I didn’t stare or openly look, I observed the scene with all my senses—relying upon my eyes least of all. Three monks sat in silence before a statue of Buddha, and beyond the statue was the same field of swaying grass and apple blossom trees. The flowers looked engorged with moonlight and tranquility, pregnant with serenity, screaming silently, loving violently…
In perfect, effortless harmony.
I felt curious eyes settling upon me. I didn’t check which of the ninjas it was. That wasn’t why I was here. I was here for myself, to clear my head—not to talk or make friends or convince anyone of anything. I noticed a rack of weapons: staffs, blades, dragon-whips, throwing stars and knives, spears, chained swords, cudgels, nunchakus, butterfly swords, triple-chained staffs, and other weapons I had never seen before.
I picked up an old, worn staff—twigs bound by wire were wrapped around one end—that was leaning against the rack of priceless, deadly weapons. It was definitely the plainest weapon available. I gripped the staff, dedicating myself to its purpose, washing all other thought from my mind. Tomorrow would be hectic, chaotic, loud, violent…
But tonight…
I began wordlessly sweeping the deck with the old broom.
Yín momentarily lost his countenance and sucked in a startled breath. I didn’t smile or acknowledge him as I continued to sweep, focusing my entire self on the perfection of such a simple, complicated task. I thought of the countless feet that would cross—and had crossed—this space since its construction.
I breathed in through my nose and out through a slight opening between my lips. I was here to find my center—but I would buy that precious commodity. I would earn my keep.
I soon began to sweat, furrowing my brow as I swept from one end of the deck to the other, carefully sweeping the dust and dirt into a neat pile. I swept back my sweaty hair, and took a few deep breaths, waiting for my heartrate to slow. I detached each hand from the broom, flexed my fingers a few times, and then regripped the weapon, ready for my next bout.
I went back to the beginning of my gauntlet for a second run, sweeping anything I had missed into the first pile I had made. My arms shook slightly, as if I had spent an hour swinging a sword. I was breathing raggedly, my vision momentarily throbbing as it threatened to tunnel closed. I fought it, regaining control of my breathing and steadying my pulse. Once composed, I used a dustpan to scoop up the mess and deposited it into a nearby trashcan. I carefully replaced the broom where I had found it, lovingly returning it to its place with the same care I would have used to tuck a friend’s child into bed.
I quieted my mind, thanking the broom for taking care of its family and keeping their home free of dust and negative energy—an unsung guardian for these warriors and monks.
I didn’t pretend to be a part of the family around me. I wasn’t doing this to earn their respect. I was searching for inner peace, and Xuanwu had offered me sanctuary. My actions were an attempt to learn from them, to steal their secrets for myself. Even if for only a night.
I was a thief.
I turned back to the weapons, eyeing them thoughtfully. I did know something of my own that I could gift them for their accommodation in my quest for inner peace. I stepped up to a cabinet sheltered beneath an awning and, after pulling open a few drawers, found what I needed. I laid the items out on a wooden table, clearing anything in my way to form a clean workspace. I then brushed the table free of any dust and debris, mopping up a few wet oil stains and picking out a burr wedged into the surface of the workbench. Satisfied, I set a stool before my workstation and walked back to the weapons rack. I grabbed the butterfly swords—feeling a special affinity towards t
hem after my time with Nate—and brought them back to the table. I had noticed a few nicks in the edge.
I set both swords—forearm length twin blades as wide as my hand—down on the table. I was careful to keep the tassels clear as I pulled out a whetstone. The blade only needed a bit of work. I flipped the stone over, checked the grit on each side to make sure my instinct had been correct, and then added a small amount of oil to the surface. I pressed the blade to the stone at the proper angle with both hands and slid the blade horizontally towards me. Like Roland had made me do for hours at a time. I lost myself in the repetitions. Occasionally adding a few more drops of oil.
My fingers shook as I polished the first butterfly sword with an oiled cloth, dried off my fingers with a second cloth, and then combed my clean fingers through the tassels to untangle a few threads.
Then I set it aside and scooped up the second blade, repeating the process. I felt eyes boring into my back and I paused, keeping my shoulders relaxed. The eyes drew closer and I soon felt a powerful presence directly behind me, as well as frigid tendrils of air raking across my shoulders through my sweat-damp robes. I could have turned and touched my observer, but I remained motionless, staring down at the blade, waiting.
After a few moments, the observer departed, taking the cold with him.
I resumed my work, losing myself in the motions as I squinted down at the blade in the moonlight. This one had taken longer than the first, and I sat there gripping the table, my breath coming in shallow pants, the middle of my body a gaping hollow. Now that I had stopped moving, my shoulders shook in the cool breeze, my robes thoroughly soaked.
Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2 Page 83