Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (27 page)

It all happened so quick; I was rendered dumbfounded, eyes cranked wide like a hapless victim in a B horror flick. For all of my power, I was pathetically inept at protecting my friends. To my right, Kim clutched at Kieran's sword arm as his weapon manifested in his grip. On my left, Fisk surged forward, his own sword already drawn. Although Fisk was closer and unencumbered, he was still too far away to do anything to prevent Tíereachán's certain death, if he hadn't been killed already.

As Alex reared back, his hood now flung wide to reveal his gaping, unhinged mouth and enormous fangs, my frozen body finally unlocked. Swift as a thought, I latched on to Tíereachán's limp body and shoved him into the higher dimension, leaving Alex to fall on hands and knees to the floor, poised to bite but now empty handed. At the same time, Kieran's shadow wholly engulfed the crazed strigoi. From experience, I knew Kieran's darkness was suffocatingly impenetrable, but given Alex's strigoi nature, I wasn't sure whether the total lack of sensory stimuli would keep him down for longer than a moment.

Clutching Tíereachán possessively within my invisible grasp, I nearly cried out when I realized his heart was still beating. He was alive! I whisked him through the higher realm until I could pull him back to the material plane, safely at my feet. I dropped to my knees beside his still form. He looked alarmingly pale.

"Wade!" I shrieked.

In an instant, the part-sidhe crouched opposite me, Tíer's prone body lying between us.

"I've got him," he said, placing his left hand atop the fallen sidhe's forehead. Warm tingles pricked my skin as his healing magic surged into Tíereachán's body.

"Tell me what to do. As his …
mionngáel
, can I do anything to help?" My hands fluttered, practically of their own accord, hovering over Tíer's right shoulder and chest like two butterflies too timid to land on a favorite flower.

Wade peered across the room, eyes pinched with fatigue. "I have this," he forced out on a grunt. "Fisk … could use … your guidance … however."

I looked up in time to see Fisk raise his gleaming sword over the opaque shadow that obscured Alex.

I surged to my feet. "Stop!"

Fisk's savage downward strike wavered before he slashed through the black cloud.

"Son of a bitch!" I bellowed at him as I pinned Alex to the far wall. I'd plucked the vamp from Kieran's darkness with not a second to spare. Thankfully, Kieran hadn't extended his magic shroud to prevent it. I shuddered at the thought.

"We are supposed to be building alliances here, goddammit!" I shouted. "Not killing each other."

As my heart pounded out a rhythm loud enough to be a distress beacon, I leveled an unwavering finger at Fisk. "You! Back off! Your prince is alive."

"I don't take orders from you," he snarled, weapon raised.

All at once, I felt the undercurrent of Tíereachán's fury burning at the outer fringes of my mind.

"You will retract your sword," Tíereachán bit out from his position at my feet. With Wade's help, he struggled to a sitting position and then directed his livid glare at Fisk. "And if you ever raise it in the adept's direction again, you stand to lose far more than a scant strip of skin."

"John, stand down," Wade seconded. "Lire has earned the amhaín's trust, and as your prince's
mionngáel
, she deserves your regard." He stood up, offering his hand to Tíereachán, and added, "Especially in areas where she isn't wrong. Killing this
dhêala
will not make things better. For any of us."

"The strigoi do not ally with demon spawn!" Alex snarled from his position against the far wall where I continued to hold him fast. "That one killed three of our people. It will die, here, now—or there will be war between us."

I flew toward the restrained vampire.

With his hood no longer covering his head, his short blond hair and thick eyebrows stood out against the burnished ebony of his skin. When I hovered, close enough to appreciate the delicate pattern of his supple scales and the frightening length of his fangs, I snapped, "He's no demon."

Alex snorted.

"The demons attacked you? When?" I demanded.

"Demon," he corrected. "Just one.
Him
." He glared over my shoulder.

"When was this?"

His alien eyes, black and fathomless, narrowed as his gaze met mine. "Many years ago. I am not as young as you naïvely believe. That one"—he jerked his chin in Tíereachán's direction— "invaded our compound in an attempt to kill the domn. The creature might have succeeded if I hadn't found its summoner and forced her to send it back to Hell."

"He's not a demon. He is a sidhe, the amhaín's son, Tíereachán, Prince of
Thìr na Soréidh
. He was tricked by Maeve, his own cousin, into enslaving himself to the archdemon Azazel and spent the last thousand years under its dominion. If he attacked your people, it's because he was compelled by Azazel and his summoner's will. He had no choice and, until recently, no memory of his prior life. Azazel took both when it enslaved him, but my blood restored Tíereachán's memories and I managed to free him. Since then, he has saved my life more than once. He's had every opportunity to deceive and manipulate me, and, yet, he hasn't. I trust him with my life."

"
Trust
," he sneered. "A human's sense of trust is meaningless. Humans are virtually blind in their powers of observation, prone to hysterics, and easily influenced. I put zero faith in your
feeling
of trust, mortal."

"Normally, I'd be inclined to agree with you." My gaze flicked to the side in search of Kieran, but I stopped myself. Squaring my chin, I met Alex's glare. "But, as it happens, Tíereachán and I are blood-bound."

His eyes narrowed to bare slits. "Prove it."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

He lowered his voice to a menacing whisper and spoke to me as though
I
were the one currently restrained and under his power instead of the other way around. "The demon-slave knows my true name. If you are bound, as you say, you have the ability to learn it." Before I was tempted to turn, he commanded loud enough for everyone's ears, "Eyes on me. You will seek his guidance through your bond."

Uncomfortable with the thought of silently gazing into Alex's eyes, I focused on my former classmate's pointed chin and nudged Tíer's presence at the periphery of my mind. When he opened himself to me, I thought,
He's testing me. Don't speak to me out loud. He says you know his true name. Do you?

Yes
, he thought back.
He is Tsarevich Alexei Alexeyevich, second son and heir of Tsar Alexis of Russia and his consort, Maria Miloslavskaya. He is more than three hundred years old. But more importantly, Lire—he is the domn.

At that tidbit, my eyes widened, as did Alex's when he realized what my shock might mean.

"Son of a— " Snapping my mouth shut, I glared at the ceiling. What was all of this about? Why in the hell would a three-hundred-plus-year-old Russian royal-born strigoi overlord pretend to be a teenage student at Coventry Academy? The need for it boggled my mind.

How do you know this?
I asked.

Because, my mionngáel, demons may covet souls above all else, but secrets are often more prized. Secrets are how Azazel and the other high demons plot their many schemes. Secrets are the foundation upon which demon society rests. The more a demon knows, the more discord it might sow and the more souls it might reap. Why do you think Azazel wanted you under its command so badly?

I sucked in a breath.
That's why Azazel went after the Invisius elders,
I guessed.
It wasn't just because of their connection to the king. It's because of their skill for learning the secrets of everyone around them.

Yes. Their connection to the king was a bonus.

"Jesus," I muttered.

After a moment to restore my composure, I lowered both Alex and myself to the floor. I released my hold, but loosely draped my magic around him, in case he decided to be 'fickle and unpredictable' and elect to kill me. Not that he'd get the chance, with my building's djinn protecting me, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

I folded my arms. "You're Tsarevich Alexei Alexeyevich," I told him. And then, with a pointed look, I mouthed the words, 'the domn,' knowing, with my back to the room, no one would see.

His head jerked back with a silent snort as he studied me intently. "Indeed—a fact known by very few." Somehow he succeeded in looking both menacing and amused at the same time. "You're surprised?"

"You could say that. Why would the"—I almost stumbled into revealing his secret, but continued with barely a hitch— "one time heir to the Russian throne and three-century-old strigoi impersonate a seventeen-year-old Midwesterner and attend Coventry Academy?"

"For the same reason most students attended Coventry: To get an education."

I raised an eyebrow at his placid expression. "What? The universities in Iceland weren't good enough for you?"

"Not if you want to learn the ways of the coming generation and the technologies that will ultimately dominate them." His eyes glinted with deviousness. "My domn believes you can tell a great deal about a population by studying its youth."

This was Alex, a.k.a.
Hackervamp
.

Holy shit
. A computer hacking domn.

I was speechless.

Stop thinking of him as the domn or you're going to blow it,
I chastised myself.

This is Alex. Alex. Alex. Alex.

He continued, "In fact, because of our memorable …
encounter
at school, you reminded my domn of two important lessons: The power of confidential information and the significance of image to the self-absorbed masses. Not revelations, but when you're as old as the domn, it's easy to become complacent. If it weren't for my time playing a teenager, he might not have fully appreciated a clairvoyant's usefulness."

I wondered whether this was a good thing. "And do clairvoyants find the strigoi as useful?" I asked tartly.

"I've not heard any complaints," he said, but his tone held a wicked edge that was as suggestive as it was pernicious.

Since the strigoi cursed were the only other creatures, besides the sidhe, who were immune to a clairvoyant's magic, I didn't have to wonder about the seductive implication of his reply. Heck, until a couple of months ago, I might have been intrigued by the possibility. Ten years without skin contact had a way of spurring some monumentally bad decisions. And I suspected 'bad decision' was an understatement where the domn was concerned. I held little doubt that he put the big 'D' in dominant.

Complaints?
Ha.
Who would dare?

"I imagine you wouldn't," I said, careful to keep my tone neutral. "Which brings us to our current … dilemma. Your former brethren enthralled more than twenty of my friends and took them hostage at the bidding of a traitorous sidhe. One murdered my ex-boyfriend. All to coerce me into doing something that will probably get me killed or, at the very least, jailed by King Faonaín."

Kim gasped.

Whoops.
Apparently, Kieran hadn't revealed the true purpose for Lorcán's earlier attack.

The shock of it momentarily flustered me before I added, "So … I was hoping we could work together on this."

Alex considered me for a long moment, no doubt wondering about the level of my competence.

"There is still the matter of your mate," he said, glaring over my shoulder to survey the people behind me as he spoke. His eyebrows twitched. When his ominous gaze once again met mine, his harsh expression held a note of curiosity. "It would seem not everyone is pleased by the bond you share with this …
prince
. Why is that, I wonder?"

I could well imagine what he'd gleaned from that glance over my shoulder.

"I guess that would depend," I mumbled, feigning indifference in spite of wanting to steal a look for myself.

"Upon whom I ask?" He smirked. "Right. Then, by all means, Clotilde, introduce me to your
allies
." His tone all but painted the final word in quotes.

"My name is Lire," I pointed out. "Nobody calls me Clotilde."

"Is that so?" he replied dismissively.

I might have taken issue with his arrogance if I hadn't turned and gotten a load of the scene behind me.

Yes, I supposed the picture it painted
was
somewhat telling.

At the far end of the conference table, Kim stood inches from a grim-faced Kieran, her right hand overtopping his left forearm in a loose hold that was obviously meant to encourage restraint. Earlier, she'd stopped him from leaping to Tíereachán's rescue, something I wouldn't forget anytime soon. Now, though, I wasn't sure what Kim hoped to prevent since I couldn't decide who Kieran wanted to throttle more, Alex or
her
. Actually, he looked predisposed to doing both.

Tíereachán, on the other hand, lounged in one of the padded guest chairs, looking elegant and relaxed, with his right ankle crossed over his left knee. Fisk, his amber eyes narrowed and guarded, watched Alex closely from his position near Tíer's left shoulder, looking every bit the FBI agent, complete with dark slacks and conservative blazer; although, his non-standard weapon, a ten-inch Bowie knife, spoiled the image. Absently, I speculated if, like his katana, the wicked looking knife materialized from nowhere or whether he'd pulled it from a sheath hidden somewhere under his jacket. Several feet away, Wade leaned against the conference room's interior wall, apparently satisfied that Fisk had Tíereachán sufficiently guarded.

Diedra, her expression pinched with worry, huddled to the left of the doorway, her gaze darting between Alex and anyone who moved. When she spied Red perched at the edge of the conference table, her face lit up in recognition and she gave him a tentative wave.

With that small gesture lightening my heart, I introduced my former classmates to everyone in the room, starting with Kim and ending with Wade.