Sacrifice
By Nadia Bashoo
2012 Nadia Bashoo
Smashwords Edition
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The voices rose and fell in perfect unison, blending with one another until it was impossible to distinguish between them. The coven had been casting this particular spell for well over an hour and it was draining on everyone.
Gwendolyn fought down her distaste, struggling to keep her focus on her sisters. Linked as they were by mind, voice and touch, any dissension would be felt at once.
A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead, but she didn’t dare free a hand to wipe it away. She was aware of her mother’s fingers curled around her own, the grip tight enough to hurt. The force of her will burned through Gwendolyn like fire. It drove them all. As leader of the coven, Myra was the focal point.
The object of their night’s work sat in the centre of the circle, patient, motionless, accepting her fate. A sacrifice for the “greater good”. It made Gwendolyn sick to the heart.
For a witch, her sisters were her friends and family, people she could turn to in any crisis. It went against everything they stood for to kill a witch, even from another coven. Every sister was a friend by association, an ally against their common enemy. What they were doing was wrong, but it seemed Gwendolyn was the only one who thought so.
“Concentrate!”
The word drilled into Gwendolyn’s mind, the pain sharp enough to make her jump. She managed not to lose the rhythm of the chant. One slip now and they would have to start over. Myra would punish any culprit severely, daughter or not.
Myra tilted her face towards the moon. The rest copied her, their voices rising in volume and tempo. The witch on the ground opened her mouth as a ribbon of smoke twisted up from the interlocked fingers of her sisters. It streamed in snake-like tendrils across the intervening space and into the witch’s open mouth. She rolled over on the ground, her body jerking as the smoke filled her. The witch’s breath came in ragged gasps, but still the spell continued.
Then at last it was over. The final wisps of smoke vanished, and the witch lay still. She might have been dead but for her tortured breathing and the fine sheen of sweat coating her brow.
Gwendolyn’s mother made a curt gesture. Three sisters knelt by the prostrate witch and laid their hands on her. They sent a little healing strength into her body. The witch opened her eyes, managed a weak smile, but it was obvious to everyone present that she was dying.
***
Myra surveyed her coven. The spell had been a success, though it had left many of her witches exhausted. Now the first part of her revenge could begin. It was fitting that a witch should be the instrument of it. If it worked, and there was no reason why it shouldn’t, they could finally destroy their enemy once and for all. The age long battle between witches and vampires would cease and they would emerge victorious.
She already had her first target selected. He who had wiped out half her coven in a single stroke. He was the biggest threat, so he would be the first to die. After him, the others would be easy prey.
Myra looked over at her daughter. Gwendolyn stood a little removed from the others. She was always apart, a loner. It wasn’t natural. But then nothing about her daughter was natural.
Gwendolyn took no pleasure in their craft. She made no use of her talents and avoided rituals as much as possible. As far as Myra was aware, Gwendolyn had never used her abilities to harm another living creature. Her mind was in constant discord with the rest, a weak link. Perhaps Myra should have chosen her for the task, but Gwendolyn was still healthy and young. At eighteen, her powers were freshly awakened and would strengthen her sisters for years to come.
A witch was only able to produce a child every ten years and there was no guarantee that it would be a girl. The coven had no use for boys or the men who fathered them, and they were always discarded. There had only been two girls born in the last thirty years, and one of them lost shortly after her birth. It would be up to Gwendolyn to help rebuild the coven and replace the sisters the vampire had taken. But would she? Gwendolyn had a will of her own, and Myra had never yet been able to break it.
Myra turned her attention back to the stricken witch. She was sitting up now. Her eyes reflected the moonlight as Myra crouched beside her and laid a hand on her forehead. Her skin was unhealthy to the touch.
“Do you feel it at work inside you?”
The witch nodded.
“Are you ready to do what must be done?”
“I am.”
“Then go with our blessing, sister. Our future is in your hands.”
***
Later, when Gwendolyn was certain the coven slept, she pulled on her cloak for warmth and slipped into the forest. The witch had departed on her suicide mission; there was nothing Gwendolyn could do about that, but with luck, she would be able to save one innocent life at least.
Warning
Gabriel pushed aside the creeper that served as a door and entered the stuffy cave. The tang of wood smoke hit his nostrils, making his eyes sting. He strode over to his usual corner, pausing to order a tankard of deer blood from the nymph behind the bar. She gave a shy nod, the firelight glimmering off her green skin and hair.
A few patrons looked up as he entered, and quickly returned their eyes to their drinks. After all this time, many were still wary of him. He was a predator, even if he chose to ignore that side of his nature. He preferred to hunt animals rather than his fellow customers, but no one could ever forget what he was.
The nymph set his tankard in front of him and drifted away, ethereal as a shadow. Gabriel took a sip and ran his eyes over the gathering.
The cave was dingy, the firelight the only source of illumination. Its glow sent shadows dancing over the creeper-covered walls. A thick carpet of moss and dead leaves covered the floor, and the ceiling was too high to make out. A small hole in the roof served as a chimney, but it let in no outside light.
For as long as Gabriel could remember, this cave had served as the town inn, a place to meet and drown your sorrows or discuss your misfortunes. Of course the words town and inn were somewhat misleading. This settlement of crude mud huts and caves, buried as it was beyond the notice or interest of human civilization, was hardly a thriving metropolis. But it was home. For many, the only home they had ever known. This forest with its ancient, mighty trees and winding pathways was more than just a place to live; it was a sanctuary.
For centuries, the human and supernatural worlds had waged their war. It was a wore unknown to most humans. Vampires and fairies were the stuff of legend. As the humans continued to poison the environment, many species were driven to the point of extinction. This was the last undiscovered haven, protected by magic and secrecy, the only safe place left on Earth. But even here there were problems.
Vampires were never meant to live side by side with nymphs and pixies, and only the strongest predators survived. Gabriel had made the decision long ago not to hunt any sentient creature, but his fellow vampires didn’t share his view. What, he wondered, would they do when their food source ran out?
At the table closest to Gabriel, a dwarf was holding court to his friends, his impassioned words accompanied by expansive gestures while his companions nodded and fingered their beards.
“I’m telling you, people, it’s certain death. If we just skulk in this forest, the humans will swallow us whole. This land was ours long before they turned up. I say we take it back!”
There was some scattered applause. A few heads (mainly other dwarves) nodded in agreement.
Gabriel wondered how much wine they’d had. Drowning your sorrows with alcohol was sometimes the only way to deal with them, but it didn’t make for a clear head.
“Oh, and how do you suggest we do that?” A dwarf at a neighbouring table called. “Should we write to their leader and ask for a meeting? Or perhaps we should sell our story to their newspapers. I can see it now.
“Midget has big plans for saving the world”.
Perhaps we should ask the humans to set up special breeding programmes with artificial habitats where they can observe us and broadcast their findings on their television in the evenings. It would put their ratings through the roof.”
Several people laughed, and Gabriel suppressed a smile. Of all the dwarves, Braith was the only one who really saw the world as it was. They had been friends for several years and Gabriel was sure that if or when they were discovered, Braith would be one of those who lived to tell the tale.
The first dwarf banged his fist down so hard that he almost toppled off his bench and a few flakes crumbled off the table. They drifted to the floor like cast off skin. A brownie who was crouched by the fire, turning some meat on a spit, winced. The furniture was made from logs, crudely fashioned and liable to splinter at the slightest mistreatment.
The dwarf’s voice rose above the babble. “Of course I didn’t mean that. What do you take me for? Humans won’t listen to us. They’re violent creatures. That’s all they understand. So I say we speak to them in their language. After all, are we not the best weapon makers in the world? We could take on these barbarians and win back this land.”
“Oh, of course,” Braith mocked. “The humans won’t stand a chance against our swords. Their bombs and guns will be completely useless. That wine’s gone to your head, Ivor.”
Amid the uproar that followed, Braith rolled his eyes at Gabriel, who shook his head in response.
Ivor was talking nonsense, but Gabriel understood his frustration. There was no getting around the fact that the Fair Folk were dying out. If they didn’t find a way to save themselves, they would be extinct in a matter of decades.
Vampires could live among humans. They needed only blood to survive. They could adapt to any environment. It just suited them to remain incognito. There were humans out there who knew they existed and took steps to stamp them out. There were few of Gabriel’s kind left.
The humans’ pollution was spreading further all the time. Even here they were not exempt. Every year more dwarves and brownies died, their lungs poisoned with toxic fumes. Sprites died by the score as their trees were cut down, and they were swept up like so much dropped bark and leaves. As for the vampires and witches, with them it was just a race against time. Would the humans destroy them? Or would they simply wipe each other out?
Vampires were never meant to dwell in forests. The castle habitats they favoured had long since been appropriated by humans and turned into tourist attractions. Gabriel couldn’t help a sigh of nostalgia as he thought of his own former home.
He had been happy there, alone with his books and his thoughts, minding his own business. He was an outcast even among his own kind. His fellow vampires regarded the lifestyle he’d chosen with scorn and contempt. He had lived alone by necessity, and the humans had taken even that from him.
Gabriel was snapped out of his thoughts as the entrance screen rustled. He looked up expectantly. A witch entered the cave. She gazed around her before allowing the screen to fall shut. Like all witches, she was beautiful. Her golden brown hair hung past her shoulders in luxuriant waves that gleamed in the firelight as she approached the bar. Her skin was flawless, her features finely chiselled and her eyes were a smokey grey. Gabriel returned her stare for a second before looking away. It was never wise to hold a witch’s gaze for long. With one look, a witch could plant thoughts in your mind and rule your heart.
The witch made her way to her table, ignoring everyone around her. Ordinarily, it would have surprised Gabriel to see a witch sitting alone, but he knew why she was here. As she seated herself, she cast another glance about the cave, as though she was expecting someone. Her gaze lit for a moment on Gabriel before sliding away. There was hatred in that look.
“Game on,” Gabriel murmured.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a crumpled leaf. Smoothing it out, he ran his eyes once more over the brief message. It had been crudely scratched with a stick, and it wasn’t good news. Gabriel glanced at it, but the words hadn’t changed. He heaved a sigh.
The message had arrived by raven the previous night. As well as providing a highly efficient postal service, ravens made excellent spies as the witch’s could understand their language. Most ravens devoted themselves to one particular witch and served her faithfully the whole of their lives.
Gabriel had had no difficulty recognising this particular raven. It had brought and taken many a secret message between Gabriel and its mistress.
Thinking of her, Gabriel smiled. Gwendolyn was living proof that vampires and witches did not always have to be enemies. They could be allies, even friends. Gwendolyn was not an average witch it was true, but then Gabriel himself was far from ordinary. They were both misfits.
Gabriel put the note away just as the screen was parted for a second time.
Two figures entered, and with their arrival, all talk stopped. The inn’s inhabitants shot glances between the newcomers and each other, their expressions ranging from nervous to hostile. Gabriel saw the witch raise her eyes for the merest second before returning her gaze to the contents of her glass.
At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about the newcomers. Both were of average height, dressed in non-descript human clothes, but Gabriel knew them for what they were. The chalky skin, the shadowed eyes and the feline way they moved gave them away at once. They were like him, physically at least, and they were the last. Gabriel had searched for others, but without any luck. There had been another female, but the witches had destroyed her. These two were the reason Gabriel was here.
The woman had black hair that fell to her waist and contrasted strikingly with the pallor of her skin. Her eyes smouldered like living coals.
The man, scarcely more than a boy, was perhaps half an inch taller and more muscular. His blond hair was thick and wavy and fell over his high forehead. As with all vampires, his cheek bones were sharply pronounced and his mouth tended towards thin. His nose was a little crooked as though it had once been broken and his eyes were a piercing blue. They darted restlessly about the cave, never lingering too long on any one point, dissecting everything and everyone they touched.
Gabriel nodded to them. The woman ignored him, but the man inclined his head briefly in Gabriel’s direction. His smile revealed brilliant white teeth, sharp as daggers and didn’t reach his eyes.
With a casual sweep of her arm, the female sent the nearest dwarf tumbling off his stool. She whipped around like a striking snake and the dwarf’s companion crashed to the ground. Both stools split as they hit the floor, but no one complained.
The two dwarves got to their feet. One of them had a cut over his right eye which was bleeding badly. Both had drunk a lot of wine and were rather the worse for wear. The other dwarf was unhurt. He threw an arm round his companion’s shoulders and they wove their way with some difficulty towards the entrance. Some of the patrons followed suit, while others resolutely kept their places. Gabriel saw Braith’s hands form fists on the table, but he stayed in his seat.
The female saw none of this. She was busy demanding drinks from the trembling nymph behind the bar. But the male missed nothing. However, he had little attention to spare. His gaze had returned to the witch and there was a calculating, hungry look in his eyes.
If human blood was like honey to vampires, then witch blood was the finest nectar. Its aroma wafted through the room, tantalisingly sweet. Gabriel had long since trained himself to ignore the scent. It rarely bothered him these days. But he knew most vampires would do anything for a taste. It drove them half crazy with longing.
The female half rose from her seat as though to fall on the witch there and then, though midnight was still another two hours away. The male gave her a warning look. He didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. His body language was clear.
This one’s mine.
The female sank back with a pout. Her companion hardly noticed. His entire concentration was focused on his prey, memorising her face, her scent. He would be able to find her wherever she tried to run. He would hunt her down, patient, relentless. There would be no escape. It was the perfect bait.
The witch drained her glass and left the cave. She didn’t glance in the vampires’ direction. If she felt their avid gaze, she gave no sign. The screen rustled and she was gone, swallowed by the night.
Gabriel waited to be certain she wasn’t coming back before making his move.
Conversation had started up again. The remaining patrons were making a concerted effort to ignore their unwelcome guests.
The brownie was now carving the meat into pieces and portioning it out among the remaining dwarves.
Gabriel approached the vampires’ table, ignoring the warning glance Braith shot him.
The smell coming from the vampires’ glasses made his eyes water. A fiery spirit diluted with blood. It made his stomach lurch.
The female looked up, her customary sneer in place.
“Well, look who it is. What’s the matter, hoping to convert us to your diet?” She laughed.
“Morwenna.” Gabriel nodded to her, then turned to her companion.
“I need a word with you, Lysander. Now, it’s urgent.”
Lysander raised a quizzical eyebrow. “That’s a very serious face, Gabriel. What’s bothering you?”
“Not here.” Gabriel turned and headed for the cave entrance, ignoring Braith’s questioning look. He didn’t look to see if Lysander was following; he knew he would be.
Gabriel walked a good way into the surrounding trees, Lysander and Morwenna silent shadows at his side. He stopped finally among a stand of oaks and turned to face Lysander.
Though Gabriel appeared older, he knew Lysander had been a vampire much longer. Gabriel had been twenty-four when he was turned. How old had Lysander been? Eighteen? Nineteen? Morwenna’s age was more difficult to guess. Gabriel would have put her somewhere in her late twenties. It was a long time ago now for all of them.
Lysander was regarding him, his expression a mixture of curiosity and irritation.
“So come on, out with it then. What was so important that you had to lead me out here?” He cast a glance up at the sky, which was awash with stars. Midnight was drawing closer, they could all feel it, and tonight, Lysander was going after a particularly juicy prize.
Gabriel steeled himself. He could guess Lysander’s probable reaction to what he was about to say, but he had to try.
“Your life is in danger.”
Morwenna made a derisive noise but Lysander continued to watch Gabriel’s face.
He turned to Morwenna. “Go!”
She stared at him, affronted. “You surely don’t believe what he says? What could possibly harm us?”
“I said go. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
Morwenna turned away without another word and disappeared among the trees, but not before Gabriel had seen the hurt in her eyes.
Lysander leaned casually against a gnarled oak, his expression relaxed.
“Well, you have my undivided attention. What could be so terrible that it would threaten me? Are the witches planning an attack? Or are you fed up of my lawless ways and you’ve decided to teach me a lesson? A fight to the death might be fun. I’ve been so bored lately.” He grinned, and his teeth flashed once more.
“Don’t be a fool,” Gabriel snapped. “That witch you were drooling over a short while ago. She’s the one you need to worry about, not me.”
All trace of humour left Lysander’s face.
“And why,” he said, his voice soft and deadly, “should she give me a moment’s concern? I took out nearly half her coven a short while ago. In a little over an hour from now, she will be dead, sucked dry as a wrung out sponge, lifeless as a paper doll cut out of a scrap book. What possible threat could she be to me?”
“Use your common sense. Myra’s been dying for revenge ever since your ambush. It was a massacre.”
“It was well deserved, I think you’d agree. They took one of us, slaughtered her at dawn when she was at her most vulnerable.” Something like pain flickered in Lysander’s eyes and was gone.
“That’s hardly the point. Myra won’t let this go, you know that. You must have known she’d try and hit back.”
Lysander’s stare caught and held Gabriel. He took an involuntary step back.
“And you found out about this how?” Lysander said.
Gabriel’s expression tightened. He was determined not to bring Gwendolyn’s name into this. Lysander would understand their friendship about as well as Myra, the coven leader.
“I have my sources. You’d be wise to listen.”
“Assuming what you say is true, that still doesn’t explain why you’re telling me. I wasn’t aware there was any great love between us.”
Gabriel knew then it was hopeless. Lysander would never understand; such loyalty was foreign to him, but he answered anyway.
“There cannot be many of us left. If we don’t look out for each other, who will?”
Lysander leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Gabriel’s.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he whispered. “I don’t need protection from anyone, least of all a vampire who balks at the very sight of human blood. You’re a disgrace to your race.”
He turned on his heel and was gone, leaving Gabriel alone with only the trees as witnesses to his failure.
***
Midnight. The hour when I shed my human form and assume my true nature. From now until dawn, I am free to hunt my prey.
I am the perfect night predator, feared and hated, a living nightmare that stalks the world, a slave to my thirst. When I am one of the undead, I feel the most alive. I am invincible. When daylight returns I will walk among my victims. Some I will speak to, others I will pass by, but all are my prey.
I emerge from the cave that is my home. My eyes pick out every detail of the night. The darkness is no barrier to me. I put back my head, breathing in the cool autumn air.
There it is. I would recognise that smell anywhere. I only have to catch a scent once and it is forever imprinted on my memory. My mouth waters at the thought of my meal to come. Any vampire within a few miles would go to hell and back to sample such a delicacy. With one exception.
Thinking of Gabriel, I am reminded of his earlier warning, but I dismiss it once more. To someone like Gabriel, a witch might easily pose a threat. In all my years as a hunter, I have never met anyone who amazes or disgusts me more. The fact that he is not slavering at my heels right now is unbelievable. Vampires have fought and killed for such a prize before now, and I would relish the challenge.
But if Gabriel is skulking in his cave, there is one more hunter abroad. I search for her, but she is nowhere in sight and I would know if she were close. It seems she has had the sense to stay clear. Wise of her. I would not share this feast with anyone, least of all her.
I move whisper silent through the undergrowth, another of the night's shadows. The trail is easy to follow. Almost too easy. When I judge myself to be close enough, I straighten out of my stalking crouch, tilt my face skywards, and begin to sing.
The siren call. It is a vampire's most effective weapon. At the first note, all other sounds cease. Every animal and bird freezes mid action. The trees' rustling stills as though in deference to my song. My voice rises and falls, rippling like a mountain stream, sweet as a chiming bell, gentle as a sighing breeze. No one can resist such music.
I have been singing for only a couple of minutes when I hear a soft rustling to my left. The foliage parts and my prey emerges into the clearing. On her face is an expression of unutterable ecstasy. Her eyes are fastened on my face but she does not see me, at least not as I truly am.
Slowly she drifts towards me. Closer, closer. I reach out my arms and like a sleepwalker, she moves into my embrace. I bend my head towards her. My song ends the very second before my mouth meets hers. I slide my lips down her jaw to her throat. My teeth penetrate the soft skin. Only the tiniest wound is required. The rich, heady taste flows into my mouth, bewitching my senses. It takes every ounce of self control I possess not to drain every drop, but the scent of the blood will bring other predators. Better to finish my meal in private.
My victim has neither moved nor made a sound all this while. The moment my venom enters her bloodstream, her body goes limp, her muscles locking in instant paralysis. Her eyes flutter closed.
I lift her in my arms. She weighs no more than a child. Her body is frail beneath my hands, utterly helpless. As the echoes of my song fade, the usual night noises resume, but she is oblivious of everything. She will not wake again. So it has been for almost 200 years. So it will be for all eternity.
***
I sleep late into the following day, finally awaking around noon. I sit up groggily. I am surprised at how high the sun is in the sky. I never usually sleep this long. Sleep is not something I need much of. I yawn and stretch. My eyes fall on the body of the witch lying beside me. I should dispose of it, but all I really want to do is sleep. With a sigh, I climb to my feet and set about my task.
By the time the burial is done, I am exhausted. I stumble back into my cave and stretch out once more.
My skin is blistered in places from the heat of the sun, but I’m too sluggish to worry about it.
It is the transformation that wakes me. I lie there, feeling my body alter. I have slept almost the entire day. The lethargy still continues but I no longer want to sleep. I still feel full from my meal the night before, but perhaps a flight will clear my head.
I leave the cave, pausing to breathe in the night air as is my habit. I spread my arms and launch myself into the sky.
Cold air rushes past my face and the folds of my black cape fan out on either side of me like wings. An owl in pursuit of a mouse veers wildly off course at my approach. I soar high, almost level with the forest canopy.
Then, without warning, pain stabs through my stomach. I lurch in the air. I have never felt anything like this before. It is as though someone is slicing me open from the inside. My chest constricts. It feels as though metal bands are crushing it. Needle cramps run up and down my limbs and my head is swimming. A wave of nausea washes over me. How is this possible? Vampires are never ill. What is happening to me?
My stomach lurches sickeningly once more and my body crumples. I am falling, tumbling over and over, crashing through branches that snap and tear free under my weight. Blood spews from my open mouth, turning my scream into a gargling cry. I am choking. The blood tastes like sour milk. My skin is burning.
I slam into the ground with jarring force and . . .
Diagnosis
“Lysander, can you hear me? Lysander, talk to me! What happened?”
The voice seems to come from a long way off. I force myself to concentrate on what it is saying and open my eyes.
The return of awareness triggers a fresh onslaught of pain. A groan escapes before I can stifle it.
“Lysander!” Gabriel is bending over me, concern in his face. Why did it have to be Gabriel who found me? I will never be able to live down the humiliation.
I look around. I appear to be in Gabriel’s cave. He has laid me on a soft bed of leaves. Violent shivers rack my body, yet I am still burning.
“Lysander?”
Will he never stop saying my name? He lays a hand on my shoulder. I shy away from the contact. The movement brings on another wave of nausea. I roll onto my side, retching. Blood spatters the ground.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a second figure emerge from the shadows. Her aroma hits me like a punch. The thirst is suddenly unbearable. My body is empty. I need nourishment. Everything would be better if I could just feed. I stretch out my hands and attempt to raise myself from the ground, only to fall back with a gasp. The witch never flinches. She is young, scarcely grown. My hands continue to make feeble grabbing motions in the air, reaching for her.
“Stay back, Gwen.” Gabriel warns. He pins me to the ground with ease. I lie there, panting, unable to fight him off. My fury is beyond expression, but the fear is equally strong. It claws at my insides, worse than the pain. I am utterly defenceless, weak as a newborn human child. What is happening to me?
Gabriel speaks to the witch over my head.
“We need help, Gwen. Can you get a message to Sage? Tell him he must come at once.”
“Would he come?”
Her bell-like tones cause me to thrash weakly under Gabriel's hands. She is driving me insane. Did he bring her here just to torture me? Is my suffering not bad enough? When I recover, he will pay for this if it is the last thing I do.
Gabriel ignores me.
“Lie if you must. Do whatever it takes to get him here.”
The witch turns at once and glides out of the cave. All my resistance vanishes with her. I lie there, exhausted, and wait to see what Gabriel will do.
Gabriel releases me and fetches a bowl of water. Taking what I assume is an old shirt of his, he tears it into strips. Dipping one of these into the water, he drapes it across my forehead.
“It was the witch, wasn't it? You went after her last night.” It isn’t a question.
I writhe as another spasm grips me. “That has nothing to do with it. I'm fine.”
“You look it.”
Gabriel wrings out another cloth and begins gently wiping my neck and arms. I don’t understand. Why is he helping me? What does he have to gain by it? Does he think I’ll be in his debt? Forever grateful to him for saving my life? I want to protest but the cool water is soothing against my hot skin.
“This is serious,” Gabriel murmurs, more to himself than to me. “I’ve never heard of a vampire having a fever before, nor of one rejecting food.”
I open my mouth to reply, but I am seized by a violent fit of coughing. Gabriel supports my head and when it is over, he wipes the blood off my face.
I glare at him. “Your concern would be touching if I didn't know you were loving every minute of this.”
Gabriel resumes cooling my face and arms.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw her. You protected her from me like the traitor you are. That's how you knew what would happen. You've been in league with them all along. You weren't warning me last night. You were gloating.”
Gabriel's voice is even. “Myra planned this. The witch was the bait. Somehow they’ve managed to create this disease and you’re its first victim. Myra’s daughter is a friend of mine and has been for many years. She was there when her mother came up with the plan and she warned me. If the witches manage to kill you, Morwenna and I will certainly be next.”
I try to laugh but it emerges as a splutter. Blood flecks my lips.
“You expect me to believe this witch of yours hoped to save my life?”
“I don't expect you to believe anything. I know you, Lysander. I know you're too narrow-minded to understand the concept of a witch and vampire looking past their differences and becoming friends. It wouldn't even occur to you to try. They're just food to you after all.”
“If you think so little of me, why are you taking so much trouble over me now? Why warn me at all? You could have kept quiet and left me to die. When I recover, your little friend will be first on the menu.”
He doesn’t answer. I wait but he stays silent, watching the cave entrance while he moistens a fresh cloth.
I haven’t the strength to pursue the matter. The pain is all I can think of. I let my eyes close. I wonder vaguely what Gabriel would do if his friend were killed. Would he want revenge? Surely even the noble saviour has his limits. My mind begins to drift.
I am brought back to reality by the witch's return. Her scent fills the cave, but by now I am too far gone to care. There is another smell too—sharp, rank, a brownie. Also an earthy scent, a dwarf. It seems the audience has gathered to watch my final hour, or so they hope.
The brownie is speaking. I keep my eyes closed. They don’t need to know I’m awake, and I’m interested to hear my fate.
“What’s the idea, Gabriel? Gwen said it was an emergency but she wouldn’t tell me any more. I hardly call this an emergency.” He stabs a finger in my direction.
Gabriel’s voice is worried. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. None of this should be happening. He’s running a high fever and he keeps coughing up blood.”
“How did he end up like this?” the dwarf asks curiously.
“He killed a witch who was a carrier of the same disease. Her sisters planned this deliberately, hoping it would be passed on to Lysander through the witch’s blood.”
The brownie lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “And their plan worked. Well, they’re enterprising, I’ll say that much. He’s not long for this world from the look of him.”
My rage simmers inside me along with whatever the witch’s blood left behind. If I had the strength, I would kill the sharp-tongued brownie here and now. He would not be so bold if I met him in a secluded clearing.
“Can you help him, Sage?” Gabriel asks.
“Why on earth would I want to do that? The world’s better off without him. All vampires are monsters. The sooner they’re extinct the better.”
“All of them?” Gabriel’s voice is so quiet, I can barely hear it.
“Present company excepted of course.”
The dwarf chimes in. “Sage is right.”
For the first time, Gabriel sounds angry. “I wasn’t aware that healers could pick and choose who they gave aid to. I thought their calling was to help whoever had need of them.”
The brownie is angry in his turn. “Why do you care if he lives or dies? Do you think he’ll thank you for this if he recovers? He’ll throw your pity right back in your face.”
“Not to mention,” the dwarf adds, “having Gwendolyn for a snack while he’s at it.”
“Braith!” There is a hint of reproof in the witch’s lovely voice, but affection too.
“I can’t just stand by and watch while one of my kind suffers.” Gabriel says quietly.
The brownie gives a snort. “You’re a soft-hearted fool, that’s what you are, and I’m an even bigger fool for going along with this.”
I feel the brownie kneel beside me. His scent is almost overpowering. His long fingers begin prodding and poking me while he mutters under his breath. Every instinct screams at me to strike, but I keep still. Brownies are known for their healing magic. If anyone can cure me, it’s the creature next to me.
Why is it taking so long? The fear creeps over me, hard as I try to squash it down. What if there is no cure? Perhaps death is the only way out after all. At this moment, it would be a welcome release.
No! I will not be beaten by a witch. I will find a way to live, no matter what it takes.
The brownie moves away. “I have to tell you, Gabriel, this one has me stumped. I’ve never come across anything remotely like these symptoms. His entire system is failing. His bones are crumbling. He’s quite literally falling apart from the inside out. If he carries on the way he’s going, he’ll be dead in a few days.”
A few days? No, that can’t be possible. He has it wrong. He would say anything to be rid of me. I’m not dying. I refuse to die. I try to speak, to deny the words, but my tongue feels as if it is weighed down with lead.
“Can nothing be done for him?”
The brownie blows out his cheeks. “I know of no cure for this. You could slow the process down perhaps. I’ve seen Slow-Wort work miracles. It might buy him a few extra days, but there will come a time when even Slow-Wort won’t be enough to save him.”
“Do you have some?”
The witch again. If Gabriel is to be believed, her coven landed me in this mess. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill them all.
“Of course I do, but why prolong his miserable life any further?”
“He’s dying anyway, Gabriel,” the dwarf says in a reasonable tone. “Sage is right. You’ll just prolong his suffering and he wouldn’t thank you for it.”
“The Slow-Wort would give us some time at least.”
“Time for what?” the dwarf is exasperated.
It is the witch who answers. “It might keep him alive long enough for us to find a cure.”
“He wiped out half your sisters.” The brownie’s voice is shrill with indignation.
“And my mother killed another. Nothing makes sense anymore. He killed my sisters, but they took his mate from him. There has been enough death.”
Her words slam into me. Memories rise up to taunt me, a face I’ve tried unsuccessfully to forget. It hurts almost more than my physical pain.
“You believe you can find a cure?” Gabriel says, speaking to the witch directly.
“I could consult the Oracle. She’s sure to know.”
“Then go as quickly as you can. Sage, fetch as much of this Slow-Wort as you have and bring it back here. Hurry!”
Neither argue. I hear their retreating footsteps and then the voice of the dwarf.
“This is a mistake, Gabriel. I tell you, he’s not going to be grateful that he owes his life to you.”
“I don’t need his gratitude. He owes me nothing.”
“Suit yourself.”
The dwarf leaves the cave. All is silent once more. I am alone but for Gabriel.
***
The burial ground of the witches was a sacred place, both feared and revered. It was here that every dead witch was laid to rest with much ceremony.
As always, Gwendolyn felt a stab of sorrow as she thought of the witches who had not been interred here—those whom the vampires had killed, her own aunt and grandmother among them.
When, as she undoubtedly would, her mother learned of her friendship with Gabriel, she would regard it as the worst kind of betrayal. Not only had she befriended a vampire, but she was preparing to help another—possibly the most infamous vampire of all. The one who had sent so many of her sisters to their deaths. It would mean her own death for certain, but she had no regrets. She would do anything for Gabriel, no matter the consequences to herself, just as he would for her.
She’d met Gabriel seven years before. Her mother had sent her into the forest to gather some hemlock leaves. It had been a bright spring morning and the bluebells and daffodils were in bloom.
Relishing this rare chance of freedom, Gwendolyn wandered enchanted through the glorious carpet of flowers until she had accidentally trodden on a snake gliding through the tall grass. Its body blended so perfectly with the foliage that she hadn’t seen it. Rearing up, the snake sank its fangs into Gwendolyn’s ankle.
The effect of the poison was immediate and deadly. Gwendolyn had barely staggered three steps when she collapsed.
Gabriel’s cave was nearby. He had been outside tending the herbs he grew for the brownies when he heard Gwendolyn’s cry and came running.
He found her writhing in agony on the ground, and had carried her straight to Sage’s home. The brownie had given her an antidote which had saved her life. So her friendship with both had been born, and in time had led to other friendships.
The headstone was almost completely obscured by moss and dead leaves. Gwendolyn knelt in the grass which was already wet with dew and scraped it clear. Bending close, she could just make out the name of the witch etched into its face. Esmeralda.
Gwendolyn let out a breath. She had found the witch she’d come to see.
Now for it. She had never tried this before, but her mother had told her the procedure often enough. You simply called out the name of a witch three times and their spirit would appear. They were bound to appear when summoned and they would answer any question.
Gwendolyn had a particular reason for choosing Esmeralda. In life, she had been a gifted seer. Her visions of the future had guided her coven and warned of vampire attacks. Under her leadership, the witches had been at the height of their power. There had been none since to follow in her footsteps and she had lived over four hundred years ago.
Gwendolyn sat back on her heels and rested her left palm against the stone. It felt cold and damp to her touch. Taking a deep breath, she called out the witch’s name three times, enunciating clearly.
Her voice rang out, startling an owl from its nest and sending a mouse scuttling for cover. As the last echoes died away, Gwendolyn climbed to her feet and stood waiting.
Nothing happened for perhaps ten seconds. The silence seemed to shout Esmeralda’s name mockingly back at her.
Then, Gwendolyn heard a rumbling deep within the earth. It reverberated through the soles of her feet. A dreadful paralysing cold swept over her as a wind sighed through the leaves of the ancient yew tree that stood in the centre of the graves. Gwendolyn fancied she could hear voices in that wind, voices moaning and wailing in unspeakable torment. Gwendolyn longed to cover her ears, but she forced herself to remain motionless.
Now a figure was rising out of the ground in front of her, from the grave itself. The apparition was dressed in black as it would have been in life, and through it, Gwendolyn could see the sky tinged with grey. Dawn was nearly here.
“What would you ask of me, child?” The voice of the spectre was both mournful and resonant.
Gwendolyn hesitated. She had to do this right. One question only, that was all she was allowed. A single chance. A witch would never appear to the same person twice.
Raising her voice above the sighing of the wind, she said, “In a cave not far from here, a creature lies dying. How can I save him?”
Esmeralda regarded Gwendolyn. Her expression was dispassionate.
“You refrained from mentioning the creature’s identity. I sense deception. Speak!”
Gwendolyn’s heart sank. The other golden rule when conversing with the dead was to always speak the truth. Nothing she had said was a lie, but she’d hoped to leave Lysander’s name out of it. She had no trouble imagining the spirit’s reaction when she learned the truth.
She answered in as steady a voice as she could. “His name is Lysander.” She got no further. The wind rose to a frenzied shriek. The force of it brought Gwendolyn to her knees. She knelt at Esmeralda’s feet, her hands shielding her face from the flying debris.
“A vampire? You seek aid for a vampire?”
Gwendolyn could only nod.
“Treachery!” the voice boomed. The sound of it crashed over Gwendolyn’s head in waves. She cowered before its wrath until her face was pressed into the damp earth.
“What you ask is the blackest kind of infamy. You have chosen to cast your lot with the vampires. I see into your corrupted mind. It is on another’s behalf that you have come here. You have put the desires of the vampire, Gabriel above the safety of your sisters. Should Lysander recover, you will have endangered them all. Worse, you have defied your leader, the one to whom your loyalty should be given without question.”
Gwendolyn raised her head at this. “Gabriel saved my life. Doesn’t he also deserve my loyalty?”
The moaning of the wind grew even louder, but Gwendolyn faced her accuser, scrambling to her feet so she could look directly into the spectre’s eyes. The expression on the dead witch’s face was terrible.
“For your betrayal, you will receive the severest penalty. You will be forever cut off from your sisters. Without that link, you cannot use your powers. You will be as a human and like any human, you will age and die.”
Gwendolyn let the words break over her head. They were hard to absorb. She was to be cut off from her sisters. Well, that was hardly surprising, and she had never felt comfortable wielding power. But to lose her immortality, that was harder to bear. Still, she would bear it. If Esmeralda thought that would break her, she was in for a disappointment. The terrible voice was still speaking. Gwendolyn forced herself to pay attention.
“Hear me. You have given your heart to the vampire, then so-be-it. You will be bound together from this day forth. You will never be able to stray more than a few miles from one another. Should either of you die, the other’s death will follow. Enjoy your handful of human years while you may, for when your life ends, so will his.” She laughed, a harsh, pitiless sound.
“No!” Gwendolyn meant to scream the plea but it emerged as a horrified gasp. Esmeralda’s finger stabbed downwards and Gwendolyn felt the weight of the curse settle on her. Her knees gave and she lay face-down on the ground, with not even the strength to raise her head.
Esmeralda went on, and now her voice was free of all emotion. “So much for retribution. I am bound by the terms of the summoning to grant your request. Listen well. The cure is this. The victim must drink the blood of a human girl. This blood may not be taken by force, but must be given of her own free will, and in full knowledge of what she is doing. Any attempt at trickery or deception on the part of the vampire or anyone else, and the cure will fail.”
The wind rose to a still greater pitch, tugging at Gwendolyn’s clothing and flinging her hair over her face. Then, without warning, it died. The burial ground was still and quiet once more.
Silence—that was the first thing Gwendolyn noticed. For the first time in her life, her head was empty of all thoughts but her own. She was glad; she didn’t want any of her sisters to feel her despair. It would be a pleasure to them.
She had doomed Gabriel, her best and only friend. She could see no way of breaking the curse, except . . . of course! It was the only way, but would he do it? Was that what she wanted? If it meant saving Gabriel . . . She would talk to him. He would give in eventually—he would have to. It was the only way that made sense.
She rose shakily to her feet. Her need to be with Gabriel was like an invisible rope tugging her onward. Her breath came in painful bursts as she ran, and the tears poured ceaselessly down her face.
Gabriel was waiting for her just inside the cave entrance. He was clutching his chest with both hands, but he straightened up with a sigh as she approached.
Gwendolyn, too, felt the tightness ease around her heart at the sight of him. She flung herself into Gabriel’s arms, sobbing. He held her tightly, stroking her hair with gentle fingers.
“Gwen, what is it? What’s happened?”
In broken sentences, she recounted her conversation with Esmeralda’s spirit. Gabriel did not interrupt except to murmur soothingly from time to time.
As she repeated Esmeralda’s words, she hid her face, unable to meet Gabriel’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said into his shoulder.
“What for?”
She lifted her face to stare at him.
“This isn’t your fault. You did it for me, and for Lysander. You aren’t to blame. Immortality is overrated anyway in my opinion.”
She loved him for saying that.
“There might be a way to break the curse.”
“How?”
She took a deep breath. “You must make me like you.”
“No!” He let her go, staring at her in horror.
“It’s the only way.”
He was silent for a long time.
“It’s the only way,” Gwendolyn repeated. “How can I live with myself knowing that your life will end as soon as mine does? Vampires are supposed to be immortal. If you change me, you’ll have saved both of us.”
He turned away. “We’ll talk about this later. Tell me about the cure.”
Resigned, Gwendolyn finished her story. She would let it lie for now, but she wouldn’t drop it. He would do it in the end. She was determined on that. She told him what Esmeralda’s spirit had said.
Gabriel was aghast. “We can’t ask an innocent girl to give up her life for him. No human deserves such a fate.”
“We couldn’t. I don’t think Lysander would find it much of a struggle. Are you saying we shouldn’t tell him?”
Gabriel passed a hand across his face. It looked to Gwendolyn as though her news had aged him.
She, too, felt revulsion at the very idea. What had a human to do with this? Why should she be expected to save a creature that would drink her blood without a second thought? Was there even a girl alive who would willingly make such a sacrifice once she fully understood what Lysander was?
On the other hand, didn’t Lysander have a right to know? She would want to be told if their positions were reversed, but she knew that the information would make little difference to the outcome in her case.
Without a word, Gabriel turned and strode back into the cave. Gwendolyn followed.
Lysander lay on his bed of leaves exactly as she had last seen him. Looking down at him, Gwendolyn thought how peaceful he looked, as if only in sleep he could fully return to the human he had once been.
Gabriel knelt beside him and laid a careful hand on his forehead. Lysander never stirred.
Gwendolyn crouched on Lysander’s other side and touched his cheek.
“It’s cool,” she said, surprised. “The fever’s broken.”
“Sage gave him some Slow-Wort. It did the trick, relieving some of the symptoms and bringing down the fever. The transformation was hard. Normally resuming human shape is a painless process but this was rough on him. It tired him out and he fell asleep straight after.”
She watched as Gabriel wrestled with his dilemma. His eyes returned again and again to Lysander’s face, his expression tormented.
“Do you know why I protected him?”
Gwendolyn was taken aback by the question. “Because you wanted to preserve your species. That’s quite understandable.”
“No, that is, yes, that was part of it, but a small part only.”
“Well, why then?”
“I’ve always suspected there’s more to Lysander than he lets the world see. He’s educated. He’s travelled a good deal. He interacts with humans without any effort. Many vampires lose that skill after a time. Humans are just food to them. Then there was that girl. He loved her, I’m sure of it, and her death hit him hard. He loathes Morwenna and vampires in general. Maybe he even hates himself, though he’d never admit it. It’s probably just wishful thinking, but I see potential in him. It’s buried deep, but it’s there. That’s why I wanted to save him.”
Gwendolyn doubted this. She herself had never seen anything in Lysander to suggest he was any different than the average vampire. He might talk to humans, but that didn’t stop him hunting them. Lysander had never made any secret of his love for human blood. It had sickened Gwendolyn to hear of his exploits. He was infamous in both the supernatural and the human world and even figured in their legends.
She kept her thoughts to herself. She supposed that was what love did to you, and she had loved Gabriel ever since she was eleven years old. Esmeralda’s curse only strengthened the bond between them.
Right now, she could see that he desperately needed reassurance. She wasn’t used to him showing uncertainty. He’d always been her rock, the pillar of strength she had leaned on more and more over the years as her distaste for her mother’s order grew.
She put her arms around him. “Maybe Esmeralda lied. Spirits are usually obliged to tell the truth to their summonners but as I am a traitor to my family in her eyes, that may have provided her with a loop hole. Let’s prove beyond a doubt that her cure really is the only one that can save Lysander and then we’ll decide what to do.”
“How?”
Gwendolyn considered a moment.
“My mother’s scrying bowl. That will tell us what we need to know. She will be sleeping now. I can bring it here and return it before she wakes.”
“Can you still use it?”
Gwendolyn’s smile was grim. “I don’t feel a connection with the coven anymore. I always felt them in the back of my mind, even when they weren’t close, but now there’s nothing. The scrying bowl is a magical object in its own right. Anyone can use it if they know how.”
Gabriel nodded, clearly unable to think of a better plan.
Gwendolyn kissed his cheek and was gone.
***
Gabriel watched her go, his fingers pressed to the spot where her lips had touched his skin. He felt the tug begin in his chest as she drew further away. He would always feel it now; the curse had seen to that. Luckily the witchs’ camp was not too far from his cave.
A faint rustling made him spin around. Morwenna stood framed in the cave entrance, and for once, her sneer was absent.
“Do you know where Lysander is? I haven’t seen him since you tried to spin him that rubbish about an attempt on his life.”
“What I told him was true. If he'd listened, he wouldn't be in the state he is now.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice cracked like a whip in the still morning air. Gabriel was startled to see the genuine anxiety in her face.
He stepped aside so that Lysander's body was revealed.