Blood Prophecy (20 page)

I followed the scorch marks from my last encounter with the dragon until I reached the caves. Warm firelight glowed from one
of the openings. I climbed up, sweat soaking into my hair, which lay cold and damp over my neck. By the time I stumbled inside, I was covered in dirt and grime. Gwyneth didn’t even look up from the fire she was poking with a stick. “I knew you’d be back.”

“I need to talk to you,” I said as politely as I could.

“Of course you do.” She finally glanced at me. “You’ve already lasted longer than I’d thought. I’m impressed.” She tilted her head, like a bird. “And you got out.”

“Yes,” I admitted, giving in to fatigue and sitting down next to her. “I got back to Violet Hill. But not for long.” Just long enough to get London killed. I pushed back at the bleak sorrow and guilt. I could mourn and survive at the same time. They didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

“Still,” Gwyneth continued. “That’s an accomplishment, believe me. You should be proud.”

“I just want my life back,” I said wearily.

She ran her fingers over the scar on her throat. From this angle her face was young and pretty, the ruined side turned away from me. “Viola doesn’t give. She takes.”

“I know that,” I said. “But I’m not going to let her get away with—” I whirled, hearing the scuff of footsteps behind me. A shadow moved across the uneven cave wall. I caught a glimpse of blond hair and red eyes.

“Don’t mind her,” Gwyneth said, unbothered.

“But . . . it’s
Viola.”

“Just an echo,” she said.

“What, like a ghost?” Viola flickered. It was disconcerting. She
was covered in dirt and blood, her hair matted, her dress torn. Bats flitted around her, diving in and out. I walked back and forth in front of her. Her eyes followed me. It was creepy. “Are you sure she can’t see us?”

“Quite sure,” Gwyneth answered.

I reached out to touch her, just to be sure. She flickered erratically and my hand passed through a cold draft. It was distinctly unpleasant. “Gross.” I wiped my fingers vigorously on my dress, stepping back. The firelight caught the decorative hinges of the hope chest. The painted lid was open and I caught a glimpse of boxes, like the ones I’d stolen from the castle. “You have them too,” I said.

“We have to store our memories somehow,” Gwyneth explained, getting to her feet swiftly and slamming the lid back down. She secured the heavy iron lock. “Else we forget them and we forget who we are.”

“Are they always kept in boxes?” I asked curiously.

“Only here in Viola’s spirit. It’s how she keeps them. I keep them the same way so she’s less likely to notice.” She looked wistful. “If I had my way, my memories would be birds.”

Viola shifted behind us. I heard a dripping sound and I honestly didn’t want to turn around to look. It could as easily be the blood all over her as it could be rainwater seeping into the cave. I hunched my shoulders defensively. “It’s like she’s staring at me. Why would you stay here?”

“She spent her first few weeks as a vampire here, after she fled what was left of Bornebow Hall. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She won’t come back here.”

I could almost feel sorry for her. Almost. “The bloodchange made her crazy,” I said.

“Oh, it wasn’t just that. She let love burn her up until she scorched everything she touched. It’s like that sometimes.”

“She didn’t understand the thirst. I’m surprised she didn’t turn
Hel-Blar.”
I could understand the thirst, at least. Mine was sharper than anyone else’s in my family. I touched my fangs with the tip of my tongue. Something occurred to me. “That’s why,” I realized. “My extra fangs, my need for so much more blood. It’s Viola’s thirst, not just mine.”

“Aye.” Gwyneth nodded. “She latched on to you proper on the night of your birthday. The same night she changed.”

I thought about the prophecy again.
Dragon by dragon defeated.
I’d assumed it referred to my mother and me at the coronation, or at least the dragon that had tried to roast me the first time I’d fled the castle. But now I wondered if it was actually about Viola and me, about our bloodlines, our battle.

I felt a moment of annoyance for the cryptic nature of prophecies. Then I remembered that this particular one had been spoken by a crazy old woman high on mushroom tea, and I was amazed we had even this much to work with. Madame Veronique had kept it secret all this time. She’d helped me survive so the rest of the prophecy wouldn’t blow up in her face.

Unseat the dragon before her time, and increase ninefold her crimes.

I watched the logs in the fire shift, sending up sparks. It came down to love and power. Viola wanted both. So I’d have to use them to lure her out, to force her to confront me. To evict her
completely. “If we work together, I think we can beat her,” I said to Gwyneth. “You could be free.”

She smiled humorlessly. “I don’t deserve to be free.”

“You made a mistake,” I said. “That’s not the same thing as what Viola did. She murdered an entire castle full of people! And you already paid for it with your life.”

“That’s not all she did,” Gwyneth murmured, her braids falling forward to screen her expression. She pulled small round stones out of a pouch at her belt and rolled them in her palm. “That was just the beginning.”

“Is that why Madame Veronique fears her?”

“She wasn’t blameless, that one.”

No kidding. Madame Veronique had kept secrets from all of us. Not to mention she’d set an assassin on me. “She hid all of this from me, from my whole family. She pretended she knew nothing about the prophecy, nothing about magic.”

“Of course she did,” Gwyneth said, the stones clacking in her hand. “The more you think about a spirit such as Viola, the more you speak her name you feed her with magic, and the stronger she becomes. Then the better able she is to find you. Veronique never wanted to be taken by surprise again, so she sought out soothsayers in every century.”

“Even if I get my body back, will Viola always be inside me?”

“Hard to know.” There were little daisies in Gwyneth’s matted hair. I’d never noticed before.

“Would she make me crazy if she was stuck inside my head?”

Gwyneth shrugged. “Maybe.”

“That’s the opposite of helpful,” I said, annoyed. “If you feel so guilty about everything,
help
me.” I shot to my feet, pacing the small confines of the cave. “Can you at least tell me why the crown freed her so completely?”

“Magic.”

“I figured that out for myself, thanks.” I kept pacing, avoiding the flickering shadow of Viola, snarling at me, dried blood on her chin.

“The crown is just a symbol. It worked as a talisman because Viola forced it to; there was no actual magic in it to begin with. It was just the magic already in her, finding a trigger.”

I paced by Viola again, noticing the bats near the ceiling. I couldn’t tell if they were real or not. Only her eyes and the pendant around her neck were in sharp focus, glittering. “What about the pendant?” I asked. “It’s clearly magical. It activated Viola’s spell, and it trapped you here. So if I destroy it, will Viola be destroyed too?”

“Finally, you ask the right question.”

“Oh my God,” I snapped. “What is it with witches and riddles? If you knew something, why didn’t you just
tell
me?”

“That’s not the way it works,” Gwyneth said, unrepentant. “You needed to see what you saw and do what you did to have the strength to do what must be done.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great.”

She grinned. It was fleeting and rusty, as if she’d forgotten how. “Besides, I didn’t know you, did I? Not
really.
I didn’t know if you were strong enough. And every time one of her hosts fails, she goes on a rampage.” She touched her scar again.

“Host? You make it sound like a dinner party,” I muttered. “For
the psychotic undead.” I stopped pacing. “Why are you helping me now?” I still didn’t know if she could actually be trusted. She’d been right when she said we didn’t really know each other. But the enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. It was one of Dad’s favorite sayings.

“Penance, I suppose. And you’ve lasted this long. Maybe it’s enough.”

“Gee, thanks.” I sighed. “I don’t suppose you know where the stupid pendant is hidden?”

“It’s not hidden at all. Viola wears it here at all times.”

I paused, narrowing my eyes. “That’s way too easy.”

“It would be, yes. If that was the end of it. But you’ll need to find a way to lure her out.”

“And then?”

“And then you get the pendant from her and smash it.” Gwyneth cast the stones she’d been holding, reading their pattern and trying to decipher the future. I’d seen Isabeau do something similar, and Lucy’s mom read my tarot cards every year on my birthday. Well, she hadn’t read them this year, for obvious reasons. One stupid, vague prophecy at a time.

“Can I win?” I asked, seeing nothing but painted lines like sticks. The smoke from the fire made my eyes burn.

“You can.” I couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t smile back. “I say you can, not that you will.”

“You really have to work on your pep talks.”

She gathered up her painted stones, dropping them back into a leather pouch. “Do you think you can make her find you?”

“Yes.” I smiled grimly as the phantom bats screeched in the corner. “I know exactly what to do.”

I was barely at the gatehouse when another memory hit.

1199

The caves were dark and damp and smelled like iron. Water streamed down the walls, icy and uncomfortable. But she was safe. No one would think to look for her here. Only the bats dared enter, mostly because they’d been sleeping here by the hundreds long before she’d ever stumbled out of Bornebow Hall covered in blood. They caught in her hair and bit at her hands but she barely noticed. She tried to stay awake but couldn’t. The day weighed heavily on her and she carried it in her breast like the hot coal they used in trials to prove innocence. It burned her because she was guilty.

It hardly mattered. The guilt didn’t carry her through the sickness— only thoughts of Tristan could do that. He hadn’t come for her. He didn’t know she was here. He might never know if she couldn’t find her way out. So she fed on deer and wolves and the thieves who hid in the woods until she was strong enough.

Vertigo slammed through me and I had to hold onto the stones for support. Luckily the gatehouse guard was holding his head and retching behind a barrel. I crept past him, wincing at the bloody bruise on his temple.

“Sorry,” I whispered, ducking into the outer bailey. The moon made the long expanses of grass silvery and sharp. I stayed pressed
against the inside of the wall, considering my options. I didn’t need to get right inside the castle. I just needed a spot that I could defend from the knights until Viola was pissed off enough to seek me out.

Which shouldn’t be a problem.

Since she already knew I was here.

Viola looked down at her gown, the fine silk wet with blood. She could still taste it on her tongue, sliding hotly down her parched throat. It should have made her sick.

Instead, it made her feel invincible.

She understood everything now. Her father’s nighttime habits, her mother’s illness. Her own impossible lineage.

She could barely see the bodies at her feet, drained dry. Everything was too sharp, too bright.

Too red.

I clenched my jaw, my fangs aching against the stabbing thirst. She was making me believe I was starving, that I was turning into a papery husk. I hadn’t fed in nights and Viola was forcing me to relive the feast she had made of innocent bodies.

She wanted me to feel her madness, her confusion, her fear.

But I’d also felt something else from her.

Love.

I knew the key to luring her out. Constantine.

Chapter 18

Isabeau

Wednesday night

Running through the woods with a pack of dogs at my heels usually made me happy.

It made me feel free and wild and part of the mysteries, a true handmaiden to the Hounds. It was invigorating and grounding. Necessary. But too slow. Frustrated, I pushed harder. Pine boughs slapped at me. Magda ran beside me, slapping back at them. Snow shivered in the air behind us. The dogs lowered their heads and flattened their ears, streaking between the trees. Even as fast as we were, we’d never make it in time.

“I hate your boyfriend,” Magda snapped as more snow fell on her head.

“You didn’t have to come,” I reminded her, leaping over a fallen tree. Charlemagne sailed over it, tight at my side. His tongue lolled out in a happy canine smile. The pack on my back bounced against my shoulder blades, filled with ritual gear.

“Like I’m going to leave you alone with the Drakes,” Magda shot back. The moonlight caught on the daggers at her belt and the chainmail sewn into my tunic over my heart. “After what happened last time.”

And by that, she meant the time I’d brought one of them home with me. Logan had snuck under my defenses with his old-world courtesy and quick grin, and now he was an initiated member of our tribe. Something that never failed to infuriate Magda, on principle, if nothing else. She didn’t share well. It was another ten minutes before we broke out of the forest and along a deserted road. Headlights flashed as a Jeep sped up behind us.