“Wasn’t that a separate issue?” Nathan asked.
“Well, it shouldn’t have mattered,” Monica said. “They clearly didn’t investigate Kseniya, or they’d have found the other mages, too. And whilst we’re on the topic, how’d they find you and Cynthia? I know you gave her an anti-tracking amulet, and as we all know, your anti-tracking amulets are solid gold—”
“Monica,” Nathan said warningly, shooting an uneasy look at Damien. Damien raised an eyebrow.
“So it was you who provided my daughter with her amulet,” he said, unamused. “Clearly hunter services are dependable these days.” His tone made it clear that those words were not intended as a compliment.
“An-y-way,” Monica enunciated, “How’d they find you?”
“I think I know the answer to that one,” Adrian said grimly. “They used good old-fashioned tracking methods.”
“Damn,” Nathan said.
“What?” Monica asked.
“We went from TWL to the dance,” Nathan said. “We were looking for Kseniya, you know, the city’s worst kept secret…”
“You took Cynthia into TWL?” Monica asked. “You idiot!”
Nathan winced. He definitely deserved that.
“Maybe not our brightest moment,” he said. “They must have just followed us from there.”
“And Nate was too busy snogging to notice,” Adrian said. Nathan kicked him. “Ouch, Nate!”
“Nate,” Monica said, “Sometimes you really do miss the blindingly obvious.”
“I had noticed, thanks.”
“Maybe I should fly back,” Monica said. “You lot clearly can’t manage without me.”
“You don’t have to fix everything,” Nathan hastened to reassure her. “I’m sure we can handle it.”
Monica sniffled.
“Anyway,” Nathan added, “We’ve got two dead Sahir and one in prison. How many of these guys are there? How likely is it that they’re going to be back on their feet and trying to kill us again tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” Monica said thoughtfully. “Hold on—Noura!” She vanished. Nathan caught Adrian’s eye.
“Even if they crawl out of the woodwork,” Adrian said, “You’re not handling them.”
“Oh, don’t,” Nathan said. “What are you going to do? You can’t stalk me and Lily at the same time.”
“I prefer the term ‘providing remote protection’.”
“There’s a very fine difference between that and stalking,” Nathan pointed out. “If you pop up at my school, they’ll try and arrest you for creeping.”
“I’m more subtle than that.” Adrian huffed.
Adrian actually made an excellent bodyguard, or at least, no one had ever managed to land a scratch on Lily—despite Damien’s innumerable enemies. But Nathan had a much more personal issue with Adrian trailing him to keep him safe.
“If Dad found out, I’d be up the creek,” he said, helping himself to more coffee. “And I’m already up the creek with Dad, so thanks, but no thanks.”
“So,” Monica said pointedly over the phone, “Noura says that the Sahir are a renegade branch of the Islamic Convention of Magic, which governs the practice of magic in the whole Islamic world. About a hundred years ago there was a big power struggle over whether it’s acceptable to kill humans for magic. The Sahir were stronger, but the ICM enlisted the help of the Council and the Russkiy Shabash—which is a huge Russian coven, one of the biggest in the world—and the Sahir were forced to surrender. Most of them went to ground after that, so they have no idea how many exist and no way of finding out.”
“Well then,” Adrian said. “We’re screwed.”
“Language,” Cynthia said.
Something had just occurred to Nathan—something which he should have thought of earlier. “Would Kseniya have been part of Russkiy Shabash?”
“Maybe,” Monica said. “But she might have come from a smaller coven. I mean, even when I knew her, she practiced very, ah, non-mainstream magic.”
“By non-mainstream, we’re referring to black magic,” Adrian deduced.
“Let’s say it was in that sort of moral grey area that the Council turns a blind eye to, mostly,” Monica said. “Why, Nate?”
“Because it just occurred to me that Kseniya had the same tattoos as the guy I… yeah,” Nathan said.
“Are you sure?” Monica asked.
“Pretty sure.”
“Be sure.” Monica sounded scared. “When I knew Kseniya, she did bad stuff, but she wasn’t murdering kids.”
“She did get kicked out of your coven,” Adrian said. “Why?”
Silence.
“Monica?” Nathan asked delicately.
“I, uh, I’ve gotta go,” Monica said. “Noura needs my help with a spell, and Jeremiah’s gonna murder me when he sees my phone bill. Nate, don’t get killed. I’ll get back to you. Ciao.” She hung up.
Adrian picked up the phone and started at Nathan.
“So, Monica’s hiding something.”
“Witches,” Nathan said. “They’re as bad as you vamps.”
“There’s someone else we could ask,” Adrian said. “If we think this is important.”
Nathan considered and discarded that idea in an instant. “Monica would never forgive us if we went behind her back and spoke to Jeremiah.”
Adrian made a face but didn’t disagree.
“Perhaps we could turn our attention to an aspect of the issue which we have so far neglected,” Damien said. They all turned to face him. He nodded to Cynthia. “Why have the Sahir appeared in Oxford, under the noses of the Council?”
“I think they’re being protected by the Witch Council,” Adrian said.
“I agree,” Nathan said. “But why?”
“No idea, but the alternative is that the witches haven’t noticed, and that would be literally mind-blowingly stupid.”
“On the other hand, that means they lied to us when Monica and I reported Kseniya,” Nathan said.
“You’ve been to the Witch Council?” Adrian asked jealously. Nathan ignored him.
“Why would they lie?” he asked.
“I presume they feared that whatever they told Monica would find its way back to the Vampire Council,” Damien said. “No doubt, they wish to handle the problem by themselves. It’s typical of the three sides of the triumvirate.”
That felt like another dead end. Nathan sipped his coffee and thought that they were kind of going around in circles with this. No one seemed to be doing anything, or if they were, it wasn’t working. And no one was sharing information. Was this how hunters felt all the time?
“At least they followed us to my school, not Cynthia’s,” he said thoughtfully.
“I think we should leave town for bit,” Ms Rymes put in. “At least until things die down.”
“Mum! No!” Cynthia said.
“I believe that would be unwise,” Damien said. “Seeing as the Sahir are pursuing your children, you would be better off remaining here, where there are people who can protect you.”
“I’m no expert,” Ms Rymes said cuttingly, “but whatever this Council is, they don’t appear to have made much of an impact.”
That was unfortunately true. Nathan winced.
“Why are they even after you?” Adrian asked.
“We don’t know,” said Cynthia, “But it’s not the first time they’ve caught up with us. We’ve had to move a few times.”
Her mother shifted guiltily. Nathan turned his gaze on her.
“You know,” he said certainly.
Ms Rymes chewed her lip. “I was in contact with them when the girls were younger,” she admitted. “After my husband died.”
“Mum?” Cynthia asked very quietly.
“It was a bad time,” Ms Rymes said. “I was alone with two girls. I spoke to a specialist in… necromancy. I may have inadvertently put them on our trail then. Shifters have been pursued for various aims, particularly by witches, for centuries. It doesn’t surprise me t
hat they’re trying to get us now.”
Nathan wasn’t sure that was the full story, honestly. Adults never gave the full story on the first try. A glance at Adrian said he thought the same, but they mutually let it slide. Nathan felt like he was on an information overload, and his head was beginning to pound.
“I need paracetamol,” he told the group at large. “And probably to go home before Aunt Anna figures out what happened.”
“We need to pop by the prison, too,” Adrian said casually.
“Can we do that after I sleep?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Damien said. “I shall liaise with Jeremiah. I’m sure the Council will relish the opportunity to play intimidation games for a few extra days.”
Adrian yawned, showing off a mouthful of fangs. “Old vampires get bored so easily,” he said. “Just tell them not to kill the prisoner before we can talk to him.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE VAMPIRE PRISON WAS accessed through a secret entrance in the old Oxford Castle. Nathan met Adrian at the base of the Mound, an artificial hill of a purpose Nathan had yet to determine. He had climbed it in the dead of night with Matt many a time to go drink beers illegally and laugh at how cool they were. How long ago that seemed now. How young they’d been.
As with everything in Oxford, if you knew the right thing to say, you could gain access to all sorts of secrets. The secret sessions in the Sheldonian. The secret entrance under Magdalen College.
“Permittitis intrare,” Adrian said to the middle-aged ticket clerk, and discretely showed her a plastic ID card with Damien’s name on it.
“That’ll be ten pounds each, or eight pounds with student ID.”
Adrian pretended to withdraw the cash.
“Here’s your change,” she said, but she didn’t give Adrian coins. She handed him a hammered-down token with a triskelion on either side. Adrian passed it to Nathan, who pocketed it. They each took a ticket, which said ‘premium tour’ on it.
The guy who checked their tickets pointed them off in the opposite direction to the other tourists. “Premium tour starts down there; we’ll be with you in a moment.”
Adrian led Nathan down the passage, and they descended a flight of steps into the extensive, draughty dungeons of the prison. A false wall, operated by another acne-ridden student worker, gave entrance to the inner sanctum of the vampire prison.
Nathan studied everything curiously, marking the differences to the Witch Council’s inner sanctum. For one, there were no magical illusions. For another, the anti-witch wards screamed at him from every wall. Wow.
“I’m not going to encounter anyone from the Hunter Council here, right?” he asked nervously.
“Damien made sure that there wouldn’t be any schedule conflicts,” Adrian replied as they stepped into an antechamber. A guide was waiting for them, a man dressed in a long grey robe. His hood was down, showing that he was young, with blond hair in braids and strange iridescent tattoos on his face. A druid.
“Don’t stare,” Adrian said, which was totally redundant because Nathan couldn’t look away. Druids were basically a myth. They’d been ancient mages, human mages. They had no innate magic but had learnt how to tap the magic of the earth and the elements. Some people said that the origins of hunter wards lay with the druids, but others said the druids had never existed.
“I don’t mind.” The man’s voice had an ethereal quality to it. Timeless. “I imagine he has never seen one such as myself before. We died out many years ago.”
“You were a druid,” Nathan whispered.
“Before I was turned, yes,” the guide said. “I am Aodhán. I will be your guide. Will you allow me to check that you bear no witches’ mark?”
“I guess,” Nathan said.
He was asked to take his top off, and the druid studied his skin. “You have been marked in the past,” he concluded. “You should be wary, young hunter. If you allow a witch to mark you too often, eventually it will not come off.”
Nathan felt like he’d swallowed rocks.
“Monica wouldn’t do that,” he said, less certainly than he’d have liked.
“Witches are as the serpent was to Eve,” the druid pronounced. “Their slippery magic perverts their morals. There is no telling what they would or wouldn’t do.”
Clearly there was no lost love there.
Nathan was allowed to put his shirt back on, which he did with some relief. Vampires couldn’t feel cold like humans could, and it wasn’t warm down in the dungeons.
“Jeremiah wishes to greet you personally,” Aodhán explained as he led them through the secret passages. “Please keep your token on you, hunter. There are many vampires who patrol these tunnels, and some may find the allure of warm, fresh blood hard to resist.”
“Delightful,” Nathan replied.
At length, after Nathan was sure they’d been led in circles a few times to confuse them, the druid stopped in front of a wooden door and knocked.
“Enter.”
The druid opened the door and led them in. He bowed low. “Adrian and Nathan Delacroix.”
“Thank you, Aodhán.”
Aodhán retreated, leaving Adrian and Nathan to face Jeremiah. Weirdly, Aodhán had to be at least a thousand years old—ancient, even for a vampire—and yet he bowed to Jeremiah, whom Nathan knew was only about six hundred years old. Clearly, age wasn’t the only indicator of vampire hierarchy.
Jeremiah didn’t strike a dangerous figure. He had olive-toned skin and neatly trimmed black hair. He was in his late thirties, with cool brown eyes, a short beard, and a stocky, sturdy build. He was dressed in beige chinos and a white button-down shirt. Nathan had never seen him from up close before, but he knew the man by reputation. Jeremiah led the Vampire Council. He was scrupulously fair and absolutely dedicated to the protection of the vampire race.
“Greetings, Adrian and Nathan Delacroix,” he said in smooth, lightly accented English. Nathan couldn’t place the accent. “I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he added to Nathan, and held out a hand.
Nathan shook it, feeling slightly disbelieving. What did you say to old, powerful vampires? “Hi.”
“Hello,” Jeremiah replied. “Monica has mentioned you to me before. She thinks very highly of you, and I am told that she will wreak a vengeance most painful if you are to be harmed by a vampire in my territory.” He said the whole thing with a faint air of amusement, as though Monica was an unruly child, and he was humouring her threats.
“I… I would be very grateful if I wasn’t harmed,” Nathan said. “I seem to have enough trouble with witches, these days.”
“You have my assurance that the vampires will extend you the highest standards of hospitality,” Jeremiah said. “Can I offer you a drink? We are waiting for Damien. I would excuse him for being late—he makes a habit of it. His way of chafing against authority.”
Adrian smirked at that, and even Nathan managed a smile. Damien chafing against authority like a preteen. Vampires could be hilarious, sometimes.
“I’m okay, thanks,” he said.
“Very good, then we shall wait.”
They all sat in an awkward, but brief silence. Five minutes later, Damien strode in. He didn’t have to follow a guide.
“Let’s get started,” he said.
Jeremiah nodded. Together, they walked even deeper into the rabbit warren of tunnels and descended another flight of stairs. Nathan would have missed the stairs if Jeremiah hadn’t been leading them; they were well hidden. At the bottom, the walls were closer together, and everything seemed darker. The wards became even louder, and he rubbed at his temples.
“Forgive me,” Jeremiah said. “Vampires are less sensitive to anti-magic wards. I did not consider that they would be a problem for you, Mr Delacroix.”
“It’s fine,” Nathan said. “I can tolerate it for a little while.”
“If it is required, I can find an amulet that will block their effect for you.”
“No, reall
y,” Nathan repeated. “It’s fine. I don’t need any favours.”
You never wanted to owe a favour to a vampire. It was an irritating fact of their extraordinarily long lives: they never forgot when you owed them a favour, just like they never forgot a grudge. Adrian had once hinted that Damien had turned him because of a grudge he’d held against a long-dead Delacroix ancestor. Nathan didn’t want his hypothetical future grandchildren paying in blood because he hadn’t been able to tolerate a few anti-magic wards.
“Your nephew has a most sensible attitude,” Jeremiah remarked to Adrian.
“It runs in the family.” Adrian’s tone was totally devoid of respect. Nathan admired Adrian’s ability to sass literally anyone. He had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.
Finally, they entered a corridor which had a row of cells down one side. Their black mage was the only prisoner in residence, and despite the wards Nathan felt his presence. It was like being in a room with a decaying corpse.
“I think you will have more trouble with this one than you anticipate,” Jeremiah said as they stopped in front of the second last cell. “He has proven remarkable stoic.”
He certainly looked stoic. He sat on the floor, arms resting on his legs. It was cold, but he appeared unbothered. His tattoos seemed to writhe on his skin in the flickering torchlight. Now that Nathan could get a good look at him, he was about forty, with blond hair and a thick scar slashed across what was otherwise a fairly attractive face. A few days’ worth of beard growth was gathered on his chin, but otherwise he was smooth-skinned. Probably of northern European descent. He regarded them coolly, and his blue eyes finally fixed on Nathan.
“You’re the boy who killed Hans.”
The familiar guilt roiled in Nathan’s stomach. Hunters frowned on the killing of mortals, and witches, despite being supernatural, were also mortal. There was a special branch of the hunters who dealt with witches, but Nathan knew almost nothing about them.
Adrian shifted slightly in front of Nathan, an oddly protective gesture. “You don’t talk to him,” he said.
“You brought him here, vampire, which means I can speak to him as I wish.” The mage gave them a toothy grin. “I rather speak to him. He is unusually talented for a boy. And he has borne the mark of a witch. I think he and I have much in common.”
Wicked Magic Page 16