by Tarah Scott
I finish looping the belt through the sheaths, then add the sword scabbard and strap and buckle the belt. The weapons hang with comforting weight at my waist.
How I wish I could crawl back into bed and bury myself beneath the covers. I’m in no mood to play at war. But I can’t let on that anything is wrong. I can’t even let Stony know what I’m planning. I face her. Can I really give her up?
I lift my hands from my sides and turn. “What do you think?”
She raises her snout in the air and snorts twice.
I shake my head. “The Excalibur sword is too aggressive. Better not to further piss off people.”
She snorts again and shakes her head.
“I know they haven’t caught my wannabe killer, but you’ll be riding along in my pocket. Besides, I have my magic now. I’m not such an easy target.” Will I be able to use my magic, even in self-defense?
Stony’s little eyes narrow. Yes, a pig’s eyes really can narrow—well, Stony’s can, anyway—and I realize that she’s not happy with the idea of being a mouse again.
I shrug. “If you really want to walk all over the woods, then, be my guest and stay in pig form. If you want me to carry you, then a mouse it is. You could stay here,” I add. “With The Three around and all the other students, I’m not really in any danger.” I have no idea if this is true, but I have the sudden need to put some distance between myself and my familiar. My heart lurches. That has never happened before. Am I already giving into my dark side?
“I’m going,” Stony snorts.
“It’s freezing out there—”
A knock sounds on my door. I turn and take three steps the door and open it. Fran stands in the hallway, decked out in tight leather that reminds me of the Avengers’ Black Widow. She holds a chakram by its curved, center handler. It’s a beautiful weapon, constructed in different shades of silver.
“You look fabulous,” I say.
She turns like a runway model.
I lift a brow. “That outfit doesn’t leave a single body cell to the imagination.”
“That’s what makes it so perfect,” she says. “Love the braid, Rapunzel. Nice sword. I’m surprised you’re not wearing leather.” Her eyes slide past mine and she squeals, “Stony!” Fran races across the room and drops onto the bed beside Stony. “I remember you the day Leilah arrived. You are adorable.”
Stony, the original ham, rolls onto her back and presents her stomach for a rub.
Fran giggles and happily obliges. “I love her.” To my surprise, Fran hugs her. “Are you bringing her to the games?”
“I’ve been trying to talk her into staying in. It’s so cold—”
Stony snorts loudly.
I roll my eyes. “I guess she’s going.”
Fran pulls back and smiles down at Stony. “I hope I end up on your team. We could have so much fun with her. I think she likes me.”
I don’t tell Fran that Stony likes anyone who showers her with attention. Truth is, Stony is an excellent judge of character and can sense evil a football field away.
Fran gives Stony another good stomach rub, then stands and faces me. “We have to do something about your outfit.”
I look down at my t-shirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
Fran rolls her eyes. “Everyone dresses up for the War Games. It’s like Comic Con.”
“Fran, I’m really not—”
“Come on, Stony,” she says. “Let’s get Leilah in the right frame of mind for the games.”
“I’m in the right frame of mind,” I blurt.
Fran’s gaze turns speculative. “You can’t kid a kidder, kid.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m looking at myself in Fran’s dorm room mirror and I have to admit, the girl has fashion sense. She’s shorter than me, so her clothes are too short—and too small in the chest—but Fran isn’t adverse to a little magical tweaking to make her clothes fit me. The dark brown, skin-tight pants show off my muscled legs. My breasts are pushed up over the top of a maroon leather bustier that would make Xena, Warrior Princess jealous. Yes, I’m a total Xena fangirl. The TV show is older than dirt, but that Xena looks fabulous in leather.
The ensemble is finished off with a calf length, quilted, dark brown waistcoat that matches the pants and will keep me warm. The sword strapped on my side gives me a badass look that, I think, would make Xena proud.
I still long for my bed, but can’t afford for Fran to figure out that something is seriously wrong. I grimace as if embarrassed. “You sure about this?”
“You bet,” she says.
Stony snorts agreement.
I give myself a final once over and find myself wondering what The Three will think when they see me. Shame rolls over me. What would they think if they knew I withheld evidence that my grandmother is a traitor?
I face Stony. “What’s it going to be, walking or riding?”
Stony tilts her head and appears to consider. I shake my head and wait. It’s always better to let Stony put on a show when she is so inclined. Fran drops to her knees beside Stony and I strain my ears to hear what Fran whispers, but no luck. Stony gives a squeal of delight and Fran rises as Stony shifts into a mouse. Stony scurries the few feet to me and climbs my pant leg, then up my arm and around to the inside front pocket of the waistcoat I open for her.
Once she disappears inside, I look at Fran and ask, “What did you say to her?”
Fran’s eyes light with mischief. “I told her to think of all the fun we could have with no one knowing she’s with us.”
“That’s a pretty good angle.” I’m a little embarrassed I didn’t think of it.
“You have your envelope?” Fran asks.
I nod. I’d stuffed it into the bodice of my bustier. The Academy gave each student an envelope and instructions not to open it until given permission. I was curious when I woke up to find the envelope slipped beneath my door, and even more curious with the order not to open it. Of course, my first inclination had been to try magic to peek inside.
Cheater, my mind whispers. Even in small things, I think nothing of cheating.
We head out. On the way downstairs, we distantly trail a group of six girls dressed in camo and heavy, hunting-style jackets. Two have swords strapped to their sides. One glances over her shoulder, turns back, and whispers to the group. They slow and look over their shoulders, then face forward and giggle. I send a questioning glance Fran’s way but she just shrugs.
An inch of new snow covers the ground and a sheen of ice coats the trees. Most people like spring with its hint of bloom promising rebirth, but I love winter. The crisp air leaves no room for the grime that frequently reaches this far north of the City. That purity goes soul deep, cleansing the grunge that has seeped into my being. The thought has barely formed when I mentally laugh. I might like the idea of cleansing, but not the reality. If I did, I would suck it up and hand over Grams’ spell book and take my rightful place as another witch fallen from grace.
The air isn’t cold enough to freeze my lungs, but is cold enough to rouse me better than any cup of coffee. I breathe deeply, and my lungs feel as if they’re frosting over.
Halfway across campus, the numbers of students headed for the assembly field increase. I spot a building beyond the trees. “What’s that?” I angle my chin.
Fran looks in the direction I indicated and says, “The shooting range. You like guns?”
“I’m better with swords.”
Everyone wears or carries a weapon—knives, swords, throwing discs like Fran’s—but I don’t miss that no one else is dressed in the medieval leather Fran and I wear. The suspicion that I’ve been had is confirmed when we reach the field and not another student is dressed in medieval armor. The condescending look Chelsea Nightlow gives me cinches my suspicion. I know the kid doesn’t like me, but she clearly thinks my outfit is stupid. She’s probably right.
I give Fran a narrow-eyed look. “Why?”
Fran shrugs. “I didn’t want to hog all
the attention.”
A tiny squeak emanates from my pocket. “Hush,” I admonish Stony in a whisper. She squeaks louder and I roll my eyes. “It’s just a form of speech. Fran isn’t going to turn into a hog.”
“Of course not,” Fran quickly confirms as we emerge from the trees into the clearing where, apparently, the entire student body has assembled. “Sorry, Stony,” Fran adds in a whisper.
Another squeak follows and a guy to my right looks my way and frowns.
Fran and I hurry past and I whisper to Stony, “Be quiet or I’ll make you walk. It has snowed and it’s pretty damn cold out here.”
This time, no squeak.
I decide to use magic to change clothes into something less conspicuous, then realize this is kind of what Raith was talking about, using magic for personal gain. This really isn’t that bad, though—
Is this kind of reasoning that started Grams down the path of darkness? How long does it take for a person to finally cross the line? How long before Grams kicked me out was she dabbling in black magic? This has to be why she kicked me out. My thoughts come to a halt when I catch sight of The Three near a group of students.
“Oh God,” I breath. “Don’t look over here.”
Of course, Raith looks past Ethan and Blade straight at me.
Raith blinks, then I see—it can’t be—amusement in his eyes. “The end of the world is at hand,” I mutter. “Raith Vanderkoff almost smiled.”
“Oh my God,” Fran hisses. “Is Raith looking at us?”
The equivalent of a mouse growl emanates from my pocket.
A tiny smile curves one side of Raith’s mouth.
I blink. No way is he a Xena fan.
Blade and Ethan turn toward me and the man standing to Raith’s right becomes visible.
I freeze.
It can’t be.
Chapter Forty-Five
BLADE
Warrior Princess
It’s a perfect day for our War Games. Even my lack of sleep over the strange meeting with Zadkeil last night—and Leilah’s cold demeanor—doesn’t quite squelch my joy in being outside. I breathe deeply of the crisp air as Ethan and I cut across the sparring field behind half a dozen students headed for the assembly field. I wear loose-fitting brown pants, matching leather armor that hangs to my thighs, and a short gambeson that protects my upper torso and arms. My favorite part of the outfit are the swede boots. They remind me of the clothes my kind wore eons ago, before the world became populated with too many people, and fashion became a way to impress others instead of a connection to the earth.
The games awaken my urge to run free in the woods and reconnect with my fae cousins, the nature spirits. Today, however, even with the bright January sun, I would have preferred to delay the games. Ethan has not spoken since he caught up with me outside my on-campus apartment, but I know something weighs on his mind beyond the worry that the War Games make Leilah an easy target.
Wait until he hears my news.
The students ahead leave the walkway and disappear into the trees thirty feet ahead. I open my mouth to speak, but Ethan says, “I discovered what Raith’s problem is with Leilah.”
That surprises me. I wait.
“He hasn’t forgiven her for putting the knife through his heart forty years ago.”
That should surprise me but doesn’t. “Vampires rarely forgive.”
Ethan looks sharply at me. “You don’t believe she betrayed him?”
I slow as we near the trees and Ethan follows suit. “It was bound to happen,” I say. “Raith incites a desire in others to put him in his place.”
“She would never betray any of us.”
“She isn’t the same person every lifetime,” I say. “Yet, she always loves us.” My heart swells with anticipation of seeing her. Even angry, Ciarah is magnificent.
“Still, we —” Ethan begins.
“You’re not naïve,” I cut in. “She hasn’t been a sweet lamb every incarnation.” I snort. “She has never been a sweet lamb—and, in truth, she was more reckless in her last incarnation than she’d been in centuries.” I smile. “But then, her parents were Greek and Spanish. A volatile combination.”
“I had no idea you felt this way,” Ethan says.
I look at him. “What way? That I see her for who she is? That doesn’t stop me from loving her.”
“Her volatility doesn’t mean she betrayed Raith.”
I shrug. “She stabbed him and left him for dead.”
“Vampires are nearly impossible to kill,” Ethan says.
We enter the trees and I veer right instead of staying on the pathway. Ethan shoots me a curious look.
“If Cordero had found Raith, he would have separated Raith from his head,” I say
Ethan shakes his head. “There has to be something we don’t know.”
“Raith made his own bed,” I reply. “Half the bloody time I want to kill him. We have never been able to control Ciarah. Raith goaded her by forbidding her to see Cordero.”
“She doesn’t deserve to be punished in this life,” Ethan growls.
I laugh. “You think you can control Raith any easier than he can control her?”
“He’s never been like this,” Ethan says.
He’s right. “Raith must work through his anger.”
Ethan turns his intense green eyes on me. “You’ll stand by and let him hurt her?”
I blurt a dark laugh. “Raith is powerful, but no vampire has ever controlled magic like the witches.”
“Magic can’t save a witch from everything,” he says, and I know he’s remembering the damn spear.
I shudder at a flash memory of Leilah lying on Raith’s couch, the cushion and her shirt soaked with blood, and Raith drinking from the wound.
“She didn’t have her magic when the spear wounded her,” I murmur. “She does now—and that bloody familiar. The animal is worth an army of bodyguards. And she has us.”
Already, I sense the magic of the pact invading my system—even my dreams. That is unexpected. Ethan makes no reply and I would wager he’s feeling the connection, as well. grimace. The last thing I want is to be closer to the vampire. How is it possible for the blood pact to be drawing Ethan, Raith, and I closer? We made no blood promises to one another, only to Leilah.
“We should have insisted she stay in her room during the games,” Ethan says.
I snort. “Because that’s worked so well for us in the past?”
“We could have enforced her compliance with a spell.”
“Even if you, Raith and I combine our magic, with that sigil off her hand, she can break any spell we cast. You know that.” I clap his shoulder and squeeze. “I’m concerned, as well, Ethan.”
He barely nods.
I wish Matthias were here. He always knows what to say on these rare occasions when Ethan overloads.
“I can’t believe we haven’t found a single clue as to her attacker,” he says. Real heat radiates off his body. If we do find Leilah’s attacker, Ethan will tear him limb from limb—if I don’t find him first.
I nod. “They’re damned smart.”
“Which worries me,” Ethan mutters.
“I’m hard pressed to believe anyone can get to her now with the wards Olympia set up to inhibit black magic,” I say, but still, worry niggles.
Ethan casts me a sideways glance. “Is that why you’ve been camped outside Ciarah’s dorm room these past few days?”
I grin. “One reason.”
None of us has ever begrudged the other’s place in Ciarah’s heart—or bed. Well, after those first few incarnations, that is, when we began to understand that the five of us were somehow bound to her. Early on, we nearly killed one another. I smile at the memory.
“If we have trouble with the walkies, change to channel fifteen,” Ethan says. “We shouldn’t. They’re military issue, but you never know.”
I nod. Ethan, Raith, and I carry radios for the games, as do the officers. Today, however, Ethan, Rait
h, and I have an extra radio clipped to our belts for the private channel where we will communicate about Leilah, if necessary.
Ethan turns toward the meeting place. I grasp his arm and pull him to a stop.
He looks at me and frowns. “What is it?”
“There’s been a development in the investigation.” He starts to reply, but I shake my head and say, “Not Leilah and not Miriam. It’s Zedkeil. I believe I know why the angels are so hot to help out in the investigation.” I pause, still not quite able to process the possibilities. “You are not going to believe this, but their god is locked in Hell.”
Ethan blinks, then his eyes go wide.
I nod. “You heard correctly. Elohim, Elyon, The Most High, the god who lays claim to all creation, is locked in Hell.”
“How is that possible?” Ethan breathes.
“I guess that spell Senorn and Eledin cast to close the Hell Gates is Grade A magic.”
“How did you find out?” Ethan asks.
I shrug. “Zedkeil gave it away. He denied it, but you know what they say, ‘Me thinks the angel doth protest too much.’ It’s true, all right.”
“I can’t believe it,” he says.
“Neither could Olympia.”
He looks sharply at me. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Come now,” I say. “You know I can’t keep something like this from her.”
He nods slowly. “I can’t begin to imagine how she will use this to her advantage.”
“She’ll use the knowledge to leverage Heaven for a time when we need them.”
“I suppose so,” he says slowly. “Not in a thousand years would I have guessed this. How have the angels kept it quiet all these centuries?”
“They’re a clannish lot who know how to keep a secret. Remember how long it was before anyone figured out the demon known as the devil was his son The Morning Star?”
Ethan snorts. “I can’t blame him for that one. I don’t think I would want to own up to having that bastard as a son, either. What does the Grand Witch think about all this?”
Two male students step from the trees to our left. They must have veered off the path. They look in our direction and Ethan and I start walking. The students walk ahead of us. Five minutes later, clusters of students emerge through the trees up ahead. Anticipation hums in my belly like a live wire. Nothing tests our skills and endurance like the War Games.