“Who’s Eleanor?” Gabby asked.
“The witch I thought I loved back in the early sixteenth century,” he explained. “She went against her coven to be with me, and when they found out, they turned her against me. She was in the middle of carving my forehead up when Regulus showed.”
At the mention of her dead love, Gabby stiffened. “Regulus?”
“It was the day I first met him,” Nye said. “He saved me from Eleanor that day and the Unhallowed in the decades after, and in return, I became one of the first members of the Six. Now the Unhallowed are back.”
“Not just the Unhallowed,” she drawled.
“No, not just them. I don’t understand how Eleanor has survived all this time. I cut off her head, and that’s a pretty final way of dying. Perhaps it has to do with the siphoning. Aya had her head cut off once, and she’s still around…”
“The Unhallowed are siphoning power?” Gabby asked with a frown. It was the second time he’d used that word. “What do you mean by that?”
“They use spells—symbols—to drain someone of their power,” he said. “It’s what happened to the two vampires we’ve found so far. The first was reanimated, and the second we don’t know because I had it burned to ash by Reed.”
“Who’s Reed?”
“The leader of the new and improved Six.”
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Great.”
“They were needed,” he replied. “And Reed has been invaluable.”
Gabby wasn’t listening, not really. Her thoughts were dwelling on the word Nye had used. Siphoning. It meant to take a creature’s power and possess it, almost like charging a battery.
“Witches channel another’s power like a conduit,” she said after a moment. “We don’t take it. We can’t.”
Nye’s brow furrowed, and he moved to sit across from her. “So a witch can’t siphon?”
“No, not really. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Sabine is obviously a hack, then,” Nye muttered. “She’s so fired.”
“Who’s Sabine?” Gabby asked. “If she’s the witch who made that mess in the yard, then yeah, fire her.”
He snorted, and she knew there was more to that story, too. This witch had probably been trying to wrap him around her little finger. Too bad he seemed to be preoccupied with her human friend down the hall. That was another problem, and one she’d deal with once they’d figured out this Unhallowed snake pit.
“There’s only one explanation I can think of for this,” she mused aloud. “It’s so farfetched I’ve got to be wrong.”
“Trust me, farfetched is better than nothing right now. Not when a witch that’s supposed to be four hundred years dead in the ground is trying to carve her finger paintings into the chest of my right-hand man.”
“Tristan… Has he recovered?” she asked.
“Yes, he seems fine now. I think his pride was hurt a little, though. He’s out with the Six looking for signs of Eleanor’s graffiti.”
“Good, but you should warn him and your little personal guard as soon as possible because if I’m right, there’s no fighting this thing. Not by you or them.”
Nye leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you think they are, Gabby?”
“Wraiths,” she said simply.
“Wraiths?” Nye asked, cocking his head to the side.
“They haven’t been seen in hundreds, bordering on thousands, of years. At least, not in any written history I’ve seen,” she explained. “Wraiths siphon power from other witches, vampires, living creatures, even ley lines—the spiritual energy of the earth. They deal in dark, evil magic. If that’s the case, then I’m not sure what I can do. I have no idea how to fight something that’s not meant to exist anymore. A vampire, even one as old as Tristan, sure as hell doesn’t have any power against them.”
He snorted and rubbed his eyes, feeling tired, which was difficult for a vampire with boundless energy. “So you’re saying we’re dealing with immortal, ghostly super witches?”
“The immortal part is sketchy but pretty much.”
“There must be a way to get rid of them…”
She shrugged. Just when life was beginning to calm down, in rolled Nye and his ex-girlfriend. It was all a little taxing right after a long-haul flight from America.
Nye waved his hand around, gesturing to the walls filled with grimoires. “You have the wealth of knowledge Regulus collected over thousands of years at your fingertips. I’m sure there’s something in one of these musty old books that can help.”
It was entirely possible, but she was offended by Nye’s flippant tone. It was her house, so she was a part of this mess, no matter how much she wanted out. Anyway, she might be the only one who had a chance of unraveling whatever the Unhallowed had put into motion.
“I’d like to talk with Tristan when he gets back,” she said, ignoring the spy. “I want to make sure he’s all right.”
“I’ll let him know.” He glanced toward the place Gabby knew Isobel’s room was. “Is there anything you can do about the wards in the yard? The mansion should be fortified.”
“Yes, I know a few that should do the trick.” She narrowed her eyes, her thoughts going to her friend. Nye was awfully interested in her well-being, and she was beginning to think there was more to it than just crossing Alex.
“Nye…what exactly is going on with you and Isobel?”
“Do the wards cover wraiths?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“The spell extends to wraiths,” she replied with a sigh, knowing she wouldn’t get it out of him anytime soon. Isobel on the other hand… “Don’t worry about that. Isobel will be safe inside the house. I’ll recast all the wards in the garden as a precaution, but it’ll take some time.”
“What about the barrier on the house?”
“I can’t remove it without a great deal of hassle,” she replied. “I think it’s best to leave it intact for now. That’s the one thing this Sabine did well.”
He nodded. “What can I do now?”
“For starters, you can go get my suitcase from the foyer and bring it to my room. I’m going to see Izzy and get her side of the story.”
Nye’s eyes widened, and he began to open his mouth to complain, but she was already on her feet and at the study door. She was not beholden to comply with his commands. He was the leader of the London vampires, not witches, and Gabby was a witch unto her own, anyway. She had no coven or duty to adhere to other than her own conscience. In many ways, it was a blessing to have the freedom she did even though she felt lonely on occasion.
Nye had given Isobel the room at the end of the hall. Gabby knocked softly on the door and then opened it a crack. Izzy was sitting on the couch, her hopeful gaze fixed on the door. Sliding through the gap, Gabby smiled at her friend.
“He gave you the best room in the house,” she mused, glancing around the posh interior. King-sized bed, separate sitting area with a couch and matching armchairs, massive television, walk-in robe, and a black marble bathroom with an epic tub. Pretty swish. The view over the back garden was pretty up there as well.
“Oh?” Izzy asked, glancing around.
“I took Regulus’s old room,” she went on, beginning to realize Izzy meant more to Nye than just a passing flirtation. “It’s on the other side of the mansion, but this is pretty nice.”
She stood there for a moment, regarding their predicament. It felt a little strange to see Isobel here in the mansion, and when Alex found out she’d been dragged into one of their supernatural messes, he’d be livid. Best to keep him in the dark until the moment they couldn’t put it off any longer.
“It’s really great to see you, Gabby,” Isobel said, her shoulders sinking. “I was beginning to think I was alone in here.”
“You’re never alone, Izzy,” she replied, sitting beside her on the couch.
She attempted a smile, but it faded as soon as it appeared.
“How are you?” she asked her friend. “H
as Nye been treating you okay? Did they remember to feed you?”
Isobel laughed. “Getting fed was an experience. Have you seen the contents of your fridge?”
“Have I ever.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of all the crazy things that had happened hanging over their heads.
“What exactly happened to get you stuck in here?” Gabby asked after a moment. “Nye likes to spin his own stories, so I’d like to hear it from you.”
“What’s there to tell?” she replied. “I came looking for Alex. I hadn’t heard from him since he left Oxford, and it wasn’t until I was here that Nye told me he’d gone home with you. Apparently, by then, it was too late to avoid being stuck here. Nye lured me inside like a creepy kidnapper with a lollypop.”
“Is that all?” she asked, but Isobel wasn’t listening.
“You can talk to him,” she said, taking Gabby’s hands. “You can convince him to let me go home.”
“Uh…” she began, and Isobel shook her head.
“I’m stuck here like a useless lump,” she argued. “He won’t let me help, he won’t explain everything, he won’t talk to me after he…” She pulled her hands away and shook her head in frustration.
“After he what?”
“It doesn’t even matter,” she said, her voice wavering. “His silence is all the answer I need.”
“Isobel,” Gabby prodded. “What did Nye do to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t want to happen,” she replied sheepishly. “Well, except for the…thing.”
“Thing?”
“We were, uh…” She gestured to the couch they sat on. “And he, uh…”
Gabby almost leapt off the couch. “You were making out with him?”
“He got a little carried away,” Isobel said, trying to calm her. “He warned me, and I pushed him too far…”
“He bit you?” Gabby exclaimed, finally allowing her mind to slot the pieces together.
“Tristan healed me,” Isobel went on like she was making an excuse for the spy. “But ever since, it’s been like he’s a ghost. I saw him once when Tristan was attacked… Or at least, I think he was attacked since nobody will tell me what’s going on.”
Gabby couldn’t get over the fact that Nye had ripped into her friend’s skin and fed from her. Not by a long shot. “I’m going to wring his filthy—”
“How’s Alex?” Izzy asked, looking hopeful. “I’m worried about him. His life is all screwed up, and he went home to… I can’t even say it.”
“Alex is handling things pretty well,” Gabby said, letting her anger simmer down. “He signed over his business to Freddy Hanson.”
“Freddy Hanson? The guy he used to work with?”
“The one and the same.”
“Good choice.”
“He’s okay, Izzy. The first few months are going to be tough, but he’ll get through it. He’s got you.”
Isobel rolled her eyes. “Fat lot of good I’ll do. I try to understand all this vampire stuff, but I’m just clueless. It’s not like there’s a handbook anywhere I can study. I’m a gun at research and analysis. I try to listen to things around here, but they’re vampires with super hearing and know how to talk at levels only dogs can hear.”
Gabby stifled a laugh. It must have been really colorful around here with Isobel on deck to hand Nye his ass.
“How much do you know about what’s going on around here?” she asked, finally able to settle down from the shock of finding out that Isobel was kissing and dry humping Nye to the point he decided feeding on her was a good idea. It was yet another thing she had to scold the vampire over.
“He told me about the Unhallowed and how they’re mad at him for killing one of them like a gazillion years ago. But it took almost getting my face eaten off by a zombie for him to tell me anything,” Isobel practically wailed. “I feel so useless.”
Knowing Izzy, she wouldn’t have made it easy for Nye, not for one second. Two strong-minded individuals like those pair were bound to be at each other’s throats. Perhaps that was a bad turn of phrase considering the spy’s slip.
“So you know about Eleanor,” she said.
“Who’s Eleanor?” Isobel asked with a frown.
So Nye had left out the part about his ex-lover, then. Perhaps he did care a little about Isobel after all if he was trying to shield her from his past mistakes rather than just compel her to bug off.
“She’s one of the Unhallowed witches, apparently,” she replied quickly. “We have a name now at least, so it’s only a matter of time before we find them and put an end to this crazy revenge plot.”
“Is there anything I can do? Do you need a research assistant? Sparring partner? Anything?”
“Don’t worry too much,” Gabby said, knowing Isobel was going stir-crazy locked inside the mansion with all the pent-up sexual tension she had with Nye. “Now that I’m back, I can do my best to bail Nye’s ass out of trouble, and you’ll be safe to go back to Oxford. I’ve got your back, Izzy.”
Isobel sank back onto the couch with a relieved sigh. “Everything’s so screwed up.”
Gabby snorted at the irony. “That’s just another day in paradise around here.”
Chapter 12
The air was icy against Nye’s skin as he stood in the middle of the woods, flakes of snow sticking to his black woolen coat. His breath plumed out in front of him as he turned, trying to remember where he was, but he couldn’t recall.
How did he get here?
Glancing at his feet, he stilled. The snow lay thick on the ground, stained red with a torrent of blood, but no body was anywhere to be seen. He was alone…or was he?
The hairs on the back of his neck began to tingle and he turned, his gaze meeting a familiar one. Eleanor.
Her hair was out, strands of wild curls haloing her pale features, and her cheeks flushed pink in the cold air. He saw her long skirts and cloak and remembered it was what she was wearing the day she died. This whole place…it was where he’d killed her.
“I find it curious how even the immortal never stray too far from where they were born,” she said, her voice loud in the silence. “No matter what they’ve become.”
“What is this?” he asked, looking around at the snow-covered clearing.
“It’s just a dream,” she replied, laying a hand over his heart. “Don’t look so panicked.”
“Vampires don’t dream,” he snapped, pushing her away.
Eleanor smiled and drew her hand under her cloak. “Are you afraid?”
Nye narrowed his eyes and snorted. “Not of you.”
“Ah, perhaps not, but you are afraid of something, dear Nye. What could it be?” She moved silently over the snow, circling him as she pondered her own question.
Her boots made no sound as she walked. The air was still, and the animals of the woods were nowhere to be found. If she was trying to trick him with this glimpse of his past, she certainly lacked the attention to detail that it required.
“You’re wasting your time, Eleanor,” he said. “You will fail, just as you did the first time.”
She laughed softly. “You’re still the same as I remember you. Passionate yet arrogant. Handsome and naive… You think all this is about you?” Her laughter grew. “Oh, dear Nye. You poor lost little boy.”
“Then what is it about?”
She stopped in front of him, and her smile faded. “Me.”
One moment, Nye was standing there letting her declaration sink in, and the next, he was flying across the clearing, his limbs flapping uselessly. His body collided with a tree, his head cracking against the trunk.
Eleanor stood before him, her body melding against his as her arms wrapped around his neck like a lover. Just as she had the day she’d attacked him outside of York.
“It’s only a matter of time,” she purred, and the vision dissolved, melting into nothingness.
Gasping for air, Nye sat up in bed, his chest heaving.
Darkness surrounde
d him, his bedroom empty save for his sorry ass.
Rubbing his mouth, he realized his fangs were bared, ready to rip Eleanor’s throat out…but she’d just been in his dream. She wasn’t real…or was she? He wouldn’t put it past the Unhallowed to put visions in his mind to unsettle his nerves and corrode his strength. Or perhaps it was his own mind bringing his fears to life.
Climbing out of bed, he padded into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, clearing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. Staring at his reflection, he studied the rise and fall of his scar, the memory of steel slicing into his flesh rising from the darkness. Fire, screams, blood, and another kind of kiss. Salt searing into his human flesh as he sank beneath the waves of the burning ocean, the tide ebbing and flowing, sucking him deeper toward death.
What kind of life would Isobel have had if he’d drowned in the ocean that night as the Spanish Armada burned atop the heaving English Channel?
Hissing, he turned, strode into the bedroom, and pulled on a shirt and a pair of trousers. There was no way he was resting easy tonight.
Nye found himself in the foyer of the mansion.
He stood before the painting Isobel told him was worth a great deal of money. A lost relic of the Renaissance, and here it was, hanging in Regulus’s house, the Roman having no regard for its place in human history. Perhaps it was a metaphor for their kind and their inability to care about mortality. Or maybe he’d just liked the painting.
What had Isobel called it? He didn’t remember because he’d been too busy watching her rather than listening. Eleanor was right. He wasn’t afraid of the Unhallowed coming to kill him. He was afraid of something else. Something more profound.
“Nye, what are you doin’?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the appearance of Tristan and wished the knight would just go away and leave him be, but he knew he wasn’t getting out of this without a grilling.
“What are you doing here, more like it,” he replied. “It’s three in the morning.”