by D B Nielsen
“Perfect. This gives us just the opportunity we were hoping for. Remember, I want Dorian alive.”
“Varya is awaiting our signal. Cole’s the bait. He’s going to be as mean as a rattlesnake when he realizes you’ve used him.”
“Leave Cole to me,” Aislinn said, mirroring her father’s earlier cold indifference. “And your men?”
“There are two dozen Malums all handpicked for their loyalty and hatred of Dorian waiting to spring the trap.” Caleb’s expression was calculating.
“Then why keep them waiting?” She raised a pale eyebrow, looking every inch an ice queen.
“Now. Go.” Stanislav tossed his cigar aside. He easily caught the semiautomatic one of the soldiers tossed to him.
Caleb gave a piercing whistle, signaling Cooper, who lightly leaped from the building, landing catlike on the ground before them. “Haul ass. And don’t forget to keep the blood rage under control, kid. You’re looking after your maker.”
Cooper gave a cocky salute and fell in behind Aislinn.
“Remind Varya that if she kills Dorian like she did Marcellus, I’ll have her guts for garters and mount her head above the bar,” Aislinn said. Her smile was small and predatory, the kind to make the werewolves run for the hills.
Caleb’s lips twitched. “I’ll be sure to tell her, though I don’t fancy her ugly mug staring at me every time I enter the club.”
“Then be sure Dorian remains alive. We must be strategic about this—not act in a blood rage.”
As planned, they parted ways. Caleb went after Dorian. Cooper, Stanislav, and a few others went with her.
It was Druid season. And Aislinn was hunting a dark mage.
Chapter 31
“Get ready!” Zhenya shouted as she reached for her sword. The blade came whistling from its sheath, and she stood eagerly waiting with both dagger and sword in her hands for the pack of werewolves to attack. “I’ll take care of the mutts!”
They spread out with their weapons in their hands as the first of the wolves crested the hill. It paused for a moment as if assessing the situation, sniffing the air, then charged. It sprinted smoothly downhill with its lips peeled back from its teeth in a feral snarl, and at the last moment, it reared back on its hind legs and leaped toward the mafia boss, ready for the kill.
But Zhenya was already there.
With a single stroke of her great sword, Zhenya sliced the grey-furred wolf across its massive chest. It howled in pain but surged forward once more. This time, with a wide sweep of her arm, Zhenya drove her dagger into the side of the wolf’s neck. Blood gushed from its mouth as it fell to the ground, resuming the form of a man.
“You know I have a crossbow, right? And Stanislav has a semiautomatic?” Cooper asked in disbelief at Zhenya’s ruthlessness.
“So, use it or lose it, beefcake,” Zhenya retorted, preparing for the rest of the onslaught. “Don’t hesitate, and don’t get in my way.”
The other members of its pack were on them now, snapping with razor-sharp teeth, tearing and shredding the vampires’ flesh with their massive jaws. The agonized screams of Stanislav’s fighters were accompanied by the yowls of rage and despair of the huge beasts as they clashed chaotically on the hill.
“That’s it,” Zhenya said, wiping blood from her gold-edged blade. “They know we’re here now.”
“So do the dark mages,” Aislinn said, looking critically at the bodies littering the bloody ground before staring up at the vast disturbance swirling in the murky air above Newgate. Sullen flashes of lightning blazed across the still night sky accompanied by an orange-hued flickering light, as if it was dawning early in one small part of London.
“Dark magic,” Stanislav said, cutting down another shifter. He was covered in their dark blood, and the foul bestial scent was terrible, making him thirst for another cigar.
“Or by another name, science,” Benjamin said, appearing suddenly on the hillside.
“Benjamin!” Aislinn exclaimed, whirling to face the handsome Malum as fear for Psychic Seth and the loss of their digital eyes on London brought a momentary panic. “What’s happened? Why are you here?”
“Nothing has happened. What’s the point of technology if it can’t be portable?” He held up his wrist, which sported a small device much like a smartwatch or Fitbit but more sophisticated. “I couldn’t sit in the hub and wait for news. Not when I could be helping on the front line.”
“And Seth?”
“He’s fine, too,” Benjamin said firmly. “He’s back at the warehouse playing Fortnite. I think I’m going to design a real-time, live-action video game so he can join us next time, maybe use a drone.”
Cooper’s head cocked to the side. He gave a broad smile. “That sounds awesome, dude.” Then raising his crossbow, he took aim at a speck in the distance and fired. There was a muted squawk, and the werehawk fell from the sky as the bells of the city started chiming the hour. “Bullseye.”
“Looks like Seth may have been right after all,” Stanislav murmured, remembering Psychic Seth’s mad nursery rhyme recitation.
“More than you know,” Aislinn stated, staring into the distance at where the teeming, thunderous cloud coalesced into a nightmare above Newgate.
Flickering faintly, an inky shadow began to appear at the center of Aislinn’s vision.
“Watch out!” Aislinn jumped back, yanking Cooper out of danger.
She had little time to warn them as a powerful surge filled the air with a jarring thunderclap. A roaring sound was heard beneath them, and suddenly, the ground heaved upward as if it was taking a huge breath. Vampires and wolves fell into the yawning chasm, their terrified screams swallowed by their plummeting drop into nothingness.
A wave of pure darkness rolled out from the gorge that now loomed before them.
“Aislinn!” The blood-curdling cry seemed to go on and on. Aislinn reeled backward as if she’d been struck. It was her sister’s voice.
She took off at a cracking pace, leaving the others to follow.
The darkness was filled with whispers. Why are you here? I am not your enemy. I am your ally. I know what you want. Exactly what you want.
A seething darkness filled the abyss. She gazed into it as she ran, skirting the edge of the gorge, and knew no light could ever penetrate its depths. This blood rage, this hunger that was tearing her apart, could never be fully satisfied.
I can bring her back. Death is a doorway. The darkness falls and the magic rises.
It was his fault. He was responsible for her pain.
Sorcha.
So much blood. So many deaths. So many souls.
Instinct and blood rage took over, and Aislinn ran, her body a blur. Teeth bared. Obsidian eyes glassy. She reached the epicenter of the lightning storm, the vicious wind tossing her hair about her face and shoulders.
Cooper raised an alarm with a booming bellow. “Aislinn! Stop!”
“Stop!” Stanislav repeated sharply, ending in a stream of Russian obscenities.
There was enough urgency in their voices to make her listen. She froze in her tracks, sensing the threat without knowing the source. The message got through. Her eyes widened, the jet black shot through with a cornflower blue, and she looked in their direction.
Blindly and desperately, she had chased her demons down. Looming above her were the spires of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It stood in somber grandeur, cloaked in the mystery of night. While the sight of St. Sepulchre must have chilled passersby for centuries as it stood opposite the infamous Newgate Prison, Aislinn felt an obscure sense of dread for an entirely different reason.
“Don’t move!” ordered Benjamin, his voice cracking like a whip.
The vampires stood beyond the heavy iron fence of the church, which meant she was standing on sanctified ground—which just wasn’t possible.
“Aislinn?” Cooper’s voice was hoarse with concern.
“Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe this part of the church grounds isn’t sanctified?” Sh
e spoke softly, as if even speaking too loud might cause her to go up in flames.
Stanislav nodded, but his expression was doubtful. His lips were pressed into a thin line. “Eto piz ‘dets.”
“Oh, it’s seriously fucked up all right,” agreed Zhenya brusquely.
She grabbed one of her comrades by the neck and launched him into the church’s fence. The fence instantly buckled under his weight. Barely touching sacred ground with more than a pinkie finger, the heavy-set Sanguis turned into a pillar of salt and was instantly blown to fine grains by the fierce wind.
Cooper jerked as though he’d been hit, backing away from the fence. “Now that is seriously fucked up.”
She could feel their eyes boring into her with a mix of disbelief and dread. Time was passing, but she hadn’t been struck down by the wrath of God yet. She didn’t dare think what it meant. She was confused, but she didn’t have time to try to make sense of the strange course of events. If she waited too long, she would lose this opportunity. Aislinn stiffened and cautiously turned around. She had no choice but to move.
“Time to go,” she said briskly, nodding toward the church. “I mean me, not you. Stay safe. This is my quest. Mine alone.”
Before they could respond, she stepped forward.
Nothing happened.
Relieved, she momentarily closed her eyes. Then opening them, she determinedly strode into the church, heedless of her friends’ cries.
“There you are, daughter of Kayne. I was hoping you would join me, and you haven’t disappointed.”
She remembered this creature from her nightmares. He stood near the altar, his cowl lowered over his face, hiding his features. But she remembered that voice. It haunted her still with the words that would condemn her sister to death.
“Oh, don’t be surprised at stepping into a church.” He made a sweeping gesture to the altar, coffered ceiling, and stained-glass windows illuminated by the flickering candlelight. “You may be a vampire, but you’re still a sinner—and doesn’t God welcome all the murderers, rapists, and molesters to be redeemed? Isn’t that how it works?” He looked up at the image of a crucified Christ and shouted. “Isn’t that how it works?”
“No, that’s not how it works. Penitence provides salvation.” A voice boomed around them, filling every particle of air, and an unearthly figure appeared in full armor with unsheathed sword. Wings of shimmering pearly white unfurled, scalloped feathered wingtips of a span far greater than twice its body length stretched toward the heavens. His body shone like a jewel, gleaming in the flickering candlelight. Its brilliance made her throw up one arm in front of her eyes, momentarily blinded by his angelic beauty.
“Ah, even better. This is an unparalleled delight. The Left Hand of God. So good of you to join us.” The Druid crowed with mad glee.
“What are you doing here?” Aislinn hissed angrily at the archangel as a wave of indignation slashed through her. “I’ve got this one. He’s mine. Go away.”
“And spoil all the fun?” The Druid shook his head. “It would be considerably duller without him here. Melchior would agree, since you’re more valuable together.”
“Melchior? I thought you were Melchior!” Aislinn said, bewildered.
The Druid tossed back his cowl and stared at her out of milky-white eyes. “You’ll meet him soon enough. Time to run our little experiment. I offered you the return of your sister in exchange for your blood. Are you willing to give up your life for a life, daughter of Kayne?”
Nathan stared at the Druid impassively. “You’re insane. You think the souls of God’s beloved creatures are for ransom?”
“Some would call me a genius.” His voice was cold and ragged. It grated against her eardrums harshly. “Necromancy is more than just a science. It’s magic. The blood of the daughter of Kayne and the Angel of Light will be the sustainable energy for regenerating souls or freeing the imprisoned.”
“Only the Lord has the true power to bring death and make alive. I see now. You wish to become like God.” Nathan murmured sorrowfully at such a wicked act.
The dark mage’s eyes glittered wildly, and spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted, “We are gods!”
As if to prove his point, his fingers drew back in a lightning-quick move, and he cast a spell.
Chapter 32
Aislinn tapped her foot and clapped along to the rhythm of the music as the dancers whirled in front of her. Among them was Sorcha in her splendid léine of embroidered fine linen with its intricate clasps of gold and silver under the beautiful purple mantel she had worn for her handfasting ceremony to Callum. The sunlight was falling on her so that the gold and green linen were shining brightly. Her plaits of hair were like fiery flags of red satin. It had taken Aislinn and Myrna hours to fix Sorcha’s hair in place, four locks in each braid and a bright bead at the point of every lock, but the effort was worth it to see her sister shine radiantly on her wedding day.
As Callum twirled Sorcha in his arms, they exchanged a heated look that made Aislinn deliciously uncomfortable. The butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Would any man look at her the way Callum was looking at her sister?
As Sorcha passed the bench where she was seated, she broke away from the other dancers. She was breathless and flushed from her exertions. Her cheeks were rosy, eyes glittering with a joyous excitement. She had never looked more beautiful.
“Come and dance with me,” she cried and grabbed Aislinn’s hands, pulling her onto the makeshift dance floor. “I have a surprise for you. Callum and I are to have our own home, and I want you to come and live with us. Callum has agreed.”
Aislinn gasped, more in surprise than from the dancing. Her sister’s expression was open and tender.
“Sorcha,” she croaked, choking on her emotions.
She was swarmed in Sorcha’s love. She turned her head to search for Callum, who smiled warmly at her where he sat with the twins, Conor and Seamus, drinking mead.
Spinning around and around until they both grew lightheaded and dizzy, Sorcha’s red hair blazed a trail behind them like streamers in the wind—
“Oh, for the love of the Lord! Lying visions. You tell dreams that are false, you give comfort in vain, and the people wander like sheep oppressed for lack of a shepherd,” Nathan said with a shake of his head as Aislinn looked blankly ahead, consumed in a world of her own. “Release her, Druid.”
“Release her yourself. If you can,” the dark mage said snidely.
“Aislinn, wake up. The mage is playing mind games with you. It’s not real.”
“What?” Aislinn looked around, eyes unfocused and confused.
“It’s not real. It’s an illusion.” The archangel’s eyes were brilliant with annoyance. He would have broken the spell but feared the repercussions if the daughter of Kayne did not accept that what she was experiencing wasn’t reality. “You must fight this. Your desire for your sister’s return is controlling you. Don’t allow the Druid to manipulate you.”
“Sorcha,” she whispered longingly.
“Is dead. Murdered long ago. Remember. The sorcerer is deceiving you. The prophet Isiah foretold this moment. When men say, ‘Inquire of the mediums and the necromancers with their whispers and mutterings, should not people seek guidance from their God? Should they, the living, seek guidance from the dead?’” Nathan touched Aislinn’s face gently, his fingertips radiating celestial light. Its brightness was almost blinding, like Sorcha’s fiery hair lit by the setting sun, blazing behind her unseeing eyes.
Lightheaded, the world spun around her. The dancing and the music ceased. She felt her grip on her sister’s hands slacken.
“Sorcha,” she cried, feeling her soul stretch tight.
“Do you see?”
The dark mage laughed knowingly, gorging upon the power of his magecraft. “She cannot see. It is like Alice through the looking glass, a world created just for her, out of her deepest wishes within her heart.”
Nathan looked with disdain upon the dark mage. “Dist
orted and warped, you mean.”
“It is everything she wants. Everything your god refused to grant her.”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You are not a god. You are just a man. And a little man at that.”
“You wound me, Angel of Light,” the dark mage said but smiled slyly, knowing the daughter of Kayne was trapped within her own mind. “But I see the darkness in you. Jealous much?”
“Of you?” Nathan scoffed, his thin nostrils flaring in anger. “Hardly.”
“Not of me, of your god, your father in Etherean,” the dark mage taunted, his milky-white eyes gleaming with madness. “Of his power. And his creations. His chosen, mortal beings. In this, you’re no better than Kayne.”
Father.
Kayne.
Aislinn closed her eyes. She felt the tightness within her expand through her chest as if it would burst. Somewhere in the distance, a bell marked the hour.
Oranges and lemons…
The bell tolled the time of impending executions.
Here comes the chopper…
“No!” Her knees hit the floor. “Is this all just an illusion? What about my sister?”
“‘What about my sister? What about my sister?’” The dark mage mocked her, mimicking her cry. “What about your sister? Do you think I meant to waste my energy on bringing her back from the dead? What benefit is she to me? She’s already served her purpose with her blood.”
“You bastard! You deserve to die!”
“Oh, give me a break! Don’t be so hypocritical. How many humans have you drained to stay alive? And for what—revenge?”
“Not revenge. Justice.” Hearing the note of hysteria in Aislinn’s voice, Nathan reached down to touch her shoulder, seeking to reassure with the gentle pressure of his compassion. “How could you? Why? Why did you do this?”
The dark mage began to laugh. “Why not? We mages alone found the key to power.” His laugh was monstrous, insane.
She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to keep from falling apart. “Why? Why?” she kept asking.