“Yeah? Well I’m glad he didn’t!”
“Nathan—”
“Would you have flown back if I had called you? Would you have come here?”
His father was silent.
Uncle Jeff held up a hand.
“Two questions,” he said. Nathan glared at his father but nodded tersely. “One, how long have you had the spirit knife? Two, you never mentioned how you went from bleeding out to fine and healthy.”
“Adrian gave me the knife on my eighteenth birthday,” Nathan said, with a pointed look at his father. “And he gave me his blood to heal me. I was bleeding out.” He pulled his shirt up and showed them the scar. When he lowered his shirt, Nathan looked at his dad. He had gone completely white in the face, but his shock wasn’t as satisfying as Nathan wanted it to be.
“What role does Damien play in this?” Uncle Jeff asked.
“Damien helps whoever his daughter tells him to help,” Nathan said.
“Which includes you?” Dad asked, his voice hoarse.
“Which includes me,” Nathan confirmed.
“Unbelievable,” Dad said grimly. “Is there anything else we should know?”
“I think we’ve covered it,” Nathan said. “Although if you just mean things that you would know if you called me more than once every month, then there’s plenty.”
“Your melodramatics are uncalled for,” his father snapped.
“Ben, don’t,” said Uncle Jeff. “If you shout at him, he’s going to walk straight out of here and call Adrian.”
Nathan crossed his arms over his chest.
“This is unthinkable,” his dad said. “Everything our family stands for—”
“Killing vampires,” Nathan said. “We don’t have much else going on in the way of family values.”
His father stared at him. He looked down at the desk, the photos. Evidence that Nathan had killed someone.
“Why?” he asked finally. “Why would you get close to Adrian? You know what he is.”
“Adrian’s always been good to me.”
“How would you know? He could have erased your memory a thousand times over,” Dad pointed out.
“I could have killed him,” Nathan said. “We train together. Accidents could have happened. He trusts me. I…” Could he say it aloud? As much as it scared him, it was the truth. Was he a fool for denying it this whole time?
“You trust him,” said his father.
“Yes,” Nathan said quietly.
“You don’t know anything about him,” Dad said.
Nathan turned that over in his head. He thought of Adrian, who loved seventies rock and leather jackets, and would kill for good Chinese food. Adrian, who could crack a joke over literally anything. Adrian who, despite being hopelessly immature, still always knew what Nathan was worrying about before he’d figured it out himself. “I know he misses his family. I know he’d do anything for his friends.”
“Nathan, he’s a vampire,” Uncle Jeff said.
“You’re saying that because you don’t want to admit there’s anything left of the man he was,” Nathan replied. “Your brother.”
“Whoever he was before, that person is lost. He lost his soul during the change. Just because he looks like Adrian Delacroix doesn’t mean Adrian Delacroix still exists.”
“I never knew him before,” Nathan said. “But there’s someone there now, and I trust that person. I don’t care what came before.”
“He’s killed people, innocent people,” Dad said. “We have the evidence.”
“We’ve all killed people, Dad,” Nathan said.
“You will never be a hunter,” his father said. “Not with an attitude like this.”
“That’s okay, Dad,” Nathan said shakily. “I have other options.”
Maybe his father would have asked what those were, but a buzzing distracted all of them—Nathan’s phone was ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket.
Adrian.
Speak of the devil.
Dad must have seen something in his face. Before Nathan could answer the call, Dad had rounded the desk and snatched the phone.
“Dad!” Nathan protested. He was ignored. His father answered the phone.
“You have some nerve, calling my son.” Then he went silent, his face contorting oddly. Nathan’s heart was pounding in his chest. Shit… shit… shit…
His father lowered the phone and looked at Nathan, confused and angry. Dad didn’t like being confused. It made him angry when he didn’t know what was going on.
“Why does the Vampire Council want to see you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NATHAN WOULD HAVE LIKED to go to the castle on his own. He would have liked to grill Adrian for information, too, but as it was, he was lucky to have got his phone back. Dad had been in favour of confiscating it.
Nathan saying, “That’s not going to stop Adrian from finding me,” had probably not helped his case, either.
Adrian was sitting in his usual spot, on the railing at the entrance to the Mound. He jumped down when Nathan, Dad, and Uncle Jeff walked up. The older two hunters regarded him in stony silence. If Nathan had had to choose a place for a family standoff, he would have picked literally anywhere else.
“This is going to be priceless.” Adrian smirked.
“Don’t make it worse,” Nathan begged quietly. Adrian studied his face for a moment, then nodded.
“Let’s go see what the old man wants.” He sauntered towards the castle entrance, already pulling out Damien’s ID.
“Permittitis intrare.”
“I only have two booked for the premium tour,” said the cashier.
“There’s been a change of plan.” That was certainly one way of summarising the Delacroix family drama. Adrian handed over a credit card. The woman frowned, but handed the card back, along with four premium tickets.
No tokens. In the past, Nathan had been given a token at the ticket office. Why was this time different? He glanced at Adrian, and Adrian met his gaze. The vampire looked uneasy.
“Do you know what this is about?” Nathan asked softly.
Adrian held Nathan’s ticket out to him, shaking his head. Nathan swallowed and took his ticket. The rules had changed, and that was never a good thing.
When they got to the first chamber of the inner sanctum, Jeremiah was waiting for them. Today’s outfit was a grey suit over a white shirt, no tie. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he looked quite affable.
“Ah, Mr Delacroix,” he said, speaking only to Nathan. “Thank you for coming on short notice. Am I to presume from your entourage that the hunters are finally aware of your involvement in this case?”
There was a hint of a smile on his face—he was teasing. Nathan was getting good at ignoring teasing.
“Hi, Jeremiah,” he said. His father gave him a horrified look at the informal greeting. “What’s going on?”
“All in due time,” said Jeremiah. “We will be joined by Monica. She should arrive shortly.”
How was it that Jeremiah always seemed to know where Monica was?
Jeremiah continued, “Whilst we wait, I must confess to some curiosity, Mr Delacroix. It would appear that you are quite popular amongst my territory. I hear Aodhán even picked a quarrel with the Witch Council on your behalf.”
“…I’m sorry?” Nathan asked. “Is that what this is about?”
Monica jogged into the room. Uncharacteristically, she was dressed all in black, and her hair was in a ponytail. Nathan couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her look so… functional.
“We need to work on that summoning thing,” Monica told Jeremiah. “It gives me a headache.”
“You were supposed to refine the mechanism,” Jeremiah said.
“I haven’t had time,” Monica snapped. “Do you have the amulet? I’m not going below without it.”
Jeremiah raised an eyebrow at her rude tone and held out an amulet. It was more complex than any Nathan had seen before: no fewer than five
wooden medallions were held together with braided cord, all covered in runes which Nathan didn’t recognise.
Monica draped it around her neck with a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” she said in a gentler tone, almost apologetic. Jeremiah nodded. He reached into his pocket and withdrew another object, flicking it into the air towards Nathan. It glinted silver beneath the light. Nathan caught it automatically and opened his hand to look. It was the Council token.
So he wasn’t going unprotected into the lion’s den, after all.
“I believe you already know the ropes,” Jeremiah said, stepping towards the door.
“Why is my son entitled to protection from the Vampire Council when I am not?” Nathan’s father demanded. Nathan winced.
Jeremiah turned back, still with the mild expression. There was no sign of irritation on his face, but he somehow still managed to convey frustration. Had Nathan really got that good at reading the finer details of vampiric moods?
“I am not in the habit of breaching the trust of my people,” Jeremiah said. “Nor permitting them to be assaulted in my inner sanctum.”
Nathan looked at the token in his hands, and then up at his father. They should have expected this. Uncle Jeff had Council diplomatic protection thanks to the badge on his uniform, but Dad—as a field hunter—did not. Somehow, Nathan had become more adept at navigating the political landscape of the Council than his father.
It didn’t matter.
“Here, Dad.” Nathan passed the token to his father. He took it, staring at Nathan.
“…Nathan?”
“I don’t need it,” Nathan said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “After all—” He shot a smile at Monica. “—If I’m harmed, Monica’s going to—what was it?—wreak a vengeance most unpleasant.”
“Painful,” Jeremiah corrected.
Monica went scarlet and let out a squeak. “You told him about that?”
Jeremiah raised an eyebrow at her. Monica went even redder and looked away.
“To business,” Jeremiah said.
It made Nathan uneasy to be walking the halls of the vampire inner sanctum without protection. It wasn’t as though the token would have actually stopped a hungry vampire. It was just… yeah, it was all in his head. Amazing. The ritual of receiving the token had always made him feel safe.
I can protect myself, though.
Still, it seemed as though there was an abnormally large number of vampires strolling the halls that evening.
At length, after being led in circles for a while, they entered the receiving room which Jeremiah had used the last time. Damien was waiting for them, of course, lounging arrogantly in his chair. When he saw their party, his eyebrows rose.
“I see we have the full force of the Delacroix hunters today,” he drawled. “Let us hope they do not disappoint.”
“Let us not goad our compatriots from the Hunter Council,” Jeremiah said mildly. “They are, after all, supposed to be our allies.”
Damien’s answering smile was faintly patronising.
“Can we hurry this up, please?” Monica asked.
“As you will.” Damien glanced at Jeremiah. “You called this meeting.”
“The Witch Council have discovered that we have the mage in custody and demanded his extradition to their Council,” Jeremiah explained. “An unfortunate consequence of having involved the hunters in our affairs, I’m afraid.” His tone held just a hint of disdain by the end. “The main reason why we prefer to handle our business in private.”
“This is about more than just the vampires, now,” Uncle Jeff said, his tone studiously polite. “There are dead witches and humans, too.”
“Indeed, as we have been made aware,” Jeremiah replied. “And I have already assured you of our cooperation. Nevertheless, we will not make quarrel with the witches over one prisoner, so after today we will return him to them.”
“And we get one last crack at him?” Adrian asked. “What’s the point? The guy would rather bite his own tongue out than tell us anything.”
“He asked to speak to your nephew,” Jeremiah said evenly. “However, I shall not prevent you from using the time as you see fit.” He held out the cell key to Damien. “Damien can lead you downstairs.”
Damien looked pretty dissatisfied at being ordered around, but he stood and took the key. “Perhaps I shall lose a few of them along the way.”
Jeremiah smiled indulgently and gestured them out of the room. Nathan had to grin at the interplay. Who knew ancient vampires could behave like petulant children?
They soon reached the secret entrance to the dungeons. Damien descended in the front. Nathan’s father brought up the rear. Nathan could see how edgy he looked, and he’d noticed his father wouldn’t turn his back to Adrian. If Dad thought Adrian was the most dangerous person here, then he had a serious problem.
A vampire guard languished at the bottom of the stairs. He eyed their party coming down, and when he saw Nathan, he smiled ferally. His eyes began to glow.
Nathan turned away, watching the man from the corner of his eyes.
“Matthaeus, enough,” said Damien, without turning around. The guard looked disappointed and slunk off down another corridor.
When they reached the row of prison cells, Monica was breathing erratically, clutching the amulet so hard that it had to be digging into her skin. Of course, there were anti-magic wards down here that were specifically designed to keep witches out. Despite that, the prisoner looked unbothered. It was a stark contrast. He studied each of them, and his eyes lingered on Nathan for far too long. A smirk curled around his lips.
“Visitors,” he mocked in a hoarse voice. “I suppose you would like to make one last attempt to make me answer your questions before I am freed.”
“Nah,” Adrian said cheerfully. “Pretty sure you don’t know anything useful, actually. This is something else.”
Damien unlocked the cell door and glanced at Monica, who sighed.
“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered under her breath, but she stepped towards the cell anyway.
“Monica?” Nathan asked.
“I have to put a tracking spell on him.” Monica made a face.
“Will your magic work here, witchling?” the mage asked. “Do your vampire masters routinely force you to practice magic in the face of their oppressive wards?”
“I have no master,” Monica said. “And I’m protected from the wards, thanks.” She entered the cell and began to chant. After a moment, she cast her hands forwards and a sort of net fell over the mage. It glowed silvery for a moment, then faded into his skin. The mage examined his hands.
“Fascinating,” he said. “So, you are the witch who marked the boy.”
Uh oh. Nathan grabbed Monica and dragged her out the cell again.
“And here I thought hunters were firm believers in “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”.”
“Clearly you don’t know us very well,” Nathan snapped. Damien locked the cell door behind them.
“Now, tell us what you wished to say that was so very important,” Damien said. Dad was watching Nathan with a very disappointed look. Nathan chose to focus on Monica, instead. She was swaying a bit on her feet. He put an arm around her shoulders, and she gave him a grateful look and leaned into him.
“I asked to speak to the boy alone,” the mage said.
“No,” several people said at once.
“Not on your life,” Adrian added.
“I am prepared to die,” the mage replied. “The question is, are you, Adrian Delacroix?”
“Technically, I’m already dead. Some would argue that my soul has departed. There’s not much further to fall.”
“There is always further to fall.” The mage laughed mockingly.
“Well, I could be in your position,” Adrian said airily. “Seeing as I’m not, though—you can talk to all of us.”
“I talk to the boy alone, or no one at all.” The mage crossed his arms. “It’s no skin off my
back.”
“It’s fine,” Nathan said. “I can handle it.”
That earned him a few incredulous looks.
“Nate, no,” Adrian protested.
“I won’t let him get to me,” Nathan said. “Just wait upstairs for me, let’s get this over with. Better to have some information than none, right?”
No one could argue with that, although Adrian looked prepared to try. Monica said, “I’m going upstairs,” and took off, and that seemed to decide the rest of them. They withdrew, grumbling all the while, leaving Nathan alone with the prisoner.
He stepped closer to the bars of the cell.
“Tell me,” he said.
“You wished to know how our ritual functioned,” the mage said easily.
“And you’re just going to tell me?” Nathan asked.
“I am not one to pass up a potential recruit. You have no magic of your own, but you are undeniably powerful,” the mage told him. “You could be an asset to our cause. Loyalty is highly prized among the Sahir.”
“I will never be one of you,” Nathan said.
“The touch of darkness, once it takes root, is not so easily resisted,” the mage said. “The witch marked you, but you have marked her, too, have you not? She wears your mark openly. She teeters on the brink between light and dark, and if she falls, you will go with her.”
“Monica’s a good person,” Nathan said. “And she’d never drag me down. I’d help her. I wouldn’t let her fall.”
“Perhaps,” the mage said, “but you walk a tightrope, and it will only take one act to tip you both over the edge.”
And the mage wanted to be that act.
“I don’t want to know,” Nathan said firmly.
“It is really quite simple.”
“No.” Nathan turned and began walking away. “You can rot for all I care.”
“You must want to draw their strength into you!” the mage shouted after him. “Pull it to you and it will come. The knife is the vessel. The activation words are—”
Nathan tried to close his ears, tried not to listen. Why were these corridors so long? Why did sounds travel so far?
“—Ana uwsikum biqutik, falaykun li, de hayatuk tqwwy…”
He clamped his hands over his ears and ran, trying to drown the words out.
Wicked Magic Page 24