Blood Prophecy by Alyxandra Harvey
I spent most of my waking moments going through the books. I wrote in the margins on one, detention be damned. It was just so blatantly wrong. The Drakes didn’t lure drunk college students out of the bars and compel them to forget being fed on. Well, maybe Quinn used to, but I could guarantee none of those girls needed to be compelled.
At 2:00 a.m., I snuck out of my room and met Hunter and Chloe in the hall outside the ground floor guys’ bathroom.
“It’s the only one we can fit through,” Hunter explained as we stepped into the flickering lights. White and blue tiles covered the walls, just like the girls’ bathroom. “And I already shoved a pine branch over the camera outside, so we should be good.” She blinked at me. “What happened to your face?”
“Jody,” I said, explaining the bruises. “Apparently, I bug her as much as she bugs me.”
“Why are you in your pajamas?” Chloe asked me.
I looked down at my striped flannel bottoms. “Because my roommate is a tattletale,” I replied drily. She’d gotten worse since I freaked out after Nicholas disappeared and the headmistress asked her to keep an eye on me. “This way if Sarita catches me sneaking back in, I can convince her I was just in the bathroom or watching the common room TV or something.”
“Good plan,” Chloe agreed. “She’s a pain.”
“You have no idea,” I said. “She keeps trying to get me to organize my desk and iron my school cargos. Who does that?”
“Hunter does.” Chloe grinned.
“I don’t iron my cargos, give me a break,” she returned.
“But you do organize your stakes by size and weight.”
“Well, that just makes sense.” She raised her eyebrows at us. “Ready?” She stepped up onto the side of the urinal and wiggled out, making it look easy and graceful.
Chloe caught my eye. “That’s why we hate her just a little bit.”
“If my ass gets stuck give me a push.” I grinned back, trying not to slip and fall right into the urinal. The windowsill wedged uncomfortably in my belly as I wriggled out, feeling like a giant worm. Chloe followed, pushing her laptop case ahead of her.
It was snowing lightly, not enough to be really cold, just enough to make everything pretty. We darted from tree to tree, keeping to the shadows. Hunter used hand signals to warn us of cameras. We ducked into the bushes, climbed over a wooden farm fence and crossed the fields to the forest. The trail was narrow and barely noticeable, but both Hunter and I knew exactly where it led. I’d had my last date with Nicholas in the meadow at the end of the path. I didn’t want to think about what Hunter and Quinn did there.
This time, it was Spencer who waited for us on the other side of the cedars, perched up in a tree. “I thought you turned into a vampire,” Chloe teased, looking up at him. “Not a monkey.”
“Up a tree is about the only place I can hide from school patrols and Huntsmen,” he smiled, his blond dreadlocks and turquoise beads at odds with the flash of his eyes. “You guys are keeping bad company.”
“Not since you left.”
He climbed down, hopping nimbly from branch to branch. “Show off,” Chloe muttered. But she hugged him just as fiercely as Hunter did; the same way I’d hug Logan or Quinn. He stepped back, trying to hide his fangs under his top lips. Poor guy, up until recently he’d been a student at the academy and now he was one of the “enemy.”
“Use your school-issue nose plugs,” I suggested. “It helps.”
He blinked. “I never thought of that.”
“Here.” Hunter fished out a pair from the pocket of her cargos and tossed them to him. Something moved on the other side of the cedars. Everyone except Hunter froze. “It’s Kieran,” she explained, just before he came out of the shadows. “I called him.”
“I thought vampire hunters were supposed to be stealthy.” I tossed him a smile. He wore his usual black cargos and a painfully serious expression. He was going to have to learn that when you hung out with the Drakes, you had to keep your sense of humor. Sometimes it was the only shield you had.
He half smiled. “If I’m too stealthy with this bunch I’m likely to get staked.”
“True,” Hunter agreed, searching his face.
He nudged her shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, right.” She snorted.
He turned to Spencer. “How are things at the camp?”
“Messy,” he said. “I prefer the Bower. Less mind control.”
I froze. “Has everyone else figured out Solange’s new little gift too?”
“Hard to miss.”
Kieran and I exchanged a grim glance. “And Nicholas?” I asked, even though fear made the words feel like needles in my throat. “Is he okay?”
“He’s in one piece,” Spencer answered carefully. I let out a shaky breath. “But he doesn’t say much, so I really don’t know. He sticks close to Solange or he takes off alone.”
“Is she . . .” Kieran paused, clenched his jaw. “The same?”
“Worse.”
“Newspapers are calling it the Dracula Killer,” Spencer said.
“That’s not her,” Kieran and I both said in unison. I hoped I sounded more confident than he did. He just sounded desperate.
“That’s why we need to talk to you,” Hunter said. “Lucy has a theory.”
“Can vampires be possessed?” I asked.
Spencer looked briefly intrigued. “I never really thought about it, but I guess so. I mean, I don’t see why not. It would probably be pretty volatile. Vampires and magic tend to clash. It’s a delicate balance at the best of times.”
“Believe me, I know,” I said. “But I think Solange is possessed. It’s more than bloodlust that’s making her like this.”
“She has three sets of fangs,” Spencer pointed out. “That’s . . . unique. Outside of the Hel-Blar, anyway.”
“I know I’m right about this.”
Chloe bit her lip. “Don’t be mad, Lucy. But don’t you think you could be reading into things? Seeing things you want to see?” I shook my head stubbornly.
“Possession could explain the change in her,” Spencer agreed slowly, as he considered what I’d said. His brow furrowed. “I only met her once in the Bower with Constantine but she seemed nice. Quiet.”
“She was with Constantine?” I frowned as Kieran swore under his breath. “What’s with that guy, anyway? Who is he?” I added him to my list of things to research.
“I don’t know,” Spencer said with a ghost of a smile. “I’m new to the whole vampire thing, remember?”
“Can you find out?” Kieran asked quietly.
“I can try, but I don’t go into the camp much anymore.” Spencer looked thoughtful. “There was a hell of a magic punch when she put the crown on. Knocked us all off our feet.”
“Did you write an essay on it yet?” Hunter asked.
Spencer grinned. “Just some rough notes.”
Chloe groaned. “I hate you both.”
“I didn’t hang around long enough to get real data,” Spencer added, serious again. “Not after Lucy told me about Jenna in the woods. And I can’t get back in, not if I don’t want to be brainwashed.”
“Could the Hounds get in?” I asked, crossing my arms against the cold. Spencer was in a T-shirt and ripped jeans and he looked perfectly comfortable. “They must have some sort of shielding spell or something, right?”
“Maybe. But even if you got in, what could you do?”
“I could punch her in the nose,” I muttered. “I owe her.”
“I’ll e-mail you and Kieran a list of books,” Spencer promised. “There’s reception in a few spots near the Bower, if you search hard enough for them. It’s just far enough away from the Blood Moon signal blocks.”
“Connor probably did that once they were exiled,” I said.
“The magic blast could have opened the door to spirits,” Spencer continued. “It’s not impossible, anyway.”
“It’s a place to start,” I said, feeling more hopeful th
Hunter, Spencer, and Chloe caught up for a few minutes, referencing inside jokes and chatting about people I didn’t know. Kieran just stood there, hands in his pockets, practically vibrating with suppressed frustration. Worse yet, he looked sad.
“Are you okay?” I asked him. I knew how he felt, how it was like being swallowed by winter, so that even your insides were too stark and too cold.
“Hart’s good at what he does,” he said bleakly. “But I don’t know how long he can hold the League back, especially with Huntsmen in town. It’s getting ugly, Lucy.”
“Which is why the Drakes are so lucky they have us to clean up their mess.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” I teased him.
“We should get back,” Hunter cut in, glancing at her watch. “Chloe’s got the next security patrol clocked. We have ten minutes.” Spencer faded soundlessly into the forest after Hunter and Chloe both hugged him good-bye. As we headed back through the bushes, Hunter shot Kieran a speaking glance. “Call me.”
Kieran nodded and hopped the fence, cutting through the lawns toward the road. We followed the path back to the dorms, mulling over the events of the night. Hunter gave the swan a wide berth as Chloe snickered. Her snickers cut off abruptly as we came around the side of the dorms, toward the guys’ bathroom.
Headmistress Bellwood was waiting for us just outside the open window, her arms folded. Even her black winter coat looked stern and disapproving.
“Good evening,” she said frostily. “It seems you’ll be joining Jody and her friends in bathroom duty for the rest of the month. Plus two demerits.”
Chloe opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it, and snapped it shut again.
“A wise decision.” The headmistress approved. “I’m not interested in your excuses. You know the rules and you must know how foolhardy it is to sneak off campus now of all times. Get to bed, all of you.”
“Damn vampires,” Hunter muttered crossly as we went around to the front door. “They just cost me my perfect school record.”
“What are you complaining about?” I sighed. “My mom’s going to make me meditate.”
Chapter 8
Solange
I had no idea how long I’d been trapped inside Viola’s memory but when I returned to myself again, I was back on the spiral stairs. I was disoriented and confused, gripping the uneven stone wall to ground me. I was back to being a spirit in Viola’s subconscious parallel dimension while she was controlling my body in the real world. Any wonder I was confused?
I wasn’t sure what kind of a human-vampire spirit-thing I was in this place. I knew I didn’t have to feed on blood and I couldn’t feel my heartbeat but I was still panting. Psychosomatic. I was freaking out so I was hyperventilating because I’d been a human girl for a lot longer than I’d been a vampire, freaky or otherwise.
I needed more information. I’d have to open another box.
I didn’t exactly relish the thought. There was something seriously disconcerting about being a faded copy of yourself in your body, never mind traipsing about someone else’s memories. It would have been easier to take her on with a weapon in my hand. Instead, I was going to have to be sneakier than that.
First, I had to find a better hiding place before someone found me just standing there like an idiot. The tapestry pouch was still slung across my chest and it bumped heavily against my hip when I moved. I peered out of the murder hole. Twilight painted the sky blue and orange between the trees in the distance. Smoke rose from a small hut I assumed belonged to the blacksmith. The glow of the fire leaking out of the open door was fierce. On the right, a tall ash tree rose from cracks in the courtyard ground. Green leaves fluttered, partly obscuring the view of the stables along the wall of the inner bailey. Hay lay in piles outside and drifted between the loose wooden boards of the upper story. If I could swing into the tree and then jump onto the roof of the stable, I could hide in the hay loft.
Big if.
I crept up the stairs to the next floor, darting between torches to hide in the shadows of the corridor. The first arched oak door I came across was locked. The second opened onto a windowless room full of the sound of scurrying feet and claws. I slammed it shut again as quickly as I could. There were no tapestries on this floor, just a cold draft that snapped at the torches and the hem of my dress. It wasn’t until the next room that I found a window just big enough to fit through. The chamber itself was empty except for the smell of smoke. There was nothing here to threaten me but it still just felt wrong.
I hurried to the window, pulling open the wooden shutters. There were knights above me on the ramparts but they ought to be looking beyond the walls, not directly down into the heart of the castle compound. And it was dark enough that if anyone looked up, they shouldn’t be able to see me. The tree waved cheerfully from a few feet below. I swallowed. It was a lot farther than I’d thought, and the window was narrow. Almost too narrow.
I took off the tapestry bag and hung out of the window again. I swung it carefully, wincing at the light clinking of boxes as they shifted against one another. I swung it again, and again, until I had a good arc. I let go and it skimmed the outer twigs, catching on the tip of a heavier branch, and dangling precariously. I waited for a cry of alarm. When there was nothing but the steady strike of the blacksmith’s hammer, I straddled the stone sill.
“If I die I’m so going to kick Viola’s ass,” I muttered.
And then I let go. I wasn’t jumping, I was falling.
I grabbed at the tree, leaves slapping at my face, branches scratching my arms and yanking my hair. The air rushed at me. I finally got hold of a branch but it wasn’t strong enough to support my weight. It broke and dropped me onto the next branch, nearly putting my eye out. I clung there, cursing.
I could smell smoke and horses and hay. I reached out, straining muscles I didn’t know I had to grab the tapestry bag. When it was safely wrapped around my wrist, I crawled along the branch like an inchworm while the tree creaked warningly.
When I hit the roof of the stables, I was grinning. Aching all over and bruised, but still grinning. Mostly because no one had seen me and I wasn’t lying in broken pieces on the ground. I dug through the bug-infested thatch and wiggled inside, landing on a soft mound of hay that made my nose itch. The horses below me nickered and snorted. I lay still in the darkness for a long moment.
And then I did the only thing I could do, despite the nerves firing in my belly and along my spine. I reached into the bag and pulled out a random box. It was wooden and set with colored enamel pieces in a mosaic of a lady with a dragon curled up beside her and a knight kneeling to them both.
I opened it, thinking of Kieran.
1198
Viola waited for Tristan on the hilltop, the wind blowing her woolen cloak behind her, revealing glimpses of her green surcoat. Ice glinted on every blade of grass, crunching like broken glass under her horse’s hooves. A hawk circled overhead with a high-pitched shriek of warning to mice, rabbits, and all small huntable creatures below.
“You came.” Viola smiled, sliding from her saddle. As always, she felt her entire body sing, just to see him.
“Of course,” Tristan replied, dismounting. The indigo blue of his tunic matched his eyes. He didn’t say anything else, only walked her backward until her body pressed against the trunk of the tree and the leaves sheltered them from prying eyes. Her long blond hair caught in his silver cloak clasp.
When he kissed her it felt as though there was lightning striking off her, as if she could set the whole world on fire and watch it burn with a smile just as long as they were together. There was no cold wind, no ice dripping down the back of her neck; there was nothing but him. His lips were teasing and desperate but no more so than hers. He kissed her throat and she tilted her head back, inhaling the scents of him
He pulled back slightly but they stayed locked together, breathing as one. When she smiled, he smiled. When he leaned in, she leaned in. The last of the russet oak leaves clattered like bones around them.
When her horse shifted closer to nibble at the thawed grass, Tristan finally noticed the pack on her saddle and frowned. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home.”
“You’re leaving Bornebow Hall?” He seized her arms, his eyes searing into her like ice. Her breath caught, as if she were in a runaway cart. “Without me? Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“Does Richard know?”
“Not you too.” Viola made a sound of disgust. Her horse tossed her mane, recognizing the sound and impatient to run across the fields and moors. “I’m going to talk to my father. I’m fifteen years old. That’s old enough to know my own mind. My own heart.”
Tristan was only a few years older than she was, and had been a knight for less than a year, but he felt positively ancient at the thought of losing Viola. It was one thing to recite poetry like a troubadour, and sneak roses onto her pillow, but another thing altogether to challenge her father. Her betrothal to Richard was made on the day she was born. But he knew the set of her jaw and what it meant. There would be no stopping her. She was like the hawk above them, hungry and wild.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said softly, stepping close enough to smell the amber and lavender of her hair, to brush his mouth over her cheek.
“Nor I you,” she whispered, melting into him. “So come with me. Fight for us.”
“Viola, I would die for us.” He touched his brow to hers. “But you know what they’ll say.”