“Wait, I want to finish. I don’t think me being a Sword Master and you being a pacifist is a bad thing.”
“Even when I tell you I think mercy is stronger than your sword?”
“So is love. So is hate. There are lots of things stronger than my sword.”
“I don’t like violence, Bryan.”
“You think I do?” He shook his head and answered himself before she could. “I don’t! The reason I first picked up a sword was because I hate violence.” His shoulders slumped and he continued with an honesty so raw it was almost painful to hear. “I’m short. I used to be very short. Little, actually. So little I got picked on. I was the butt of jokes. I was ‘the Earl’s middle son who was wee and soft and blond like a lass.’” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t like to fight. I didn’t want to fight. But that didn’t matter. The violence came to me whether I wanted it or not. If I’d given up, given in to it—to them—I would have been broken and hurt and abused. You see, my father was not well liked, and his smallest son was thought to be his weakest link.” He paused and Anastasia could see it was hard for him to talk about this part of his past—hard for him to go back there. “Instead of being broken, I grew strong. I learned how to use a sword to stop the violence done against me. Yes, I was good at it. Yes, I got arrogant and have probably used my sword when I didn’t have to, especially before I was Marked. But the truth is that I prefer to stop violence rather than start it.” His sword-roughened palm was calloused and hard against her smoother one, and she felt that rough touch all through her body. “A Warrior is a protector, not a predator.”
“You live by violence,” she said, but even to her own ears her words sounded weak. “You become something else when you fight. You’ve said it; others have said it. You’re even named after it.”
“I am a dragon only when I have to be and I will always protect my own,” he said. “Try to believe that. Try to believe in me. Give us a chance, Anastasia.”
Her stomach butterflied as she recognized his words. The older version of him, that vampyre Warrior she’d known she could love, had said the very same thing to her—and he had called her “my own.”
“I will give us a chance,” she said slowly, “if you promise to remember that mercy is stronger than your sword.”
“I promise,” he said.
And then Anastasia surprised herself by leaning forward and kissing him on his lips. When she and Bryan parted they looked into each other’s eyes for a very long time, until he said, “After you cast the spell tonight, would you walk with me by the river, back to the meadow?”
“If you’ll protect me,” she said softly.
“I’ll always protect my own,” he repeated. Smiling, he tucked her arm through his and then clucked for the horses to get up and go.
Her arm was still tucked into his as they walked along the cobblestone-lined levee. Anastasia would usually have gazed at the steamboats, which were lined up, one after another, stretching all the way up and down this part of the river. As with some of the luxuries found at the House of Night, she wondered if she’d ever get used to the majesty of the steam-engine boats. They were such a drastic contrast to the city, which was dark and quiet at this late hour. The steamboats truly were floating palaces, still humming with activity, their gay chandeliers glowing, sounds of dancing girls and gamblers drifting over the water like magickal music. Usually her attention would have been occupied with peeking inside the mullioned windows.
But tonight Anastasia barely gave them a glance. Tonight she was completely distracted, and it wasn’t rehearsing the upcoming spell that was the problem. The peace spell was actually one of the simplest to cast. There were only two ingredients, lavender for calming, which would be muddled into a cup for burning by Anastasia’s favorite stone, an ajoite, the stone that had a turquoise phantom within its crystal depths and was always a conduit to peace and pure, loving energy. The spell was elementary: she muddled the lavender with the ajoite and then burned it over an earth candle as she spoke the ageless words of peace. It was easy, fast, and effective.
Then why did she feel so uneasy?
In the distance, over the sounds of revelry from the steamboats, she heard the distinct croaking call of a raven. Anastasia shivered.
“Are you cold?” Bryan pulled her closer to him. “Are you certain you don’t want me to carry your spellwork basket? I have before,” he said, smiling at her.
“I’m fine. And I have to carry the spellwork basket until after I cast the spell. I need to infuse it with my energy.” She smiled at him. “You can carry it back to the buggy.”
“Gladly,” he said.
They walked on, and Anastasia suddenly stopped, pulling him to a halt beside her. “No, that’s not entirely true. I’m not fine, and since you’re my protector, I should be honest with you. Something is wrong. I feel uneasy—afraid.”
He covered her hand with his. “You need not be afraid. I promise you that I am more than a match for any bullying human sheriff.” Bryan looked into her eyes. “Bullies haven’t threatened me for a very long time.”
“Is that confidence or arrogance speaking?”
“Both.” He smiled. “Come, let’s finish this so we can move on to better things tonight.” He pointed to a small park-like area just ahead of them and to their left. “The jailhouse is the square stone building on the other side of the town green.”
“Good, yes, let’s do get this done.” Anastasia hurried forward with Bryan, ignoring the dark feeling that had been shadowing her since the Council Meeting. It’s nerves, that’s all, she told herself. My House of Night is counting on me, and I’m being wooed by a charming fledgling. I just need to focus, ground myself, and do what I know I must.
“What is it you need me to do?” Bryan asked as they walked through the little park and approached the dour stone building.
“Actually, the less you do the better.” He looked at her quizzically and she explained. “Bryan, I know you’re here as my protector, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a swordsman. You represent the opposite of a peace spell.”
“But I–,” he began, but she stopped him. “Oh, I know your intention is good, peaceful even, but that doesn’t change your essence, your aura. It’s that of a Warrior.”
He grinned. She frowned.
“I didn’t mean that as a compliment,” she said, ignoring his grin. Then she studied the stone building as she reasoned through the steps of the spell aloud. “I’m going to place the candles and cast the circle around the jailhouse itself. The front faces the river, which means it faces east. That’s good. I would usually burn the lavender over the earth candle because I feel most closely allied to earth, but I want this spell to be carried throughout the city, so I’d already decided to use the air candle this time as a catalyst for the spell. I like that the entrance faces air in the east—it’s a good omen,” she said brightly, trying to ignore the nagging feeling of unease that simply would not leave her be.
“That sounds good—logical,” he said, nodding. “So, I’ll walk with you, but stay outside the circle?”
“No,” she said, already prodding around in her basket, being sure the small, brightly colored tea light candles she’d brought were in order. “Just stay here in the park.”
“But I won’t be able to see you when you’re on the rear and far sides of the building.”
“No, but you’ll be able to hear me,” she said absently, already beginning to ground herself and focus on the spell at hand.
“Anastasia, I don’t like that you’re going to be out of my sight.”
She glanced at him. “Bryan, this is a peace spell. From the moment I begin crushing the lavender, peace and calm will soothe from me. I know you’re here to look out for trouble, and I’m glad you are, but the truth is, it is very rare, almost unheard of, for a priestess to be attacked during the casting of a spell such as this.” Anastasia knew the words she was saying were true, but they felt wrong, as if some outside presence was weighing them a
nd finding them lacking. She shook her head, more at herself than at Bryan. “No, you cannot follow me during the spell.”
“All right. I understand. I don’t like it, but I’ll stay here.” He pointed to a shadowy area at the edge of the park, well outside the meager gaslight illumination of the front of the jailhouse. “You know there is very little light around the building.”
She raised her brows at him, “Bryan, I’m a vampyre. I only need very little light, and it’s a good thing it’s so dark here. It’ll keep my spellwork from human eyes, remember?”
“I didn’t mean–I’m just saying that–,” he started twice, and then sighed, walked over to the area he’d pointed to, and said firmly, “I’ll be here. Waiting for you.”
“Good,” she said. “This shouldn’t take long, but I do tend to get caught up in my spellwork.” Anastasia walked past him purposefully, giving his arm an absent pat.
“I know,” he muttered, and then called to her, “You wouldn’t even notice a rampaging bear.”
“It wasn’t rampaging,” she called back, laughing.
He’d lightened her mood a little, so that she whispered Nyx’s name with a smile on her lips and, feeling more confident and serene, Anastasia placed the first candle—yellow, in the east for air—and called the element to her circle. Concentrating completely on the spell to come, she reached into the velvet bag that held the binding salt, and as she moved clockwise around the jailhouse, inviting the elements to create a circle, she sprinkled the salt in an unbroken line over the well-trod ground, whispering:
“Salt I use this spell to bind,
to seal intent, peace on my mind.”
Foreboding pushed aside, Anastasia moved around the jailhouse, casting her circle and thinking calm, serene, happy thoughts. And, though she had decided to set the spell with the air candle, as she worked she automatically visualized reaching down deep into the soil below her and pulling up rich earth magick to help ground the spell and reinforce her intent.
As it had been doing since she’d attempted her first fledgling spell, the element responded to Anastasia, and strong, steady earth magick awakened beneath the jailhouse and began to flow.
The creature of Darkness and spirit that crouched in the basement felt the earth surge in answer to the gentle request of the young priestess, and it knew the time had come to do its master’s will. It began a whisper of quite a different sort.
The human, who had taken to pacing back and forth, back and forth before the silver cage long into the night, paused and listened.
“For the cold fire to survive
the vampyre Anastasia must not be alive.”
“Yes! Yes, I know.” Biddle snarled the words at the creature. Compulsively, his head twitched and he kept plucking at his shirt, as if to rid himself of imagined insects that crawled over his skin. “But I can’t get to her in the middle of that vampyre nest.”
“Tonight she is near.
Kill her above, then bring her here.”
“You mean she’s outside? Alone?” Biddle didn’t seem to notice that the creature’s voice had changed, gone from a halting serpentine whisper that was barely human to a deep melodic chant that was far too seductive to be human.
“Her protector is Dragon Lankford,
but cold fire can conquer his sword.”
From inside the cage the shadowy creature opened its maw wide and, with a terrible retching sound, sticky threads of blackness spewed forth from it, slithering to Biddle, who came forward eagerly to meet them. As if greeting a lover, he moaned in pleasure as Darkness wrapped around his legs and seeped beneath his skin, filling him with a power that was as addictive as it was destructive.
Swollen with borrowed might, Biddle pulled out the long knife he’d taken to carrying since he’d caught the creature—since he’d been feeding it blood.
“After the vampyre’s blood feeds me,
more power for you there will be.”
“Yes! With more power I can get rid of those goddamned vampyres forever! I’ll pick ’em off one by one if I got to. And I’ll start tonight with that arrogant little bastard.” Biddle began up the narrow stairwell. Behind him the creature was still speaking:
“Do not get distracted by the boy!
With Anastasia gone he is but fate’s toy.”
Biddle plucked at his shirt, laughed to himself, and ignored the creature’s words.
“Deep peace of the gentle breeze to you…”
Anastasia’s spell drifted through the night to Dragon. He could see her silhouette in front of the jailhouse, just outside the edge of the flickering gaslights that framed the stone doorway. She spoke in the same singsong cadence she’d used for her drawing spell.
“Deep peace of the warmest fire to you…”
Dragon thought her voice was probably the loveliest sound he’d ever heard. It soothed him and made everything feel right in his world.
“Deep peace of the crystal seas to you…”
He had been worrying about the fact that Anastasia didn’t like it that he was going to be a Warrior, but as she cast her spell, speaking the words and feeding the ajoite-crushed lavender to the fire, Bryan realized he didn’t have anything to be troubled about.
“Deep peace of the timeless earth to you…”
It would be easy to convince Anastasia he wasn’t really violent. He wasn’t like he used to be. He was older and wiser. He only used his sword when he had to—or mostly only used it then. She would see.
“Deep peace of the shining moon to you…”
She would understand. Dragon let out a low, slow sigh and leaned more comfortably against the big oak. He was looking up at the sky and thinking that he’d been really smart to leave those sunflowers for Anastasia every day when it happened. One moment he was standing there, peaceful, filled with true contentment, and the next Biddle was in front of him.
Dragon stared at the man, frozen by surprise. In just the few days since Dragon had last seen him, Biddle has gone through a terrible transformation. His face was gaunt. His cheeks, hollow. The skin under his eyes was puffy and dark. He twitched spasmodically. This was what had broken up the Dark Daughters’ Ritual and run them off their island? Dragon thought he could snap the skinny human with one hand. He was obviously nothing but the pathetic shell of a man.
Dragon tried to keep the disgust from his voice when he said, “Sheriff Biddle, is there something I can do for you?”
Biddle smiled. “Yep. You can die.”
For the first time in his life, Bryan Dragon Lankford looked into the face of true evil.
Instinct had Dragon reaching down to unsheathe his sword, but he was too late. Biddle struck with a speed and strength that was inhuman. He grabbed Dragon by the throat and rammed him against the hard bark of the oak tree, forcing the air to whoosh from his body. With his other hand the sheriff knocked the sword from Dragon’s failing grip.
Biddle sneered into Dragon’s face, saying, “You blustering little braggart!”
“No!” Dragon choked, trying to struggle for air. The eerie familiarity of the sheriff’s words and actions shocked him to his core, and suddenly he was back in that stable four years before, losing his home and his family and his birthright all over again.
“And you know what,” Biddle said, pressing his mouth close to Bryan’s ear. “I ain’t gonna kill her up here and take her down there. I’m gonna do what I want. I’ll take her down there and kill her, but first I’m gonna to have me some fun with that pretty little vampyre cunny.”
Dragon’s throat was on fire, and as everything went dark for him he heard Anastasia, much too close, scream his name.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Anastasia knew something was wrong. She could feel it like the change that happens in the air before a thunderstorm breaks. She was calling on the deep peace of each of the five elements when the wrongness slicked through the night, shattering her concentration and breaking the casting of the spell.
Automatically, her gaze
turned to Bryan, to see if he knew what it was—knew what they should do. Horrified, she looked in time to see the human move so quickly that her brain tried to deny her eyes. He picked up Bryan Lankford, Dragon Lankford, Sword Master of Vampyres, by his throat and held him against a tree, and then began choking the life from him.
She didn’t hesitate. Anastasia ran straight at the man who was killing Bryan. Screaming his name, she hurled herself into the man, trying to get him to let Bryan loose.
He did let Bryan loose so that he could knock her to the ground. Head reeling, fighting to clear the specks of light from her eyes, Anastasia crawled over to Bryan, reaching for his hand.
“Bryan! Oh, goddess, no!” He was so still, and his throat looked wrong, like it had collapsed. He wasn’t breathing. She could see he wasn’t breathing at all.
“Leave him be,” the human growled. He grabbed for her, but Anastasia scrambled around the tree, avoiding his praying mantis reach.
“Want to play you a little hide-and-seek, do ya?” The human chuckled. “Well, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little foreplay. Biddle is comin’ to get ya…” And he started to stalk her around the tree.
Anastasia looked into the man’s eyes and saw that the fledgling High Priestess in Training had been right. Biddle was utterly mad.
She knew she only had seconds, so instead of trying to avoid the creature called Biddle, she crouched, put one hand on the thick bark of the tree. The other she placed gently on Bryan’s throat. Anastasia closed her eyes and thought of the earth below the tree—the rich, timeless, living strength that she believed with all her soul to be there. She envisioned it as a green fountain shooting up through the ground, to the tree’s roots, into the tree itself, and from there flowing into her, through her, and into Bryan.