Bloodcraft (15 page)

“Did you do this to him?” he said, not answering her question.

“He tried to kill my friend.” A thin black snake curled between her fingers.

“Your friend is a snake?”

“My dearest friend.” Confusion marred Lucian’s features before comprehension dawned. The snake was a
familiar.
This girl must be the witch that Kristos had been talking about. Lucian relaxed his aggressive stance, although he remained wary. His objective was to approach the witch, not put her on the offensive. He spread his hands in a gesture of goodwill.

“My apologies for my companion. He was wrong to try to do what he did.” The girl tipped her head again in a funny fashion, as if listening to her inside voice, and watched him with unblinking eyes as if waiting for him to continue. “My name is Lucian. I was looking for you, as a matter of fact.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I can help you.” The snake writhed protectively up her arm to twine about her neck. It hissed in his direction, a forked tongue flicking out as if tasting the air. He spread his hands in a placating gesture once more. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I can help you understand the changes that are happening to you, young one.”

Her eyes widened at his statement. Now Lucian understood what Kristos had tried to explain about the girl. She must be barely thirteen, which meant she’d only recently awakened. That would explain her lack of control over her abilities. Lucian blinked. She was strong. He could feel the raw magic surrounding her as if it were extensions of her body.

“What would you help me with?”

“With your awakening,” he said.

Her small body shook with tremors. She seemed overcome with emotion. Lucian stepped closer and closer again. The girl was laughing. Her body heaved as her laugh turned manic, the hollow sound distorting in the alley. Kristos made choking noises behind him, but he could barely turn to look, his attention was caught by the slight figure in front of him. Something felt wrong—every cell within him warned against danger, but Lucian only arched an arrogant eyebrow. This was a child-witch. He would kill her without a thought if it came down to it.

“Exactly how old do you think I am?” she asked him, cocking her head to the side.

“Thirteen?” Her smile widened.

“What else do you see about me? How do I look to you?” Lucian frowned. Something about her voice was different. It sounded like she was swallowing gravel. The black snake had wound its way around her throat, its shiny scales shimmering between the curls of her hair. Its head rested on level with her left ear.

“How you look?” he asked. She nodded. “You look like a young girl with black … hair and a black snake.”

“And you look like a vampire.” She bared her teeth in an ugly grin and suddenly Lucian felt something clammy take hold of his insides. He dove to the side just as the snake launched itself toward him, its fangs glinting and lethal. He rolled swiftly and eased into a crouch as the black cobra flared the wings on either side of its head and hissed.

“I am no threat to you,” Lucian said. “We can help each other.”

“I doubt that.”

Before his very eyes, the small girl started shifting. The haziness surrounding her became indistinct and he squinted. She seemed to be growing, thickening. The air around her settled and in her place stood a burly looking man. A man! The snake had slithered back to its master’s feet and slid up his leg. Even from a distance Lucian could see the telltale black mark that streaked from lower lip to chin. His eyes narrowed.

“Why the pretense, warlock?”

“Hunting.” His voice was thin, gravelly. The warlock laughed. “Hunting for the thing that’s been on a killing spree against my kind, and I find you and your friend soliciting a young, defenseless witch in a very seedy part of town. Interesting, no?”

“Your kind?” Lucian said coolly. “The warlocks hold no allegiance to the Witch Clans.”

“We do when it suits our purposes, and right now, our purpose is to ally against the vampires.” He grinned again. “No more hunting little witches for you, my friend.”

The warlock swung his arm in a wide arc and Lucian dodged the ball of yellow fire with inches to spare. He twirled and risked a glance at Kristos, who hung limply against the wall. His body was gray, as if he’d been leached of blood and turned to stone. If he weren’t already dead, he would soon be. Lucian snarled. They’d been careless to fall into this trap, but it was too late for regrets now. He faced the warlock squarely, feeling the change take over. His jaw tightened, his teeth lengthening.

“You should know that I am also no fledgling vampire,” Lucian said, straightening. He snarled, baring lethal fangs. “I am a vampire overlord. You risk war against us on a guess that I am the one who has killed witches? Your idiocy will not go unpunished.”

“Then this should be fun. War between the clans and vampires is just one piece of the puzzle for us. The more of you and them dead, the better.”

“The minute I die, everything about this unfortunate meeting will be transferred to the Vampire Council. Your words, your face, your intent, everything.”

Then the warlock did something that Lucian did not expect. He laughed in his face. It was a sound of genuine mirth. Lucian stiffened.

“Then all they would see is a strong, powerful vampire overlord and a tiny just-awakened witch defending herself. You’ve already been known to attack defenseless witches, haven’t you, Lord
Devereux
?” The warlock’s smile was calculating, and Lucian faltered for a second. Understanding ballooned like a delayed explosion. The warlock had known all along who he was … because he had
tracked
them from Lucian’s house. This was all a set-up, a clever machinated trap—one designed to drive a wedge between the vampires and the Witch Clans. Even though Lucian was persona non grata with the Council, his death would be the proverbial nail in the coffin.

Lucian glanced to the right, calculating the odds of escape. Slim, but still a chance. He gathered his strength.

The warlock’s grin widened.

Lucian feinted to the left and the warlock mimicked his movement. He spun to the right and almost collided with the warlock, who had teleported to block his escape via the right side of the narrow alley, forcing Lucian to somersault backward. Lucian dropped into a crouch. He would tear his way through the warlock if he had to.

“
Incendo maleficus
!” the warlock shouted. The black fire exploded into the wall behind Lucian as he leapt out of the way, only to consume Kristos’s inert body. It crumbled to nothingness, leaving nothing but a blackened smear on the greasy red brick wall. Lucian growled. There was a way he could get the true images of this warlock to the Council, but it was one that he refused to consider even in the face of death. He would rather die than call his brother for help. He resorted to diplomatic entreaty instead.

“Why don’t we talk about this? You are obviously very powerful, as am I, and we could be here all night.” The warlock did not answer, but tipped his head to the side, in much the same way as the slight girl had done earlier. The action seemed incongruous with his burly appearance.

“We could, but I prefer to do this quickly.”

“Wait.”

“Goodbye, Lord Devereux. Your death will inspire a flurry of blood vengeance that we, the warlocks, will only welcome. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and the outcome of war can only be in our favor. We welcome that, for the vampires have always been a silent enemy and the Witch Clans remain our greatest foe. We will watch you kill each other.”

Lucian laughed and the sound was as mocking as the one that had preceded it from the lips of the warlock. “You think my death will ignite war? Hardly.”

“You are a vampire royal. We know exactly who you are.”

“Then you have mistaken me for my brother. He is the royal, not I.”

The warlock curled a lip. “You, your brother, it matters not. You are the overlord of House Devereux, one of the seven.”

“Fallen, my friend. A fallen vampire whose death will do nothing for your cause. The clans will celebrate my death and the Vampire Council will concede for political reasons that my death was truly a sanctioned execution for my crimes against the Witch Clans,” Lucian said. He laughed again. “You are only doing them a favor, one they will thank you—or the Witch Clans—for.”

“I have my orders. You must die.”

The warlock’s hands spun in a circle above his head, and Lucian could feel the shift in the air as energy rushed toward the man’s body. The snake was wrapped around his chest and torso. Two pairs of eyes burned holes in his direction.

“
Evoco … infensus … simulacrum … diabolus …”

A spectral shape began to form in front of the warlock and, for the first time since he had encountered the witch/warlock, Lucian felt a tendril of fear curl up his spine. That chant meant that the warlock was summoning something. Lucian was well aware of his limits when it came to demons and his chances of escaping alive were slim to none, especially cornered as he was.

“Wait,” Lucian said, but the warlock ignored him.

“
Evoco … infensus … simulacrum … diabolus …”

The shape expanded and began to solidify. The smell of sulfur stung the air as the beast, ripped from the bowels of its dimension, answered its master’s call. Lucian gritted his teeth, his lips curled back in panic.

“I said wait! The vampires have Le Sang Noir … what your people call the Cruentus Curse.” The warlock froze mid-incantation, the spectral demon shape remaining indistinct and cloudy. Its smell was still rank, but there was no further solidification. The warlock frowned as he tried to maintain the summoning while at the same time trying to focus on Lucian.

“What did you say?” he said in a hiss.

“You heard me, warlock.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, as if assessing his words for truth. “What of it?”

“They have it in their possession. Le Sang Noir … the ultimate weapon against us all. You think a war between the vampires and the clans will help your position? Once they are done with the clans, they will do the same to everyone who stands in their path, including you. You have already lost!” Lucian’s voice was a desperate growl.

“You talk of something you know nothing about, vampire.”

“Don’t I?” Lucian laughed in the warlock’s face. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. The witch’s blood is black, it smells like your heart’s deepest desires, and it is wielded by the descendant of the Duchess of Lancaster, who looks very much like her, I must say.”

“You’ve seen it? You’ve seen her?” The warlock’s sharp whisper was disbelieving. His eyes narrowed. “But yet you live to tell the tale?”

Lucian scowled. “She was too busy killing other
warlocks
to attack me, one by the name of Gabriel. If you kill me now, you will lose a potential ally in your cause.” The warlock’s face remained impassive as he considered Lucian’s offer. The shape beside him writhed as if caught in between dimensions.

“
You
want to align with us? Why should I trust a word you say? You are a vampire and bound to your own kind.”

“Not if my own kind has turned against me,” Lucian said. “I want to be on the side that wins. If that means you, then yes, I will join you.”

“And the Cruentus Curse?”

“I can point you in her direction. I know where she can be found.”

“And you think that she will allow herself to be taken? If she is who you say she is, then she is more powerful than the clans and the warlocks combined.”

Lucian smiled. “She is, you see, but I know her greatest weakness.”

“Why should we trust you?” the warlock growled.

“Because you have nothing to lose. You are welcome to kill me later if what I say is not true. Take me to the one who leads you.”

A keening sound pierced the air and Lucian realized that it was the half-summoned demon begging to be released, either back to its dimension or into the world it’d been called to. The warlock’s attention sprang back to his task. The cloudy vapor swirled as he negated the final steps of the spell. The shape disappeared. Lucian exhaled slowly, relief flooding him. He kept the arrogant smirk on his face.

“Any tricks and you die,” the warlock warned.

Lucian knew that he was playing a dangerous game, but he’d always had a special gift for understanding what drove people. The lust for power was the same, no matter the species, and it was the one commonality that bound them across worlds. The basis of a plan formed in his head. He’d help the warlocks in return for amnesty and would convince them of his loyalty. He would give dogs his allegiance if it furthered his own cause—he wanted to eliminate the Council and assume the mantle of their leader. Lucian was a brilliant strategist, more so when his life hung in the balance. He’d sought a witch to win over to his side and, instead, he’d found a coven of warlocks who were playing both sides for their own endgame. Their goals were the same.

Only the rules had changed.

And Lucian was, if anything, a master opportunist.

He approached the warlock, his head held high with no fear in his expression or demeanor. The snake hissed at him, but Lucian ignored it. He raised an eyebrow.

“Are we going or not?” he said, his voice dripping with purposeful, barely veiled contempt. Arrogance would be the key to this performance. It implied strength and a disdain for death. Only the weak were afraid and displaying fear would be his downfall.

The warlock’s eyes narrowed, but he grasped Lucian’s shoulder. His smile was not encouraging. “
Transeo
.”

At the last moment, Lucian felt something materialize at his back and turned instinctively toward the pull. All he saw were two glowing red eyes before he was drawn into the teleportation spell. The distant grumble of a predator deprived of its prey reverberated through the teleportation tunnel and Lucian shook his head. His fear was making him imagine things. The warlock had dismissed the demon he’d summoned.

Despite his bravado, Lucian
was
afraid—he knew that he was taking an enormous risk, but as far as he could ascertain, the outcome of meeting with the warlocks could only be to his benefit. He had something they desperately wanted and, in return, he would negotiate for immunity from any attack. It was better than anything he could have come up with on his own, short of convincing Victoria to help him, which he knew she’d never do. But she was weak where his brother was concerned … and no one knew that better than Lucian. She’d told him so herself.