Sorry,
I said, lowering my sword.
You scared me.
In this place, there are certainly things that should be feared, but I am not one of them.
He paused.
What is your purpose here?
I found the key.
I raised one piece of it.
And I want to store it in this room, if the magic that protects it from all but invited guests is still active.
For as long as there are those who carry the bloodline of either Hieu or his chrání are alive, this room will remain in existence.
Hieu or his chrání—my father and Lucian. Which meant . . . me, my son, and Ilianna’s daughter.
So I can leave this key here?
You may. No reaper, soul, or even the darkest practitioner can enter this place. Not without some link back to those who created it.
Good.
I spun around, walked to the center of the room, and deposited the key on the floor. I stared at it for a moment, oddly uneasy about leaving it simply sitting there, ready to be picked up by anyone who happened by. No one
could
, but that was beside the point. So I imagined a cage around it, one that was as strong and as ethereal as the temples themselves.
An orb-like filament of light formed around it, linked to the floor by a fiber no thicker than a hair. The key sat within it and seemed to emit a muted, brassy gold light.
I turned around and walked back to the door. The remnant retreated, allowing me to exit. The door closed softly behind me. I knew it would be a long time before it was opened again.
Now,
I said, as I retraced my steps through the honeycomb hallway,
I must return home.
And the piece of key you still hold?
Is bait for a monster we need to bring down.
And after?
I don’t know. The only thing I’m certain about right now is the need to keep the pieces separate.
I returned to the main temple area; the Dušan swirled around me, her movements impatient, eager. And yet there was nothing here to fight.
Not here,
the remnant agreed.
She is eager to fight the foe in your world.
She can’t help me with that.
Normally, I would agree, but there is a magic and a presence in this one I have not sensed before. It might provide a solution to the problem you face.
Meaning she can be active in my world?
A tiny sliver of hope burst through me. The Dušan was one hell of a weapon to have in your corner.
I cannot say yes or no, because I am not familiar with the magic that created this one. I merely suggest it is a possibility given the right motivation. Good luck, young Aedh.
The right motivation? What the hell does that mean?
The remnant didn’t answer, mainly because he was already gone. I sighed in frustration and returned to my body. I woke with a start but didn’t immediately move, keeping my eyes closed as I listened to the call of birds and the whisper of the wind, trying to find any sense of change, or danger.
No one was near. Not even Azriel.
I pushed upright. The remaining bit of key had shifted position and was now digging into one butt cheek. I moved it to a more comfortable spot, then began to pace. The sun was on the rise and it made me acutely aware that time was passing, that Hunter’s deadline was drawing uncomfortably close.
But would her deadline even matter now that we’d made such a blatant attack on one of her Cazadors? She’d have to know the only reason we’d do something like that would be to prevent her from knowing the key’s location.
Familiar energy slithered across my skin. As I spun around, Azriel appeared. “You took longer than I thought you would.”
“Yes.” His expression was less than pleased. “The fates were decidedly unhappy about your decision to split the key. I was forced to defend it.”
“Oh.” My gaze scanned him. He looked whole and unhurt, which was something of a relief given the sudden suspicion that when he said “defend it,” he meant physically rather than verbally. “And?”
“They’re still not pleased, but they do see certain advantages in the current situation. Which, they assure me, is still tenuous.”
“Oh, fabulous.”
“Yes.” He crossed his arms and glanced at the nearby gateway. “You were successful?”
I nodded. “But I have a bad feeling about Hunter.”
“With reason, if what the fates implied is anything to go by.”
The tension running within me ramped up to another level. If the fates were saying that, then Hunter was on the move. I flexed my fingers and resisted the urge to scream in frustration. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t even make me feel better.
“We need to contact Markel and Stanford and see if they’ve had any luck fashioning a means to stop Hunter.” I hesitated. “Are you able to find either of them via their life force?”
He hesitated, his gaze narrowing slightly. Then he nodded. “I’ve located Stanford.”
“And can you take us to him?”
He hesitated again. Our connection came to life and, just for an instant, I saw what he was seeing—a rather old-fashioned living room, complete with roaring log fire and antique furniture. He was tapping into Stanford’s memories.
“Something I can only do from this distance because I have met the man and am familiar with the song of his soul.” Azriel held out a hand. “Let us go.”
A heartbeat later we were standing in the middle of the room I’d just seen. Stanford leaned against the smoke-stained wooden mantel, contemplating the flames, but the moment we appeared, he spun, teeth bared and eyes promising death. Then recognition hit and he immediately composed himself, although his canines were a little slower in retracting.
“I do apologize for my reaction,” he said. “But given the events of the last twenty-three hours, it is, perhaps, somewhat understandable.”
“If you think the last twenty-three hours have been
tough on you,” I replied grimly, “then you should try standing an hour or two in
my
shoes.”
“I would not trade positions with you for all the wealth and power in the world,” he said, the amusement in his voice at odds with the shadows that remained in his eyes. “Particularly at the moment. Hunter, as you may suspect, is less than happy.”
“Which is why I’m here. How did you do getting those wards developed?”
“Ah,” he said. “There has been a minor problem in that area.”
“You had better
not
be telling me that you can’t build the wards and break Hunter’s connection with her god.” I took a step forward, Amaya suddenly in my hand and screaming for blood. Azriel touched my shoulder, though I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was calming me or himself with the contact, given that I could feel the rush of his anger through my mind.
Stanford looked somewhat taken aback. “It is one thing to hear tales of your sword, quite another to actually see and
hear
her.”
“The wards,” I said, through somewhat gritted teeth. God, if this bastard didn’t come through after everything he’d promised, Amaya might just get the blood she was screaming for.
He held up his hands. “Please, let me explain.”
I waved a hand in silent invitation. He smiled, though it was a little less than gracious.
“The wards we talked about would be of little use in the current situation. Hunter is marshaling all those who support her, and she plans both murder and war.”
“War? Against who?” I asked, confused. “She’s already taken out the most vocal of those who oppose her.”
“The most vocal, yes, but certainly not all her opposition. I and many others still live, and it is against us she plans her war. It cannot come to that.”
No, it could not, if only because a war between the fractional sections of the vampire community could never be good for the rest of us. Hunter certainly wouldn’t care about the collateral damage she’d cause, not in her current state of mind, anyway.
“So what has this got to do with your inability to produce the wards?”
“It’s not a matter of inability; it’s a matter of practicality.” He began to pace. “Hunter is undoubtedly aware of our moves, as we are of hers. I have no doubt that she is now using Cazador travelers to track us, as we have been using them to track her. While this place is warded against astral interference of any kind, many other places are not. Nor is there such a thing as personal wards against travelers spying on you.” His gaze flashed to mine. “As you well know. She will also suspect that I have been in contact with you—”
“If she suspected that,” I cut in, “she would have warned me against it. She hasn’t.” Not since warning me against talking to Stanford after I’d interviewed him during the investigation into her lover’s murder.
“Which does not preclude the possibility of awareness,” he snapped. Then he grimaced. “Sorry, but Hunter has not lived this long by being caught unprepared. Hence the problem with the wards—she will never, in this current climate, agree to meet you at some location over which she has no control.”
“But that’s an easy solve—we simply agree to her location but in my time frame, thereby giving you time to set up the wards.”
He snorted. “And you think she wouldn’t already have such a location well guarded? Surely you are not that naive.”
Maybe not naive but overly hopeful given the situation and whom we faced? Yeah, I was that. “So what
you’re basically saying is that despite all the promises you made, I’m on my fucking own?”
“No, I am
not
saying that.” There was a dangerous edge to his voice. One that suggested he wasn’t all that different from Hunter. And yet Markel stood by him, and while I didn’t know Markel all that well, either, my instincts leaned toward trusting him.
Whether those instincts could be relied upon in this instance remained to be seen.
“Then what
are
you saying?”
Because we’re running out of time here,
I wanted to add, but I somehow managed to restrain the urge. He was just as aware as I was of the time frame, and I certainly didn’t want that fierce and angry light in his eyes to get any stronger. Stanford was a former Cazador; it was also possible that he’d either been a berserker or come close to it.
The latter,
Azriel said.
He would not be standing here otherwise.
Because the council killed berserkers. Still, did I want to help someone who walked such a fine line between sanity and madness gain control of the council?
If it helps us defeat Hunter and gives us a chance for a life together, then we have little other choice.
True. I returned my attention to Stanford as he said, “Markel is again following you astrally—”
“Why?” I cut in again. “Surely Hunter would suspect he’s working for the opposition?”
“She probably does, but in this case it does not matter. He is not following you officially, but rather from the safety of a location even I am unaware of. Once Hunter contacts you—which should not be long given your attack on Myer—he will contact me with the location of the meeting, and we will move in to nullify Hunter’s forces the instant you and the reaper are within the building.”
“Great, except for the fact that it’s not going to help with the whole ‘line to her god’ problem with Hunter.”
“No, but this will.” He strode across the room and picked up a small, dusty-looking box from a side table. Inside, sitting on plush red velvet, was a simple black-stone knife. Its blade was rough-hewn and connected to the haft by simple rope, but edges of the actual blade looked razor-sharp and it glinted softly in the room’s half-light.
“How is an old knife going to help in this situation? She’s not going to let me get close enough to stab her, and I doubt if this thing was designed to be thrown.”
“It isn’t.” He took the knife from the box almost reverently. “It is designed to be used in close combat. It is also the means with which you will break Hunter’s connection to her god.”
I glanced down at the knife in his hands. It certainly didn’t look
that
powerful. “How?”
“Ah,” he said. “That’s the rub. I’m afraid it takes both the blood of the user and the blood of the foe to activate the magic within the weapon. Only then can it sever celestial contact.”
Of course there’d be a clause like that. I mean, why would it actually be easy? Nothing else in this whole fucking drama had been, after all.
“So I slice myself, then stab her,” I said, trying not to ignore the fear that rose at the mere thought of having to get that close to the mad bitch. “The trouble is, she’s unlikely to let me enter the building with any sort of weapon.”
Which may apply to our swords, as well,
Azriel said.
She will be aware of their capabilities.
“
That
, I’m afraid, is a problem you will have to sort out,” Stanford said. “I have provided the means with which you can nullify her power, as promised, and I will
take out whatever force she has protecting the building. But until you sever her connection to her god, I can do nothing more.”
“Why not?” I stared at him, looking for fear and, unsurprisingly, finding nothing. If he wasn’t afraid of Hunter, why would he not openly confront her?
“Because many others in recent times have tried to take her out and failed. I will not waste my life, or the lives of others, on a battle that will ultimately prove fruitless.” His expression was grim but determined. “Sometimes what is needed to take out a being with godly powers is another being with such powers.”
“But I’m not—”
“Human,” Stanford cut in. “You never have been; now you are even less so. And you have weapons at your disposal that we here on Earth can only dream of.”
He glanced at Azriel as he said that. And yet I knew, as Azriel knew, that this battle was always destined to be between me and Hunter. That he, in the end, could not and would not deal the final blow.
All we had to do was somehow survive to get to that point.